#Fully internally. Everything is great and fine and I am not even that anxious

[jorvikzelda]

Somehow despite fully optimal conditions having the worst day of my entire life

[magicalbats]

Flesh-Devouring Part 2

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 20,217

Warnings: Afab!reader, gendered language, brat taming, forced submission, corporal punishment, non consensual spanking, thigh grinding, mutual masturbation, belt spanking, some very mild violence (reader is mostly a helpless bystander nvxcnvde), a pinch of angst for spice

A/N: okay, I promise I’ll work on the next kinktober prompt now 🙈 and also we're just gonna' pretend Wriothesley has an actual belt somewhere on his person, I eyeballed the hell out of his official art and started to doubt myself buuuuuut I was already fully committed to the bit so dvdknvgkdngg

⭐

“Good morning, your grace!” 

Looking up from the sheaf of papers in his hand, Wriothesley swivels his head around to watch you disembark from the elevator with a noticeably eager skip in your step. He quirks a brow at it and fully turns to greet you at your approach. “Good morning, little miss. You certainly seem to be in a good mood today.” 

You can’t quite keep the smile off your face as you come to a stop in front of him, practically vibrating in your excitement. “Of course I am! Todays the day I finally get to meet with some of the inmates and get started on our new program, what else would I be?” 

He smiles at that. “While your enthusiasm is quite commendable, I must remind you not to get your hopes up too much. The group that volunteered for this is a — mixed crowd, so to speak. I’m not exactly sure what sort of reaction you’re going to get.” 

Drawing a stilted breath, you square your shoulders and give him a brief nod of understanding. You knew he was just being practical and realistic as always, but you felt good about this. Optimistic. You were positive your efforts would soon pay off in a very real, very tangible way, and at last justify all the grief you’d suffered at his hands just to get here. For weeks now you’d been meeting with him, discussing, planning, organizing and fine tuning a plan of implementation, all while wrestling with your own self control where the duke was concerned. There wasn’t any use denying that you liked kissing him a great deal. In fact, it seemed to be your new favorite activity, amongst other, less wholesome things … 

Even now you could feel the urge to go up on your tiptoes so you could tug him down to your level threatening to overpower your common sense, but there were much more important matters at hand. You’d told yourself this over and over again, repeating it like a mantra to steel your resolve and keep your mind focused on matters of business instead of giving in, and it was going to pay off. Today. Here and now. You could feel it. 

“I understand, your grace. I will make sure to keep my expectations appropriately tempered.” 

Wriothesley looks at you like he doesn’t quite believe that, but he relents without further pressing you on it. His boots sound impossibly heavy on the steel plated flooring as he half turns, motioning you ahead. “Let’s be off then. Did you bring everything you need?” 

“Yes, your grace.” Clutching your worn leather carry case in hand, you fall into step beside him as he leads you down the long winding corridor. 

The Fortress of Meropide is somehow both stuffy and chilly at the same, the air thick but infused with the cool temperature bleeding in off the water that surrounds it. You’d learned your lesson the first time you came here (in more ways than one) and had opted for a light jumper over your blouse to stave off the ever present note of cold which you could take off if you got too warm. That seemed like a not far off possibility when you were internally quaking with nerves, both eager and anxious, but for now at least you just keep your attention on him while he gives you a brief rundown of who was supposedly going to show up for this little meeting he’d arranged for you. 

Sixteen inmates had signed up. Not even half of that number were finished with their sentences, the vast majority still actively serving time, and you can’t help but feel a little disappointed about that. You’d of course hoped to give those who had made the conscious decision to stay at Meropide a chance to reconsider integrating back into overworld society but you try to remind yourself that this was only the first preliminary phase of a much greater project. If things went well today, there would be plenty of time to work with the others. 

“Ah, and before I forget.” He says, sending you a meaningful look. “Someone by the name of George should be in attendance, if he bothers to show up. He’s a little rough around the edges but don’t let what he says get under your skin. He’s had his sentence extended twice now and as I’m sure you can imagine he’s a bit grumpy about that.” 

“Understood.” You give the clutch of your bag a fierce squeeze. “May I ask why?” 

Wriothesley thinks that over for a beat. “The first time was due to excessive fighting outside of the regulated channels. We have a three strikes policy here, as I’ve mentioned before. I suspect he was trying to assert himself as the top dog in his block but he ran into a bit more opposition than he was expecting, so he had to start using his fists instead.” 

“And the other?” 

“He tried to take one of the sponsor representatives hostage and use her as a bargaining chip.” 

Your eyes go big. “Oh.” 

Smiling one of those rare but incredibly flattering genuine smiles, he reaches out to lightly nudge your elbow. “Don’t worry. I’ll be there the whole time to keep everything under control and make sure nobody gets out of hand but the ball will be in your court, little miss. I’m just your guard dog today.” 

You hate the way fluster slowly creeps up your neck but you valiantly stamp it back down as you shyly avert your gaze elsewhere. “Thank you, your grace. I … I really appreciate you doing this for me.” 

“I know you do. But don’t thank me just yet. Wait until after we see what kind of response you get.” 

That gentle warning niggles at the back of your mind like the tickling whisper of sharp claws brushing your skin, and your stomach gives a little flip. You were nervous to meet with them face to face despite being excited to get started. Working in the public affairs office and spending most of your time at a desk didn’t exactly prepare you for hands-on encounters such as this, but between your unfaltering conviction and Wriothesley’s ever present cool demeanor at your side you keep your head held high. 

Up a short flight of metal steps and down another steel plated hall, you find yourself stepping into a small room that, based on the rickety old tables tightly packed into the cramped space, looked like it was perhaps largely used as a card room. You can’t help but feel a dull rush of relief at finding it yet unoccupied by anyone. Unable to fight the urge any longer, you reach out to snag Wriothesley’s sleeve and he sedately turns to look down at you. 

Shuffling closer until you were practically pressed right up against him, you offer him an imploring look as you go up on your toes. “Your grace …?” 

Something distantly sparks in his eyes and, humming softly, he carefully bends down to press his mouth to yours in an altogether chaste kiss. But even for as innocent as it is — not nearly as heated as some of the kisses you’d exchanged with him in recent memory — it still inspires a flood of warmth in you that races down your body. Sighing softly, you lean further into him and give yourself over to the stilted, hard press of his lips on yours. 

It lasts for only a brief moment though, and your lashes flutter against the apples of your cheeks when he pulls back just enough to speak. “Don’t be scared.” He tells you quietly, so gently it makes your heart wrench. 

“I’m not scared, just … nervous, is all. I think.” 

Humming quietly, he gives you another quick, lingering kiss that makes your bottom lip warble against your will. “You’ll do great. I know you will, but even if you should happen to fall I’ll be right there to catch you. Just like always, right?” 

Your face was quickly starting to become unbearably hot. Oh, how you wanted him so badly, even if he was the most confounding, frustrating man you’d ever met. “Will — will you have me later? When we’re done …?” 

Wriothesley goes still, just looking at you for a drawn out moment, but you’re a little too embarrassed to be saying something so shameful out loud to meet his gaze anymore. Flutteringly, your hand comes up to anxiously tug at the fur collar of his coat under the guise of straightening it for him, even though you really wanted to use it to tug him in against you. 

Finally, at length, he draws a carefully tempered breath. “How do you want me to have you, little miss?” 

The violent shudder that abruptly tears through you almost has you going cross eyed. “I - I’m not sure, I just … I feel like such a mess inside and everything is confusing, and I don’t know what it is exactly but I want you to — to - -“ 

“Oh, sweet girl,” He exhales slowly, and you jolt when one of his hands finds your hip. Giving it a tight, possessive squeeze to make you tremble, he drags that oppressive palm further back and around to grab a pinching handful of your ass. “Do you need me to ground you in place? Is that what you’re asking me for? Huh?” 

You sway unsteadily, feeling terribly faint when it seemed as if you were being smothered under his weighty presence. The heavy, rough calloused hand gripping your backside through the seat of your pants, the body heat bleeding off of him in waves to settle into you; the smell of him swarming your senses to settle on the back of your tongue and leave the masculine taste you’d come to recognize solely as the duke’s cloying in your throat. It was all too much. 

Much, much too much. 

Whimpering softly, you force your attention up to look in his face, still hovering mere millimeters from yours even when doing so proves to be quite the struggle. “Yes.” It’s little more than a faint whisper. “I want … I need you to reorient me. It feels like I’m — lost out at sea. I don’t know how else to describe it.” 

With a barely audible, rumbling growl, Wriothesley closes his fingers around the meat of your ass hard enough to make your breath hitch in your chest. “You need your head cleared so you can focus all that energy you have where it belongs. I’ll give you that outlet, as much as you require it. I have no problem giving you a guiding hand, little miss. You know that.” 

Your mouth warbles in a jittery smile, unable to keep it at a bay even when you try very hard to stop it from spreading across your face. You didn’t fully understand it yourself, what you were asking for or what you needed. All you’d seemed to grasp over the short time you’d known him was that Wriothesley made you feel good. Almost inexplicably so. Even when he was being infuriating and condescending towards you, even when he’d give your poor bottom a handful of stinging swats at the first sign of attitude to remind you to behave yourself, it still didn’t detract from this flutter low in your gut. There was something deeply gratifying about being with him like this, in this particular dynamic, and for as little as you know what to make of any of it, he seems to know exactly what it is you instinctively crave from him. Why you keep seeking him out this way. 

The sapphires in his eyes shutter with what you’re starting to recognize as desire in his otherwise implacable facade and he leans in again, issuing an anticipatory breath into the scant space separating you. His mouth finds yours, as sure as any compass points north, drawing a threadbare moan from the depths of your shuddering gut. You lean into him, lips carefully parting to kiss him back, and — the shuffling sound of heavy approaching footsteps echoing off the metal walls has you wrenching back from him so fast your head spins. 

Eyes going impossibly wide, you quickly slap him away in your fluster and rush to extricate yourself from his person. Chuckling softly, as if he wasn’t at all concerned about being caught in such a compromising situation, Wriothesley lets you go, but not without a playful swat to your ass when you move to brush past him. You yelp at the mild sting but keep your attention ahead as you hurry over to deposit your bag on one of the tables so you can dig in it and give your racing heart a chance to calm down. Even now you somehow manage to be surprised at how utterly unapologetic he was about everything! 

Forcing your lungs to expand on a deep, steadying breath, you listen to the approaching shuffle behind you until an unmistakable shift of occupancy in the cramped room indicated that you were no longer alone with the duke. You keep your head down just a moment longer, both to ensure you had your expression under control and to also listen to the way Wriothesley amicably greets the inmates. You’d never gotten to see him interact with them before and, rather than coming off like the strict, hardass warden you’d had a first impression of, he almost seems to talk to them like they were … friends? Or at least on friendly terms with each other. 

Could it really be that you were the only one unlucky (or lucky, depending on how you looked at it) enough to bring out that side of him? But why would that be …? 

Slowly, more people start to drift in and you have to make a concerted effort to shove those thoughts to the back of your mind so you can stay focused on what really matters. You take your time neatly organizing your stacks of papers, the forms you’d carefully composed on the typewriter in the affairs office, and make a concerted effort to greet everyone with a smile when they move away from the duke to find their seats. Some of them are rather friendly when they respond, but others simply look at you without a single word and not so much as a backwards glance. No matter, though. You didn’t exactly come here to make friends. 

All in all, only seven inmates show up. A pair of shady looking brothers, one woman and the rest are men who just disinterestedly eye you up and down with varying levels of annoyance reflecting in their eyes. You can’t quite shake the feeling that they’d expected someone a bit more impressive than the slight, eager-faced woman wearing a jumper and slacks standing before them now, and it probably didn’t help that you looked downright diminutive standing next to Wriothesley either. Oh, well. You were just going to have to try and make the best of it. 

“Hello, everyone,” You chirp, a little higher in pitch than you’d intended thanks to your jittery nerves. “It looks like we won’t be getting anyone else today, so let’s get started. I’m very excited to be working with all of you.”

Resounding, echoing silence and a wall of blank stares. 

You waver slightly, but recover admirably. “I’m from the office of public affairs, and recently I’ve been working with his grace here to come up with programs for the prison that can help or otherwise enrich the lives of the inmates here. I appreciate you taking the time out of your day to come see me, and I hope you’ll feel comfortable enough to speak freely. This preliminary meeting is first and foremost going to function as a feeler so we can get an idea of what sort of activities you'd like to see offered at the prison in the future.” 

More silence. More staring. 

You can feel your face starting to grow warm even though you’ve also broken out into a cold sweat, and you flounder for something else to say. Far be it that you’d expected them to jump for joy and lift you in the air over their heads in celebration or anything as preposterous as that, but you had anticipated at least some kind of response. What were you supposed to do when they wouldn’t even speak so much as a single word to you? It’s not like you could get anything of worth out of this if you were the only one talking. 

Suddenly, Wriothesley shifts beside you and the soft creak of his boots makes your pulse nervously jump. “I expect all of you to show our guest some respect today. I'm not sure why you would sign up for this if you had no intention of participating, so let’s get it in gear. If you have something to say, now is your chance to say it.” 

The brothers sitting nearest to you bend their heads close and exchange a quick, muffled conversation between themselves, but you’re a little too rattled by the tone of Wriothesley’s voice to make out what they’re saying. Ah, so it wasn’t just you then. Good to know. 

“What sort of activities are we talking here?” One of the men in the rear suddenly speaks up, snapping your attention back into the present. 

“O - oh, yes. We were thinking things like trade skills and daily lifestyle necessities that could give you a better sense of independence while you’re here. Things like sewing or cooking, or - -“

“Why would we need any of that?” The only other woman in the room chimes in. “Meropide works just fine as is and the system already in place provides us with all of that.”

“Well, yes, but - -“ 

“Yeah, what do I need to know sewing for when I could just as easily pass it off to someone who already knows how to do it?” One of the brothers, the larger and seemingly more cantankerous of the two, adds on, making you pull your mouth into a firm line. 

“That’s exactly why.” You assert in an equally firm voice. “The prison’s internal functionality works like a well oiled machine, doesn’t it? Why want for anything else when everything is already right where it needs to be. Just like cogs, everyone fits into their role and they fit it well. You all keep Meropide running as it should, there’s no doubt about that. But each and every one of you has a life beyond the role you take on here. You aren’t just cogs, and you aren’t just part of the greater machine. I want to give you a chance to be independent of that clockwork, even if it’s only for an hour or two each day, and remind you that there’s still something beyond these tin walls.”

You draw a steadying breath, carefully taking in the faces sitting before you. It looked like a few of them were starting to come around, or were at least curious enough to actually hear you out now, and that bolsters your courage by some margin. You could do this. You would. 

“I know how easy it is to get comfortable with the lifestyle here. His grace has taken the time to explain to me in great detail the ins and outs of the prison, how everyone lives on a schedule, what freedoms you’re allotted and what has restricted access. I’m aware that there is a great deal of self governing here in the fortress, which is precisely why I want to give you all an opportunity to deviate from that routine. It might be fun, right? Having a little bit of your old life back?” 

A few looks are exchanged between some of the inmates, a soft murmur rising up, and your heartbeat starts to quicken. Next to you, Wriothesley snorts a quiet laugh before moving back to lean against the wall, leaving you feeling strangely alone and exposed standing there by yourself. You shoot him a quick, harried glance over your shoulder but he just crosses his arms over his chest and nudges his chin at the small congregation. When you turn back around, you’re more than a little surprised to find the other woman leaning towards you in obvious interest.  

“I always wanted to be a seamstress some day.” She abruptly announces, startling you slightly. “My mother taught me when I was younger, but I never got a chance to really hone the skill. Is that really something you could arrange?” 

You swallow your nerves, hearing Wriothesley’s reminder not to get your hopes up in the back of your mind, but it was so hard not to when she was looking at you like that. You wanted to help her. More than anything else, you just wanted to give them something more to live for. 

“I believe we can. His grace and I have already reached out to a few businesses, and a few of them have expressed willingness to volunteer their services to the prison. I’m sure if everything goes well and word of mouth starts to spread, we could convince others to do the same as well.” 

“I did always want to be a chef.” The larger brother admits somewhat sheepishly, and you smile. You couldn’t help it. 

This was really working. 

It doesn’t take long to have a full dialogue going after that. Even with the one or two stragglers still wary and uncertain about introducing any real changes to the system the overall reception seems to be resoundingly positive. You talk with them, discussing what they’d like to do, what they’d like to potentially see implemented, and through it all Wriothesley just hangs back against the wall, watching over everything like a silent sentry just at your back. He even stays true to his word and lets you be in charge even when tempers seem to flare up in disagreement every so often instead of snatching the reins from you at the first sign of trouble. All it takes is a sharp look from him or a low word of warning, and everyone grudgingly settles back down, which was not something you’d expected to relate so much with them about but you do. It almost feels like a strange sense of solidarity in a way, and you were immensely glad to have him on your side like this. 

Everything goes so well, in fact, that by the time a real problem raises its head, you almost overlook it completely. The man in the far back corner hadn’t said much at all over the course of the last hour and some change, but you’d felt his burning gaze on you the whole time. He appeared to be the most opposed to the program you’d presented to the group, but you hadn’t been able to squeeze the reason out of him yet which is why you eventually defer to your hand typed forms. You’d thought it would be a good idea to have them put their thoughts down in writing in case they felt too shy to say it out loud, and you hoped your careful planning would pay off in this. 

You’re in the process of handing out the papers to everyone along with the pencils you’d brought along, slowly making your way over to him last, and he tips his head back as if in challenge at your approach. You had a sneaking suspicion who he was, of course, but you still offer him a cheerful smile as you move closer. 

“I know you haven’t said much today, but I hope you’ll share any thoughts you have on the form. It’s really helpful to have different perspectives on things like this.” You tell him, holding out the sheet. 

“Can’t write.” He rumbles, making your hand falter. 

“Oh.” You hadn’t even considered that being a possibility. “I - I’m sorry. Maybe we could see about starting up classes so you can - -“

“Don’t want em’” 

You blink at him owlishly, trying to make sense of his surly attitude, but Wriothesley calls over from the other side of the room before you can think of something to say. “Watch yourself, George. I’m not going to give you another warning.” 

Ah. So your suspicions were correct. 

You start to pull back, decidedly unnerved by the way he clearly wants nothing at all to do with you, but then you see the look that flashes across his eyes. Like a street hardened dog that was ready to bite in retaliation. You almost hate yourself for it, but your heart irreparably softens and you turn your head to send Wriothesley a reassuring look. “It’s alright, your grace. I don’t mind.” 

He begins to open his mouth to say something but you whip your head back around, speaking before he can further insert himself into the conversation. 

“Please don’t worry about it, there’s nothing to be ashamed of. I know not all of us have been given the same kind of opportunities in life. Where are you from, George?” 

The grizzled man sends you a slow look, the muscles in his jaw working with what you think is probably irritation, but you refuse to back down or give up on him. He was still a person deserving of respect and dignity no matter how much he might hate you. 

“Fleuve Cendre.” He says at length, and you feel a distant twang of understanding in the back of your mind. The underground sewer systems in the Court of Fontaine were not always the best place to grow up so it made sense, in a way. 

“I see. Well, if you’re at all interested I can make every effort to arrange for someone to come teach you how to write, or maybe I could even do it myself. Does that sound like a good idea?” 

He suddenly leans forward in his chair, getting right in your face, and it takes everything you have not to go scuttling back though you do give a startled jerk in surprise. “Not a chance! I don’t want your stinking charity, lady!” He practically spits at you, vitriolic and full of malice. 

“Charity?” You incredulously echo him, but he reaches out to viciously grab your wrist before you can think of anything else to say. 

“That’s right! You think I need you looking down on me or something? How about I tell you exactly where you can shove it instead!” 

You open your mouth to say — what, you don’t know, but a shift of motion in your peripheral stops you in your tracks. Snapping your head up, you’re not the least bit surprised to find Wriothesley quickly closing the distance with long, purposeful strides, but it still horrifies you and your heart promptly jackhammers straight up into your throat. 

“Wait!” You shriek, holding your uncaptured arm out as if to stop him. Like you even could. He’s like a solid wall moving towards you and you could already see how this was going to play out, your eyes going round as saucers seconds before a violent wrench on your arm takes you right off your feet. 

In a sudden rush of movement that you can’t even begin to process or comprehend, you abruptly find yourself pinned to the front of George who’s shot up out of his seat. Wriothesley comes to an immediate halt, just short of being within arms reach, and you stare up at him in unseeing disbelief as George shuffles back to press himself into the corner, using you like a shield. You’re distantly aware of an eruption of chaos in the rest of the room, likely a result of everyone rushing to get out of the way, chairs loudly scraping and clattering against the floor, but you feel strangely numb to it all. 

The only thing you can manage to think at that moment is that you were going to be in so much trouble once everything was said and done. 

“Don’t touch me, you bastard aristocrat!” 

“Wha — h - hold on a minute!” You squawk, feet kicking uselessly at the floor in a blind attempt to find some traction. It’s no use though, and your shoes just slip and slide against the papers you’d dropped in the shuffle. 

“I thought we already went over this, George. You know taking hostages isn’t going to get you anywhere except straight into solitary.” Wriothesley intones, and the surprisingly calm, leveled quality of his voice surprises you slightly, prompting you to bring your head back up. But the look you find in his face, the icy heat curling in his eyes, is anything but tranquil, and your stomach twists in dread. 

You’d never seen him look like that before … like he could really kill someone. 

“I don’t want to hear it!” George snaps, nervously clutching you against him — as if you were going to stop anything! “I’ve had enough of this place, and I’ve had enough of all of you! Always looking down on me like I’m less than dirt!” 

“No one is looking down on you.” Wriothesley says, clearly trying to reason with him. “Just calm down and let her go. I know you’re having a hard time adjusting, and I’m sure having your sentence extended didn’t help with that, but this is only going to make things worse for you in the long run. You can’t bargain your way out of this.” 

“Maybe so, but I could kill her!” 

“You what!” You shriek, nails sinking into the arm pinned across your front, but they both summarily ignore you. 

“That’d show you not to mess with me!” George continues on. “I’m serious, you know! I’ll do it!” 

“And why would you go and do a stupid thing like that?” Wriothesley shoots right back. “If you’re hoping to spend the rest of your life in Meropide you don’t have to do this to accomplish that. You’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like.” 

“Dammit, I want out of here! I can’t stand this place! No sun, no fresh air, no sky! It feels like I’m going crazy down here!” 

“Then let her go. You still have a chance to return to the surface someday and you’ll get to see the sky as much as you want then, but that’s not going to happen if you keep this up. If you extend your sentence much further, you’re just going to seal your own fate. Permanently.” 

That actually seems to give him pause, and you hold your breath in anticipation of the pin dropping even when your chest strains and aches in protest. You almost didn’t dare to hope that he would actually listen to reason when you were viscerally aware of all the impotent rage and unrealized frustration coursing through his body, making him shake against you. It didn’t appear to be a bluff, at least not where you were standing. You think he really could kill you if pushed far enough, but … slowly, his hold on you eventually starts to relax. 

“I don’t want to be trapped under the ocean for the rest of my life …” He murmurs, a brief glimpse of cognizance returning to him after that manic flash. 

“Then hand the young lady over to me and let’s be done with it. I think this has gone on long enough, George.” 

Carefully reaching out for you, Wriothesley takes a step forward. His ability to stay cool and collected even in a situation like this surprises you a great deal, of course, but you find some amount of comfort in his unflappable demeanor. It helps you stay calm, in as much as you’re able to at least, and a dull wave of relief washes over you when George reluctantly pushes you away from himself, shoving you straight into Wriothesley’s waiting arm. 

You almost don’t believe it as his hand grabs around your waist and tightly gathers you up against him, angling you further from the inmate. It felt like you were dreaming. Numb to everything that had happened over the last few inexplicably short moments, you turn in his hold just in time to watch Wriothesley snag George’s wrist before he can pull it back all the way. 

And just like that, he snaps the bone with one solid twist. 

The sickening crack! that rings out makes your stomach lurch up into your throat. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Slamming Wriothesley’s office door open hard enough to make it bang against the interior wall, you storm inside so mad you could just scream! 

He comes in behind you at a leisurely pace just a moment later, taking his time to close and lock it, but you’re a little too caught up in the absolutely blinding surge of anger you’re trying to wrestle with to question it. Seething viciously, you start to pace the perimeter of the room. It’s all you can think to do. You wanted to scream at him, kick him, slap him, spit at him! What was wrong with this man that he would ever think that kind of violence was okay? 

“Are you alright?” He eventually asks you, just standing there in the doorway watching you stomp around his office as if it were a perfectly normal sight to see. That evenly tempered, almost blase tone of his voice just makes you see red though, and you finally round on him with a wordless shriek. 

“Why did you do that to him?” 

“He was dangerous.” Wriothesley says it like it should have been obvious. “I think he made that quite clear, don’t you?” 

“It doesn’t matter! He’d already let me go, you didn’t need to hurt him like that! It was just excessive at that point, you damn brute!” 

“That doesn’t mean he couldn't still hurt you. You’re not stupid, little miss. I know you’re aware of just how differently that could have played out if he hadn’t listened to me, and I wasn’t about to risk him changing his mind and having the means to lash out. You’re acting like I killed the poor guy.” 

You couldn’t seem to process his logic and, with no other choice, you return to your fitful pacing. “I don’t understand you. It doesn’t even make any sense. You say you care about your inmates but then you turn around and do something like that?” 

“I care about you too.” 

Stopping dead in your tracks, you slowly turn to look back at him again. The chill that creeps over you is suffocating, threatening to choke you up on the spot. “No. Do not do that. Not right now!” 

“But it’s true.” 

“I don’t care if it’s true!” You shout, impulsively closing the distance so you can jab your finger into the center of his chest. “You broke that man’s wrist, your grace! That was uncalled for! If you cared about him, or the others, or me you wouldn’t have done something so — so unnecessarily violent! He was just … he was just scared, is all. I think.” 

Wriothesley reaches up to carefully take your hand off him and you flinch at the contact but still let him do it because … because you don’t know why. You’re well aware you should be yanking out of his hold like he’d scalded you, skin crawling at just the touch of those rough worn fingers, but you can’t quite bring yourself to do that right now. Not when it felt like you were moments away from shattering to pieces right there in his office. 

“You think?” 

“I don’t know. Not really, but … he could have hurt me if he wanted to, right? But he didn’t. He only used me like a shield because you were coming, and he panicked. I can’t really blame him for that. I’d be scared too.” 

“I bet.” He murmurs, lifting your hand to press a kiss to the backs of your loosely curled knuckles. Grimacing at the gesture, unable to reconcile it in your mind — this soft version of the duke and the brutal prison warden — and you quickly look away. “I’m sorry you’re unhappy with how I handled the situation. I probably did frighten you, and you have my sincerest apologies for that as well, little miss. But you have to understand that I was protecting you.”

“I didn’t ask to be protected!” You seethe. “Least of all like that!” 

“Be that as it may, I still did what needed to be done. I already told you once, didn’t I? I’m your guard dog. You were in danger and I acted accordingly. It’s not fair of you to be so upset with me when I was only doing my job.” 

“But there must have been another way - -“

“There wasn’t. Believing any different is just naive and childish. You need to let go of this little fantasy you have that everything can be solved peacefully if you’re just nice enough. That’s not how the real world works.” 

You jerk your attention up with a low snarl, but he just looks at you with the same unreadable expression as always. He wasn’t the least bit sorry, nor did he feel any real regret for what he’d done. Not only that but he would have done it again without a second's hesitation. You could see it in his face, clear as day. He may as well have been saying it out loud for as little he tries to hide it. 

“It doesn’t work with violence either.” You finally rattle out, shaking in his hold. 

“I’d say my methods are a bit more effective than yours. You’re safe, aren’t you? If anything, you should be thanking me.” 

Your pulse spikes as you wrench your hand free and slap him as hard as you can, popping him right across the mouth. Wriothesley doesn’t even flinch and that just makes you angrier. Going up on the tips of your toes to get as close to him as you’re able to, you hiss at him with every bit of vitriol you can muster. “Is that thanks enough for you, your grace?” 

Terse silence descends over the room, interspersed only by your heavy breathing. At length, he finally draws a short, clipped breath. 

“I’m going to give you one chance and one chance only to apologize for doing that. I do hope you make the right decision.”

Veins turning icy, you bring your hands up to shove at his chest and push yourself away. “You wouldn’t dare. Not right now. Not when I’m so mad at you I could just - -“

He’s on you in an instant. 

For someone so big he certainly moves quick, and you barely have enough time to suck in a ragged, gasping breath of air as he roughly grabs under your arms and hauls you right up off your feet. The sudden rush of movement makes you nauseous, your stomach flipping end over end. Throwing your head back, you suck in a mouthful of air to scream. 

Wriothesley abruptly drops you back down to the floor before you can follow through and the sudden impact makes sharp, splintering pain race up your legs. That split second hesitation on your part is all he needs to get a hand over your mouth and your eyes go big in wild terror as he all but drags you by the back of your jumper towards the chaise lounge against the far wall. You wrench against his hold like a trapped animal, desperate and mindless as you shriek behind his palm, but the sound comes out muffled. Distant. There’s nothing at all you can do to stop it as he pulls you over and plops down on the cushions before yanking you down to kneel between his feet. 

You wince at the way your knees slam against the unforgiving ground but you don’t get a chance to fully process the hurt. He bends over you and reaches back to grab the back of your pants, using them to yank you up and brace you over his thigh. His hand stays locked around your mouth though, making it hard to breathe when you were sucking in quick, panicked gasps, one right after another as you frantically try to shove at him. 

His hand abruptly cracks across your ass with enough force to leave you seeing stars, and you wordlessly shriek into his palm. Winded and lurching, you instinctively try to angle away from him but the way he’s got you trapped between his legs makes it impossible to get very far. He hits you again, right on the mark, and hot tears immediately rush up to flood your eyes. Wailing in pain and impotent frustration now, you blindly reach up to shove at his arm. 

Wriothesley’s fingers just tighten around the lower half of your face though, securing his hold on you, while the other hand continues to rain down on your bottom in quick, blistering succession. Even through your pants it makes your toes curl achingly tight as you writhe there on the floor, rocking against his leg with each punishing blow. 

You couldn’t believe him, doing this to you in a situation like this! It was one thing when you were being bratty or stubborn, or hardheaded, and you’d even come to rather enjoy those intimate sessions with him in which he’d gradually break you down piece by piece before building you back up into a whole, complete person again. It was strangely relaxing, comforting even. Therapeutic. But this was something else entirely. You were mad for a good reason. You’d hit him for a good reason! It wasn’t fair that he could spank your ass red and raw, but you couldn’t even slap him once without incurring his wrath. 

So caught up in the tumultuous surge of emotions assaulting you all at once, you almost don’t realize when the tears start tracking down your face. They burn against your heated skin and pool in the seam where his hand is sealed over your face from the nose down, gathering there before eventually dribbling over his blunt knuckles. He has to feel it, has to know you’re crying, practically sobbing, but still he doesn’t stop. He just keeps spanking you, again and again, again, until the throbbing pain scorching across your defenseless backside seems to reach incomprehensible levels that have you struggling just to think through it. 

And you try to, desperate to cling to your anger and your fear, the betrayal you’d felt when he broke that poor man’s wrist right in front of your very eyes with hardly any effort at all to show for it. You hadn’t thought him capable. Even now when he was lighting your ass up it seemed like an entirely inconceivable notion for him to be capable of that level of cruelty. But it’s next to impossible to hold onto any of those thoughts or feelings when you were so swept up in the pulsing thrum of hurt he’s inflicting on you and slowly, ever so slowly, your mind starts to go blank. 

