#Chain Link Bottom Parts

[dduane]

I just received a copy of a book I've been very much looking forward to by a favorite author, but the quality of the book itself is... not great. Cheap paper, weak binding, even a weird illustration of the main character on the cover that I'm having trouble believing the author approved. Obviously, I don't want to leave a bad review on Amazon or GoodReads or anywhere, as I'm 100% certain the content is as excellent as her other work. But how can I best let the publisher (Baen) know I'm disappointed without threatening to never buy her books again? Because, well, if this is the only option, I'm gonna keep buying them even in my disappointment.

Well, the first thing I thought when I read this was "Wow, I'm really glad I don't have anything in print from Baen at the moment except a couple of anthologized short stories." :)

As for the rest of it, let's take it point by point.

Adding a cut here, because this will run a bit long. Caution: contains auctorial bitching and moaning, painful illustrations of cases in point, and brief advice on how to complain most effectively. (Also links to paintings of cats.)

Cheap paper: This has been an accurate complaint since well before COVID—and it's often been worse since, with supply chain issues also being involved. That said: one way publishers routinely save money on printing books, especially the bigger ones, is by going for thinner/cheaper paper. I remember one of our UK editors going on at great length and with huge annoyance—during one of those late-night convention-bar bitch sessions—over how the only way they could get some really good books published (because Upstairs insisted on reducing the per-copy production costs) was by reducing the paper quality to the point where you could nearly read through it. Sacrificing decent text size(s) also became part of this. Nobody in editorial was happy about the result: but there wasn't much they could do.

Bad bindings: Similar problem. Sewn bindings used to be a thing in paperbacks... but not any more: not for a good while, now. These days, it's all glue. Even hardcovers are showing up glued rather than sewn. Don't get me started. :/ (This is why I so treasure some of the oldest paperbacks I've acquired, which are actually sewn.)

Crap covers: I've had my share of these—though my share of some really good ones, too. And one of the endless frustrations of traditional publishing is that the writer routinely has little or even no influence over what the cover will look like... let alone how much will be spent on it, or (an often-related issue) how good the execution will be.

There are of course exceptions. If you're working at the, well, @neil-gaiman -esque level or similar in publishing, a lot more attention is going to be paid to your thoughts. You may even be able to get "cover veto" written into your contracts, so that if you disapprove, changes will get made. But without actual contractual stipulations, the writer has zero legal recourse or way to withhold approval. (And I bet even Neil has some horror stories.)

The normal workflow looks like this. After a book's purchased, its editor and the art director discuss what it's about and what the cover should look like. The art director then hires an artist and tells them what to do. After that, the artist executes their vision and gets paid. It is incredibly rare for a writer to have any significant input into this process. And as to whether or not they approve of the final result, well... the publisher mostly just shrugs and goes back to eyeing the bottom line, muttering "Who told them they get a vote?"

Now, I've been seriously lucky to occasionally be an exception in this regard. In particular, my editors at Harcourt (when Jane Yolen and Michael Stearns were editing Harcourt's Magic Carpet YA imprint) would ask me what I thought would be a good idea for the next Young Wizards cover, and I'd think about it a bit and send them back a paragraph or so about some core scene. They'd then talk to their art director, and after that send their notes and mine to Cliff Nielsen (who started doing the covers for the hardcover and mass-market paperback editions of the series in the mid-90s) or to Greg Swearingen (who was the artist on the digest-format editions). And the results, by and large, were pretty good. ...I also think affectionately of the UK artist Mick Posen, who insisted on seeing pictures of our cats before painting the covers for the Hodder editions of The Book of Night with Moon and On Her Majesty's Wizardly Service (the UK title for To Visit The Queen).

But this kind of treatment is a courtesy—not even vaguely suggested in the books' contracts, and very much the exception to the rule. And for every writer who's midlist, there are times when the luck runs out. For example: one time I wrote a book that was an AU-Earth-near-future fantasy police procedural, thematically pretty dark—dealing with issues of abuse of megacorporate power, institutionalized bigotry, and (explicitly) attempted genocide. And the cover, done by an artist who's a good friend and some of whose fabulous art hangs in our house, came out looking like this. It was... let's just say "not ideally representative."

So I was glad, when my local workflow allowed it, to recover the current, revised version of the book with something at least a little more apropos. But the original cover's not the artist's fault. He did what the art director told him... as a cover artist must do to get paid, and (ideally) to get hired again. At present, that's how the system works.

...So. You've got a badly-built and -presented book on your hands. How best to make your feelings known in some way that might make a difference down the line? (As you make it plain that you'll keep buying this author's books this way if you must.)

First of all: when (as part of my psych nursing training) we were taught how to complain most effectively, we were told that the first and most basic rule of the art is this:

Only Complain To Someone Who Can Actually Do Something About Your Problem

So I salute your desire not to waste your time taking the issue to the reviews on Amazon, or the pages of Goodreads... because they can't do anything. The odds that anyone from production at Baen is reading the comments there strike me as... well, not infinitesimally small, not being hit-by-a-meteorite-while-in-the-shopping-center-parking-lot small... but really low.

So: write to corporate.

In your place I would go online and rummage around a bit to find out who's on record as the publisher at Baen. I would then write them a letter on paper. And I would lay out the problem pretty much as you laid it out up at the top.

The tone I think I'd choose would be the more-in-sorrow-than-in-anger approach. I'd say, "I write to comment about your recently published book by [X Writer], whose work I love. I have to say, though, that I don't think the cover on [X Book] is terribly representative of the quality of the prose inside. And also, the construction and production quality of the book itself was a disappointment to me because [here spell out why].

"I'd really like to see [X. Writer's] books succeed with you, and I'd like to buy more of them without wondering whether I was going to be disappointed again. But if this is typical of how they're being produced, I'd also be concerned that the state of these books is setting up a situation in which the author's sales will be damaged, and you would stop publishing them... which would really be a shame. Whereas on the other hand, better production quality could keep previous purchasers coming back and buying, not only more books by this author, but books by others whom you publish."

This phrasing, as you'll have seen, walks a bit wide around the issue of your further purchases, while directing attention toward the bottom line... which will routinely be what the publisher's looking at from day to day. And—being, one has to hope, in possession of the wider picture as regards what's going on with their production costs—maybe they can actually do something about it.

Anyway, nothing ventured, nothing gained, yeah? It's worth a try. All you can do is hope for the best.

And finally: please know that I admire your commitment to the author: whoever she is, she's lucky to have you. It's a terrific thing to have readers who'll willing to spend the time to hunt you down, and who're willing not to judge a book by its cover. :)

[2tarbell]

sneaking around with rafe while dating jj

warnings! cheating, mentions/descriptions of piv sex, pogue!reader rafe mentions reader being a girl, daddy kink (mentioned), slight dacryphilia, pogue/kook talk, sneaky-link!rafe

563 words. headcannons/drabble. © 2tarbell 2024.

being with jj for as long as you have meant you were secure and happy in the relationship. except you really weren’t. you allowed him to parade you around and play the part of doting girlfriend, but in truth you couldn’t even remember the last time you two had been intimate. which is what caused you to seek out something new, someone new. rafe was happy as a clam to step up in the way the blond pogue couldn’t.

he was cocky in this endeavor; feeling a surge of masculine pride at the thought of being better than jj in just another way. it helped that you were one of the prettiest things he’s ever laid eyes on, shocked that the pogue was able to even bag you. he made sure to tell you such when your legs were on his shoulders and he was giving you his all.

now you couldn’t even remember your boyfriends name as rafe bent you in all directions, sliding into your heat easily, tsking at the slickness between your thighs, an evil smirk gracing his pink lips. his voice low and sultry as he teased you for it, only adding to the glistening wetness.

“shiiit… so fuckin’ wet... tsk, this all f’me, baby? best dick of your life, huh?”

and it was without a doubt. rafe had you feeling things and orgasming in ways you couldn’t even comprehend. he was a vision, truly. who could blame you?

as if the sex wasn’t enough to keep you coming back, the tender way he began to hold you definitely was. somewhere along the line, rafe stopped hitting it exclusively from the back and shoving your face into his mattress, expensive sheets stained from your running mascara. no, now he wanted to see you as fucked you senseless. needed to.

his brow creased and mouth agape, watching in awe as your eyes welled with tears from the immense pleasure, collecting on your bottom lash line. he pulsed inside of you when the tears began to roll in hot, fat globs down your cheeks, dazzling pearls attesting to the way he was making you come undone. it was beautiful. you were beautiful.

jj didn’t deserve you; rafe found himself thinking that more and more lately.

his hair hanging in his eyes as he laid on top of you, toned hips rolling deliberately into you. you’d take his dangling chain between your teeth, trying to anchor yourself as you whined and writhed beneath him. the sound of your connecting bodies downright nasty. he shuddered as you cried out, calling him “daddy” and begging for more.

missonary quickly became rafes favorite position to fuck you in. getting to look at your pretty face as he destroyed you never got old. neither did the sweet whispers of devotion he’d murmur into your ear. velvet voice making promises neither of you dared to speak of once you got your releases. there was a delicate balancing act to this arrangement between you both.

“y’so perfect, you know that? best pussy i’ve ever— fuck— ever had. only girl i want.”

it didn’t matter what was said as he was inside of you, your walls hugging him so perfectly, he can’t believe you weren’t made just for him.

as you clawed at his back, arching and shuddering against him, he was beginning to think that maybe you were.

[aquaquadrant]

from eden, part XI (act I)

Word count: 19,894 Warnings: Language, blood/injury, temporary suicide, imprisonment, experimentation, dehumanization, kissing, mentioned gore/eye horror, emotional abuse, fictional racism, discussion of starvation/vomiting, drowning Summary: Tango is forced to finally confront his past at Hels Tek, this time with Jimmy and friends behind him. But he soon finds that there are some battles he must fight alone, the outcome of which will change his life- and the universe- forever.

A/N: Well, here we are. The final chapter of ‘from eden.’ Now ofc, I still have lots more for the HTP au planned, but this is where the ranchers’ main plotline will conclude. Thanks for all the support along the way, it’s been an absolute pleasure to write. For the finale, I wanted to go big, so I did something I haven’t done in this fic before: I switch back and forth between different POVs, and different times via flashbacks. Hopefully it all makes sense.

Also, due to Tumblr’s paragraph limit, I had to split this into two acts again. Link to the second one at the bottom. Hope you enjoy please reblog/comment if you do! - Aqua

~*~

from eden, part XI (act I) - honey, you’re familiar, like my mirror years ago

~*~

Somewhere in Hels, a player kneels on the ground with his hands chained behind his back.

He’s instantly recognizable, of course. A blaze hybrid, with pointed black-tipped ears poking out from messy blond hair, dull blaze rods hovering around his temples. His red eyes are downcast, sharp teeth bared in a slight grimace. His face, from what’s visible, is discolored by bloodstains and fresh bruises. An iron collar is still locked around his throat, red light shining out like a solitary eye.

Atlas is gratified to see that they were unable to dismantle his handiwork. He had a feeling they wouldn’t; not if they actually cared about not causing Tango harm.

“Well, well, well.” Atlas grins as he approaches. “Hello, Mr. Tango.”

“That’s close enough.”

Bravo’s voice rings out across the valley. He’s standing beside Tango, sword at the ready. Despite being the one to have extended this invitation in the first place, he’s evidently not taking any chances.

Atlas stops, raising a hand for his convoy to do the same. Separated by a distance of ten or so blocks, he can see just how poorly Bravo seems to be doing; haggard and blood-stained, yet still rife with tension, his wary eyes ringed with dark circles. Clearly, the last couple weeks haven’t been kind to him.

(Of course, Atlas had a hand in that.)

He’s alone, as promised- though Atlas knew that already from the unseen scout he sent ahead ten minutes ago. The place Bravo’s arranged their meeting isn’t where his base lies, that much is certain. It’s a large nether waste biome, lifeless and smoldering, surrounded by steep blackstone cliffs on either side. Probably at least an hour from where Bravo’s been hiding, and where the portal must’ve spawned when Tango arrived.

(Of course Bravo wouldn’t lead Atlas to his front door. He’s too cautious for that. Especially if he’s still protecting that ragged black-winged avian that some of Alisker’s men have reported seeing with him. Atlas is mildly disappointed by his absence. But it’s just as well; he doubts those feathers were in good condition, anyways. Would’ve made for shoddy arrows.)

Bravo’s keen gaze sweeps over Atlas’s assembled company. The two dozen armed thugs would’ve been enough to make anyone hesitate, but the effect is much greater with their small fleet of flying machines hovering overhead. Each ship has a dedicated gunner; a player with a crossbow positioned at the front. Their supply of slowness arrows would efficiently incapacitate anyone attacking from the ground or sky. Just one of the extra security measures Atlas prepared for this trip, to say nothing of what he’s set up back home.

Another such measure was the addition of weighted nets to their arsenal, woven from thick chains and studded with wither rose thorns, to ensnare any mob hybrids or monster players they might encounter. It’s not often that Atlas sees a player so much bigger and stronger than the average, like the massive zombie or the wolf, but he won’t be caught off-guard again. That plus respawn anchors on the ships and chests stocked with potions has left him fairly confident in their chances, should this turn out to be an ambush.

Almost a shame that doesn’t seem to be the case. But as always, he’d rather have such defenses and not need them than need them and not have them.

“Mr. Bravo,” Atlas greets him politely. “I must admit, I was rather surprised that you reached out to me, considering we left on… shall we say, less than friendly terms.”

(A generous way of putting it, to be certain. Their last encounter ended with Bravo killing himself to escape to spawn after Atlas was forced to finally show his hand. He does regret that the circumstances had required him to go against Bravo’s wishes; it would’ve been preferable to keep him as an ally. But when he refused to let them take the avian back to Hels Tek, well, Atlas hadn’t been left with much of a choice. Nor had he when Bravo insisted he wouldn’t help them open another portal. Such is life.)

“Oh, shut up,” Bravo snaps. “I- I’m not in the mood for the fuckin’ small talk, alright? You want Tango, you’ve got him. Now take him and leave me the hell alone.”

“Ah, short-tempered as ever,” Atlas hums. “Very well. However, forgive my prying, but I was hoping you wouldn’t mind regaling me with the details of how exactly you came by our friend, here?”

(He can infer certain things well enough from chat, of course. He assumes Tango and that other player, SolidarityGaming, came through the portal first and attempted to make contact with Bravo before the rest of the server showed up. It appears that Bravo killed them all in order to capture Tango, but Atlas would rather hear it from him firsthand.)

Bravo shrugs a shoulder. “Yeah so, he opened a portal from his end, and tried to… I dunno, reason with me? I guess? He gave me this whole sob story about how he didn’t mean to send me here, apologizing, all that nonsense, but I uh, I don’t buy it.” He scowls down at Tango. “I think he was just tryin’ to win me over, so I’d help him get the key to that collar thingie from you.”

Tango tenses at his words but says nothing, gaze still fixed on the ground before him.

“Anyway,” Bravo continues, looking up at Atlas again, “it wasn’t hard to beat his ass. And his avian buddy who came through after him, I beat his ass, too. They’re shit PVPers.”

Atlas nods sagely. 

(He’d noted a wide variation of skill level amongst the players of Tango’s world, but even the most skilled of them would likely have trouble taking on the average Hels player in one-on-one combat. A group ambush with a large pack of wolves is a rather different thing.)

“Got all the others in a lava trap after the fact,” Bravo says, “but uh, then the avian broke free and tried to stop me, so uh, you know, push came to shove and…”

Atlas gives him a knowing look. “You lost your temper again?”

“None of your damn business,” Bravo hisses, but he looks away as he says it.

“Mmm.” Atlas folds his arms behind his back. “You’re rather fortunate that the bond they shared didn’t transfer to this world, or you would’ve lost Tango as well.” He’d never seen or heard of players sharing health, but then again, he’d never been to worlds outside of Hels before. Whether or not the connection existed off-world was anyone’s guess.

Bravo rolls his eyes at that. “Yeah, thanks, I- I figured that out while I was fightin’ them. Give me a little credit, jeeze.”

“Of course.” Atlas inclines his head. “Well, I appreciate your assistance, Mr. Bravo. I suspect you’ll be taking your leave, then?”

“Yeah, I’m leavin’ through their portal,” Bravo says, lifting his chin. “But uh, once I’m gone, I’m gonna break it so- so you shouldn’t have to worry about anyone else from that world showin’ up again.”

(A small part of Atlas wonders if the overworld players might’ve done that themselves already. It’d be the smart thing to do, to prevent any unwanted visitors. But he’s also aware that overworld players seem far too sentimental for their own good. If they cared enough to come here after Tango, then they would be loath to eliminate their best chance at finding him again.

No, they would leave that portal open at any cost. Bravo ought to be prepared to fight them in order to break it. But no matter- if he is unsuccessful, and the overworlders come through again, Atlas will find out via chat long before they arrive at his doorstep. He has nothing to worry about in that regard. He would even welcome the addition of a few more hybrid-powered farms. After all, with Tango back, he can once again set his sights on plans for the Phase Two expansion.)

“Excellent,” Atlas says. “Then I suppose that concludes our business.”

“Sure does.” Bravo picks up a foot and plants it squarely against Tango’s back, sending him face-first into the ground. Tango grunts in pain, but remains where he is. “Now, you can have your guys come grab him, okay, but don’t- don’t try anything shifty, alright? I’m not in the mood for another fucking backstab.”

Atlas idly waves a hand, permitting the two guards at his side to move forward. “Oh, no need to concern yourself with that, Mr. Bravo,” he says. “Your usefulness to me has always started and ended with leading me to Tango.”

Bravo’s jaw clenches, but he says nothing as the guards drag Tango away. He simply watches, grip tight around his sword; he’ll likely wait until they’re out of sight before returning to his base, just to be safe.

(His continued caution, while generally wise to have in Hels, is unfounded. Atlas has no further need of him, and there’s no reason to waste any more time or energy going after him. Some of the pettier, more short-sighted residents of Hels would try to get a kill in, just out of spite. But Atlas is quite satisfied to have won in the end, and has no desire for payback. Not when Bravo could so easily become a problem again. No, best to let it end here.)

Tango, for his part, remains silent as well. It’s evident that he took quite a beating; he’s limp in their grasp, head hanging forward, making no movement as he’s brought before Atlas. It’s oddly reminiscent of the last time they were face-to-face back in the overworld. He’d been just as resigned then, and that was before they even put the collar on him.

“Not going to fight, Mr. Tango?” Atlas asks, mock surprise dripping from his voice.

Tango finally lifts his head, glaring weakly up at Atlas. “What’s the point?”

Atlas’s grin sharpens.

(And here lies the beauty of his trap. His real trap, not the one they set for Tango back in the overworld. The trap of the mind. Decades in the making, represented by the still-present cuffs on his wrists, the collar locked around his throat. A broken spirit is a far more effective prison than anything Atlas can build in a lab.)

“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” he hums, turning towards the ships. “Now, let’s get you home. Farewell, Mr. Bravo,” he adds over his shoulder.

Bravo doesn’t reply, but Atlas can feel his eyes burning into his skull the entire walk back.

~*~

Tango scans his comm with wide eyes, his heart starting to pound.

All the Double Lifers are here. In Hels. Once again, despite his best efforts, his friends have insisted on putting themselves in danger for his sake. He really shouldn’t be surprised. And sure, it’s touching, but it’s also scary as hell. While he might’ve warmed up to the idea of actually letting the people who care about him help solve his problems, that doesn’t mean he wants them traipsing around Hels on their own.

“What is this?” Bravo demands. His gaze darts around the cavern, as if the others are going to appear out of thin air around him. “What’s goin’ on?”

Jimmy inhales through his teeth. “The others must’ve seen that we left and came through the portal after us.”

Tango nods. “Yeah, I- I didn’t get a chance to break it, so-”

“Wait,” Bravo says, “you were gonna break the portal?”

Tango gives him an incredulous look. “Uh, yeah, of course I was gonna break the portal!” he exclaims, throwing his hands up. “I- I wanted to avoid this exact situation, them comin’ here after me, or- or any Hels players goin’ through to Double Life! Breakin’ the portal was the only way.”

Bravo’s eyes narrow. “Are you- that would’ve trapped us here, are you insane?” he hisses. “If you’re here, I can’t open a portal to you. I mean, I- Timmy could’ve done it, instead, but- but you didn’t know he was with me!” He takes a step forward, placing himself between them and Timmy. “Did you even think about that? What did- how were you plannin’ on getting us outta here, huh?”

The sudden suspicion in his voice takes Tango aback. It’s a borderline accusation, almost implying that he came here under false pretenses. As if he could hate Bravo enough to willingly strand himself in Hels forever, just to screw Bravo over.

It’s a very Hels kind of thought.

“Hey, back off!” Jimmy warns, his wings puffing up defensively.

Tango holds his hands up. “Woah, woah, take it easy! I knew the risks, yeah, but I- I figured between the two of us, we could reconstruct a portal and- and then find some random Hels player to use? We’d escape Hels to some random world, wherever their counterpart was, and at that point, our comms would be able to open portals again.” He clears his throat. “I uh, I wasn’t about to let you back into Double Life after everything, okay, but I- I wasn’t gonna let you stay here, either.”

“Oh.” Bravo looks away. The tension leaves him as quickly as it came. “Right, right, sorry.”

Tango exhales slowly. “It’s fine.”

He knows better than to take it as a personal insult; after all, he keenly recalls a time when he used to be paranoid like that, too. When he’d first joined Hermitcraft, he’d second-guessed everything, even though the Hermits had given him absolutely no reason to do so. It was just something ingrained in him from growing up in a world where everyone was out to get him.

Evidently, Bravo’s learned that lesson during his time in Hels, too.

“Uh, guys,” Jimmy interjects, “we should go get ‘em before they get hurt, or- or stray too far from the portal.”

“Right, right.” Tango glances at Bravo. “Uh, can you trigger that dropchute skadoodler from down here? To open the top?”

Bravo nods. “Oh, yeah. Yeah, hang on…” He turns and hits a well-camouflaged deepslate button on the wall. Pistons churn, and the wall opens up into his hidden entrance, a dimly-lit hallway stretching beyond it.

Tango’s abruptly reminded of how he used to hide his own Hels base. “Nice,” he says, before he can help himself. “The uh, secret button thing. Very smart.”

Bravo squints at him for a moment, as if debating whether the compliment was genuine. “Sure,” he finally settles on, before looking over his shoulder at Timmy. “Give a shout if you need anything.” Then he disappears around the corner.

“I’ll send Impulse a message,” Tango says, pulling up his chat. “Jimmy, can you fly up there and get ‘em? They can just drop down through the chute, we’ll put some water down or somethin’ in case they land where the cobwebs have been cleared.”

“Right, good call.” Jimmy presses a quick kiss to Tango’s forehead before turning away. “Back in a flash.”

Wings flaring, he takes off up the dropchute. Tango quickly drafts a whisper to Impulse- just a quick ‘stay put, jimmy otw’- before turning to the pit. He normally doesn’t care much for water, but he’d made sure to bring a bucket with him. Even though he’s not good at the whole MLG bucket clutch thing, he knew it could help in a pinch, and water-containing biomes in Hels are few and far between.

“Oh!” Timmy pipes up. “I have water, too!”

Tango looks over in surprise. “Oh, thanks. Yeah, here, just… fill in where the gaps are, okay?” 

Timmy nods, shuffling over to stand beside Tango as he pulls a water bucket from his inventory.

It really is strange. They have the exact same voice, only Timmy’s is slightly fainter. Like he’s afraid to speak at full volume. He’s also got this nervous, hesitant way of moving- as if Tango’s going to reprimand him for getting too close. Even though he’s not Jimmy, it pulls at Tango’s heartstrings to see someone so similar to the man he loves in such a desperate state.

It’s a stark reminder of what Tango already knows. Hels has plenty of violent, cruel players that like to throw their weight around, but there are plenty of victims, too.

“There.” Tango puts his empty bucket away, surveying their handiwork. “That should do it.”

Timmy eyes the dropchute apprehensively. “Are they... all comin’ down here? All at once?”

Tango softens. “Hey, it’s alright. These are good friends of mine, okay, you- they aren’t gonna cause trouble.” 

“Yeah.” Bravo pokes back out from the hallway, crossing over to them. “I wouldn’t let ‘em hurt you, anyways.”

Tango snorts. Distrust notwithstanding, the protectiveness is kind of cute to see. “Oh, you don’t have to worry about them.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Bravo asks, immediately on-guard again.

“Nothing!” Tango insists, exasperated. “Gosh, would you- can you maybe chill out a bit? There’s no sneaky double-cross here, alright, I- I’m not like Atlas.”

Bravo blinks. “I know that,” he says uncertainly.

Tango wisely chooses not to point out his tone. “Okay, then.”

Timmy looks anxiously between them. “Are we… is everythin’ alright?” he asks, fidgeting with his hands. “There’s not gonna be anymore fightin’, is there?”

Bravo grimaces. “No, no, sorry. We’re good.” He glances sidelong at Tango. “I uh, I think some of these other guys might have… mixed feelings, seein’ me again, but I’m not gonna start anything.”

Tango makes a noncommittal noise. “Don’t worry, I- I’m sure Jimmy will give them the low-down. None of them would just attack on sight, anyways.”

Bravo tenses, like he’s taken it as another slight against him, but he doesn’t comment on it. “Right.”

Before an awkward silence can descend, Jimmy’s voice echoes down the dropchute.

“Incoming!”

Tango puts an arm out, prompting Bravo and Timmy to back up from the edge of the pit. Jimmy swoops out from the chute a second later, followed closely by Grian and Pearl, wings fanning out to glide. The rest of the Double Lifers plunge behind them, landing amongst the cobwebs and water streams in a cacophony of shouts.

From there, it’s a chaotic few minutes as they work to help everyone else out of the pit. Swords make quick work of the cobwebs, hastily-placed blocks serving as a makeshift stairwell. There are lots of overlapping questions and exclamations, of course, as Tango reunites with his friends- demands to know what he was thinking and why he decided to tackle Hels by himself, which he expected.

But there are lots of tight hugs, too. Their anger is short-lived, fueled only by the fear that they’d lost him for good. It’s a mix of emotions. He’s humbled and relieved, sheepish but reassured by his friends’ care for him. All the while, though, he’s keeping an eye on Bravo and Timmy out of the corner of his eye, part of his mind keenly aware that they’re working with limited time.

“Hey, so,” he says eventually, clapping his hands, “uh- I hate to cut the reunion short, guys, but we gotta get goin’ here.”

Jimmy slips into place beside him, draping a wing over his shoulders. “Right,” he says, lifting his voice to address the room. “Um, so you guys already know Bravo. And uh, this is Timmy, my- my doppelgänger I was tellin’ you about.”

Bravo merely offers a nod, Timmy shyly peeking out from behind him- which is almost impressive, considering their height difference. The chorus of greetings that resounds from the Lifers makes him shrink back even further, so the room quickly hushes again. Tango can tell that everyone is incredibly curious about Timmy, but they’re kindly holding back for his sake.

Jimmy gives a half-hearted smile. “He’s, uh- he’s a bit shy, you see.”

“So.” Impulse steps out from the group, walking right up to Bravo- who steps forward to meet him. “Jimmy uh, he told us that you and Tango came to an understanding,” he says, staring Bravo down, “that you’re gonna help us out.”

Bravo lifts his chin. “That’s right.”

“Well, I wanna hear it from you,” Impulse says evenly. His golden eyes are hard in a way that Tango rarely sees. “I wanna actually hear that uh… you’re sorry for everything you did.”

Tango puts a hand out. “Impulse, now’s really not the time-”

“No,” Bravo says, unexpectedly. “No, I- I suppose that’s fair.” He rubs the back of his neck, his gaze flitting over the group. “I mean, I don’t blame you for not trustin’ me, it was your home that I helped invade.”

“And our friend you hurt!” Scar adds indignantly. He’s got an arrow notched in his bow, though he has yet to draw it.

Bravo winces. “Right. Well, I was wrong, okay? I was wrong to help Atlas attack you, and to say all that stuff about Tango, and blame him for this whole Hels situation.” He exhales heavily. “I’m sorry.”

Impulse studies Bravo for a moment, his forked tail lashing back and forth, before he eases back. “Alright, then.” He folds his arms, evidently satisfied, and turns to Tango. “So, what’s the plan?”

Tango lets out a breath, grateful for the change of topic. “Well, we know Atlas has the key to this stupid collar thing. But I mean, I’m not sure how we’re gonna get it from him.” 

Grian raises his brows, eyes wide behind his tinted shades. “Um, hang on a second… so- so you dipped through the portal on a mission to Hels, by yourself, in the middle of the night… and you didn’t even have a plan?”

Tango feels himself flush. “Hey, I- I was under a lotta stress, okay!” he defends. “I wasn’t thinkin’ that far ahead!”

Luckily Impulse cuts back in. “Do we know where Atlas is now?”

Bravo shrugs a shoulder. “Hels Tek is a few days away on foot, but they’ve got flying machines. They can make the trip in a fraction of the time. They’re probably already out there looking for Tango- or, at least, they’re gonna be real soon.”

Impulse rubs his chin. “Why don’t we just lure him here, then, and jump him?”

“Oh hey, yeah,” Jimmy chimes in, “we could have Bravo send him a message askin’ him to meet, like he’s sellin’ Tango out?”

Bravo frowns. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?” Jimmy asks, rounding on Bravo. “We made quick work of ‘em last time.”

Bravo holds his hands up. “Look uh, no offense,” he starts, immediately making everyone tense, “but you guys only won last time ‘cause Atlas didn’t expect much of a fight. He brought all those guys just for Tango. Didn’t help that they were some of the dumbest grunts I’ve ever seen. Plus, you uh, you had about a gazillion wolves to act as cannon fodder, so.”

Ren pins his ears back in obvious offense. “Uh, really?”

“Excuse me?” Pearl demands, crossing her arms. “I dunno ‘bout cannon fodder, now…”

“Yeah,” Joel jumps in, “uh, I’m pretty sure we destroyed those guys.”

“Yeah!” Bdubs echoes, puffing out his chest. “We- we ain’t scared’a no punks!”

Bravo scowls. “You guys are missing the point-”

“And you’re not helpin’!” Jimmy retorts. 

“No,” Tango says, “Bravo’s right.”

The sudden surprise that falls over the room is palpable. Even Bravo seems taken aback by Tango agreeing with him. But despite the combined attention from each pair of eyes in the room, Tango doesn’t shy away.

He normally hates being in any sort of leadership role. Taking charge over a large group of people? No thanks. It’s tempting to just go with what his friends want to do, to let them help the way they want. But the stakes here are too high to let self-consciousness interfere. While he trusts his friends, he also knows that he and Bravo are the only ones who actually know Atlas, and know what Hels Tek can really do.

It’s up to him to make sure they don’t go with a bad plan, just because it’s the easier route.

“Listen,” Tango says, spreading his hands, “Atlas knows you guys are here, okay, he would’ve seen you join in chat. He- he’s not gonna- even if we lure him here under the guise of handin’ me over, alright, he’s gonna be on guard and much better prepared than last time. That fight ain’t goin’ our way, trust me.”

Jimmy gives him a searching look. “Are you sure?” he asks softly, putting a hand on Tango’s shoulder. “Y’know, we- we aren’t afraid to fight.”

“I know,” Tango assures him. He reaches up to squeeze Jimmy’s hand, offering a faint smile. “And I appreciate it. But I- I’m not gonna just let you guys walk into certain death. We gotta be careful about this, okay? ‘Cause this,” he gestures at his collar, “is what Atlas came up with the last time he was able to plan ahead, and uh, that’s barely scratching the surface of what he’s capable of.”

Jimmy sobers at the reminder. Thankfully, the sentiment appears to sink in for the other Lifers as well, reflected in their expressions and dissipating tension.

Bravo gives Tango an acknowledging look- probably the closest thing he can muster to a ‘thank you.’ “Yeah, Atlas is a crafty bastard,” he says. “He’s- the only time he’s really vulnerable is when he thinks he’s got the upper hand. That’s when he slips up, when his hubris gets the better of him.”

Tango nods. “Atlas isn’t gonna relax ‘til I’m locked back in that farm.”

As soon as the words leave his mouth, it hits him. Tango inhales sharply, and he can tell from the way Bravo’s eyes widen that they’ve both had the exact same thought.

“... oh.”

~*~

Relief floods through Bravo as the netherrack hill finally comes into view.

Before he and Tango left to meet Atlas, they’d decided to hide the portal in case anyone happened upon it. Neither of them had much skill in the way of terraforming, but they’d managed to scrape together a crude mound of netherrack that could pass as naturally-generated terrain, sloped to meet the surrounding landscape. He’d even lit a few pieces on fire with flint and steel as a final touch to help it blend in. It was probably overkill, considering he’d chosen to hide in this area for its seclusion in the first place, but better safe than sorry.

His feet are starting to ache from all the walking he’s done today, but he breaks into a jog as he closes the final distance. “You there, Timmy?” he calls, as loudly as he dares.

A block of netherrack pops out from the side of the hill, Timmy’s pale face appearing in the gap. “Bravo! You’re back!” Despite the faintness of his voice, he sounds overjoyed to see Bravo- like he always does, every time Bravo is apart from him. 

Like he’s never certain if Bravo will come back.

“Hey.” Switching to his pickaxe, Bravo mines another block away to make an entrance. “You uh, you didn’t see anyone snoopin’ around here, right?”

Timmy backs up to let him inside. “No, all quiet.”

“Good.” Bravo quickly puts the blocks back into place behind him. Stashing his pickaxe in his inventory, he leans against the wall, blinking as he adjusts to the green-yellow-red light from the portal.

“Did it- did it go okay?” Timmy asks, wringing his hands together. Colored light swirls in the hollows of his cheeks.

Bravo nods. “Yeah, he bought it. They’re on their way back to Hels Tek now, should be there in a couple more hours.” He checks his clock and sets a timer on his comm; the day-night cycle is world-dependent, so they need to make sure they come back at the right time.

“Oh, that’s good.” Timmy’s wings ruffle behind him; even after Bravo trimmed the lower feathers, they still drag on the ground. “So… it’s all goin’ to plan so far?”

“Yep. Don’t worry.“ Bravo puts his comm away and pushes off from the wall, clearing his throat. “So uh, are- are you ready to leave?”

“Yeah.” Timmy lets out a shaky breath. “Yeah, I… I think so. It’s… hard to believe it’s finally happenin’, you know?”

A bittersweet smile tugs at Bravo’s mouth. He’ll be returning to Hels within the day, but at least Timmy can get out. “Yeah, I know.”

“You promised me we would,” Timmy murmurs, his eyes soft. “Remember? You promised me we’d leave Hels, and now… now we are. I’d never- if it weren’t for you, I never would’a had the courage to leave, I- I’d still be at spawn.”

Bravo glances away, shrugging. “Maybe.”

“No, I know I would be.” Timmy dares to take a step forward. Even with his shoulders hunched and wings curled around him, he towers over Bravo in the cramped space. “Thank you.”

Bravo looks up at him, his throat tightening. “I don’t… you know I- I didn’t help you for the right reason,” he makes himself say. “Right?”

Timmy makes a noncommittal noise. “Maybe. Does it… does it really matter, now?”

Bravo’s eyes trace the sharp edges of Timmy’s hair; hair he’d cut in the misguided pursuit of a projected ideal. “It does to me.”

Of course Timmy wouldn’t hold it against him. Half a lifetime spent alone has left him desperate for any kind of love, just as starved for it as he is for food. He would probably tolerate far worse than Bravo’s done if it meant not being lonely again. But that doesn’t make it okay. Just because Timmy might be willing to forgive him doesn’t mean he deserves it.

Timmy’s face falls. “Oh. Oh, okay…”

Bravo pushes down his guilt. He doesn’t have time to hash out this kind of personal business, not when the whole Hels Tek mess still needs to be resolved. “Now let’s get goin’, the others are waiting.”

“Right.” Timmy backs away, gaze downcast to hide his disappointment. “After you, then.”

Squaring his shoulders, Bravo turns and walks into the light.

~*~

As soon as the words leave Tango’s mouth, Jimmy immediately realizes what they’re thinking.

“No,” he says. “No, no, no, no, no, no way.” 

Tango turns to him, beseeching. “Jimmy-”

“No!” Jimmy insists, sweeping an arm out. “We aren’t- there’s no way we’re gonna let him put you back in that farm, Tango, it’s absolutely not happening!”

It’s insane to even consider it. After all the time Tango spent withering away in that farm, chained up like an animal, Jimmy would rather pull his feathers out than let Tango step back in there for even a second. He still has nightmares about that place a decade later; Jimmy fears this would completely break him.

(Come on, where’s your sense of drama?)

(What, do you have a better plan?)

(You can’t protect him forever.)

Bravo takes a step towards them. “Just hear us out-”

“You stay out of it!” Jimmy snaps, wings bristling. “I didn’t ask-”

“We’re on the same side, here!” Bravo protests.

“Don’t you start with that-”

“Hey.” Tango puts a hand on Jimmy’s shoulder. “I know it’s not ideal, alright, but think about it. If we try to jump Atlas when he gets here, things are gonna turn out badly. He’ll be expecting it. But if we make him think he’s won, he’ll let his guard down. That’s the best chance we’ll have at pullin’ this off.”

Unfortunately, it makes sense. Jimmy hasn’t spent that much time around Atlas, while Tango and Bravo both worked with him for years. He has to trust their judgement.

(Ooh, this should be interesting.)

Jimmy swallows. “I… you’re probably right, but does it have to be that?” He cups Tango’s face, gently brushing his thumb over a darkening bruise. “I don’t- you’ve been through enough already, I- I don’t want you to suffer.”

Affection glimmers in Tango’s eyes. “I know,” he says, covering Jimmy’s hand with his own. “But I uh, I wouldn’t suggest it if I thought I couldn’t handle it, alright? It won’t be for that long, I’ll be okay.” He glances at the rest of the group. “I promise.”

(Famous last words…)

Some of the Lifers exchange worried looks or uncertain murmurs, but ultimately, they seem to come to the same realization as Jimmy.

“If you’re absolutely sure…” Impulse relents.

Bravo clears his throat. “Good, that’s settled.” He doesn’t sound very sympathetic. “Now we just gotta make Atlas think you guys are out of the picture.”

Jimmy crosses his arms with a huff. “And how do you propose we do that?”

“Simple,” Bravo says. “You all jump in a lava pit, and I tell Atlas I got you in a trap.”