Evidently feeling you go lax against his knee in acceptance, Wriothesley’s voice starts to drift over you and it seamlessly penetrates the fog hanging over your head to dig straight into your brain. “I’m not sure who you think you are,” whap, whap, whap, whap, “But I have to say,” whap, whap, whap, whap, “I’m actually rather impressed you had the guts to do that,” whap, whap, whap, whap “I suppose that’s why I like you so much though,” whap, whap, whap, whap, “You're so damn bullheaded you just don’t know when to quit.” 

Groaning deliriously into the meat of his hand, you mechanically bring your hand down to clutch his pant leg in a death grip while the other blindly stretches back as if to protect yourself from his strikes. He pauses above you as your trembling fingers creep across your bottom, drawing a clipped, mildly annoyed breath. 

“Move your hand.” 

You wail something that might have been a ‘no!’, incomprehensibly muffled, and he clicks his tongue at the petulance. 

“Don’t test my patience with you any further, little girl. You have no idea just how much I can really make it hurt if you want to be cute.” 

Noising a sound of surprised confusion, you hastily retract your hand in favor of shoving it up against his stomach and pushing at him with renewed determination, but he doesn’t even seem to notice. Leaning forward, he reaches down the front of your body to fumble with the buttons on your pants. You squeal a muffled protest and try to angle away again to no avail. It takes him a prolonged moment to get them with the use of only one hand, but eventually he has your slacks undone and he starts to roughly shove them down your quaking thighs. 

“You know,” He says almost conversationally, as calm as ever while your internal panic was just ratcheting higher and higher. “I don’t want you to get the wrong idea, so let me explain something to you. There’s a right way and a wrong way to go about things, and somehow you always seem to consistently pick the wrong choice. I don’t mind so much that you’re upset with me. I still don’t think that was very fair of you, but you’re entitled to your own opinion. I’m certainly not trying to take that away from you.”

He’s finally got your pants bunched around your knees but, rather than spanking you over your panties next, he instead starts to yank those down too. A violent shudder tears through you at the implication, the suggestion, your blood running so hot for him it has you swaying there on the floor even as you give your head a weak shake. If he was skipping the usual buildup then he must have been rather upset with you indeed. 

“But as always you get too carried away. You won’t stop until you push me enough to end up over my knee, getting your butt spanked like a child.” He swats your bare ass for emphasis, making you shriek and sob at the pulsing sting as much as the resulting jiggle it causes. “Do you have anything to say for yourself? Huh?” 

You nod your head frantically, noising behind his hand, and Wriothesley gives your face a dull squeeze of warning. 

“I’m going to take my hand away but I promise if you scream you’re going to find yourself getting hit with something much worse than a hairbrush, do you understand me?”  

Another nod, even more wild than the last. 

Slowly, his fingers loosen and then tentatively fall away, leaving you to gasp wretchedly at the flood of fresh air. You slump against him and try to catch your breath, wet little hiccups making your back bow. “I … I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have — shouldn’t have hit you!”

“I’d say that’s an understatement.” 

Forcibly pulling yourself up even though it hurts to do so, you twist on your knees to peer up at him. Your lower lip promptly wobbles when you see the hard way he’s looking at you but you just sniffle and reach up to wipe at your tear stained face. “You made me so mad! And you never take me seriously! I tell you something and it seems like you always just brush me off!” 

Wriothesley watches you shake and heave for a drawn out moment before sedately slouching down, elbows shifting forward to brace against his knees so he can lean over you. The gesture makes you feel so incredibly small and insignificant, a borderline hysterical sob bursting out of your mouth which you quickly cover with your hand. You screw your eyes shut, trying to calm down, but he just hovers over you like that in complete and utter silence until the shudders wracking through you get too uncontrollable and you start to sway dizzily on the floor. 

His nearest hand finds your back and smooths over it in comforting circles, wrinkling your jumper in the process. Sucking in a thin, gasping breath, you instinctively rock forward as if to heave but all you do is cough like some sad, pathetic broken little thing. 

“Calm down,” He murmurs, giving your trembling shoulders a firm pat. “You’re going to make yourself sick carrying on like that. Will you listen to me?” 

Sniveling, you blink through the thick sheen of tears making your vision swim and nod your head with a faint whimper. His hand stills on your back, keeping you in place as he leans further down to your level and tips his head so he can see your face. 

“I wasn’t brushing you off. I understand why that upset you and I’m nothing if not sympathetic. Really, I am. If you want the honest truth of it, I regretted it almost as soon as I did it. I’ll have to apologize to George later and have a real long talk with him about what happened, but I’m not going to apologize for protecting you. You’re under my charge regardless of if we’re in the city or your house, but especially when you’re here. If something happened to you on my watch, that would be a resounding failure on my part. Can you understand that much, at least?” 

You hesitate and then nod your head again, not quite trusting yourself enough to speak yet. Wriothesley gives you an approving squeeze and another idle pat that makes you whimper softly. His hand was so big it felt like it was taking up almost the whole of your back … 

“I didn’t mean to scare you … you know that, right?” 

“Y - yes …” 

“Good. Because that I will apologize for. It was unnecessary. I should have completely removed you from the situation first before acting but he just had me so mad, I wasn’t thinking straight, and … honestly, I probably owe you an apology for that too I had some reservations about letting him come to the meeting of course, given his track record, but I thought maybe it would help him adjust a little better if he had something from the overworld to keep him busy. Preoccupied.” 

Gingerly, you shift on your knees so you’re knelt directly under him rather than braced up against his leg, and you lift your hands to hesitantly slide them across his strong jawline. Wriothesley let’s you do it, much to your thrumming relief, and you carefully tip his face towards you until just a scant breath separates his nose from yours. 

“What’s going to happen to him now?” 

He just looks at you, and your face slowly starts to crumple. 

“Please don’t let him get into trouble.” You plead, unable to bear the thought of his sentence being extended because of you. “It was just a mistake and I wasn’t hurt. He didn’t do anything wrong, your grace! Not really. Please, please don’t punish him.” 

Stiffly, he sighs out through his nose. “And there you go being naive again. I’m afraid there’s not much I can do to protect him at this point. He’s sealed his own fate.”

“But that’s … that’s terrible! If I hadn’t been there — if you hadn’t let me come here that never would have even happened! I’m the one at fault here, aren’t I? I’ll take the punishment in his stead! That would be fine, right?” 

“Lovely girl - -“ 

Wriothesley reaches out with his other hand to cup your face and you try to pull away, a fresh wave of tears springing up in your eyes, but he holds you fast. Tipping his head, he seals his mouth over yours and swallows down the muffled wail you let out. Even when the rolling beads of moisture start to track down your damp face, he just kisses you and kisses you until you finally start to stir underneath him some indeterminable amount of time later. 

You have no idea how long you’ve been sitting there on the floor but your legs are numb and prickly when you finally move, shifting forward to lean into him. Your breaths are still a little ragged through your nose but you start to kiss him back, tentatively slow at first and then with growing confidence. Growing hunger. The emptiness inside you is quickly filling up with a white hot, molten need, and you groan thickly into his mouth when you feel your pussy give a muted throb of interest. It matches the ever present sting across your ass, in a way, and you feel both in stunning high definition as you carefully raise up to meet him. 

Gradually easing back when you find your balance and sit up straight, Wriothesley brings his hands around to cup your ribcage. He squeezes, rucking up your jumper and blouse in the process but, as always, he doesn’t try to relieve you of it. That he was still willing to go about this on your terms, at your pace, fills your chest with a strange helium feeling, and you try to follow after him when he eventually pulls back all the way, whining low in your throat at the loss. 

“Come here, pretty girl.” He murmurs, tugging you up to stand and you do so with a great deal of haste even when your sore legs threaten to give out under you. Bracing a hand on his broad shoulder to steady yourself, you carefully step out of your sagging pants and underwear when he stoops down to pull them over your feet. 

Carelessly tossing your clothes aside, he grabs around your middle again and easily tugs you into his lap. Your heart pounds a wild beat inside your chest when you realize he’s centering you over his leg, and you quickly scramble to get into position. There’s no denying the excitement you feel searing your veins now, the speed at which you’d come to love this particular activity surprising even you. It felt like you were irreversibly addicted to it, and you moan very softly when your bare cunt presses down into his thigh. Pelvis tipping upward, you steal a quick glance down at yourself, still amazed at how broad and thick his leg looks under you. It’s not exactly hard to imagine something else forcing your thighs into a wide spread around him but that still scares a little more than you were willing to admit. 

Gently pulling you forward so that your cunt rocks down to settle squarely against his pant leg, Wriothesley gathers you right up against his chest and bends his head to yours again. You moan into the searing hot kiss and bring your hands up to clutch at him, the toes of your shoes bracing on the floor to give yourself leverage as you settle into a slow, mind numbing pace with him. 

It truly feels like your brain is melting when the stilted friction on your pussy soon makes you tremble and shake for him, panting heavily into his mouth. You’re distantly aware of the stiff tension in his body but Wriothesley just lets you find your pleasure on him without trying to take advantage of your muddied, intoxicated state. His hands roam over your body in a continuous caress, pinching, squeezing, kneading with rough calloused fingers, but he doesn’t wander to your chest or between your legs. He’d only touched you there once, back in that cramped little alley, but thinking back on it when you were moving with him like this … maybe you should invite him to touch you there again? It would probably feel good, and grinding yourself on his leg was such a slow, tortuous process. 

Or maybe you could try touching him? 

Turning your head to suck in a much needed lungful of fresh air, you take a moment to steady your nerves. You’d never crossed this line before, never been brave enough to take the plunge but, oh, you were so curious and your pussy positively clenches at the thought of feeling him under your palm. You wanted to touch him. You needed to. 

“Y - your grace …”

“What is it, pretty girl? What do you need?” He breathes into the scant pace separating you from him, head tipped back to look at your from this slightly elevated position. 

An intense shudder works through you at the thought of actually doing it, of actually saying the words, and you loose a keening mewl as you stubbornly turn your head to look elsewhere. You couldn’t look at him and say it, you just couldn’t! 

“Can … ahhn, would it be permissible for me to, um — t - touch you as well?” 

His thick fingers give a muted little jolt of surprise where they’re squeezing around your waist, and you tightly screw your eyes shut when he leans in to kiss the side of your neck. “Oh, little miss. You don’t have to ask. You can touch me as much as you want.” 

Trembling there on his lap, you hesitate to do it but finally gather enough courage to drag your hand down off his shoulder. Shyly watching the slow descent of it down his broad barrel chest, over his stomach, all the way down to the center of his lap. You give a tiny little jerk when you see the stiff outline pressing up against the interior, the motion of your hips inelegantly stuttering as you take in the shape of it, the size. It was indeed quite large, your heart nearly giving out entirely in your overwhelmed horror, but … but like this it wasn’t quite so bad. Not as scary as if you were perhaps looking at it straight on. 

Timidly cautious, you press your fingers over the outline and Wriothesley breathes out a thick, heavy sound that is suspiciously reminiscent of a growl. It seems to vibrate through you, pulling a quiet whimper out of your throat, but you force yourself to stay focused. Your curiosity was a little too compelling to get sidetracked now, and even your mindless rutting against him slows to a complete standstill while you feel along the length of him, just familiarizing yourself with the press of it against your hand. Even through his slacks it seems heavy and it’s so incredibly warm that you feel a dull, sympathetic tremor deep inside your cunt. 

Evidently realizing just how distracted you were, Wriothesley pulls back from your neck enough to look down at himself as well. “Is it so fascinating?” 

“A little bit …”

He laughs, sounding mildly strained. “If you’re curious I’ll teach you about it, but I won’t make you do anything you don’t feel comfortable with. In this, at least, I’ll play by your rules.” 

And he’d done such a good job respecting your boundaries thus far … perhaps it was alright to test the waters some. To give in to this primal urge coursing through your system, making you feel indescribably hot and mindless. 

“Would it really fit inside me?” 

The hushed noise he makes sounds so wounded it actually startles your attention up, and you take in his pained expression with great big eyes. 

“W - what? What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing, nothing. Please don’t start getting defensive, now of all times.” Grunting, Wriothesley grabs under your arms as he shifts back further against the lounge so he can rather gingerly recline back, pulling you right along with him. The careful motion stretches you out across his body to rest against his chest, prompting you to readjust the way you're straddling his thigh to keep your thrumming cunt pressed up tight against it. Letting out a shuddering exhale, he shifts underneath you just so before tipping his face down again. “If you say things like that you’re going to make this go crazy, and I’m not so sure you’re ready for that yet. Try rubbing it, like this.” 

You can’t quite stop the squeak of surprise that bursts out of you when he reaches over to grab your stilled hand. Redirecting you to the center of the bulge, he manually squeezes your trembling fingers around him and your skin positively crawls with an eruption of goosebumps when you feel it pulse against your palm. Wide eyed and quaking, you slowly bring your gaze back down to watch him guide your hand up along the rigid length and then back down again. You’d never before seen anything quite like it, but there was a very real, very primitive part of your brain that abruptly clicks on at the sight of it. 

“Will it hurt?”

“No.” He grunts, still dragging your hand up and down, up and down the length of him. “It feels good. Like when you rub that cute pussy all over my leg. You can squeeze it, if you want.” 

Experimentally, you do just that and the responding twitch of Wriothesley’s cock has your cunt repeatedly clamping down on nothing, a harried, deeply frazzled whine rising in you. It was like you were cumming, but not really. You felt close, though. As if just touching him like this, feeling the hot, pulsing need of him in the palm of your hand was stoking your own fire. Building your own pleasure up into something that was very nearly palpable. 

More confident this time, you give him another squeeze, and he makes a rumbling, needy sound in the back of his throat. Consumed with your own wanton need, you turn your head to look at him again and a distant thrill of surprise rushes through you when you find those deep sapphires watching you. Not your hand on him, but you. 

“Am I really making you feel good, your grace?” 

“Very much so.” 

Smiling, you lean up to press your mouth to his. He watches you do it, accepts your kiss, and a stilted puff of air rattles out of him to dance over your lips. You’ve never seen him hold himself quite so stiffly before but he starts to kiss you back just a heartbeat later, slowly at first and then with more demanding force behind the motion. Just like every other time he pulls you into his pace with ease, soon dominating the exchange while his hand continues to stroke yours over his trapped cock. It doesn’t take long for you to start feeling impatient like this, indescribably needy, and you wriggle yourself down on his leg in search of more friction. Wriothesley gladly obliges you, curling his leg up a little higher to press more firmly into your cunt to make you keen at the sensation. 

As you start to ride him again, the hand that had remained carefully on your back this entire time starts to drag lower, tracing the curve of your waist and further still to smooth over your reddened bottom. You suck in a sharp breath at the sting but it just seems to make your pussy clench and drool even more obscenely. Rearing back against his hand, you give his length another tight squeeze to pull a low groan out of him. 

“You are a real menace, pretty girl.” He softly chides you, pulling back just enough to look in your face. “For as prim and proper as you like to act, you’re certainly an insatiable little thing.”

You start to apologize for it, but then think better of it. “Do you like it, your grace?” 

“More than I’d like to admit.” 

Your breath catches at that and you lurch on top of him when a warning tremor tears through your shuddering body. “Will … will you bounce your leg against me?” 

“Of course.” Eyelids drooping to attractive halfmast, Wriothesley presses his forehead against yours and tenderly nudges at your nose. “Shall I spank you while I do it? Something tells me you’d like that an awful lot.” 

“Ooh … yes, your grace, please spank me.” 

Another rumbling groan rises in him, eyes drifting shut as if in great pleasure. You don’t get a chance to linger on how positively devastating he looks like that because he presses his thigh up into you, sending you lurching with a faltering, deeply wounded sound. The motion of his leg jostles you slightly, prompting you to clutch at him all the more fervently — one latched around his cock and the other clinging to his neck — and you toss your head back with a high pitched squeal when he suddenly swats your ass without warning. You waver, hesitate for only a blink of the eye, and then you’re driving your cunt down to meet him with fast mounting urgency. 

“Oohh, gods —“

Swat! Across the other cheek to make the meaty swell bounce. 

A deeply flustered sound punches its way out of your mouth, hips swiveling desperately. “Ahhn, ahh! Y - your grace! Nggnh!” 

Swat! The first cheek again, this time with a possessive squeeze afterward that makes your toes curl. 

“I’d say I could never get tired of watching you bounce that pretty pussy on my leg, but I’d hate to discourage you from wanting to try anything else.” 

Your tense fingers impulsively squeeze down on his cock, making his chest hitch, and you seethe through your teeth at the quickly cresting waves of ecstasy washing over you. You were close, so close. 

“Please —“ Swat! Swat! First one cheek and then the next, in rapid succession. “Ooh! God! I - I want it, your grace! I want it!” 

Swat!  

“What do you want, lovely girl?” Wriothesley grunts, his own voice faltering now. 

“I - I want this!” You give his length a desperate squeeze, so lightheaded and dizzy you barely even know what you’re saying anymore. 

Swat! 

“It’s already yours, sweetheart. Whenever you’re ready for it, you’ll have it.”

The thought alone of taking him deep inside your body makes every single muscle in your shuddering frame lock up, and you lurch to a sudden standstill on top of him. Your mouth drops open as if to scream but nothing comes out when he just keeps bouncing his leg on your drooling cunt, quicker now. A little harder. You sway unsteadily as your thighs begin to shake uncontrollably around him, chest heaving with the gasps you frantically try to suck in but you can’t quite seem to get enough air. It felt like you were smothering under the intense pressure, hanging right on the precipice. 

Swat! 

“Cum for me, cum all over my leg and let me see that pretty face you make.” He practically growls, grabbing a tight, pinching handful of your ass to really drive the sting home. 

It’s that sharp, toe curling throb of pain that tips you over, and you cum with a gutted lurch. Wheezing, you arch against him so hard your spine aches in protest but you can’t stop it. Your hips judder wildly and your knees nearly give out from how hard it slams into you all at once, but he clutches you tight in his arms while you spasm and writhe, squealing in mindless delight. It’s all you can do just to keep your voice down, painfully aware that the two of you were not in the privacy of your flat, but you manage, somehow, to get through it without shrieking at the top of your lungs. 

You’re so exhausted and drained by the time the tremors finally ebb and fade that you collapse on top of him with a deeply frazzled groan. Giving your bottom one final, lingering squeeze, Wriothesley drags his hand back up to rub across your back and a faint shudder ripples through you when you feel him bend close to place a brief kiss to the top of your head. 

It was … really nice, actually, sharing such a quiet, intimate moment with him. It wouldn’t be hard to get used to it. In fact, you dully realize, you kind of already were. 

“You’re such a good girl for me sometimes.” He murmurs into your hair, his voice warm with praise and affection alike. “It just makes me wonder why you can’t be so good all the time.” 

“That would get boring.” You dazedly slur, making him chuckle. 

“That’s true. There’s no fun in it without a little power struggle first.” 

You hum a noncommittal sound, already half dozed off where you’re spread out on top of him when a muted twitch under your loosely curled palm makes you jolt. Blearily lifting your head from his chest, you glance down to find him still rock hard in his pants and your brows quickly draw together in confusion. 

“You didn’t - -“

“Don’t worry about it. It’ll go away.”

“But - -“ 

“Hush. Just do as I say for once and let it go.” Reaching up to palm the back of your head, he forces your cheek back down to his chest and holds you there even when you weakly try to struggle out from under it. “You really aren’t making this easy on me, you know that? Saying all that nonsense and now this. It’s nothing for you to be concerned about, little miss. Not yet.” 

Your mouth pulls in a pout even though he can’t see it. “Will you teach me more later?” It’s little more than a mouse squeak when you were so tired, so exhausted after everything that had transpired today. 

Wriothesley seems to think on that for a moment before softly pressing another kiss to the crown of your head. “I’ll teach you everything in due time. You just need to be patient. I don’t want you to get so caught up in the moment that you rush into something only to regret it later. As I said before, I’m a guarddog. I'm not interested in biting the hand holding my leash.” 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

You aren’t sure when, exactly, you fell asleep, but you wake up on the lounge some time later, finding yourself blinking up at the ceiling of his office in a bit of a daze. You’re a little disoriented at first and then you remember where you were. Everything that had happened. The meeting with the inmates. That horrible incident with George. The sound slap you’d given Wriothesley right across his stupid smug mouth. The way you’d crawled into his lap and … 

You bolt upright with a soul sucking gasp. Your instinctive panic is immediately interrupted, however, when you realize his coat is now pooled in your lap, and you blink down at it with owlish surprise. He’d given you his jacket while you slept? 

“Ah, you’re finally awake. I was wondering how long you’d be out for.” 

Startling, you twist around on the lounge to look over at the desk where you find Wriothesley reading over a small stack of paperwork in his hand while the other lifts a steaming cup of tea up to his mouth. You could smell it from where you were sitting, the rich aroma drawing you a little further out of your half asleep stupor and a bit more into reality. Archons, you felt like you were dying of thirst. 

“You wouldn't happen to have an extra cup for me, would you?” 

“Of course I do. Don’t be silly.” Setting his own back down after taking a sip, he sedately glances over at you from across the room. “I even grabbed some sandwiches and cookies for you from the cafeteria. I figured you’d be hungry when you woke up.” 

You immediately realize that that was an understatement. You weren’t just hungry, you were famished! 

But when you move to get up, pulling his coat off your lap, you abruptly come to a screeching halt. Eyes widening to the approximate size of dinner plates, you stare down at your bare legs in abject disbelief. “Where are my pants?” 

“Don’t sound so alarmed. I put them somewhere safe.” 

“Well, I’d like to have them back!” You snap, shooting daggers over at him. 

Humming as if in thought, Wriothesley drops the paperwork on top of the desk and reclines back into his chair. “I don’t think so. Not just yet anyway. I’m not quite through with you yet.” 

A shudder races up your stiffening spine, and you nervously gather his heavy jacket close to your chest, clutching at it. “W - what does that mean? I thought you said you’d let me decide when I was ready?” 

He barks a quick laugh. “I don’t mean that. I’m talking about your punishment from earlier. We got a little sidetracked, didn’t we?” 

“Oh.” Heaving a long suffering sigh, you roll your eyes and move to stand up. Keeping his coat held to your front, you slowly shuffle over to the desk to stand in front of it. “Is that really necessary? I understand why you had to do it, even if I don’t agree with your methods.”

Idly tapping his finger on the sturdy wood, he just silently studies you for a long moment. “It’s not exactly about agreeing with me.” He says at length. “I’m still waiting on an apology, for starters.” 

You promptly shrink in on yourself. “You hit me all the time …” 

“No, what I do is spank your bratty little bottom to sort you out. I don’t hit you across the face, and I never would unless you asked me to.” 

“Why would I - -“

“Do not try to change the subject. I told you once before that I’m not so easily distracted, didn’t I?” 

He tips his head to one side as if to further drive his point home, and you feel your cheeks start to warm. “You’re like a dog with a bone.” 

“Ah, so you have been paying attention then. Good. I know firsthand just how smart you really are so I do expect you to start figuring things out, the more time we spend together. And I do hope that you’ll continue to share more with me.” 

You hesitate at the first inkling that something was not quite right here. He was talking about more than just the slap, wasn’t he? But what else could there be that he wanted to talk about? 

“I do enjoy spending time with his grace,” You say slowly, warily. “Even if he does make me feel uniquely harassed half of the time. And I’m sorry for hitting you. You’re right that there’s a difference between the two. I tried to hurt you out of anger, while you do it to —“ 

Wriothesley chuckles when you search for the word only to come up empty handed, the smile tugging at his mouth equally roguish and charming. “To correct you. I can’t deny that you can be a little frustrating sometimes, but I’m sure the same can be said of me. In fact, I know it can. But I don’t hit you in anger. Not when I’m nearly double your size and weight. To allow my self control to slip even slightly would be … reckless indeed, because I could seriously hurt you. I’m always careful to make sure I’m fully aware of what I’m doing and how hard I’m doing it before I ever put my hands on you, little miss. I hope you know that.” 

Your back straightens when it suddenly hits you. That’s what he was worried about? 

“Are you afraid I won’t want to see you anymore after the way you … broke George’s wrist earlier?” 

A long stretch of quiet settles over the office, perfectly still and perfectly quiet. 

“A little.” He says at last. “I couldn’t exactly blame you if that was the decision you came to, but I’d still be a bit — disappointed to lose you. A lot, actually. I enjoy our time together too.” 

You swallow. Hard. “Your grace, I … I won’t deny that you scared me earlier, but it’s not like it was the first time. You’ve made me nervous and frightened, and happy, and sad, and so incredibly confused I could just tear my own hair out sometimes, but — I was more frightened for George than myself, if I’m being honest. I was scared you were going to hurt him.” 

“And then I did.” He says simply, and you nod. 

“Yes. Frankly, I was horrified. That’s why I got so mad at you. I never thought you’d actually be capable of something like that, and I guess I didn’t really know how to react. But you’ve never made me feel like I was truly in danger. I’ve never worried about you breaking my arm, or snapping me in half even though I’m sure you easily could. I’m not scared of you, your grace. I just … I don’t want to see you hurt anyone else, least of all because of me.” 

He lets that settle for a drawn out beat, clearly turning everything over in his head, before decisively leaning forward to grab up the teapot sitting on a tray at the corner of the desk. “Well, I can’t exactly promise you that. Should the need ever arise again, I won’t hesitate to protect you. Especially if it’s one of my inmates trying to cause you harm. But with that being said,” He starts to pour out a second cup, also taken off the tray. Your eyes voraciously wander over to the little plate covered with a tin lid, knowing there were promised sandwiches and cookies hiding underneath, and your stomach churns in hunger. “I solemnly swear that from here on out I will do everything in my power to avoid it ever coming to that. If we can stop it from reaching that point then surely both of us will be satisfied. Does that sound like a reasonable compromise to you?” 

“Yes, your grace.” 

“Excellent. Then come sit on my lap and help yourself to some food and tea. I’m sure you’re starving.” 

For once you only feel slightly hesitant to heed his command without needing to be told twice, and you eagerly shuffle around the desk to join him. You’re able to hide the nudity of your lower half behind his coat which you keep tucked around your waist even as you get settled on his legs. It was a seat you were quickly (perhaps even embarrassingly so) getting used to, and the thick arm that snakes around your middle to secure you in place was likewise becoming something comfortably familiar as well. 

The first thing you reach for is the plate, stretching across the desk to pull it closer so you can peel away the lid and find out what’s inside. A handful of neatly sliced sandwiches of a few different varieties greets you, as well as a small pile of assorted biscuits. You don’t hesitate to snag one up and pop it into your mouth, humming in delight at the taste. Chuckling softly, Wriothesley gives you a brief squeeze around the middle as his other hand slides over to pick up the abandoned stack of papers again. 

“Are you aware just how adorable you can be at times?” 

Humming in agreement, you covetously go for a sandwich next. “His grace flatters me.”

“Brat.” Giving your tummy an affectionate pinch, he turns his attention to the papers. “Another question, if you would be kind enough to humor me. Are you aware that you’ve earned yourself a few fans here in the prison?” 

You freeze in place with the dainty little triangle lifted half of the way to your waiting mouth. “I beg your pardon?” 

“Belle, the woman at the meeting earlier, slipped this note into my mailbox some time ago. She apologizes for what happened with George, and she wishes you a speedy recovery with hopes that you’ll return soon to start your sewing classes. You’re welcome to read it for yourself if you’d like.” 

Slowly, you lower the sandwich and reach out for the paper. You’re more than a little surprised to find it says exactly what he’s relayed to you. “Wha — but I don’t understand?” Dropping the sandwich altogether now, you numbly flip to the next page only to find a second letter written in two different but equally terrible sets of handwriting. Those brothers. 

“Don’t pay them much mind.” He murmurs as you scan over the, frankly, perplexing note. “They’re trouble, but mostly harmless. I won’t go so far as to say they mean well, but …” 

Thoroughly perplexed, you flip to the final page. This one is rather neat and tidy, and relievingly concise, but you can’t quite place who it would have come from. All it says is that they hoped you wouldn’t be scared off by what happened, and that they looked forward to the program being a resounding success. It was of course very flattering but rather unexpected. A bit confounding, if you were being honest. 

“Who wrote this one?” 

“His name is Gaspard. You probably didn’t notice, but he was making puppy dog eyes at you the whole time.”

Flustered heat promptly crawls up your neck to settle deep in your cheeks. “Has anyone ever told you that your sense of humor leaves much to be desired, your grace?” 

“Oh, I’m actually being quite serious. I thought for sure if I was going to have to pry someone off you it was going to be him.” 

Another teasing pinch at your waist accompanies that and you sigh out through your nose, trying very hard not to let his foolishness distract you. “May I ask what he’s serving time for? This handwriting looks very well practiced, and his spelling is perfect.”

With a quiet hum, Wriothesley leans to the side to brace his chin in the palm of his hand. “He’s in for embezzlement.” 

“Embezzlement!” You squawk, beyond horrified. “B - b - but if it’s the man I’m thinking of, he was so polite and quiet! I thought he was just shy so I didn’t want to draw too much attention to him!” 

“Those are the ones you have to watch out for the most.” He laughs. “You’ll learn that in due time. The ones like George are mostly all bark and no bite, unless you back them into a corner. Gaspard’s type is way more dangerous because you can never be quite sure what they’re thinking.” 

More than just a bit ruffled, you defensively clutch the small stack of letters to your chest. “So then I suppose that would put you in the latter category?” 

“Hm … I suppose it would.” 

With a click of your tongue, you set the papers aside and primly return to your sandwich. “Regardless, I think it’s clear how we should proceed. We need to get a seamstress out to the prison as soon as possible for Belle, and I’m sure we can find a willing chef for those two troublemakers as well.” You pause with the little triangle almost up to your mouth again, hesitating a moment before slowly lowering it once more. “That is — if you’d still like to work with me going forward. I’m sure you probably have some reservations after what happened today, but I promise I’ll be more cautious next time and - -“ 

“Hush. I’m not going to take it away from you like a toy you’re not allowed to play with anymore. You’ll still have your little program and I’ll still work with you to help you implement it. You’ll just have to be a bit more closely supervised with it going forward.” 

“… you are truly detestable sometimes.” 

“So I’ve heard.” 

Wriothesley thankfully lets you eat in peace after that, and your stomach is quite glad for it. You happily scarf down two sandwiches and another cookie to go with your cup of tea, but you quickly begin to feel full. Eventually, you find yourself leaning back against his chest with your head resting along his shoulder, and you just quietly watch him work through a different stack of papers, this one much more formidable than your measly pile. You were going to cherish them forever though, even had half a mind to go out and have them framed immediately, but that seemed a little excessive, even for you. 

The intimate atmosphere and the close proximity with him almost has you dozing again, but the large hand idly rubbing over your tummy keeps you more or less grounded in reality, you sigh, very softly, when he eventually gives you an attention grabbing pinch some indeterminable amount of time later. 

“You’re not falling asleep on me again, are you?” 

“No, your grace. I am only resting.” 

“Good.” He says rather amicably, setting the sheet in his hand down. “Because there’s still the matter of your punishment to go over.” 

Groaning, you let your head loll back against his shoulder to look up at the ceiling. “You really never let anything go, do you?” 

“It would be remiss of me if I did. More importantly though, I wanted to show you something. Do you remember what I said earlier, about getting spanked with something much worse than a hairbrush?” 

You immediately lurch on top of him, skin crawling at just the thought as you try to jump up off his lap and escape, but Wriothesley just tightens his arm around you to keep you pinned even when you inelegantly flail. “Wait — that’s not fair, your grace, I — ow!” 

The hard slam of your knee against his desk has you whimpering in pain, and he quickly takes advantage of that stunned moment to haul you back and secure you more firmly in place. “That’s what you get for jumping to conclusions. Let that be a lesson to you.” Sighing, he presses his mouth to the top of your head in a lingering kiss while you try to shake out the hurt from your leg. “Troublesome girl.”

“I don’t want to hear that from you right now!” You snip, still rubbing at your bruised knee. “And what were you even talking about? I don’t think I deserve to be struck with a stick or a measuring rod, or — or - -“

“You don’t, you’re right about that. But I want to show you what comes after the hairbrush, if you’ll let me. I’d like to think having that knowledge in the back of your mind might give you enough incentive to make better decisions in the future, but given how hard headed you are … maybe it won’t.” 

Huffing, you petulantly cross your arms. “You only want to show me?” You didn’t trust it at all. Not one bit. 

“I planned to actually strike you with it, of course. Otherwise it would just be an empty threat and you’d have no baseline to gauge how far you’re willing to go just to throw a fit over something. But how about this? I’ll make you a deal. You like when I do that, don’t you?” 

You were loath to admit it out loud but you did indeed, and your pussy slowly clenches with interest. Damn him straight to the abyss and back. “I’m listening.” 

“Good girl. I figured you would be.” Another kiss pressed to the top of your head, his breath displacing some of the flyaways there. “You get to choose then. Would you like me to round off your punishment with my hand and twenty strokes of the hairbrush, or would you prefer to take six from the mystery implement?” 

Twisting around in his hold, you look up at him in abject shock. “Only six?” 

“Only six.” He confirms. 

“And you won’t tell me what it is first? Is it really that bad?”

“No, and no. It’s just a different kind of pain, is all. Something you aren’t used to. I strongly suspect if I told you beforehand, you’d be too frightened to take it on and would instead gladly subject your poor bottom to a much worse fate than it needs to suffer.” Drawing a stilted breath, Wriothesley slips one of his hands under the jacket to caress along your bare thigh, warming the skin under his palm. “As far as I’m concerned, you’ve already been appropriately corrected. There’s no need to actually take you over my knee unless you leave me with no other choice. The second option is preferable for both of us, first and foremost because I intend for it to be a warning more than anything. The choice is yours though, little miss. I am but at your beck and call.” 

You snort at that and pin him with a wry look. “Sure. I might believe that when pigs fly.” With a shake of your head, you turn back around so you can slump against him, listlessly picking at the fur trim on his jacket in your lap while you think it over. One was obviously the better sounding choice but … didn’t that mean it was a trap? 

Big, burly arms squeezing around you, Wriothesley bends close to kiss your temple, your cheek, down to your neck. They’re soft and fleeting, decidedly, chaste, and yet they still make your pulse start to thrum a little faster. You really were regrettably weak for him. It just wasn’t fair.  

“May I add an extra term onto our deal?” 

“Let’s hear it.” 

“If I choose the second option, will … will you play with me afterward?” 

He seems to hesitate against you, no doubt catching onto your meaning. “I was planning on doing that anyway. I always make sure you get rewarded at the end, don’t I?” A lingering kiss pressed into your temple. 

You were really starting to become hot and flustered again, and it shows in the way your voice strains slightly. “I don’t mean like that. I — I think I want you to touch me, your grace.” 

This time he really does go still. A long beat of quiet punctuates the moment, and then he shifts against you, speaking across the side of your face. “Where do you want me to touch you, pretty girl? Between your legs?” 

Just hearing him say it makes you shudder from your head straight down to your toes, and you fitfully twist on his lap so you can tip your head back to look at him. “Everywhere, sir. Between my legs and — my chest too. If you want.” 

“Of course I want to, silly thing.” Breathing out a rather terse exhale, he tips his head to kiss your mouth but it is regretfully short lived, and you whine softly when he retreats again. “I need you to clarify something for me first though, so I know exactly what it is you’re comfortable with. Do you want to get completely undressed for me or would you rather I touch you through your shirt?” 

“O - oh.” You hadn’t thought about it that far, and you shyly avert your gaze. Although you did want to feel his hands on your breasts, the thought of being completely nude with him was a daunting one indeed. It was silly, of course, but that seemed like something of a big step and a potentially awkward one at that. “I … I don’t know if I’m ready to get naked yet so — through my shirt?” 

“Through your shirt it is.” He agrees, pressing his mouth to your cheek in a hard, reassuring kiss. It makes you squirm, just a little bit, how willing he is to humor you in this way, but you think that it probably means more to you than you even fully realize. “You’re a good girl, you know that?” He murmurs against your skin. “I’m so proud of you for being honest with me. I know that’s not always easy for you to do.” 

“Enough already.” You huff in embarrassed fluster, making him chuckle. 

“Don’t start getting cranky. I don’t want to have to really spank you if I don’t have to.” Finally, he pulls all the way back to give you some space, patting your leg under the jacket. “Alright. Stand up and put your hands on the desk for me. We’ll do this standing up.” 

Suddenly confused, you hesitate just a moment before rocking forward with no shortage of hesitation. He didn’t often strike you while standing. Usually only when he was made to grab you to stop you from scuttling away and a chair or other wasn’t readily available … 

You try not to think about that too hard though as you find your feet with his coat somewhat awkwardly clutched to your front still. He reaches around to take it from you and you reluctantly let it go, shivering when it falls away to leave you bared from the waist down. Shuffling forward a step, you then reach out and slowly place your hands palm down on the desk while he stands up behind you, pushing the chair further back to allow for some space. 

Wriothesley presses up close behind you then, making a fresh shudder work down your spine as he leans over you to gently reposition your palms a little further apart. He reaches down to take your waist next so he can carefully bend you forward with your legs squared, nice and firmly rooted. You aren’t quite sure what to make of it all but his hands feel decidedly nice on you, and you just sigh very softly when he moves back. The following moment or two of rustling further leaves you stumped, especially when you catch a soft metallic click on the air, and you have to try very hard not to turn around and look. He seemed quite sure whatever it was would startle you a great deal but … 

When he eventually comes up beside you again, you turn your head to look at the hand he holds out towards you. Your brows make a prompt, very expeditious trip up to your hairline. 

“Wha — y - your belt, sir?” You warble out on a squeak, genuinely flabbergasted by this revelation. 

He chuckles faintly, snapping your wide eyed attention up at him so fast it nearly makes your head spin. “That look on your face is exactly why I didn’t tell you outright but it sounds worse than it actually is. At least the way I’m going to do it is.” 

“W - which would be?” You ask, nervously glancing at the folded over strip of leather with a great deal of fast mounting horror. 

“We’ll start off slow and work our way up in intensity, but even by the end I won’t be using too much force. My goal isn’t to actually hurt you, just teach you. See, the thing about this is it covers a wider area. I can strike you across both cheeks in one swing, and the relative flexibility of the leather means it carries a sharper sting with it as well. I don’t think it’ll take much to have you dancing on your toes, so I probably won’t even end up using a fraction of my strength when all is said and done. Does all of that sound agreeable to you, little miss?” 

You work to swallow down your nerves and almost choke on it. “I … I suppose so. But — if I really can’t take it, will you stop?” 

“Of course I will. I have no interest in brutalizing you or anything of the sort. That being said though I’m confident that you’ll do just fine. Who knows? You might even enjoy it.” 

A wholly mirthless laugh punches out of your throat. “I’m really not sure about that, your grace.” 

“Then let’s find out.” 

Transfixed, you follow the motion of the folded over belt when he lifts it in one hand and then slaps it down into the waiting palm of the other. You startle at the loud, meaty whap! and suddenly your blood turns to ice. You can feel yourself slipping under alarmingly fast, whatever the incomprehensible shroud was that blanketed your mind every time you ended up in these situations with him, but you had a feeling it wasn’t going to do much to shield you from the full brunt of it in this particular instance. 

Trying very hard not to shake when he steps behind you, you tip your face down to stare blankly down at the desk. The tension thrumming through your body is thick enough to suffocate and nauseatingly cloying. Just thinking about him hitting you with that was enough to make you sick … 

“Oh, and just a word of advice.” He tacks on, standing about a step behind you by the sound of it. “Try to breathe through it as much as you can. That will help more than anything else.” 

“… yes, sir.” 

“Good girl.” 

His fingertips brush across your ass then, and you jolt so hard you almost come right up off the floor. Wriothesley just takes a moment to coo at you though, chiding you softly for being so jumpy, but it was a little hard not to be! You felt like you were going to vibrate right out of existence, and the heavy weight of nervous anticipation was not making it any better. You’re such a mess of nerves and sharp adrenaline that you barely even notice the way your skin prickles under his hand, still hot to the touch and tender from your earlier spanking, and you wince slightly as he rubs over your bottom. It seems like a cruel thing to do, getting you sensitized and warmed up for his belt like this. 

“I’m going to start.” He finally warns you as his hand retreats, and you immediately brace for the deafening crack and the splintering pain to go with it. 

To your flinching surprise, however, the belt just lightly swats across your bottom with a soft little pap! and you absolutely hate the way you still violently lurch, having expected much worse. Your cheeks immediately flood with heat as he laughs softly behind you at the big reaction. 

“I told you we’d work our way up. That’s one. Count for me, pretty girl.” 

You obediently open your mouth but you only make it so far as drawing a breath to respond when the belt slaps across your ass, a little harder this time. You notice the sting he’d mentioned immediately, as well as the insidious reach it has across the swell of both cheeks, but all it does is make you rock forward on your toes a bit. You’d never admit it out loud to him, but he was right. This wasn’t as bad as you’d thought it would be. 

And that was precisely why you didn’t trust it. 

“… two, sir.” 

“Good girl. Your bottom looks mighty cute like this, by the way. I think I could get used to seeing you bent over my desk.” 

You clench your teeth, half in annoyance and half to brace for the next hit. If they kept steadily increasing like that … 

Whap! 

This one subtly jerks you forward with the impact and you wheeze over the desk, trying and failing to process just how sharp the sting really is. It leaves you dizzy, a bit stunned in the aftermath as prickling fire welts up over the swell of your bottom. It has your toes curling in their shoes, skin crawling with needle pinpricks as you work to steady yourself. Okay, that was marginally worse than his hand but still not quite as bad as the hairbrush. 

“Ooh … three, sir …” 

“You’re doing very well so far. What do you think of it?” 

You weren’t entirely sure you were properly equipped to answer that question at the moment, but after a short beat of consideration you finally say, “I see what you meant. It’s a different kind of pain, but it’s not terrible.” 

“It could be.” 

You snort. “I bet it could.”

Wriothesley shifts behind you making you instinctively brace for the next hit, but it never comes. Instead, he speaks again after a drawn out pause. “Do you really trust me not to get carried with it, and to know your pain threshold better than you do?” 

That seemed like an odd question to ask after all this time, but you decide you can humor it as you readjust your feet with a quick shuffle. “I do, your grace. You push me sometimes but you’ve never actually crossed that line. Until you do, I trust you.” 

“That’s very generous of you.” He murmurs, a note of humor in his voice now. “Incidentally, I think you should know that I trust you as well. I suppose that makes us even.” 

A dull trickle of surprise washes over you, but before you can fully process what he’d said the next strike comes with a considerably louder crack and it startles an ‘oh!’ out of you. Rocking forward on your toes, seething, you gingerly shift your weight from one side to the other but it does absolutely nothing to dispel the throbbing strip across your backside. It really was insidious how it could catch the meatiest parts of your ass in a single blow, and you carefully try to stretch it out with a dramatic curve of your spine. 

“That’s quite a show you're putting on for me right now, pretty girl.” Wriothesley drawls in a low tone that sounds like silk in your pounding ears. “Are you sure you don’t want to take your top off? I’m already seeing quite a lot …” 

Whimpering faintly, you shyly squeeze your thighs together and straighten slightly. “Don’t be a pig …” 

“My apologies. It’s so easy to forget my manners when you’re presenting such a cute pussy to me like that. I’ll be sure to mind myself.” 

“Ooh … will you touch it, your grace?” 

“Yes. Gladly. But only after we’re done.” He says. Then, much more softly, “It will be a reward for the both of us.” 

You draw a steadying breath and force your constricting lungs to expand with it as you carefully resume the position he’d put you in, or something close to it. “Four, sir.” 

“Good girl.” 

This time you know the swing is coming because you can hear the displacement in the air, and it seems to catch you in a particularly vulnerable spot, because you dance up on your toes with a frazzled yelp. The sting of unshed tears in your eyes quickly joins the splintering sensation across your decidedly sore bottom, and you sniffle rather sadly at the hurt. You understood now why he’d set the count to six, and you were immensely glad for it. 

“F - five, sir …” 

Wriothesley’s hand abruptly finds your shuddering back and you jolt before stiffly relaxing into his touch. Gently, reassuringly, he drags that massive palm across you in slow, coaxing circles. “There, you’re almost done. I’ll let you decide when you’re ready for the last stroke.” 

You can’t decide if that makes it better or worse, but you take a moment to collect yourself, just taking slow, deep breaths, just like he’d said to. It does help, a little bit, but the searing line across your ass is very hard to ignore. You were undoubtedly scared of what was coming and, yet, his steady presence at your side was a comforting one. You could do this. You knew you could. Not for him, but because of him. 

Gingerly easing your body out of its defensive hunch, you carefully move back into position again.  “I’m ready, sir.” 

Your first sign that this was going to be awful is the fact that Wriothesley keeps his hand braced against your middle back and just shifts to the side. Your second is the sharp sound of it cutting through the air. 

Whap! 

Pain explodes across your entire body unlike ever before. You lurch with a wounded, faltering animal sound, unable to even scream, it was that bad! Your knees instantly turn knobbly and you practically collapse with a strained, gasping sob, but he’s right there to catch you. So lost in the swimming daze of blind agony, you barely register him holding you around the waist to keep you upright and somewhat steady, but the soft press of his mouth against your shoulder somehow still manages to catch your attention. It pulls you back into the physical world, bit by bit, at a sluggish pace, and the sound of his crooning voice soon penetrates the numbing fog to mist over you. 

“— such a good girl, I’m so proud of you for taking that so well. You didn’t even scream, and I thought for sure you would on the last one. Do you have any idea how much strength that took? You’re such a precious thing.” 

Groaning dizzily, you slowly start to straighten up under his helpful guidance, and you don’t protest when he gently steers you back towards the chair with a hiccuping mewl. You’re glad for it, in fact. You just wanted to crawl into his lap and cling to him for the rest of the day. Night? You weren’t even sure what time it was. How long had you fallen asleep for? 

You feel well and truly delirious as he sits down and gets situated behind you before reaching back up to tug you into his lap, and you viciously seethe the moment your throbbing ass brushes his pants. Making a valiant effort to arch up off him and escape the pressure, you openly sob when he just pulls you right down. You writhe at the pain, twisting in his arms but then — you abruptly realize where his hands are headed. 

Choking on a stuttering gasp, you tip your tear stained face down with a confused little whimper to watch his palms drag up the front of your body, further rucking and irreparably wrinkling your jumper in the process. They smooth over the curve of your breasts and then pause to give them a savory squeeze, and you shudder intensely at the sensation. You’d never been touched like this before. Not by anyone, and it surprises you how sensitive your chest is under the weight of his hands. Your nipples immediately spring up even under your clothes, and you fitfully turn your head to rest across his shoulder with a half strangled wail. 

“These feel so good in my hands, pretty girl. Is this what you wanted me to do? Hm?” 

Screwing your eyes shut against the onslaught of so many sensations all at once — the pain and the pleasure so horribly intermingled that you could hardly tell them apart anymore — you offer a quick, jerky nod. “Mhm!” 

Wriothesley breathes out a terse sigh against the side of your head and nuzzles further into you while his hands keep fondling your breasts. “Good. They seem sensitive. There are a lot of fun things we could do with that information, you know. I have a few — toys you might be interested in later. Do you like having your pretty tits played with? You certainly look like you do …” 

Whining low in your throat, you shudderingly arch to shove your chest further out, and he takes advantage of that to squish them up and together. A deeply frazzled moan rattles out of you when he jostles them for a brief moment before letting them go so that they bounce back into place. He groans, very softly, as he quickly cups around the swell of them again, just holding them in his palms for a moment while he bends close to kiss you. 

You’re sinking alarmingly fast, much too fast to make any sense of it, and you clutch at his shirt in a fitful, twisting death grip. He doesn’t even seem to notice, just hungrily kissing you for a tortuously long stretch before eventually pulling back with a stilted exhale. Meaningfully, he sends his gaze lower and you follow his lead, slowly looking down at yourself just to find your tits straining up even through two shirts and a brassier. You issue a low, wounded sound, watching through the impossibly heavy fall of your lashes as he brings his hands up to delicately pluck at the stiffened buds. That alone is almost too much, both the sensation and the visual, but he really starts to tug on them. 

“You like that, do you?” He chuckles at all your sensitive quivering. “I’m sure you’ve noticed I’m more of an ass man myself, but these are nice too. Very nice, indeed. They fit so nicely in my hands, almost like they were made for them. And your nipples … oh, sweet girl, are you going to cum just from having me play with them?” 

That didn’t seem to be as much of a preposterous suggestion as you would have otherwise thought when you were currently wrestling with the thrumming tension that spikes through your body. You’d never felt quite so hot or overly sensitive, and you keen at the growing need threatening to swallow you whole. 

Evidently catching on, Wriothesley drags one of his hands down across your front, over your belly and straight down to dip between your trembling thighs. You feel him experimentally touch over your slit for a brief moment, familiarizing himself with it, before pressing his fingers into meaty lips to spread them. You rock violently in his hold and instinctively curl your legs out wide even when they weakly twitch in the air, keeping them spread for him. You’re not sure what you were expecting in your punch drunk state of mind, but it shocks a flustered yelp out of you when he slips in to tease over your clit. It has you twitching, twisting and writhing against him for everything you’re worth. The calloused pad on the tip seems to catch at soft flesh even with the excessive slick coating you and he tauntingly nudges at the delicate little pleasure button, just drawing it back and forth, up and down for a moment, before starting to press down more firmly. You promptly go cross eyed, lurching in his lap with a gutted moan. 

The direct contact felt so good … so good you could hardly even stand it, and it brings fresh tears to your eyes. You liked rubbing yourself on his thighs. Thought you’d liked that the most and that you couldn’t like anything else better — but this was overwhelming your already cotton stuffed head alarmingly quick, and the way he continues to pluck at one of your nipples did not seem to be helping you in the slightest. You were going to vibrate right off him if he kept that up! 

“Y - your grace! Ooohhnnggh!” 

“Do you enjoy that, little miss? Hm?” He nuzzles against the side of your head, pressing idle kisses to your temple again. 

“Ahhnn … yes! I do, your grace! I - I feel like I’m gonna’ — oohh!”

With a soft chuckle that makes his chest vibrate against your back, Wriothesley reaches across to the other breast to give it a savory, pinching knead. Fitful and needy, you impulsively reach down with trembling hands to grab the hem of your jumper so you can yank it up to bunch under your chin. He obliges you by grabbing at your tit again, through just the thin layer of your blouse now, and you somehow manage to shake even harder when he digs his fingers in to tug at the brassier underneath. It’s hard to do indirectly like this and he jostles you slightly with the effort, but you still feel the exact moment your stiff teat slips out of the top of the cup and you just shake even harder. 

“I bet you do. Such a sensitive little girl you are …” Pulling in a carefully tempered breath, he abandons that tit much to your blubbering disappointment and reaches over to do the same to the other. Pinching through fabric to grab at the lacy material underneath and nudge it down enough to leave both nipples cutting up directly into the fabric of your shirt. You writhe on top of him with a back bowing shudder and blindly grab at him, his arms, his shirt, the now rumpled collar of his button up, whining a low plea. “Hush. I’ve got you. Bring your hands up for me and wrap them around my neck. Think you can do that for me?” 

Offering a stilted nod, you do as he’d asked without question or even much thought to the matter. Later you might wonder why you’re so obedient and pliable with him like this, but in the heat of the moment you find nothing but pleasure, and deep satisfaction at the rumbling noise of approval he gives you when your arms stretch up to curl over his shoulders in a loose hold. The position proves a bit awkward when you can’t get a very good grip on him, but the reason for it quickly makes itself known. Your tits lift under your shirt with the upward motion to jut further out, and his blocky hand quickly descends upon one, pinching the tightly coiled teat to leave you moaning in equal parts distress and delight. 

“Ooh, isn’t that a lovely sound? You really are going to be the death of me … let me show you something nice now. You’ll like it, I promise.” 

The blocky fingers on your clit slowly retreat and you hiss at the loss only to choke on it a heartbeat later when he firmly presses them over your slit. He gives them a sedate rub and your pelvis involuntarily jumps, pressing up into them with a juddering twitch, eager for more. Desperate for it. 

“There, now move with me, pretty girl. Just like you do when you’re grinding this sweet pussy on my leg … that’s it, move your hips. Back and forth. Just follow the motion of my hand — see, you’ve got it. Keep going and don’t stop until you’re shaking for me.”

You suck in a thick, heavy gasp as you bring your swimming attention back down to look at the way you’re spread open on top of him. The wide stretch of your legs is shameful and a little embarrassing even now, but your cunt looks so small and dainty rubbing against his big hand while your thighs quack around it and you can’t quite bring yourself to care about it right now. Wheezing, you rock your pelvis up to follow the friction of his rough fingers before swiveling back and — you outright choke when your sore ass grinds down on him in the process. The faintly raised welts seem to crawl and sting with renewed fervor at the brush of his pants, the hard press of his cock digging up into you in search of the hot, wet warmth between your legs. Your pussy squeezes wildly at the sharp pain, drools yet more sticky slick to coat you in an obscene amount of liquid arousal, and you quickly do it again. Up against the firm pressure of his hand and then back again to rub your sore bottom on him. 

It doesn’t take long for you to start quaking in earnest like this and you cling to him desperately as the tension in your body rapidly swells, threatening to bowl you right over if you weren’t careful. But as always Wriothesley’s hold on you is absolute, and you’re free to shake and twist as wildly as you want without having to worry about falling. The hand on your chest alternates between your breasts, squeezing, pinching, tugging at your nipples, each in turn, to leave them feeling raw and sensitized through your shirt while the other keeps guiding your pelvis through the stuttering motion. Maintaining it becomes more difficult with the steady locking of your muscles as warning tremors wrack through you, but he remains an ever steady presence around you and it’s so easy to get lost and swept up in his pace. 

Your cunt tilts up against his hand and then your ass nudges back to make dull throbs of pain erupt across your bottom. 

Up against his hand with a sticky glide that does absolutely nothing to stop his rough skin from dragging against petal soft folds, then back to feel the weight of him digging into sore flesh that burns at the friction against his slacks. 

Up against his hand, back against his cock. 

His hand, his cock. 

Wriothesley’s hand and Wriothesley’s cock. 

The coil snaps. Just like that. 

Throwing your head back against his shoulder, you wail through your soul shattering release as quietly as you can manage. You seethe, you hiss, you groan, low and faltering. You squeal and you wheeze, bucking uncontrollably with a frantic desperation that he takes in stride. His hold on you doesn’t falter, and he neither grunts or flinches even when you spasm on top of him without heed. He’s like a solid wall underneath you, and he pets you through it all until you finally, at last, start to come down from it some moments later one jagged piece of you at a time. 

Going boneless with a haggard noise of deep sated pleasure, you just lay there for a long while and let him caress over you to leave pleasantly warm tingles in the wake of his hands. It’s comfortable like that, there with him. Sitting in the stillness of his office in the buzzing afterglow of release, simply listening to each other's heartbeats for a long time. He was right to say this was something he could get used to, because you could too. 

And strangely enough that thought doesn’t frighten you half as much as it probably would have at one time. 

“You’re a very good girl for me, you know that?” Wriothesley says at last, finally interrupting the quiet. 

Snuggling deeper into his body with a content little sigh, you tip your head back to look up at him from just a scant few millimeters away. “You’re very good to me as well, you’re grace. T - … thank you for that.” 

A slow smile tugs at his mouth to accompany the almost wry quirk of his brow. “Oh, am I now? Well, you’re very welcome, of course, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t half expect a different sentiment.”

You frown at that, unable to stop it. “You are easily the most frustrating, blockheaded man I have ever met, and I won’t deny that, but you — you’re kind to me, aren’t you? In your own strange way.” 

“I try to be.” He relents, his gaze drifting lower to fix upon your mouth. You can tell he’s thinking about kissing you again by the way his eyelids droop to attractive halfmast, but you reach up to cup the strong ridge of his jaw before he can follow through on it. 

“Can I … be kind to you as well, sir?” You give your butt a pointed little wiggle down onto the hard length straining under you, and his brows draw together as if in great discomfort. 

“As much as I would like that,” He intones rather thinly. “And for as much as I am tempted, I would rather teach you about that somewhere a bit more appropriate than in my office. At your home. In the comfort of your own bed, if you would permit it, sounds ideal to me.” 

You hesitate to respond just a moment too long, still a little overwhelmed at the thought of sharing your bed with him despite the eager thrum you feel at the suggestion, and he takes the chance to gather you against him in a tight squeeze. 

“There isn’t any rush, sweet girl. Whenever you’re ready, you will have me. I just want to ensure you receive the care and attention you deserve first and foremost, and I also want you to feel safe. Your bedroom will represent that final boundary and when you’re prepared to invite me into your life like that, that is when I will take you. That sounds fair enough, doesn’t it?” 

You want to tell him you are ready, that you want him now, you’re sure of it. Your body and mind alike both seem to crave the intimacy of skin on skin contact with him, while your heart … 

Oh, you simply couldn’t think about that right now. 

“Yes, your grace.” You murmur instead of any number of other things you could have said to him, wanted to say to him. Needed to say. “That sounds fair.” 

“Good.” Wriothesley gives you a reassuring pinch to make you squirm slightly in his arms. “Then I think with that settled it’s about time you and I considered making things somewhat official. Do you think you can stand to be seen with me in public in a non professional capacity for an hour or two?”

Going still against him, you frantically try to parse what he’s asking, what he’s getting at. Make it official? “What do you mean, my lord? I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” 

“I’d like to take you out to dinner, little miss. On a date.” 

Your face instantly lights up like a firework. A date? With the Duke of Meropide himself? 

Oh, but you suddenly felt terribly faint. 

“I … I think I’d like that, your grace. Thank you.” 

“Wonderful. Then that is what we will do.”

⭐

Crossposted: here

[vannybarber]

Know Your Place

Summary: Christopher Jamal Evans puts your ass in place.

Chris Jamal Evans x Reader

Warnings: SMUT, cursing, aggressive behavior (nothing serious), mentions of cheating, implied smut, degrading.

This is based off of Barbershop: The Next Cut with Terri, Rashad, and Draya, with their whole situation😂.

"Just get in the damn car and meet me at the house. We're not doing this here."

"Fine!" You rush around to your car door and slam it shut once you get inside. You watch Chris go to his, also slamming it shut but not for the same reason as you. You were more so the reason.

Starting the car and driving off with him right on your tail, you turn the music up to drown out the many cars that honk at your recklessness and poor wheel skills. If only they knew, they would be acting just like you.

You had come over to the building where Chris was shooting a movie with his female costar, Melanie. You absolutely despised her because she often came onto Chris. Both infront of you and when you weren't around. Of course he shot her down every time because he knows better. He knew you weren't the one to be played with.

But today, when you didn't see him as soon as you walked inside the shoot, you scan the room for Melanie. Not seeing her either, you began to roam around through the halls. You look in a room and see his stuff on a couch inside. You walk into the room calling his name.

"Chris? Baby, where you at?" You check in the bathroom and its empty. "Boy, I got your nasty seafood salad. Where the hell are you?" You scan the room one more time before smacking your lips and heading to the door.

Chris was in the closet changing when Melanie came in trying to feel up on him. He was getting ready to finally cuss her out, but he heard you yelling for him and so he freaked, shutting the door. He specifically told her not to make a sound and she followed orders, up until the last minute.

As you hit the threshold, you hear something hit the floor. The sound seemed to have come from the closet. You pause, scared at first because it was evident that no one was in the room except you. But then you grow suspicious because Chris and that bitch were both missing. You turn around slowly and stalk towards the door.

Chris was fuming when she knocked the box over, but then started to freak when he heard you walking over to the closet door. He gave her the look with a mix of panic and 'I'm gonna fucking kill you'. He sees the door handle turn and prepares for your wrath because you damn sure were gonna give it to him.

You open the door and there was your man and Melanie. Her hands were covering her mouth, eyes wide. Your eyes relocate to Chris and his shirt was halfway on his torso. He clambers to get it fully in, stepping towards you and away from her.

"Babe, just listen and you'll understand everything. She came in while I was changing and-" he doesn't get a chance to finish, for your voice overpowered his.

"You got five seconds to explain to me what the fuck you're doing." You hand is still on the door, not planning on letting them out the closet just yet. Chris was confused, but discerned that you weren't talking to him. You were talking to Melanie. He looks back at her and she was now biting her nail, clearly anxious.

"Look, Y/N, I really don't want any problems." She is trying to be straight about it, but her voice is fastened with fear. She knew exactly what you were capable of and she still is trying to bullshit you.

"You don't want want no problems? You've been trying to sleep with my man since the first day you found out you were working with him!" You must look like boo boo the fool for her to think she was pulling this shit on you.

"And as for you Christopher," you turn towards him, jabbing your finger in his chest, "what the hell are you thinking? Are y'all just lying to me and actually messing around?" You had no problem whooping both their asses.

"Y/N no! Listen, she came inside the closet while I was changing and I was going to kick her out, but I heard you coming and I just...freaked out." He's trying to dissolve the situation, but is only making it worse.

"You instead of coming out, you decide to stay in there with her? You see how this is worse right? You're just giving her the benefit to think she could even get with you. This is entertainment for her. Don't you realize that?" Now your hand was off the door and balled into a fist because you were 2.5 seconds from losing it.

"Baby, I was going to put my foot down this time. I know its long overdue, but I didn't want any issues with the people I work with. And I should've realized how unfair that was to you. I'm sorry. But don't think I would ever cheat on you." He grabs your arm and pushes you back so he could get out the closet.

"Yeah, you damn right. All this could've been avoided. She's harassing you. You need to report her ass!" You snag your arm away from him and point back at her, who's now trying to ease out of the closet. You catch her and she runs off, you not far behind. You damn sure were not a runner, but you were going super sonic right now.

She turns down she same way you came to find them and Chris is right on your ass too. You guys get to the front of the building and you lunge for her, but no contact was made for Chris had you in a hold. You brawl against his wide chest and eventually give up when he doesn't let go.

People are watching in absolute shock and some even were laughing their asses off. It would've been even funnier if Chris had let you get one hit in. Of course that didn't happen since he scooped you up with minimal effort.

"Y/N chill! Stop, you're making a fucking scene!" He grabs on your flailing arms, yanking them back.

"I don't give a shit! Let me get her. Just one good time," you plead and scream at the same time. He literally drags you away outside with great struggle since you weren't giving in. When he got you out there, you accepted your defeat and he let you go, watching you extra closely in case you pulled a fast one.

"You should've let me get her! Why the hell you stop me?!" He runs his hands through his hair, obviously frustrated and very much embarrassed. But you could care less. She needed her ass whooped.

"It's not worth it. We need to go now!"

"I don't have to go anywhere!" You could give less of a fuck if the onlookers labeled you as 'the angry black woman'. Because infact, you are a black woman. And damn right you were angry.