The reaction is instantaneous, several voices protesting at once.

“Absolutely not!” 

“We aren’t gonna just leave you in Hels-”

“This is outrageous!”

“- can’t be serious?”

“Hey, hey, hey!” Tango lifts his voice to quiet them, holding his hands up. “It’s the only way, alright? If Atlas sees your deaths in chat, he’ll know you respawned back home, so- so he won’t have any reason to suspect an attack when Bravo offers me up on a silver platter. If you guys don’t die, he might not even agree to meet.”

Jimmy fights to keep his voice steady. “So what, you just get thrown to the wolves? No backup at all?”

“Pretty much, yeah.” Tango shrugs. “I don’t like it either, but making Atlas think he’s won is the best way to get one up on him.”

Jimmy frowns at his tone. He’s once again slipped into feigned nonchalance, acting as though he isn’t bothered at all by the prospect of being locked in the farm- the inhumane, painful, extremely traumatizing farm. Whether he’s pretending for their sake or his, Jimmy isn’t sure. The thought sits poorly with him either way.

But they don’t have a lot of options. If they don’t do this, the alternative would mean giving up and returning home, resigned to having that collar stuck on Tango forever- just like his cuffs. And he’s actually letting them help him this time, instead of trying to deal with it alone. Jimmy knows they can’t pass up this chance.

“Alright,” Jimmy sighs, running a hand through his hair, “so then… how are we gonna save you once you’re in Hels Tek?”

(Oh, go on then.)

(This should be good…)

(They just don’t know when to quit.)

Tango gives him a grateful look. “You’ll come back in the middle of the night, attack when he’s least expecting it.”

“Okay… sure,” Jimmy says hesitantly, “but once we come back through the portal, won’t our names show up in chat again, givin’ us away? I mean, even during the night, surely he’s got someone lookin’ out for that sorta thing?” 

“Yeah, we’d be right back at square one,” Impulse points out, “except it’d be even worse ‘cause you’ll be locked inside Hels Tek.” 

Grian knits his brows together. “Without flyin’ machines, it’s days away, right? They’ll have plenty’a time to mount a defense before we get there.”

“You won’t be coming back through that portal,” Tango says, jerking his head at the ceiling. “After the hand-off, Bravo’s gonna leave through it, and you’ll use him to open a new portal to me once I’m in the farm.”

Bravo folds his arms, nodding. “We’re gonna attack Hels Tek from the inside.”

~*~

It’s a long flight to Hels Tek.

Tango knew it would be, of course, but that doesn’t make it any easier to bear. His body aches from the cramped position he’s in, stowed in one of the minecart seats with his hands still chained behind his back. The jostling of the pistons rattles his bones, ringing in his ears and pounding against his skull.

Worst of all is the constant gleeful malice he’s subjected to from Atlas. The doctor chatters almost constantly throughout the entire trip, pausing only to type the occasional message on his comm. He goes on and on about how Hels Tek will finally return to its former glory, how they’ve proved all those doubters wrong, how this just goes to show what hard work and determination can accomplish, yada-yada-yada.

Tango tries his best to tune him out. Just listening to that voice makes chills break across his skin.

(Whenever he has nightmares about Hels Tek, Atlas is always the face of it. There were plenty of other scientists that tortured him, of course. Honestly, Atlas had very little to do with the hands-on side of things. But he was always there to oversee it. Always looming in the background with that sickly grin, observing every test, every new cruelty with his sharp gaze.

But more than that, he was the one who brought Tango to Hels Tek in the first place. Under the guise of offered allegiance, of guidance, of belonging. He was the one who first made Tango believe that he could be capable of more than he ever dreamed of. The one who told him there was another way, a better way, than the chaos and violence of Hels. He’d promised Tango a home, then turned around and betrayed him.)

It won’t be for very long, he reminds himself. He just needs to hang on for a few hours.

Eventually, Hels Tek emerges from the red mist. The facility has expanded in Tango’s absence. There’s a new addition built onto one side, and another floor added to the central structure- if the extra height is anything to go by. It towers before him imposingly, like a great, toothed maw ready to consume him.

The convoy of flying machines steers around the side of the building, over the surrounding lake of lava, and into the garage. There’s another team of players waiting for them inside, the cavernous room quickly filling with noise as they begin to unload. Tango keeps his head down as he’s man-handled from the flying machine, two guards taking up position on either side of him. Their thick hands nearly encircle the entire width of his arms, rendering any hope of escape null and void.

It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t have to escape, he just needs to wait.

Atlas nods at them. “Off we go, gentlemen.”

Hels Tek is a maze of hallways and doors, as always. Tango’s eyes track the polished quartz floor as they make turn after turn, mapping out the route in his mind. It’s gotten a few detours here and there, presumably to accommodate all the new expansions, but he recognizes their path as soon as they turn towards the south wing.

Despite himself, his heart starts to pound. He forces a slow breath through his nose.

He can do this. It won’t be for long. They have a plan- his friends will come for him soon. It’s not for forever.

Atlas opens the final door for them with a grand sweep of his arm. “Here we are!” he announces, ushering them inside. “I’m sure you’ll recognize it, Mr. Tango.”

The farm hasn’t changed that much since the last time Tango saw it- but with the way it’s burned into his memory, he’d notice any change, no matter how small. The glass in the front has been replaced- or maybe just cleaned- and there are quite a few more chains attached to the back wall than he remembers, including a short one that looks about neck height.

For the collar, he assumes. So he can’t repeat his last escape act.

He hadn’t intended to fight. He wanted Atlas to think he was resigned to his fate, completely and utterly defeated. That’d be the safer move, for sure. But then one of the guards equips a shimmering pickaxe, mining up the glass blocks to open the farm. And suddenly he’s being dragged towards it, towards the beckoning wither roses within, and every other thought and intention flies clean out of his mind.

Tango screams.

“No! No, no, no, don’t-” He writhes in the grip of his captors, mindless and desperate. “Don’t put me back in there! No, please!” 

It’s futile, of course. His pleas go unanswered, his feeble escape attempts easily overcome as the guards shove him into place. The first pricks of wither rose break skin. Panic threatens to overwhelm him. He screams with a voice that’s foreign to him, shrill and harsh in his ears, vision blurring with tears that are already starting to run cold and black.

“Oh dear,” Atlas tuts, somewhere behind him, “you know you’re simply delaying the inevitable, don’t you?”

Tango fights with all the remaining strength in his tired body, twisting and thrashing to the point of rubbing his own skin raw, trying in vain to lash out, to claw or strike or bite. But the guards are bigger, and stronger, and seem to have been expecting this. They pull one of his hands to the respawn anchor, forcing his spawn to reset. Then they wrestle the chains around him, overlapping the old cuffs around his wrists and locking new ones into place around his ankles, arms, and legs, and clipping onto his collar. Altogether, it renders even the slightest movement impossible.

“Honestly, I thought we trained you better than this. Though I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.”

Tango doesn’t think he’s even screaming words anymore. It’s almost animalistic, a wail of pure terror and desperation, his inner fire trying but failing to respond.

“You may have fooled your new ‘friends,’ but I know what you really are. What you’ve always been.”

As a final touch, they wind the wither rose vines tightly around his body, their thorns digging into his skin. The wither effect is in full force now- that choking blackness consuming him from the inside out. There was a time he’d gotten so used to being withered that he’d scarcely noticed it, not unless it went unchecked and overpowered his health enough to kill him. But after going so long without it, it’s far worse than he remembers; like being plunged into an icy lake. 

“And we can’t have you living a lie anymore, can we? Now you’re finally back where you belong.”

Satisfied with their handiwork, the guards step back and replace the glass wall of the enclosure, sealing Tango inside. His reflection stares back at him helplessly, a distorted sense of self.

Atlas steps forward, grinning broadly, and hits a button on the wall.

The hoppers above Tango unlock, immediately siphoning away the blaze rods hovering around his skull. The dispenser beside him spits out a potion of regeneration, particles fluttering around him as his health begins to even out.

Tango dissolves into broken sobs. The dread that envelops him is almost suffocating, all-consuming, stealing his breath as completely as the wither rose flooding his veins. Distantly, he tries to hold on to a shred of hope, the reminder that his friends will be coming to save him. But it’s hard to believe it, amidst the haze of crushing, freezing agony.

Atlas leers at him from behind the glass.

“Welcome home, Tango Tek.”

~*~

Jimmy chews his lip, his wings shuffling uncertainly behind him.

Invading Hels Tek in the middle of the night is a solid plan, he supposes- if a bit vague. But it’ll certainly put them in a much better position than meeting Atlas on an even playing field. If they open a portal to Tango, they can just show up in the heart of the facility, with no warning whatsoever. Then it’d just be a matter of finding Tango to break him out, finding Atlas to kick his ass, and then returning home through the portal without getting caught.

Simple.

“... I still don’t like it,” Jimmy says, “but if you think that’s the best way to get the drop on Atlas, then I’m with you.”

(Oh, I was hoping they’d go this route.)

(Hels Tek vs Double Life, round two? Yes, please!)

(Can’t wait to see this…)

Tango gives him an appreciative- though slightly apprehensive- smile. “Good. Good, that’s… the best chance I can see us havin’, yeah.”

“There’s one problem,” Bravo says, frowning. “I’m sure once Atlas has you back in the farm, he’s gonna assign a guard to watch you. And as soon as that guard sees a portal spawn in the room, he’s gonna alert Atlas or- or set off an alarm or somethin’, and by the time everyone’s through, our presence will already be known.”

Tango tilts his head. “Yeah, you’re probably right,” he amends. “But it’ll give us a hell of a better head start. It’s still our best shot.” He crosses his arms. “Unless there’s anyone else here who’s got a doppelgänger in Hels Tek?”

He sounds like he’d meant it as a joke, but Bravo scans the group before shaking his head. “No, I- I only recognize a couple of you from your doppelgängers, and uh, they aren’t at Hels Tek.”

Jimmy only has a second to feel confused before Etho chimes in. “Oh, yeah, you mentioned that last time,” he says, raising an eyebrow. “That you’ve met my doppelgänger before?”

Bravo huffs a laugh. “Yeah. Your Hels is probably somewhere on the other side of the world right now, and he’s an asshole.” He nods at Impulse. “Your Hels might help us if we show up at his place, but uh, I- I don’t fully trust him. Think he’s got ulterior motives. And his place is still days from Hels Tek, we’d lose the surprise advantage, anyway.”

Impulse looks stunned. “Oh. Okay, then…”

“Hey!” Bdubs barks suddenly. “That’s- what’re you- hyaugh, you- what’s the big idea? Callin’ people- other people’s counterparts bad?” He puts his hands on his hips. “Like- like you’re a barrel a’roses, yourself?”

Bravo shrugs. “Well, sorry, but it’s true.”

An abrupt thought grabs Jimmy. The way Bravo’s acting right now- everything from his terse posture to his bored expression to his flippant tone- is exactly how Tango acts when he’s trying to pretend that he’s unaffected. It’s so obvious, now that Jimmy’s actually looking.

Clearly, his friends’ counterparts have made a greater impression on Bravo than he wants to let on. Must’ve been some pretty… intense experiences, to have left such an impact.

That’s… an uncomfortable thought for another time. Not that it would reflect at all on Etho or Impulse, of course- Jimmy knows better than anyone that all doppelgängers are their own people. It’s just… he hasn’t really given much thought to what his friends’ counterparts might be like, whether any of them would be as nasty and cruel as the players who invaded from Hels Tek.

Tango seems just as uneasy about this topic. “Okay, so- so what are you sayin’?” he asks shortly.

Bravo spreads his hands. “Hey, openin’ a portal to you once you’re inside is still our best option, okay, I mean- I’m just sayin’ we’ll just have to be ready to move, quick.”

“Um yeah, we got that,” Jimmy says, managing not to roll his eyes. “I- I wouldn’t expect any of us to be lollygaggin’ anyways-”

“Hey,” Bravo snaps, “we’ve only got one shot at this, alright? I’m just-”

“Actually,” Grian speaks up unexpectedly, stepping forward. “I… might know a better way. But uh, not unless everyone gets real cool about a bunch’a stuff really quickly.”

Jimmy exchanges a look with Tango, seeing his surprise mirrored in his expression. The room’s attention shifts to Grian, equal parts curiosity and confusion.

(No, surely he’s not gonna…)

(Oh wow, did not see that coming!)

(It’s about time, huh?)

Scott folds his arms. “Go on,” he says cooly, his eyes narrowing. For some reason, it almost seems like he knows what Grian’s about to say. 

Grian swallows. “So, I... have this ability to uhh… kinda, sorta... see between worlds? Like, if I know what I’m lookin’ for, I can uh... project myself, in a sense, and view players without them knowin’.”

Whatever Jimmy might’ve been expecting to hear, it certainly wasn’t that. “Are you jokin’, mate?” he asks, knitting his brows together.

“No, no,” Grian says carefully, “I… I’m bein’ serious.”

Scar gasps. “Wha- Grian, you never told me you were a hacker!” he says indignantly. “You know how good spectator mode would be for pranks?”

Grian presses his mouth into a thin line. “It’s not spectator mode, Scar… though, I- I guess the idea’s similar.”

Jimmy’s mind races. He knows there are quite a few things in the universe that he doesn’t understand- mainly those in the game-breaking and modding communities- so he supposes this wouldn’t be completely out of the question. He’s just shocked that Grian’s never brought it up before now.

Though most of the group seems to share his surprise, there are a couple odd reactions among them. Scott merely nods, expression stony, while Martyn looks bewildered- except, not in the expected way. It’s less like he’s surprised to hear this ability exists, and more that he’s surprised to hear Grian has it.

But whatever’s going on with those two can wait. One thing at a time.

“Oh,” Bravo says, sounding somewhere between confusion and annoyance. “You, uh- is there a particular reason you didn’t mention this earlier, or…?”

Jimmy shoots him a look. “That’d be well helpful, then,” he tells Grian. “If you don’t mind?”

Grian looks away. “I uh, I don’t like to do it,” he says, by way of an explanation. “For- for a few reasons. And I can’t do it for very long. But um… if there’s a chance I’ll find someone else we can open a portal to, that would let us sneak in undetected… yeah, I don’t mind.”

Tango blinks, his eyes wide. “Um. Okay, wow, I- I mean- sure? That’s…” He runs a hand through his hair. “I’ve never even heard of that before, how did- do you know how or- or why you’re able to-”

“Uh, Tango,” Jimmy cuts in gently, “maybe now’s not the time?”

He can tell from the way Grian’s wings are drawing up, feathers ruffled, that he’s uneasy with this line of questioning. Even though Tango has no ill intent, just the excitement of puzzling out a new discovery, there obviously must be reasons Grian’s kept this to himself for so long. It’s his right to decide when and how to share that information.

(Ah, gonna make that mistake again?)

“You’re right,” Tango says sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re right, sorry.”

Jimmy offers Grian a smile. “Thank you, for tellin’ us. We could use all the help we can get, so, I- I’d welcome some recon. Don’t really see how that could be a bad thing.”

Grian cracks a wry grin, his eyes flashing behind his glasses.

(You sure about that, Tim?)

The sudden echo of Grian’s voice in his head makes Jimmy jump. Realization crashes into him shortly after; he did hear Grian in his thoughts that one time! Well, that’s… kind of creepy, he’ll admit, but it’s a relief he’s not completely cracking under the stress. Not yet, anyways.

Grian falls silent and completely still- save for his breathing. He doesn’t even blink. It almost feels like he’s staring through Jimmy, rather than at him, and his eyes have definitely changed color- though, from behind the tinted lenses, Jimmy can’t tell which one. Maybe that’s the point.

A chill runs down his spine. Seems like Tango wasn’t the only one here living with a secret. But if this whole journey with Tango has taught Jimmy anything, that doesn’t mean Grian’s any less trustworthy. His past is his own business; Jimmy’s sure he’ll explain more when he’s ready.

After a few moments, Grian pushes his glasses up and grins. “I think I know a guy who can help us out.”

~*~

“Right,” Mumbo says. “Okay, uh- lemme see if I understand this.”

(The Double Lifers have settled in what he’s been told is Tango and Jimmy’s house- or, rather, their ranch? It’s charming, in a rustic sort of way, but also a bit cramped, if he’s honest. Especially in the basement, where they’re all gathered around a glowing red portal. A hacked nether portal, apparently. Goodness, what shenanigans they’ve gotten up to…

He’s familiar enough with the Double Life roster. Save for Lizzie and Skizz, it’s everyone else from Last Life- many of them Hermits he’s known for ages. The only one missing is Tango. Despite the fact that they joined Hermitcraft within a short timespan of each other, he regrets that he hasn’t actually gotten to know the other redstoner all that well. They’re friendly, of course- just as much as any of the other Hermits.

But Mumbo certainly didn’t know about any of… this.

So when Grian turned up on Hermitcraft out of the blue- after none of the Double Lifers had been seen ‘round in the last two weeks or so- and insisted Mumbo needed to join Double Life immediately to help Tango, he hadn’t known what to think. He’d agreed, of course, but the rapid-fire explanation Grian provided at the time is still… struggling, a bit, to sink in.)

Grian nods. He’s perched on top of the portal, his upper set of wings just barely brushing the ceiling. “Go on, then.”

Mumbo runs a hand through his hair. “Okay. We-” he gestures to the gathered players, “all have these... alternate-world doppelgänger versions of ourselves called Hels? Like- like Helsknight and Welsknight?”

“Yup.” Grian discretely wipes a purple-stained tear from behind his glasses. He must’ve done something his eyes didn’t like; Mumbo will privately check in later, make sure they don’t need any repairing while he’s here.

“And Tango is one of these Hels,” Mumbo continues, “for- for some guy named Bravo?”

“Yeah.” Jimmy, leaned against one side of the portal, has got an uncharacteristic glower on his face. His wings are drawn-up and ruffled in a way that Mumbo recognizes as unhappy. Seems he isn’t fond of this Bravo character, though Mumbo isn’t sure why he’s so personally invested- “He had this ridiculous notion that Tango ‘stole’ what should’ve been his life,” Jimmy scowls, “even thought we would’a been soulmates.”

(Oh, that’s right. He’s Tango’s soulmate, at the moment. That was the gimmick of this world, Grian explained, but for some of them it’s turned into something more. Yet another surprise; from what little time Mumbo spent around Jimmy in previous seasons, he hadn’t noted any feelings of that nature towards Tango. But then again, they don’t often have time to focus on feelings amidst the throes of a death game.)

“But he’s come around, now, right?” Impulse prompts from back of the room. He’s stood beside a sugar cane farm shoved in the corner, golden eyes shining in the dim light.

Jimmy glances away. “Right, yeah.”

“Right,” Mumbo says haltingly. “Which is… well, it’s a bit- it’s a bit strange, isn’t it? This whole idea of doppelgängers, and a just absolutely wild prison world, and…” He trails off, shaking his head. “Anyway. Right now, Tango is trapped on his home world, in an evil redstone lab that’s… usin’ him for a blaze farm?”

(The thought turns his stomach. Having spent much of his life living and working among all manner of mob hybrids, he can’t imagine ever doing such a horrible thing. Mobs- true, naturally spawned, full-coded mobs- are completely different entities from players. Anyone with even a basic understanding of data analysis knows that.

If these are redstone scientists of a supposedly high caliber, then either the state of technology in this Hels world is far behind that of the rest of the universe, and they truly believe Tango to be more mob than player… or they do understand, and just don’t care.)

Jimmy’s eyes darken. “Yeah. They’re evil, alright.”

Guess it’s the second thing, then.

Mumbo’s eyes trace the redstone circuitry surrounding the portal. “And you need my data in order to open a portal to my uh, my- my Hels guy, doppelgänger fella, who’s a scientist at said lab, so you can rescue Tango?”

“That’s right.” It’s Etho who confirms this time, his mismatched gaze staring down from atop the sugar cane farm. “The explanation’s kinda involved, but there’s like, a weird connection between counterparts that can be used to lock onto coords and open a portal, ‘cause uh, normal comm portals don’t work goin’ in or out of Hels.”

“Right.” Mumbo exhales slowly. He starts tugging at his mustache before he can remind himself to stop, snatching his hand back down again. “Um, well- well that explains a lot, actually, about Tango, and why we’ve gotten radio silence from Double Life for the last couple’a weeks.”

Grian winces. “Yeah, sorry, it’s uh... a bit of a long story. I’ll fill you in later, but right now, we gotta work out a proper plan to rescue Tango.”

“Oh, right.” Mumbo blinks, taken aback. He fusses with his tie. “Alright, um, I- I- I’m not sure how much help I’d be with PVP, but…”

Grian shakes his head. “No, you’re gonna stay here,” he says, to Mumbo’s immense relief. “Y’know, to make sure the portal stays up and runnin’. And if we’re not back by tomorrow, we’ll… need you to go get X.”

“Hang on,” Jimmy cuts in, craning his head up to look at Grian. “I- I thought Tango specifically didn’t want to involve-”

“If we all get stranded in Hels, or worse, then we’ve got no other choice,” Grian says plainly.

Jimmy rubs the back of his neck. “I… guess not.”

(Mumbo’s still catching up on all the dynamics at play, here. But from what he’s seen and been told, it wasn’t Tango’s choice to share his Hels heritage with the Double Lifers. He’d kept it secret all these years for good reason, apparently. Though, whether it was genuinely a good reason or it was something that Tango felt like was a good reason… Mumbo isn’t sure.

Everyone’s entitled to their own past. It’s not as if they often host group sharing circles on Hermitcraft. But spend enough time with someone, and certain things are bound to come up eventually. Mumbo’s gotten the sense before that Grian was far from the only Hermit keeping secrets. And he’s seen that squirrely, backed-into-a-corner look in Tango’s eyes enough to know he likely came from… less than ideal circumstances.

But that’s never been his business. After all, when Grian turned up on his redstone world one day with empty, bleeding eye sockets, Mumbo had helped him with no questions asked. The rest of the story came gradually, piece by piece.)

“Now,” Grian says, gaze flicking back to Mumbo, “Bravo and Timmy should be comin’ back through in a bit. We’ll close the portal behind ‘em, and then when the time is right, we’ll have you open another.”

“Right, okay…” Mumbo hesitates, scratching the back of his head. “Um, who’s Timmy?”

Grian groans. “I knew I forgot to mention somethin’.”

~*~

“Oh, I can’t believe it!” Tango cries, smacking his forehead. “Mumbo’s Hels was workin’ at Hels Tek this whole time? I- I- I can’t believe I never realized- oh wow, that’s- the powers of observation are just…”

He’s never recognized any of his friends as the counterpart to a player he knew in Hels. But how could he? It was so long ago- back then, he didn’t even know that Hels had overworld counterparts. He wouldn’t have assumed anything based on random similarities. And it wasn’t like he ever had a close, personal relationship with any of the people at Hels Tek…

Still, though. He feels incredibly foolish for never making the connection.

“Wow.” Bravo raises his eyebrows. Evidently, he became well-acquainted with Clear during his own time at Hels Tek. “Small universe, huh?”

Grian coughs into his fist. “Yeah, I uh, I don’t blame you for not recognizing him,” he tells Tango. “He’s… quite a bit different from Mumbo.”

That’s an understatement. Everything he remembers about Clear Cut is so different from Mumbo Jumbo- they’re almost opposites, right down to their names. Even their voices are different; Clear always had a thick, slurred way of speaking, his voice lower and rougher than he’s ever heard Mumbo’s. But maybe that’s less an inherent trait and more a reflection of the poor care he took of himself.

It makes Tango wonder what dictates how different a Hels will be from their counterpart. How much of it is based on codes and data, and how much is a result of the world they grow up in?

“Right. No, that- that makes sense.” Tango runs a hand through his hair, exhaling. “And uh, that’ll actually work out pretty well. Clear has always been uh… out of the loop, we’ll say, for as long as I’ve known him. He’ll probably have no idea what’s goin’ on, so portaling in front of him shouldn’t raise any alarms.”

Bravo nods. “Yeah, plus he usually spends his time alone, ‘cause no one else can stand to work with him. Sounds like as good a plan as any.”

“Well, that’s settled then,” Grian says. He casts a look over the rest of the group. “After we respawn back on Double Life, I’ll hop over to Hermitcraft real quick and grab Mumbo. And while I’m at it, maybe I’ll see if any other Hermits wanna-”

“No,” Tango interrupts quickly. He can already see where this is going. “Look, I don’t- it’s bad enough that you all got mixed up in this, okay, I- I don’t wanna drag anyone else into Hels if I can help it.”

Okay, so maybe he hasn’t completely warmed up to the whole ‘asking people for help’ thing yet. But it’s different. Everyone on Double Life sort of became a part of this the moment Hels Tek invaded their world. They’re already at risk just by proxy, so of course they want to do all they can- despite the danger it puts them in.

He knows Atlas has already been eyeing other hybrids for his farms, and Hermitcraft is full of those. As of right now, there’s no feasible chance that he’d ever encounter them on his own. But if Tango rallies the rest of Hermitcraft to his aid, then he’s putting a target on their backs. That’s the last thing he wants to do to the place and the people that were his sanctuary for so long.

Jimmy frowns. “Tango, you know they’d all feel the same-”

“I mean it,” Tango says firmly. “I’m fine if you guys wanna help, alright, but don’t- no calling in the other Hermits.”

Grian purses his lips. “Fine. I’ll grab Mumbo and come straight back.”

Bravo looks between them before clearing his throat. “Okay, are we- I think we’re ready to get goin’ here, right?” 

“What, now?” Jimmy asks, turning to him in surprise. “Hang on, we haven’t worked out the full plan yet-”

“The longer it takes for you guys to die, the more suspicious Atlas will be when I reach out to him,” Bravo explains impatiently. “We can hash out the rest of the details once we’re back in your world, alright, but it’s gonna take time for Atlas to get here. We should get the ball rollin’ now.” 

Jimmy looks like he wants to argue, but Tango steps in. “Yeah, you guys should have plenty of time to work somethin’ out. You’ll have to wait ‘til night time to portal back, remember?”

“Right,” Jimmy says uncertainly, “but you won’t know the plan-”

“That’s okay.” Tango shrugs. “I trust you guys.”

It’s a scary proposition, sure. He’ll be completely at the mercy of his friends, simply having to just wait and hope their plan works. But they’ve more than proven their capability and commitment over the last couple weeks. If he can’t trust them with this, then he can never trust anyone else in the universe ever again.

Jimmy softens at that. “Alright, then,” he says, sounding touched.

“Good,” Bravo says, sounding decidedly less so. “Let’s draw your lava bath, then.”

“Does it have to be lava?” Joel complains, screwing his face up.

Bravo gives him an annoyed look. “It’s the most believable method for traps like this.”

“We’re gonna lose all our stuff,” Scott chimes in, arms folded. “We’re still kinda in th’ early game back on Double Life, so it’s not like we’ve got plenty’a resources ta’ spare.”

Bravo rolls his eyes. “Okay, fine, just- you can give whatever you wanna keep to me and Timmy, we’ll be comin’ back through the portal, alright?” Crossing the room to the pile of chests, he rummages around in one for a second and then pops a couple of yellow shulker boxes down. “Here.”

Tango whistles. “Shulkers, huh? I uh, I didn’t even know shulkers existed ‘til I got out, how… where did you get shulkers in Hels?”

“Like I said, I’ve got a new sponsor.” Bravo shrugs, but there’s an underlying tension in his voice telling Tango to drop it. “You guys get your stuff sorted. I’ve got lava buckets in here, we can just fill the pit… so uh, you all can go for a nice little dip.”

A quiet murmur fills the air while the Lifers set to their task, shuffling around the cavern as they load up the shulker boxes and pour lava into the pit from the buckets Bravo provides. Tango gives his own inventory a quick look-over, but none of the supplies he brought are really worth sending home.

Apprehension gnaws at Tango’s stomach. It’s all starting to feel real, now, the weight of the task set before him finally sinking in. However this ends, he’s going to have to face his past head-on. Back to where this nightmare started. No more running, no more hiding, no more lies.

He’s not sure if he’s ready for it. Even after ten years. But this life he’s built for himself- with his friends, with Jimmy- means enough for him to try.

“Alright,” Bravo says, studying the new lava pit with an approving nod, “I think we’re about ready-”

“Um, hang on,” Jimmy interjects, holding a hand up. “I arrived here well before the others, wouldn’t it be strange for me to get caught in the same trap as them? I mean, if we want him to think Bravo trapped near the portal- it’d be too convenient.”

“Oh, good point,” Tango says, dismayed. His and Jimmy’s join messages will have shown up earlier than the others’ in chat. “Atlas will definitely pick up on that.”

Bravo makes a noncommittal noise. “Well… maybe I could, uh…” He makes a stabbing motion. “You know.”

“What, kill him?” Tango asks, raising his eyebrows. Oh, he doesn’t like the thought of that at all. “Nuh uh. Not happening. We’ll figure somethin’ else out-”

“It would help convince him I’m not workin’ with you guys,” Bravo points out. “Just sayin’...”

“He’s right.” Jimmy puts a hand on Tango’s shoulder, resolve glimmering in his deep brown eyes. “If this plan is gonna work, we need Atlas to fully believe the story Bravo gives him. There can’t be any doubts or questions that would put him on edge, you know that.”

Tango does know that. But it doesn’t make him like the idea any more.

“I… I guess so,” he relents. “If you’re okay with it. I- I feel bad-”

“Tango, one quick death is nothin’ compared to what you’re takin’ on,” Jimmy tells him. 

Tango jerks his shoulder in a shrug. “I guess.”

Jimmy studies him for a moment. Then he puts a wing up to shield them from the rest of the room, taking Tango aside. “Are you… sure you wanna do this?” he asks quietly. “We can just go back home, take some more time. Long as Bravo’s out of Hels, we know Atlas can’t come after us, so we can wait ‘til we’re good and ready.”

Once again, Tango is taken aback at how seriously Jimmy treats his feelings. It’s the sort of consideration he’d never expected to receive before he left Hels. This entire mess is solely his fault, and yet here Jimmy is, wanting to make sure he’s comfortable.

“No, I’m sure,” Tango says, giving him a reassuring smile. “I wanna finally be done with this- this whole thing. Like we said, it’s- the more time Atlas has to prepare, the less likely we’ll be to come out on top. I’d rather do this now, on our terms.”

“Alright, then.” Jimmy lowers his wing and looks over at Bravo. “We’re doin’ it.”

Bravo merely nods, but Tango catches the flash of surprise in his eyes. He probably expected Jimmy to be a lot more resistant to the idea, considering the tension between them. Just goes to show the lengths Jimmy’s willing to go for Tango.

(Whether or not he deserves it remains to be seen.)

Grian claps his hands together, drawing the attention of the room. “Okay, everyone ready?” he asks, surveying the group gathered around the pit. Seeing no objections, he continues, “Good. We’ll go all at once, now, so it looks like a trap.” He glances at Bravo. “You’ll message Atlas after you kill Tim- I mean, Jimmy, right, and then head back through the portal after the hand-off?”

Bravo pulls out his communicator. “Yep.”

Tango clears his throat. “Uh, real quick…” He steps forward, his gaze slowly traveling over the group. “Thanks, you guys, for doing this for me. I swear, I’m gonna make it up to you-”

“Just stop it,” Cleo huffs, looking down at him with a bemused expression. “It’s- it’s- it’s fine, we’re all fine. This is- it’s what friends do, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, we’ve got your back, buddy,” Impulse says warmly.

“Yes!” Ren pumps a fist in the air, lips drawn back into a fanged smile. “We shall show those heathenous scoundrels who they’re freaking messin’ with!”

A chorus of cheers and similar sentiments rises up from the group, and Tango feels his heart swell. He really can’t fathom how lucky he was to find such amazing friends. Even though they’re staring down a painful death and about to embark on an insanely dangerous mission, just for his sake, they harbor nothing but well wishes and high spirits.

Is it really any wonder he learned how to be a good person just by knowing them?

“Right, then.” Grian meets Tango’s gaze, offering a grin. “Good luck.”

Tango manages to smile back. “You too.”

“Okay, guys…” Grian turns to the pit, the lava below glinting in his lenses. “Here goes. Three, two, one… go!”

Tango doesn’t let himself look away as his friends jump into the lava, despite how upsetting it is- the screams of pain, the scent of burning. These deaths are on him. However this goes, he needs to make sure that all the strife he’s brought them is worth it. That, after today, none of them will have to worry about trouble from Hels ever again.

Their deaths are quick, thankfully, leaving the room in abrupt, unsettling silence.

“Okay, looks good,” Bravo says, glancing up from his comm.

Timmy, standing back against the far wall, peeks out from behind his hands, his ragged wings drawn around him like a blanket. “Is it over?” he asks meekly.

“Yeah, almost.” Bravo’s expression is unreadable, but it seems to Tango that his tone might have softened- just ever so slightly. “You can uh, head on up through the portal if you want.”

Timmy hesitates. “Um, I… think I’ll wait ‘til you come back from the hand-off,” he says, ducking his head. “If that’s alright.” 

“Oh.” Bravo rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, sure.”

Jimmy knits his brows together. “You sure you’re gonna be alright here by yourself, mate?”

Timmy smiles faintly. “Yeah, I’m... used to being alone.”

It doesn’t quite have the reassuring effect he might’ve been hoping for, as Jimmy exchanges a pained look with Tango. The guilt in his eyes is startling; it’s almost like Jimmy’s blaming himself for all the misfortune his doppelgänger suffered. As if it’s his fault Timmy was spawned into a prison world.

Yeah, Tango’s gonna have some words with him later…

“Well, that’s settled,” Bravo decides. He swaps out his comm for his sword, giving Jimmy a searching look. “Okay, uh… you ready to do this, then?”

Jimmy eyes the sword. “Yeah, just gimme a second,” he says, turning to Tango.

He opens his mouth to speak, but Tango beats him to it. He surges forward to wrap Jimmy in a fierce hug. “I love you,” he breathes, “so much.”

Jimmy responds instantly, wrapping his arms and wings around Tango just as tightly, sheltering them. “I love you, too,” he whispers. “And I promise you, we’re gonna get you outta there, alright, and- and we’re gonna take those jerks down. I’m not gonna let you get trapped there again, I promise.”

“I know,” Tango murmurs, tilting his head up to meet Jimmy’s gaze. “And I- I’m so sorry that you got caught up in all this, all this- this craziness and all the pain it’s caused-”

“Ey, none of that, now,” Jimmy says lightly. “It’s okay. We’re soulmates, remember?”

Tango makes a noncommittal noise. “That was just random chance-”

“But I’d choose you again, you know.” Jimmy takes Tango’s face in his hands, somehow steadying yet impossibly gentle. “Even knowin’ what would happen, I’d choose you a million times over.” 

Tango’s throat tightens. 

(God, what he wouldn’t give right now to feel this love through their soulbond instead of that constant, underlying static. It’s not that he doubts Jimmy’s love for him, not at all. Jimmy has made it abundantly clear through everything he’s said and done, even through the hardship of these last couple weeks.

But when Tango was able to feel it, the actual physical sensation of that emotion being sent through their bond, it had given him something more tangible to ground himself with. Something he could cling to in the face of his worst fears and insecurities. Something he could almost point to and reassure himself, ‘Yes, this is real.’

It’s yet another thing Hels Tek has stolen from him- and at the same time, it’s a reminder of what he’s fighting to get back. Not just safety and peace of mind, not revenge for the pain he’s suffered, but the gift of pure, unfiltered love that Jimmy’s given him.)

There’s so much more he wants to say, but he knows they’re out of time. So he simply closes his eyes and leans up to meet Jimmy’s lips. He lifts a hand to cover Jimmy’s, letting the claws that he was once so ashamed of curl around Jimmy’s fingers, pouring all the emotion he’s left unsaid into the kiss.

He’s pretty sure Jimmy gets the message.

All too soon, Jimmy’s pulling back to face Bravo- though he doesn’t let go of Tango’s hand. He lets out a shaky breath. “Alright, I’m ready.”

Bravo, to his credit, doesn’t seem overly keen to murder Jimmy. “I’ll uh, I’ll make it quick,” he says, drawing his sword back. “Here goes.”

Tango squeezes Jimmy’s hand. He holds Jimmy’s gaze even as the glint of metal flashes in his periphery, and he doesn’t flinch when the blood sprays his face.

~*~

Bravo sits back, studying his handiwork with a discerning eye.

“Now this is rough, okay,” he starts, “but it’s- it’s a general idea of the layout.”

‘Rough’ is putting it nicely. The diagram he’s scrawled across several blank maps is hardly recognizable as a floorplan, and there are certainly parts of it that are lacking detail. But there are just some areas he never became that familiar with during his time at Hels Tek, for one reason or another, so it can’t be helped.

It’s better than nothing, anyways.

“This is Hels Tek?” Jimmy asks, his eyebrows shooting up. “It’s massive!”

He’s standing on the other side of the table across from Bravo- where he can keep an eye on Bravo without being too close. Though, space is a bit of a luxury at the moment. The living room they’ve gathered in isn’t all that much bigger than the basement where the portal was. Bravo thinks it’s the same ranch house where he confronted Jimmy and Tango for the first time; clearly, they rebuilt it after Tango burned it down.

Or, after it burned down in a fire that Tango accidentally started, while defending himself from Hels Tek. He’s not the one to blame for that, Bravo reminds himself.

It’s a quaint little home. Even though the room is packed full of players, Bravo can still make out all sorts of personal touches. Framed embroidery pieces hanging on the wall. Discarded golden feathers collected in a glass jar. A well-crafted rocking chair sitting in the corner, with ashen claw marks carved into its arm.

The Bravo of a few hours ago would’ve been tempted to attribute all the warmth in this place to Jimmy. All these sentimental, human touches… it’s beyond what should be capable for a blaze hybrid like Tango- at least, for the blaze hybrid Atlas portrayed him as. But looking around, Bravo can see his doppelgänger’s mark on this place clear as day, and he knows Tango had just as much a role in making this house a home as Jimmy did.

“Yep.” The avian with the quadruple set of wings and freaky spectating abilities, Grian, has perched atop his broad-shouldered companion, Scar- the one with the itchy trigger finger. “I- I didn’t see much of it when I was uh… havin’ a cheeky look, but I got that impression.”

Guess ‘a cheeky look’ is his way of saying ‘astral-projecting my consciousness through time and space to invisibly spy on unaware players.’ Whatever. Why not? This whole situation is already so goddamn weird…

“It’s a bit of a maze, yeah,” Bravo says. “Which is why we’ve gotta have a game plan worked out before we just go runnin’ in there all willy-nilly.”