"Just get in the damn car and meet me at the house. We're not doing this here!"

"Fine!"

After reminiscing over the lovely previous moments, you pull up at your even lovelier home. You hop out the car and open the gate. Walking back to the car you peek and see Chris with his arm against the window, leaning on it and watching you. For sure he had a headache by now.

Instead of pulling up all the way into the driveway, you park at the end, leaving no room for Chris to drive in.

"Really? Pull all the way in!" You sit for a minute with your arms crossed for a bit of rebellion before complying like a child. Only because you didn't want to walk the extra way to the door of course. When you park again, Chris pulls in and gets out to shut the gate.

You were already unlocking the door and stepping in, but before you could slam it in his face, he was right behind you. You toss the keys and kick off your shoes.

"Where are you going?" You hear him call from the front of the house.

"None of your business." You were just going to the fridge to get your pineapple juice. You drink it almost every single day. And you definitely needed some right now.

"Okay we need to discuss what the fuck just happened. What the hell was that Y/N?" He's standing across the kitchen island from you staring in anger.

"Well for one, I caught you in a closet half naked with that bitch after I called your name repeatedly. Then she's playing in my face and you're trying to defend her! You really need an explanation for my actions, Chris?" You close the bottle and slam it on the counter.

"Look Y/N, I explained to you what happened. I am sorry. I knew that if I had came out that closet with her, you'd still react the same way, probably even worse. I was literally fearing for my life, no joke." He puts his hands up in surrender. You almost laugh.

"I rather you just have came out and told me straight up. Yeah, I would be mad of course. Who wouldn't? But you made it more difficult yourself." You still have an attitude and even though he apologized, you still wanted to be mad.

"Baby, I tell you you're beautiful everyday. Why? Because I want you to know that no other woman could ever be at the level you are for me. I want you to know that you're the only one I see and there isn't anyone else for me." He's now standing infront of you, his 6'0 figure imposing over your frame.

You can't and won't lie that those words had you in your feels. You swear, Geminis really are sweet talkers. You could've gave in right then. But not just yet.

"You sound like a real bitch right now." You fold your arms and look at him with testy eyes. You slightly regret saying that because what he said was genuine. But who are you without some back talk?

His eyes go caliginous. You've only seen this a one time when you've stepped out of line with him. Your big mouth could argue for days, but you never held a grudge. You kind of forced yourself to keep going as if you were still upset. Stubborn was an understatement.

You scratch your straightened hair nervously before flattening it back down. You internally hope it wasn't obvious that you lamented what you had just said.

"I already apologized to you and explained what happened. Now you can be mature and we can have a real conversation or you can be childish and act like you're still upset and we can end it right here." He steps closer to you, if that's even humanly possible. "But this is will be the first and last time you call me a bitch. Got it?"

He's breathing heavily on your face. If only you could see your face right now. It would read shock, with a bit of fear. He never checked you like this and let you get away with a lot. But this right here, was well deserved. But the way he's over you and his voice lowering with a sharp tone had you...turned on.

Something about him putting you in place made you wet and excited. All the fear had vanished almost immediately. You finally respond.

"Yes," you say quietly, nodding your head. "I'm sorry." Your eyes remained on him looking up through your lashes nibbling your lip. If only you knew what it was doing to him.

The sight of your body go automatically submissive to him after he got firm with you threw him in a complete frenzy. He was dominant most times, but you had many moments where you didn't back down to a challenge and took the lead. You not clapping back and apologizing threw him off a slight bit, but did not disappoint him. It turned him on.

"Good girl." He grabs your arm, spins you around so that your back is turned to him and bends down next to your ear.

"Go into the room, take off everything but your panties and lie on the bed. Mkay?" He moved his hands behind your arm to your lower back. You might as well save yourself the embarrassment and take off your panties too because once he sees the tropical storm, it's a wrap burrito. But you nod your head in compliance.

He gives you a smack on the butt and pushes you forward. You walk the rest of the way to the room and follow his exact orders. You remove every clothing item except the saltwater cloth covering your most needy part. You lay on the bed and wait for him.

He comes in a few moments later and eyes you down, making sure you followed his instructions. Of course you would. He stands in front of the bed and starts to remove his clothes. The entire time his eyes alternate from your body to your eyes. It made you nervous, but still excited.

"I'm very much used to your little tantrums and what not, but there's a limit. And when you pass that limit and step out of line, you need to be taught a lesson." He's in just his briefs by the end of his sentence and crawls in the bed.

You adjust yourself onto your back, shamelessly welcoming him to help himself to you. He positions in between your legs and lowers his face to yours, lips gliding against yours and pulling back when you try to kiss him. You pout and he smirks a little.

"Tell me what you want, honey" he whispers as he rubs up your leg to your thigh, grazing his fingers against your soaked panties. Just when you thought you couldn't get any wetter. Damn.

"I want you to touch me. Please." Your hands are gripping the sheets just thinking about his hands on your body. You completely forgot about messing up your hair as you throw your head back when he starts circling his fingers on your clit.

"I'm starting to think that this isn't very punishing for you, sweetheart." He picks up pace and reaches for your boob, kneading it full in his palms. "You seem to really be enjoying it. A little too much."

You weren't even listening to him, only chasing your orgasm, rolling your hips against his forceful touch. You successfully make it a few seconds to cumming before he snatches his finger away. You pick your head up right away, looking appalled.

"Why'd you stoooop?" you whine out. He looks at you innocently.

"Hmm that's just something us bitches like to do." Before you could respond, he flips you over and smacks your right cheek. "These have been on way too long." He pulls your panties off quicker than Pietro Maximoff. Tossing them to the floor, he starts his teasing.

"Damn, Y/N. All this is for me? If this doesn't tell me you loved the beginning of your lesson, I don't know what does."

He drags his fingers through your wet lips, coating them with your wetness. He brings his hands to his face to taste the mess you made for him.

"Hmm. That pineapple juice is kicking in fast."

The entire time he's talking, you're moving around coding him to stop teasing you and do something to make you feel good.

"You really are a desperate whore, huh?" You moan in the sheets in agreement. You were never into name calling, but it was something with Chris that made you love it.

He lowers down to your pussy, breathe frisking over it. You shiver and wait for him to start.

"As much as both you and I would love this, you don't deserve it. So ass up." You internally start cursing him out, calling him all things forbidden. But you comply and slightly lift your lower half.

Chris gets directly behind you and lines up with your entrance. When did he even take his briefs off? You inhale sharply at the contact and moan as he slips inside you with little to no effort. He fills you quick, starting his thrusts right away.

Your left cheek is against the mattress and both hands are gripping the sheets.

"Oh my- fuck!"

"How's it feel baby?" He asks you, going deeper at every thrust back inside you. Between the loud claps of your bodies, your pornographic moans and the sounds of your WAP, he knew the answer.

"It feels so good Chris" you manage to get out between breathes that were suddenly hard to take. You suddenly get a hard slap on your right cheek, making you squeal.

"That's not my name." You quickly correct yourself.

"Sorry..Daddy."

"Look at this" he starts thrusting faster, both of you not far from climax.

"Just an hour ago you were bitchin' about me and now you're basically grovelling at my feet. You can barely make a word. I guess I'm not such a bitch now, huh? " He locks your arms behind you and you automatically lift your ass up further, helping him slide in you even easier.

"No Daddy, I'm s-sorry." He groans and grabs a fistful of your hair and leans down to your ear. Normally you would be pissed because he touched your hair, especially since it was just done. But you could give less of a damn right now.

"Yeah I bet you are. Would a bitch be fucking you like this? Hm?" He pounded into you hard at every word. Your face in the mattress, you let out a scream that would have the neighbors dialing 911.

"No, baby- oh GOD" you yell, right at your peak. Just a couple more thrusts away and you were gone. Chris recognized that yell. He wanted to send you off right.

"Go ahead and cum for me baby. But just remember,"

He was right behind you and close himself.

"No matter how smart you get with me, at the end of the day, you're always gonna be a little slut for me." The last 4 words sent you over the edge and you cum all over him. He doesn't fall short and fills up the rest of you.

"Fuuuck" he let's out as his seed spills inside you.

His body collapses next to you and you find the energy to move your body. You turn and look at him with this dumb smile on your face. He reciprocates with the same dumb smile and pats down your hair. You slap his arm, turning your nose up at him.

"Ow. Why'd you do that for?" He rubs his now red arm.

"That's what you get for messing up my hair. You're gonna give me money to get it done again." Remembering, you hit his arm again.

"Baby, what the hell?"

"That's for also making me leave my pineapple juice out the fridge."

Idek what I was doing here 😭 This is the kind of stuff I daydream about, but it never looks as good written out 🥴

masterlist

[17wishbones]

Here is the FINAL part (3) of Chapter VII: War’s End! So glad that you made it all to the end. A rather bittersweet sort of sensation but, it was fun writing this to the very end. I so wanted a happy ending, but I still sort of followed Rengoku’s path and cried my eyes out again but it was worth it. Again, this one I know I could write better so I’m going to work on it. Thank you all for reading through this and sticking with me. This was just so fun to do!

- - - - - - - -

                                      Chapter VII: War’s End

“Everyone ready to go?” Tanjiro asked his ‘lively’ crew.

Zenitsu was sitting with Nezuko who was comfortably set in her box. “Yep, yep! Me and Nezuko-chan are as ready as we’ll ever be.”

“Finally! I can get out and stretch my legs!” Inosuke shouted with glee as he grabbed his two blades.

“Hope you have room for one more.”

“Oh, sure, we do-- _____, is that. . . is that really you?”

“In the flesh.” You stepped through the doorway in just the uniform. Over the weeks, you garnered a leveled bob cut of your locs, an eyepatch over your left eye, and scars littering your arms and around your face. “I’ve missed you all so much.”

“COOOOOOK!!!” Inosuke bum-rushed you into a hug, sniffling loudly beneath his boar’s head. “WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN!?”

Zenitsu joined him, well, more like pushed him out of the way as he hugged you next. “____, WE WERE WORRIED SICK ABOUT YOU!! WE THOUGHT YOU WERE A GONER!!”

“I’m so sorry for up and leaving just like that. There was a lot to process after the Mugen Train incident, and I didn’t want to muddle your healthy minds with my emotions. I wanted to be mentally strong for you guys.” 

‘Her scent is still sad. Of course, she has a reason to be. She lost Rengoku-san, and has had to cope with that loss on her own. I know how tough that can be, but I have Nezuko with me still. She doesn’t have any kin or home to return to. Demon slaying is all she has. . . and us.’ Tanjiro’s eyes lit up. “That’s right! You have us.”

“Hmm? What was that, Tanjiro?” You asked.

“We’re a family, isn’t that right, _____?”

His words surprised you, and it made your heart jump with joy. You looked at all four of them as a part of your family. There wasn’t anything you wouldn’t do for them. “You’re absolutely right. That’s why I want to come with you. Besides, as a Hashira, it is but my civic duty to protect Kyōjurō’s juniors.” Tears formed in the corner of your eyes as you spoke fondly of him. “He was so ecstatic to have more apprentices under his belt. Therefore, I must follow in his footsteps and watch over you.”

“YEEEESS!! Having Cook with us will make traveling even better.”

Zenitsu frowned at him. ‘As if traveling with you has been anything pleasant.’

“Now, before we go. I want to see Senjuro. Did you relay the message to him already, Tanjiro?”

“Mhm. As soon as we got back, and when I was able to move. Do you want us to come with you? We’re heading through that direction anyway.”

“Perfect! Let’s be off then.”

You all travelled down to the Rengoku Estate, seeing Senjuro sweeping out of his home. He was caught off guard when you embraced him.

For a moment, there was silence as he held you back tightly, his eyes swelling with tears. Seeing him reminded you of all the times you spent together. The three of you were a team when you and Rengoku were training for the Final Selection. Senjuro, sweet and kind, had a quiet fire burning in him. He was going to be something amazing, just like his brother.

“Senjuro, how have you been? Are you alright?” You inspected him from his ember-tipped hair down to his sandals.

“I’m better now, after seeing you. You left in such a hurry, I was worried that you weren’t going to come back.”

“You’re stronger than I, Senjuro, and I wanted to be that for you. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, _____. Are you leaving with Tanjiro and the others now?”

“Yes. I want to follow in your brother’s footsteps and protect those that I love and those that can’t protect themselves.” You knelt down, looking into his big, soft eyes. “I really wanted us to be together.” You said this, not knowing when death would knock at your doorstep. “I love you, Senjuro. I know you’ll be a great man in the future.”

“Mmm, I think I will be, too.” He hugged you one more time. “I love you, too, _____!”

You returned the favor before you both let go. You reached for your belt, pulling out a small box of goodies. “For you. Hope you like them. Take care, Senjuro.”

Your days, though filled with amazing memories, came to a close as you fell protecting the children. More than anything, you wanted them to succeed. Sacrificing yourself was the only way to win. It was a swift pain, a slow burn, and then darkness bled into your vision as your soul lifted towards the light and your warm, wavering aura vanished from your body.

You were sorry that you couldn’t stay as you walked halfway across the red bridge, spotting flame-tipped hair just over yonder. He peered over his shoulder, a proud smile spread on his handsome features as he held his hand out to you.

Over the red bridge did you both cross, fading into the distance.                                                          

                                       ( B O N U S - E N D I N G)

Summer had come and college was out! Most couldn’t wait to spend it goofing off on a beach, traveling across the States, or going right back into school a couple weeks later for summer courses. Many people had many things to look forward to, but you? You had woken up at the ass crack of dawn, taking in the morning air as you raced down the steps with your suitcase fully packed.

“Mom! Dad! Come on! We have to get the airport now! I can’t be late.” Your parents were so slow sometimes and that made you anxious. You could leave them here and catch a ride there or make it on your own but they were not having any of that.

“We’re coming, _____, we’re coming!” Your dad said with a mouthful of foaming toothpaste.

“You usually don’t wake up this early with this much energy.” Your mom added. 

“It’s not everyday you get to study abroad in the land of the Rising Sun! I have a day’s worth of traveling to do so I can always sleep later.” Yeah, you didn’t get any kind of sleep last night as you’d be spending most of it in the air.

You hurried them up and sped to the busy airport to meet with the group of classmates you were leaving with. You said your goodbyes to your parents, boarded the plane, and wished for a safe trip. 

As soon as service was offered, you grabbed a couple drinks, ate whatever they served in the trays, and knocked out until landing - save for the few bathroom trips -. 

Your horizon suddenly expanded the moment you walked out of Japan’s airport, looking around you in amazement. You had to keep murmuring to yourself, “Do not weeb out. I repeat, do not weeb out.” You loved anime, you loved Japanese culture, and you loved their idea of cuisine. Japan felt like the place for you.

“Okay everyone, please come together,” spoke your sweet, endearing Japanese princess of a teacher, Mayamoto-sensei. “We’ll be heading two hours out by bus to Kimetsu Daigaku (Kimetsu University). Rest up and be ready for a little surprise set up by a few students who were interested in meeting you guys soon after arrival.”

You internally squealed with glee. You weren’t dressed up for the occasion but who was going to tell you that you couldn’t wear a pair of sweats on the ride there. With your short locs retwisted and your good outfits packed, you were set to go!

So set that you were the first off the bus and getting your things out. “This is going to be a great experience, I know it!” 

“Nn! I agree!” 

“Oh my god!” You jumped, scared by the booming voice beside you. “Oh… oh my god.” You had laid eyes on one of the most unique men you had ever had the pleasure of gazing upon. He was different, what with his flame highlighted tips, dazzling eyes, and charming smile. 

“Yes. . .?” He slowly stood, his eyes never leaving yours once locked. This man, a vocal and expressive man, was left speechless. He ogled you for much longer than he’s ever done, going over your brown skin, your brown eyes, your short locs, everything! He immediately bowed before you, introducing himself. “Konnichiwa! Rengoku Kyōjurō to moushimasu! Yoroshiku onegai-shimasu!” (Formal: (Hello!) I’m called Rengoku Kyōjurō! Nice to meet you!)

Your eyes bugged out of your face. ‘Shit! Wasn’t he speaking English a minute ago? Okay, okay, what did he say?’ You looked back to see your sensei and the students watching the two of you interact. This was not how you kept yourself out of weeb trouble. Hell, you were still trying to figure out what his fine ass said so fast.

“Onamae wa, nan desu ka?” (Polite: What’s your name?)

You sighed, being able to understand that. “Watashi no namae wa… _____ _____ desu. Doozo yoroshiku.” (Casual: My name is _____. Nice to meet you.)

‘_____?’ He eyed you for a second longer before he placed his hands on his hips, smiling wide from ear to ear. “Very good, _____! I’m Rengoku Kyōjurō, and I am with a few classmates to meet you all. Welcome to Kimetsu University!”

“Woooow, his English is so good.” You thought. Aloud.

“Thank you! I have been learning since elementary! Your pronunciation is good, but your flow is slow. However, I am sure you will improve after being here for a month!” 

‘Oh, thanks for putting me out there!’ You smiled nervously. This handsome, wild man was nothing like you had expected. “That’s what I’m hoping for as I’d like to work, live, and travel here in the future.”

“Is that so?” He faced you with his arms crossed over his chest. “Be my student!” Your mouth, along with the others, dropped at his proposal. You looked to your sensei for help, and she encouraged it with an approving nod and smile. “Great, then it’s settled! You’ll be fluent in Japanese in no time!” He looked off to the distance, laughing loud as you smiled in confusion.

(Modern AU Sequel coming SOON!) - - - - - - - - - Chapters: I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII (Part 1) / (Part 2) / (Part 3)

[fandom-fangirler]

Pick me up when I fall (Tanjiro x reader)

Summary: You return from a mission injured, and Tanjiro soon learns that your wound was self-inflicted.

This story may be interpreted as platonic or romantic, that’s up to you. If you want him to be your boyfriend in this oneshot, or if he’s your best friend, is your decision.

Warnings: self-harm, blood, angst, heavily implied killing of a demon. If you are sensitive to any of these topics, please do not read this. I want you to stay safe, so please don’t read this if it may trigger you.

Word count - 1895

Yes, I was working on this until past 12:30 on a school night. Fight me.

Tanjiro knew something was wrong when your scent changed. At first he thought you were having a bad day, but then as the days passed your scent continued to grow stronger, and it was almost constantly one of a deep sadness and despair. When you returned from a mission and the first thing he smelled was blood, he ran to the front of the building like his life depended on it. When his eyes landed on you, there was a large gash on the side of your left leg, spread over almost the entire length of your calf. He was at your side in an instant, pulling your arm around his shoulder to help you walk as he exclaimed,

“What happened?!” You stiffened at the sudden contact, and tried not to wince at the pressure put on your ribcage - you were almost certain you had cracked at least one of them.

“Was just a difficult mission is all - a demon slashed my leg in a fight,” you lied. Tanjiro smelled another new scent from you in that moment, he had never smelled it from you before, and could not recognize what it was.

“Let’s go, we need to get you to the docto-”

“No! I’m fine, Tanjiro, I’ll heal on my own, I really don’t need medical attention,” you cut in, knowing the doctor would know your cut was not one from a demon.

“Y/n, it's okay. There’s nothing to be worried about. Please,” Tanjiro said, and as you gazed into his eyes you saw a genuine concern for you. You sighed, internally panicking as you tried to think of any possible way out of this situation, or any explanations you could give of what happened. Tanjiro was already leading you to the doctor, and you had no choice but to walk along with him. You were screwed.

Tanjiro could smell your distress, but couldn’t figure out why you would be so terrified. Soon he was opening the door to the medical room for you, and you slowly stepped through. You walked to the middle of the room and took a seat on the floor. Tanjiro sat next to you, taking your hand in his as he smelled the fear radiating off of you.

“Why are you so nervous?” he asked softly.

“I just don’t like doctors,” you replied, not completely untruthfully. You had always disliked and been anxious about going to the doctor, even for a simple check-up.

“Are you sure that’s it? You seem… terrified. More than you normally are for a doctor visit. You’ve been afraid even before I told you you should come here.” At that moment, the doctor entered the room. His eyes widened when they landed on your leg.

“Miss L/n, what happened?” he questioned, kneeling next to you with his medical equipment.

“I- I was attacked by a demon,” you said, and Tanjiro noted that your scent of fear and hesitation grew stronger when you said that. The doctor treated your leg, and left for a moment to get some test results. When he returned, he spoke,

“Miss L/n, what really happened to you out there? These test results clearly show that you were not attacked by a demon.” He didn’t specify what the results showed, so that he might know whether the answer you gave would be another lie or not.

That was what made Tanjiro remember what had happened a few minutes before, when you gave off a new scent when you told him you were attacked by a demon. He now knew what it was - deceit. But why would you lie to him? Especially about how you had been hurt?

“Oh, did I say demon? I-I meant a demon slayer. I killed a demon that another slayer was apparently hunting, and he was angry and started attacking me.” You threw your answer together quickly, but it was better than you had expected. Still, Tanjiro could smell the stench of deceit once more.

“Miss L/n, may I see your sword?” The doctor asked, extending his hands.

What?

He asked for your sword?

You hadn’t thought to clean it before, since you could always say it was the blood of a demon you killed. You knew you were going to have to hand over your sword, but you tried to stall anyways.

“Why?”

“Miss Y/n. Your sword, please.” The doctor pushed his hands closer to you, and Tanjiro watched as you shakily pulled your sword, which was covered in blood, from its sheath on your hip, placing it in the doctor’s waiting hands. He stood, still holding your sword, and walked to another room, presumably to run a test on the blood.

Tanjiro was caught by surprise as he smelled your fear growing even more intense, and you began to shake, leaning on your right arm, which had its palm against the ground, for support as tears streamed down your cheeks. His expression softened (his expression is always soft, but just pretend) as he carefully wrapped an arm around you, letting you cry into his shoulder. As your breathing became less erratic, and slightly slower, Tanjiro considered what to say to you. His voice was soft and laced with care as he slowly asked,

“What’s wrong? Why are you so scared of giving him your sword?” He paused, before adding, quieter, “Why did you lie about what hurt you?”

You didn’t know what to say. You knew he would know that you were lying, so you couldn’t fabricate an answer. At the same time, you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him the truth. As you opened your mouth to try to tell him what happened, the doctor walked in with a frown.

“Miss Y/n…. you were not attacked by a demon slayer, unless they took your sword from you and cut you with it.” Tanjiro was still processing what the doctor had said as you stood, stumbling slightly because of your injured leg, before walking over to the doctor.

“Yes, I didn’t tell the entire story. But that’s what happened.” You reached to take your sword back, but the doctor held it out of your reach. He turned to Tanjiro.

“Mr. Kamado, please take this, and do not allow it within sight of Miss L/n until I say otherwise.” Your eyes widened, feeling stiff from the tear stains that lined them.

“What?! That’s my sword! I need it! How else am I supposed to go on missions?”

“You won’t be going on missions until I feel you will be safe and will not harm yourself. Perhaps in a few weeks I will allow you to go on a mission, provided Mr. Kamado accompanies you.” That was when the doctor’s previous words really sunk in. You had cut yourself with your sword. Intentionally. That was why you were so afraid when he made you come here - because you knew the doctor would find out. He had to fight off tears himself as the reality of the situation sunk in. He stood, walking over to stand beside you, before the doctor.

“Thank you, sir,” he said shakily as he took your weapon and put it in his sheath (he didn’t bring his sword or two swords somehow fit, idk). “Come on, Y/n.”

The walk to your room was silent, and it bothered you more than anything. The uncomfortable silence hung thick in the atmosphere, and you tried to focus on anything other than the impending conversation with Tanjiro.

As Tanjiro walked beside you, he could smell that your fear was not at all gone, though it seemed to give way to something else, or perhaps more specific - fear of disappointing someone, or letting them - probably him - down.

Soon you had arrived in your room, and you stepped in and tried closing the door before Tanjiro could enter, but to no avail. His reflexes were almost faster than lightning, and he caught the door with his hand before you could fully close it.

“Y/n,” he sighed, “Let me in. We need to talk about this.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you said as you averted your gaze.

“Please.” When you looked up again, you saw nothing but love and worry for you in his dark red eyes. You relented, stepping away from the door and walking to your bed, sitting down.

“Fine.” Tanjiro thanked you, and stepped over the threshold, closing the door behind him. He wordlessly sat next to you, and the two of you sat in silence for a few moments, before he broke it.

“Why?”

It was a simple question, but there was not a simple answer. You didn’t know how to explain it, without telling him everything. You took a deep breath, thinking of how to respond, and trying not to break down again. It didn’t work, and soon Tanjiro enveloped you in a warm, comforting embrace as you cried. He rubbed circles in your back with the palm of his hand, doing whatever he could to help you and comfort you. He knew you had been in pain, but he never would have imagined it would be so great you would hurt yourself. It took a while, but you had eventually calmed down, and you pulled away from Tanjiro, rubbing your eye.

“A week ago…. I-I found out m-my family was… k-killed,” you spoke slowly, and Tanjiro was patient as he waited for you to find your words. When the sentence had left your lips, he gasped softly.

“Y/n…. I’m so sorry…. I had no idea.” He pulled you closer into his side as he continued to rub circles into your back, occasionally running a hand through your hair. You slowly continued,

“When I went on the m-mission…. I saw a d-demon,” your breathing was growing more erratic as you spoke, “b-but it was m-my…. M-my b-brother. H-he a-attacked me…. And I-I…. I-I….” you couldn’t finish, the image of what you had seen and done was too horrific. Tanjiro understood what happened, and tightened his grip around you.

“That’s terrible. I’m so sorry, Y/n. But it was unavoidable, it was your life or his. And I’m glad you chose yours. Your brother wouldn’t have wanted to be a demon either - and he would never want to lose you.” After a moment, he added, “And I don’t want to lose you.” You listened to his words and tried to accept them. “But, Y/n…” Tanjiro glanced down to your leg, wincing at how deep the cut was. “Please, don’t hurt yourself. I know you’re in a lot of pain, but please, don’t do this to yourself. I’m here for you if you ever need anything.” You thought on Tanjiro’s words, before slowly nodding your head.

“I…. I can’t promise I’ll never do it again, Tanjiro. B-but, I’ll try.” Tanjiro looked at you, a gentle smile forming on his lips.

“Thank you, Y/n. I don’t know what I would do if I lost you.” You wrapped both of your arms around him, pulling him into another hug. You knew it wouldn’t be easy to move past the losses you’d suffered, or to accept what you had done to your brother, but with Tanjiro by your side, you could do anything. He would always be there for you, to pick you back up when you fall.

[mammonshuman92]

- Tango -

(Lucifer x MC)

NOTE: F!MC

*** I’M GOING TO WORK ON MAKING THE MC GENDER NEUTRAL IN MY UPCOMING STORIES, PLEASE BE PATIENT WITH ME ***

It has been a few months since moving to the Devildom. Everything seemed to be working out fine and you were even getting along well with the brothers. You really felt like you were getting pretty close to them. 

Well, except Lucifer.

No matter what you did, he was always so cold and stand off-ish. He didn’t go out of his way to be rude to you or anything, but you could tell that, at most, he tolerated you. You weren’t sure why, but that kind of bothered you. Probably because you tried your hardest to be kind and polite. You even tried not to get into too much trouble with Mammon. Nothing helped.

You made your way to the dining room for breakfast. You had overslept a little causing you to be the last to arrive, taking your usual seat next to Mammon. They were talking back and forth about the upcoming festival the Student Council was putting on. It was only a few days away, and everyone at RAD had been buzzing about it. You were pretty excited yourself. 

“I can’t very well withdraw now, Asmo, we are days away from the festival.” Lucifer said. He sounded agitated.

“Well, maybe you can find a different partner.” Asmo suggested.

“To learn the entire routine in three days, and be to my standards, would take skill.”

Partner? Routine? I wonder..

“Are you talking about dancing?” You asked, curiosity getting the better of you.

The two demons turned their attention toward you. Lucifer’s gaze made you shiver a little. He’s quite intimidating.

“Mhm, Lucifer and his dance partner always do a routine at the festival but she sprained her ankle really bad and won’t be able to perform.” Asmo explained.

Don’t do it. Don’t do it. Don’t do it.

“Oh. Well, um, I’ll be your p-partner.”  Now all of the brothers were looking at you.

What is wrong with you? Huh? Dang.

Lucifer scoffed quietly. “I don;t think you understand. This is not a hip-hop routine, MC. It’s ballroom dancing.” He said.

Rude.

But he couldn’t really scare you on this subject. You knew your worth when it came to this.

You nodded, looking him in the eye, “Ok. I’ve been in dance since I could walk. I’ve also done competitions. I can do it all from hip-hop to ballet and everything in between. That includes ballroom.” You said smugly.

“Really?” Asmo curiously asked with a smile. “Why didn’t you tell me?! I would’ve taken you to the club a long time ago!” 

Lucifer turned to you,completely ignoring Asmo.“Then I suppose you know the Tango?”

“Absolutely.”

He scooted his chair out and stood up, holding his hand out to you, “Would you mind giving a demonstration?” 

Now? Can’t I eat my eggs first?

You stood and took his hand, walking over to the open space away from the table. All the brothers turned to watch you.

You moved closer to Lucifer, and adjusted your form. Hand placed gently in Lucifer’s.

“Just follow my lead.” He instructed.

You flowed so well together and kept perfect time. He’s a surprisingly good dancer. Strong and secure, yet soft in a way you thought was impossible for Lucifer.

After roughly another minute, the two of you came to a stop. All eyes were on you. Everyone was so shocked to learn about this side of you.

“Very well. Meet me in the music room after school and we will practice the routine.“ Lucifer said, before excusing himself and heading to RAD.

“So, MC.The Tango is quite sexy. Maybe you and I could also do a routine.” Asmo suggested, batting his eyelashes at you.

“Whoa, Asmo! C’mon! MY human. Not yours.” Mammon said, pointing his fork at his brother. The two squabbled back and forth for a couple more minutes and that’s when Asmo’s words finally registered.

The Tango is sexy. 

You’re doing the Tango with Lucifer.

You’re doing the Tango with Lucifer.

Oh shit.

--

After you got home from RAD you headed straight to the music room, where Lucifer was already waiting. How is he so fast?

“Good, you’re here. Ready to get started?”

The routine was fairly standard as far as Tango goes but something about it felt so wrong. But, in a good way?

I mean, Lucifer is your partner.

Lucifer.

Yeah, he’s tall and intimidating. Strong. 

But, he’s also quite handsome.

You went from barely having interaction with the eldest demon, with him barely tolerating you, to dancing with him. Holding you close, his hands on your body. 

You’ve had many dance partners in the past, but none compared to Lucifer. He was so fluid but so strong. He was so graceful. So beautiful.

He seemed to be starting to relax. He was talking to you a little. He even kind of laughed once. It was weird.

Over the course of the next few days, he seemed to really open up a lot. You found him starting conversations with you that didn’t concern the routine. He even seemed to be hanging around you a little more. You even caught him looking at you once. 

You felt better about your relationship with him. I mean sure, you had already had a pact with him before all of this, but that seemed more like a business deal than a friendship type of thing. He’s always been so formal with you. But now, it’s like he’s a whole new demon.

It was now the day before the festival. You had went to see the seamstress at Majolish after RAD to pick up your dress for the dance. It was perfect. You found yourself getting anxious. You were really looking forward to this.

You were putting your dress away when there was a light knock at your door. You quickly shoved the dress in the closet and shut the door. No one had seen it yet and you wanted it to be a surprise.

You opened the door to see Lucifer. He smiled.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you. I was planning to have tea in the music room. If you’re not busy, would you care to join me?” He asked, a slight smile on his lips.

Classical music played in the background while you and Lucifer sat, sipping tea.

“I thought listening to a classical record would help ease the mind before tomorrow. Are you nervous?”

“Me? This isn’t my first performance. Besides, and I don’t mean to be cocky, but I know the areas I excel in. Dance is one of them.” You said proudly. Granted you knew you weren’t professional level, but you knew how good you were. You better be anyway, as Dad would say, with a lifetime full of dance lessons.

Lucifer smirked, “I won’t disagree. I might even have to make you my regular partner.” He glanced at you and it made you blush. Which made him chuckle quietly.

You spent the next couple of hours together listening to music and talking. You had a great time. You definitely felt closer to him. You even found yourself to have a slight crush, even.

--

"Two minutes." The stage hand told you as you were looking in the body length mirror fixing a piece of your hair.

"Thank you." You said to him and turned your attention back to the mirror. You took a step back to get the whole view.

You were on one side of the stage while Lucifer was on the other, waiting for your cues from the stage hands. Not seeing one another until you walked out onto the floor helped your nerves a little.

I bet he looks good. You thought.

You made sure to keep the dress you had chosen out of view from anyone, because you wanted it to be a surprise. It was a good idea too, because honestly, you looked damn good.

It was black with red accents. Delicate lace sleeves covering your arms. There was also a slit on the side that reached your mid thigh.

The Tango is considered a sexy dance, and you needed to look the part. And boy, did you ever.

Over the last few days, your relationship with Lucifer had really blossomed beautifully and you actually found yourself having a crush. You’ve always liked him, or thought he was attractive, at least, but never looked at him the way you do now. You got to see a small glimpse of who he really is the last few days, away from his brothers, relaxed and doing something he enjoyed. He smiled more. The permanent crease in his forehead was gone and his eyebrows didn’t furrow.

Thinking back on the last week caused a slight flush in your cheeks and a lightness in your stomach.

“You’re up.” The stage hand motioned for you to go through the curtain they held open.

 You walked out quickly on stage and met Lucifer where your dance was to begin.

If you hadn’t been studying him so closely, you would’ve never seen the small grin that crept onto his lips before quickly disappearing. When you reached him, he almost looked smug.

Once in position, you had one hand in his and one on his back by his shoulder. His other hand was wrapped around your upper torso, holding you close to him. He leaned down slightly until his lips were near your ear.

“Now I understand why the dress was such a secret.” He whispered pulling you a little closer, that smug grin returning.

You blushed. Hard.

--

Your performance was perfect, and every step was precise. It was like you two had been dancing together forever. He kept his composure for the most part, but when he could get away with it, a tiny glimpse of that smug smile would return. Mostly during the moments of the routine with the closest contact. You died a little internally at the end of the routine when your ending stance caused your leg to be fully exposed due to the insane slit in it. You face turned red when you saw that Lucifer had noticed, causing him to chuckle at you lightly.

A few days after the festival, you had been holed up for what seemed like forever, studying for an upcoming test. You decided to take a break and wandered to the kitchen for a snack.

Having found something to hold you over until breakfast in the morning, you made your way out of the kitchen. Coming from the opposite way, down the hall, there was the faint sound of music. You checked you D.D.D.

1:13 am.

You followed the the faint sound to the music room.

Lucifer was sat in a chair with a drink in one hand. His back was toward the door, so he didn’t see you contemplating on going in or not. After a minute of your inner turmoil, he spoke.

“Instead of sneaking, why don’t you come in?”

You quietly walked in and sat in the chair a few feet from him.

You talked for a bit about this and that, when the song changed. He sat his glass on the small table between your chairs, and stood up. He held his hand out to you.

“What?” You asked curiously.

“Dance with me.”

It made you giggle. “It’s almost 2am, Lucifer.”

He just stood there, hand stuck out, smiling.

You caved and took his hand, butterflies flooding your stomach.

Not sure if it was because you’ve already danced together or the change in your relationship over the past week, but it seemed so natural. Just moving together in harmony, as if it’d always been this way. It was slow, almost intimate with no particular style. He held you close. His grip was firm, but strangely gentle.

“So, we should get to work now, for our routine next year.” He stated.

“Our routine? You’re partner will be better way before then. You won’t need me.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. I must admit, you really know your stuff. You were quite the partner.” He stopped moving and looked at you, breaking his hold slightly but still keeping you close. 

“I rather enjoyed seeing you at the end of my arm.” His voice softer than just a second ago. “Being so close” he continued, pulling you closer to him. He leaned down slightly, “In that dress.”

You looked away, too nervous to meet his gaze. Your heart heart hammered in your rib cage.

Damn your stupid face for betraying you by turning an undiscovered shade of red! Damn it to ...well, here.

Placing one gloved finger under your chin, he tilted your head back slightly to look at him again. His attention shifted between your eyes and your lips, as he slowly leaned in. Your breath hitched in your throat. With a burst of courage that came from who knows where, you went onto your tip toes and met him halfway, planting your lips to his, sending a shiver down your spine.

Those stupid butterflies are back.

You could hear a small gasp escape from him. Your sudden rashness was unexpected.

He pulled you closer and now had a more firm hold. One hand on your waist, and the other entwined in your hair. 

The kiss was passionate. Your lips moved together harmoniously. Your heart was beating so fast you just knew he could hear it.

You weren’t aware how long the two of you stayed like that, but when Lucifer finally pulled away, you weren’t ready for it to end. He laughed lightly, and you noticed his cheeks were slightly pink.

“If that’s how it’s always going to end, I’ll ask you to dance at 2am more often.”

[babuis]

Who Needs Memories? [Chilumi] - 1

Genre: Long Fic

Word Count: 2.2k

Synopsis: Lumine is not naive. Through her thousands of years living, she should know better. Should have learned better. She knew better then to trust someone who threw her insecurities into her face. So why was she here, standing in the room of the person who betrayed her while wanting to give him another chance?

Or

Events from before the Golden House between Childe and Lumine to the unreleased future.

A/n: I’m deciding on whether I want to pursue this as a long fic in my google docs. Tbh I can really only write for Genshin when I’m in this strange, dreamy, longing mood where I wish to leave everything behind and enter the world of Genshin- it just feels so inviting and like home for some reason.

Pulled this out of my ass Bcs I’m in that mood rn. Sadness makes me poetic (but I’m not sad? Genshin gets me in a very dreamy mood)

So imma test it out by seeing how it’s received. Should I make this into a longer series?

Story starts before golden house.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lumine couldn't go back to sleep. 

This wasn't a new development. Since arriving in Teyvat, she had fallen victim to many sleepless nights or sleeps that were interrupted by night terrors she couldn't quite remember until much later when it was no longer important. Sometimes when she did sleep, her dreams would be filled with fragments of memories from the thousands of years she lived with her brother from world to world before all of this that refused to leave her mind.

Tonight she had dreamed about the time when they weren't in a particular world, but rather the period in between where they simply existed in the clouds.

Lumine and Aether sat on a large cloud, staring into the expanse before them. They sat with their knees hugged to their chest, feeling the last rays of the sun brush over them before nightfall. 

"Hey Aether?'

"Hm?"

Lumine sighed as she lay lazily on her back. Her body sunk into the soft pillows of cloud ever so slightly and she stared up into the infinite abyss of the sky above their heads.

"Do you ever wonder what else is out there?' she questioned him, reaching her hand up, "We've been to so many worlds already. Will there be a point where we no longer learn new things?"

Aether scoffed lightly, turning his head to look at his twin, "We've been alive for thousands of years, have you yet to come to a world and not learn anything?"

"No," Lumine admitted, "But you said it yourself, we're so old already. What if one day..."

Aether sighed again, shifting to face his sister fully, "Don't worry about it. Worlds may be similar to each other. We may just arrive in them to fight a little, but there' always been subtle differences that make each special."

"Hmm," Lumine hummed, closing her eyes as a chill brushed over her body, "Do you think mom ever got bored?"

"Bored? She had twins."

Lumine chuckled lightly, "Yea, she did, didn't she?"

They didn't speak after that. Soon the vibrant colors of the sunset turned into the cool night sky and millions of stars twinkled around them, each representing a new world. Lumine shuddered slightly, wondering if her fears were silly. With so many worlds, surely there would be new things to see. A new purpose to have.

"We should go to that one next," Aether said, pointing to the brightest star to their left, "Burning up real bright."

Lumine nodded, shielding her eyes a bit from the light, "Sure is."

Aether lay down, settling beside her, "Go to sleep, Lumi," he said softly, "we got a new world ahead of that."

"Hmm," she hummed again, closing her eyes.

Soon, her brother's breathes turned steady as he fell asleep. She gave him one last peek before she too, succumbed to slumber. 

Even if they explored all the worlds there were and learned everything there was to know, she would be okay just as long as she had Aether by her side to navigate her life with her.

And then he was gone.

Lumine shuddered as the wind blew towards her from the water. It seemed to be particularly cold in Liyue that night on the harbor. She sat on the wooden dock, letting her slender legs hang over the edge. The stars shined above her, much like they had in her dream.

Except this time she was sitting on the hard dock instead of the fluffy clouds and she was alone.

Her hair tickled her cheek as she dejectedly thought about Aether. They had come to this world, the brightest one to their left, together, only to be separated. They had never separated before and the anxious heaviness that took permanent hold of her chest became heavier as she remembered her dream.

I miss you Aether.

This world had been shockingly new from the rest of the ones she had visited. With it's divisions between the archons and people, it seemed like this world was made up of multiple ones with a complexity that she kept getting dragged into.

It was something her past self would have marveled excitedly at- there was just so much to learn. But without Aether, without her rock through it all, it almost seemed meaningless. Her only purpose now, was to find him.

Perhaps this is what she got for wishing for a new purpose in life. If she could go back and take it all back, she would.

"Hey girlie, it's dangerous for you to be so lost in thought this late at night. A bad man could come and sweep you away."

Ah, Childe.

Lumine turned her head to see the blue eyes ginger standing behind her, a mischievous glint in his eye as he looked down at her. She licked her lips, turning away from him.

"What do you want, Fatui?" she asked harshly, "If you push me in the water, I'll blast you all the way to the stone forest."

Childe raised his hands up in surrender, a throaty chuckle making its way out of his mouth, "No need to be so hostile, I thought we shared a more intimate relationship than that."

"I'm warning you," Lumine said again, pulling her knees up to her chest.

Childe took a seat beside her, looking into the distance where she was, "I would never, girlie. I'm a bad man but I wouldn't push an unsuspecting lady into the water."

"Sure you wouldn't, Fatui," Lumine said with disdain.

"I wouldn't," he repeated, "What are you looking at? Actually, what are you doing up so late? It's well past your bed time."

Lumine snorted, "You're not older than me."

"I'll have you know I'm a young adult," Childe protested.

Lumine gave him a wry smile, "As am I."

"You don't look a day older 18," Childe hmphed, "Pray tell, Ojou-chan, how old are you really?"

Lumine finally glanced at the ginger who was staring at her with curious eyes, "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"I would, actually," he said, not looking away.

'You wouldn't even be able to fathom it if you tried,' Lumine thought to herself, 'nor is it safe for me to tell you.'

Childe stared at Lumine some more, refusing to be the first to look away. Her golden eyes burned with something he couldn't quite place, but were at the same time quite hardened. Her lips were pressed into a thin line and her eyebrows were softly furrowed into a stern looking pout. 

'How cute,' he mused to himself, 'too bad you're just a pawn in Tsaritsa's game.'

"You don't trust me," he settled on saying, his mouth quirking to the side.

Lumine finally looked away, making Childe celebrate internally, 'ha! I win!'

"Why should I?" she muttered.

"I get it, La Signora gave you a bad impression," Childe said, "But like I said, I don't particularly like her either. I'm the black sheep of the Harbingers you know, we're not all like her."

Lumine didn't say anything. If she learned anything from her extensive existence, it was to not trust a man like Childe.

"Fine, then answer this for me since you're unwilling to share," Childe caved, "What are you doing up so late?"

Lumine shrugged, "It's not late. If I'm correct, it's a new day."

"Fine smart ass," Childe sassed her, "What are you doing up so early?"

"I guess I'm an early bird then," Lumine said vaguely, not wanting to mention her lack of sleep.

"Great answer."

The two sat in silence again, the breeze blowing even harder. Lumine shivered again at the wind's caress which prompted Childe to shrug off his jacket to give to the blonde. Lumine noticed and put her hand up to stop him hurriedly, not wanting to create even more debt to the Harbinger.

"You're cold," Childe insisted, "Take it."

Lumine frowned, "No, you're cold. You take it."

"Ojou-chan," he said, exasperated, "I'm from Snezhnaya, a bit of wind isn't going to kill me."

Lumine raised an eyebrow, "I use Anemo powers, a little bit of wind isn't going to kill me either."

"But it'll make you sick."

"No it won't."

"Yes it will."

"No it won't."

"Yes it will."

"No it won't."

She knew it wouldn't. It had been a very long time since Lumine had gotten sick, the last time being in a world with giant man eating beings. The only reason for her sickness, of course, wasn't her health, but the disgusting stench of dead bodies.

Lumine stubbornly stood up and started walking down the dock back towards the center of the town where she was staying. She was done with this conversation- done with him. However, Childe seemed to have other plans as he followed the petite girl down the paved road.

"Stop following me," came Lumine's cutting words, not even bothering to look back.

'Charming,' Childe thought as he ignored her words, "It's dangerous for a pretty girl to roam around the town in the dark."

Lumine simply rolled her eyes, coming to a halt in front of a random building, "I'm not in danger of the Milleleth anymore, and I'm sure I could handle some petty thieves if I did a dragon."

"Ah, that's right. I'm talking to the Hero of Mondstadt here," Child said teasingly, 'and the biggest pain in the ass to Tsaritsa.'

Lumine gave him an unimpressed look, "I suppose that's right, so as you can see, I can handle myself."

'If anything, you're the biggest threat in this town,' she thought distastfully.

"Alright then, Ojou-chan, I'm off-"

Before he could finish his goodbye, he was cut off by a large growl emitting from Lumine's stomach. For the first time that night, Lumine lost her composure and blushed a bright red and her body burned hotter than the sun despite the chilly morning air. Childe paused, blinking twice, before busting out into laughter that caused the girl to further lose composure.

'Damn this near mortal body!' Lumine cursed, 'I never had to eat this often before!'

"Hahaha!" he laughed heartily, clutching his sides, "Did you perhaps eat the dragon to defeat it?" he teased her.

Lumine growled, "Shut up," she said hotly.

"Say, why don't I take you and Paimon to get some food then?" Childe suggested, "I'm sure you're hungry and you wouldn't turn down free food when you lack Mora."

Lumine grumbled quietly to herself, knowing he was right. She had very little Mora left thanks to Paimon spending so much on food and she was admittedly hungry. Hunger was a foreign concept to her body up until recently, and she detested the very idea of it.

"Don't be stubborn Ojou-chan," Childe persisted, "I did afterall, save you from the Millelith didn't I?"

Lumine begrudgingly nodded her head, "Fine," she said quietly, "Let me get Paimon first."

And so they walked side by side to her inn- that he helped he book- to fetch Paimon and go eat. They walked leisurely, as if they weren't two people that were on drastically different sides. They walked as if they were acquaintances- as if they were friends to the unknowing eye.

Lumine knew she shouldn't. She should have stopped all interaction after that one time he helped her out by clearing her name. Shouldn't have accepted the help nor the Mora from him- no matter how broke she was. She could have found a way or slept on the outskirts of the town. She shouldn't be accepting his invitation to eat.

What was wrong with her?

Teyvat had proved to be full of surprises, her behavior being one of them. It had been months since she woke up from her slumber. When was the last time she had stayed in one place for so long? Fought off monsters for other people rather than the thrill of the fight?

It didn't matter, Lumine supposed. What mattered was finding her brother and what happened after that would be a future Lumine problem. What else was there to do after finding her brother? What was the purpose of her world hopping?

Lumine no longer remembered.

As they neared the inn where she left Paimon, she could hear the floating girl's shrill and angry voice scolding her for leaving. Paimon's voice only turned more sour when she saw the Fatui next to her.

"Lumine!" the pixie exclaimed, "You can't leave to go rendezvous with the enemy!"

Lumine  gave the little girl an unimpressed look, "I did no such thing, he's cashing in a favor."

"A favor?" Childe interrupted, "Considering I'm paying for your food, I'd say I'm doing a service and you know owe me a favor."

Paimon looked angry for a second, "Lumine! You can't just- wait, did Paimon just hear you say food?"

"Sure did little one," Childe grinned, "Come on, it's my treat."

And just like that, Paimon's anger disappeared at the promise of something warm to fill her stomach. Constellations materialized around her floating body as she followed the ginger to a restaurant he claimed that he knew 'they would just love.'

Lumine lingered at the steps of the inn, staring up into the sky that was now painted with the vibrant colors of the sunrise. 

What was the purpose of her life?

Lumine basked in the warmth of the sun and found comfort in the lack of visible stars in the sky.

Lumine didn't remember.

Perhaps she never knew.

[nothorses]

So I really need some help and you’re probably one of the best trans guy blogs I’ve seen so I’m hoping you can help a brother out. Basically I’m a self hating trans man. I feel really shit about being trans all the time. I know I’m trans because I’m dysphoric as all hell and severely depressed because of it, and thinking about being a woman makes me physically sick and of all the things I “vibe” with, being a guy tends to be it. That being said I literally cannot stop being my own worst enemy. I’m literally stuck on the whole “just because you feel like a guy/want to be one that doesn’t make you trans” line and I hate the standard “well I’m a guy because I say I am” reply because.... well it’s just not convincing? Either to transphobes or myself and it’s a point of contention that makes me anxious beyond belief. That and while I really want to stop I literally cannot stop thinking about myself as being a lesser guy or a woman playing dress up. It’s almost to the point where I’m up and out *reminding myself* that I’ll never be a real man and that no one will ever see me as such despite being in an otherwise positive environment save for my parents. I have some pretty good friends I have a wonderful accepting boyfriend who validates me so why do I just feel so shit all the time? I just can’t stop seeing myself as this annoying bratty girl with short hair and a binder that doesn’t actually hide her chest fumbling with her masculinity and trying to pass herself off as “one of the guys” when the guys are just kinda grossed out and freaked tf out by this... thing I am. I know that my dysphoria and euphoria signal to me that I am a man, but I just can’t see it in myself at all. I feel so inferior to cis men in a way words can’t accurately express and I feel terrible. I literally can’t stand to be in this fragile twinkish body anymore and I will literally beg for T from my endo on my hands and knees if I have to. I’m really sorry for putting all this here and for the long tangent but this is a genuine cry for help and I don’t really know where to go or who to turn to or even what to do all I know is that I want this to stop but not in like a way where I ignore the problem or just delude myself into thinking everything is fine and normal and that I’m perfectly accepted when I know for the broader part I’m really not. Any advice you have on this at all would be really appreciated and again I’m sorry for the length of this ask but I’m really in need of some guidance.

I’m really sorry you’re dealing with this. You’re definitely not alone in these feelings, and it can be such an incredibly difficult thing to untangle & heal from. Having self-confidence and trusting yourself to know your own gender can be really, really hard, especially in a society where those things are actively and very intentionally discouraged. And you deserve better.

And honestly, I feel a lot of this. I know all the refrains, and I know a lot of folks that they work for, but “you’re a man because you say you are” is hard for me to fully buy into. I know that it’s true for other people, and I believe them when they say it- it’s just hard for me to trust myself.

I’ve internalized a lot of how society views gender, and it’s not something I can will away; especially when that doubt and transphobia is echoed back by my dysphoria. It’s hard not to see myself as “girl playing dress-up” or “girl mutilating body” or “intruding freak” or whatever else. And it takes a lot of active work on my part to believe, even a little bit, that what I know about myself is real.

It’s good that you know this isn’t how it should be, and that you’re reaching out for help in getting better. That means you can do it! It’ll probably be difficult, but as long as you’re trying to get better, getting better is possible. Even inevitable.

It sounds to me like you might be struggling with self-doubt, self-hate, and internalized transphobia, which means seeking out mental health resources might be a good first step. Professional help is great, and researching some DIY mental health stuff might also be helpful; I’ve found Sanvello and Vent on the google appstore to be good resources for me, but there are a lot of apps and stuff under “mental health” that can can provide a decent starting point.

You don’t need to try to convince yourself of things you know aren’t true: everything is not always “fine”, trans people are not always accepted, and not everyone is going to see you the way you want to be seen. But maybe you can convince yourself that that’s okay?

Things aren’t perfect, and you don’t need to believe they are. In fact, things really suck a lot of the time- and it hurts. Sometimes it feels unbearable. It’s important to let yourself sit with that, when you need to. You maybe just don’t need to sit with it all the time; maybe It’s okay to feel okay sometimes, despite the bad stuff. It’s important to have that balance. It’s important to know that your feelings are real, that they deserve attention and care, and that they’ll pass eventually. You’ll feel okay again.

If you keep looking for the little stuff, it’ll get easier to buy into the bigger stuff. You don’t need to have complete 100% unwavering trust in yourself; I don’t think very many of us do. But it seems like you have a little trust in yourself now, and you can nurture that into more.

Good luck, man, I hope you can get the things you need to heal and grow. You deserve to be able to trust yourself & love who you are.

[bonnyskies]

fractured friendships & broken hearts ⇢ pjm

the worst pain in the world is watching the person that has held your heart for years, give theirs to someone else instead of you.

pairings — bestfriend!jimin x bestfriend!malereader, brief jimin x stylist!oc

genre — idol au, friends to lovers au

warnings — swearing, jimin’s kind of a dick, reader’s heart gets broken multiple times, bisexual!jimin

word count — 2.6k

author’s note — do you guys like the updated cover photos i’ve put on this and my previous works?

masterlist

Eight months, three weeks, and four days.

That’s how long you’ve waited for your friends to return from their international tour.

So you stood there, patiently, in front of the plane’s arrival gate with a wide smile on your lips. The eight months was excruciatingly long, and lonely, but your friends always made sure to call you, text you, and FaceTime you whenever they had the chance.

As people began to exit out of the plane’s gate, greeting family members and friends, you couldn’t help but start to feel your heart’s pace increase and palms beginning to sweat. You weren’t nervous to see your friends again, not when you missed them greatly. No, you were nervous to see him again.

You thought the distance away would make your harbored feelings for him disappear. But as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks turned into months, your feelings for him only grew stronger.

Suddenly, you could feel your heartbeat quicken at the sight of your friends finally coming out of the plane’s arrival gate. “Today’s the day,” your roommate’s teasing tone echoed inside your mind, making you even more anxious than before.

“So, Jimin and the others are coming back tomorrow?”

Tearing your eyes away from the television, you turned to face your roommate who sat beside you on the couch, a half-eaten bowl of popcorn resting on their lap.

“Yeah,” you nodded, leaning back against the couch’s cushion. “I’m going to meet them at the airport tomorrow morning. Do you wanna come?”

“I can’t,” your roommate shook their head, popping another popcorn into their mouth. “I’ve got an early shift tomorrow at the diner, and my boss would be pissed if I called off work again.”

You nodded, understanding.

“So,” your roommate then spoke up after some silence shared between the both of you. “Are you finally going to tell Jimin how you feel when you see him?”

You just stared at them, not saying anything. Your silence was the answer. “Come on, {Name}.” They groaned, placing the now nearly empty bowl of popcorn onto the table in front of you. “You’ve kept those feelings inside of you for three years. Aren’t you tired of hiding them?”

“Of course I am, Crystal.” You replied instantly, sighing. “But what if he doesn’t feel the same? It’ll change everything. It’s not worth jeopardizing years worth of friendship over.”

“Doesn’t feel the same?” Your roommate repeats, shaking their head with disbelief. “Jimin is crazy about you, {Name}. The things he’s done for you,” they paused. “People who are just friends don’t do those sort of things.”

“He has dropped friends for you, ended relationships.” They continued, shifting their body on the couch so that they were fully facing you. “He’d drop anyone for you.”

Those words made your heart clench, and you couldn’t decide whether that was a bad or good feeling. “You just need to try, {Name}.” Your roommate reached over and placed their hand onto your thigh, squeezing it comfortingly. “You’ve been suffering long enough because of your feelings for him.”

You stayed silent. “Okay...,” you finally caved. “Tomorrow, I’ll tell Jimin how I feel about him.”

“Great,” your roommate cheered happily, smiling victoriously. “And don’t worry, everything’ll be fine.”

When morning came, you could hear the faint sound of your roommate’s teasing voice shouting at you as you stepped out of the apartment. “Today’s the day!”

“{Name},” the mention of your name broke you out the recent memory, returning back to reality to see six of your friends standing in front of you with wide smiles on each other their faces. Where’s Jimin? He wasn’t here with the others.

“Hey, you guys!” You greeted cheerfully, opening your arms and attempting to hug them all at once, failing, but still smiling at the feeling of their presence. “I’m happy you’re back.”

“We are too,” Namjoon grins, being the first one to speak out of the six.

“How have you been lately?” Hoseok then asks, his arms casually wrapped around Taehyung’s and Jungkook’s shoulders.

His question made you laugh. “You’re acting like we haven’t been talking to each other everyday for the past eight months.”

“Doesn’t hurt to ask.”

“Where’s Jimin?” The question came out of your mouth suddenly, surprising your friends. You stared at them, frowning at what seemed to be hesitate expressions on their faces. “What is it, you guys? Is there something wrong with him-,”

“{Name}?” You froze, your heart stopping for a brief moment before increasing greatly at the sound of the familiar voice.

“Jimin-,” you felt yourself smile, gently pushing your friends aside. But that smile instantly dropped when your eyes landed on him—or should you say, them.

Standing very closely beside him was a woman. And their hands, were laced together.

“It’s so great to see you again,” he smiled brightly, showing off his perfect, white teeth. Glancing at the woman standing next to him, his smile only glowed brighter.

“I’d like you to meet my girlfriend, Chun-hwa.”

Your mind couldn’t stop showing you the images of Jimin and his...girlfriend, them kissing, laughing. They were tearing you apart without even knowing.

The sight of them made it unbearable for you to be around them, or the others. You couldn’t even stay for the ‘welcome back’ dinner you planned for them. The fear that if you stayed any longer, you’d break down.

So now, after making an excuse that you weren’t feeling well, you found yourself sitting on your living room’s couch in silence. No television, no music, nothing. The only sound you could hear was the never-ending sound of your phone ringing or vibrating. You’ve been receiving messages from the others, mostly Jimin, asking if you were okay but you couldn’t reply. You couldn’t even glance your phone’s screen without feeling more tears build up in your already swollen eyes.

Dressed in your pajamas, you stared at your reflection coming from the television set, wincing at the mess in front of you. Your hair was messy, face was flushed, stained with tears, and used tissues scattered around you.

“Hey,” you jumped in your seat, turning around and seeing Taehyung suddenly standing behind you with a family-size bag of your favorite chips in his hands.

“How the hell did you get in here?” You asked, turning your attention back to blank television in front you.

“I’ve got a spare key, remember?” He mentions, flashing you the silver key before walking over and sitting down beside you, handing you the large bag of chips.

“How long?” The question came out of your mouth faster than your mind could comprehend it. “H-How long have they been...dating?”

Taehyung sighed, reaching over and taking your hands comfortingly into his. “They’ve been talking for almost a year, ever since BigHit hired her to be our stylist. They started dating though, after the first month of tour.”

You winced, feeling tears begin flood your swollen eyes again. They’ve been dating for more than half a year, and you didn’t know anything about it. “Why didn’t any of you tell me? Why didn’t he tell me?”

“We thought he should’ve told you,” Taehyung answered. “But the reason for him not telling you, I’m not sure.”

You didn’t know you were crying until you felt Taehyung’s arm wrap around you, a loud sob escaping your lips. “I was going to tell him today.”

Taehyung sighed, closing his eyes. He knew exactly what you meant. Taehyung was the first, along with your roommate to know about your crush on Jimin. Next it was Jungkook and Jin, then later Namjoon, then Hoseok, and lastly Yoongi. “I’m sorry, {Name}.”

“Does he love her?” You found yourself asking. Even though deep down, your heart was screaming at you, shouting that you didn’t need or want to know, but your mind was telling you the complete opposite.

Taehyung stares you, sympathy in his eyes. “Yes...”

You haven’t spoken to Jimin since that day you picked him and others up from the airport. That was three months ago.

You ignored the calls and messages he’d send, even go as far as pretending you weren’t home whenever he came to visit. You knew treating him like this wasn’t fair since he doesn’t even know the reason behind you avoiding him, but you couldn’t face him. You couldn’t confront him because her. They are still together, ten months strong.

Their pictures were everywhere on social media. It was impossible to escape them.

The sound of someone suddenly knocking broke you out your thoughts, causing you to walk over to your apartment’s door and look to see who it was. And immediately, you froze. Through the peephole, on the other side of the door stood him. Jimin.

You stared at the door’s lock, seeing that it was already latched. You were tempted to walk away and hope that he’d just leave. But he didn’t. Instead, he started knocking louder, the booming sound of his fist banging on your door echoing throughout your apartment. “Open the door, {Name}! I know you’re in there so don’t even try to hide.”

You winced at his tone. He was angry, furious even. After staring at the door’s handle for what felt like an eternity, you finally unlatched the lock and pulled it open.

“We need to talk,” was the only thing he said before entering your apartment, closing the door behind him.

You followed him back to your living room, expecting him to sit down on the same couch the both you spent hundreds of movie nights on, alone. But instead, he just paced around the piece of furniture, running his hands frustratingly through his hair, gripping the brown locks.

“When were you going to tell me?” You just stared at him, never seeing him this angry before. “When were you going to tell me about your feelings towards me?” His question made your heart stop instantly and eyes widen.

“H-How did you-”

You didn’t even have the chance to finish your question before Jimin interrupted you. “I had to practically force Tae to tell me what’s been going on about you,” he snaps, stopping his pace around your couch and turned towards you. “These past three months without you has been agonizing. It was torture not knowing why you were avoiding me,” his pained expression dropping into a glare. “That was until I found out why.”

Finally, he sunk down onto the couch, resting his arms on his legs with his body hunched slightly forward. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” His voice was low.

“Sooner?” You stared at him confusingly, feeling your heart’s beat echoing in your ears.

“I’ve been in love with you for years, {Name}!” Jimin shot up from the couch, voice raising. “But you never showed any signs or interest, so I...,” he paused, eyes closing from frustration. “I moved on...”

You swore you felt your heart break, shattering into millions of pieces, and the broken shards falling into your stomach.

“I’m with Chun-hwa now,” he continued, his voice lowering, staring down at the ground, refusing to meet your gaze. “I’m...happy.”

Your eyes were glistening with tears and sobs were building up in your throat. “W-Why didn’t you say anything?” You managed to stutter out, some of the tears escaping and sliding down your cheeks.

“I’ve tried, {Name}!” Jimin shouted, making you flinch. “Many times. Those late nights we spent watching movies, alone, just the two of us. Those sleepless nights I’ve spent comforting you after every heartbreak. Even during those silly cooking sessions we’d have,” Jimin laughed hysterically, shaking his head. “I tried, but you never noticed.”

“I’m sorry,” was the only thing you could think to say.

Jimin only chuckled sarcastically. “There’s no need to apologize. I’ve got Chun-hwa now.”

You winced. That hurt, extremely. You watched as Jimin made his way back to your apartment’s door, glancing back at you one last time, and you swore you could see tears in his eyes before losing sight of him.

And once you were alone, that’s when your own tears began to fall, collapsing onto your knees as loud cries fell from your lips.