Jimmy’s wings are hitching up around his shoulders, which Bravo only notices because he’s seen Timmy do the exact same thing when he’s uncertain. “Okay, then… so where do we start?”

“Well,” Bravo says, “if we open a portal to Clear, I- I bet we’ll spawn in the garage. He’s always in there workin’ on the flying machines, and I’m sure he’ll wanna tune ‘em up after Atlas gets back with Tango. I mean, there’s a chance he’ll actually go to sleep at a decent hour and we’ll spawn in his room, instead, but uh. It’s a small chance.” 

“Ah.” Clear’s more sightly and hygienic doppelgänger, Mumbo, is standing beside Scar and fidgeting with his tie. There’s a knowing, sympathetic look in his reddish eyes. “Hard worker, is he?”

Bravo snorts. “Bit of an understatement, yeah.” He points at the map. “So let’s assume we spawn in the garage, here.”

“That’s a nice, big space,” Grian says approvingly. “Should let us get our bearings.”

“Yeah, for sure.” Bravo traces his finger along the lines. “The back wall here opens up to the lava lake that surrounds the whole place, and the entry to the rest of the facility is here. I think once we all spawn in, we should leave a couple people to guard the portal, make sure no one else stumbles across it.”

“I dunno,” Jimmy says, frowning. “Is splittin’ up really the smartest thing to do?”

Bravo shrugs. “I mean, we might be able to spawn another portal if we had to, but it’ll be our fastest way out of there and I’d like to keep it that way.” He gives Jimmy a sidelong look. “You really wanna risk someone breakin’ it before we can get back through?”

He knows exactly how hard it is to build a portal in Hels with the combined forces of Atlas and Alisker in pursuit. If it weren’t for an unexpected sponsorship agreement, it would’ve taken god only knows how long for him to gather all the necessary resources.

“I guess not,” Jimmy sighs. “Um, who should stay, then?”

Bravo’s mildly surprised at Jimmy’s willingness to defer to his judgement. He isn’t foolish enough to think Jimmy’s forgiven him, of course. But it seems like pulling off this mission matters more than holding a grudge.

He looks around the room, slowly examining the gathered players. Proper introductions were a rushed affair after he and Timmy came back through the portal. In an ideal situation, he would be better informed of each player’s strengths and weaknesses in order to determine what role they should play. But he remembers seeing at least some of them in action during Hels Tek’s invasion, and he can infer a couple things fairly well.

For example; the giant zombie player and the dog hybrid are too tall to even stand inside this average-sized room. That’ll definitely cause a few problems.

“My vote is on you two,” Bravo says, nodding at them in turn.

The blond guy with the eyepatch- Marty, was it?- squints at Bravo suspiciously. “Uh, Ren and Cleo are some of our heaviest hitters, what’re you playin’ at?”

Bravo spreads his hands. “Hels Tek isn’t exactly built with players like you in mind,” he explains. “The hallways are only three high. It’s gonna be pretty cramped and hard to navigate for you, so I think you’d be the most help standing guard in the garage.”

“Uh, seriously?” Ren asks flatly, his ears drawn back. “Sorry, my dude, but I’m not the kinda person who lets his friends go out on the frontlines alone.”

Cleo seems similarly displeased. “Yeah, I- I- I don’t- I mean, I- I’ve never particularly claimed to be good at PVP before, but surely I can do more than just… just stand guard?”

“Hey,” Jimmy cuts in gently, “I don’t like it either, alright, but Bravo knows Hels Tek the best outta all of us. We should do what he says.”

Cleo huffs, blowing her bangs out of their face. “Fine.”

Bravo blinks at Jimmy. “Uh- okay, good.” He clears his throat, turning back to the map. “The farm they’ll be keeping Tango in is here. So we’ve got a little bit of a trek, but we’ll be able to avoid the residential district where most of the staff will be sleeping. As we make our way through, stealth should be our number one priority- at least on the way there.” He glances up. “So uh, needless to say, this will be a dog-free mission.” 

He directs it towards the red-hooded moth lady, who’s got a dog seated at her side. It’s only one, but Bravo recalls her having an entire pack; he can hear them outside, even now.

“What?” Red objects, her fuzzy wings puffing up indignantly. “But they’re so helpful!”

Bravo doesn’t budge. “Dogs are loud, and they wander,” he says plainly. “You wanna come, you leave the puppers at home.”

“Oh, alright,” Red pouts. 

“Now,” Bravo continues, “most of the staff should be asleep. But if we encounter anyone, we need to neutralize without killing, or they’ll just respawn in their room and raise the alarm.” 

Marty raises his hand. “I can brew up some splash potions of slowness.”

“Oh, that’d help, yeah.” Bravo tilts his head. “Uh, can you craft some slowness arrows, too? We can have the archers in the group take point, so they’ll get first shot at anyone we come across.”

Scar’s eyes light up. “Oh! That’s a wonderful-”

“Not with your crazy bows of one-shot-kill ridiculousness, though,” Bravo warns. “We’re just tryin’ to get the jump on ‘em, remember? So- so bring somethin’ a little less lethal.”

The blue-haired man standing beside Cleo clicks his tongue. “Boo, you’re no fun.”

There doesn’t seem to be any real objection behind the complaint, though, so Bravo continues. “If we hit ‘em with slowness and knock ‘em out, some basic chains would probably be enough to restrain them. Far as I know, it’s just plain ol’ humans workin’ there.” He scratches the back of his head. “For uh, for obvious reasons. So we should all have a bunch of chains on us, just in case.”

Impulse nods. “We’ve got an iron farm, shouldn’t be a problem.” The less-demonic counterpart of Bravo’s new sponsor seems to have cooled down, but his presence is still a bit unnerving.

“Great.” Bravo turns back to the map. “So we’ll proceed to the south wing, and then-”

“Uh, hey, I got a question.” The speaker is a short man with green antennae and sharp teeth. Jeeze, what was his name- something with J? “Why are we even bothering with sneaking along all these corridors when we can just mine our way through?”

“Hels Tek has a built-in security system,” Bravo says, trying to be patient. “The walls are four blocks thick, and the middle two layers are fed by an instant cobble generator. Soon as a block is mined away, it’ll be replaced- and not only that, but the update will be read by their security system. Same for breaking down any of the locked iron doors.”

“Oh.” Mr. J crosses his arms. “Well, you could’a bloody started with that…”

“So wait,” Etho cuts in, “how are we gonna get past the doors, then?” 

Bravo fights back his annoyance; of all the people to look and sound so similar to their counterpart, why did it have to be Patho’s? It’s incredibly grating. “Each Hels Tek employee has an ID card that grants them access through the doors, so we’ll just snag Clear’s. Should get us where we need to go.”

Etho quirks a brow. “Should, huh?”

Irritation flickers through Bravo. It was said in a light and teasing tone, but in that voice, and with those mismatched eyes peeking over his mask, it just rubs Bravo the wrong way. He opens his mouth to retort-

“So we get to the farm,” Jimmy says quickly, redirecting the conversation. “Once we get Tango out, then what?”

Bravo lets out a breath, willing the tension from his body. He’s not in Hels anymore, he reminds himself; devolving into bickering won’t help anyone. “Then our target will change. We’ll have to find Atlas, preferably before he even knows we’re there.” He points at the map. “This is his room, here.” 

Jimmy knits his brows together. “So we just… kill him, then?”

As enticing as that sounds, Bravo shakes his head. “I don’t think it’s gonna be that easy. My gut says he’ll have the key in his ender chest, not his inventory. So we’ll have to overpower him, make him open it.”

“Then we can kill him?” Shorty McShouty asks in that impossibly loud voice of his, big eyes sparkling with equal parts excitement and bloodlust. It’s not very intimidating.

Bravo sighs. “Sure, whatever. But once we have Tango and the key, everyone’s priority should be gettin’ the heck outta dodge. We need to get back through the portal and close it behind us as soon as humanly possible, or else this whole thing is gonna backfire spectacularly.”

“I think it’s a solid plan,” Jimmy says appraisingly. “Is there anythin’ else?” 

“Yeah, actually.” Bravo folds his arms. “We should get a couple chests of backup gear to leave by the portal in case anyone’s killed and respawns back here. And I want one more person to stay here, on this side of the portal. Y’know, to keep an eye on things.”

Jimmy looks confused for a moment before he follows Bravo’s gaze to Timmy, who’s currently doing a very good job of trying to blend into the wall.

Realization settles in Jimmy’s eyes. It’d been an unspoken agreement between him and Bravo that Timmy would stay here. He’s obviously not a fighter, and even if he were, he’s in no condition for this sort of thing. But Bravo doesn’t want to leave Timmy alone with no one but Mumbo. Even though he seems more sensible and capable than his disaster of a doppelgänger, Bravo would rather be sure they have at least some backup, in the unlikely event any Hels players manage to get through the portal before the rest of them return.

“Yeah, good call,” Jimmy says. “Who d’you think?”

Bravo shrugs a shoulder. “Your choice.”

He’d noticed the immediate sense of protectiveness Jimmy felt towards his doppelgänger, and he knows these players far better than Bravo does. He’s the best judge to decide who should stay and look after Timmy.

Jimmy gives him an appreciative look. “Alright. Hey, Bigb,” he says, turning to the dark-skinned man standing beside Ren, “would ya mind keepin’ these two company?”

Bigb breaks into an easy grin. “Sure, no problem.”

Bravo nods his approval. Bigb is a goat hybrid- if the curved horns and floppy ears are anything to go off of. A fellow prey animal will definitely put Timmy more at ease, especially one as un-intimidating and approachable as Bigb. Plus, he seems fairly reserved; Bravo hasn’t heard the man speak once before now. If Timmy’s going to feel safe with anyone here, it’s him.

“Alright.” Bravo pulls out his communicator, checking the timer. “Sunset in Hels is in T-minus three hours, so make whatever preparations you need and meet back here then. I wanna run over the plan again, make sure everyone’s got a good sense of things before we go through.”

Jimmy exhales slowly, determination settling over his features. “Right. Sound good, everyone?”

General murmurs of assent ring out around the table. Bravo rises to his feet.

“Okay. Let’s get goin’, then.”

~*~

Tango swallows the lump in his throat. “So, that’s done.”

It was strange, watching Jimmy die. Despite knowing better, Tango had half expected to die with him, seized by a sort of anticipatory phantom pain. Though he knows it’s only temporary, the loss is immediate and severe- a yawning chasm of ice in his chest. He can almost feel Jimmy’s hand still squeezing his own. And he can feel still-warm blood on his face, but he doesn’t bother wiping it off; it’ll help sell his ‘beaten and defeated’ look to Atlas later.

“Yeah.” Bravo stashes his sword in his inventory, pulling his comm back up. “Right, okay, sending the message now…”

Tango takes a few breaths to steady himself. Unfortunately, that was the easy part. The hard part still lies ahead of him.

The cavern seems a lot bigger with just the three of them, the air filled with nothing but the low bubbling of lava. Tango feels unnervingly exposed, just like he did when he and Jimmy first fell down here. God, was that really only a few minutes ago? Ten, fifteen at the most? After the physically draining fight and emotionally draining conversation, it feels like days. He’s really regretting not getting a full night’s sleep before coming here, but sneaking off in the middle of the night had seemed like his best bet at the time.

A lot of good that did.

“He bought it,” Bravo announces suddenly. “He’s agreed to come get you. I know a spot between here and Hels Tek, ‘bout an hour’s walk away. Should give us plenty of time before he arrives.”

Tango’s heart jolts. While he’s relieved their plan seems to be working, it’s hard not to feel dread. “Oh. Oh, great, yeah. Set it up,” he says, like he hasn’t just signed off on his own arrest warrant.

If Bravo’s picked up on his tone, he graciously doesn’t mention it. He merely nods and resumes typing.

Looking around the cavern, Tango casts about for a new topic before an uneasy silence can settle. His gaze falls on the empty portal frame, and a thought occurs to him. “Hey, uh, if the portal’s gonna be open for a few more hours, we should cover it up before we go. Just in case.”

“Sure,” Bravo says, green eyes still fixed on his comm, “I’ve got plenty’a netherrack just lyin’ around, we can- we can do something.”

Tango glances sideways at Timmy, who’s doing that anxious little weight-shifting dance of his, like he’s torn between moving closer or staying put. “So uh, I guess you’ll just hang out by the portal ‘til Bravo gets back, then?”

“Oh!” Timmy jumps a bit under Tango’s gaze, sending a couple wayward feathers to the ground. He offers a shy, slightly apologetic smile- and god, if that isn’t Jimmy’s expression on his face. “Um, yeah,” he says quietly, “I… I think that’d be best. Lemme just get my inventory sorted…”

He shuffles over to the side of the room with piles of chests and shulker boxes, wings dragging behind him. Tango’s heart tightens; he isn’t the most well-versed on wing care, but even he can tell Timmy’s are in rough shape.

The only reason he hasn’t brought it up yet is because he’s certain Jimmy noticed, too, and is already planning on doing something about it once this is all over. Taking Timmy under his wing, so to speak. The immediate sense of responsibility that Jimmy felt upon seeing his doppelgänger was plain as day. 

All that remains to be seen is whether or not Bravo will agree with that sentiment. Things are still… complicated, to say the least. While Tango’s pretty sure Bravo doesn’t hate them anymore, that doesn’t necessarily mean he’d want to stay with them- or leave Timmy with them. 

And Timmy’s feelings on the subject are another matter, too. He might not realize just how much help he needs- and not just in the physical sense, either- but they can’t force it on him. After they get back to Double Life, they’re gonna have to have a pretty frank discussion about what to do next-

“You know, you’re takin’ a pretty big risk, here.”

Bravo’s sudden voice jolts Tango from his thoughts. He gives Bravo a sidelong glance as he comes to stand next to him; he’s still looking down at the communicator in his hands, brows pinched in an uneasy expression. He looks as tired as Tango feels- but still tense. Always tense.

Tango makes a noncommittal noise as he taps his collar. “Well, I know Jimmy won’t be happy if I just leave this thing on, so.”

Bravo’s frown deepens. “No, not that. It’s just- for all you know, I could hand you off to Atlas and then be on my merry way. Like, once I’m through the portal, I can make a new one with my comm and just bail, leavin’ your friends high and dry, or I could even rat out your plan to Atlas.” He finally looks up at Tango. “And you’d have absolutely no way of knowing.”

The sincerity in his voice is striking. Tango tilts his head. “Huh. Guess that’s true.”

Bravo’s eyebrows shoot up. “Wh- you didn’t- it didn’t occur to you that I might pull a double-cross?”

“Not really,” Tango answers honestly.

Bravo runs a hand through his hair. “Jeeze. You would’a thought I was the one spawned here…”

Surprise flickers through Tango. He’s spent the last ten years constantly feeling more ‘Hels’ than all his overworld friends- more monstrous, more violent, more untrustworthy. Rage and sadism, deceit and paranoia. Yet somehow it hasn’t occurred to him that by all accounts, he’s probably more ‘overworld’ than the vast majority of Hels players.

And apparently, more than his actual overworld counterpart.

“Yeah,” Tango laughs, “yeah, maybe I’m a bit lacking in the uh, healthy Hels skepticism department. Or maybe I’m just tired of makin’ decisions based on what I’m afraid other people might do. There’s only so much you can control, you know? We’ve all gotta make our own choices. And as long as I can live with mine, I’m good.”

“Really?” Bravo asks, sounding doubtful. “If you agreed to walk into a trap only for me to betray you, you’d be good with that?”

Tango shrugs. “Sure. But uh, just ‘cause I don’t think you would be.” He clears his throat. “Now, if we’re done with waxing hypotheticals, how ‘bout we get goin’?”

“Yeah, alright,” Bravo says, putting his comm away. “Hey uh, you ready to head up, Timmy?”

“Just about,” Timmy calls back, gathering up the last of the shulkers holding the Double Lifer’s gear.

Tango follows Bravo over to the passageway in the wall. “Yeah, this netherrack hut ain’t gonna build itself.”

Bravo huffs a dry laugh, hitting the button to open the passage. “Don’t worry, I’m sure Timmy can help us out with that.”

“Who, me?” Timmy asks in surprise as he comes up behind them. He has to duck to avoid hitting his head on the way up the stairs. “Um… I’m not good with building at all, Bravo.”

“What?” Bravo’s head whips around, his mouth falling open. “I- I just assumed- you’re not the builder?”

Timmy shakes his head. “No, no, I- wait, are you not the builder?”

Tango barely manages to hold back his laughter. Oh, he can wonder all he likes about the fate and random chance behind doppelgängers and soulmates, but at least some things stay the same.

“No!” Bravo groans. “No, I’m not- I mean, barely, okay. I can do like, the bare minimum, and- and certainly not terraforming or anything- and what are you smirkin’ at, skippy?” he demands, rounding on Tango.

“Nothing,” Tango hums, feeling surprisingly lighthearted despite the fact that he’s literally marching to his own doom. “Don’t worry about it.”

~*~

Jimmy flattens his wings out as the ranch comes into view, slowly gliding towards the ground.

He’s been all over the world in the last few hours, checking on the other players and helping them with preparations. Not that any of them really need his help to craft gear or stock up on food. It’s more for his benefit, honestly, to speak to them one-on-one.

Overall, everyone’s feeling pretty good about their plan. Some of them are rather keen to go on the attack, while others have their reservations. Jimmy’s relayed his and Tango’s encounter with Bravo quite a few times, now- though he knows even he doesn’t have the full story, having been stuck down in that damned pit.

It’s led to more than a couple questions regarding Bravo’s trustworthiness. Jimmy’s done his best to dispel their fears- but in all honesty, he isn’t even sure they should be trusting Bravo like this. Tango’s insistence is the only reason he’s agreed to this insane plan in the first place. He seemed to believe, with every fiber of his being, that they were capable of pulling this off.

And Jimmy will be damned if he lets Tango down.

He takes in the scene as he descends upon the ranch. Bravo’s on the porch with Bigb, leaned against the front railing as they chat. He acknowledges Jimmy with a nod, which Jimmy returns with a raised hand. He doesn’t want to interrupt so he steers off towards Timmy, landing a couple yards away from the other avian.

Timmy’s standing in the field, gazing out over rows of wheat and the distant pastures. His arms hang limply at his side, wings drooping behind him, his face upturned slightly into the late morning sun. There’s a fragile stillness to him. Like a glass bottle on the edge of a table.

Jimmy clears his throat as he approaches, so as not to startle him. “Takin’ in the view?” he asks softly.

Despite his forewarning, Timmy shrinks back a little. “Y- yeah. I’ve… never seen the sun before, you know?” He wraps his arms around himself. “It’s so… warm, and bright…”

Jimmy’s heart aches. “Right.” It hurts to think of how his counterpart- how every Hels player- was deprived of something as simple as sunlight. Living under a bedrock ceiling twenty-four-seven would drive him insane. “Well, I- I’m glad you get to see it now.”

Timmy smiles faintly. “Yeah, me too. I- I can’t believe you guys have… so many passive mobs…”

“Oh yeah,” Jimmy realizes, “Tango mentioned those were uh, pretty scarce in Hels.” He jerks his chin at the pasture down the hill. “Um, d’you wanna meet our cows?”

Timmy follows his gaze and cringes. “Sorry, I… don’t think that’s a good idea…”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Jimmy says quickly, “they won’t hurt you! They’re really friendly-”

“No,” Timmy murmurs, licking his lips, “no, I- I’m not worried about that.” The hungry look in his eyes is suddenly unnerving.

Jimmy hesitates. Back in Hels, Timmy had assured him that Bravo was looking after him. Jimmy had assumed that meant Bravo was feeding him, working to slowly repair the damage that years of starvation had done. But looking at him now, Jimmy’s not so sure that’s the case.

He pushes down a flare of anger; that won’t help right now. “Oh, uh- hey,” he says, as casually as he can muster, “I’ve got food, if you’re interested. Got some steak with me, actually, and-”

“Food?” Timmy’s head snaps around, eyes going impossibly wider. “Can- can I have some?”

Jimmy startles at his sudden intensity, managing a laugh as he pulls some steak from his inventory. “Uh yeah, yeah. Here-”

“No!” 

Bravo’s voice, somewhere behind him. In the second it takes Jimmy to glance over his shoulder, Timmy lunges for his hand.

But Bravo’s already there- pushing past Jimmy, he grabs Timmy and yanks him back, out of reach. “Don’t give him that!” he snaps at Jimmy. “Put it away!”

“No, please!” Timmy cries, wings flailing as he struggles against Bravo. His eyes are wild and desperate. “I- I’ll be careful this time-”

“Hey, hey!” Jimmy shouts, putting the steak back in his inventory only to free his hands and pull Bravo off Timmy. He shoves Bravo away, flaring a wing out to block him from Timmy. “What is your problem?”

Bravo holds his ground, getting right in Jimmy’s face. “He still can’t handle solid food, he’s on a strict refeeding regimen! You’re gonna fuck him up-”

“Refeeding?” Jimmy jerks his head back. “What d’you mean?”

Bravo has the audacity to look annoyed, his green eyes narrowed. “Uh, hello? He’s been starving to death for years, any substantial food comes right back up and puts him off the rest of the day- learned that the hard way.”

“Bravo, c’mon…” Timmy seems to have calmed down, now that the food is no longer within reach. “It- it isn’t that bad,” he tries, voice sullen.

Bravo steps back from Jimmy, pinching the bridge of his nose. “No, Timmy, you know the rules.”

Jimmy folds his arms, letting his wings settle. “So what are you feedin’ him, then?” he demands.

Bravo bristles under his accusation. “Suspicious stew, saturation. But he can only have it a couple times a day, ‘cause his stomach’s not used to like, actually being full yet. Next meal isn’t for a few more hours, I- I’ve already explained all this to your goat buddy.”

“Huh.” Jimmy frowns. “Wait, where’d you get stew from? You need flowers for that, right? Poppies, or… daisies, right? Not a lotta those in Hels.”

“I told you,” Bravo huffs, “I found a new sponsor.”

The last of Jimmy’s anger falls away, leaving him a bit sheepish. He shouldn’t have assumed Bravo was just letting Timmy starve. They might still have their differences, but everything Bravo’s done has been out of a sense of justice- albeit twisted and horribly misinformed. And despite it all, Timmy still seems to care about him. That ought to count for something.

(Way to go, idiot.)

(Getting all worked up over nothing…)

(Man, you really can’t do anything right.)

Jimmy rubs the back of his neck. “Oh. Right.” He turns to Timmy, who’s giving him a hopeful look. “Sorry, Timmy,” he winces, “I don’t wanna make you sick.”

“Just a bite?” Timmy pleads.

“No,” Bravo says firmly. Then he softens. “Sorry. We can try solid food in a few days, alright?”

Timmy sighs, glancing away. His wings droop even further, defeated. “Okay…”

“Hey, Timmy!” Bigb’s suddenly calling from the porch, beckoning Timmy over with that soothing voice and dazzling smile of his. “You mind helping me out with something inside?”

(Thank the universe for Bigb.)

Timmy hesitates and looks at Bravo, who waves him off. Giving them a final apologetic half-smile, Timmy shuffles back to the porch, following Bigb inside.

The front door closes behind them, leaving the ranch in relative calm and silence; a warm breeze rifling through the wheat fields, animals calling from the pastures and barn. Clouds float lazily across the blue sky. It’s peaceful, the way the ranch always is- except Jimmy can recall another time, not very long ago, when they stood in this very spot on a day much like this one, and he choked on smoke as the ranch burned behind them and his world fell apart.

He wonders if Bravo is thinking about that day, too.

“Sorry,” Bravo says after a moment. “I should’a said somethin’ before, there just… wasn’t a good time.”

Jimmy coughs into his fist. “Yeah, no, it’s fine. Sorry for jumping to conclusions.” Speaking of… he debates with himself for a second before deciding to bring up something Timmy told him when they met. “So… you uh, you trimmed those feathers of his?”

Bravo gives him a sidelong look. “Yeah?”

Jimmy pauses. “Well, did you know you made it so he can’t fly ‘til they grow back?”

“What?” Bravo’s eyes widen. “I- I only trimmed the lowest ones, to keep ‘em from draggin’ on the ground!”

He sounds genuine, at least. “You took his flight feathers, mate,” Jimmy says as gently as he can, stretching his own wing to point them out. “These ones.”

Bravo stares at the feathers, stricken. “I- I didn’t know- I was just tryin’ to clean him up a bit!”

“To make him look more like me, right?” Jimmy asks.

(Oh, shit!)

Bravo closes his mouth with a click and glances away. “Look, I- I already… I know I messed up with him, alright?” he grits out. “You don’t have to rub it in.”

“I’m not- I mean, I’m not tryin’ to,” Jimmy sighs. “Just… what, exactly, are your intentions with him?”

Bravo’s head whips around to look at him, bewildered. “Are you- are you seriously givin’ me the shovel talk right now?”

The absolute disbelief in his voice inexplicably makes Jimmy flush; he’d sounded smack like Tango just then. “Well- I- I mean,” he stammers, “in a way, I guess? You- you can’t blame me, alright? He’s my counterpart, I just-”

“You wanna protect him,” Bravo finishes, realization settling in his eyes. “You look at him, all frail and stuff with those big sad eyes, and you wanna protect him. I get it.”

Jimmy blinks. “Um, yeah. Is… that why you brought him with you?”

Bravo works his jaw for a moment, evidently rejecting the first thing he’d tried to say. “... not really,” he admits. “Not at first, anyway. I mean- I- I don’t fully understand it, myself, I was just… I don’t know. Trying to claim… some amount of the happiness that you two found? I- I thought I was owed it, I guess. But it was stupid, you can’t- you can’t force these things.”

Jimmy’s surprised that Bravo’s actually confiding all this in him. And even more surprised at the sincerity in Bravo’s voice, the raw ache of it. Seems like he’s gotten over the righteous fury that had its hooks in him. Whatever Tango said to him, back in Hels… it must’ve really hit him.

(Wow, plot twist of the century!)

(You know what that is? Growth.)

(Aw, my problematic fave…)

“Anyway,” Bravo continues, “when this is over… I want him to stay with you. I mean, not necessarily you, specifically, just… here. In this world.”

Jimmy raises an eyebrow. He wasn’t expecting that. “Isn’t that up to him?”

Bravo shrugs a shoulder. “I mean sure, yeah, he doesn’t have to stay but… you got a good group here. This world isn’t crazy full, it’s not super dangerous or overwhelming… you’ve got some infrastructure set up, a good supply of food and resources. I think it’ll be a nice introduction to normal life for him.”

Jimmy nods slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, I uh, I was actually plannin’ to offer, once this Hels business is over.” He studies Bravo. “What about you?”

A dry smile tugs at Bravo’s mouth. “I… think I’m gonna go my own way, at least for a little while. I’ve got some uh, you know, some thinkin’ to do… about stuff. After all this craziness, I think I just need to go hang in a solo world for a bit, you know? Figure my shit out.”

“Oh. Good.” 

“Yeah.”

They fall silent for a minute. Jimmy knows it won’t be long before the other Lifers begin to gather back at the ranch, ready to start the final preparations ahead of their mission to Hels. It’s a daunting task that lies before them, so strangely enough, he’s glad to have had this time with Bravo. If nothing else, he’s at least more certain of Bravo’s intentions.

“You know,” he starts, “you didn’t have to do all this. Soon as you came through the portal, you could’a gone wherever you wanted. So I guess… I’m tryin’ to say thank you. For helpin’ us.”

Bravo snorts. “I uh, I figured I owe you guys one. And y’know, it doesn’t hurt that we’ll be sticking it to Atlas. Fucking guy could stand to be taken down a peg.”

Despite himself, Jimmy grins. “That’s somethin’ we can agree on.”

~*~

Tango hangs limply in his chains, still and silent.

He’s long spent all his tears. Atlas left hours ago, but two guards remain posted outside the iron door. Every now and then, one of them will poke his head back in- just to briefly monitor- before leaving Tango in darkness again. Everything seems to be running like clockwork; the blaze rods floating above his head are snatched away right as the wither effect shudders through his body, triggering more to spawn. Regeneration potions smash at his feet on a regular interval, combating the damage just enough to keep him alive. 

Just another day at Hels Tek.

The physical pain is intense- the prick of thorns in his skin, the sting of ice in his veins, the burn of wither rose in his lungs. Every passing minute seems to stack more weight onto his iron chains and shackles, setting a deep ache into his stiff joints and muscles. But his prison allows him no respite, not even the slightest movement to seek a more comfortable position, to ease the pain, so he retreats from his body altogether and withdraws into his mind.

That’s no escape, either. 

Inside his mind is a storm. Tall, black waves of terror crash against each other- a churning, roiling froth, swallowing up the horizon of his mind’s eye. Despair howls on the wind. Any attempt at rational thought is consumed by it, panic shrieking across the sky like lightning.

There’s no way out.

Tango is a small light on a vast, dark ocean. He fights to stay afloat in the storm’s wake. It is entirely without sense or mercy, tossing him violently, head over heels. Weightless. Insignificant. Worthless.

You were made to suffer.

He opens his mouth to scream, but he has no voice, no breath. There’s only water, bitter and freezing- it rushes to sink him from inside, seeping into the hollows of his bones. Drowning him in his own blood, his own tears.

Everything you did was for nothing.

No! He tries to cling to hope; his friends are coming for him. They’re coming for him, they won’t leave him here, he just needs to hang on-

They’ve abandoned you.

The storm rages, smashing his hope to splinters. He kicks desperately for the surface. They wouldn’t abandon him. Jimmy-

He deserves better.

No, he loves him! He does-

Like a fish loves a hook? You will only cut him.

He can’t breathe. Where’s the surface-

Like a moth loves a flame? You will only burn him.

God, it’s so heavy. So cold-

Like a canary loves a coal mine? You will only choke him.

He’s sinking, slipping ever deeper below the waves. Engulfed in the inky void. There are no stars to guide him here, no sun or moon- the storm has blotted them out. Without them he has no direction; he can’t tell up from down, left from right, right from wrong- 

This is all there is.

He’s so tired…

All you will ever have.

Maybe he could…

Give in.

He stops fighting. The relief is immediate; the water cradles him, extinguishing all his light. There’s no more struggle, no more pain- everything is still and cold and dark. He can hear the storm but it’s far away, thunderclaps mere echoes in his ears… 

Give in.

Nothing can hurt him here…

Give in.

It’s so familiar…

Give in.

… he knows this darkness. It-

Give in.

It was so long ago-

Give in.

So long ago yet-

Give in.

He remembers it. He’s lived with this darkness before, he still carries the scars it left in him. And it never left him, not completely. It stalked him from every shadow, lurked around every corner-

Give-

No. He escaped it before. How did he do it? What did he have back then besides darkness-

You have nothing-

A light. That was all that changed, one small light in the face of the storm-

There’s no way out-

He chose the light. Again and again, against every downpour, every flood-

It’s pointless to-

He remembers. Nerves alight with electricity, breaking through the haze. His limbs become his own again, striking out through the dark, thrashing among the stillness, burning against the cold-

You can’t-

He breaks the surface. Chaos roars around him- the sting of wind and salt in his eyes, water grabbing him up and rolling him, thunder rattling through his bones. Half-blind and gasping, the shock and pain of it all almost sends him under again but he persists, fighting to keep his head above water.

Back then, all it had taken was a single light. The light of his respawn anchor blinking out. It hadn’t been easy; he’d needed the strength to seize his chance to free himself, to free his body as well as his mind. He doesn’t have that same chance right now. His body remains imprisoned, and the only strength he needs is his faith.

So he’ll have to bring his own light.

He reaches out into the black ocean for a fragment of hope- and he finds one. It nudges into his side, hard and small. It might be a short piece of wood, splintered from the whole by the storm. But as he blindly reaches for it, numb fingers scraping against its surface, he recognizes it instantly.

A memory; Jimmy next to him in bed, smiling beneath a curtain of golden feathers.

No, let go-

He curls his claws into it. His memories. That’s something he didn’t have back then, to help him face the darkness. Ten years of a better life, a better way. Ten years of sun and happiness. All the light he created, all the love he found, all the good he did- that’s something they can never take away from him, even if they chain his body forever.

More memories brush up against him. He gathers them up in his arms, stacking each damp board on top of each other, willing the structure to take shape against the crashing waves-

All you know is rage-

His creations; netherbrick towers looming from the mountain, higher than he ever thought he could build- a block of TNT hissing in the water streams of Boombox- the sizzle of golems in the Iron Titan- rooting through the spaghetti redstone underneath Decked Out- anvils launching through the air at Toon Towers- nether stars glittering against a black sky- darting past falling lava in Dare to Flare- hordes of drowned shuffling through tinted glass corridors- the leering silhouette of his cyclops under the Big Eye mountain- gazing up at the ranch with pride in his heart- clever farms- creative games- cozy homes-

Good things aren’t made for you-

His experiences; the softness of his first bed- twisting through the air at breakneck speed with an elytra- the hoofbeats of his horse trotting around their eighth world- sweetness of a golden carrot on his tongue- the big moon glimpsed through the window of his spaceship- redstone torches gripped in blackened claws- the thrill of dodging ravagers- infinite horizons stretching before him- the scent of freshly tilled dirt- fireworks lighting up the night sky- the warmth of sunlight on his skin- freefalling without fear- the comfort of a full belly- music blaring from a jukebox- the deafening shrieks of a dying dragon- boundless freedom- endless fun- ceaseless friendship-

You are alone-

His friends; Xisuma waving from across the ravine they’d just exploded- proudly handing Zedaph a piece of renamed string- Skizz cheering and clapping him on the back- whooping as he and Impulse run beside a ghast in a minecart- Mumbo grinning at him from atop a witch farm- sneaking between quartz pillars with Grian- Impulse and him collapsing in laughter as Bdubs fumes at them from the shipwreck- scrambling to build a TNT launcher shoulder to shoulder with Etho- Cleo- Scar- Pearl- Joe- Bigb- Keralis- Gem- Scott- Iskall- xB- Stress- Doc- Joel- Cub- False- Wels- Lizzie- Ren- Hypno- Jevin- Beef- Martyn- TFC- 

You’re a monster-

His love; staring down at Jimmy through the branches of a tree, a creeper explosion ringing in his ears- soft feathers tickling his cheek- Jimmy’s hand squeezing his own- a wing draped around his shoulder- humming as Jimmy spins him around in their kitchen- strong hands that are impossibly gentle- sunlight catching in Jimmy��s brown eyes- whispers in his ear- Jimmy holding him as he cries- a smile against his lips- the sound of Jimmy’s laughter, light and joyful- patience- kindness- love-

There’s nothing-

A portal filled with ever-changing light.

Give-

No. This won’t break him.

He clings to his memories, letting them carry him. A glowing ship riding the dark storm. The ground beneath his feet becomes solid again, walls rising up to shelter him from the waves as sails unfurl to catch the wind. The ship rocks and groans, surging up to crash back down again and again, but it doesn’t falter.

The storm howls, terrible and hungry, but it can’t reach him anymore. He turns his face into the wind and screams his defiance.

And back in the farm, Tango opens his eyes again.

The room beyond the glass wall of his enclosure looks the same as it always does. Everything is dark and still, lit only by the flickering glow of blaze rods above him and the sole light of his respawn anchor. Regeneration particles dance across his vision, competing with the encroaching blackness of the wither effect. Nothing has changed on the outside, of course- he hasn’t suddenly become freed from his prison, hasn’t miraculously escaped the constant pain that gnaws at him.

But he can see the change in his eyes, mirrored in the glass before him, and he bares his sharp teeth in a fierce, triumphant smile.

~*~

CONTINUED IN PART XI, ACT II

[lis-likes-fics]

It's Gonna Be a Scream!

Pairings: Stu Macher x Reader Word Count: 3.7 words Kink: Erotic Photos Warnings: NSFW, smut, erotic photography, swearing, fingering, oral (f and m! receiving), multilple orgasms, p in v, unprotected sex, sadistic and masochistic tendencies, creampie, praise kink, slight degradation kink... A/N: This is a day late but I got it done! I hope you enjoy and thank you so much! Feel free to add yourself onto the taglist for message me to be added! Link posted below.

You shake your head as another click fills the room. You ignore him and readjust your position in bed, laying on your belly with your papers splayed before you. Your boyfriend looks at you through his brand new camera, which you'd gotten him for Christmas. He's been prancing around you all day, taking all the pictures of you while he giggles and tells you to “smile all pretty for me”.

“Stu, baby,” you sigh when he lies down on his back in front of you, laying on top of your homework and effectively halting your studies. “I'm trying to focus.” You can't help the chuckle he pulls out of you when he flashes you an adorable grin.

He reaches underneath him and pulls out all of your work, glancing at it before tossing it into the air and letting it fall to the floor. You ignore it. “Well, you shouldn't be. It's Christmas, and you're sitting here doing homework. You're boring.” He says this as he gently pokes his finger into your shoulder, moving to hook his finger around the dainty golden chain of your new necklace. It was his gift to you, it had both your initials on a tiny little heart. It sat along your collarbone, cold and pleasant against your skin.

“Stu,” you try to complain. “Let me finish this last bit, and we can watch a movie or something. Whatever you want.”

He points his finger at your face, not moving when you lean forward and bite the tip of it gently. “Don't say that,” he laughs, “Or you'll be watching Texas Chainsaw Massacre.”

You scoff, “Again? You'd think you would get tired of it by now.”

He flashes a wide smile, “Never, baby.”

You make a sound of disgust, shoving him out of your face so he rolls over onto the floor. He lets go of the camera to keep it on the bed as he lands with a thud.

“Ow,” he complains, sitting up on his knees and looking up at you from the floor. He leans forward, his lips pressing to yours as you smile and suck on his bottom lip. You giggle against his mouth when your teeth take his lip between them. He just kisses you back, a little rougher as he growls playfully against you—he's just being weird.

You hear the click again and pull back to see him taking a picture of you kissing. “You're insufferable.”

“Shh-t-t-t,” he smiles, kissing you again as he takes your face in his hands. You melt against his lips, your lips parted as his tongue slips between them. His hands press to your shoulders and he rolls you onto your back.

Shifting up, he stands above you as he continues to hold your face, his lips mashing with yours. He pulls away, grabbing his camera again. He aims the lens at you, and you roll your eyes, chuckling lightly.

“Smile for me, baby,” he grins, lining his shot.

With a sigh, you look at the camera and smile softly. He licks his lip, clicking the shutter button. “Make it sexier,” he says.

You scoff, parting your lips and letting your lashes flutter, your eyes hooded. He shakes his head in disbelief of you and your beauty, taking more pictures and requesting “sexier, sexier, sexier” each time.

“I don't know what you want me to do, Stu,” you say, removing one hand from the dip of your thigh and the other from your partially exposed collarbone.

“Well, you're doing perfectly,” he shrugs.

You shake your head, grabbing at his body until he ends over and kisses you again. His lips slide off yours and up to your neck, his teeth nibbling at the skin as his fingers play with your shirt. After a moment, he bares his teeth around your throat and bites down, just out the pure impulse to do so. You moan at the feeling tangling your fingers in his hair. He continues kissing you, laving his tongue hungrily over your flesh as he slowly pulls at your shirt. When he's got it off, he admires your covered breasts with his hands and your breath shudders at the feeling of it.

He doesn't bother trying to undo it from the back. He wraps his fingers around the bottom and pulls it over your head. His tongue traces down the valley of your chest and licks up to one of your nipples, taking it between his lips and flicking it.

“Stu,” you breathe, inhaling the scent of his cologne as he body leans over you.

He seems to be enjoying himself by the way he hums around your nipples, playing with one as he savors the other. You feel slick gathering between your thighs as you lay there, your fingertips brushing over his body.

His hand wanders from your breast and smooths down your tummy, down to the waistband of your tiny shorts, that he simply slips underneath as he presses his hand to your mound. Your hips pump forward slightly, a slight moan getting caught in your throat as he smiles around your nipple.

He separates from your breasts to get a good look at you, untying the strings around your waist and peeling the shorts off your body. Biting his lip at your lacey red panties, he shudders at the sight of them. After a brief pause, you hear his camera sound.

“Stu!” you exclaim, your words breathy with a laugh. You smack his sides, pinching them for more effectiveness.

He squirms, laughing, “Ow—Hey! I can't help it if you're so cute!”

“Ugh!”

He giggles like a child as he pulls down your panties to show your smooth little pussy. “Well, Merry Christmas to me.” He bites his lip. “Is this all for me?”Another camera shutter, you shudder. “God, you're fucking beautiful, baby.”

Your hips jerk when his fingers rub along the seam of you, collecting the arousal that had gathered there. You stifle a moan when you hear his lips smack softly after his fingers leave you. “You taste so good,” he hums, tracing your entrance again before pushing in. You hum as his fingers part your lips, starting out with two long slender fingers that already stretch you out real nice.

You moan his name, slipping your hands under his shirt, which drapes over your face as you feel his body leaning over your own. You lean forward just enough to kiss his lower belly, clenching around his fingers as they massage that part inside of you he knows drives you crazy.

He takes another picture, and you suck his fingers in with your insecurity. His thumb presses to your clit. You grip his waist a little tighter, pulling body down just enough to kiss his belly again.

After a moment, he breaks from you, standing back up to tower over you. You take his belt, keeping him closer as you start unbuckling it, effectively sidetracking him as you start pulling them down his legs.

He stares at you as he pulls the camera up to you. As his cock springs free and you press your lips to his pelvis, his warm length against your cheek. “Just like that, baby,” he smiles, a red light glowing from the camera as he records you. “Just like that.”

You wrap your fingers around his cock, pumping him a few times as he sighs, a bead of precum leaking from the slit as you bring his tip to your lips to lick it off. You lave your tongue against the head, sucking him into your mouth with a little hum.

He presses his hips forward slowly, the tip of his cock brushing against the back of your tongue and taunting your gag reflex. His hand squeezes your breast, smacking it lightly as you suckle around him.

He smooths his hand up your chest until it settles it around your throat, slowly pulling out to the tip before pushing back into your mouth until his balls press against your nose. You gag lightly as he slots into your throat, a huff leaving his chest as he feels himself bulging in your throat under his palm.

“Suck on it, sweetheart. There ya go,” he encourages, pulling out and pumping back in again. He builds a steady rhythm, thrusting in and out of your throat as he slowly quickens his speed. But he doesn't do too much, saving himself as he enjoys the view of you taking his cock down your throat, the camera capturing every moment for him to relive the moment whenever he likes.

Your hand is settled between your thighs, fingers rubbing your clit. You gag sometimes when he does a little too deep, but you're so used to him by now that it's not a problem as you moan when you have breath to.

“Fuck,” he breathes, hard and hot at the feeling of your tight throat. “Good girl.”

When you suck around him, his hips jerk slightly before he's lingering somewhere in the back of your throat and pulling out. You take in a deep breath, placing a hand on his hip to keep him back.

“Beautiful, babe,” he praises, taking his cock in his hand and pumping it a few times before he squeezes the base with a groan.

You scoot yourself more onto the bed as you lay there, catching your breath as he pans the camera closer to your face. His smile is wider now, a sinister undertone to his as he captures your wet lips covered with precum and saliva, your lust blown eyes blinking away the tears on the sides of your face. “Absolutely beautiful.”

He ends the recording, leaning down to kiss your sloppy face before he rounds the bed to join you. He sits across from you, taking your hips in his hands, bending down to kiss your chest. His lips slide against your skin until he's reached your belly, his tongue licking at your slit before he wraps his mouth around you and starts licking into your pussy.

You grip the sheets, clenching your thighs lightly around his head. You lay your head back, your lashes fluttering as you breathe. His tongue plunges between your folds, licking into you as making you squirm.

You roll your head back, grinding your hips into his face. As you spit his camera on the bed, you take in between your hands and examine the equipment. “How do I do it?” you ask between breaths.

He looks up at you and smiles. “That button to record, that one to take a picture.”

Tentatively, you press the record button as you look at the feed it shows you. He smiles and digs back in, his tongue flicking and suckling at your clit. You moan as he does it. He's too good with his tongue.

After a moment, he thrusts two fingers into you and looks at you, your face blocked by the camera. “You like that?”

You nod, “Yeah.” His fingers brush deeply inside of you, and you whimper a little at the feeling.

“Yeah, I bet you do,” he laughs. “Nasty slut.” He sticks his tongue out to his chin to lick a long stripe up your cunt, closing his mouth around you at the end of it. Your hips jerk as he hums his laugh against you.

He seems to thrive under the shot of the camera, his drama increasing to over-exaggerate the process, but you don't mind. You watch him, lust-stricken as you hold the camera up with shaky hands. His fingers pump into you, his tongue licks at you, his lips suck on your clit. Your back arches and your stifled moans become a little looser as your need to cum slowly builds within you, his mouth bringing it closer as he gives you a perfect view.

You reach one hand down to his hair, combing your fingers through it before you grip lightly at a particular pump of his fingers. Your lips part as your breath becomes unsteady. “Baby, fuck—I'm gonna cum.”

He hums, sing-songy as he keeps sucking on your clit, pressing his fingers deeper and curling them just right. "Please, I’m gonna cum, Stu."

He coaxes you closer and closer, playing you like an expert. A knot builds in the pit of your stomach and you tense as the impending release hangs over your head. When the coil snaps and you're overcome with the bliss it brings, you moan breathily and shudder. Stu smiles at the way you suck his fingers in. He continues fingering and licking at your pussy as you gush around him, easing you through your orgasm. You chant his name under your breath, riding out your high against his face with an insistence he adores.

“Good girl,” he eases you, slowly pulling his fingers out of your and admiring the result of his work. He stares directly into the lens as he places his fingers on his tongue and sucks.

You catch your breath as you come down from your high, lazily ending the video. He takes the camera from you, snapping pictures of your disheveled face as he pulls you by your hips onto his lap as you lay back.

His hands stroke the length of your sides, and you grab his wrists to stroke them. He smiles at you, standing on his knees and planting his fists into the bed next to your head. He kisses your lips softly and flips you onto your stomach. He grasps your hips roughly, pulling you up to your knees and pressing you back against him to feel his erection against your cheeks. You moan lightly, pressing your back and grinding your ass against him.

“Such a naughty girl,” he tsks, smacking your ass harshly and moaning at the sharp sound of his hand on your skin. “Be good for me, sweetheart.”

Stu pumps his cock in one hand, picking up his camera again as he pans the lens up and down the length of your back, the dip of your spine caressed by his fingers as he traces it. You shudder, holding yourself up carefully as you do.

He takes his cock, pressing his tip between your folds and pushing his hips into you, inch by inch as he fills you slowly to the brim with him. Your eyes flutter and you moan deeply as his thick, hot length thrusts inside.

Stu groans, grinding his own hips into you once he's fully seated inside, making sure he got every second of it on film. “You're so tight, sweetheart. Fucking perfect for me”

You let your head fall onto your crossed arms. Stu presses his hands to your back, holding you down as he pulls out to the tip, only to split you open once more on his cock. You let out a breathy moan, letting the pleasure blossom within you. You clench around him, sucking him in as he takes you from behind.

You whimper his name. He doesn't bother going slow on you. He tangles his fingers in your hair and pulls you back up so he can fuck you nice and deep. He holds the camera as steady as he can as his hair travels to your neck, his fingers wrapping around your throat so he can move your hips to meet each thrust.

His rhythm is rough and fast. He snaps into you, your body bouncing with each in and out of his cock. Your clit throbs between your legs, and your arousal is dripping down your thighs with each thrust. “S-Stu,” you moan breathlessly. “Fuck, that feels good.”

“Yeah?” he asks, giving you a rougher thrust just to pull another moan out of you. “You like when I fuck you like this?” He laughs, tightening his hand around your throat. “Of course you do. You're a good little whore, aren't you?”

You just nod, appreciating his hand around your throat. It's tight and your breath is thinner going through to your lungs, but your clit throbs and your heart pounds relentlessly in your chest at the sensation.

Stu pans the camera down to your ass, where his cock disappears and reappears with each thrust. “Fuck,” he mutters. “You're fucking suckin’ me into you.”

He ruts into you, splitting you apart on his cock as he drives it in and out of your dripping cunt. He fills you with a mind-numbing pleasure that throws you in a daze as you take it all. You squeeze his cock as your legs tremble, sucking him in each deeper as the slap of his hips becomes louder with your slick building up.

All too quickly he pulls out. He pushes you onto your back with little regard to gentleness. You haven't caught up yet by the time he's pulling your hips closer and shoving his cock back inside.

You stare at the camera as he directs it at your face, fucked out as you moan so nicely for him. It captures your bouncing tits, the pumping of his cock into your tight pussy. Every nerve ending burns with pleasure. Every movement licks at you like the flickers of a fire. You clench around him as he presses himself deeply within you, moaning his name at the feeling of his hips fucking into yours.

Stu’s lips part as he watches you, his head falling back as he moans before looking back at you again, hungry at the sight of your body. He loves your body. Your skin is soft and malleable. He bets that if he pressed a silver blade to your flesh, it would slice so nicely. He'd watch the red slip from the wound and decorate your pretty skin.

He wouldn't hurt you too bad. No, against his better judgment, he loved you too much. And, besides, he's got you wrapped around his finger just as much as you've got him around yours.

By now you'd invite the pain. If he took a belt to your back, you would cum when he beat welts into your skin. If he put a knife to your throat, you'd bare your neck to him and tell him to do it. Even now, as his hands slots around your throat once more and squeezes, you huff a moan and squeeze around his cock.

“Look at the camera, baby,” he breathes, moving his thumb from your neck to give you air to speak. He doesn't stop, still fucking into you just as roughly. “Tell ‘em who you belong to.” You whimper. “Go on, tell him. Who's the only person who can make you feel this nice, babygirl?”

You reach a hand to his waist as he leans in to get a better view of your face. Stringing words together to create a coherent sentence, you speak, “Y-you. Fuck, only you, Stu.”

“Say it again, baby.”

His finger presses to your clit and you lose breath when it does, moaning a little louder as he massages it to coax you to a release. “F-Fuck. Only you can…make me f-feel so good, Stu.”

He smiles wide, rubbing your clit a little faster as a reward. “Good girl,” he praises. “You wanna cum for me?”

You nod desperately. “Yes! Fuck, yes.”

His grin widens, his thrusts getting sloppy as he gets closer and closer to his release. He curses under his breath, “Come on, babygirl. Cum for me.”

The coil snaps as you do, throwing your head back as you're blinded by the pleasure. “Stu!” you exclaim, moaning loudly as you cum, sucking him in with each flutter of your pussy.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” he rambles, joining you as he's pushed over the edge of ecstasy. He cums with a loud groan, shoving his cock inside of you as he paints your walls white. You milk him, taking everything he gives to you as the pleasure builds inside of you like a heavy crescendo.

You trembled and moaned as he spills inside of you with a rough thrust deep inside you, tiny little ones following after to fuck his cum a little deeper. Stu leans forward and smacks his lips against yours, licking into your mouth as he moans deeply. You wrap your heavy arms around his neck to keep him there, lazily kissing him with just as much passion, both of you forgetting the camera laying forgotten on the bed, the lens still pointed at your sloppy kiss.

You bite his bottom lip, taking it between your teeth and digging them inside until you draw blood. He swears he could've cum again as you keep kissing him, sucking on his lip as you do.

He grinds lazily inside of you as the last few sparks of pleasure dot your skin. Stu smiles against your lips, pulling back as he giggles. “I love you, sweetheart.”

You smile, his joy contagious as you join his little giggle. “I love you, too.” You kiss him again, addicted to the taste of him.

Pulling back again, he stares at your face and nods to himself. “I'm keeping you forever.”

And he will. Because ever since he fell in love with you, he's been shaping you to be like him. And, by the time September rolls around next year, you'll be just as fucked up as him that Billy will have to let him keep you. You'll be his forever, and you'll be perfectly happy with that because you love him just as much.

He pulls out of you with a sigh, and you whine at the empty feeling that sprouts in your belly. He picks up the camera again and makes sure to capture every inch of you: the light sheen of sweat on your skin, the mess of your hair, the wetness of your swollen lips, the hickeys he had worked into your skin, the swell of your breasts, the cum stuffed in your dripping pussy, his claim marked in you forever. He briefly wonders if he should carve his initials into your skin.

He smiles wide, pointing the camera at your face again. “We're gonna make so many movies together,” he prides, bending down to kiss you once more. With his excitement simmering in his chest, he chuckles quietly. “It's gonna be a scream, baby!”

Stu Macher taglist: @the-nerdy-goddess Tag yourself here...

[the-moon-files]

I’m not sure if I’ve said this one already or not, but I wanted to tell you anyways! It’s about the humans-are-not-hylians AU!

You know the uncanny valley evolution? That thing where when you look at something that resembles a living being too closely and some part of your mind is screaming that it’s not whatever it looks like and to get away from it? Imagine that with the reader! They can spot shapeshifters easily because of this, but it instills the same extreme primal fear we’d experience, so it might be hard for the reader to confront them at first and they’ll instead just tell the Chain for a while.

This might be a double edged sword, though, because when Twilight is in his wolf form, the reader still gets that same feeling when “Wolfie” is looking at them, whether or not they know it’s Twilight. In this case, the first time the reader spots Wolfie approaching the camp, they probably freak out and try to avoid him, even if the Links are okay with him or if he seems familiar to them.

The bottom line is that wolf isn’t a wolf, so what is he?

“It’s okay, he’s a really friendly wolf!”

“...That’s not a wolf...”

Sorry i took forever to respond!! im slow as always, life is too busy for even my hobbies lately sobs 😭

bro this is especially true bc someone looked back at TP games and how he looks in his “wolf” form, and apparently he is actually a dog lol - like at most a wolf-hybrid, i added this in to support this Hyrule-is-hella-Uncanny AU lol

Moon: Guide! - Gender Neutral/Masc!Reader (”you”/he/him)

Orbit: Short headcanons

Stars: mentions of most of our Links <3

Comets & Meteors: CWs: typical LU/Loz violence, mild swearing, etc & TWs: mild possible derealization trigger, talk of Link’s Awakening and Koholint.

Please comment if I missed any. /gen

The Yiga clan members have never fooled you, not Once in person, unlike back when hyrule was still a video game

it was the constant smell of bananas, the way their eyes were always a little unfocused or they moved their head to move around their eyes, rather than their actual pupils moving, the facial muscles all stiff, usually stuck in an uncomfortable smile-

it makes more sense once u realize that they technically have a mask under that glamour hylian face, but its never not hilarious to see Wild look over his shoulder at you before approaching a lone traveler on the roads and watch him get increasingly frantic to get ur attention to see if theyre yiga lmao

u bet ur ass every link was relying on you on their adventures to know shapeshifters/illusions/glamours/etc. on sight and tell them to better prep them/warn them

tbh they all got at least a little better at being able to tell the difference the longer they heard you point out stuff/talk abt exactly why it was off-putting

(that said some of ur heroes are better at it than others, both in general, and certain aspects of it: like Twilight isn’t able to pick up illusions/glamours for the life of him, literally, sometimes, but he is more likely to figure out shapeshifters by scent after you Guided him)

(no, your heart didnt crack a little after learning that the boys had a harder time with deceit after you stopped playing the game = “were forced to leave after their adventure” bc while they were better at detecting it, they werent on ur human level yet..)

(…the only deception you ever really fell for was Koholint. It was so painful too, because Legend quietly disclosed to you one late night that you would constantly get strange feelings/uncanny disturbances, but were never able to put a name to it for him, which both made you jumpy/paranoid on the island, but made him regret ever letting his guard down all the more or feel guilty for what felt like dismissing ur instincts the more he relaxed… Legend never doubted your sense for the uncanny ever again. He takes it seriously every time now.

When you feel as if you should apologize, he tells u not to, that these days he takes comfort in it actually, it makes him feel safer. Legend looks to your face for confirmation that something isn’t a dream, and if you look at ease, so is he.)

its the way you casually laugh at Twi being called “Wolfie” when he’s obviously a wolf-dog hybrid or just a big dog

and when everyones confused u just explain smth smth, wolf heads are larger in comparison to their body, their legs are narrow, their paws are big, dogs are like the oppposite, or way more proportional like “Wolfie” is, dogs bob around when they run like “wolfie”, and have shorter legs,

smth smth wolves cant have eye colors like blue, only dogs/wolf-dog hybrids can silly-

and Wolfie is just like, 😐 😑 😐

turning around and walking away, bc hylias knotted fucking braid- he really cant escape the dog accusations now, you literally used ur freaky truth-seeing instinct and read his shapeshifter ass from head to literal toe/paw-

Wild/Hyrule look fascinated, Wind and Legend cant breath theyre laughing so hard, Time is coughing suspiciously into his fist and pops back up smirking, Four is laughing but also encouraging you to keep going, Sky is desperately trying to keep it together while also trying to get Twi to come back lmao, Wars is literally pointing and laughing ashkljdl-

ok but Twi gets his revenge later by tricking you into yapping abt how Hyrule/Four/Time all kind of look “off” sometimes too

like how u swear Rulie is glowing subtly when the moon is full, or how the world distorts behind his back sometimes,

or how Four’s eyes change colors all the time, his fighting style looks like its rotating between 4 diff ppl’s techniques,

or how Time’s face wrinkles like smile lines/crows feet at the corner of his eyes will randomly appear and disappear, how he’ll have some stubble one day then 3 days later despite having not shaven (u literally saw him wake up and do his morning routine) it’ll disappear like it was never there in the first place-

and when Twi has stopped asking you abt the others as they all reel over the knowledge of what all u can tell abt them,

(ur quietly relieved no one asked abt Wild.

You resolve urself to just lie if anyone asks, even to Wild himself.)

☆

hey im alive!! im slow yknow how it is,

ive been doing too much, and i cant wait to be done with this class so i can have free time guilt free again 🥲

god thats one good thing abt getting out of academia i dont miss and would only wish on my worst enemy,

the anxiety of doing smth, even necessary stuff like eating/sleeping/showering, and feeling liek you should be doing homework instead, god its so awful

cant wait to feel like an adult with my own life again lmao

that certification better work and get me a white collar job goddamit 🤞

anyway, hope ur all having a good weekend,

and just to let u know, im so happy acc that im alive to see the first zelda game that actually follows what i originally thought the plot of zelda games was when i was a kid lmao

(zelda as the protag, saving link!!)

Peace out,

🌙

[sillyjpeg]

BOOK OF BILL WEBSITE CHANGE

this contains MAJOR SPOILERS FOR THE WEBSITE CHANGE. if you want to find shit urself, dont read this!!!

also this is part one of probably many bc i cant fit everything in here. curse you image limit

i wont be going over alot of the not as important stuff, but still go explore the website for it because i got alot of good laughs!

RIGHT OFF THE BAT. In the top right corner of the screen when the lightning flashes, there are words revealed carved in the wall. it reads: VALLIS CINERIS. when this is typed into the computer it gives this video:

haunting. really giving me analog horror vibes. wasnt sure what else to do with this though.

I also noticed that on the candle in the right side of the desk, there is a code

this is decoded used the rune code, and translates into CURSED. when put into the computer, this is what is given back:

interesting.

One of the first things me and my friends did was go through the main characters names. the most interesting one of these for me is definitely Stanley, but i want to go over Pacifica first because Stanleys is LONG.

When you type in Pacifica you get this:

I love her signature btw. BUT if you type in Platinum Paz, you get somethin very, very interesting.

This may not be in the right order so forgive me, but at the end of that code, if you use a shift decoder (im so smart sue me)

it says: "STAY AWAY FROM HER CIPHER. SHE HAS THE PROTECTION OF THE LUMBERFOLKS SPIRITS"

pacificas character development has always been special to me, and this was honestly chilling. in the book of bill we see that she has nightmares about the lumberjack, and this shows how much guilt she carries. her finally finding her peace with what happened made me smile :)

but as nice and heartwarming as this is, were moving on to STANLEY PINES! and oh BOY are the stanley lovers having a field day. so first of all, if you type in Stanley, it will take you to a few different links. including gold chains, brass knuckles, an 8 ball cane, a fez, and a colonel neck tie. funny right? if you keep entering his name, this pops up:

Below this is a bunch of things with the label of being shameful. one of them is very interesting but im gonna put some lighter stuff first for the sillies.

i need alex to show us the photos from the hunky drifters catalogue alex can you hear me please i mean WHO SAID THATTTT WHO SAID THATTTTTT

ALSO NO ONE COMING TO HIS FAKE FUNERAL EXCEPT HIS MOM :( she loved her little free spirit stanley

ALSO- him stripping for flour in Tijuana, again, i need photographic evidence.

his ex wives list also made me giggle. he was MARRIED TO OLD GOLDIE????? also Marilyn being Eda made me giggle, i love the fact that they got married at some point. get them back together please. also stan having smaller hands than ford and being self-conscious about it stan i love you mwah mwah mwah

ALSO FILBRICK TRYING TO SELL STAN FOR GETTIN AN F- PLEASE

anyways now onto the section at the bottom of the Wheel of Shame page!

Its titled : HOW HE BEAT ME. im not adding a photo bc ur guy is running out of room :(

you have to click on this repeatedly to get anything good out of it, so i took the liberty of milking it for all it had!!! i didnt take screenshots of everything because some of it was redundant, but here are the interesting and or funny bits:

just reiterating, this is not all thats in there, im just putting parts that stood out to me. please take the time to go through all this urself bc its a TREAT.

now into the crazier stuff

hes obviously having some sort of breakdown, just like we see at the end of the book of bill. the last page i decoded myself, and i got this using all the different decoders:

"THROUGH LQS SFSE CN EVERYONE IVE EVER"

for "LQS SFSE CN" i used the original bill cipher code, and im not sure why it gave me this. a smarter, better decoder probably has the answer.

i can theorize a few different things on what this could possibly mean even with it not being all decoded. the one that comes to mind is "I can still see through everyone ive ever met" maybe knowing too much? but without the middle part decoded i cant say much. if you have the solution for this please leave a comment as any help would be greatly appreciated. this all did drop a few hours ago so i doubt many people are working on decoding all this.

UPDATE!! I TRANSLATED IT WRONG.

IT SAYS “THROUGH THE EYES OF EVERYONE IVE EVER”

this makes alot more sense. bill can see through others eyes so it most likely is refering too how he possesses people and sees through their eyes. In the book of bill he shows how angry he is having to watch the Pines family be happy.

It says that when he closes his eye, he can still see through the eyes of everyone hes ever…possesed? probably. So can Bill still see through Ford, or maybe Dipper, and he cant turn it off. Whenever he closes his eyes he is haunted by the happy life he failed to destroy. To see through their eyes.

This poem using gambling as a way to describe Stan's life choices really struck me. the more i thought on it the more it made sense. he gambled that Ford's project would probably still work, gambled with all of his sham products. His entire life has been a betting game. The most interesting thing about all this is the end of the poem. It reads

"IM STILL ON YOUR MIND"

this has been a theory for awhile in the gravity falls community that if stan got back all his memories, including ones about bill, wouldnt bill come back? for me this confirms the theory, and opens up a whole new can of worms which i will talk about later.

I have reached my image and video limit, but expect more posts!

stay weird yall :)

[ghosty-writes-23]

Cat & Mouse. - Leon S Kennedy

!TAGS!: NSFW Content, !CONSENT IS KEY!, Brat Taming, Blowjob, Praise, No Condom, Hair Pulling, Biting, Marking, Rough Desk Sex, !Possible Part 2! (!MAYBE!)

Pairing: Detective!Leon + Criminal!Fem!Reader.

Rating: Mature.

Summary: “Catch Me If You Can, Detective Kennedy.” You were a sneaky little criminal that always seemed to slip though his fingers until one night…

Word Count: 2.9k

Ghosty's Notes: Hello everybody, yes I am returned with another one-shot, I’m sorry the smut scene isn’t so great this time, but I am slowly getting back into the rhythm of things, I’m going to try and get back onto of smut writing since I have more free time now, so please look out for new stories coming.

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Thank you for all the support, it means alot❤️

-Ghosty❤️

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18+ Content // Minors DO NOT Interact // 18+ Content.

It was a cold and wet winter night in the small town of Raccoon City, the streets were busy with city folk making their daily commute to either home after a long day of work exhausted or hungry, or heading to their night shifts because they had university classes or another job in the daytime.

The scene was peaceful but down an empty alleyway there was the sound of heels clicking and boots slamming against the cold wet concrete at a fast and heavy pace. It was a male police officer in pursuit of a female that was just slightly ahead of him, she always managed to slip through his fingers.

“Stop right there.” The police officer yelled, but the female just ignored him and rounded a corner and was meet by a dead end by a chain link fence, or so the officer thought, when her body hit the chain link fence the police officer pinned her against it, her arms above her head in his gloved hands in a tight grip.

“You’re not getting away from me that easily, not this time.” Leon growled in your ear causing a shiver to go down your spine. “You sure about that detective.” You smirked before you used your body weight to flip you guys over, so now he was pressed against the chain link fence, bit his grip was still tight on your wrist (Let’s be honest, he let you flip you both.)

The move had caught Leon by surprise, but he looked at you with his usual cold and stoic look. “is that so?” the older detective spoke in a low deep voice as he narrowed his baby blue eyes at you in an intense glare, but you just let out a sweet smile as you leaned in closer to him your sweet floral scent floating past in the cold breeze, your red lips brushed against his in a teasing manner, the lipstick leaving a faint red trail across his bottom lip, you could hear him suck in a soft breath as he looked at you with his eyes half lidded.

But as he was distracted your nimble gloved fingers slipped into the side of his belt and grabbed his handcuffs, moving your face closer to the soft skin of his neck, you placed a soft kisses there leaving a perfect imprint of your lipstick but also handcuffed his wrists to the chain link fence. “See you later handsome.” You purred before you used your cat-like reflexes and jumped over the chain link fence, your heel hitting the ground with a dull click, you could hear Leon complaining and cursing while you ran off disappearing into the night.

*A Couple Weeks Later*

It had been a couple of weeks since you had seen your beloved detective, you had been staying in your apartment since that night with Leon was a little too close for your comfort and you knew deep down you sometimes relied on Leon letting you go and not taking you in which you knew at some point he was going to catch you, but it was always fun seeing his frustrated face when you slipped through his fingers.

But tonight was the night of the grand president’s ball that was held every year, on the outside it looks like a normal get together for all politicians, government members such as secret service, police chief’s and any members of the public that have money or an influence over people, but in reality it was where corrupt deals and exchanges happen amongst the people of power freely without consequences.

But lucky for you tonight, you weren’t given an assignments so you had come to just enjoy the free drinks and mood and maybe even see if you could see a certain detective while you’re here. Tonight, you were dressed in a sleek black dress and heels, your makeup was light since you didn’t want to draw too much attention to yourself.

As you slipped your drink a woman walked over to you, she held what looked like a clipboard, she was dressed formally, she was one of the members of staff for this event. “I’m sorry Miss, but it seems your name is not on the list.” The woman said quietly if not to embarrass you knew this may have been a problem, but you always found a way around it. But just as you were about to speak another voice interrupted you.

“She’s with me.” Leon spoke as he walked toward you both, he was wearing a dark blue suit that matched his eyes and a white button up shirt and black dress shoes. “Darling your late, but with how you look, it was well worth the wait.” He says as he took your arm in his in a almost bone crushing grip, as you walked away you could see the female staff member swooning slightly at Leon’s words and display of public affection, it made you roll your eyes slightly as you followed Leon.

He had led you to a private room, once the door was closed his eyes went hard as he looked at you with a glare. “What the fuck are you doing here y/n?” he hissed at you as you closed your arms over your chest. “I’m working, just like you.” You say cooly as you looked at the older detective with a small smirk on your lips. “who are you working for?” Leon asks his gaze was fixed on your every move as if he was trying to predict If you were friend or foe in this moment, because deep down he didn’t want to have to hurt you, but he would if it really came to it.

“You know I don’t kiss and tell.” You say cheekily, as your gaze was fixed on him as well, you both could feel the tension that was between you two, it was always there when you two were together. “your stealing information and documents.” Leon says his voice was cold matching the stoic expression on his face. “I just get what my client wants, since they pay a very high price for their product.” You say as you walked over and leant against the desk and crossed your heeled legs, your gaze no leaving Leons.

“I’m not going to let you get away like the previous times.” Leon spoke, his voice was stern, and firm and it sent a shiver down your spin, causing you to bite you bottom lip slightly. “Catch me if you can detective Kennedy.” You taunted him slightly with a wide grin on your lips, you really enjoyed this little game of cat and mouse between you two it made you feel excited. You heard him slightly growl under his breath before he stalked over to you, your face’s inches apart as he rested his gloved hands against the desk behind you could smell the scent of his cologne.

“I will hunt you down over and over again if I have too.” He spoke his voice dropping a few octaves deeper as his blue eyes burned into yours, your lips were millimetres apart from each other, the older detective’s words sent a shiver down your spine and made your heart rate skip a beat before you moved in closer and brushed your lips against his, just like the first time in that alleyway. “And I’ll slip through your fingers every single time.” You teased him softly with a small huff of a laugh.

It seemed your words had an effect on him because the next moment he is grabbing your hips and pulling you closer before your lips meet his in an intense and passionate kiss, you kissed him almost immediately as your hands moved to grip the jacket of his suit and pull him even closer to you as a soft noise left your lips as you bit his bottom lip and tugged on it, your lipstick was smudged on Leon’s lips as well, but soon Leon pulled away from the kiss, you both were breathing heavily.

“You’re such a fucking brat.” Leon growled as he grabbed out his handcuffs and placed them around your wrists and clicked them into place. “You know you love it.” You teased him back before your roughly pushed down to your knees, your knees hitting the ground with a dull thud, you knew this time it wasn’t going to be loving or gentle and that made your pussy clench in anticipation and need.

As he was undoing the buckle on his belt you took the fly of his pants zipper between your teeth and pulled it down in a teasing manner as you looked up at him innocently. “Is this what you wanted huh?” Leon asked as his gloved fingers threaded into your hair and pushed your face into his clothed bulge.

His scent alone with enough to make your brain go all fuzzy, you inhaled causing a soft whine to leave your lips as you lolled your tongue out and began to lick his bulge over underwear like the desperately and needy thing you were. “Yes, I’m sorry for being a brat.” You say innocently with a swipe of your tongue, a wet patch was forming, and you could faintly taste his precum through his briefs.

“you’re a bad lier sweetheart.” Leon says as he grinded his bulge against your face, teasing you since there was a barrier of his brief’s. A soft whines leaves your lips as you hated the barrier between you and his cock.

After a few more whines and nuzzles into his thigh, Leon finally pulled his brief’s down slightly and your eyes lit up like lights on a Christmas tree, you eagerly gave his cock a few licks and kisses and humming softly at the taste before you took him in your mouth, your pillowy lips wrapping around the tip of his cock as you sucked in your cheeks and started to bob your head at a slow rhythm making sure to savour this moment.

You made soft suckling noise as you took him deeper with every stroke, he felt heavy on your tongue, the weight providing you a sense of comfort that you have only experienced with this man, you used your tounge to touch every ridge, bump and vein as if you were trying to commit the memory of his cock to your brain.

“Such a good girl when your mouth is full.” Leon taunts slightly as the fingers in your hair were helping guide your head as your warm and wet mouth glided down his cock with practiced ease. You wanted to glare at him for his words, but you were so lost in pleasure that you didn’t care what he called you or said, so you just stayed there like his obedient good girl soaking up the pleasure he was giving you, because at the end of the day you just wanted to be his good girl.

As you bobbed your head, he was occasionally hit the back of your throat, causing tears to well up on the corner of your eyes, as well you’re your jaw was starting to hurt as your mouth accommodated his size, but you quickly blinked the tears away and ignored the pain in your jaw focusing on pleasing him.

“Since you have been a good girl, do you want a treat?” Leon asked as he slightly tightened his grip on your hair, you could feel him twitching on your tongue, he was close. You nodded your head as you looked up at him through your lashes, the older detective gave you a small smirk as he began to thrust into your throat causing you to choke slightly, your cuffed hands were planted on the ground to try and keep you steady as Leon used your mouth like his own personal toy.

After a few moments he gave a grunt before he buried his cock down your throat and came, you gagged at the sudden intrusion, but you swallowed as much as you could before he slowly withdraw from causing you to cough and slightly gasp for air. “You okay?” Leon asks when he hears your pant like breaths, you nod your head taking a few deep breaths before you looked up at him with your makeup all smudged. “I’m good.” You reassure him because even if the scene are rough, Leon always likes to make sure your okay and if you really need to you can use your safe word.

“Good because I’m not done with you.” Leon says making you bite your lip at what he has planned next for you, after a bit of shuffling Leon had you bend over the desk, your cuffed wrists hanging over the edge as he was pulling up the bottom of your dress now, you knew he wasn’t going to eat you as a punishment, but you knew his cock was good if not even better then his tongue, but you don’t like to pick favorites.

The older detective pulled up the bottom of your dress and rested it on your back as a needy growl left his lips, you had decided to not wear panties tonight as the seams and edges of your panties would have been visible through the dress.

“Fucking hell.” You heard him course under his breath when he noticed how wet you were, a soft giggle left your lips as you wiggled your hips enticingly as you heard him. “this will have to be quick.” He grunted as you felt him grinding against you, he was bare and slightly soft from his orgasm before, but you could feel him hardening again against your folds as he used your slick to coat his cock because he knew he didn’t need any lube with how wet you were, what can you say you like a dominant man in uniform or a suit.

“Okay, wait do you have a con-.” You start to say before your cut off as a soft gasp leaves your lips as he started to move inside of you causing a whine like moan to leave your lips as his cock stretches your pussy, “That’s it sweetheart, take every inch of me like the good little slut you are.” He says huskily as he pressed more inches inside you until he bottoms out, his hips flush against your ass, the stretch made your eyes roll to the back of your head as you felt a wave of pleasure crash into you like a tidal wave.

Your pussy clenched around him you could feel every ridge, bump and vein. You could feel every ridge, bump and vein of his cock, it was hardening inside you making a slight tremble run through your body as you gripped the edge of the desk, he always filled you perfectly as if you were made for each other. Once he was fully inside you let out a shakey breath before you started to move your hips back matching the pace of his slow but deep thrusts, it felt as if he was in your gut, this was so much better without a condom you don’t know if you will be able to go back after this.

The sound of your sweet moans and cries as well as Leon’s grunts and curses and the sound of your bodies colliding together filled the room, you couldn’t believe you were being bent over a random person’s desk at a government related event getting your pussy pounded by the detective that is meant to be putting you in prison for your crimes, not fucking you like a lover or random hookup, it made this situation feel more dangerous as there was a risk of getting caught.

“Fuck Leon.” You cursed softly, his name falling from your lips sweetly in a gentle moan before you felt one of his gloved hands moving to your hair and pulled it back slightly exposing your throat to him, to which he started to kiss and bite leaving little marks as he picked up the pace of his thrusts, pounding into you from behind, the slight pain from him tugging on your hair caused you to arch your back and slight tighten at the pleasure filled sensation.

“You going to cum for me sweetheart.” Leon asked against your neck, you could tell he was close too because you could feel his choke twitching inside of you. “yes.” You moan out soft as you moved your hips to his rhythm, your thighs were trembling at this point, with one last thrust you came biting into your hand to muffle your moans as you felt Leon’s teeth sink into the soft part of your neck, you felt him soon follow as he filled your pussy.

*After A Couple Moments.*

You two finally had caught your breath, Leon had pulled out of you carefully with a soft pop before he cleaned himself up and helped you off the table, the cuffs where still around your wrist which caused you took look at him with a raised eyebrow. “Am I under arrest now detective?” you ask him with a small smile as you watched him fix his hair and the mess you both had made on the poor persons desk.

“I’m going to be taking you in.” Leon says as he grabs you by your cuffed wrists, your chest lightly bumping into his as he looked at you with a slight smirk. “but we still have some unfinished business.” He says and in that moment you knew this was just the beginning of a very passionate night between you and your little detective possibly in the back of his patrol car before he takes you to the police station.

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©Ghosty-writes-23, 2024. all rights reserved. !I DO NOT! consent to translations or replications or reproduction of my work on any other social media platforms and or make AI Bots without my explict consent and permission.

[salmonskinrolltf]

Hey there. A little bit about me? I'm a tall, mostly attractive actor from Iowa now living in New York. My chest hair won't stop growing, and I'm always cast as the awkward, gay comic relief in shows. I guess that's why I'm here. It's silly but I've always had a crush on The Situation and most of the cast of the Jersey Shore. I was hoping to rent one of seasons before I have an audition for a more manly part I'm going in for.