“I moved on.”

“I’ve got Chun-hwa now.”

Those words echoed in your mind for the rest of the night.

A week has passed since the...argument you had with Jimin. You haven’t seen him, talked to him, or even received a message from him. You thought he hated you. You thought he wanted nothing to do with you. So it surprises you when you find him standing in front of your door. Hair messy, dark bags underneath his eyes, and dry tear stains on his cheeks.

“Hey,” his voice was weak, trembling even slightly.

“Hey,” you replied, your hand gripping onto the door’s handle very tightly. “What are you doing here?”

“Can I come in?”

You didn’t say anything, only stepped aside, allowing him to enter before closing the door. You followed him to your living room in silence and sat down on your couch, a distance between the both of you.

“I broke up with Chun-hwa...,” Jimin suddenly confesses, causing you to turn towards him with wide-eyes, but no words coming out. “I lied, {Name}.” His words made your heart stammer, nibbling on your bottom lip from the tension. “I didn’t move on...”

“You d-didn’t?” You repeated, your fingers digging anxiously into your thighs.

Jimin shook his head. “I thought I did,” he turned his head to the side to face you. “I thought those eight months away from you, meeting and dating Chun-hwa would help get rid of my feelings for you. And it did for a while, until I got back home. When I saw you, again.”

“For those three months that you were ignoring me, every day, every morning I’d look for you.” Jimin continued, slowly sliding his hand across the couch’s cushion, his fingers grazing against yours. “Wishing that I’d find you cooking breakfast with Jin, or playing video games with Kookie and Tae. And it killed me when realizing you weren’t there.”

You stared down at his hand, which was centimeters from yours. “Jimin,” you mumbled softly, allowing him to take your hand into his.

“Wait,” he cut you off, biting down on his bottom lip. “Let me finish, please,” he begged.

You nodded. “I thought I was happy with her, with Chun-hwa.” You winced, closing your eyes. You still found his words hurtful. “But then I started wishing you there instead of her. Watching movies with me, going on dates, sleeping in my arms, everything.”

You didn’t realize you were crying until you felt Jimin shift closer to you on the couch, cupping your face in his hands and wiping the stray tears with his thumb.

“I love you, {Name}.” He leaned forward, his face inches from yours. “With all my heart.”

Next thing you knew, his lips were on yours. They were soft, tender, and the kiss was filled with love and passion. You felt yourself begin to kiss back, your hands finding their way to rest on his shoulders, your lips moving in perfect sync. “I love you too, Jimin,” you mumbled against his lips, feeling him smile into the kiss.

“But we can’t do this,” you then pulled away, your faces still close enough to where you could feel his minty, cool breath against your swollen lips. “At least not now, not when your break up with Chun-hwa is still fresh. It won’t look good on the media if people find out that you’ve moved on already.”

“Okay,” Jimin nodded, pressing another kiss, this time on your cheek. “I’ll wait.” His face remained close, brushing his thumb over your lips.

“This time, I’m not giving up. I’ll wait.”

[olicitysecretsanta]

Planes, Trains, and Automobiles

A Goodbye Olicity Exchange gift for Erin ( @canadianbeauty2 ).

 I hope you enjoy this fluffy Meet-cute! (Playlist will be posted with the story on AO3.)

xoxo Meegan ( @it-was-a-red-heeler, cfcureton)

“But—“ “I’m sorry, there’s nothing we can do.” The ticket agent didn’t look sorry. She looked more anxious than anything, and who could blame her? The skies outside the airport terminal were actually turning green. Felicity huffed a frustrated sigh. “What about tomorrow?” A snarky smile appeared and then vanished from the other woman’s face. “The airport won’t be open tomorrow. Or the next day. We’ll be lucky to be operational by the end of the week.” She stuck a hand on her hip behind the counter. “I suggest you find a hotel to hunker down in. Preferably on a high floor.”

The woman looked away then, back to her paperwork, back to shutting down her terminal so she and her fellow employees could skedaddle home as soon as they were given the go ahead. Felicity swallowed a very explicit swear word. She knew eastern seaboard hurricanes weren’t uncommon this time of year, she just never imagined one would hit while she happened to be in town. Sure, the labs at Wayne Enterprises had seemed empty these last couple of days, but she’d been too busy to ask why, and what little she’d been outside the weather hadn’t seemed all that threatening. It rained all the time in Gotham. By the time she’d realized she should get out of Dodge all the outbound flights that could make it before the storm hit had departed and her return ticket was useless; refunds weren’t an option for cancellations due to weather. Which she’d just learned. Felicity snatched the handle of her rolling bag and yanked it up as she spun on her heel—there had to be another solution to this problem—and walked straight into a solid wall. Wearing a plaid shirt. “Oof,” she said, staggering back a step with her glasses knocked askew. The wall had a hand, and it reached out to cover hers on the handle of the suitcase, stopping her in case she fell. “You okay?” The wall had a nice voice. Too bad she was not in the mood to appreciate it. “I’m fine. Sorry.” “No problem. Did you have any luck?” “None.” Felicity set her glasses right and finally looked up. The wall had piercing blue eyes, a good amount of scruff, and tousled hair that was either perfectly haphazard or intensively styled. The head tilt was a nice touch. “Are you trying to get out too?” she asked. “No, I just like hanging out at airports during natural disasters.” He shrugged both shoulders the slightest bit. “It’s a hobby.” Great. A comedian. She rolled her eyes internally and steered around him, determined not to let anything distract her from finding another way out of this city. The click of her heels was almost the only sound as she marched through the echoing terminal to the car rental counter. Only one employee manned the long line of counter space; he was at the very end, of course. He looked up with bored eyes as Felicity approached. “I need a car, please.” The clerk regarded her briefly before shuffling through a stack of papers. “You’re in luck. I have one left.” She sighed with relief even as she heard the zing of suitcase wheels approaching from behind. She couldn’t help glancing that direction to get a look at the poor bastard who’d just missed out on escaping the city. It was the wall. The paperwork slapped onto the counter as Felicity handed over her credit card and snatched up a pen, eager to get on the road. She was halfway through initialing all the boxes when the machine beeped and she heard the clerk grunt. “Your card’s declined.” “What?” He tossed it back on the counter. “Looks like it’s expired,” he offered by way of explanation. Dread flooded her veins. Oh, Frack. She could picture the new one, sitting on her kitchen counter at home. She’d meant to activate it before she left. The clerk must’ve read the expression on her face because he shot her a mildly incredulous look. “You don’t have another one?” “No,” she moaned. “I only carry one.” She heard the guy behind her shift his weight. “We take cash,” the clerk offered. “Here.” A hand reached around her from behind and laid a card on top of her paperwork. Felicity’s eyes went wide. “No, I—“ “We both need out of here ASAP. There’s only one car. We can share.” She whipped around so fast her ponytail flew. He met her eyes and smiled benignly. Felicity’s mouth opened and closed a couple of times, fish-like, as she tried to come up with an excuse to say no. She saw his eyes shift to glance at her mouth and her spine straightened in indignation. “I don’t think it would be appropriate, under the circumstances.” His smile never faltered. “Under the circumstances, I don’t think you have much of a choice. The airport’s closing, and no hotel will take your expired credit card either.” He spread his hands and waited. Felicity’s shoulders dropped, defeated, and she turned to finish signing her name. “Fine. But I’m driving.” ————————————————————————————————– The car was easy to spot in the otherwise empty lot. It was sporty. And red. Felicity suppressed an eye roll. He fit both their bags in the trunk—barely—without comment and waited patiently for her to unlock the doors before squeezing into the passenger seat. She was putting the key in the ignition when it hit her. “This isn’t going to work.” “Why not?” “It’s a stick shift. I can’t drive a manual.” The dread was back. She held her breath to keep from crying and scanned the empty space around her, praying this was just a crazy mistake and there was another vehicle waiting for her. “Can you?” she asked, still looking around. “Can I what?” “Drive a stick.” “I can.” Did he sound a little hesitant? Felicity looked at him. “So I’ll go back and add your name to the rental agreement and then you can drive. C’mon.” She was already unbuckling her belt, but he hadn’t moved. “What’s the matter?” “I don’t have my license.” “You’re traveling out of town but you don’t have your license?” He shook his head no once. “How does that even happen? Never mind. We don’t have time. What do I do first?” He stared at her, dumbfounded. “You want out of Gotham before this hurricane hits? Then teach me how to drive a manual.” He studied her for half a second, expressionless. “It would help if I knew your name.” Her eyes crinkled at the corners in a frown as she studied him. “First names only.” He nodded acceptance soberly. “I’m Felicity.” “Oliver. Nice to meet you.” “Tell me.” “Okay. Before you turn the key, make sure you’re in neutral. The pedal all the way to the left is the clutch…” ————————————————————————————————– “Do you learn everything this fast?” “Probably. Why?” “No reason. It’s just…impressive.” “Thanks. I think.” Felicity rolled up to the stop sign at the entrance to the parking lot and looked both directions to check for traffic. “And we’re off.” “Wait!” His hand fell to cover hers on the gear shift and she jumped in surprise. “Where are we going?” “To the nearest airport that’s still open.” “No, I mean ultimately. Where are you heading?” Felicity studied him. What if he was up to no good, this one? Her mother hadn’t raised a fool. Still… “Starling City,” she offered after a beat. His eyes lit with surprise. “Great! Me too.” “Huh.” “What?” She squinted at him, suspicious. “Nothing.” She checked both ways again and eased the sporty little car out into the street. “Let’s go.” Oliver looked uneasy. “You’re sure you have to fly?” “Fly? Yes. It’s how I got out here, so it’s how I’m getting back.” “But I can’t.” The gears ground a little. “I think you missed second.” Felicity grunted. “Fully aware.” They pulled up to a stop light at the entrance to the airport and waited for it to turn green. “Do I get on the highway from here?” “Am I supposed to know?” “You’re the navigator.” Oliver sighed but logged into his phone. “We should have a plan.” “We have a plan. Closest open airport. That’s the plan.” “What about a train?” “A train?!” “Yes. We could take the train.” “Like hobos?!” “There are still passenger trains in the 21st century, Felicity.” “Nope. No way. I have to be in Starling by Friday, no exceptions. I can’t poke across country by TRAIN.” “Okay, hear me out. Today’s Monday. It’s a twelve hour drive to Chicago. I have a buddy who’ll put us up for the night. From there it’s two days by train. Or,” he waved a hand around, “you can get yourself a flight outta O’Hare. Either way we’re back in Starling by Thursday at the latest. Straight ahead to the on ramp.” The light turned, and they rolled forward while Felicity made weird faces and fought with the gear shift. “Ungh.” “Just think about it. The closest major airport that’s still open is probably in Pennsylvania anyway. We’ve got time.” Traffic was heavy but moving as the last evacuees headed out of Gotham. They entered the highway and picked up speed, and Felicity shifted into fifth for the first time. “Smooth. Good job.” “Thanks. So tell me, when you showed up at the airport this morning you were planning to, what, use your boyish charm to get on a flight without government-issued ID?” “First of all, I’ve never heard anyone younger than my mother use the phrase ‘boyish charm’.” Felicity rolled her eyes. “Second?” “Second, I didn’t lose my license until late last night, so I haven’t exactly had a lot of time to come up with an alternate plan.” “No passport?” “Didn’t expect to leave the country so didn’t bring it.” “Guess that rules out taking any shortcuts through Canada.” “Funny.” Ten miles passed below the tires with neither of them speaking. Felicity watched him from the corner of her eye; he had his shirt sleeves rolled up and his jeans cuffed. Casual but very tidy. How his profile could be just as good as looking at him head on she would never know. Normal people never got that lucky. His thumbs danced around his phone screen before he glanced up. Her eyes flicked away and she prayed she hadn’t been caught looking. “My friend is willing to put us up if we decide to drive to Chicago.” Felicity’s nails tapped the steering wheel in a rapid pattern while she mulled over her choices. “Okay. We’re heading west in any event, so see if you can find me a flight from anywhere closer than Chicago. Otherwise we’ll plan to stay with your friend. Deal?” Oliver nodded once and got to work on his phone. ————————————————————————————————– She’d expected—probably irrationally—traffic to thin dramatically as soon as they left the city, but the lines of cars and trucks only increased as they caught up to the myriad of people who had left the path of the storm in a reasonable time frame. Before long the westbound lanes had slowed to a crawl. “Ugh, okay. Tell me again why people drive manuals on purpose,” she muttered, down shifting as taillights lit up in front of her. The sky was no longer green here, but the rain had started a few miles back and the air felt heavy. “Bad news, I’m afraid. No flights until we get to Cleveland, and those are going fast. It’s only five more hours to Chicago from there, and a free night’s stay.” Felicity spared him a glance and then wished she hadn’t; those eyebrows lifted in question and the faint puppy dog expression were her undoing. She sighed like a martyr. “Fine. But I get my own bed.” ————————————————————————————————– Hours passed. She discovered they liked the same music, or rather Oliver seemed to have no opinion on her tastes either way, so she didn’t have to pull rank to choose the radio station. He filled the car without asking, and always brought back some snack or treat she didn’t ask for when he returned from paying. Interstate traffic was back to normal, mostly just them and the big trucks, and Felicity was so grateful not to have to think about when to shift she wanted to fist pump. “I could drive,” he offered once. “That wouldn’t be legal.” “It would only be a problem if we got pulled over, which I would never let happen.” “Pulled over or involved in an accident.” “Well that’s morbid.” “That’s reality. I prefer being realistic. It keeps you from being disappointed.” Oliver was quiet then, staying so still she risked a glance at him. He was studying her. “Have you always been this way?” “What way?” “Closed off. Cynical.” Felicity’s mouth dropped open in shock. “I am NOT closed off. I have lots of friends. Many friends. A few…select…close friends. And ‘realistic’ and ‘cynical’ are two very different things.” “Is that so.” “Yes. People find me quite charming.” “People.” She shot him a look. “Historically.” This conversation was going nowhere good very quickly. Felicity could feel the beginnings of a babble bubbling up from her chest, and she didn’t dare let that happen. “We need to find a place to stop.” He said it in such an authoritative way she took her eyes off the road to stare at him. The nerve of him, ordering her like that. “Look, Mister—“ “Felicity, you’ve been driving practically non-stop for hours. You need to eat.” She waved the half-eaten candy bar in her lap at him in illustration, but he only huffed an annoyed sigh. “Real food. You need an actual meal, and time to move around. And relax.” “In my family, the driver gets to decide when and where we stop.” “Well in mine, the person paying makes the final call.” She was in the process of passing a semi so she could only throw a quick glare at him, but she didn’t miss the raised eyebrow he was giving her back. “The next exit has restaurants.” “Fine. But only if it’s fast food.” ————————————————————————————————– He chose a sit-down restaurant. Felicity sat on her side of the booth and tried to hold on to her annoyance, but everything on the menu looked amazing and she was so relieved not to be moving she wanted to weep with gratitude. When she glanced up Oliver was staring at her over his menu. “What?” “Nothing.” His eyes flicked down. “What are you going to get?” She watched him purse his lips as he considered. “The Monte Cristo, I think. You?” “An omelet sounds good. I can always go for breakfast.” He grunted agreement without looking up. The server came and went, and then Oliver leaned back and stretched his arms out across the back of the seat. He had an impressive wingspan, she noted. And those lovely ropey veins peeking out from under his sleeves— “So what’s waiting in Starling that has you rushing home?” Small talk now? Great. Okay. Felicity took a sip of water to stall. “I have, um, a presentation Friday. A present—a pres—an interview.” She shrugged and tried to pretend her face wasn’t turning red. “I have an interview.” “An interview.” “Yes.” “For a job.” “Yes for a job. What else?” His brow knit in concentration. “You just didn’t seem sure.” “It’s very, um, it’s a big step for me. You know, a challenge. Growth.” She shook her head enough to flick her ponytail over her shoulder and couldn’t meet his eye. “I’m excited about it.” “Yes. You look thrilled.” If this conversation didn’t end immediately Felicity was going to actually die. “I’m gonna go wash my hands,” she declared, already scooting out of her seat. The food was on the table by the time she returned, and they ate with little comment. Oliver made her get dessert, even after she protested that she was disgustingly full. When the check was paid he ushered her from the restaurant but snagged her arm to drag her three laps around the building to shake everything out. “Anything else, Coach?” she quipped as she rounded the front of the car to unlock the doors. He rolled his eyes, but she also thought she caught the hint of a smile as he ducked to get in on his side. The next few hours passed in a blur. Oliver quizzed her on trivia he unearthed on his phone, and once she’d explained the concept of Mad Libs to him, he went searching for those too. The sun was beginning to set when they pulled into the last rest stop before the final push to Chicago. “C’mon, Felicity, get those knees up,” he ordered, jogging in place in front of her on the sidewalk by the restrooms. “Oliver, this isn’t funny.” “You don’t wanna get a blood clot from sitting too long in one position.” “People are staring.” “Let ‘em.” Felicity called him a name under her breath but bounced around as instructed. Across the parking lot a trucker blew his horn in appreciation and she threw a hand out in that general direction. “You see what you’ve done?!” Oliver grinned and the sight of it made her a little light headed. She told herself it was all the jogging. A little before 10pm they pulled up to a big house in a nice suburban neighborhood; a McMansion, her mother would call it. Fittingly, Felicity killed the car in the driveway by accident, but neither of them commented as it shuddered to a halt, preferring to stare out the windshield at nothing. “That…was a long day,” she said finally. “Agreed.” He sighed. “Don’t forget the hand brake.” “Yup.” Oliver carried her suitcase up to the porch without being asked as a tall handsome stranger waited at the door. The two men hugged unabashedly while she stood a step below them, looking away discretely to allow them their moment. “Tommy, Felicity.” Oliver made the introductions with a motion of his head, his arms being full. Tommy smiled and stepped back to allow them to pass. “Welcome. It’s not often we get hurricane refugees this far west.” Tommy’s smile was rakish but friendly. “Guest room’s up and to the right. Bathroom’s across the hall.” Oliver set his suitcase down in the foyer and gestured with hers. “I’ll put this up there for you.” Felicity saw Tommy’s eyebrow twitch up in surprise and suddenly felt weird and exhausted and done with everything. “Thank you for your hospitality. I’m gonna go up now.” She caught Oliver glancing back at her from the stairs but ignored him in favor of shaking her host’s hand and wishing him a good night. “You okay?” Oliver asked quietly as she trailed him into the bedroom. “Fine. Just tired.” “You did an amazing job today. I still can’t believe how fast you picked up driving a stick.” “Thank you…for paying my way here…and for finding us a bed. Beds. A bed and a couch. Whatever.” Oliver chuckled at her accidental innuendo, but she could tell he was worn out too. “Good night, Felicity. Sleep well. I’ll be right downstairs if you need anything.” He showed himself out and closed the door as he went, and for the first time since the morning she thought about how crazy it was that she was trusting this virtual stranger—and now his friend—with her wellbeing. Felicity got ready for bed and was out by the time her head hit the pillow. Below her the low drone of male voices catching up carried on late into the night. ————————————————————————————————– It took Felicity a full minute the next morning to remember why she was waking up in a strange bedroom. “Oh God,” she muttered to no one as she collected her shower things and peeked out into the hall before scurrying to the bath. The house was silent. Felicity repacked her suitcase and perched on the bed to collect herself and check for flights out of O’Hare. She could get enough cash out of an ATM to cover a plane ticket, and then she’d arrange to repay Oliver for her share of the car rental and her meals. She could be home by dinner tonight. Easy peasy. A door downstairs closed and male voices drifted up the stairs, so she set her phone aside without picking a flight and went in search of breakfast. The house was nice, a little on the bachelor pad side, maybe, but clean enough. It appeared Tommy lived here alone. The man in question was perched on a bar stool at the kitchen island in sweats and a tee shirt, laughing at something Oliver was saying as he scrambled eggs in a skillet. It was such a domestic scene Felicity thought maybe she’d been under the wrong impression about her traveling companion. It was a strangely disappointing discovery. “Morning,” Tommy offered brightly. “Pull up a stool.” “How do you like your eggs?” Oliver asked. His hair was mussed from sleep, but even the flat spot on the side was endearingly sexy. Stop it, she admonished herself sharply. He’s gay. “I’m not, actually. Scrambled okay, or would you like another omelet?”