[Thank you so much to everybody who submitted requests! I have nothing close to the bandwidth to get to all of them, so this is going to be my final Be Kind Rewind post for the time being. I’ve got so many other types of stories I’m excited to work on as soon as I’m able, but I do apologize if your request wasn’t selected! Here’s a bit of a long one though, as a finale.

This is a gay-to-straight story. If you’re not into that, feel free to keep scrolling, but I bet you'll like it anyway. Read my G2S ethos here.]

You eagerly rip open your Be Kind Rewind delivery and a die falls into your hand. Oh yeah, their weird promotion thing. You toss it on the coffee table, not noticing that it lands on 5. You’re too busy pulling out the Jersey Shore tape you ordered, excited to have access to one of your favorite guilty pleasures and use it as research for a particularly manly role you’re hoping to score, which could finally break you out of being typecast as awkward and effeminate.

As you push the tape into your TV’s built-in VCR (that you could have sworn wasn’t there when you bought it), you realize it’s already at the end credits, so you hit rewind. While you wait for the tape to be ready, you decide to run your lines some more.

“Hey baby, why don’t you bring that fine ass over here?” you say, cringing at how utterly wrong those words sound coming out of your mouth. You sound like a nervous pre-teen at a school dance, not the overconfident douchebag that the part requires.

You clear your throat and repeat the line, trying to artificially deepen your voice when you say it.

“Hey baby, why don’t you bring that fine ass over here?” you say, your throat tingling as it delivers the words in a perfectly sultry, slurred bass, with a hint of a New Jersey accent. Holy shit! You nailed it!

“Hell yeah, bro!” you shout, pumping your fist, too excited to notice the uncharacteristic slang you unconsciously used. You decide to see if you can replicate the voice for the other lines on your sides, and each word comes out perfectly.

“You’re looking fly, my man,” you say, dapping up an invisible buddy. Fuck yeah, that line sounded even more perfect than the last one! The deep tones of your voice echo through the empty room. You don’t even notice as the color leaches from your pants and they grow baggy and thin. However, you can’t help but be aware of the cold sensation slithering across the back of your neck, wrapping around the front to form a tight circle that feels like a necklace chain. A golden metal knot at the end of the loop seems to be stretching the circle with its weight, pulling it down toward your shirt collar.

It never makes it to your collar. The neckline of your shirt begins to scoop lower and lower as the knot progresses downward, the crew neck becoming a V, expanding into a deep V, and eventually stretching into a drooping U that leaves your shirt loose and baggy, practically exposing your nipples. The necklace and the shirt seem to be racing toward your navel, and the shirt wins. The necklace gives up somewhere around your chest, the knot unfurling into a golden cross that rests between your slightly toned pecs. Conversely, your shirt collar goes all the way down to the bottom, splitting the fabric in two as the color fades to black and the edges sprout rows of metallic teeth, becoming a zipper.

Now, you consider yourself plenty attractive, but you still feel self conscious and exposed with your entire torso hanging out, even if you’re completely at a loss to understand how this is even happening. You link the zipper together and pull on the tab, trying to cover yourself with the strange new garment that has appeared on your body. But something stops you from zipping up too far past your belly button. You suppose you’re subconsciously afraid of getting your hand anywhere near the magical necklace that suddenly appeared on you. Sure, that must be it.

However, thinking of the necklace makes you freak out a bit, so you decide to try and take it off. When you reach up to unclasp it, your fingers thrum with energy and you feel a sudden urge to keep rehearsing your lines. Yeah… Maybe the getup will help you embrace the character.

“When you look like I do, bro, you don’t gotta fuck with dating apps,” you say. Although you were still perturbed, this line also came out perfectly. You decide to lean into whatever strange thing is happening because, even if it’s fucked up, you’re definitely getting this part. In fact, you’re even starting to move like your character. You just scratched your chest by reaching under the hem of your hoodie and exposing a strip of your abdomen in the process.

You repeat the line, hooking your thumbs under the open part of your zipper, flaunting your chest. As the last word rings out in a perfect, reverberating tone, your chest swells with pride. No, wait, it’s just plain swelling. Your toned chest becomes downright swole, like someone has taken a bicycle pump to your pecs. Six bulging abs surface from your stomach beneath them, forming neat rows while your biceps and quads inflate to twice their previous size.

Although the hoodie now clings more tightly to your expanding mass, you can still see your belly button if you look down. That’s how you notice the tribal tattoo inking its way in a curlicue pattern around your navel, licks of inking flame forming the shape of the Sun. You chuckle deeply. Thinking about the solar system, you laugh at the fact that this tattoo makes it seem like the world revolves around your abs. Hell, you think, if you had abs like that, you’d probably agree. Wait a minute… For whatever reason, you DO have abs like that. Fuck…

You walk over to the mirror, admiring your new physique. You flex, enjoying how your muscles bulge, even through your clothes. You’re flooded with a surge of confidence and you rub your crotch, thinking about how hot you look.

A deep tan color emanates from the tattoo around your belly button, engulfing your old skin tone in an orangey brown, spreading over your legs, chest, back, and even face. You give a little smirk, embracing the newfound changes. You notice that the expression is one your face has never made before. It’s contemptuous, commanding.

You’re an actor. You need to hone your craft. You try out a few more expressions that you’ve seen on sleazy guys at bars. Condescending. Seductive. Proud. Angry. Each one looks completely new on your face, yet perfect, probably because your bone structure has been quietly shifting to give you high cheekbones and a sharp jaw.

You rub your bulging muscles one more time, annoyed by how much hair covers them. You’d have to wax at least once a week if you wanted to show off this definition properly. However, as you rub, there is less and less hair rustling between your fingers. You lift up your hands to see baby-smooth patches of skin beneath where they rested. Enthused, you scrub your hands up and down your body, the hair vanishing like marker from a dry-erase board. Once, you’re done, you admire your perfectly smooth and shiny figure.

However, that hair as has to go SOMEwhere, as it turns out. Your armpits, which were feeling more and more resistance as you moved your hands, are now bristling with jet black hair. You lift up one arm and give a tentative sniff, your nose flooding with a ripe musk. You try to swipe the hair away with your hand, but it won’t budge. You shrug. Nothing a little Axe body spray won’t fix.

That thought surprises you, because you’re pretty sure you use a different type of deodorant. However, you suddenly can’t remember the brand. And the mist of Axe floating around the room certainly suggests you use it all the time. Oh well. Chalk it up as one more weird thing about this afternoon.

The hair growth as clearly also affected the top of your head. Your hair is growing out into haphazard spikes that jut from the top of your head, forming tapered cones that begin to shine as if they’ve been coated in a year’s worth of gel.

You look… ridiculous? No. Douchey? No. Fucking hot? Hell yeah, bro.

You return to your script, fiddling with your hair to give it the perfect spiky muss at the back.

“Bros before hoes, dude! You know that!” It sounds like your character really believes that line as it comes out of your mouth. And why wouldn’t he? Hoes might be a good distraction for a night of fun, but bros are for life. Your memories of dancing the night away at gay clubs begin to morph. You’re still dancing with a group of men, but now they’re all spray-tanned, juiced-up Jersey Shore rejects rather than fashionable young gays. And you’re still rocking a half-chub in your memory, but it’s from watching a female go-go dancer shaking her moneymaker on a platform, rather than you grinding up against some cute twink or other.

You groan deeply as the memory tugs against the core of your identity. You look hot now, and you’re gonna get the role, but you don’t want to lose EVERYTHING. But it’s too late. It feels like your mind is expanding, but not in a Limitless kind of way. Instead, each individual thought you have becomes much, much bigger, taking up more brain space than it used to. Your memories of ex-boyfriends, Pride parades, and anything even remotely gay begin to circle the drain of your cerebellum, washed away by just a few base urges. Partying. Playing beach volleyball. Hitting on chicks.

You grab your script again to recite a few more lines, but the words start swimming in front of your face. It’s not that you can’t read. It’s just that, suddenly, reading is the last thing in the world you want to be doing. A sudden craving for beer pops into your head. It's the biggest thought yet. It shoves almost everything else out, and you drop the paper on the ground, where it vanishes into thin air while the room around you transforms into a beachside cabana.

You emerge into the dusty sunset of the Jersey Shore, admiring a few hot babes in bikinis who wander by while you make your way to the store. You lift up your shirt to show off your abs to a few of the hottest ones.

You pick up two six-packs of beer at the store and, why the fuck not, a pack of condoms, along with some other snacks and supplies. You decide to hit up the clothing store on the way back for some new threads, because your impulses are ruling you like never before. As you head to the checkout, you spot the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen. You almost drop your beer, she’s so hot. Your dick is already stiffening as you say, “Hey baby, why don’t you bring that fine ass over here?”

[harmonictechnicality]

model!steve and voice actor!Eddie (part 2)

part 1 here | ao3 link here | the temp is up on this one so like... dni if under 18 pls

Steve spends a lot of his spare time at the gym. Comes with the territory of modeling or whatever. Gotta keep himself strong, without developing bulging muscles. Gotta keep himself toned, without becoming too lean. Somewhat of a balancing act to this media fuckery circus.

Times are changing, yeah maybe. But not for puffy-lipped preps with killer bone structure. Steve still falls under the category of stereotypical Pretty Boy, and he’s chill with that. Fucking owns it.

Most days…

He’s currently cooling down on the treadmill - brisk walk, almost a jog. It’s a good pace for multitasking some adult shit that he needs to get done. Staying hydrated, keeping his photoshoot calendar up-to-date, answering a few emails. Yada yada.

Steve takes a swig of his seaweed (more like arsenic) smoothie. Opens the top email that reads:

The Fallen King - Final Commercial Cut

Right. Steve almost forgot about this particular shoot. Well, tried to repress the thoughts of that mega-douche director who kept referring to Steve’s ass as ‘prime real estate.’ Fucking creep.

He scrolls down to the attached file and slides his headphones back over his ears.

The ad opens with a wide shot of Steve draped over the throne, fog swelling around the bottom of the screen. The music is an eerie cello solo, set to a heavy bassline. 

Just another oversexualized cologne campaign, he thinks. Probably will barely feature the product because they paid big money for Steve’s body. Gotta get their fill of it (ha, they fucking wish Steve would fill them up).

But then the narration rolls into his ears and the room does a somersault. Practically inverts it’s axis at the sound dripping in Steve’s ears:

‘The mighty will fall from grace…’

“Oh shit.” Steve almost wipes out on the treadmill, has to catch his fall on the side bars. His knees are tingling, calves molten and shaky. Already half hard, which is definitely going to be a problem in these flimsy, mesh gym shorts.

‘Forbidden love and public slander…’

But that voice. That tone. That sinful register set in the minor key of Holy Fuck.

‘Will bring them to their knees.’

Alright, that fucking does it. Steve pauses the video before he’s fully tenting-out in a goddamn fitness center. Packs up his shit, chucks the sludge smoothie in the trash, and finds an empty stall. Emphatically locks it.

“Agh, damnit!” Steve's thumb slips over the screen and exits out of the video. It scrolls back to the top of the email - a new message has been added to the chain.

Seriously, what obnoxious fucker does ‘Reply All’ these days?

The new message reads:

Great work, team. (Sorry for being such a vocal slut.)

(… Not that sorry though.) - Eddie Munson

That’s right - the voice artist. Almost didn’t recognize the voice, but the repressed memory of that day comes flying to the surface when Steve sees the name. 

He recalls the guy being objectively cute too. Not in the California ‘sun-kissed skin’ kind of way. More in the Seattle ‘rain forces me to be a pale homebody’ kind of way. His eyes were something else though. They reminded Steve of the sepia tone filters he used in his early modeling portfolio. No way in hell Steve could ever forget knockout eyes like that.

The locker room is empty. Steve reopens the video, raises the volume high enough to mute out the thin hum from the air conditioning unit. Only wants to hear Eddie’s voice. That’s it. 

He’s already touching himself when the first phrase falls out of the headphones. Can’t even help it now that he’s alone. It’s all too good. Works himself up all stuffy and sensitive by the time the new part comes up:

‘Drenched in their guilt. Soaked in their shame.’

Fucking christ.

‘Choking on worthless confessions…’

Nope. Nope. Absolutely not. Choking? Worthless? What is this, a sado hotline? Steve feels the heat spreading on his neck, flushed over in a non-exercise way. There’s a thump in his dick, has to squeeze his fingers around it. Like his body needs a reminder to calm the fuck down.

‘Until all that is left of them is desolate darkness.’

Pretty sure the raspy exhale after every phrase is going to do Steve in, saturate his last ounce of dignity with want. Eddie’s breathing is taking Steve’s breath away, and that’s an outright mindfuck. Earfuck. 

Something is getting fucked, and somehow, Steve still needs more.

While the song sustains, Steve strokes himself to the percussive rhythm. 

‘The Fallen King. The scent of secrets.’

The hiss on the last syllable fades into the music till everything fizzles out, going dead silent.

Well, everything goes silent except for Steve, who is utterly rattled. Can hear his dense breath and it’s way too noisy for a public space. The pulse in his neck is irregular, hitched the fuck up. His smartwatch is buzzing, alerting him that his heart rate is elevated, which duh. His whole body feels like it underwent some sexual awakening in the middle of a fitness center. 

And, sure. That’s a common place for people to realize how gay and desperate they are, but not like this. Not with zero visuals of sweaty bodies. 

Before he starts the video over to… finish the job, a phone call lights up his screen. Because of course it does.

He reads the name and swipes it open. “What’s up, Buckley?”

“I need coffee.” Robin whines, already pouting into the phone speaker no doubt. 

“You always need coffee.”

“Yeah but like… it tastes better when you buy me coffee.”

“Oh, so you want to mooch off of your own client?” Steve teases because he can. They can annoy the shit out of each other and write it off as endearment. “Pretty unprofessional of you, Ms. Manager.”

Robin groans. Makes it a long one too - probably to show off both her annoyance and lung capacity. “Fuck all the way off, you were my friend first. Always friends first.”

“Always friends first.” Steve agrees. She’s right, usually is about most things. Robin has been his manager since his last agency went bankrupt from pouring their funds into promoting Fyre Fest. And everyone knows that turned out to be an entire fuckshow.

Honestly, it’s easier this way - Robin being his manager. They get to hang out more, he has more input on gigs that he’s interested in…

Interested in. Huh. The metaphorical lightbulb flicks on in Steve’s voice-drunk brain. Having his best friend as his manager is also convenient when Steve needs the phone number of a certain co-worker.

“Alright, fine.” Steve has a sly grin on as he talks. “I’ll bring over some coffee.”

“Thank god.”

“If!”

“Ugh.”

He huffs out a laugh. “If you can send me the cast and crew contact sheet from the Fallen King commercial.”

“Ew, why?” Robin asks, sounds totally repulsed. Valid, that shoot was Objectification Station.

But truly, Steve’s not in the mood to make up an excuse. He’s sore and sweaty and half-hard. So he just gets to the damn point. “Look, do you want coffee or not?”

“Okay okay.” That’s one way to speed up the process. Caffeine threats - works every time. “Dropping the file to you now.” 

“You’re the best.” Steve sings.

“I know, I know.” And the line clicks dead.

Okay. This is not a booty call, it’s not.

Steve is just texting a semi-stranger to tell him that his voice is potentially the hottest thing he’s ever heard. Okay, he’ll definitely phrase it better than that, maybe throw a few emojis in there to normalize the tone. Soften it up to sound very un-stalkery.

Yeah. Not a booty call. And if Eddie happens to send an audio message, and Steve happens to jerk off to it… still not a booty call, right?

Pathetic, maybe. But not basic, thank fuck.

He types, then re-types the message out way too many times before settling on this:

Steve: Great work on the commercial voiceover! Got ur number from the call sheet. hope that’s cool.

Steve hits send before realizing he didn’t have the goddamn common sense to introduce himself. He’s not even a rookie at hookups, why is he suddenly so frazzled by this guy?

“This is Steve by the way…” he mumbles into an audio message. Hits send, then quickly makes another:

“The… model guy.”

The model guy? What in the flustered hell is going on with him?

A chime notification goes off maybe two minutes after Steve sends the last message. Which is like… hot. Shameless fast texters are a millennial turn-on, for sure.

It’s a voice text, so Steve takes thirty seconds to calm down whatever involuntary throb just happened in his sweatpants. He sucks in some air and presses play:

“Pretty sure all the kids these days just send a ‘u up’ message to people they wanna dick down at midnight.”

Damn. Eddie’s voice sounds totally different, but just as sexy. Like amateur porn sexy. Is amateur audio porn a thing? It should be.

Steve quickly saves the audio file and types back.

Steve:  Ok pls don’t mention ‘kids’ while I’m trying to flirt with u

Eddie: Waitwaitwait So we're definitely flirting right now? I actually interpreted that correctly?

Steve: Like u said It’s midnight So… *shrug emoji*

And a phone call comes through. Eddie’s contact name flashing in a harsh light, too blinding and too unexpected. Steve’s heart is hammering at his rib cage, suddenly so fucking nervous. He waits until the last ring to answer, buys himself some time cause god knows, he needs it.

Steve takes a breath and swallows. “He-”

“Okay, so you do realize this is the sewer rat voice actor guy from the commercial shoot, right?” Eddie interrupts, sounds out of breath. “And not like… a fellow model or Timothee Chalamet’s cousin or something?”

That earns a hearty laugh and eye-roll from Steve. “He is so not my type.”

“Thought he was everyone’s type.”

“Nah.” Steve rolls onto his belly, very giddy and disarmed by the ease of the exchange. His nerves are set aside, replaced with his usual confidence. “More into sewer rat voice actor guys.”

“That… is some very specific criteria.” Eddie coughs or maybe it's just a dry laugh. He sounds pleased as hell, so laugh seems more likely. “Holy shit, I’m flirting with a model!”

“You’re cute." Steve should not be so charmed right now, but the impulsive honesty is really doing it for him. "Dorky, but cute.” 

Eddie mumbles something incoherent, then clears his throat. Speaks quieter this time. “So why’d you text?”

“So why’d you call?”

“Just, uh… needed confirmation that this is real life.”

Steve lets out a ‘hmm,’ thinks of a proper response to that. “If I was there, I could pinch you. Ya know... so you’d know it’s real.” Okay. Maybe not proper, but whatever. It’s late. His brain is half scrambled from hormones and exhaustion, cut him some slack.

“Would do a lot more than pinch you if you were actually here.” And sure, Eddie might have mumbled that, but Steve clearly heard it. He heard exactly what Eddie just suggested.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Fuck, we’re doing this?” Eddie whispers.

Steve turns onto his back again, lets his hand wander down. “If you’re into that. Like hearing your voice, Eddie.”

“Like hearing you say my name like that.” And Eddie sounds like he means it. His tone is smoothing over, the same way it did in the narration. “You sound so worked up already.”

Steve moans, chest falling hard enough that the phone slips. Has to reposition it to get all that good vocal seduction back in his ear.

“God, wish I could see what you look like right now.” Eddie exhales, getting that nice rasp that Steve likes so much. It’s sultry and rich. Breathless at just the right moments. “Bet you’re lying down, aren’t you? Phone wedged between your neck and ear cause your hands are too busy to hold it properly. Am I right?”

“Yeah.” Steve pushes past the waistband of his sweatpants, then his boxers.

Eddie hums. Growls. “The things I’d do to you like that. Lying down, looking so eager to please. Saw how good you are at taking direction that day of the shoot. Does that apply in the bedroom too, baby?”

“It… fuck.” Steve strokes himself slowly. Can barely get the words out cause it feels like he's chewing on Eddie's voice. Swallowing every syllable. “Yeah, it does.”

“See - that’s the problem, isn’t it?”

“Problem?”

“That I don’t know what you’re into. How you like it.”

“Pretty open to… trying things.” Steve reassures, eyes closing to soak in every sensation. “Just keep talking.”

And thank all that is holy, Eddie does just that. He keeps talking. “Can’t stop thinking about that pretty neck of yours. How I’d kiss it, suck on it till your skin goes tender and soft under my lips. Till your head rolls back like it did in that video.”

Eddie's words are syrup. Heavy and tempting. “I’d let you rest it on my shoulder while I get my hands all over you. See what sweet spots drive you wild, get you to squirm for me.”

Steve's grip tightens, pumping at a pace that’s close to getting fucked. A pace that makes it easier to pretend that it’s Eddie’s hand wrapped around him, making his vision blurred and spotty - even with his eyes screwed shut.

“Eddie, you’re… oh my god.” Steve whines, knows it must be pretty fucking loud with the speaker smushed against his cheek. “You’re so good at this.”

Eddie shushes him, sounds like he’s snickering a bit. “I’d tease you like that until your thighs start to tremble. Until you beg me to go further. End the torture.”

“Fucking christ…please.” Guess Steve really is that good at taking direction. Or maybe he’s extra easy for guys that turn his brain into liquor. Too busy begging to know which one it might be. “Keep going.”

Eddie’s laugh is dark and rough. “Sounds nice hearing you beg like that. Like sin.”

Feels like sin too. 

Steve’s fingers are slicked nicely with precome. The friction of his palm is making everything warmer, better. And stirring all of those feelings up with Eddie’s voice? Fucking hell, Steve is close. He’s so damn- “Okay, okay. If we don’t stop, I’m gonna-”

“I know.” Eddie purrs, sweetly mean. “Thought that was the point.”

“Cannot believe I'm about to say this, but maybe…” Steve has to dig his hand out from his boxers to complete the sentence. Knocks his head against the wall because his behavior is totally batshit right now. “Maybe I want to see you again first? Is that weird?”

His skin sort of tingles from going this long without finishing. Never solved the blue-balling issue back at the gym either, so Steve’s on the verge of climax insanity right now. Didn’t think he’d discover an edging kink at the ripe age of twenty-five, but eureka. Here it is.

“Not weird.” Eddie’s voice returns back to a calmer one. The one that doesn’t make Steve want to bend over and get fucked so hard that his organs shift around. “I mean, I’m weird, sure. But wanting to complete this in person is not weird. Very un-weird, in fact.”

“You talk a lot.”

“Yeah well… voice actor.” Eddie says, sort of deadpan. “You couldn’t see that, but I just did ‘razzle dazzle’ hands.”

Shit, Steve really likes this guy. He just used the phrase ‘razzle dazzle hands,’ and Steve is still horny for him. Wow.

“Is tomorrow too soon?” Steve manages to say before overthinking it.

“Tomorrow-tomorrow, or like today-tomorrow?” Eddie asks. “Cause it’s past midnight.”

Right. Booty call time moves at an entirely different pace than normal time does. “Today-tomorrow. If you’re free.”

“Free as a dead composer’s anthology of music.” Eddie answers happily.

Steve opens his mouth to respond, then shuts it because what? What does that even mean? Is that a yes or a no? Goddamnit, his head hurts. Too many questions, not enough orgasms.

“Most classical music is royalty-free.” Eddie clears his throat, sounds like he’s tapping on something. “… So yeah. I’m free.”

“Right.” Steve chuckles, hard to believe he’s unapologetically gushing. “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, Eddie.”

“Great. See you today, Steve.” Eddie is still snorting at his own joke while the call ends.

They haven’t sorted out any of the details yet, but it doesn’t matter. It’s happening. It’s real.

So real, that he wants an actual date with Eddie before steamy phone sex. He wants to make Eddie laugh before making him come. That's like... unheard of for Steve. Uncharted.

Damn.

Today-tomorrow can’t come soon enough.

[punkshort]

The Stranger

Pairing: Dave York x f!reader

Summary: An unexpected visitor barges into your new apartment, turning your whole life upside down, then disappears just as quickly. Or does he?

Warnings: infidelity is mentioned (reader gets cheated on by OC), language, threats of violence, heavy making out and some sexy situations but no smut

WC: 3K

A/N: When I wrote this, I had still yet to see The Equalizer 2 but I wanted to write an assassin fic and Dave was just right there. So, for the sake of this story, Dave doesn't have a family and he has a cover job. K bye.

Written for @undercoverpena April Showers Challenge

Collection Masterlist

Sunday Night

The apartment was small and a little dirty, but it would do. It would have to. The choices were limited on such short notice, and beggars can't be choosers.

The last thing you thought you would be doing the night before you started your new job was unpacking what little belongings you had in the middle of a goddamn thunderstorm. In an ideal world, you would have waited to move in when the weather was expected to clear, but when you walked in on your boyfriend of four years naked in your bed with his ex-girlfriend only a week ago, you would have moved in the middle of a blizzard if you had to.

That was how you found yourself late Sunday night drenched in a mix of your own sweat and rain, unpacking the last of your clothes from wet cardboard boxes. Making your bedroom the priority was a must. The last thing you needed on top of everything else was wrinkled clothes and a bad night's sleep for your first day of work.

If only you knew what your night had in store.

You were just starting to unpack the boxes for your bathroom, cursing under your breath when you noticed the towels at the very top and bottom of said box were soaked in rain water, when you heard a pounding on your door so loud, you almost screamed.

Nobody even had your address yet. Too embarrassed to tell your friends what your boyfriend - ex-boyfriend - did, the only people who knew you were moving were your parents, and they certainly wouldn't be blessing you with a surprise visit on this side of town after dark.

Tip-toeing out of your bedroom, your hair a half-dry and tangled mess, you slowly crept towards your door. Just as you were about to peek through the peephole, you heard the deadbolt unlock and the door swung open, only to be stopped by a laughably weak, eight link chain.

"Alvarez, it's me, open up," a gruff voice said through the crack in the door. He sounded panicked, but at least it wasn't a home invasion. This man just didn't realize Mr. Alvarez was no longer here and he must have had a key.

Combing your hair back from your face, you tentatively stepped into the beam of light that stretched into your living room from the hallway. When you locked eyes with your stranger, all dark and mysterious, your throat constricted. You could only see part of his face, just one eye and half of his soft looking mouth, but your heart still fluttered a bit in your chest.

"Who are you?" he frowned, eyeing you up and down, and suddenly you felt incredibly self-conscious standing in your own apartment only wearing your white tank top and sleep shorts.

"Excuse me? I live here. Who are you?" you countered, crossing your arms defensively. The man scoffed and tried to get a better glimpse of your apartment, as if he were expecting another person to emerge.

"Where's Alvarez?"

At that point, you felt a little bad. If this man knew Mr. Alvarez well enough to have a key, what you were about to tell him would be devastating, so you sighed and motioned for him to step back.

"Let me undo the chain," you explained, and he paused for a moment, his eyes lingering on your chest before taking a step back and allowing you to close the door and slide the chain off. When you reopened it, you finally saw all of your mystery man. He was decked out in black: black ski cap, black leather gloves, black jeans and jacket, and he dripped rainwater from each article of clothing, creating a small puddle in the thin carpet right outside your door.

"I'm so sorry, but Mr. Alvarez passed away a few weeks ago," you said sympathetically, and while, in your experience, men tended to be less emotional, you didn't expect his response.

"Well that's just fucking great," he muttered, and for the first time you realized he was out of breath. Red flags began to pop up everywhere: the dark clothes, the indifferent response to a friend's death, the fucking hand hidden behind his back. How didn't you notice that before?

You went to quickly shut your door but his hand shot out and stopped you.

"I'm sorry, but I'm gonna need to come in," he said, and your eyes went wide. Your parents warned you this side of town was bad, but the very first night?

"No!" you protested, putting all your weight into pushing on your door, but he wedged himself so you couldn't close it.

"I left something in here and I need it," he explained through gritted teeth.

"Nothing was here when I moved in," you said, still pushing on the door, "I have my phone and I'm calling the police!"

It was a lie. You didn't have your phone. It was still charging on your bed, but you had hoped that would make the man leave. Unfortunately, it had the opposite effect.

The door shoved open and you flew backwards, falling onto your back with a yelp, a sharp pain shooting up your spine.

The man entered your apartment and quickly shut the door behind him before glancing around.

"Are we alone?"

You scowled at him, about to lie, but you realized there was no point so you didn't say anything. He sighed and reached out an arm.

"I'm sorry," he said, and for the first time in your brief interaction, you heard some emotion in his voice. You stared hesitantly at his still wet, gloved hand before grabbing it and allowing him to pull you back up as you rubbed the back of your head with a wince. "You okay?" he asked, his brows furrowed and when you realized both his hands were visible, you relaxed a fraction.

"I think so. What the hell? Who are you?"

"I'm-"

He was about to explain when you both heard heavy footsteps running towards your door. In the blink of an eye, he reached forward and slid the chain back into the lock and deadbolted the door. There wasn't a second to spare because two fists began pounding heavily on the door from the other side.

You gasped softly and stepped backwards, eyes wide and filled with fear. That was when your mystery man pulled out the handgun from the back of his pants, silencer already attached, and your mind went blank.

This was how you were going to die.

"Open up!" a man's voice shouted from the other side as he began to kick at the door, making you jump. The intruder turned to you just as a rumble of thunder shook your building.

"You gotta make them leave."

"Me?" you whispered in a panic, "how do you expect me to do that?"

"They want me, and if they know I'm here, they'll kill me. Do you understand?" he asked, matching the volume of your voice while grabbing your shoulders.

Your lower lip began to tremble and he noticed.

"You can do this," he assured you, walking you backwards towards your bedroom as the shouting and pounding got louder. And as you stared into his deep brown eyes, you started to believe him. "I'm gonna hide and then you gotta tell them I'm not here. Can you do that?"

"If they just want you, why don't I just let them have you?" you asked as he continued to walk you backwards.

"Because they'll kill you, too," he said, his gaze never wavering. "These guys don't leave loose ends."

Fear shot through your body like the bolt of lightning outside your window.

Once he got to your bedroom, he released his grip on your shoulders and headed for your closet. He opened the accordion doors and pushed your clothes aside before sliding in against the wall.

"Just convince them I'm not here. You just moved in, you have no idea what they're talking about, okay?" he said, holding your gaze until you slowly nodded. Then he snapped the doors shut and shuffled your clothes around, leaving you all alone.

As you walked back towards your front door, you snagged a towel from the open box of bathroom stuff and wrapped it around your hair. You could do this. You had to.

You took a deep breath, your hand curling around the brass doorknob, and yanked it open, the chain still holding the door in place so you only saw a glimpse of the men in the hall, but you could see at least four.

"Can I help you?" you asked, trying your best to sound annoyed and not scared for your life. "You interrupted my shower," you added, pointing to your wrapped hair.

"Where is he?" the first man asked. His head was bald but you could see some stubble coming through, indicating he must shave his head.

"Who?" you asked innocently, and the man sneered.

"You know who."

"Actually, no I don't," you said, crossing your arms. "This is my apartment and I was enjoying a quiet night in before you arrived."

"Oh, yeah? You wear a men's shoe, size eleven?" the beefy looking guy asked, quirking an eyebrow as he stared down at the floor. Your eyes slowly drifted down and noticed a wet and dirty outline of your stranger's boot pressed firmly into the ancient beige carpet.

"No," you said, meeting his eye again. "But my boyfriend does. And he's out getting us dinner. We just moved in tonight," you told him confidently, squaring your shoulders and fucking praying the chain would hold if push came to shove.

You saw the men behind him exchange glances and shift their weight as they mulled over what you said. It was working. All you could hear was your own heart pounding loudly in your chest, the rain beating heavily against the glass windows of your living room, and in the distance, another soft rumble of thunder.

The bald man shot one more cursory glance into your apartment before meeting your eye.

"Must have the wrong unit."

You smirked.

"Honest mistake," you said, bravely holding his gaze as the group of them slowly ambled back towards the stairs. Once they were out of sight, you shut the door and twisted the lock, letting out a shaky breath. Your arms and legs were weak, head fuzzy from the adrenaline when you remembered a stranger was stuffed inside your closet.

Stumbling back towards your bedroom, you swung open the closet door, breath shallow and fast just to find him leaning up against the wall, a floorboard in your closet removed, revealing a now empty cash box, and holding up a piece of lingerie.

"For your boyfriend?" he questioned, and your fear quickly transformed into anger when you snatched it from his hand and tossed it on the floor next to his feet.

"Get the hell out of here," you told him, voice trembling.

He gave you a cocky smirk and pushed himself off the wall.

Gazing down at you, eyes flicking from your lips to your eyes, he lowly asked "got a towel I could use?"

You swallowed the lump in your throat and forced your feet to move towards the open box in the middle of your room, snatching up a clean towel and tossing it to him before pulling your own towel from your head and dropping it by your feet.

You watched for a moment as he plucked the ski cap off his head, revealing a thicket of dark brown, wet hair and used the towel to help flick away the moisture. Then your eyes landed on his gun, now tucked into the front of his jeans.

His gaze followed yours and smirked, thinking you were looking at something else.

"See something you like?" he asked, making you blush.

You swallowed roughly and took a step back. "Are you going to kill me, now?"

His gaze softened and he dropped his towel next to yours.

"No."

You eyed him wearily, still not believing him until he took the gun from his pants and tossed it on your bed, a good five feet away, leaving you both defenseless.

"Better?" he asked, and you raked your eyes up and down his body.

"How do I know you don't have any other weapons on you?"

He grinned and took another step forward, his eyes darkening. "You wanna frisk me?"

Your cheeks flushed with heat and you looked away, but he pinched your chin, the leather soft against your skin, and tilted your head back in his direction.

"Tell me something," he murmured, his eyes boring into yours, "you really got a boyfriend coming back here?"

He could see your face fall and he instantly felt regret.

"No," you said softly, your eyes now pinned to the floor with shame, "we broke up. It's why I just moved in here."

He frowned as he studied your face. "Why did you break up?" he asked, his fingers still gripping your chin.

"Caught him cheating on me," you told him. Why could you tell this perfect stranger your deepest shame but you couldn't tell your best friends?

He tsked and inched a little closer. "He's a fucking idiot."

Your eyes snapped up to his in surprise, only to find desire and need reflected right back.

Before either of you could overthink it, your mouths crashed together, your arms wrapping around the back of his neck and his hands pulling at your waist, dragging you against him as you devoured one another. Your fingers raked through his still damp hair, his skin smelling like the rain and sweat and gunpowder, the combination intoxicating. His tongue slipped past your lips with a groan, his exhale coming in quick, hot puffs against your cheek as he walked you back toward your bedroom wall. Once your body made contact with the chipped paint, he reached down and snagged the backs of your thighs, wrapping your legs around him while his tongue swirled aggressively around yours.

When he ground his hips into you, his hardening length rubbing against the ache between your legs, you gasped and tipped your head back.

"I don't even know your name," you whispered as his lips traveled down your neck, nipping and biting playfully as he went, the rain sounding like little musical notes against your singular bedroom window. He just moaned against your skin, his teeth dragging lightly over your collarbone while you rolled your hips against him, desperately some seeking relief for the fire he started between your legs.

He yanked you from the wall, a small squeak of surprise slipping past your lips, fingers digging into his broad shoulders as he carried you to your bed and dropped you down next to his gun. His assault on your neck never stopped. You arched your back, wishing he would take off those damn gloves so you could feel him when his phone suddenly trilled in his pocket. His lips stalled and you held your breath, each of you frozen in the moment wondering how you managed to find yourselves in such a compromising position so quickly.

"Shit," he whispered, reaching into his pants pocket, and you knew right then and there it was over.

He glanced at the screen and gave you an apologetic look.

"I'm sorry," he said, pushing himself away from you and snatching up his gun and hat. "I gotta go."

You sat up on your bed and pressed your legs together, hoping your face didn't look as red as it felt.

Before he left, he glanced back at you, his eyes falling to your mouth, watching as your teeth sunk anxiously into your lower lip, chin bright red from the burn of his five o'clock shadow.

"Thank you," he said, his gloved fingers clenching and unclenching at his side. And before you could respond, he disappeared with just a soft click of your door, making you wonder by morning if you had dreamed him up.

Monday

As expected, you hardly slept. Sleeping in a new place all on its own had its challenges, but after almost dying a handful of times within an hour, a good nights sleep was pretty much out of the question.

You don't know why you did it, but as you were getting ready for work, after a lukewarm shower, you foolishly grabbed the piece of lingerie your stranger discovered in your closet and put it on under your clothes. Maybe you wanted a reminder of him, or maybe you just wanted to feel more confident.

Arriving ten minutes early, the rain drying on the sidewalk but the smell still thick and heavy in the air, you strode up to the front doors of the financial consulting firm, hoping that the amount of coffee you poured down your throat that morning would be enough to keep you at your best.

The perky blonde from HR was showing you around the impressive building as she led you back to the department you would be working with. You were longingly eyeing the fresh fruit in the break room when you turned around and nearly ran smack dab into her back, stumbling a bit in the process.

An apology died on your lips when you found yourself looking past her, gaze falling onto an all too familiar looking man inside an office less than ten feet away, his phone cradled between his shoulder and ear as he typed into his computer, a concentrated look painting his impossibly handsome face. His dark, soft hair was neatly combed, his plush lips twitching into the receiver as his muscular shoulders stretched the fabric of his light blue button down, and when he reached for a file, his eye suddenly catching yours.

Neither of you looked away while he continued to give one word answers over the phone and you barely recognized that the HR girl was showing you your new desk. A desk right outside his office. All you could think about was what his hair felt like between your fingers, what his mouth felt like when he left those marks on your neck you had to cover that morning with makeup.

How he left you, needy and aching for more.

Then your eyes flicked to the shiny name plaque next to his door frame: Dave York.

pt. 2

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[essentiallyleaf]

Ya know what , I'll give you an idea

As a commercial pilot how bout a kink "plane sex"

And pls write Rosé with this kink

day 15. body worship. with. rosé.

1268 words.

tags.

kinktober ‘23, idol x male reader, body worship, lots of kissing and licking, feet stuff, abs stuff, oral sex, fingering, squirting, minor plane stuff, the dialogue just goes places idk, hold onto your suspension of disbelief for dear life, blasphemy(?).

notes.

this is barely even related to the ask, isn’t it? sorry, icyphilosopher, i really am (thank you so much for the inspiration though). well, my excuse is i watched Queen & Slim (it was alright, the soundtrack might be the best part. that and Daniel Kaluuya) and felt like crime today.

The private jet has barely taken off when Rosé starts taking her clothes off, starting from the black heels, then proceeding with the black cropped blazer, the high-waisted black shorts, along with the belt and the chains attached to them, the polka dot black shirt, and finishing with the black stockings and her black underwear. She puts them all in a black trash bag and throws herself on the beige leather sofa face first, completely naked.