Oliver turned away smoothly to plate the current batch as Felicity’s jaw unhinged. Fracking frack, she’d said that out loud. Tommy was grinning openly at her. “He is awfully pretty, isn’t he? But he’s a total ladies’ man, I promise you.” Tommy gave her a bold wink. “We both are.” “Easy,” Oliver warned gently, sliding a plate of eggs and bacon to his friend and turning back to start again. “Scrambled’s fine,” Felicity muttered, mortified, from behind her hands. Next to her Tommy chortled. “I’m putting peppers and onions in it, just so you know. You don’t eat enough vegetables.” Felicity’s face popped up from behind her hands to protest. “Hey—“ He pointed at her without looking away from the stove. “Corn Nuts do not count. We’ve talked about this.” She huffed a sigh and looked away, only to find Tommy watching her with one curious eyebrow lifted. When her plate and his were ready Oliver circled the counter and threw a leg over the bar stool on Tommy’s other side. “Made up your mind about flying or taking the train?” Felicity stabbed her eggs. “I should fly. I have to finish my presentation.” “Plenty of time for that on a train.” “I need to fly. Besides, a train trip sounds expensive. I can’t ask you to cover both of us going.” Tommy’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You know who he is, right?” “Shut up, Tommy. It’s not a problem, but I’ll do whatever you want. I’m gonna go take a shower.” Felicity didn’t miss the warning look he shot his friend before setting his empty plate in the sink and walking out of the room, but Tommy flipped on the small tv at the end of the counter to watch sports and ended any chance of her asking questions. She hauled her suitcase downstairs on her own and was sitting primly on a leather ottoman in Tommy’s living room when Oliver reappeared in a dark blue sweater with just a hint of white tee shirt sticking out underneath. Felicity pressed her lips together firmly to keep her thoughts on the inside. “Do you have time before your flight to drop me at the train station? If not, Tommy said he could do it.” “I—oh. I, um, I haven’t picked a flight yet.” Oliver stood and considered her silently for a moment. “No?” She shook her head, feeling more ridiculous by the second. She’d made her choice, now she needed to follow through. “I can drop you at the station on my way,” she decided. He nodded at the same time Tommy materialized over his shoulder. “You kids all set?” Felicity stood and stepped forward as Oliver shifted their bags onto the porch. “Thank you for everything, Tommy. It was great to meet you.” He bussed her cheek and then smiled down at her. “See ya around, I’m sure.” She felt her brow contract in confusion but didn’t ask him to clarify since Oliver was back and the two of them were busy hugging and back slapping their goodbye. “Don’t be a stranger, yeah? And say hi to your folks for me.” “Will do. Thanks, Tommy.” “Any time, brother.” Felicity groaned under her breath when she got into the damned stick shift car but started it on the first try all the same. Oliver looked impressed. The ride out of the suburbs was mostly silent save for Oliver’s directions. He was a good navigator and seemed to know the city’s layout well. Felicity tried to imagine dropping him at the curb and driving on to the airport, never to see him again. She took a deep breath in through her nose and out her mouth before making her decision. “Is there, um, a rental car return near the train station?” ————————————————————————————————– Felicity waited with the bags and people watched while Oliver bought the tickets. The train station was certainly an interesting place. He was running a hand through his hair as he returned, but she didn’t know him well enough yet to figure out if that meant bad news was coming with him. “Did you get tickets?” “Yep. It’s boarding now, we should hurry.” “Is everything okay?” “What? Oh, sure. It’s fine. It has its own bathroom, which is nice.” “It?” There was a pregnant pause as Oliver grabbed the handle of his suitcase but wouldn’t meet her eye. “It,” he repeated. “They only had one bedroom compartment left. It has two beds,” he added quickly, already wincing at her potential explosion. Felicity could only shake her head. “This is like bad fan fiction,” she muttered to the air. She trailed him through the station, watching him check the train ticket and follow the overhead signs to their platform. The closer they got to their destination the more crowded it became; other travelers jostled them as they moved either to or away from the waiting trains. And then Oliver was glancing back at her and reaching a hand out to grab her and pull her closer, not allowing them to get separated. Felicity stuck close, one hand on her suitcase handle and the other held protectively inside his, her mind a blank as she tried to process this new development. His broad shoulders made a great shield, preventing her from being bumped or stepped on as they negotiated the crowd on their way to the correct platform. She could smell him from this range, a mix of an understated cologne—or maybe deodorant—and whatever detergent he used. He stopped suddenly and she face planted softly against his sleeve with a small “oof”. It made her want to giggle. “You okay?” “Fine,” she grinned, slightly loopy on his scent and the feel of his warm firm grip on her hand. “This is it.” She peeked out around his (very nice) bicep at the big silver train in front of them. Oliver looked back at her and winked. “Here we go.” ————————————————————————————————– Felicity realized she was staring as he lifted her suitcase up onto the shelf and made herself look away. If she didn’t get it together this was going to be two very long days. She smoothed a hand over her tightly cinched ponytail and sighed. “Well, what do you think?” The room had two twin sized bunks–the bottom of which converted to a couch during the day–and an upholstered armchair, a window, and a door to a minuscule bathroom. That was it. “It’s…small.” Like, a mobile prison you have to pay to stay in small, she added in her head. “We don’t have to spend all our time here, you know. There’s a dining car for meals, and an observation car. You can work on your presentation interview thing while you watch the world go by. You’ll love it. Trust me.” This was so not ideal, and she wanted to be mad, or at least annoyed, but she was finding she did trust him, dammit. “Do you prefer to be on top or bottom?” Felicity stiffened, her face going hot. “I beg your pardon?” Oliver huffed a laugh. “The bunks. Would you like the top or the bottom?” “Oh. Um.” She studied them in what she hoped was a thoughtful manner, though she was really just trying to stop blushing. Honestly, the idea of sleeping in the bottom bunk had always made her nervous. What if the person above suddenly fell through? Ugh. It gave her shivers. “Top,” she decided. Oliver nodded, apparently satisfied with that answer. “You hungry? Thirsty?” He looked so earnest  Felicity almost laughed. “I could eat,” she decided. “Lead the way.” The train started moving while they were walking down the hall; Felicity yelped as she lost her balance and Oliver shot an arm out to steady her. This time she was the one to reach for his hand and he took it immediately. They stayed that way until he ushered her in front of him at the entrance to the dining car and they were shown to their table. Felicity scooted into her side of the booth with an eye on the neighborhoods of Chicago sliding past the window as the train picked up speed on its way out of the city. Heading west. Heading home. The thought filled her with something other than anxiety for the first time since she realized a hurricane was bearing down on Gotham. “What?” Her head swiveled back to Oliver in surprise. “What, what?” “What has you smiling?” She shrugged and tried not to blush as the server handed them their menus. “Just excited, I guess. I’ve never traveled by train before, unless it was the subway. You seem like you have, though.” Oliver nodded without looking up from his menu but saved any further explanation until after they’d received their drinks and ordered lunch. When the server had moved on, he leaned his elbows on the table and gave her his full attention. “I’ve known Tommy for as long as I can remember. His family and mine were very close when we were growing up. But then his mother died when we were nine years old. His father—“ his eyes dropped to the table—“was never the same, after. When we were twelve he moved them to Chicago, so the next summer and every one after that my parents let me take the train—this route, actually—out to stay with them for a month.” “That’s why you know Chicago so well.” He flashed her a quick grin, but he was clearly revisiting the past. “They lived downtown back then, and Malcolm was not a vigilant parent. We had the run of the city from an early age.” He huffed a laugh. “Probably way too early, actually.” His soup and her salad showed up, so he paused his story to let them both take a few bites. “We picked the same college here in the Midwest so we could be roommates. It made my dad furious that I didn’t go to his alma mater, but…” He shrugged. “Se la vie?” “Exactly.” “When’s the last time you saw Tommy?” “Oh, we try to get together once or twice a year. We meet up to ski or travel when we get the chance. Europe, Southeast Asia, wherever.” “That’s pretty good though, considering.” She grinned, suddenly feeling flirty. “Do you still take the train?” He smiled too. “No. It’s been many years since I rode the train.” His eyes lifted to scan the space around him before settling back on her. “It’s nice to be back.” Their entrees arrived and they both focused on making a start before they resumed their conversation. “What about you? Where did you go for college?” he asked. “Boston. But I grew up in Las Vegas.” “Mmm, I love Vegas.” “Yeah? You wouldn’t say that if you lived there.” “Probably not, but that’s true of a lot of places.” He took another bite of his sandwich before he went on. “So how did you end up in Starling?” Felicity had been munching happily on her burger, but now her brow crinkled into a frown. “A job opportunity. Or at least that was the idea. Let’s just say it didn’t go as planned.” Oliver quirked a brow. “Hence the impending job interview?” “Sort of.” “I feel like I’m missing something.” Felicity sighed and set her burger down. “I thought I had my dream job lined up in Starling, so I moved across the country only to bomb my interview. Bomb isn’t the right word. I nuked it.” She paused to illustrate an explosion with her hands, complete with sound effects. Oliver winced in sympathy. “I’d already spent the money to move, so I had to stay and find something else. The job I got has been a soul-crushing experience, to say the least.” “That sucks. I’m sorry. But hopefully this interview on Friday will get you something better. Something you love.” Felicity turned her attention to the view out the window, but she wasn’t really seeing it. “Maybe,” she said finally. ————————————————————————————————– He hadn’t been exaggerating about her loving the observation car. It was crowded, but Oliver managed to find them two seats near the back and motioned for her to sit. The chairs were large and comfortable and swiveled so they could be turned toward the view out the windows. The windows themselves carried on up into the roof, which let in lots of sunlight and beautiful views of the clear blue sky. “Wow,” she managed finally. She’d brought her laptop but for several minutes only sat with it on her knees while she watched the scenery flying past. Oliver chuckled his agreement, leaning back in the neighboring chair and stretching out his legs to cross at the ankles. Felicity made herself look away to get some work done while Oliver drifted off to sleep, but she found herself glancing up to peek at him from time to time. Since they were headed the same direction as the sun it stayed almost directly overhead through the afternoon, making her deliciously warm and sleepy, and eventually she stopped fighting it and curled up in her seat, work temporarily abandoned, to nap. His head was tilted her direction when she woke; it was obvious he’d been watching her sleep. She blinked at him a couple of times, clearing the cobwebs from her brain, and the corners of his mouth lifted briefly. “I like train travel,” she decided quietly, making his smile come back. She sat up and stretched before collecting the laptop she’d abandoned at her feet. “Get much work done?” “Not much,” she admitted. “But I finished the research in Gotham, so now I just have to write it up. Shouldn’t take long.” “You get out to Gotham a lot?” He showed no sign of being eager to leave their spot so Felicity folded herself back into her chair and swiveled further to face him. “Hardly ever. I called in a favor with a friend at Wayne Enterprises and managed to get some time in their labs.” She made a motion with her hand. “On the down low.” Oliver’s eyebrows lifted. “Sneaking around behind Bruce Wayne’s back? Impressive.” “It’s worse than that.” She grinned. “My friend IS Bruce Wayne.” His brow contracted then, and Felicity felt a thrilling little shiver run up her spine: Oliver was clearly a bit jealous. The frown only lasted a second and then he readjusted to sit up straight. “So what are you working on?” Felicity fought the urge to glance over her shoulder before speaking. It had been her secret for so long; even Bruce didn’t know exactly what she was working on. The best policy, she decided as she opened her mouth, was to be as vague as possible. “It’s a bio stimulant implant the size of a microchip with a basically limitless battery that will hopefully help people with traumatic spinal injuries walk again.” They both realized what she’d said at the same time. Oliver’s brows shot up into his hairline; hers did too, but for an entirely different reason. “Frack,” she whispered under her breath. Oliver chuckled. “It’s okay, Felicity, your secret’s safe with me.” He shook his head in wonder. “That sounds amazing. Where did you say you went to college?” “I didn’t. MIT.” His expression of wonder didn’t change. “Well I don’t know what company you interviewed with, but they were crazy not to hire you.” Felicity rolled her eyes. “You had to be in that interview. Ugh.” “What was so bad about it?” He leaned forward and rubbed his hands together. “Run me through it. Break it down.” “What, like sports?” He grinned wickedly and she sighed. “I can’t believe you’re gonna Monday Morning Quarterback me.” Oliver laughed. “Only if you want.” He glanced up behind her head at something. “You thirsty? We could get a drink before dinner.” Felicity decided a little alcohol might help dull the pain from the memory and nodded. It seemed like the most natural thing in the world to slip her arm through his as they strolled to the club car. ————————————————————————————————– “So. The interview.” Felicity scooped up her wine glass and took a healthy swallow to fortify herself just as their appetizer appeared at the table. He raised an eyebrow. “You promised.” “I did no such thing!” Oliver indicated she should get first dibs on the mozzarella sticks before dipping his head to make her look at him. Felicity rolled her eyes dramatically and huffed a beleaguered sigh. “Okay.” She said it around a mouthful of cheese, dropping the remainder of her first stick back onto her plate and wiping her hands. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He grinned in that way he had, close-mouthed and dimples showing, and she almost choked on her bite; her eyes bugged as she swallowed. “First of all, the power went out in my hotel the morning of the interview, so—“ she waved a hand around her head—“my hair was still wet when I got there. And I’m pretty sure there was shampoo in it.” He chuckled and she pointed a warning finger at him. “Don’t laugh.” “Sorry. Please continue.” “You may have noticed I tend to babble when I’m nervous.” “It has not escaped my attention.” She nodded agreement. “And one of the heads of the company, I’m talking a VIP, was conducting the interview.” Felicity took another bite. “This is a woman I’ve seen on the cover of tech magazines. Sitting across the table from me. In Louboutins so new I could smell them.” Again with the smirk. He was too much. “I have no idea what all I said to her during those fifteen minutes. I’m pretty sure I blacked out for some of it. To top it all off my tablet wouldn’t talk to their system, so my presentation wouldn’t run. I basically had to explain my bio stimulant idea in interpretive dance, which is not a good look for someone with multiple degrees in Computer Science.” Oliver groaned in sympathy but then leaned forward on his elbows. “All that sounds like purely bad luck. You weren’t incompetent, Felicity, just a—“ he waved a hand around before selecting his own mozzarella stick—“victim of circumstance. Did they give you any feedback afterward?” She nodded as she swallowed her bite. “They said it was my lack of experience, which I can’t fault. I was coming straight out of graduate school. The degree looks good, but it doesn’t make up for actual work in the trenches. I think if the interview itself had gone better I might’ve convinced them to overlook that and give me a chance.” “Well,” Oliver decided after a sip of beer, “it still doesn’t sound like you nuked it. And it seems like you have a second chance to show them what you can do.” His eyes flicked from the marinara dipping sauce up to her. “I assume that’s where you’re interviewing Friday?” Felicity squirmed under his gaze. “The interview is actually with my current employer. For a promotion.” Oliver studied her. “The soul-sucking one? Do you really want to do that?” “I’m not sure I have much of a choice.” She sighed and shook her head quickly, wanting to change the subject so she didn’t have to think about it. “I’ve never asked what you do for a living. What had you out in Gotham just before a hurricane?” Oliver took his time finishing his bite; stalling, she thought. “I work for my family’s company. I was out on the coast entertaining clients.” “Entertaining.” “Yes. You know, wine, women, and song. Stuff like that.” Felicity tried to keep a serious face but failed miserably. “Is that your only job? Entertaining?” She pulled her lips in to keep from laughing, but he caught her anyway and mock glared. “I have other roles. Ribbon cutting, check presentation. This particular one just happens to play into some of my strengths from college.” “I see. Did you major in Wine, Women, and Song?” The stern look he was giving her was ruined by the twinkle in his eye. He took a sip of beer and shrugged. “More or less.” Felicity focused on dunking her last stick in sauce. “Well, there are worse jobs, I suppose.” “Very true.” He paused. “But the older I get the more I wish they’d give me a chance to be more than a glorified party host.” They chewed in silence for a moment, sucked down into temporary melancholy over the current state of their careers. Oliver swallowed and caught her eye. “Another drink?” “God yes.” ————————————————————————————————– Amtrak, as it turned out, made a pretty good steak. It wasn’t exactly a candlelit dinner in an intimate setting, but there were linen tablecloths and real napkins. Also, the baked potatoes were huge. “I know I’ve said this five times already, but yum.” Felicity wiped her mouth and sighed in contentment. “Better than an airplane, then?” There was a gleam in his eye as he said it. “Better than an airplane.” Felicity smiled at him. This felt good. It felt right, crazy as it sounded, sharing a meal with this man she’d known less than 48 hours as they rolled across the country chasing the sunset. Of course, after two and a half glasses of wine everything felt right. She swayed gently in her seat but told herself it was the train and not the alcohol. Trains were sway-ee. “I don’t think that’s a word.” “What?” Oliver smiled at her, a kind of indulgent look that transformed his face and told her she was adorable, even when she couldn’t control her brain-to-mouth conduit. It crinkled the skin around his eyes and exposed his utterly fantastic cheekbones. He was— “You’ll give me a complex if you’re not careful,” he said softly, looking down and brushing a crumb from the tablecloth. “Wha—what?” He chuckled. “You’re thinking out loud again. It might be time to call it a night.” “Really?” Felicity pouted. “Wait til you sleep on a train. It’s fantastic. Very soothing.” “Are you going to sleep with me?” Oliver coughed. “Sorry, what?” Felicity felt her face turn red. Her filter—or whatever passed for it in her brain—was gone. Washed away in a sea of red wine. The Red Wine Sea. She giggled self-consciously. “I didn’t mean SLEEP with you. I meant sleep with you. Sleep, sleep. Not…the other thing.” He was already scooting out of the booth and reaching for her hand, but he was smiling. “I know what you meant, Felicity. You’re safe with me.” She was on her feet suddenly, and close to him. So close she had to tip her head back to look at him. He was tall. And looking deep into her eyes. “You know that, right?” Felicity swallowed. “Know what?” She’d lost the thread of this conversation, but she didn’t really care. Everything was fuzzy and nice and she felt like giggling again. Oliver turned away with her hand in his but she pulled against him, leaning back on her heels and making him stop and turn to look over his shoulder. “I want to do something first.” ————————————————————————————————– The sunset was just a faint pink line separating the sky from the earth by the time they stepped into the observation car. The lights were dimmed, and the car was practically empty. Above them, unencumbered out here by light pollution, the night sky had exploded with stars; Felicity gasped when she saw it. Her hand slipped down from his arm and their fingers entwined as they took in the view. “It’s…” “Remarkable,” he finished, but when she glanced over, Oliver was looking at her, not the stars. ————————————————————————————————– Felicity awoke slowly, feeling fuzzy and parched and a little achy. The sunlight peeking around the edges of the window shade let her know it was probably time to be up, but the constant movement of the train was so comforting, she was tempted to let it lull her back to sleep. Wait. Train? Her eyes popped back open and she stared at the ceiling as she tried to puzzle out why the hell she was on a train. Train. Oliver. Oliver! She peeked her head slowly over the side of the bed, but the room appeared to be empty. His bed had been slept in, at least. Felicity sighed and ran her fingers through her hair and then flung the covers off and set about getting out—down? She had no memory of getting UP—from bed. She moved slowly down the ladder; the last thing she needed on this trip was a visit to the ER. How that would even be accomplished from a moving train she had no idea. Did the ambulance have to match speed, racing alongside as they passed her across on a stretcher? That didn’t seem right. She stopped thinking about it because thinking made her head hurt. A cursory inspection told her she was unharmed and dressed in her pjs. Had she dressed herself or… Too much. Too much to think about. Felicity squeezed into the ridiculously tiny bathroom—it was like camping at 60 miles per hour—to take care of things and put her hair in a haphazard ponytail. Her suitcase was basically unreachable on its high shelf in her current condition, but Oliver’s denim jacket was laying over the arm of the chair, waiting to be worn. Calling out to her. Felicity slipped her arms into the giant sleeves and wiggled her feet into her shoes. She found him in the observation car, in the same seat he’d occupied the day before. He was leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, cradling a cup of coffee in both hands. Oliver looked up as she approached and smiled softly; he looked exhausted. She opened her mouth to say hi but her eyes raised to the view out the window first and all thoughts vanished: sunrise over the northern plains had turned the world into a canvas of light and texture that, even hungover, she wanted to drink in. “Oh…” “Pretty cool, huh?” “It’s…” “I know.” The tone of his voice finally brought her around. Felicity dropped her gaze to his face and tried to process the way he was looking at her. Oliver waved to the empty chair next to him and she tucked herself up into it. When his eyes skimmed over the jacket she blushed. “Couldn’t get my suitcase down,” she explained. “It’s okay. Looks good on you.” She was swimming in it, so probably not, but it was sweet of him to say. He offered his coffee to her without comment, and any other day she would be sorely tempted, but her stomach flipped and she blanched and waved him off. Also, it appeared to be black; how someone could drink coffee with no cream or sugar or seasonal flavoring was beyond her. His mouth quirked into a brief smile. “A little rough this morning?” Felicity attempted a nod and immediately regretted it. “Mmhmm,” she offered instead. If she didn’t move her head, she could keep looking at the beautiful scenery without wanting to die. “What…exactly…happened last night? After the observation car?” Oliver took a sip of coffee. “I was wondering when you lost the thread.” His fingers rotated the paper cup as he spoke. “After the observation car you talked me into going back to the club car where you had one more drink and then sang karaoke for an hour.” Felicity cringed. “I didn’t know they even had karaoke on trains.” “They don’t.” Her eyes tracked slowly to him; he was expressionless except for an amused twinkle in his eye. “Oh.” “Yeah.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “I am…SO sorry.” Oliver chuckled. “It’s okay. It was cute. The bartender was pretty good at harmonizing. You made a good team.” “Oh. God.” “Hey. Look at me.” She cracked open the eye closest to him. “It’s okay, Felicity. I didn’t mind taking care of you.” “Really?” “Really.” He stood and offered her his hand. “Ready to go get your suitcase down?” She unfolded from the seat and let him stabilize her as they moved through the car. “I still have questions.” “Shoot.” “How did I get into my pjs?” “You did that.” “And into bed?” “Well, I did that. You gave it a good try first, though.” “Oh God, Oliver.” He chuckled as he held the door for her. “You were adorable. Even the conductor thought so.” ————————————————————————————————– Felicity’s stomach rallied in time for lunch and then she climbed—unassisted—back into her bunk and fired up her laptop. She finished her presentation while Oliver napped below her; she would pause every few minutes to listen for his soft snores, and once she leaned out over the edge to look at him. He’d confessed over their meal that he’d feared she’d fall out of bed in the middle of the night and break her neck, so he’d hardly slept. He claimed she’d vehemently opposed the idea of sleeping on the bottom bunk when he suggested it, which had eventually brought the conductor down to check on all the commotion. She blushed fiercely every time she thought about it. Oliver stirred and sat up just as she saved her finished presentation and shut down her computer. “C’mon,” he said softly. “Let’s take a walk.” They grabbed a soda in the club car and wandered back to the observation car. The view out the windows had changed to oil fields and miles and miles of freight cars. Felicity jumped in surprise the first time a train passed them going the other direction at sixty miles an hour and they both laughed. Dinner was quiet; neither of them drank. They found little reason for small talk, preferring to say everything necessary with just looks and smiles. Every time Felicity thought of their arrival in Starling City the following morning she got an achy feeling in her chest, like the end of something precious was approaching. They sat up late in the club car and didn’t return to their compartment until almost midnight. Oliver waited in the hallway to give her privacy so she could get ready and tucked into her bunk before going to bed himself. They lay in the dark for several minutes before Felicity spoke up. “Oliver?” “Yeah?” “I have a confession.” “Okay.” “The presentation isn’t for my interview Friday. I don’t work at some fancy company. I work at a Tech Village. It was the only job I could find. I’m interviewing for a promotion to Assistant Manager.” She swallowed a lump in her throat. “The research on the implant is, well…I spent my entire savings on the plane ticket to Gotham just to prove to myself that my idea isn’t crazy. That I’m not actually a failure. I…I just thought you should know.” “Felicity, I think your idea is brilliant. And I think you should approach that first company and ask for another chance to prove yourself. You owe it to yourself to find out if things could be different.” She nodded into the dark but didn’t dare try to answer; a tear crept down her cheek. Below her Oliver sighed. “I have a confession too.” “‘Kay.” She sniffed discreetly. “I didn’t lose my driver’s license in Gotham. Not the way you think, anyway. The night before we met, I was entertaining clients, like I said, but things got out of hand and I ended up getting arrested. I spent several hours in the city jail and had my license revoked. As soon as we get to Starling, I have to come clean to my family and go to court and probably do community service.” He sighed into the dark and she turned over, tempted to climb down the ladder and give him a hug. “I wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t tell you.” “Thank you,” she whispered, though it didn’t seem adequate for the way she felt. “You’re the one who deserves the thanks. I went to that airport having no idea how I would get home. If it wasn’t for you, I’d probably still be in Gotham somewhere, riding out a hurricane.” “Well I couldn’t have escaped without your credit card and your crash course in manual transmissions. No pun intended.” She heard him huff a laugh. “So really I should be thanking you.” “I guess we made a pretty good team.” She smiled into the dark. “Yeah, I guess so.” “Good night, Felicity.” “Night.” Far off in the distance, the mournful shriek of the train whistle announced their arrival at another crossing. ————————————————————————————————– Oliver Queen sat at his desk and stared out the window at the building across the street. The woman who had the office opposite him kept a variety of plants in the window and was giving them their daily drink of water. “Oliver? Your mother would like to see you.” “Okay. Thanks.” He ran a hand through his hair and grabbed his suit jacket. It was only four floors; he took the stairs. It had been exactly one week since he had parted from Felicity at the Starling City train station with a handshake. A handshake, for God’s sake, when what he’d really wanted to do was kiss her. He’d wanted to kiss her for days by that point, but at the last second he was afraid of ruining the bond they’d begun to form the second she demanded he teach her how to drive a stick. The memory made him shake his head as he flipped a wave to his mother’s EA and pushed through the glass door into her office. “Oliver, I want you to sit in on the interview I have in a few minutes.” “Okay. Any particular reason?” Moira Queen rolled her eyes without actually changing expression. It was one of her superpowers. “You’ve asked for more responsibility, so I’m giving it to you. I want your input on this potential new hire.” She passed him on her way out the door he was holding open. “Research and Development doesn’t really have an opening at the moment, but this person comes with a rather special referral letter.” “From who?” She glanced back at her son with a knowing smile. “Bruce Wayne.” Oliver groaned. The head of HR and a representative from R&D were already seated at the conference table when they took their seats. Oliver smoothed his tie, only half listening as his mother exchanged pleasantries. “Here we go again, eh?” the HR VP was saying. Moira pretended to fix her perfect hairdo. “Well it can’t be any worse than last time. I never did figure out what she was trying to say about my shoes. I assume it was an attempt at a compliment, though who could tell?” They both chuckled. “If what you’ve said about this idea of hers is legitimate,” the R&D rep put in, “I don’t care how awkward she is. A bio stimulant implant to reverse paralysis? That could be a game changer.” Oliver became very focused on the conversation going on around him. He sat forward and loosened his tie, suddenly warm. “But she has no experience,” his mother was saying. “Can we be sure the work is even hers?” “Mom…” “Exactly my point. Her resume says she currently works at…Tech Village.” “Mom, I…” Moira gestured through the glass at her EA, the signal to send in their victim. Oliver stood up. “Mom, I need to speak to you. Now.” She frowned at him. “Oliver, what—“ “Outside. Please.” She sighed elegantly and rose to follow him out into the hall opposite the one occupied by the EA. Damn Queen Consolidated’s glass offices; Oliver grabbed his mother’s elbow and gently steered her further away from the fishbowl of a conference room. “What is it, Oliver? I have a lot of appointments today—“ “Mom, the person you’re about to interview. I know it didn’t go well the last time, but I’m telling you, she’s the real deal. Felicity’s brilliant, and she learns so fast it’ll make your head spin. She has amazing ideas, and she’s funny, and kind, and you have to give her a second chance. You won’t regret it, I promise.” Moira searched her son’s face, confused. “Oliver, you know this young woman?” “Yes. She deserves this chance. Please.” She studied him a moment longer. “I’ll…I’ll keep your recommendation in mind. But right now we’re keeping her waiting.” He squeezed her elbow when she tried to turn away. “Mom, I—I can’t be in the interview.” She raised an eyebrow and waited. “It would be a conflict of interest.” “Oh, Oliver.” She sighed and gave him the look she usually reserved for Robert Queen. “No, it’s not like that. She’s a friend. I traveled cross country with her last week to get away from that hurricane. She learned to drive a stick in under ten minutes in an airport parking lot and then drove us twelve hours to Tommy’s, and…” He sighed. “I can’t.” Moira extracted her arm gently from his grip and smoothed a hand over his sleeve. “Alright, sweetheart. I’ll let you know how it goes.” “Thanks. And mom?” She turned to look over her shoulder and Oliver gave her a brief grin. “Be nice.” ————————————————————————————————– ONE YEAR LATER “Here ya go. I got you the big bottle, just in case.” “Ungh. Thanks.” Felicity fiddled with the cap ineffectually until he grabbed it back and opened it for her. Oliver watched her take a swig before popping a pill. She chased it with more water and wiped her mouth. She was sweating; actual beads of sweat were forming on her forehead. He laid the back of his hand there to check for fever. “I’m okay. I’ll be okay. This is fine. I’m fine.” “You don’t look fine, Felicity. Is this—“ “Normal?” She swiped the back of her hand across her mouth again. “Unfortunately, yes.” A flight attendant passed them with an eye out for seatbelt violators and Felicity handed him back the water bottle so she could check hers for the fifteenth time. “How come you never told me you were afraid to fly?” Oliver prodded gently, still stunned by what he’d witnessed over the previous twenty minutes. “Six months ago, when I insisted we drive seventeen hours to Las Vegas to visit my mother, I thought that would be a clue.” “I figured you just wanted a road trip.” She shook her head quickly and moaned as the plane shifted back from the gate. “Nope.” She closed the shade over her window quickly. “You’re sure there isn’t a train we could take this time?” That surprised a laugh out of him. “There is, in fact, no train that will get us all the way to Hawaii, Felicity.” Oliver clicked his tongue in sympathy and took her hand. “I wish you’d said something, honey. We could’ve picked somewhere closer for a honeymoon.” “No way. I’ve always wanted to go to Hawaii. This will be fun. As soon as the pills kick in.” Oliver was still trying to process. “The day we met. At the airport. You…you’d flown out from Starling and were trying to get back…” Felicity smiled for the first time in hours, though it was strained. “The pills work, I’m telling you.” “And until then?” “Until then…oh God.” The plane began accelerating toward take off. “Felicity, look at me.” He waited until she opened her eyes. “It’s going to be fine. I love you.” And then he leaned toward her and captured her lips with his own. She melted against him as the world dropped away.

[jjba-arni-reblog]

Control

Alright, so this is inspired by a galaxy brain post of an amazing artist @metallicoxide

PLEASE let me know whatcha think. It was interesting to write for my favourite characters. ;-;

Summary: Pre-Vento Aureo events, Fugo just got his stand after Bruno saved him. However, learning about the newly acquired stand, Diavolo became interested in helping Fugo control it. Story follows chronological situations occurred within the unspecified period of time. 

+ Diavolo’s POV as well as his thoughts about the new member and his internal struggle to choose which gang group Fugo should be sent to.

Some of the elements might be changed to fit the story. Also I wrote 'costume' instead of a 'suit' idk why, Russian logic/ 

Words: 2.7K 

As the warm night surrounded Italy, a small light could be seen in a secluded mansion situated in the middle of nowhere.

Small lamp was the only source of light for the man currently organizing newly arrived documents and multiple reports. Everything needs to be read and checked over to ensure that everything is stable in the mafia word.

Diavolo eased his tie, sighing at stack of documents before him, his dark costume covering his tattooed body, exhausted after multiple hours of sitting and checking the reports. He let himself stretch a little, feeling his body suffer under the stress. But there was no time to waste. Diavolo grabbed another document, his eyes widening slightly.

‘New report from Bruno Buccellati’ the man thought to himself, looking at a lengthy document. He didn’t remember sending the man on a mission personally and as far as Diavolo knew, the business was calm and stable.

As these thoughts ran through his mind, Diavolo opened the document, noticing the usual gentle and tidy handwriting.

‘New member?’ his eyes widened a little. While in general there isn’t usually a necessity to introduce the new member directly, sometimes their newly gained powers require further investigating and analysis.

Stand user: Pannacotta Fugo

Stand name: Purple Haze.

Close-range stand. Contains a particularly deadly, flesh-eating virus in each of the three bulbs on each of its hands.

Anything that enters its range is infected, and an adult human being will melt into organic goo within 30 seconds

 ‘Interesting,’ Diavolo said to himself, continuing to read the file ‘this seems like one of the strongest stands I have ever read about, one could only imagine how powerful it is in action.’

Indiscriminately attacks friends and foes therefore making it almost uncontrollable in certain cases. The stand requires a lot of concentration and mental control.

‘This is new,’ Diavolo eyes scanned the words as if to confirm that he is reading it correctly. Checking the age of the new member, he couldn’t help but to feel just the tiniest tug in his heart.

‘Such stand…at a such young age. Stands should reflect one’s soul, personality’ anxious thoughts ran through his mind.

Diavolo felt the urge to meet the boy, to see his stand.

And maybe to help.

So, who are you, Pannacotta Fugo?

~~~

Diavolo became arranging the meeting the next morning, informing his most trusted man so those could deliver the precious information.

He wasn’t going to reveal himself, of course. Instead, it was decided that he would pretend to be a member of one of the other gangs, acting as a teacher who was going to analyse Fugo’s stand. No direct contact with the younger man.

Fugo was give the instructions to arrive to an abandoned building, yet he knew better than to trust it. Instead, after finding the right small opening, Pannacotta found himself in some sort of a secret base, training grounds if one might say so. It was a fully functioning hidden base with the variety of rooms.

Finding the right door, Pannacotta ended the big room, devoid of everything. Instead the only other noticeable thing in said room was a wide dark glass-window. No matter how hard Fugo tried to look past it, he saw no one, the glass completely sheltered whoever was there. If there was anyone, of course.

Fugo decided to be straight-forward, not finding the place pleasant, so he spoke out.

“Why am I being summoned here? Is this another mission that I am unaware of?” the young man spoke to no one yet hoping that someone was watching him, he needed answers.

“Pannacotta Fugo,” deep voice answered, filling the big room “it is not a mission,” the voice explained.

“Then why am I here?” Fugo asked, confused.

“To test the abilities of your stand” hearing the explanation made Fugo stiff a little. This was the last thing he wanted to do. To see his stand…

“Do not be afraid” Diavolo spoke as if feeling the worry in the younger man “think of me as your teacher today, your guide. My wish is to help you control your powers. Now, tell me about your stand,” he continued.

As the teenager stood in the empty room, Diavolo looked careful at Pannacotta. The boss sat just behind the large glass, sheltered from anyone’s eyes. His costume complimenting man’s muscular body, Diavolo help the document in his hand while the half-smoked cigarette was in another one. He sincerely hoped that Fugo would cooperate, it was a valuable stand after all.

“It is the manifestation of my worst side,” the teenager answered, a small annoyed growl leaving his lips.

“Even if so, it is your strongest side,” Diavolo argued, carefully eyeing Fugo through the window, noticing the growing anger in younger man’s features.

“It does more harm than good, I cannot even let out it normally,” Fugo continued “It’s uncontrollable and deadly to my possible gang members,” a note of sadness appeared in his snaky voice. Diavolo noticed it right away, noting that despite the man thinking of himself this low, the teenager was quite worried about the people around him.

“You will have to learn to control it,” the long-haired man stated, taking another drag of his cigarette, eyeing the document.

“I..I don’t think I can,” Fugo half-mumbled yet his statement could be perfectly heard in the quiet room “what if I will hurt someone… I wouldn’t bear the pain of hurting Buccellati.”

Oh, the one and only

Diavolo smirked a little. It wasn’t the first time he had heard such positive opinions regarding the mentioned man. Even though he wasn’t in the gang for too long, the dark-haired man quickly gained quite the popularity, known for his gentle and caring nature – as the report on Bruno Buccellati stated.

“You won’t,” Diavolo’s deep voice cut through the room, making the younger man’s eyes widen a little at the strong statement “you will learn to control it,” the voice continued “and I am here to help you.”

Seeing Pannacotta freeze for a moment, Diavolo thought that he perhaps said too much.

“Thank you,” Fugo’s soft voice answered, unsure of what to expect from the mysterious voice talking to him. He glanced at the dark glass, not trying to see the person behind it but to show that he was indeed, thankful.

“The pleasure is all mine” Diavolo answered, the tiniest of smiles present on his face. They were now almost looking at each other, if one might call it so.

Pannacotta Fugo is indeed, an interesting new member

He then continued.

“This man, Bruno Buccelatti, does he take good care of you?”  Fugo was taken back by the unexpected question, yet quickly reassuring himself that the gang must be just checking on his leader.

“Yes”

“Good, we expect only the best from the people in the organization,” Diavolo concluded, his posture easing up just a little.

“Can I ask you something?” Fugo said, unsure if he would get an answer back.

“Try it” the hidden boss chuckled a little.

“Will you reveal yourself to me…sir?” Fugo asked, uncertain of how to refer to the person talking to him.

“Sir is just fine. Regarding my presence, I afraid not but I need you to trust me,” his serious voice carried through the room “It is not a trap of any sorts. No one else is here except for us, so there won’t be a possibility of anyone being hurt,” a small notion of reassurance was present in Diavolo’s voice. He needed to make Fugo feel comfortable around him.

~~~

‘What a fine work, a murder full of pain and anger’ Diavolo thought to himself, noting the precise, merciless actions of the teenager. Yet something was off. Something was unsaid. Not documented.

‘Pannacota Fugo doesn’t seem like a person to just lash out like that. He might have issues, but he is definitely not stupid, far from that’ the boss concluded, turning towards the table.

What was it about the teacher that set him off?

Diavolo looked over the neatly arranged documents that were delivered to him just a day ago. Those didn’t contain any general information, instead he made sure to dig up everything on the teacher and the incident. Something was wrong. Pannacotta Fugo wouldn’t have killed to man just for the sake of it nor would he snap this easily.

Great father. People’s opinions are always biased.

A long history of teaching. Yet he drove the younger man to a such state…what did he do?

Excellent research works. Nothing interesting.

Fascination with young boys.

 Finally. A true reason for the merciless actions of Pannacota Fugo.

What a shame. Diavolo crumbled the paper, throwing it away, just where the trash belongs.

Another scum of the Earth

He should be thankful he met Fugo before the teenager acquired his stand

 ~~~

“Show me your stand, Pannacota Fugo,” Diavolo half-commanded yet without the anger in his voice.

“It’s dangerous and I might hurt you”

“I am not directly there, am I?” Diavolo argued a little

“I suppose so but…” Fugo fidgeted with his hands, anxiety filling his thoughts. What if…

Yet before he could continue, the voice cut him off

“I am not here to mock you,” came the reassuring tone “let your stand out. I will be here if something were to happen.”

And so Fugo did.

Purple Haze manifested, confused at its own appearance. It was rare that his stand user let him out. Almost never.

Fugo felt himself getting worried as the stand started to walk confused, mumble something to itself and growling. As if feeling the teenager getting anxious, Diavolo spoke out.

“Keep calm, there is no one here to be hurt,” the boss reminded Fugo “try concentrating on your stand and its position, abilities. Don’t let it control you, Pannacota Fugo” his voice spoke through the room.

Purple Haze started to lay punches on the wall, half-screaming half-whining confusedly.

“It’s uncontrollable” Fugo was eager to make his stand disappear. He wanted to turn away, to not see this monster. To not see himself.

“Don’t let him overwhelm you, control your breathing, Pannacota Fugo. Contrate on stopping him, make him think rationally, make him behave,” Diavolo stood up behind the dark window, eyeing the two figures. He let his voice carry Fugo through the experience, easing the teenager. His generous hints at how to maintain calm made Fugo visibly less stiff. He fially started to concentrate.

After some time, the stands pushes became slower, his breathing slowing down as Fugo tried his best to control Purple Haze.

Eventually, the stand stopped punching, instead it simple stood, eyeing the room, not quite sure what to do.

That is, until it saw its own drool falling on his hands, making Purple Haze anxious over the now dirty hands. It was

“What a spectacular stand,” Diavolo commented.

“No, I don’t believe it is,” Fugo sighed, looking annoyingly at his stand. Why did it have to show its other side to Fugo’ teacher? Having the stand worry over its hygiene was not what Fugo wanted to present to the man behind the glass

“Whatever you believe, it is still a reflect of your soul. And even if it is uncontrollable at the moment, you will learn to communicate with it. And I believe you have the ability to do so,” Diavolo explained.

Fugo smiled for the first time since gaining his stand.

~~~

Another day, another training.

Fugo felt himself getting angry. What if there won’t be any results? The stand still didn’t fully listen to him, often aggressively denied the commands of its stand user.

“When? When will I even achieve in controlling him? I don’t want to accidentally kill anyone. Maybe it was a bad idea, maybe I am still as useless as…” he was cut off.

“Look back, Fugo” the voice ordered. What Fugo couldn’t see was the small smirk on his teacher’s face.

Fugo turned around.

Purple Haze stood, completely calm, devoid of the uncontrollable anger. Breathing even, movements calculated.

“You did it, congratulations,” the silky voice said.

“I…” Fugo was lost for words, looking back at the glass.

“I am proud of you, Pannacota Fugo.”

“I don’t know what to say” Fugo was looking at the ground, slightly flustered over the generous comment. People weren’t to eager to say nice words to him…

“There is nothing to say, lift your head high and move forward,” Diavolo answered, a small smile present on his face.

~~~

“Do you have any questions for me? In regards of your stand perhaps?” Diavolo asked one day, getting comfortable behind the large dark window. Fugo was sitting on the chair, now a little bit closer to the glass as the comfortable atmosphere filled the room. It was unusual for the two of them to not live in a constant state of anxiety

“Can I ask about my missions?” Fugo asked.

“Go ahead”

“What do I do after defeating the enemy?”

“Well, you don’t have to get rid of the body if your stand will do its work but if something, you will have contacts for the right people to call,” the boss explained “sometimes you will have to hide the body before anyone can see.”

Fugo simply noted, taking in the explanation. Diavolo then continued

“If controlled, your stand could be user for interrogation or even torture” he commented, seeing the younger man’s eyes widen slightly.

“Torture? What is there for me to do if my stand will do all the work?” Fugo raised his eyebrow. There won’t be anything left of an enemy if he was to truly unleash Purple Haze

“You decide for yourself. Laugh, mock the enemy, dance for all we know” Diavolo smirked a little as the teenager raised his eyebrow at the last part. He then continued in a more serious tone “you need to maintain control over your stand, that is your main priority.”

“I will” for once, Fugo’s voice was filled with certainty and Diavolo couldn’t help but to feel proud.