“Fuck this ‘No fires on the plane’ rule.” She complains into the beige pillow.

“I mean, if you want to burn them now and cause a fire, making the jet collapse on itself and getting us buried on the bottom of the northern Pacific, go ahead.” You reply nonchalantly as you take a sip of vodka while sitting cross-legged on one of the beige armchairs.

“Honestly, compared to the prospect of a ten-hour flight with you, that doesn’t even sound that bad”

It’s Rosé’s habit to burn clothes, phones, cars, (people,) anything that can be linked to her in a meaningful way, after every job. This time it was a fairly straightforward drug trade with this Yakuza syndicate in Osaka: give the talcum powder, take the money, go home. The road was somewhat bumpy and a couple heads had to pop, but what can you do. Oh, and the getting naked in front of you part, that was a thing way before you two started fucking.

You stand up from your seat and duck next to the couch as she turns her head towards you. Start caressing her smooth, long blonde hair as you admire her graceful features. How could such a cold, brutal criminal look so angelic?

“Are you in a hurry?”

“Leave no trace.” She recites her mantra matter-of-factly.

“You think someone’s on our trail?”

You lay on top of her and start kissing her shoulders, from the left, then move her hair to kiss her neck, to the right, and back a couple times.

“Someone’s always on your trail.” Your kisses start heading down her back, each a little wetter than the previous. “You know how it always ends with people like us, right?”

You think you hear Rosé’s voice break for a split second, but you could be wrong. Place your hands on her shoulders and start slowly making little circles with your thumbs as you keep traveling down.

“We get greedy and scared and die sad and alone?”

“We always trust one person too many”

As your trail of kisses gets to her lower back, right above the curve of her ass, you flip her body around. Bend her legs on her chest, then start massaging each foot with one of your hands, going from the middle of her soles, to her heels, to the balls of her feet, untangling her muscle fibers all the way through. You hear her humming in the meantime.

“So? Would you stop living your life for that?”

“I would try my best not to end my life because of that.” You bring her feet to your mouth and start pecking her toes, then travel down the inside of her feet and up again kissing her soles. “Plus, it gives me a sense of peace, of liberation”

“Ashes to ashes?”

“In that analogy, I would be… God?”

Take a long lick from her heel to the ball of her foot, ending by wrapping your lips around her big toe and licking all around it.

“Do you feel like one?”

“I don’t think God sees himself like we see him” She moves her other foot towards your mouth to signal you to switch, which you do, as your hands reach towards her small breasts and start softly playing with her rosy nipples. “Powerful men need people to adore them to feel immortal. Immortals don’t need our attention to be powerful”

“You think God is a woman?”

“I think God is a depressed fuck.”

You let out a chuckle. Then lower her knees again and place yourself between them to start kissing and licking her wonderful, sculpted abs. Your right hand almost instinctively starts lightly rubbing her already wet outer lips, your left grabbing her plump asscheek.

“What a short couple billion years alone in the button room could do to ya”

“But honestly, working on the wrong side of the law… I think it’s hard not to feel like one” She starts panting a little in between words.

“Ego?” Your mouth slowly travels down her lower stomach while your fingers play with her nub.

“Just, pure facts. I could kill a man that crosses my path at any time, and I have. Mmmmh. We just, own their lives. The decision to let them live on, or to end them, right then and there. It’s all ours. Yeahh- How do you not feel all-powerful when you have that?”

It becomes hard for her to complete a sentence without any moans in between.

“Does it matter?”

“W-What?”

Rosé’s focus is probably directed away from the conversation, and towards the feeling of your fingers opening her lips wide and your tongue taking one long lick from the bottom of her slit up to her sensitive clit.

“I don’t know them. Are decisions over the lives of people you don’t care about even worth making?”

You take several shorter licks around her slit, side to side, up and down, once in a while penetrating her hole slightly.

“What do y-youh care about?”

As her moans become longer and more frequent, her sentences become simpler and shorter.

“Right now, taking my money home”

Your tongue digs deep into her pussy, you try to reach every corner and crevice of her heat with it, and her whimpers tell you you’re doing a pretty good job at it.

“And th-en, what?”

Your mouth detaches from her right as she sounds like she’s going to give in. You get on your knees and pause for a second, looking at the empty floor of the plane. 

“...I don’t know, a legacy?”

“Villains have no legacy, they only leave bloody paper and hate behind them”

You get back down to face her, staring right down Rosé’s deep brown orbs. Your fingers return to her lower lips, and two of them make their way into her slippery walls, drawing a loud groan off of her. You start pumping in and out of her at an ever increasing pace.

“Love. I want someone to come back home to, to be there, waiting for me, to heal my wounds.” She’s now moaning right in your face, her pitch getting higher and higher, signaling her impending high, but her eyes are wide open and locked on yours. “To be able to spend time with, in silence, without it feeling awkward, not needing to worry about the future, just looking at her in the eyes, and, being in love.”

A few final pumps and Rosé starts repeatedly contracting around you, a stream of unholy water covering your entire hand and wrist in a profane coating, only a deep, tongue-filled kiss muting her screams as she finally can’t keep her eyes open anymore. You close yours with her as her arms wrap around your neck. The kiss lasts far longer than the already lengthy while she takes to recover from her strong orgasm. As both of you stare into each other’s pupils again, you’re the first to talk.

“How do you know when you’ve found what you’re looking for?”

“I don’t know. I think I’ll start from, looking at the junk I’ve collected on my way, before burning it”

-

footnotes.

god is a journey. progressively, leaf.

[bunnys-kisses]

chain breakers (a wrestling au) - simon 'ghost' riley

pairing: simon 'ghost' riley x reader rating: 18+ summary: You pinched the bridge of your nose, “You're telling me, the new Austrian guy whipped you with a CHAIN.” You sighed and put your hands on your hips, “I'm pretty sure when Mister Price said that was going to happen you went 'sure, I can take it!', and now you're on MY couch with a fuckin' whip mark on your back.” tags: wrestling au, injuries, angst/smut/fluff, oral sex (f receiving), scar kink/worship, kitchen sex, there's a lotta smut, possessive behaviour, semi-public sex, minor violence (wrestling duh), cowgirl position, there are three smut scenes in this thing, big dick!ghost, 8k words a/n: inspired by this! if you want more wrestling content, lemme know! (this was originally supposed to be a spicy pwp, but then it got outta hand). I look at Ghost's ass and go "Itadakimasu" join the my discord (18+)

You pinched the bridge of your nose, “You're telling me, the new Austrian guy whipped you with a CHAIN.” You sighed and put your hands on your hips, “I'm pretty sure when Mister Price said that was going to happen you went 'sure, I can take it!', and now you're on MY couch with a fuckin' whip mark on your back.”

  ”But it's all part of the-“ John started.

You held up a finger to him, “Johnny, shut up.”

He grimaced and looked to his friend, ”I can't help ya, good luck with the misuses.“ Then took it as his chance to leave before you turned your fury towards him.

The door clicked behind you but your gaze was on the man laid out on the couch. You didn't even want to see the damage done to his back. He was only hit once with the metal, but you could only imagine what had been done to your lover's back.

You approached closer, you seated yourself on the arm of the couch and reached for Simon's short hair, ”You're an idiot.“

He sighed, ”It made for a good show.“ His voice was low. He knew what he did was possibly unsafe. Wrestling may be 'fake', but the damage he came home with was very real.

You reached over and lifted the bottom of his fitting black t-shirt. The current reigning champion in the 'Modern Warfare' season, he basically had a target on his back for the other cast of characters that made up the league.

  ”Tell me if it hurts.“

  ”You could never hurt me.“ He said quietly.

You sighed, ”Simon Riley, this is not the time to play up the character. There's no one else here but us, now tell me if it starts to hurt.“

  ”Yes ma'am.“ He buried his face further into the pillow under his head. He soon partially lifted his body so you could get the shirt over his broad shoulders.

You held your breath as you saw the thick mark on his back. You could see every link in the chain imprinted on his skin. You were thankful that John didn't lie to you and he was only hit once.

You exhaled deeply, ”Si.“

  ”I'm sorry.“

You tossed the shirt to the side and got up from the edge of the couch. You were tempted to touch the bruise, but you didn't want to hurt him.

But you knew pain would come soon, ”Simon, I'm going to get you some ice. I need you to be still for me when I apply it to your back.“

He nodded, ”Thanks, love.“ Then exhaled deeply as well.

You smiled at his exposed, toned backside before you headed to the kitchen and grabbed one of the ice packs from the fridge.

You had met Simon a few years prior, the wrestling thing didn't start until two years after you got together. You encouraged him in whatever he needed to do, but to see him so hurt broke your heart.

It didn't matter how many times he or Soap or even Mister Price assured you it was safe, you couldn't help but worry. Because if something happened to your Simon, you'd be beside yourself.

You wrapped the ice pack in a dish towel and brought it back to him. You returned to your seat on the couch and leaned over. You hovered the ice pack over his back and sighed, this was at least better than the military.

  “Stay still, my love.” You said softly.

He hissed through his teeth, but didn't move an inch as you applied the cold to his back.

  “I know, I know.” You said softly, “It hurts like a bitch every time.” You moved the ice across the length of the mark.

He groaned into the pillow and you were trying so hard to be as delicate as possible.

You stayed like that for sometime, there was no saving his back from the wicked bruise he was going to have come morning. Soon your hand was starting to feel the chill of the ice pack. For extra measure, you leaned over to his back and placed a soft kiss against his skin.

  “I'll live.” He said.

  “Oh, I know. I can't get rid of you THAT easily.” You remarked as you got up, “I suggest you go get ready for bed. Do you want to stay on the couch or come to bed with me?”

He pulled his head up from the pillow and his dark eyes met yours. He looked exhausted on top of being in pain. He nodded and got up, “Affirmative, love.”

You chuckled softly and gave him your hand, “Then c'mon Ghost-y, let's get you to bed.” Then led him upstairs to your shared bedroom where he could get some sleep.

He slept on his stomach, there was no way he was getting to sleep on his back. He kept his head close to your chest and held your hand while he drifted to sleep. You forced yourself to stay awake until you heard his soft snoring.

This was your man, laid out beside you in bed. Fast asleep with the promise of pain in the morning. You reminded yourself that this was all a show, but yet you still worried.

You wanted him to be alright, you didn't want Simon to come home beaten and bruised in the name of entertainment. He wasn't some show pony that could have pain inflicted upon.

But there was little you could do. He was an adult man, and could make his own choices. So you found comfort in holding his hand as you curled up next to him and finally fell asleep.

-

Simon was up early, but laid in bed until you woke up. You thought he was still asleep so you started to kiss his face until he started to kiss you back.

He pulled away and gazed down at you. He smiled gently, that scar that ran down the right side of his lip, paired with another one just next to his lip. You cupped his face and he leaned into your touch.

His eyes opened and he looked at you, “Good morning'.”

You smiled at him, sleep still foggy in your mind. You kissed him once more, “Good morning my all-star.”

He chuckled quietly, “Pancakes?”

You snuggled up closer to him, “I have something else in mind. Your favorite meal... Unless your back is in too much pain.” As much as you loved having your pussy ate, you needed to make sure that Simon was comfortable as well.

He nodded, “Of course.” He placed a hand on your side and trailed it down to your ass before he pulled you even closer to him and squeeze your ass, “Anythin' for ya.”

You smiled then pulled away then guided his hands to pull down the sweatpants you slept in. Then you kicked the covers off of you as you kicked off your bottoms.

Then he kissed you. But it was hot and heavy as he grabbed your ass once more. He felt the heated flesh under his rough fingertips. Your ass was impressive, but your cheeks felt small compared to his large hand that was gripping them.

He groaned, “I love how ya feel. You're fuckin' perfect. Every time I get put through hell in the ring, I always come home to my girl.” His voice was low as he massaged your cheeks. He went back in for another kiss and felt you moan against him.

You clung onto his shoulders, thankfully the injury was closer to the middle of his back. However, you had to be careful of the healing of the older bruises on his face.

The kiss was deep between two lovers as he got on top of you. He then pulled away and went down between your legs. He pulled your underwear down as well and kissed your pussy.

He looked at you from between your legs, “Now be careful, I know how you like to... kick.”

You held the pillow under your head and squeezed your thighs around his head and draped your legs over his shoulders, “I'll be a good girl.” You giggled.

He groaned against you and felt heat radiate from his core and through his body. You gasped when you felt his tongue brush against your wet sex.

  “Fuckin' hell.” He grumbled against you before he took another soft lick. His cock strained in his pants, even if the aches in his body were fighting the urge to get aroused.

  “I love it.” You remarked, “Shit, Simon, your tongue.” Love dripped off your tongue as he began to pleasure you at a faster rate.

  “God, you taste good, love.” He grumbled before he continued to lick at you cunt. He felt your wetness got all over his lips and chin. As well as on his scar.

You thought about  that scarred lip touching your pussy that a heat flooded through you. It made your face flushed at the thought. You clung onto the pillow under your head and gently rolled your hips against his face.

Your wetness soon reached all the way to the apples of his cheeks, not to mention how he was nose deep between your folds. He inhaled your musky scent and melted against the bed, even as his legs hung off the edge. The sounds of sloppy oral sex filled the air and you squirmed against him. It felt so erotic for him to be so close to you.

  “Shit! Simon, fuck!” You whimpered, “That goddamn tongue.” You felt the heat in your body as the pleasure pumped through your veins. His tongue danced along your clit. His hot breath against your sex made you quiver.

  “Good girl.” He said in that low voice of his. His stomach was in knots the more the pleasure you had. He got pleasure out of your pleasure and soaked in all the sounds you made. It sounded erotic as all hell, the thought that he was doing this to you got a rise out of him. He squeezed my thighs around his skull the quicker he licked your pussy. Making sure every inch was covered in his spit.

Your hands then reached down to his hair as you held onto it tightly. You yanked on it roughly as another hot feeling of pleasure raced through his body. You arched your back and moaned loudly. Your heart was beating rapidly in your chest.

He practically melted against you and the bed the most he took pleasure in eating you out. His eyes shut gently and he held onto your legs as he tried to go deeper. He breathed deeply through his nose and his body was starting to heat up. He loved the taste of you on his tongue, it made his heart race at the feeling of you so close to him.

His head was starting to feel hazy with the lust cursing through his body. He groaned into your cunt and felt the most relaxed he had felt in DAYS.

  “I love ya.” He said quietly before he went back to what he was doing.

The room grew hotter the more he pleasured you. The sound of his devouring you pussy whole and your accompanying noises filled the room. Two lovers getting intimate with Simon engaging in his favorite pastime.

You rocked your hips against his face. His nose was against your clit as he played with your hole. You tried your best not to kick out your legs too much and his his sore spot.

The noises you made drove him crazy. The heat in his body was amplified by those sweet noises. You sounded like a dream to him.

Your leg muscles tensed more and you gripped onto his hair tighter. Yourbody tensed as you got closer to orgasm. You panted wildly as your boyfied pleasured you like it was his sole mission on his planet.

  “Shit, Simon.” You moaned loudly. You couldn't believe this was the same guy who threw other men through folding tables and put on a show almost every night. Here he was between your legs making sure that you knew who you belonged to.

That at the end of the day, you were his. And only his, there was no denying that he was quite possessive of you. He always wanted you and others to be aware that you were his and nothing was going to change that.

He was your lover, he was your soul at times. Despite all the brokenness in him. You pieced him back together and gave him a warm home to come back to. He loved you like the moon loved the sun, and you returned the love.

Those dark eyes were haunted by something, and when he was in the ring it was like he became fully possessed. And as he licked your pussy, you wondered if something else was possessing him.

You moaned loudly into the bedroom and continued to rub your clit against his nose. He groaned into your pussy and you knew he was aroused. It was plain obvious.

You'd return the favor afterwards, but for now you were trying to achieve your own climax. The heat of sex filled the room as you and your lover made love on your shared bed.

The curl of pleasure grew tighter as you felt yourself get ever so close to climax. You moaned out loud, not even trying to hide it.

  “Ah! Ah!” You gasped as you felt the tension in your body the more that he pleasures you. You weren't going to last long at this rate.

  “You taste so fuckin' good.' He purred the more he licked and sucked at your sex. Your muscle bound hottie of a boyfriend who could slam people down on the mat. He was between your legs and being as sensitive as he could be, he didn't want to bruise his loving girlfriend.

You moaned one last time before you let out a sharp inhale as you climaxed on his tongue. You kicked out your legs a little as you climaxed. It felt so good that it made your head spin. The euphoria of climax made your heart race as you tensed. But then you relaxed against the bed and panted wildly. 

He stayed between your legs for a little longer, licking your overstimulated clit to get a few more noises out of you. The bottom half of his face shone with your wetness all over it. He was a man who devoured his lover. 

You let go of his hair and laid there on the bed rapidly panting. You pushed the hair out of your face and felt the sweat on your forehead. You gazed at him still between your legs. You said, “Holy shit.” 

He pulled away and looked down at you. His face was flushed with the pleasure that raced through him. His heart was hammered in his chest and his cock was painfully hard. He deeply exhaled, “I think I need a little help, love.” 

Your eyebrows rose and you watched him move, you saw the full outline of his thick cock through his sweatpants. If your pussy could get any wetter it would have from the sight of his cock. You looked at him once more and opened your arms, “Well then, come and get it, Mister ghost.”

-

It took Simon days to convince you that the bruise wasn't as bad as it could be. Before he left for the gym after two days of you keeping him inside, he kissed you on the lips and said, ”No more chains, unless it's you and I.“

You blushed a little and pushed him away, ”Oh shush. You gave him a small smile, ”Tell Price if I see one more dangerous move, I'm going to his office to tell him off.“

He chuckled, ”I think you're the only thing that would scare him.“ He lifted his face mask over his mouth and nose before he headed to the car with his gym bag in tow.

You watched him pull out of the small driveway and head to the gym in town. You bit the nail of your thumb nervously before you headed back inside.

Your walk was a little staggered after two days of nothing but sex as a means to entice your boyfriend to stay home and not get his ass kicked once more. You knew the storyline for him in the ring, but it still didn't make you less nervous.

  ”Fuck.” You grumbled to yourself as you went to the kitchen to get breakfast before you headed to work. You sent him a quick text message with a bunch of hearts then put it down to grab what you needed.

-

That evening, you were tired after work but in an act of goodwill, John Price offered for you to come to the ring to watch Simon perform that night. You knew it was a way to prove that your boyfriend was not being beaten with a metal chain anymore.

When you got home, Simon was home. He was at the kitchen table with a plate of leftovers. You had made enough lasagna to feed the whole circuit, but Simon was greatly enjoying it.

You went over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. You leaned over and kissed on the cheek, “Do I need to examine you for more bruises or?“

  ”Nothing' happened, love. I was a good boy.“ He smiled a little, ”Johnny did get a good slap on the bruise.“

  ”Do I have to kill that Scottsman?“ You asked, semi-serious.

He chuckled, ”No, love. If I need to strangle him, I will. No need to get your hands dirty.“ Simon and John were as thick as thieves, the only time they seriously did damage to one another was in the ring.

He moved the chair back to let you sit in his lap. He smiled at you, you saw how the scars on his face moved with it. You delicately sat down on his large thigh and cupped his face. His eyes closed for a moment as he relaxed into your touch.

The ultimate sign of loyalty. His devotion to you ran deep. A lot of people loved the character of Ghost, but only you loved the man under the mask. You loved Simon Riley and for the rest of time, he was thankful for that.

You kissed the corner of his mouth where the scars were and he wrapped his strong arms around you. You felt content in his grasp as you continued to kiss his face.

  “How is it?”

  “Perfect. I was starvin'.” He remarked before he kissed you fully on the lips, he soon pulled away and as he did so he said “I like when my wife cooks me dinner.”

You looked him in the eyes, “I'm not your wife until I see that ring.” Then gave him a playful pat on the cheek.

  ”Soon, love. I'll give ya all the diamonds you want." He brushed his nose up against you, “Anything for my girl.” Then kissed your neck. He exhaled deeply against your skin, “Feelin' ya against me, has me all riled up.”

You giggled, “I'm still in my work clothes.” You pulled away and looked down at him, “Unless you want them on the floor.“

He smiled up at you, ”Of course I do. I want ya naked and bent over this table.“ Those dark eyes carried lust in them, you knew how worked up he got after a day in the gym. The blood pumping did things to him, and paired with you in his lap. It didn't help in the slightest.

You got up from his lap and took off your jacket. It was simple office clothes, you worked in front of a computer most days.

You placed it on another chair by the table. It was then followed by your skirt and white button up shirt and soon you were left in your drawers. A mis-matched pair of bra and panties, and black pantyhose.

You started to take them off, but Simon reached out to stop you. He placed a hand over top of your hand and gazed up at you.

  ”Let me, love.“ He smiled before he pulled your hands away gently and then got up. He picked you up with ease and placed you on top of the study dining table

.

He admired your beauty. He had seen a lot of nice things in his life. Sunsets in Barcelona, the thick beauty of flower fields in the Netherlands, the way the sun shone over blankets of untouched snow in Russia. But never, in his entire life, had he seen something or rather someone as beautiful as you.

  ”Si.“

  ”Yeah?“

  ”Is everything okay?“ You asked, becoming a little self conscious at the way he was staring at you. You blushed more when he put both hands on your thighs. Even with a bit of chub to your thighs, his hands made them appear small.

He smiled at you once more before he leaned in and pulled at the pantyhouse. He felt every inch of your legs as he pulled them down. Your soft skin against his hands.

You moaned once they were off and he was back at your lips once more. The kiss was tender even as his hands worked their magic to get your bra off. He loved undressing you, it was a gift to each other.

You whimpered against the kiss as you helped him get your bra off and on the floor. You then wrapped your arms around him as you moved on the table to  get closer to him.

He groaned into the kiss and held you by your bare shoulders. You looked divine, like an angel out of heaven. Sent down to make sure he was safe in the ring. His cock twitched in his loose pants.

  ”Fuck.“ He grumbled.

  ”I love you, Simon.“ You said partially out of breath as you broke the kiss, “I love you more than any woman could love a man.“ You lifted your hips off the table to help him get your panties off.

He replied as he pushed them down to your left ankle, ”I love you more than you know. If I lost you I don't know what I'd do.“ He exhaled deeply, ”If someone took you from me, I'd rip them limb from limb until they were nothin' but a bloody pulp.“

You smiled at his harsh comment, always with the violence. But you assumed that would make sense. It was Simon's whole world for a long time. Even now it was to an extent.

You cupped his face once more, ”If I lost you, Si.“ You pulled back the left side of his lip to reveal his teeth, your heart raced, ”If I lost you. I would make sure there was no peace ever again.“

He chuckled as he pressed his forehead against yours, “Boil the seas and level the mountains.” Then went in for another kiss. Hopelessly devoted to one another.

The two of you made out on the kitchen table for a while, feeling each other's warmth in the home you shared. Your heart was a rabbit's pace in your chest as you held onto the front of his shirt.

His dinner was long forgotten, he thought just this once he could have dessert before he finished his meal. His hand cupped the back of your head and he titled his back to expose more of your neck, where he laid kisses on your skin.

  “I wish we had all night, I'd take ya apart piece by piece.” He growled, “See what would make ya scream.“ He chuckled softly.

You held onto his hair, feeling the soft locks through your fingers, “Next time.” As if you two hadn't spent the previous two days having sex.

Even with you sitting on top of the table, he still loomed over you. He was close to six foot three and broad. Everything about him was big, and you knew if he didn't have to shave for wrestling, he'd be hairy too.

You swallowed back the arousal of your lover's body. He was all yours, from those dark eyes to the broad muscles, to every nick and scar on his skin. It was all yours, and you couldn't have been happier.

He took a hold on your chin gently, “My girl.” Then kissed you on the lips gently. He exhaled through his nose as he felt arousal build up in his body.  

You pulled away and he started to pull his shirt off. You gazed at his form with lust in your eyes as he revealed himself to you. The icing on the cake was the impressive snake in his pants.

He held his cock in his hand as you spread your legs a little further for him. He nodded his head slightly, his breathing became heavier, ”Such a good girl for me, ya know exactly how I like you. Legs spread open and ready to take me all.“

You nodded and leaned back on your hands to keep yourself steady. You felt so exposed to him as you said there bare in front of your lover. Your cheeks felt hot as he closed the gap between you two and hooked one of your legs around his waist.

  ”Fuckin' amazin'.“ He purred as he slotted his cock inside of you. The stretch made you clench and he soaked in your sweet sounds. Divine.

He pressed his forehead up against you and got your other leg around him. He held you by the hips, feeling your softness against his rough hands, and started to thrust his hips. He rocked your body back and forth onto his cock.

  ”That's it, that's my girl.“ He groaned, ”If anyone ever tried fuckin' you like this. I'd kill 'em.“

You giggled and then wrapped your arms around him. You laid back onto the table with him close to you. Your bodies moved together, two pieces meant to fit together. You replied, slightly out of breath, “Like I'd ever fuck another man after you. It would be a vow of celibacy if you left.”

He chuckled, “I'm not goin' anywhere. You're stuck with me, love. Until the earth explodes. You're my girl till the end.”

You moaned, “Please, Simon.” You clung onto him as he thrusted his hips against you. His cock hitting all the sweetest parts of you. The space between you felt hot from the friction of your movements. Your heart hammered in your chest.

  “Yeah, that's it. That's my girl. Beg.” He panted.

  “Please, Simon. Give it to me. I want you to fuck me until I can feel you for days after.” You panted, you felt sweat begin to stick to your back.

You squeezed your thighs around his hips and leaned your head back. You gazed at the far wall of the kitchen. For a moment you realized that you hadn't closed the blinds on the kitchen window.

For a moment you wanted to close it. But there was no way Simon was going to let you get out of his grasp before he finished you both off. You were pinned under him until you were screaming.

Your hands went to his shoulders, you dug your nails into his back as he loved.The pleasure made you see stars when he his against your cervix.

Part of you was surprised that he could even fit inside of you.

You held onto him tightly and rocked against the table. Having a house with him was much better than when he was roommates with John. You swore there were some times when the Scotsman wanted to kill Simon for being so loud at such strange hours.

Now the two of you could be as loud as you needed to be. Your back arched when he picked up the pace and  you tighten your legs around him. He leaned over you, hands spread on the table above your head as he drilled his cock into you.

  “Ya like that, love?” He asked, his lips so close to your ear. He sighed happily as he felt your cunt clench around his cock.

You nodded, “Yeah, fuck. Yeah.“ You dug your nails into his back and he hissed from the feeling.

  “Fuck, you're perfect.“ He chuckled as he dipped his head down to your neck once more. What little restraint he had was gone and he started to kiss at the soft flesh. But soon they turned into his blunt teeth digging into the skin on your neck. Which left behind a wake of purple bruises.

Of course he had to mark you up before the match. He held onto the table for support but moved one hand to your left breast and started to knead at it. His rough hands on sensitive flesh almost made you kick out your legs.

  ”Fuck!“ You whimpered.

He groaned, “That's it, love. Get tighter around me, fuckin' milk me dry.” He panted against your hot skin and felt hot all over. He could feel the sweat dripping down his back as he continuously thrusted into you.

  “Please, ah, Simon!” You gasped.

He sealed his lips against yours once more and continued to massage your breast. It was a combination of pleasure and pain, a world you were far too familiar with.

  “My girl.” He whispered against your heated skin. He could feel your pulse as he ruined your neck. Good luck covering the damage he made.

You retaliated by leaving nail marks on his muscular shoulders. He really was perfect, the kind of man who made your heart race. He was a beast in the ring, but with you he was something completely different.

His devotion was undying, his love was unwavering. You were his as he was yours. Intertwined till the end of days.

And you were content with that.

  “Please.” You gasped. The pleasure was becoming unbearable. It wasn't long before you were a moaning mess on the table, barely making coherent words.

And Simon thought that was the most arousing thing he had ever seen. It only fueled him to keep going. Soon you were practically a ragdoll under his touch. A toy to fuck and bring to climax.

You panted rapidly and let out a sharp noise as you held onto him tightly and climaxed. It felt like a shock to your system as you finished. It shot wired your brain and then you went laxed against the table with your hands spread out on the table. Your bare chest rose and fell rapidly as you tried to use your tongue to form words.

Simon smiled to himself as he pulled away. He grabbed your legs around his waist and pulled them so your ankles were at his shoulder and with the new position, he took you blissed out to achieve his own orgasm.

He bullied your pussy for a lack of a better word. He felt your tightness around his hardened cock as kept thrusting. He maintained eye contact. He even noticed how your tongue was partially sticking out as you gasped for air.

  “Droolin' little girl.” He chuckled, 'Fuck your brains out.“ He admired his work as he felt himself experiencing bliss. His thrusts were quick and short with machine precision.

He wiped his sweaty brow with the back of his hand as he continued. He grunted as his cock touched the deepest parts of you. It felt like he was in your stomach.

  ”Fuck, love. He groaned as he gave one last hard thrust and finished inside of you. He relaxed a little and let out a small noise as he felt a headrush, “FUck.” He panted.

He pulled out and had to sit down on the nearby chair to pull himself together. It wasn't that his body was exhausted, it was the sheer force of pleasure tickling a part of his brain that made him partially dizzy.

He patted your leg that was dangling over the kitchen table and nodded. He exhaled deeply, “Oh yeah, good girl.“

You slowly propped yourself on your elbows and looked at him. Your chest was still rapidly rising and falling, “I don't think I could ever get bored of this.”

He chuckled and leaned over to kiss your thigh, “Good to know. I'd hate for my girl to get tired. I only wanna see her worn out after I fucked her.” He got up, “C'mere, love. Let's get some dinner in ya.”

  “As if I'm not full already.“ You remarked, coming back to your senses. You were able to sit up properly as Simon dressed you so you didn't have to eat dinner with cum leaking out of you.

He rubbed your head before he helped your back in your bra, “Sadly, my swimmers won't keep ya full during the match.“ Then kissed your cheek.

You chuckled, ”God, don't call them that.“ Once partially dressed you managed to be able to get onto your feet. You gave him one last look, ”Cut me a slice of the leftovers, I'm going to change into something more comfortable.“

As you started to wobble your way upstairs, in a moment of cheekiness, Simon reached over and slapped your ass. You turned your head to look at him.

You saw that look in his eye, the look he got when he was a man possessed. You reached over and slapped his ass in return before you headed to your bedroom. Two could play at that game.

-

Simon may have been the precious boyfriend who came home to you every night. But when you headed to the location of the match, you saw something change in him as you got through the door.

The Ghost was out to play.

And in tonight's match, he was going to defend his title. No one was taking his title of the Champion of the Modern Warfare Season. You took his hand for a moment after you got through the front door.

He looked down at you, and you looked up at him in return. The bottom half of his face was covered as you couldn't make out a lot of his expression. But you've gotten pretty good at reading his eyes.

He wanted to win. Even if the match was decided, his goal was to put on this most convincing show he could.

You smiled, and you brought his hand to your lips. You held his hand facing up and kissed the inside of his wrist. Your kiss lingered, then you closed his palm and held it close to your chest.

  ”If that fucking Austrian comes near you again, I'm going to beat him with a chain.“ You promised.

He chuckled and leaned in to kiss you. You felt the material of his mask against the top of your head, ”No need, love. Just Soap and I tonight.“

You pulled away, ”Good. Go put on a good show.” Then winked at him before you turned away to go find your seat up at the front.

He watched you walk away, his eyes were on your backside. He rolled his shoulders then turned away to the changerooms to get ready for the match.

Ghost was a fighter, he wasn't the flashiest performer, but he made for a good 'heel'. The masked wrestler knew how to throw his body and as a result held the title of champion.

  “How's the lass?” John asked as he took off his jacket.

  “She's well. Behavin'.” Simon remarked.

John laughed, “Oh silly Ghost, you don't have her on a leash. She has YOU on a leash.” He went over and slapped his friend's back, mindful of the bruises, “Surprised she didn't tear ya limb from limb when she saw this mess.”

Simon took off his face mask and looked over at the other man, “There's a reason why I wasn't at the gym for two days.”

John nodded, “Whipped man.” He laughed before he went to change.

Simon opened his locker, on the inside part of the door were a few photos of you. He smiled to himself as he threw his clothes into the locker.

-

The match was the highlight of the evening. Simon spent most of the evening lingering around backstage. He shared a shot of tequila to calm his nerves with John, he forgot how much he hated the stuff.

The announcer called out his name, he got up from the folding chair and grabbed his championship belt and headed to the ring.

Per usual, the crowd booed him as they did for most heels. He smiled under his mask and held the belt over his head. He caught you staring at him, practically the only person cheering him on.

John was soon called on stage as well. And the two looked like they were going to exchange a friendly shake of hands, before Simon went in for the punch.

Let the match begin.

Simon used to think that wrestling was real, when he'd watch pay-per-view matches when he was in ROTC as a young man. But now he thought anyone who thought wrestling was a hundred percent real were idiots.

He was an actor, an actor who got hit over the head with a folding chair by his good friend. He hit the mat but got up before John could jump off the ropes.

The two men flipped between who was on the floor of the ring and who wasn't. At one point John had him in a headlock, but an elbow to the face allowed Simon to get out from under him.

At one point John stomped on the bruise from the chain and Simon cursed to himself. But the crowd was going wild for the display of violence. He did get his revenge by throwing John to the mat and throwing an elbow drop onto him.

He could hear John swear and wheeze from the pain.

  “Ya think you're that good, Ghost.” John asked, his accent grew heavier the more they brawled.

Simon nodded his head. He didn't speak much when he was in the ring. It was all part of the act. Both men threw themselves at one another and scrambled for dominance.

But soon Simon slammed John's head against the mat and held him down there. He said, “Give it up, Soap. You'll never win this.” He made his voice purposely deeper.

That was the word that their little performance was done. And in John's opinion, he was beat.

The referee counted down and at ten, John goes laxed on the mat. The bell rang and the match was over.

Simon got up from being on top of John and grabbed the belt from the referee. He held it over his head and the crowd booed.

To be a heel meant having thicker skin. The crowd would never cheer for him, no matter how many times he defended the title.

But he licked the blood from the corner of his lip under his mask and made eye contact with you. You smiled at him as you clapped for him.

You were just thankful that he wasn't beaten with a chain AGAIN. You blew him a kiss and laughed, he may be the ghost of the ring but he was you Simon.

Simon headed to the changeroom. He winced as he got a good look at the boot print on his back. Fuckin' Scotsman.

He knew you were going to have to get some ice packs ready when you both got home. He took off the mask and placed it on the  counter in front of the mirror.

He noticed a cut on his cheek,the blood had mostly dried but there was a big bruise forming around it. He sighed, you weren't going to like that.

  “Oh God.” He groaned as he stood under the spray of the shower. He braced both hands against the tile as he stretched out his body. He rolled his shoulders under the hot spray of the water.

  “How ya holdin' up?” He heard John ask.

He looked over and pushed wet hair out of his eyes, “Been better. Ya didn't have to kick my bruise.“

John chuckled, ”It was in the routine before you got whipped.“ He pulled away from the tiled wall, ”I think yer girl wants to see ya. She wants to make sure her big bad Ghost is okay.“  His chuckle turned into a laugh.

Simon narrowed his eyes, “Still, you could've moved it a little.“ He turned off the tap and went over to where his towel was.

John shrugged, “Got a rise outta the crowd.”

  “Fuckin' Scotsman.” Simon said as he went to grab his clothes.

John laughed, “I'll go get yer girl.” Then headed back towards the exit of the changeroom.

Simon took his time drying off. He was always achy after a match. He got lost in his thoughts as he dried his face and hair. It wasn't until he felt a familiar touch that he came back to reality.

 “Hey, Ghost.” You said.

He pulled the towel away from his face and looked down at you. The corners of his mouth curled at the sight of you. He dropped the towel and turned to you.

You gazed up at him, without thinking you reached out and touched the cut on his face, “Simon.”

  “I know.” He said, ”He knows how to throw a punch.“ He leaned down to kiss you gently on the forehead. He watched you wrap your arms around him and he placed a hand on your upper back.

  ”The match was good, you did a great job keeping your title. You really are the best.“ You chuckled, ”I hate seeing you get hit in the face though, but... I'll live.“

He kissed you again,”Thought about ya the entire time I was in the ring. Knowing my number one fan was watching.“ He chuckled.

You leaned up to kiss him on the lips. The kiss was hot, your smaller hands grabbed onto his strong biceps. You really were so much smaller than him. As the kiss deepened, he held your chin and tilted your head back.

  ”I hate to admit it.“ You said as you pulled away, ”I find it hot when you punch the lights out of someone.“

He chuckled, “I knew that a long time ago.”He stepped back and sat on the bench. He spread his legs, “We have about ten minutes.” He knew exactly what you were thinking of.

You chuckled, ”Perv.”

He leaned up against the metal of the lockers, the cool surface against his bruises made his lip twitch, “Only for you, love.”

  “Aren't you a sweet talker.”  You went over to him. You sat down on the bench beside him and got your shorts off, and then your panties, “So enough chit chat and lets get going.”  

Simon's cock twitched. He was definitely a shower. You touched it carefully and he quickly grew hard. You watched his face grow hot as you swung one leg over his lap and straddled him.

You looked in his eyes as you rubbed your pussy up against the tip of his cock, “Think you'll last nine minutes?”

He replied, “You always make me cum fast, maybe I'll get two loads in ya.” Then hissed through his teeth as you sank yourself onto his cock.

  “God.”

  “It's Simon, love.” He chuckled as he rested his head against the locker behind him. His hand gravitated to your hips and started to roll his hips in time with your thrusts.

It was risky to do in the changeroom, but Simon was certain every performer brought their catch of the week in here after a match. The only difference was that you had been Simon' girl for some time now.

Your bodies moved together. Simon's hands dug into the meat of your hips and he leaned into you to kiss you deeply. The thrill of sex after the thrill of a match only made him more erect. He was obsessed with you, he thought you were God's gift to him.

He pulled away slightly and gazed at you, “You're mine. Got it? I don't give a shit who says otherwise. If any guy tries to get between us, I'll fuckin' kill 'em.” He panted.

You tangled your fingers in his hair and gazed into his dark eyes, “That's assuming any man would come near me.” You rolled your hips more, “No man shines a light to you.” You yanked on his hair a little, “You are the most impressive man I've ever seen. I only want you, Si.“

He groaned, ”I love you.“

You pulled his face close to yours, ”Not as much as I love you.“

He dug his blunt nails deeper into your hips, ”You're mine, love. And I'll fuck ya every day to remind you.“ He kissed up at your neck, over the bruises he had left earlier.

You had sex earlier that evening and here you were fucking one another once again. Love ran hot between you two.

  ”Shit.“ ”Fuck.“ ”Simon, PLEASE.“ Were shared between you two as you thrusted your bodies together like a pair of horny rabbits.

  ”Mine.“ He groaned.

You held onto his shoulders and bounced on his cock the more you put your full force behind your movements. You felt sweaty all over, your heart was pounding and you felt the shivers of pleasure  through your body.

  ”Fuckin' obsessed with you. Want you until the day I die. You're my girl. My everything.“ He panted. He gritted his teeth and soon held onto the edge of the bench to let you ride him.

  ”Ah, shit.” You moaned, “You feel so good.” You panted, “Who allowed you to have such a big fuckin' cock.” You pushed the hair out of your face as you continued to move your hips against him.

 “Made just for you.”

  “Oh shush.” You giggled as you continued to rub up against him. You felt your heart thump in your chest. You clung onto him as you moved your hips against him. It was so arousing for you to be so close to him.

He pressed his forehead up against you and held onto you tightly once more as he thrusted up into you. He felt heat in his body as you fucked against one another.

  “You're so fuckin' hot.” He said.

  “Not as hot as you. Punching Johnny in the face and throwing him down to the ground. It is almost funny. But there's something hot about that.“

He chuckled, ”Yeah, you like when men beat each other up?”

You kissed him once more, then when you pulled away you answered him, “Yes.” As you thrust your hips, you practically bounced on his cock.

Pleasure raced through both of you as the two of you fucked in the middle of the changeroom. He found your movements so erotic, his eyes for a moment were on your breasts.

How they looked under the over-sized shirt you wore. His name was printed on it. He felt proud of himself, of his girl wearing his shirt. That you'd always be his number one.

Soon your lips were against his again. You held onto his strong shoulders tightly as you rolled your hips. You panted into the kiss and you could hear his chuckle against you.

  “Please.” You moaned.

He grabbed onto your ass, feeling the soft flesh. You moaned into his mouth from the pressure that he was putting on your ass as his cock slid in and out of your pussy.

You pulled away and held onto his shoulders. You put all of your energy into it. Your mouth hung open as you gasped for air. You felt the electricity of pleasure course through your body.

  “Aw, fuck.” He panted. He landed a hard smack on your left cheek. He then groaned against you as he thrust his hips up into you to get further into your pussy.

You felt the urge to orgasm come closer. You held onto your lover's hair and continued to move against him. You felt your heart hammering in your chest. It wasn't long before you felt the urge to climax. You kept up the pace you were working with and your legs started to feel like jelly.

You felt love for Simon, you took in the scent of him. The Old Spice he was content with. You leaned in and kissed the top of his head. You inhaled and moaned as you continued to rut against him.

It didn't take long before the two of you finished. You clasped a hand over your mouth as you rode out your orgasm while Simon had to bite his fist.

He painted your insides white and you went limp against him for a moment, He then stroked your back and slowed down till he stopped. He wrapped those strong arms around you and kissed the side of your head.

“That's my girl.” He said with his voice steeped in devotion. He kissed you once before he slowly got you off his cock. He looked at you as you put your shorts back on.

Your eyes met, you reached out and touched the scar on his face. He could see the love in your eyes. He may have lived many different lives before you. But this was the one that he loved the most.

You were his home.

xoxo, bunny

[twilightaurora]

bolstering a fighter's spirit – sage

sneak peek: before battle, link pulls you aside with a request. he wants to wear his barbarian armor into the fight, but he needs help with the paint patterns of the set. after all, the attack bonus only happens when the purple paint completes the armor. won't you help him?

pairing: sage (totk!link) x fem!reader, background chain (no wind) x fem!reader (poly) – this will be four parts! one for sage, wild, and cal, then the triplets together ;)

warnings: 18+ content! (do NOT interact with this unless you have an age indicator in your bio - I WILL block you) cursing, spitting, handjobs/masturbation, hair pulling, praising, mentions of oral (m! receiving), sage is a big tease, a little bit of exhibitionism (public setting, but you're alone), jealousy ;) biting (forgive me if sage is ooc, he's just a little gremlin in my eyes) this is mostly teasing – the good stuff will come in part four ;)

word count: 6.4k

a/n: i want sage in a way that is concerning to feminism i think (/j... or am i??) this is dedicated to @neverchecking who fueled my brain rot xD this series is for you >:D

It starts with Sage.

Because it always does. 

The chain landed in his Hyrule the day before, appearing on the borders of Zora’s Domain. The shift wasn’t terrible this time – for you anyway. Hylia, whether intentionally or not, had dumped you directly atop Time and Twilight. 

In your humble opinion, Time made a much worse cushion than his successor. With his broad chest and stiff armor, the eldest hero was less than comfortable to land on. Twilight, on the other hand, managed to grasp a hold of your waist in the midst of the fall, and dragged you into him as the three of you went down. You ended up landing mostly atop Twilight, much to your thanks. However, you could still feel the harsh press of Time’s armor against your sides.

“Oof,” you grunt as the air escapes your chest involuntarily. Pressing a hand to your ribs, you suck in a grateful breath of air as you lean forward. 

A hand slips around your hips as another gently taps against your back.

“You alright there, darl’?” 

It’s Twi. His accent is unmistakable. 

His hand rubs sweetly against your side as you cough. Sitting up with a huff, you feel Twilight hum as you lean away from his chest. Awkwardly, you shimmy off his lap to land between him and Time, smiling with a little chuckle, you nod. 

“Yeah, m’okay,” you smile, feeling your breath return. “You?”

Twilight chuckles, shifting and stretching his back. The three of you landed on your backs, facing skyward as the portal closed above you. It wasn’t a big fall, but it was enough to leave you winded. 

“M’alright, too. What about ya,’ Time? Ya’ good, old man?” Twilight turns over his shoulder to look at Time with a toothy grin. You catch a glimpse of his sharpened canines and have to look away before he catches your lingering stare. 

Time huffs, rubbing his own hand against the chest-plate of his armor. 

“Watch it, pup,” the eldest murmurs, but there’s no heart in it. Especially when you find the grin twisting the corner of his mouth upwards. “I’m okay. Is everyone all here?”

“We’re good!” 

The reply comes from Wind, the youngest already standing and looking around the new environment. His hands are on his hips and there’s a beaming grin on his lips. 

“Speak for yourself, kid,” Legend grunts. The Vet is pulling himself from a pile of limbs, buried beneath the forms of Hyrule, Sky and Wild. “You didn’t land at the bottom of the pile.”

A resounding groan comes from Sky as he weasels his way from underneath the others, offering his own complaint. 

“Four’s a little woozy, but other than that we’re doing fine,” Warriors inputs, his form crouched beside the mentioned hero. Four is on his hands and knees, panting as he attempts to right himself. Shifts are always a little different for him. Perhaps it had something to do with the other parts of him still constrained within one form, but he didn’t quite know. 

“I’ll be fine, Wars. Just gimme’ a few minutes.” 

Time is on his feet a moment later, turning back to you with a sweet smile and offering a hand. 

“Thank you,” you hum as you slip your fingers into his own. Twilight props you up as you begin to stand, his hand sliding from your back to a fraction lower. When you turn over your shoulder to shoot him a look, Twilight gives you a wolfy smile and a little wink before he begins to stand as well. You roll your eyes goodnaturedly and ignore the flash of heat that zings through your gut. 

“Of course, sweetheart,” Time murmurs, brushing the dirt off your tunic as you fix yourselves. “Anyone know where we are?” 

“It’s my Hyrule,” comes Sage’s voice. The Hero of the Zonai is looking down at his Purah Pad, scanning through something as he speaks. “We landed pretty close to Zora’s Domain. If we’re lucky we can make it there before nightfall.” 

Wild nods, brushing off his tunic as he confirms Sage’s words. 

“I recognize Inogo Bridge,” he muses as slings a Lynel Bow over his shoulders. “Is the road to the Domain as overrun here as it is in mine?” 

Sage hums as he filters through his weapon inventory, eventually summoning a Zonaite Sword that’s been fused to some monster part that the others don’t recognize. That Fuse ability of his is still something the Chain is getting used to. 

“It’s not so bad. I cleared it out before the last Blood Moon, but I’m not sure how long I’ve been gone.” 

Time leaves your side to join Sage and Wild. Cal fills his empty place easily, a little grin on his lips as he scans over your form. When he finds no injuries, his smile broadens, giving you a nod as you lean forward to pat his cheek sweetly. The pinkish hue of his cheeks is too cute. 

“I’m fine, Cal, really,” you murmur, leaning into the Hero as he blushes. 

“Just checking, is all.” 

You smile, pecking Cal’s cheek as you leave his side to join the other heroes. Time has his arms crossed over his chest as Sage speaks, his one eye still shut and his armor glinting in the sun. 

“Okay,” the Hero of Time begins, scanning over the Chain as he mulls over his words. “We move in an hour. That should give everyone a chance to recover from the shift. We should prepare for a fight – with our luck, the road will probably be overrun.” 

The rest of the Chain offer various forms of agreement, beginning to move away as they shift through their various belongings. You pull your pouch to your front and untangle the strings as you rifle through the magically enhanced insides. Finding the bottles you’re searching for, you count the number of healing potions and fairies still on your person. Mentally accounting for the rest of the chain and the number of potions you know are in Wild’s slate, you hum thoughtfully. There’s enough. As long as nothing goes terribly wrong, everything should be just fine. 

A moment later, your name is called. 

Lifting your head, you find Sage’s eyes across the clearing. The Hero of the Zonai finds your gaze and lifts his hand to beckon you closer. 

“C’mere, sunflower,” he smiles, the glint in his eyes reflecting something deeper. His grin looks a little too close to a smirk, and your heart skips a beat. He wants something. “I need your help with something.”

You follow his motion with a silly tumble of your stomach. Sage never fails to make your gut flip and your skin warm. You’re so weak for this man and he’s not even doing anything. 

“What’s up, Sage?” 

The hero is already wearing different clothes from the ones he landed in. You recognize them – you’ve seen his barbarian armor before. He and Wild – as well as Cal, you’ve come to learn, each have a set of the ‘armor.’ You’re hardly sure it can be called armor, given how little it actually seems to protect during battle. Wild had mentioned the armor was enhanced by the Great Fairies, giving him some kind of magical boost during battle. You didn’t really understand it, but you believed him. The triplets were wonders on the battlefield, and with the addition of the armor, you could tell their prowess seemed to grow. 

However, though Sage dons the leg wraps and the chest guard, the helm is still missing. When you step closer to the hero, you notice he’s suspiciously missing something else too. 

There’s no paint decorating his skin. 

The fur of his boots and at his shoulders ruffles with the soothing breeze, and you desperately try to keep your eyes away from the toned lines of his abdomen. Sage, however, seems to notice your struggle, because his grin only seems to broaden. 

When you reach his side, Sage holds something out to you. 

A paintbrush. 

“Can you help me with this, pretty? I can’t reach my back as easily as you can.” 

You have to battle against the way your stomach flutters. Skin warming and fingers twitching, you reach out to grab the brush from Sage’s outstretched hand. 

“Are you sure?” you murmur. “I don’t know the pattern as well as you.” 

Sage gives you another grin, humming sweetly as he reaches for your hands. His skin is warm as he pulls you closer. 

“Of course I’m sure. I’ll help you, love. Just come with me, please?” 

The look he gives you makes your knees weak. His lidded eyes are filled with something you can’t decipher, and his pretty cerulean irises are peering down at you with something dark in their depths. The way he leans forward over you is troubling given the way your heart clenches. 

“Okay, if you’re sure,” you whisper, smiling back at the hero.

Sage leads you away from the camp the Chain begins to build. You’re not quite sure what the distance is for, but you assume he must want some privacy given how close the paint is to… 

Oh. 

Sage smirks as you begin to realize what he’s asked you to do. His grip on your hand tightens and you press your lips together to repress the way your cheeks warm. Your stomach flips and something hot surges between your thighs. 

“You finally realize what I’m asking you, pretty girl?” 

Goddesses, this man is too much for you. 

You offer Sage a look, feeling suddenly small beneath his heated gaze. His blonde locks are loose and hanging delicately around his face, and you want to run your fingers through the silky tresses. You wonder what kind of sound he’ll make if you tug on them. 

Turning back to you when he’s deemed the distance enough, Sage gives you another smirk and pulls you close. He clutches your hips in his hands, tugging you closer with lidded eyes and leans down closer to you. Your heart skips a beat as his lips graze over your own, and you surge closer to his pretty mouth. 

Sage chuckles, the low sound making your stomach feel funny. 

“Ah ah, sunflower…” he tuts playfully, squeezing your hips and pressing his waist into your own. “I still need your help – there’s no attack boost without the body paint, you know?” 

You huff, shooting him a withered look at Sage grins. The hero pulls out the paint he uses for such purposes, outstretching it towards you as he motions towards the paintbrush. 

“Please, my love? You can start with my legs.” 

You nearly roll your eyes at his honey-sweet tone, giving him another look as you accept the paint. Your stomach flips again when Sage leans back, resting his weight against a tree behind him. The hero spreads his legs a bit, offering you the space between them as he looks down at you. 

With something hot rippling beneath your skin, you realize what he beckons for you to do. Huffing, you drop to your knees at Sage’s feet and look up at him with your brows raised. You find the man already looking down at you with a toothy grin, and something feral in his expression makes you even weaker to his salacious smirk. 

“This what you wanted, Sage?” 

“That’s perfect, sweet girl. You know I love you on your knees for me,” he purrs. “You know what the pattern looks like?”

You offer a small nod, shifting your eyes to the empty expanse of his toned thighs. On your knees, your head comes up to his hips, and you’re given a beautiful view of his gorgeous legs. The little skirt the armor uses barely covers more than a few inches beneath his hips, and you’re given more than an eyeful of his pretty, bare skin. 

Turning back to the paint in your hands, you dip the paintbrush in the royal purple color and lift it back towards his skin. Looking back up at him once, Sage inclines his head in a nod and you melt underneath his dark eyes. 

You start at his legs, dragging the paintbrush across his right leg. On his outer thigh, you paint the crossing pattern that you’ve seen span over his legs. You definitely have not been paying close attention to the pattern that the armor always dons… 

Flushing at the memory, you feel your thighs weaken, so you spread your knees farther apart to counter the weight. Head spinning as you finish the first leg, you look back up at Sage. He’s still watching you, one of his hands lifting to brush some of your hair out of your eyes sweetly, you melt into his hand. He gives you an uncharacteristically tender look before he nudges you back to your job. 

When you turn to the other leg, you find the leather drop sheath encasing his upper thigh. The dagger in the holster glints in the sun, but that’s not why your stomach flips. 

“Can I…” you murmur, voice uncharacteristically weak. “Can I take this off? I think the paint goes across here, doesn't it?” 

Sage hums, a knowing smirk on his lips as he runs his fingers across your scalp again. Leaning his hips forward towards you, you feel another lick of heat flick between your thighs. 

It’s so… hot. Everything is so hot. You know he’s teasing you, but it’s working. 

By the Three, is it working... 

Sage makes no move to take the holster off himself, simply offering you his hips and looking down at you through his lashes. “Go ahead, pretty. Take it off f’me.” 

You melt beneath his gaze, shakily lifting a hand to his legs. Your brain is racing and your thoughts are so fuzzy. Sage knows exactly how to make you weak beneath him. It takes so little effort. In any other situation, you’d probably throw a playful swat for such behavior, but when Sage gives you that lustful smirk, you find you’ll do anything he says – as long as he keeps looking at you like that, you’ll do anything and everything. 

When your fingers find the holster, skimming across the pretty, pale skin of his inner thigh, Sage keens. Goosebumps ripple across his flesh where your fingers were, leaving a trail of little bumps in a pattern across his skin. Knocking his head back against the tree trunk, Sage hums out a sweet sound and pushes his hips closer to you. 

“Hnng…” 

Goddesses, does he make pretty sounds. 

You want to hear more. As his hips roll forward, you become more than aware of how close his waist is to your face. It takes every fiber of restraint you have not to drift your hand just an inch closer to the edge of his little skirt. 

Loosening the strap of his sheath, you begin to pull the leather from around his thigh. Dragging it down his legs, you drop it at his feet and look back up at him. 

Sage still has his head thrown back against the tree, his lips tugged upwards in a hazy look with his eyes closed. You’re so tempted to brush your lips across the span of his inner thigh, just where you need to paint. Your legs clench, the heat beginning to swell between your own thighs. Before you stand back up on your knees, the leather discarded at Sage’s feet, you indulge your fantasies. Darting forward, you drag your lips across the pale skin of his inner thigh, grinning when Sage curses. 

“Oh, Hylia,” he hisses, eyes prying open to glare down at you. You grin and Sage reaches a hand out to flick your forehead. 

“Keep going, sunflower. There’s still more to paint, and we’ve only got an hour,” he coos. “If you’re quick, maybe I’ll give you a reward for being so good for me.” 

You hurriedly dip the paintbrush back into the violet ink and Sage chuckles in that deep tone that makes your insides mushy. You finish the second crossing pattern on his leg before Sage’s eyes open again. 

Looking up at him, you lift off your knees and sit up. Now closer to his stomach, you hum shakily and whisper quietly. 

“I can’t remember the entire pattern on your chest, Sage. M’gonna need some help.”

“Of course, my love,” he muses sweetly. His hand is back at your scalp, gently scratching at your scalp and grinning when you keen into his hands. He loves when you go limp in his grasp. Oh, Hylia – he wants to see the look on your face when he yanks the strands back. Would you make a pretty sound for him when he does? Would you beg him to do it again? 

He wants to find out. 

Sage loves the sound your voice makes when you beg him so sweetly. He remembers the way your hips canted up into his own not so long ago, desperate for him to roll back into you as he pinned you beneath him. His eyes slide back shut at the memory, feeling his cock stiffen beneath the skirt of his armor. It twitches and Sage can barely contain the urge to drag your hand beneath the waistband to solve the growing problem. He can so clearly recall the touch of your fingertips against the head of his cock. 

Fuck, it’s so hot. 

“There’s a line across each of my ribs. They go around my back,” he manages to choke out. “Do those first.” 

You obey him without complaint, dragging the soft bristles of the brush across his chest just beneath where the chest-plate ends.  The bristles tickle across his ribs, and in any other circumstance, they might have elicited a silly giggle from the usually so stoic hero. However, Sage is far more distracted by the throbbing beneath his waistband to spare the attention for such sensations. 

As you lean back on your heels, tilting your head to assess if the short lines of pain across Sage’s abdomen are even, the hero chuckles again. Licking his lips, he gives you that feral grin that makes your heart clench. Pushing off the tree, he twists around to give you his back. 

“They go down to my waistband,” he murmurs. “You remember ‘em?” 

You offer a vague nod, too distracted by the cutting lines of his hips. Sage eats up the attention. 

With a racing mind, you finish the pattern, dragging the brush from mid-back downwards to the small of his back. When you lift a hand to the edge of his skirt, pulling the edge slightly to dip the brush beneath his waistband, Sage shivers. 

You grin. 

When he turns back to you, he speaks with a flash of sharpened canines. You nearly squirm at his feet, a notion Sage adores. 

“Now my hips.” 

You swallow thickly. 

Before dipping the brush back into indigo paint, you bite the edge of your lip and push back the smirk that attempts to show. You have an idea. 

“Sage…” you hum sweetly, leaning closer to the hero’s waist. Just an inch from the waistband of his skirt, you pull one of your hands up from the ground to rest against the bare skin of his hip. The toned skin of his waist flexes under the touch of your fingers, and you watch Sage’s closed eyes twitch. 

Perfect. 

“Can you help me, darling? I can’t remember how this looks?” 

Sage’s eyes pry open, seemingly with immense difficulty, and the hero’s dilated pupils meet your own. Blown wide with some kind of primal emotion, Sage’s flushed cheeks spread into a grin as he registers your words. You lean closer to his hips, your fingers delicately tracing shapes over his side. You try desperately to restrain a scheming grin when Sage pushes closer to your hands. 

“‘Course, my sunflower. S’just a triangle over my waist. I’ll help you.” 

When one of his hands reaches for yours, you beam. Sage gently lifts your fingers, pulling you closer by your wrist until your front is nearly pressed up against his legs. He looks down at you with that feral, dominant look he knows you love, and you shiver. Your heart thunders beneath your ribs and Sage adores the way you move so easily for him. Always so eager to obey his commands… Goddesses he loves you. He’ll treat you so well after this – he promises. 

Lifting your hand, he helps you drag the paintbrush over his right hip and carefully draws the triangular shape across his waist. He twists a little, allowing you to finish the shape at his back. With another silly grin, he begins to help you start the other side. 

“There you go,” he coos with batting lashes. “Doin’ so well f’me. That’s just perfect.” 

When you finish his hips, Sage helps you paint the three dots on his front before moving to allow you to replicate the same at the small of his back. 

Then, you’ve reached the part you’ve been eagerly awaiting. The last part of his barbarian armor – the handprints.

Sage twists back to his front, leaning down to press a tender kiss to your forehead – a sweet caress compared to the way he’s been looking at you. He’s always so adoring in the way he treats you, even when he’s manhandling you beneath him. When he pulls your legs over his shoulders, darkened irises scanning over your bare hips, Sage always presses a chaste kiss to your calf to apologize for the stretch of your muscles. Always so sweet to the one he loves. 

“Thank you for helpin’ me. Now, give me your hand, sweet thing.” 

You obey, hand already outstretched with your palm facing skywards. Offering him the brush, freshly dipped in orchid-colored paint, Sage hums and accepts. He delicately cradles the back of your hand and begins to coat your fingers in violet ichor. The clay feeling of the paint sinks into your skin, and you sit obediently as Sage paints your palms. 

His eyes flick upwards to meet your eyes with another teasing grin. 

“You’re enjoying this as much as I am, aren’t you, pretty?” 

You nod, a matching smile on your lips. 

“Good,” Sage purrs, finally finishing the coat of paint across your palm. “C’mere then.” 

He twists to give you his spine first. You grin, reaching forward with your unpainted hand to pull gently at his waistband. Sage’s head knocks back as you nudge the skirt lower. When you can clearly see the small of his back, accentuated by his thin waist – his slutty waist, in your opinion – you lift the violet hand and carefully lay it across his spine. 

Sage hums, head still tilted backwards and his eyes closed. 

Before lifting your palm, you lean forward, eyes closing as your lips graze over the bare skin of his hip. Sage’s skin is hot, flushed red with the rush of warmth surging beneath his waistband. His cock twitches again. 

“Naughty…” he whispers teasingly. 

Twisting back around to the front and reclining back against the tree, Sage is careful not to smudge the paint you freshly smeared across his back. Inclining his hips forward again, the Hero of the Zonai gives you that feral look once more before his hand lifts and he’s beckoning you closer. 

“Just one more…” Sage teases, beginning to paint your palm once more. “One more and I’ll reward you.” 

You shiver, the rumble of his voice seemingly sinking beneath your skin to sink into your chest. He makes you so weak. Perhaps it’s something about the way dominance seems to radiate from him during moments like this. All he has to do is bat those blonde lashes and give you that feral, little grin, and you’re putty in his hands. Well, you suppose it’s not so bad. Sage always treats you so well. 

“Yeah, you want that, huh? ‘Course, you do… I always treat you so good, don’t I?” 

You hum in response, shuffling forward on your knees, “Yeah, I want that, Sage. Please?” 

Sage coos, a teasing smile stretched across his lips. He strokes one of his hands over your cheeks before it crawls behind your neck. Cupping your head, he runs his fingers through the hair at the base of your skull. Your thighs clench again. Sage does the same thing when your mouth is preoccupied with something else – running his fingers through your hair and pulling your face closer to his pretty hips. His head shifts between tossing back and staring down at your face, as if he can’t decide if he wants to give in to pleasure or if he can’t stand to look away. And he always sounds so pretty when you go down on him. 

“Ahh, I love it when you beg so sweetly for me, my darling. Finish this and I’ll give you what you want.” 

Releasing your hand, Sage drops the brush and lays back beckoning you forward with a lustful expression. When you shuffle again, inching closer, the hero pulls you forward by the back of your head and your stomach flutters. Offering you his waist, you lift your unpainted fingers with only a single tremor of your awaiting hand. 

Sage nods, inclining his chin in a command. 

“Pull ‘em down, pretty thing. You’ll need to see what you’re doing, right?” 

You huff, unable to offer a teasing remark in return, simply too transfixed on the sharp lines that lead down his waist. The v-line beckons you, guiding down where you want him most. 

Brushing your fingers across his waistline, you find the band of his skirt. Looking up at him once, Sage watches you with fluttering lashes as you begin to nudge the waistband. Tugging on it, Sage pushes his hips towards you to help you pull the skirt down onto his hip bones. 

It goes slow – tantalizingly slow. Revealing bare skin inch by inch, you lean forward to press a kiss to his left hip, but Sage’s fingers grip the back of your neck harshly. Tugging gently at the strands of your hair, your stomach flutters and heat prickles between your thighs. You let out a little grunt and Sage grins wide. His body shivers, seemingly pleased at the tiny sound of pleasure that fell from your lips. 

“Not yet…” Sage coos. “Be patient, sunflower.” 

You give the hero a haughty look, but obey regardless of the sweltering heat building in your panties. 

Weaseling the waistband downwards, you feel your heart jump into your throat. With more of his heavenly hips exposed, you feel another wave of heat flush through your skin. Each of your nerves seems to jump with adrenaline, and you eagerly lift your violet hand to finish the task appointed to you. Finally, you stop tugging at his skirt, leaving the waistband just above his dick. You know it’s uncomfortable, given how it twitches beneath the cloth of his skirt, flexing upwards at your teasing. Sage gives you an unimpressed look, motioning for you to finish. 

So delicately, you press your palm against his pelvis, the purple paint sinking into his bare skin. Fingers following after, you teasingly rest your hand between the sharp edges of his v-line – just above the throbbing muscle between his thighs. 

Sage keens, his head finally tossing back against the tree with another delicious sound. His hips push forward into your hands, tugging you closer to his waist by your neck. The other hand drops across his eyes, hiding his flushed cheeks in his elbow. 

“Hah… fuck.” 

With his arm hiding his eyes, you finally lean forward away from his fingers and leave a kiss on the edge of his v-line just beside your violent hand. Sage grunts, clenching his jaw as your warm mouth opens to drag your tongue over the dip in his hips. 

“By the three…” he whines, finally scrambling to tug at your hair again. Pulling you away, you drag your hand away from his pelvis with a feral grin of your own. Looking up at your work, you watch as Sage pants, his chest heaving with each breath. 

When he finally shifts his arm, his eyes prying open to find your scheming smile, Sage huffs and tightens his hold of your neck. Tugging you closer, he drops his other hand to slide two of his fingers beneath the waistband of his little skirt. Tugging at the band by his hip, he drags it another inch downwards with a primal grin. 

The paint must be working – that ‘fighting spirit’ finally kicking in. 

Wild had tried to explain it before; the magic the armor gives them. He said it enhanced his attack in battle, by somehow ‘bolstering his fighting spirit.’ However, when you questioned what that meant, Wild had gotten a little shifty. His cheeks had flushed and he rubbed his hands together, simply waving off your question with a simple “don’t worry about it.” 

But you’re not stupid. 

You’ve seen the way the triplets get a little more… primal with the armor on. They’re more aggressive, quicker to jump into battle in an attempt to burn off the adrenaline surging beneath their skin. It makes their eyes glint with something dangerous, and you’re not ashamed to say that you quite like the way they look. 

“My good girl…” Sage coos, still dragging down his skirt at a teasingly slow pace. “Will you help me with one more thing, my love? Just one more?” 

You nod before he even finishes his words. 

Sage grins, all teeth and darkened irises. 

“Hmm, thank you, baby.”

Then, Sage finally pries his skirt from his hips, letting the fur material slide off his waist and drop to the forest floor in a single motion. You only have a fraction of a second to admire his bare skin before his pretty cock fills your vision. Nearly slapping against his stomach, Sage’s dick twitches just once when you shift to look at it. The hero keens into your grip when you lean forward, painted hand sliding over his hip where you know the skirt will hide the smeared violet color. 

Sage’s cock, hard and already leaking at the pretty-pink tip, lays against his stomach. It ends at the tip of the purple handprint you had just pressed into his pelvis, almost as if you had known exactly how long his dick was. 

The Hero of the Zonai grins in that feral way, his form nearly radiating with primal dominance. He slides his other hand down across his stomach, taking care to avoid the fresh streaks of paint. Sage wraps a hand around his cock, tugging gently and stroking until it comes to its full hardness. He suppresses the sweet whine that desperately wants to escape – you have to work for those sounds if you want to hear them. 

“Open your mouth f’me, my good girl.” 

Your head tilts back into Sage’s hand, squeezing your legs together as something warm drips between them. Opening your lips, you look up at Sage as the hero smirks. 

“So good… thank you, darling,” he coos sweetly, moving his hand to run his thumb over your bottom lip with a dark look. Leaning forward, Sage spits into your open mouth with a smirk. 

Swallowing obediently, Sage hums happily and leans downard again to tug your lips to his own. Groaning into this kiss, Sage pries open your lips to lick into your mouth. Moaning happily, you melt into Sage’s hand, now returned to the back of your head. Sage kisses you wetly, saliva smearing onto your lips as he pants, still tugging at his cock. Pre-cum slides down the head, slicking up the length as he slides his fist over it with a whimpered sound. 

“Mmm…ah” 

When he finally pulls away from your swollen lips, you chase after his mouth with a sigh. Sage grins, his dilated pupils scanning over your flustered face with a haughty look. You watch him tug at his dick, rubbing your thighs to combat the throb between them as he keens into his own hands. 

“Sage…” you whine, trying to shuffle closer. 

Something flashes across Sage’s darkened eyes. 

“That’s not my name, sweet girl,” he murmurs with a frown. “You know better. C’mon, wanna’ hear you say it right.” 

Your stomach flutters, his teasing tone making your skin tingle and your head spin. You lean closer to his stomach, whining again. 

Sage frowns, pulling your hair gently to redirect your attention. 

“C’mon, pretty. Say my name – my real name.” 

Your eyes find his, tugging carefully on your bottom lip with your teeth before you whine out the name he wants. 

“Link…” 

Sage – Link groans, head tilting back to expose his pretty throat as he slicks up his cock again. Tugging fiercely at the length as his gut clenches, heat swelling and twisting in his pelvis with a sweltering warmth. 

“Oh, fuck…” he whines, pushing his hips closer to your face with a twitch of his dick. “That’s it, my pretty girl. Thank you, baby – thank you.” 

Just the sound of his true name on your lips makes him so aroused he can feel his cock throb painfully in his fingers. His hand tugs your head closer, now looking back down at you with those dark irises. Sliding his other hand away from his dick, Link allows your mouth to suck two of his fingers. Tasting the salty pre-cum coating his fingers, you shift on your knees again with a pretty sound. Link smirks. 

“Okay, my sunflower. You want your reward now?” 

Nodding, your tongue still flicking over his two fingers, you lean closer. Purple paint smears onto both your hands, and you know there are streaks of it on both of Link’s hips. You hope the other’s don’t see – or perhaps, you hope they haven’t paid too close attention to where the paint is supposed to go. You think you can feel little smudges of the orchid clay spreading across your throat where Link is clutching your neck, but you forget about it when Sage whines again as you lick over his fingers like you would his dick. The pretty sound makes you drip, and the panties you’re wearing are surely soiled now. 

“Yes please, Link,” you whisper. 

Link grins again, then pulls his fingers from your mouth and pulls you into his waist. Heat in his stomach and cock throbbing, purple paint decorating his pretty skin, Link slides a hand around his dick and taps it against your lips. 

“Good,” he murmurs, abs clenching as heat continues to stir. “Then suck and I’ll give you another.”

When an hour passes and you and Sage return to the temporary camp, the Chain turns to find faint streaks of smeared paint across Sage’s waist and a lilac tint on your palms. You’re both grinning, wild smiles on your cheeks as you step back into camp. Sage is in his barbarian armor, the skirt ruffled and twisted around just slightly and the helm now on his head. If Wild looks close enough, he can see a faint, dark mark on Sage’s inner thigh, just barely obscured by the skirt of the armor set.

“Are you kidding?” Wild exclaims as the two of you enter camp. He had to paint the armor himself when he could have just asked for you to do it? 

Wild and Cal are both in their barbarian armor, having painted on the violet patterns themselves. The former rolls his eyes as he watches Sage follow you, a smirk on his lips. He finds Wild staring at him and his expression only seems to grow more teasing. Cal shifts on his feet uncomfortably, finding your eyes and offering you a bashful look. 

“What?” Sage responds, his fanged grin still beaming. 

Wild grunts, huffing as he steps closer to you, beginning to pull you away from the other hero. The long-haired hero shoots Sage a glare, but the elder hero only seems to enjoy the spotlight. Wild wraps a hand around your waist, pulling you close as he finds a streak of orchid-colored clay across your throat – a fingerprint shaped print. 

“You have other armor that gives you an attack boost, you know?” Wild grunts towards Sage, jealousy swirling angrily in his stomach. 

“Yeah, but I wanted this one,” Sage smiles. “And our darling just wanted to help me with the paint – didn’t you, my sunflower?” 

You offer a shy smile to Wild, feeling suddenly flustered beneath both their gazes. 

Some of the other members of the Chain slowly begin to congregate in the center of the camp, drawn to the chatter. Wind remains over the ridge of camp, scouting the path ahead with Four. Legend scans over Sage’s slightly smudged paint and your ruffled appearance, rolling his eyes and huffing. 

“Could have been more subtle, Sage,” the Veteran sighs. 

“But what’s the fun in that,” said hero responds, sending Legend a grin. 

Legend simply rolls his eyes again, stepping forward and licking his thumb to scrub away the paint across your throat. You shrink under his gaze, feeling so shy with their attention now on you. Legend scrubs gently and you shiver at the feeling of his saliva against your skin. 

“Stay still,” Legend murmurs. 

“Sorry, Vet.” 

Wild, still at your side, pulls at your tunic and straightens your ruffled appearance, wiping away something at the corner of your mouth. You shy away from their attention with a flutter of your stomach. When Legend is satisfied, he sends you a knowing look before he turns back to Hyrule. 

Wild hums thoughtfully at your left, and you twist to face him. You tilt your head, silently questioning Wild’s thoughts. The hero follows your titled head, eyes dilating as he examines your swollen lips. Lifting a hand, he brushes over the bottom lip with lidded eyes and something dark flashes across his expression. 

Oh no – you know that look. 

“Wild…” you murmur carefully. 

The Hero of the Wilds meets your eyes with a smirk of his own, leaning close until his mouth is pressed against your ear. He breathes a warm sigh over your skin and enjoys the way you weaken in his arms. When he’s sure the Chain isn’t looking, he drops a hand to squeeze one of your thighs, briefly dragging a finger across the seam of your pants. You keen into Wild’s chest with a breathy sound and the hero sighs happily.

“After we reach Zora’s Domain,” he whispers, voice saccharine like the honey he cooks with. His mouth presses a sweet kiss to the skin of your throat, pecking it gently before he sets his sharp teeth against your shoulder. You whine quietly into him as they prick your flesh, and Wild bites carefully into your throat with a huff. “It’s my turn…”  

bonus:

sage, walking back into camp: sorry i'm late I was doing stuff

reader, emerging from behind sage: i'm stuff! :D

[thisgirlnamedblusy]

Hi First i really apreciate and Love your Work, it's often make my day,thanx for this.keep going.Now to my request can you write Something with Donna and blind Reader Like First Meeting Fell in Love First kiss First time what ever you want and be comfortable with i know i will Love everything what you do about it.sending hugs🤗.

Yesss!!!! Thank you for your words!!! Hugs to you too!!! Thank you for the request!!! I hope you like it and sorry about the language mistakes!!! :)))

A light in your darkness

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem, Blind! Reader

Warnings: Fluff, blindness, smut implied, angst, maybe? Idk

Word count: 7,324

Summary: You have nothing to lose, but someone to love...

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!!! Requests are open!!! I'm waiting yours :))) I love you all!!!

The fire was like a glow, like a sign of death burning around you. The smoke was intoxicating. The sound of the wood giving way to the flames was all you could hear apart from your screams.

Panic had your senses kidnapped. You couldn't know where you were, the infernal glow of the fire burned the darkness you could see, there was no way out.

A small cabin somewhere in the mountains, that was your home, your little world away from society, from a village where you knew there was no place for you.

A terrible illness took away your sight, forced you to live in darkness and dark images, blurred shadows that seemed to constantly haunt you. After that, with the fear of the village divinities considering you a useless villager, not good enough to be another link in its chain, your parents took you to that remote place.

But their death made things worse. You weren't useless, you could, more or less, take care of yourself on that mountain. Your life was quiet, peaceful, like a hermit, like a blind witch who lived on the fringes of society.

Praying to the Black Gods, helped by some of your old friends, you were able to survive, to subsist so as not to see the light of the sun one more day, so the darkness would indicate you had not succumbed to despair.

But, one night, sleeping, dreaming of a better life, an intense aroma, a horrible cough and a scorching heat forced you to stand up.

Panicked, you searched with your damaged eyes for some place that was not illuminated by those flames, a dark place, to take refuge. Dodging the parts of the cabin that seemed to want to finish you off, you managed to run towards that icy darkness, towards the outside of the cabin.

You didn't even bother to scream, you knew that no one would hear you. You could only run, run and not look back, not let the flames be a blurry dance in your darkness.

You panted desperately, walking through the thick snow, trying to lean on what you thought were trees, walking away from the tempting heat of that fire. There was no way out. On one side, a horrible death, consumed by the fire, on the other, your already well-known darkness, hunger, the dangers of the forest.

You stumbled in the snow, you continued to flee towards the unknown, you cried, you screamed. There was nothing, no one, just you, just that stupid blind girl who had met her end just the way she lived, alone.

Exhausted from the escape, with the snow making it harder for you, you slowed down, wondering if maybe it was better to let yourself fall, let yourself freeze, give up. But a part of you never considered giving up as an option. With a furious growl, you kept walking.

This was definitely not your night. The emptiness your foot felt when it returned to the ground was too abrupt. The balance you had left didn't know how to react to the lack of snow under your steps. Something, a cruel force pushed you towards the abyss, to the bottom of a small cliff.

“Ah!” you screamed as you fell, as you understood that this was your end.

The rocks dug into your body, cradling you in a sinister way as you rushed towards your end, one that never came.

You fell back into the snow, with a dull thud, with a horrible, stabbing pain in your arm. The pain was a good sign, you had survived. The cold snow muffled your pain and a strange calm invaded your senses.

All around you was nothing, just darkness.

You crawled along the ground, accompanied by the strange sound of a distant waterfall. For some reason that seemed familiar to you, but you didn't pay attention to it. You couldn't see anything, you didn't know if maybe you were on the edge of another cliff. You missed the blurry light of the flames.

“Help…” you murmured, trying to stand up, desperate, supporting your hands on the rock wall. Your whole body hurt, you could barely walk, you stumbled, fell, and you couldn't get up.

“Hey, you!” a shrill voice reached your ears. You turned around, but in vain. The darkness of the night was not exactly your best ally.

“Is anyone there? Hey, help!” you said, hoping that the voice was real, that your subconscious wasn't easing your conscience so you could die in peace.

“Help? You fool!” the voice sounded again and you, desperate to know where it came from, stretched out your arms. Nothing.

You could hear small steps in the snow, like a child's steps and behind them, firmer, subtler, almost silent ones.

“There you are, you little thief!” that voice shouted again, getting closer, followed by those quiet steps, those footsteps that got even closer.

“What? I’m, I'm not a thief,” you muttered, stretching out your arm to steady yourself, to stand up again, something you didn't manage to do.

“What have you come here to do, stupid?” that childish voice asked.

You shook your head, breathing with difficulty. That girl certainly had a bad temper.

“Hey, but, little girl, I didn't... I didn't come to steal... My house was on fire and I, I fell,” you explained slowly, with a broken voice but sure that you were telling the truth.

“Of course, and I guess I have to believe you right?!” that strange girl shrieked. She seemed to walk from side to side.

“It's the truth!” you shouted desperately, trying to reason with that distrustful little girl. “No, I didn't want to bother you, it was just an accident.”

“Accident? Don't continue or I'll burst out laughing,” the girl mocked, with a macabre laugh. “Come on, kill her, kill her.”

“No, no please!” you shouted again, letting yourself fall to the ground, joining your hands to ask for mercy. “I'm not a thief!”

“But you are stupid, clumsy and a moron,” the girl insulted you, making your hopes fade more and more. You crawled back on the ground, looking for a way to escape. The only thing you found was a cloth, a dress that quickly moved aside when you made contact with it. It didn't look like that girl. It looked like an adult’s dress, your hope.

“Take your dirty girl hands off! Don't you know who you're talking to?” the little girl scolded you.

You, nervous, couldn't do anything but shake your head, your eyes full of tears.

“N, no… I, I don’t,” you whispered with a tired, sad, defeated sigh.

“You don’t? Damn, stupid, are you blind?” the girl asked with an incredulous, mocking tone.

You, sighing again, sitting in the snow, nodded.

“Actually, I am,” you said quietly, closing your useless eyes.

Silence was the answer, along with subtle sounds and breezes indicating that someone was moving in an exaggerated way.

“Oh, are you?” that shrill voice asked, which seemed more mocking than before. “Can't you see anything?”

You shook your head, bringing your knees to your chest, letting the tears slide down your cheeks.

“Who are you?” a different voice asked, darker, hoarse, almost melodic, which made you raise your head with a mix of relief and terror. It was probably the owner of that dress.

“My, my name is (Y/N),” you stammered, relieved to be able to talk to an adult woman and not to a rude child.

“(Y/N)…” that feminine voice sighed, soft but somehow threatening. You didn't know why, but a shiver ran through your spine. “What are you doing here?”

“I, I've said it, I... My, my house was on fire, I tried to run away and... I fell, I fell off a cliff, or so I think,” you explained calmly, looking with your eyes for that bright reflection of the flames that you could no longer see.

“I told you it smelled like something was burning!” the girl exclaimed, jumping in the snow.

“Mm,” the woman murmured with disinterest. “What's a blind girl doing living alone? You must understand that I find it suspicious,” the woman in the dress said, with a darkness similar to your gaze.

You shrugged, thinking that, really, you had just lost everything.

“My, my parents died years ago,” you said in a whisper, turning your head away from the source of the sound, focusing on that calming waterfall. “I, I've managed things well until now but... The, the fire...”

“Bah, what a loser!” the girl shrieked.

You frowned. That kid definitely needed manners.

“No, I didn’t mean to be annoying…” you said, awkwardly standing up, holding your injured arm, ready to get away from that dangerous situation.

A strong grip made you hiss in pain, a hand grabbed your arm, burning it with its touch.

“You’re hurt,” that dark voice murmured.

“I, I don’t know, it hurts,” you said, removing your grip.

“Oh, no…” the girl sighed in a comical voice.

“Don’t really know who I am?” the woman asked, holding you in place with her grip.

You shook your head, stopping fighting the burning grip in your arm.

“No, but…If, if you help me, I guess you will be my savior,” you said in a sweet, desperate voice. “I don't want to cause any trouble, I just, I just want...”

“Come here,” that mysterious voice said, pulling you along, dragging you through the snow until your feet collided with something hard, it seemed like wood.

The creaking of a door, and the pleasant warmth coming from inside told you that you were in a house. The smell of humidity was strong, like a closet that had been closed for years. You could see lights, blurry shadows, a black figure that you couldn't make out, now pulling you along; next to it, another smaller blurry spot, the ill-mannered girl.

“Sit down,” the melodic voice ordered you, releasing you abruptly. Your legs collided with a piece of furniture that looked like a sofa and you obeyed.

The pain returned to your arm when a gentle hand lifted the sleeve of your dress. You protested, but she was stronger, she seemed to be searching for something. You couldn't tell, you could never know.

“It's nothing serious, but it needs to be healed,” that woman murmured, putting something on your wound, something that burned like the fire that destroyed your house.

“Yiahhh!” you yelled at that horrible pain, earning a mocking laugh from the evil girl.

“Silly, silly,” the little girl mocked, climbing onto the couch next to you.

From the size of that blurry spot, it was definitely a girl.

Silence fell over you again. The smell of humidity penetrated your brain, the warmth of what seemed like a fireplace soothed the cold. You didn't want to say anything. You simply stayed quiet, enduring the sting of your wound, trying not to give that girl more reasons to laugh at you.

“Thank you,” you sighed when you noticed how the bandages covered your arm.

 There was no answer, just a strange sigh.

“You say your house has caught fire,” the dark woman murmured, moving away from you. A lavender scent eclipsed the humid atmosphere of that place.

“Yes,” you answered, moving your arm, which barely hurt anymore. “I woke up in the middle of the night and… I could only make out the flames, and the smoke. I ran out of the cabin, but, but I tripped and… I fell, I fell here.”

“You are not from the village,” she commented, with a distrustful tone.

“No, well yes, well, I was,” you said embarrassed, lamenting your condition.

“Explain yourself,” the woman demanded, with an impatient tone.

“And don't dare to lie, you fool, or we'll know!” the girl shrieked.

“What would I win by lying?” you protested, more and more annoyed by that attitude. From the little movement you saw, you sensed that the little demon shrugged. “No, I… My, my family took me out of the village when I lost my sight. They thought, they thought that by not being useful, maybe I would be repudiated by the Black Gods and Mother Miranda.”

“They thought so?” the woman asked, with an almost amused tone, or so you thought. “Sciocchezze.”

“So, sorry, what?” you asked, confused. That strange word made you stir, as if there was something that was screaming to be heard.

The woman cleared her throat and sighed again.

“Nonsense,” she explained with a tired voice. “Mother Miranda would not despise anyone for that, your family was stupid.”

“Don’t, don't insult my family,” you hissed, clenching your fists, offended by those words.

“Oh, are you threatening us?” the girl mocked, too close to you. “Stop playing savior angels and kill her, D…”

You didn't know why, but that stupid girl shut up instantly, maybe because of the sudden movement you could feel in the woman.

“Mm, it's late for a girl like you to walk around here alone,” she murmured, seemingly unfazed by your threat. “You can stay tonight.”

“What?! You must be joking,” the girl complained.

“Can I?” you asked incredulously. “I… Thank you, thank you very much.”

“Get up, I'll take you to your room,” she ordered you in a cold voice. You, defenseless again, reached out your hand, looking for help, a point of support to be able to stand up safely.

A passive hand picked you up, pulling you to your feet, perhaps too hard, causing you to collide with that mysterious woman who smelled like lavender.

“I’m sorry,” you apologized. She growled annoyed and walked away from you.

You, lost and scared, reached for her hold, her arm, something she rejected, scared, annoyed by the contact.

“Lasciami!” she demanded, shaking from your grip. You sobbed in confusion.

“I’m sorry, it’s just that…I, I don’t know this place and…” you said in a weak voice, broken by feeling that useless. “I need someone to guide me.”

The woman sighed unpleasantly and took your hand again, putting it on her arm.

“Ugh, it’s okay,” she hissed annoyed, walking with you, slowly.

Without speaking, you climbed up some stairs, helped by the lavender woman, until, after opening a door, she let you go near what looked like a bed.

“Hey,” you said, when the sound of heels told you that the woman was moving away again. “I would like to know your name, so I can thank you.”

There was no answer, just a murmur that, you were sure, was not directed at you.

“Aye,” the girl said, comically.

Small steps on the wood approached you. You trembled knowing that this sinister girl was approaching, but when the door closed and the sound of heels disappeared, you sensed that perhaps you fear had betrayed you.

The dim light that illuminated the room was not enough to distinguish shadows around you and, knowing that you were alone, you lay down on that bed, with your hands running around your surroundings until they touched something cold.

“What?” you asked, puzzled by that object, which you ran your hands over. Wooden arms, legs, a porcelain face… “A doll?” you asked when you guessed what you had in your hands, leaving that strange puppet on the side of the bed.

The tiredness was overwhelming, but the loss of everything you had was even more so, forcing you to curl up on yourself and let your tears soak the sheets.

“Gods, what am I going to do now?”

Luckily, at least you were able to sleep, even if it was in the middle of a heartbreaking cry.

The morning light was already distinguishable, and, clumsily, you got up, resting your hand on the walls. Strangely, you didn't notice the doll that was there the day before. You didn't give it any importance.

After juggling to get to the bathroom, you leaned on the railing of the stairs, confused, afraid to go down them without help.

“Hello? I, I need some help!” you asked the void, walking along the wood until you reached the first step.

“She spent the whole night crying. She’s a pain in the ass, she’s a… Oh, silly girl, you woke up!” the girl shrieked, who seemed to be talking to someone downstairs.

“Hey, uh, little girl, help me down the stairs, please,” you asked, rolling your eyes, hoping that the mysterious woman would appear.

“Okay,” she said in a comical voice, approaching you, or so you thought from her steps. “Let’s see, silly girl, one… Two…”

With her help and leaning on the railing all the time, you went down the dangerous steps one by one, trusting someone you knew you shouldn’t trust.

“Okay, okay, that’s it, you can walk normally,” the girl said.

You sighed and nodded, taking the first step, one that made you stumble and fall resoundingly to the ground. There were still stairs to go.

“Oh, damn girl,” you lamented in pain, with your ears being harassed by the cruel laughter of the stupid girl.

“Angie!” the woman's voice interrupted that tasteless joke and her heels approached you hastily.

Angie. You didn't know why, but that name sounded familiar to you.

“Uh...” you complained, letting that woman who smelled of lavender lift you off the floor carefully.

“Are you okay?” she asked, grabbing your shoulders and shaking your dress.

“I, I guess…” you said, wincing in pain. “That daughter of yours is quite the joker, isn't she?” you asked.

“Daughter?” the woman asked, confused.

Another loud laugh sounded in that strange house. It seemed that the girl was lying on the floor, kicking and hitting it with her fists, as if she had had a cruel fit of laughter.

“Daughter, she says! Don't keep talking, stop. I'm going to have a heart attack! Daughter!” the girl mocked, making you snort.

“She's not my daughter, (Y/N),” the woman said, guiding you with her arm through the house while an increasingly intense aroma of coffee made you forget that incident.

“Oh, I... I, I didn't know,” you apologized, letting her sit you on a chair and bring you closer to a table, where the aroma of coffee was much more intoxicating.

“I'm sure you're hungry,” she murmured, handing you a steaming cup of coffee that you carefully took. “Take whatever you want.”

“I... Thanks,” you sighed, touching the table, finding a whole feast of toast, oil and buns, which you devoured eagerly.

Silence was your company again, silence and darkness, the duo that guided your life.

“What are you going to do now? Your house is destroyed,” she commented, breaking the calm with an exasperating truth.

“I, I don't know,” you sighed, wanting to cry again. “I, I guess... I don't know.”

“You don't know,” she repeated, with a disinterested voice.

“Well, you should know, stupid! This isn't a hotel!” the girl shrieked, jumping on the wooden floor.

“Angie, basta!” the woman shouted, severely. You raised your eyebrows again, blinking in confusion.

“Basta?” you asked in a small voice.

The woman sighed in annoyance, putting her cup down on the table with a loud bang.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” she said coldly. “But I want you to answer me, what are you going to do now?”

“I already said I… I don’t know,” you said through clenched teeth, furious at that girl, at the discomfort you were starting to feel. “I have nowhere to go.”

“I see,” the woman whispered.

“She doesn’t!” the girl mocked, eliciting an angry growl from the lavender woman, who stood up from her chair, dragging it along in an unpleasant manner.

“Angie! If you keep going like that I swear I'll deactivate you,” she hissed, making you shift in your chair, confused.

“Deactivate?” you asked in a voice so low that she didn't hear.

“Oh, come on, Donna, I'm just kidding,” the girl complained. “You have to laugh at yourself.”

“D, Donna?” you asked again, with the cup shaking in your hand.

Donna. That name made everything in your head make sense. You had been away from the village for a long time, but you remembered it, you remembered Mother Miranda, the Lords, you remembered their figures, their faces before you lost your sight. Alcina Dimitrescu, Salvatore Moreau, Karl Heisenberg and… Donna Beneviento.

Donna Beneviento, dark woman, doll maker, nightmare creator, mentally disturbed, owner of the living doll… Yes, you remembered, you remembered the name of that doll, Angie.

“Gods…” you said agitatedly, falling from the chair, kneeling on the floor, finally knowing who you were talking to, who you had upset. The waterfall, the musty smell, that black figure, that accent, those words. There was no doubt. “Gods, I… Please, please have mercy on me, Lady Beneviento. I didn't know that I had fallen into… I, I didn't know who…”

“Shut up,” the lady ordered you, in a stern tone, as if she were upset because you had discovered her identity.

“I, I shouldn't have bothered you… I, I'll leave right away,” you said, crawling on the floor, terribly scared, getting up and running towards the unknown.

“Watch your step, stupid!” Angie squealed mockingly, just before you tripped on a rug and fell to the floor again, on your injured arm.

The heels walked slowly, Lady Beneviento was approaching you again.

“Get up,” she ordered, bending down and roughly grabbing you by the shoulders, making you stagger. “Stop fooling around.”

“Fooling around? I, I… I didn’t know that…” you stammered with your dress being shaken again, your nerves blurring your almost non-existent vision even more. “I, I’m sorry I… I’ll, I’ll go and…”

“I said shut up… Idiota…” the lady hissed, grabbing your arm tightly. “You want to run away, huh? Do I scare you?”

“No, yes, I…” you stammered unable to speak clearly.

“You said I was your savior,” she snapped at you in a dark voice. “Has your mind changed because you know who I am?”

“No, I…” you murmured again, panic running through your body.

“So…” she growled, pushing you unpleasantly, your body threatening to fall again. “Sit down and eat your breakfast!”

“Hey, hey, Donna, aren't you going too far?” Angie intervened, guiding you surprisingly carefully towards the table.

“It's always the same, Angie!” the lady shrieked, stamping her feet angrily. “What I do doesn't matter! Even this blind girl is unable to stop looking me as… As a monster…” she sighed with a sob, a terrible one that stirred you as you fixed your useless gaze below.

“I, I can't see if you're a monster or not,” you whispered, trying to calm her erratic attitude, one you'd heard about before. “And even if I could, I don't think any monster would have saved my life.”

She came quickly, putting a hand on your shoulder.

“That's what everyone says and then... Then they run away in terror...” she whispered threateningly in your ear, squeezing your shoulders, digging her nails into your skin. “Leaving me alone again!”

“I’m, I'm not going to run away, it, it just surprised me,” you said calmer, regretting your attitude. “I... I'm alone too, you know?”

“You...” Donna growled, letting you go with a furious gasp, muttering something you didn't understand.

“I, I don't know what, what could have happened to you for, for someone like you to be alone but...” you murmured, letting the tears of terror stain your face.

“Someone like me? What do you mean?” she asked in a different tone.

The Angie doll climbed onto your lap, as if she was now the one protecting you.

“You're a Lord, I, I remember you from when I was little and we went to church,” you commented, with Angie comically feeding you. You pushed her away so you could continue talking. “You always wore black… You were always, always silent. I know it may seem silly but… You, you were my favorite.”

“Your favorite? What the hell are you talking about?” she asked furiously, nervous about not understanding your meaningless words.

“My friends and I used to play at being the Lords of the village,” you said with a smile, remembering much better times, when you saw something else than blurry shadows. “I always wanted to be you.”

“Yeah! Donna's the best!” Angie sang, lowering herself to the floor again. “Hey, hey Donna, easy…”

“I, I liked the way you were, always quiet, silent, observant… I, I don't know, I guess you were the one I identified with the most,” you explained, with your head down. “You, you don't seem like the others, you're different.”

“You're wrong, you're very wrong, (Y/N),” Donna whispered, sitting back down, hitting the table with her fist.

“Would your siblings have saved me?” you asked, in a risky question. After all, you realized that you had nothing to lose.

She answered with silence, with a strange sigh.

“I know, I know, I know, choose me, I know the answer! Ask me, silly, ask it to me!” the doll squealed, comically pulling at your dress. You couldn't help but smile. “They would have let you freeze!”

“That doesn't mean anything,” the doll maker murmured, with the same cold voice.

“It means you saved me,” you answered, with your lower lip trembling. “No matter what you think, I… I will always be grateful to you, and… Well, I guess my life is already ruined, so I have nothing to lose by saying this but… Maybe, if I could stay with you, I…Nei, neither of us would have to be alone again.”

“Do you… Do you want to stay with me? You?” she asked, startled again. “You are more daring than I thought.”

“I simply have nothing to lose,” you sighed, closing your eyes, hoping that a darkness different than the one you could see would be your end, that the memories would remain in your mind before you died of terror, before she finished you off.

The sound of the chair disturbed you again, along with the slow walk of those heels, along with that lavender scent that was getting closer, as well as soft hands that lifted your chin.

“I don't scare you,” she whispered, standing too close to you. You shook your head. “You ran away as soon as you found out who I was. You're full of contractions.”

“I was surprised, that's all,” you said, gently moving your head so her hand would move away from you and stop making you nervous. “I know you're going to say no, and that you'll finish me off right now. After all, I'm useless.”

“Are you a fortune teller?” -she asked in a mocking tone, walking away from you again.

“I was never good at being a clairvoyant,” you joked easily, letting a way of being that you had and never brought to light speak for you in the last moments of your life.

Surprisingly, a soft laugh came from the lady, a charming laugh that made you gain even more confidence.

“Sei divertente, mm?”

You shook your head, not understanding the words, breathing nervously, waiting for an end that seemed to never want to come.

“She said you're funny,” Angie whispered, climbing up your body again. The change in the doll's attitude was quite... Disturbing.

“It's okay,” Lady Beneviento whispered, after a few moments of tense silence. Little by little, you got used to that.

“What?” you asked confused, blinking repeatedly.

“Stay with me, then,” she finally said in a tone you didn't know how to interpret. “But it won't be free. You'll have to help me with my tasks.”

“I'll do what I can,” you said excitedly, seeing a light that you didn't know could illuminate the dark passage of death you had begun to walk through it. “Th, thank you, Lady Beneviento, thank you...”

“Ugh, you're so annoying,” she complained, sighing amused. “Call me Donna.”

So, by a horrible coincidence, your life changed. After losing everything, you found yourself on an uncertain path, in a strange place, with a strange woman. Yes, you knew who she was, you knew what she did, what she was capable of doing, but for some reason, you didn't find any danger beyond your problems.

You were clumsy, you constantly tripped and you always needed someone's help to get back to what was already your room. Normally, it was Angie who took care of that. That sinister puppet seemed to generate a strange sympathy for you.

The days, the weeks passed.

You weren't uncomfortable, you felt fine, the opposite of what you thought. Donna Beneviento, terrible Lord, fears maker, was a kind woman in her own way, elegant, cultured, who taught you a lot of things, who helped you stop being the clumsy girl you were.

Everything seemed to be going well, even too well, even at night, when you could dream, when you could see something in your mind, she started to appear, that lady in black who laughed shyly, who taught you Italian and things about plants.

Thinking about her was quite common in your moments alone.

“Okay, to the right now,” Angie told you, standing on your shoulder, guiding you through the basement. You, with your hands outstretched, obeyed, in a usual exercise of recognition of the old mansion.

“Right…” you whispered, touching the rickety wall with your hands and guiding yourself with your hand resting on it.

“A little more, just a little more,” the doll told you. “Watch out!” she squealed when your body collided with a wall again, for the fifth time that day.

“Angie…” you sighed, rubbing your forehead, tired of the puppet's vague instructions.

“Hey, I'm being good,” she protested, comically hitting your shoulder. “Donna asked me to be good to you and I am.”

“Did Donna ask you?” you asked curiously, with an involuntary smile, thinking that, just as you suspected, the lady was looking out for you.

“Yes, so help me, blind girl,” she said in a mocking tone. “Okay, there, there, in front of you, can you see it?”

“Of course I can’t,” you said sighing annoyed.

“Oh, yes, sure,” Angie said, regretful. “Go ahead, walk forward and you will find the two doors.”

You reluctantly complied, finally finding the workshop doors.

“Well, you did it!” the doll squealed, victorious. “Look, Donna, the silly girl has arrived at the workshop!”

You couldn’t see it, but from the lavender, you knew the lady in black was there, working on her dolls, as usual.

“Yes, thanks to Angie,” you said amused, extending your hands, which were picked up by the soft, gentle hand of Donna, who gently pulled you along.

“Did you hear that, Donna? Thanks to me,” the doll said, in a proud voice. Again, you heard that adorable laugh from the Lord as she guided you to a nearby chair. “What are you doing with that on?”

You frowned, not knowing what she meant.

“Angie, shut up,” the lady protested, sitting next to you, putting a hand on your leg to make sure you were okay, guiding you to check that there was a table in front of you.

“Shut up? You're stupid, Donna, what is the veil for? She's blind,” the doll sang.

“A veil?” you asked, thinking back. Yes, you remembered the lady always covered her face with a black cloth, dark, dark as everyone said it was her soul.

Curious, you raised your hand where you thought the woman in black was, touching with your fingers that black cloth that Angie spoke of.

“Don't touch me,” she said in a sinister voice, grabbing your wrists tightly and suddenly lowering them. You stepped back.

“I'm sorry,” you apologized confused.

“Don’t be,” she said, turning around, working on her dolls again. You couldn't, you couldn't help but ask.

“Why are you covering your face?”

“Why are you blind?” Donna asked back, with a thick accent that betrayed her nervousness and anger at your impudence.

“Well…” you sighed, moved by the memories. “When I was eight I got very sick and… Well, I managed to recover but… I couldn't see again,” you explained with your head down. She sighed, annoyed again, with the noises of the sewing machine stopping.

“Do you know what a rhetorical question is?” she asked mockingly, with a fake laugh.

You smiled amused, nodding.

“I'm not offended by you asking me about my blindness, even if it was a rhetorical question,” you said in a soft voice, running your hands over the table, trying to imagine what was on top of it. “You shouldn't cover yourself, I can't see you.”

“How lucky,” Donna sighed, sadly, but ironically.

“Why do you say so?” you asked again, letting yourself be carried away by curiosity.

“Listen, (Y/N), I don't feel like talking about it, and even less with a gossipy girl like you,” she told you sternly, her voice shaking.

“I know how to keep a secret. I can't talk about what I can't see,” you said amused, taking a risk again, knowing that this was the only way to make Donna be honest with you, to speak from the bottom of her soul. You had proven it several times.

“Right in the point, Don...!” the doll screamed, silenced by something black falling on her head, and which she fought against, in a comical way, you thought. “Hey!”

“Are you happy now?” the lady asked furiously. The black no longer reached her blurry head. You smiled, concentrating to make out something. You didn't manage it, you never would.

Amused, you shrugged.

Donna sighed, as if defeated by your insistence, staying still for a moment.

“When I was little, I fell while running with scissors and lost my right eye,” she explained, without you asking her to.

“Oh, I'm, I'm sorry,” you said hastily, noticing the discomfort of the lady in black, but letting her speak.

“All the children in the village laughed at me, they said I was a monster,” she said quietly, with a nervous sob. “I stopped going out of the house, talking to people…”

“That's horrible,” you said nervously, playing with what looked like a paintbrush on the table.

“Mm,” she murmured, leaning back in the chair. “It's the past.”

“I don't think it's a good enough reason to hide your face,” you said, shaking your head. “I'm sure my eyes are much scarier.”

���Nonsense, they're beautiful,” she whispered quietly, with a different voice, causing you to smile and a burn in your cheeks.

“Thanks, I guess I must trust your word,” you said embarrassed by the compliment. “But at least you were able to get revenge on them, right? When, when Mother Miranda adopted you.”

“She only made it worse!” she suddenly shrieked, kicking the ground again, losing her mind.

You recoiled in fear.

“She, she only made it worse… Now I… I’m, I’m…” she said nervously, trying to calm herself down.

You, still scared but determined, reached out your hand to that black shadow, finding soft skin and soft lips on your way.

“Hey, don’t… Don’t…” she protested, without moving, not preventing your hands from running over her face, exploring her skin.

Your brow furrowed when you found a bulging deformity on the right side of her face, making her gasp nervously. Despite that, you didn't feel anything that made you think her words were true.

“I don't see any monsters here,” you whispered, losing yourself in your caresses, running over the skin of the lady in black without her stopping you.

“You don't see anything, (Y/N),” she sobbed at the same time you noticed a tear on your hand, which hers rested on it, lowering it slowly.

“Yes, I see your soul,” you said in a sweet voice, moving away, breathing calmly, with a smile. “And it’s beautiful.”

Donna stammered confused, trembling, without letting your hand go.

Breathing with difficulty, she brought her other hand to your cheek, comforting you with erratic caresses while her body moved towards yours, while the lavender was much more intense until you could feel her breath very close to you.

You closed your eyes, enjoying those caresses, the subtle touch of her lips against yours, which soon ceased to be that subtle.

A kiss, your first kiss came to your lips, the soft caresses of a kiss of love, a soft, slow, fearful one. You returned it, you kissed her, you kissed those lips that until then had been hidden, you let yourself be carried away by her movements, by that unexpected act.

She pulled away after a few perfect moments, ones that made you sigh, and keep a smile.

“I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done it,” she said, taking her hand away from your cheek, letting a cold breeze to form between the two of you, one that made you feel terribly sick.

“I'm not sorry,” you said, with tears in your useless eyes, with the soft kisses of her lips still present on yours. “Donna, no one has anyone treated me like you.”

“No one has spoken to me like you,” she whispered, suppressing another sob.

You, erratically, searched for her hand in that black dress, the hand that had previously grabbed you, playing with her fingers, wandering over her body until you caressed her cheek again, until you pulled her back to your lips.

She let herself be drawn into a deeper, more passionate, romantic kiss. You cried with joy, with joy for having found an explanation for those strange feelings, for your eternal thoughts about the lady in black.

“If, if you knew, if you could see me, you would never, ever have done it,” she murmured, cupping your face in her hands, not stopping kissing you, not stopping caressing you.

You smiled again, exploring her body, hugging it, impregnating yourself with her lavender scent.

“If I could see you, I would be even happier,” you said, resting your forehead against hers, letting her arms surround your body, arrange your hair, subtly telling you about her feelings.

“(Y/N) I… I, I like having you with me,” she said shyly, embarrassed.

“I like being with you,” you whispered, playing with her hands, enjoying the softness of her skin, the beauty you knew she had.

“Oh, please, stop it! I'm going to get diabetes! Come on, come on, let her go!” Angie interrupted, pushing Donna away from you in a comical way. You looked for her again with your hands, which she picked up laughing amused.

Thus began a new stage in your life, one full of love.

Donna cared for you even more. She covered you with kisses, caresses, read you stories from her books, walked with you through the woods, always holding your hand, always watching over you. You, for your part, were madly in love, discovering that side of the Lord you didn't know existed, that romantic side, that deep desire to be loved.

Nothing could go better in the life of the blind and clumsy (Y/N). What seemed like a misfortune, became your greatest luck. Your wish was no longer to regain your sight, but to always be with Donna, always.

“Admit it, it hasn't turned out so bad,” you said amused, searching for the bed with your hands, that bed you now shared with her. Donna laughed amused, helping you cover yourself with the sheets.

“You almost cooked just boiling water but I guess you haven't done it that bad,” she whispered amused, kissing you quickly and joining you in bed.

“I'm sure I'll learn to cook as well as you,” you joked, snuggling up to her. The lady laughed again, caressing your hair.

“Mm?” she murmured, fleeing from the erratic sea of ​​kisses with which you covered her every night. “Hey, I'm sure you will, tesoro.”

You sighed, hugging her body again.

“Did you imagine this?” you asked, sinking into her chest, becoming a little melancholic. “You know, being in love with someone like me.”

“I could ask you the same thing,” she answered, with a tired sigh.

“Your voice is beautiful… I love it,” you commented, moving playfully on her body. She laughed, shaking her head.

“My voice?” she asked curiously, with her hands tangling in your hair. “Learn to lie.”

“I don't lie,” you protested in a childish way, stealing another kiss from her. “It's the only thing I can tell you without you doubting me, it doesn't matter how many times I tell you that I'm convinced of your beauty.”

Donna sighed, kissing your hair affectionately.

“Do you know what I love?” she asked in a soft voice, the one that made you smile. “Your beautiful face when you smile at me.”

“Mm,” you murmured, writhing in pleasure at hearing those words, at knowing that even someone like you could be beautiful to her. “Donna, I want to make love to you.”

“What?” she asked, startled by your unexpected request. “Uh, I mean… (Y/N)…”

“What's wrong? You don't dare?” you asked, nervous at that reaction. “Is it because I'm blind?”

“No, no, I… Well yes, no, no…” she stammered, getting tense. “It's just that I… I've never…”

“Me neither,” you said, relieved for knowing that was the reason for her fear, and not your problem.

“I see,” she whispered.

“I don't,” you joked amused, climbing clumsily onto her body, with your legs on either side of her hips.

“You spend too much time with Angie,” she said, caressing your cheek but not moving away.

“She's like my guide dog,” you continued joking, biting your lip with hunger, with a desire to love completely.

“I hope she doesn't hear you,” she said, laughing amused, positioning you so you were more comfortable.

“I’ve heard it!” an irritating squeal sounded behind the door and you both laughed amused.

“Donna, please... I want, I want to love you...” you begged, radically changing the subject, insisting on your desire.

“I...” she murmured shyly, resting her hands on your waist, something that excited you quite a bit. “It's, it's okay.”

The kisses came, the caresses increased their intensity, their journey. It was a fiery dance, wild kisses that traveled beyond your lips, down your neck, down your chest…

The clothes got in the way and you got rid of yours. Donna did the same, still adoring you, showering you with praise for something you couldn't see, because of the beauty she claimed you had. Gasps escaped from your lips, from hers.

The movements of your hips found a stable rhythm when your naked bodies danced, rubbing against each other.

You wouldn't know how to describe those emotions, those sensations of being able to touch her, of feeling that you were inside of her, that you were just one, just a mass of flesh in love.

Your hands danced happily over her body, hers over yours, inside you. The kisses softened the obscenity of the wet sounds that covered the room, kisses that were less and less innocent, that savored your arousal, that fed your uncontrollable desire.

You couldn't be able to know how long that act of love lasted, but you didn't want to either, you only cared about what you felt, what you touched, what you sensed... Donna and you, you and Donna, there was nothing else, no clothes, no fear, no trembling, just your two naked bodies dancing in unison, a romantic, passionate and lustful dance.

“Are you okay?” the lady asked, when the ecstasy ended, when your two bodies arched together. You nodded, searching for her bare chest, letting your head sink into it again.

“Yes, better than ever,” you whispered, kissing her soft skin, annoyed by so much concern.

“There's something I haven't told you yet and... I think, I think I should do it now,” Donna whispered, caressing you affectionately, calming your nervous breathing. “I, I love you, (Y/N).”

“Oh, Donna,” you said, excited by everything that had happened, by all the things that were to come. “I love you too. You, you have illuminated my darkness...”

[comicaurora]

How did you capture the feeling of ominous silence so vividly on this page? I can't imagine it's easy to effectively communicate silence in a medium without sound.

This question is so interesting it might spark a Detail Diatribe way down the line, but the bottom line is I think comics as a medium have a fascinating relationship with sound and how it synergizes or clashes with comics' unique ability to shape their pacing and implied timescale through the use of panel layouts and the inclusion or exclusion of movement lines and sound effects.

Gonna go back to Scott McCloud's Understanding Comics for this first bit-

Time in comics is incredibly fluid and strange, and the pace of the story is laid out by the artist but controlled by the reader, who reads the comic at a pace they determine. The artist can only imply and guide for how long they think any one panel should feel like it lasts, but they can't control how long the reader looks at it.

But the inclusion of implied sound - dialogue, SFX - subtly changes that.

Narration is the only text you can include in a comic that feels timeless and disconnected from the pacing of a panel. Dialogue, sound effects - and speedlines, a kind of visual indicator of movement and sound, also contribute to the feeling of how much time a specific panel should take.

Panel size and layout do a lot of the heavy lifting - wider panels can feel like they should take longer, narrow panels might feel sharper and shorter.

But when a panel isn't silent, sound - and correspondingly time, which is deeply linked with sound - is communicated through dialogue and sound effects, assigning an implied speed of the events in the panel.

If you want to communicate movement - a process that IMPLIES sound - you might include speed and motion lines and sound effects, which create the impression that the panel they're included in last as long as that sound effect does. A sharp "WAK" is probably a fraction of a second, but the ball moving through the air might take several seconds - it's moving, but we don't automatically know for how long, and the narration over it contributes to that feeling of timelessness. Then in the third panel we get the impression that the dialogue is punctuated by the "SMASH!" as the ball finally hits home. We can imagine how this would play out if it were animated, but the picture it's painting is a highly complex composite of the presence and absence of sound effects across these panels.

A "silent" panel with no dialogue, no movement lines and no sound effects can feel like a single moment frozen in time, no matter how dynamic the actual illustration is.

And even if you don't think that you think about this, you notice when the implied time of the panel and the implied time of the panel's implied sound don't line up. A movement that feels like it should take a fraction of a second doesn't align with sound effects or dialogue that feels like it should take the better part of a minute.

The way I lay out my pages is sometimes intended to produce effects like speed-ramping - going from normal-speed to slow motion by chaining panels with movement and sound effects with panels that have neither.

The silent panel feels like a frozen or slow-motion moment intercut between fast, frantic action, and if that middle panel had sound effects or speed lines, that would compromise the effect.

Realistically, total silence is an extreme rarity, but the stylization of comics typically ignores this. Sound effects are relegated to important or key movements - we don't add rustling sound effects every time somebody's clothing moves, but we might add it to a cape flourish. Every sound effect in a panel comes with an implied runtime. Overlaying several sound effects can produce a frenetic, fast-paced effect that implies that the panels are happening very quickly and a lot is happening in that short span of time.

But, for instance, adding dialogue might disrupt that impression, because the dialogue carries its own implied timestamp that is usually longer than a single sound effect. If the characters are too chatty, that can make the moment feel like it's struggling with two very different paces - one determined by the talking, one by the action. Because of that, I try to keep them mostly separated - dialogue-panels will have minimal sound effects, and movement-heavy panels will be dialogue-free.

This isn't something I usually think too hard about - it's just a matter of feeling it out until the pacing flows right. None of this occurred to me until I went back with an analytical eye. It's a remarkably sneaky element of the medium that I'm really intrigued about exploring.

[the-moon-files]

Moon's Linked Universe Masterpost?!

----- Content under ✄-----

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Please understand Reader is Masc (he/him) unless stated otherwise.

GN = gender neutral (they/them)

Fem (she/her)

Mixed (any combo of pronouns)

Chronological order (ish). Check near the bottom of sections for newer posts.

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Humans are NOT hylians (Humans are Space Orcs AU):

The OG post, and a sorta intro to Humans are Space Orcs tumblr fandom/concept if ur unfamiliar - Humans aren't just round-eared Hylians?? | Piggyback rides and headcanons | Snippet of More headcanons (check the reblogs!) | Fighter!Reader and Even More headcanons | An Ungodly Amount of More headcanons. | ...you won't believe it. | You try some potions, as a human in Hyrule, and make some yourself! | Human v. Hylian cultural differences, we cant be That different, right?

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Twilight had human neighbors, this did not prepare him For You.

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(Clearly divided SFW / NSFW PORTIONS) Humans show affection differently than Hylians...?

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TF u mean humans can just,,?? Grab their enemies sword??? Out of their hands???!! While Fighting Them??!!!!!!

...

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You: Spirit Halloween, on the day of Halloween, could've given me a better disguise than that Yiga member.

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The Classic Linked Universe:

Guide!Reader, Linked Universe Incorrect Quotes | Soulmate Headcanons for Wild (BOTW Link) | GN Guide!Reader, Random Headcanons abt Chain Part 1 | GN Guide!Reader, Random Headcanons abt Chain Part 2 | GN Guide!Reader, Random Headcanons abt Chain Part 3 | Guide!Reader, the Chain being Down Bad for your voice lmao | A Language Barrier? Well, とくにか. (Encoded! Check the reblogs!) | GN Reader, you're a real flirt, no GOT bitches?? You even got Zelda??? | ...

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my ao3 <3

thanks for reading!! I hope you enjoy my silly stuff!! :)