~~~

He is learning and improving with each our meeting. Fugo is becoming stronger…

Yet I don’t want to risk it

All this tremendous work we did can be wiped out if the wrong gang group would be chosen.

La Squadra

A rather infamous gang, usually dealing with the lowest tasks such as assassination, torture and obtaining information. Looking at the squad members...

La Squadra….it might fit him. Their stand variety is quite impressive. And together with newly manifested power of Pannacotta Fugo, multiple combination could be made to improve the work of the gang.

Illuso could trap a person withing his mirror world and will be left to do if for Fugo to let out his stand. It sounds almost too good,

Risotto is a compelling leader, so that anger could be controlled within the group. He is stoic and confident in his abilities. And the gang already has a person with anger issues…

Pesci could easily bring the enemy into Purple haze’s deadly area.

Prosciutto, painful yet quick death, old people are too easy to take out. A perfect trap.

Formaggio, make the enemy smaller, making the area of the virus appear even wider for the enemy.

All the ideas made Diavolo smile a little as he combined the stands’ abilities. Pannacotta Fugo could be useful. He could become stronger, more aware of his own stand. He could be so much more.

~~~

Yet a small voice told him that it won’t work. Pannacotta Fugo is a strong user, but he is definitely not merciless. He might follow the orders but deep inside he will have to fight himself in order to succeed. La Squadra isn’t the place for him. He still needs to grow, he needs someone…

Eyeing the same report that arrived to his mansion the first time he heard about the younger man, Diavolo glanced over the document once again…

Bruno Buccellati

‘He seemed to have taken a liking to Fugo. He was even considering taking the younger man into his gang…well, a first member to his gang’ Diavolo smirked a little, a new small gang. How cute.

Maybe I should give them a chance.

As Diavolo thought about his decision, he couldn’t help but to compare those two.

They seem alike, having to kill at a such young age…

‘Interesting pair to say the least’ the boss concluded, realizing that he already made the decision.

A deep sigh left his lift as Diavolo signed the document. A new gang will be formed. Consisting of two people at the moment.

Maybe for now, I’ll let you decide your own fate.

With a heavy heart, I’ll have to say goodbye.

Until we meet again.

Pannacotta Fugo

[ghostgothgeek]

Hurt.

Merry Christmas Pham! Here is some much needed Sam and Tucker friendship bonding! This is kind of meant to set the tone before Doctor’s Disorders and explain why Sam knows Tucker doesn’t like doctors or hospitals and Danny doesn’t. Hope you enjoy!

Standard disclaimers. Also posted on my AO3 and FFN accounts. Rated T for swearing. 

--

“SAM!” Danny and Tucker cried, Tucker from across the street and Danny approximately 75 feet in the air. 

“Motherfucker,” Sam muttered to herself and gently poked at her right ankle. It was already swelling up and was probably turning red underneath her tights. She rolled her ankle around a bit. It wasn’t broken, but it definitely hurt. “I’m fine!” she called back to her friends, shooting the ghost that had just attacked her, the same one Danny was battling in the sky, with her wrist ray to prove her point. 

Tucker ran over to her, trying to assess the situation. “Are you okay?” He held a hand out to help her from the ground. She grabbed it and hissed when she stood fully, quickly grabbing onto Tucker’s shoulder and letting her right foot hang above the ground. 

“Shit..the ONE TIME I wear sneakers instead of my boots…” Danny and Tucker had insisted that if she wore sneakers to fight instead of her clunky boots, her fighting would be more efficient. Why had she listened to them again? She gets almost as many ghosts as Danny and her boots at least provided ankle support...

Tucker grinned, “It seemed like a good idea at the time. But seriously, are you okay?” 

“Ugh, I don’t know. I didn’t break anything, but I can’t walk, let alone stand.” She glanced up at Danny, who was shooting an ectoblast at his opponent. “I think you should take me to the hospital to get-”

“Nope.”

“Tucker, I’m serious.”

“So am I! You’re fine! You can just lean on me or have Danny fly you home when he’s done. No big deal. No doctor, no hospital.” He shook his head frantically and wrapped Sam’s arm around his shoulder, her arm wrapping around his torso shortly thereafter. She glanced down at her swollen ankle.

“Tucker, this hurts really bad. And you know I’m not one to complain.” 

Tucker shot her a look. “What about the time you complained about dissecting real frogs in biology? Or the time you complained about those really cool monster trucks? Or when you complained about beauty pageants and then joined in anyway? Or any of the times you complained about Paulina? Oh! And what about that one time wh-” 

“Alright, alright, I get it. Well, I’m not one to complain about pain, anyway. But seriously, can you help me get to the hospital?” 

“Do I have to?” Tucker groaned. 

“Yes! What’s the big deal?” Tucker muttered something under his breath that she couldn’t quite make out. “What?” 

“I don’t like hospitals.” 

“Yeah, and I don’t like the possibility of never walking again. Tucker, please.” 

He sighed. Sam didn’t say 'please’ very often. “Alright, alright. I’m doing this because you’re my best friend and I love you, okay? But I’m leaving right after I drop you off.” Sam rolled her eyes but complied. They both glanced back up at Danny, who was still mid-battle but holding his own. “He can catch up with us later.” 

Tucker had gotten Sam into the emergency room, where she sat filling out some paperwork. He turned around to book it out of there when Sam stopped him by grabbing his wrist. “Tuck, can you please stay?” Her face was full of conflicting emotions. She hated asking for help, yet here she was sacrificing her pride and reputation of being an independent woman because she was scared.

He glanced around the room and made a face before his eyes settled on her pleading lavender ones. He had never seen her so vulnerable before. He sighed and sat down next to her. “Thanks,” there was a moment of silence before she continued, “so while we wait, how about you tell me why you don’t like hospitals.” She gently grabbed his hand closest to hers, which was gripping the arms of his chair tightly. He groaned internally; he very well knew that she would pester him until he gave her a straight answer. You could never bullshit Sam. Plus, she had already shown vulnerability to him today. He could at least return the favor.

“Well…I guess it started when I was 6. I had gotten hurt on the playground, so my mom took me to the hospital. A woodchip kinda stabbed me in the hand when some kid pushed me over. They had to remove it for me, and then they stapled the wound shut.” 

“Ah, that’s why you have that scar on your hand.” Sam nodded towards it. He flipped his hand over where the scar in the middle of his palm was clearly visible. 

“Yeah, it was terrible. Who uses staples on a kid? Anyway, they kept stabbing me with needles to take all these tests and stuff. I don’t like needles.” He visibly shuddered. “Then when I was 9, I had to go to a hospital again when my grandpa was sick. I didn’t really understand what was going on, but my dad had left me in the room with him while he called my mom, and I was all alone and long story short he just died right in front of me. That was pretty traumatizing.” 

“I’m so sorry.” She said genuinely. Perhaps it was because she was so close to her grandmother that the statement hit her hard. She squeezed his hand.

“Another time back in middle school, I went to the nurse’s office because I scraped my knee in gym class and needed a bandaid, and while I was waiting for her to grab one, Gabriel Morris puked all over my shoes.” Tucker’s face scrunched up in disgust as he recalled the bad memory. “And then it’s just everything in general. There’s the weird smell and everything is white and they just stab you with needles and there’s people in the building dying right now and it’s all so gross and terrifying. I can’t even look at a hospital when I pass by one. I avoid doctors at all costs.”

Sam squeezed his hand again. “Well, I really appreciate you being here for me right now. I know it’s going to take awhile, and I need company or I’ll go insane.” She smiled at him. She had always been close with Tucker, and though they had conflicting interests on occasion, they had their handful of moments like these.

Tucker returned a small smile and breathed out a small laugh. “Look, I’m not even the one who is in pain and you’re comforting me.” 

Sam laughed, “Hey, we all have our shit, you know.” She glanced at his phone on his lap when it lit up, signaling a text from Danny. 

Tucker unlocked his phone and read the message before shoving it in his pocket. “Danny’s putting the ghost back into the Ghost Zone right now and then he’s going to swing by Frostbite to ask a few questions. He’s going to be a while.” Sam nodded in response. 

“No problem, I have the mighty fine Tucker to help me through this crisis.”

“It’s Too Fine, actually.” He frowned.

“My mistake.” She smiled, turning her gaze from him as the nurse called her name. Tucker pushed her in a wheelchair to a small room with all sorts of wires and things that could poke somebody. He gulped. Sam could sense his wariness, and looked to the young, attractive nurse, who was questioning Sam about what happened. “Oh, I took kind of a hard fall. This here is my best friend Tucker, he’s been getting me through all this. He’s super brave and practically carried me over here. He’s my support system today.” 

Tucker blushed at the praise and stared down at his shoes. The nurse gave him a reassuring smile and held her hand out for him to shake. “I’m Claire, I’ll be taking care of your friend today. Did you see what happened?” 

He looked up at the blonde, whose smile widened when his eyes met hers. He shook her hand. “U-uh, yeah…” Tucker paused as he formulated a response. “We were just walking home from school and this ghost just blasted her out of nowhere, it was pretty freaky. Sam here kinda tripped backwards and fell in a weird way. I am always telling her she should wear boots or something with more ankle support, clumsy little thing.”

Sam tilted her head back and glared up at him. Tucker just shrugged and grinned, letting her know he was just teasing. Sam was just glad his attention seemed to be diverted from the room he was currently in. 

“Oh, you’re very brave for getting her here in the middle of a ghost attack. Let’s take a look at your ankle.” Sam cringed as the nurse took her shoe off and started touching her ankle. “Yes, this definitely needs some attention. I’ll get the doctor to see you shortly and will take you up for x-rays in a few minutes if need be. In the meantime, how about you take those tights off so we can get a better look. I’ll be back in a few.” The nurse softly closed the door behind her as Sam stood on one foot and started pulling her purple tights off. 

“Woah! Hey! I’m still here!” Tucker yelled, covering his eyes with his hands. 

Sam laughed, “Tucker, chill. I’m not naked or anything.” She wrapped her arm around him for support as she put her weight on him and tugged her tights off her good ankle. She sat on the hospital bed and looked at Tucker, who was peeking through his fingers. “I do need your help though. Help me get these off, but be gentle.” Sam pointed to her tights remaining on her other leg. Tucker nodded and carefully pulled her tights completely off.

“You know, I always dreamt of undressing a girl, but you’re not exactly who I had in mind. No offense.” Tucker’s remark earned a chuckle from Sam.

“None taken.” She sat back on the hospital bed and watched him glance around the room nervously. “You don’t have to worry, you know. I’m the patient, not you. And I don’t plan on dying any time soon.” 

“Are you nauseous?” Tucker raised an eyebrow and sat in the wheelchair.

“Tucker, if I was going to hurl all over you, I would at least have the common decency to tell you first.” She sighed when her comment didn’t make him any less anxious. “Thanks for staying with me for this. If my parents were in town, they would be driving me and the doctors insane. You’re a great friend. I know it isn’t said enough.” 

Tucker looked at her bashfully, unsure of how to respond. “I uh...thanks? Or you’re welcome?” 

Sam chuckled, “I’m not sure what the appropriate response is either. Hey, pull up the movie trailer for Trinity of Doom again! The sound is way better on your phone.” She smiled when she saw how proud he was of his technology as he pulled it up. 

Several minutes and a debate over which monster is scarier later, there was a brief knock on the door before the doctor walked in. “So, Samantha-” he started.

“Sam.” Tucker and Sam corrected him at the same time. 

“Let me check out your injury.” The doctor set his clipboard down on the counter and bent down to inspect Sam’s ankle. She winced when he started moving it and held Tucker, who looked ready to pounce on the doctor, back as he stood next to her protectively. 

The doctor paused and pursed his lips at the other miscellaneous scrapes and bruises that coated her legs, some looking more healed and some looking fresh. “Samantha, are you sure this has only been a one time occurance? We can talk in private if your boyfriend wants to wait outside.” 

Sam looked at him confused, ignoring his use of her full name. “I don’t understand.” 

“You seem to have more injuries than just a sprained ankle, and they appear to have occurred over different periods of time. Domestic violence is unfortunately pretty common, even amongst teena-”

“Excuse me?!” Sam interrupted.

“We can talk in private if that makes you more comforta-”

“First of all, Tucker is not my boyfriend. Second, minor bruises and cuts hardly count as injuries. Third, what makes you think he would be abusive towards me when he has shown absolutely ZERO signs of being my boyfriend, let alone an abuser?” 

“Well, I mean, he’s, you know, you never know and typically perpetrators are-”

“Black?” Tucker spat angrily. 

“That’s not exactly what I was...I’m just saying that-” The doctor stumbled over his words, clearly embarrassed and trying to avoid a lawsuit.

Tucker opened his mouth to speak again, but Sam beat him to it. “That is so unprofessional and honestly just plain stupid of you to say. I can’t believe someone who is supposed to be smart enough to get through med school and someone who took the hippocratic oath and has to treat a diversity of patients would be so ignorant to racially profile someone and suggest he’s abusive because of the color of his skin. You damn well know that the cuts and bruises I have are as minor as playground injuries, but no, why would a white girl come in here with a black boy if she wasn’t being somehow manipulated into staying in an abusive relationship? I’ll have you know that Tucker is one of the sweetest people I know and he is a person of incredible character, which is something you, an adult and a supposed professional, are not. Now I suggest you think before you speak next and apologize to my friend here right now or I will have a massive Manson family lawsuit hit you and this hospital so hard your ancestors will be feeling it.”

Tucker’s jaw dropped slightly and his eyes were wide, though he shouldn’t have been too surprised that she would scold an adult like that. 

The doctor looked at the girl, who was lighting panting from how much effort she had put into her rant, in shock. He was honestly a little terrified of how much anger she had in her eyes. He looked over at the boy who now held a stoic expression. “M-my deepest apologies, sir.” He didn’t think he could form any other intelligible sentences. 

“Awesome. Now go get me a new doctor to wrap my damn ankle so we can get out of here,” Sam said sternly. The doctor simply nodded, clearly still stupefied, and scrambled out of the room. “The fucking nerve of that guy,” she started again, clearly still furious. She looked back at her friend to see how he was handling the situation. 

He didn’t even need to thank her, gratitude and pride were written all over his face. She shot him a small smile and held her arms out for a hug, which he quickly accepted. “Thanks, Sam.” He leaned over and kissed the top of her head. 

“Any time.” She smiled and pulled back, taking a deep breath as the energy in the room began to settle. Tucker sat down next to her and stared at his shoes for a few moments before glancing around the room and becoming anxious again. Sam quickly whipped out her phone. “Hey did you see this video of a hedgehog taking a bath?” She gave him a comforting smile.

“No, I didn’t.” He smiled back gratefully.

After a new doctor had come in to wrap Sam’s ankle, apologizing profusely to the teens, the nurse from earlier had returned and handed Tucker Sam’s discharge papers. “I left my personal phone number on there in case you have any questions about your friend’s treatment.” Tucker swore she winked at him before helping Sam stand up on her crutches. He only nodded in response and helped Sam out of the hospital, where a cab was already waiting to take them back to Sam’s place. 

“So, Game of Thrones marathon until Danny gets back?” Sam smiled, texting Danny to let her know she was alright and they were heading home. 

“Hell yeah!” 

When they arrived back at Sam’s house, Tucker helped her up the front steps and watched her make her way into the kitchen to pull snacks out. “I’ll order some pizzas, you carry this downstairs and get comfy.” 

Tucker nodded and did as she asked after she insisted she was fine and could manage her way downstairs by herself, especially because her house had an elevator to help her grandma get around. He sat down in his favorite spot in her theater and settled in, feeling incredibly grateful for his best friend and her safety. 

Sam arrived shortly thereafter and pulled up the episode that would continue her and Tucker’s binge. Game of Thrones was dark enough for Sam’s enjoyment, action-packed enough to keep Tucker entertained without his PDA, and nerdy enough for the both of them. Danny never understood the hype. Game of Thrones was something Sam and Tucker shared, the tradition starting up one afternoon when they were waiting on Danny to get out of detention. 

Later, Danny landed in Sam’s basement, glancing at all the junk food scattered across the couch between his friends. “Are you okay Sam?” 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just have to wear this stupid boot for a week. Fortunately it’s not too much bigger than my combat boots, so really what’s the difference.” She smiled.

“Yeah, Sam’s okay, but the doctor isn’t.” Tucker laughed.

“What?” Danny grabbed a soda and sat in the open seat. 

“Sam threatened a doctor today,” Tucker stated proudly. 

“What?!” 

“It’s no big deal,” Sam dismissed it with a flick of her hand. 

“It was a big deal, Danny! She even dropped the Manson name and threatened a lawsuit! It was awesome!” Tucker said excitedly. 

“It was nothing,” Sam said sheepishly. “Tucker got a hot nurse’s number!” 

“Not really, she was just being nice.”

“Oh please! She was totally into you, and you were just radiating that ‘Too Fine’ charm!”

Danny drowned out their conversation and looked back and forth between his friends flabbergasted. He wasn’t even sure which out of character aspect of his two friends he should respond to first. Before he could even gather his thoughts, the two were already sucked back into their show. 

“How awesome is that dragon?!” 

“It’s incredible! The CGI they do is amazing!”

Danny frowned, feeling extremely excluded. Sam and Tucker were friends of course, but these moments where they were more than getting along were few and far between. “Hey guys, I fought a real dragon remember?” They ignored him. “A ghost dragon? A ghost dragon that Sam turned into? That was more awesome, right?!” 

“Uh huh.” 

“Sure, whatever.” 

“The same dragon I fought today?!” No response. 

Danny huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. He wasn’t leaving the two of them alone ever again.

[breathinginthevapor]

“Maybe we should just marry each other”

Summary: Your friends are getting married, and you're still stuck being in love with the one guy you'll never get a chance with: your best friend Calum Hood.  

A/N: This is fluff so pure it could've been written by a kitten and I am usually SO bad at writing fluff. It might have something to do with it being like one year old because I thought my PC deleted it but I found it alongside many other pieces, (including the beginning of In Another Life) and I actually really like it. Please leave feedback, it would mean a great deal to me! (and can we just talk about how I wrote about Mike and Crys getting engaged a fucking year before it happened?)

Masterlist

I don’t own the picture, it’s from Calum’s instagram.

He’s sitting in the sunlight, a baby blue button-up complimenting his tan skin and his brown eyes almost golden, reflecting the rays of the sun. His face lights up in big grin and your heart swells at the sight. How can he be so beautiful?  

“You’re drooling, sweetie.” You turn around at the sound of Crystals voice, her worried eyes meeting yours. You can feel your cheeks heating up and curse yourself for being so obvious.  

“I am not!” you object when you’ve gotten yourself together. She shoots you a small apologetic smile.  

“You are. And I don’t blame you Y/N, I just don’t want to see you getting hurt.” She pulls you into a tight hug, calming you down and you telepathically thank Michael for bringing her into your life. She always looks out for you and knows what you need, and you are internally grateful for the way she has your back.  

“I know. Thank you for being here for me, Crys, but I can take care of myself. I promise.” Crystal nods and smiles again before pushing you in the direction of your best friends.  

“Of course you can sweetie. Go enjoy yourself now, you’re only young once, you know!” you laugh at her last words and wink at her before making your way to the boys. They’re all dressed a little more formal than usual but still with the little twist that lets their personalities shine through. It’s a wonder how the boys you grew up with and watched go through awkward emo phases developed such a great fashion sense.  

“Hey Y/N,” Ashton says and shoots you a big smile. The four boys are sitting in the grass with beers in their hands and comfortable facial expressions. It’s not often they have time for things like these so when they finally do, they make sure to enjoy it to the fullest.  

“Hi guys,” you great them before sitting down beside Calum in the grass. He looks at you smiling, and your pulse slows down. No matter what, Calum’s presence always makes you calm.  

“How is Crys handling the grill?” Michael asks worriedly, clearly not trusting his fiancée 100% with the cooking. You laugh, assuring him she’s doing fine. “I think I’m gonna go check up on her either way,” he says, standing up. “And Y/N, don’t think I’ve forgotten about the Just Dance duel you’ve promised me. I’m gonna win that shit.” All of you laugh and Michael smiles wryly.  

“Not a chance, Clifford.” He shows you the middle finger and winks at you before going to greet his fiancé. He embraces her and kisses her hair, and your purple-haired friend smiles so bright you’re sure she outshines the sun. The love they share is both hypnotizingly and painfully beautiful because while you’re so insanely happy for them, you’re also so jealous it hurts. They have exactly what you long for with your entire being while the odds for you getting it anytime soon seems so small it’s pathetic.  

“Isn’t it crazy? Our friends are getting fucking married. We are getting that old, guys,” Luke says, and the thought finally hits you. You’ve known these guys for the bigger part of your life and without really noticing it, you’ve gotten so old that people your age are starting their own families. And here you are, on the contrary: single, living alone in your apartment with a cat that only really likes you when you feed him, your best friends gone for most of the year and in love with a guy that’ll never reciprocate your feelings. What have you done with your life?  

You sink down a lump in your throat, praying that your eyes won’t get watery. It would be so typical you to start crying over something as stupid as this.  

“Wow, that’s just depressing. Thanks, Luke,” Ashton answers. “And I’m even older than the rest of you! I swear to fucking God, I found a grey hair this morning.” You all laugh at the exaggeration of the brown-haired boy and shake your heads in disbelief.  

“Is that a wrinkle right there?” Luke jokingly asks, causing Calum and you to laugh again.  

“Oh fuck off, Hemmings. Wanna play some ball, anyone? I’ll fall asleep if I keep sitting here talking to you idiots.” You stick your tongue out at him, and he rolls his eyes.  

“Real mature, Y/N,” Luke laughs as he stands up, joining Ashton’s proposition.  

“I’ll pass,” Calum says, and you nod, agreeing. The two others go off and starts kicking the ball around, careless expressions and big smiles on their faces. Perhaps that’s just how it is when you have a job like they have. Perhaps it’s hard to fully grow up when you don’t face the same challenges as others your age. But no matter what, you hope this immaturity will be in them forever. They wouldn’t be the real them without it, to be honest.  

You yawn, suddenly feeling a bit tired. It’s been a long, good day with your closest friends, but the stress from work has also been taking its toll on you lately, and it’s showing now. Calum looks at you and then scoots closer to you.  

“You can lay your head in my lap if you want. You might be more comfortable that way.” You smile gratefully at him before laying down in the grass with your head in his lap and his hands massaging you scalp with a gentle touch.  

“You’re not saying much today, Cal,” you point out after laying in comfortable silence for a couple of minutes. There’s nothing criticizing in your voice, there never is between you and Calum, it’s only an observation and you don’t punk him for answers but simply give him the chance to explain if he wants to.    

“Nah, I just- I’ve been thinking, ya know?” you look up at him, his eyes locking with yours. They completely capture you they like they’ve done so many times before, the brown orbs leaving you in awe.    

“About what?”  

“I dunno, I just … All this is making me afraid that I’ll end up alone while all of you are starting your own families and I’ll just be left to myself,” he says, looking away. You can sense how serious he is by the way his jaw is clenching, and all you want to do is make him feel better. You know that he’s sometimes been frustrated by the fact that all the other boys have girlfriends they can share their life with while he hasn’t, but then again he hasn’t really done anything about it even though many girls would die to be dating your rock star best friend.  

“Calum, honey, you will never be left to yourself. All of us here today will always there for you, you know that,” you assure him, gently grabbing his head and turning it towards you. “Besides, I can’t imagine I’ll find someone that’ll want to share their life with me anytime soon, or perhaps ever, either. We can be lonely together.”  

He shakes his head, not agreeing with you.  

“Of course you will. You are clever and beautiful and sweet and funny and you make the best apple pie ever. Any man would be a fool not to fall in love with you,” he argues, looking you in the eye to show you how much he means what he says.  

“You seem to be the only one who thinks so, Cal. I haven’t had a boyfriend or even gone on a third date for years,” you sigh, not telling him the real reason behind the lack of romance in your life. How could you go out with some random guy or girl when your heart is set on someone else?  

“Maybe we should just marry each other then? Buy a nice house in the suburban and get a dog and perhaps a baby one day.” You can’t decide whether he’s joking or not. His voice is trembling, although serious but there’s a smile on his lips that you don’t quite know how to interpret. But when he laughs, your heart breaks. Because everything he just described is what you so desperately want for your future and it’s all just a joke to him.  

“I- I- I think I’m gonna go help Crys and Mike,” you whisper, feeling the tears forming in your eyes and standing up as fast as possible to prevent him from seeing how affected you are. But contrary to what you had hoped for, he stands up beside you.  

“What’s wrong, Y/N? Did I overstep? I’m sorry, please don’t be mad at me,” he begs, sounding more desperate than ever. You turn your face away, trying to hide your tears but he notices, of course he does. You’ve been best friends for almost two decades, after all. He grabs your arm, gently turning you around so you face him.  

“I can’t do this, Calum, please let go of me.”  

He shakes his head. “Tell me what’s wrong and I’ll let you go.” You look him straight in the eye, one small part of you hating him for making you say what you’re gonna have to say. But the rest of you, the bigger part, just loves him with all of your heart.  

“I’m in love with you, you idiot, that’s what’s wrong,” you sigh, voice so low you pray he doesn’t hear you. But you can see it in his face that he does. “And everything you just joked with, it’s my dream, Calum. And the idea is just all fun and games to you.” His grab on you loosens, clearly so shocked by your confession that he forgets to hold on to you. But you don’t run away. After all these years, you deserve a proper rejection. Maybe then you can move on.    

"How- how long?" he asks, when he has gotten back the ability to speak.  

"Since forever, I guess." You shrug, defying the urge to look away.  

“Why didn’t you say anything?” His voice is barely a whisper, but the tension is thick as a brick and you’re sure that the others are watching you right now. They’ve all been waiting for this moment, and you know they’re all anxious to see the outcome.  

“Why should I? I’ve never had a chance, I know that. So tell me, Calum, why should I have told you? Because it sure as hell wouldn’t have made any difference!” You’ve raised your voice now, the sharp tone in your voice unfamiliar to both yourself and the Maori boy across you.    

“A difference? It would have changed everything, dammit!” he shouts, his face growing almost red with anger. “I’ve loved you my whole life and now you come and say you’ve felt the same for me? What the fuck, Y/N!”  

You are in shock. Completely. This can’t be true. You’ve spent so many years telling yourself it was hopeless while he has felt the same for you.  

“You- you’re lying,” you whisper, suddenly not having the energy to raise your voice anymore. He shakes his head, taking deep breaths as to calm himself down.  

“I’m not.” He walks closer to you, slowly like he’s afraid you’ll run away. But his eyes are back to normal and the anger is completely gone from the brown orbs. And how could you ever run away from him? He´s magnetic to you, always pulling you back if you stray too far away.  

“You promise? That you’re in love with me?”  

“I promise.”  

He puts his hand on your cheek, the rough skin from playing stringed instruments all his life caressing you. And you expect to see a different face, any sign that something’s changed but you find nothing. And then you realise it’s because he’s always been this way. Because, if he’s being honest with you (which you’re pretty sure he is, Calum has never been able to fool you with any lie) then he has always loved you. Nothing’s changed, you just haven’t realized before now that the way he carried you home when your feet hurt too much was more than just a friendly gesture, that the way his gaze lingered a little longer on you than everybody else was because he cared more for you than he dared to admit and that his “I-love-you”s wasn’t the kind you told your best friend. It was more.  

And when he kisses you, first hesitant but then, when you kiss him back with greater force, more insistently. And although it’s not fireworks, it’s some sort of release which feels much better. It’s years of emotions unwinding and freeing themselves from their cage. And when you pull away from each other, only to put your forehead against his where you can still feel his breath against your lips, you are both shaking.  

“I wish we’d been a little smarter so we could have done this every single day of our lives,” he says. You smile, silently agreeing with him and then you place your lips on his for the second time.  

“Finally!” Michael yells, and the others cheer.  

“Took you long enough, huh?” Ashton says, but neither you nor Calum listens to them. Perhaps everyone knew besides yourselves, but this is your moment, and you won’t let them interfere.  

“I'm pretty sure love you, Calum Hood.” He smiles, pulling you in a little tighter.  

“And I'm absolutely certain that I love you, Y/N. More than anything.” And when you’ve kissed one more time, you finally let go of each other and turn to your friends who are all looking at you with happy faces. Perhaps you and Calum will have your own wedding one day, but for now you just focus and Michael and Crystal’s. You’ve got all the time in the world, after all.  

[enneagramspam]

SAMANTHA BARNES

9w8

“I didn’t know what it would be like…. Caring about people. People who are alive. How wonderful and terrifying it all is. I didn’t know that my actions could have consequences because they never did before. Not since…well. I never had an effect on the world around me. And I got used to that. But that hasn’t been true for a while now…” 

Sam is introduced in The Bright Sessions as so deeply disintegrated, she appears very much like a Six- incredibly anxious, obsessed with anticipating and managing possible threats, so desperate to avoid conflicts- internal and external- that she self-isolates to the point that she rarely leaves the house and has no social relationships to speak of. As an unhealthy Nine, she struggles with asserting herself and has difficulties with change that result in an inertia that pervades every aspect of her life, despite, as Dr Bright puts it, a great desire to find “order in the chaos,” and to create lasting peace of mind for herself and her loved ones. While as the series progresses, she goes on to confront her basic fears and move in the direction of her basic desires, proceeding generally towards integration, the stressors she faces contribute to disintegrated behaviour displayed even late into the series. 

Basic Desire: To have inner stability "peace of mind"

“I have an Olympic gold medal in shutting myself off from the world.”

Like many Nines, Sam is often extremely conflict averse. Indeed, she’s introduced as diffident and eager to please;

“I’m Sam, Samantha, my name is Samantha Barnes but you can call me Sam. Or Samantha. Either one is fine, whatever you’re comfortable with. It’s your office.”

Sam’s tendency to self-isolate is not only a result of her fear of loss, but a result of that desire for “peace of mind,”- Sam’s anxiety disorder is severe enough to be triggered by mundane things, and she finds herself “nervous” about day-to-day activities including “grocery shopping,” and “talking to people,”- so she does what so many Nines do, and turns to avoidance as much as possible. For instance, she mentions no longer being able to attend the cinema because the darkness and noise is triggering, and only makes microwave meals in case she time-travels while using the stove and burns her house down. Even her time-travel itself, as much stress as it causes her, is a manifestation of her desire for stability, and dictated by her inner landscape;

Dr Bright: “I think the [time travel is] your body’s way of trying to calm down during a panic attack. When you’re in emotional or physical turmoil, your body transports you to a different place that it deems safe. As if it's choosing flight over fight…”

Sam: “So I’m basically just always trying to find calm.”

It’s important to note that at first, Sam enjoys her “visits,” to different time periods as welcome escapes from the stresses of her everyday life. This atypical coping mechanism is comparable to the fantasies and daydreams real life Nines will often retreat into. 

However, somewhat unusually for a Nine, Sam is well aware of her state of inertia from the start of the story and she repeatedly expresses a desire to break out of it;

“I’m tired of waiting

I’m tired of hiding

I’m tired of wanting,”

Her way of living, fine-tuned as it is to avoid conflict wherever possible, becomes in and of itself a source of internal conflict in an unhappy, self-perpetuating cycle;

“When I [time travel], I’m nowhere. I’m invisible. I’m no one. And it’s not better here [in the present], where I have no life, no friends. I don’t exist anywhere! I’m so scared of everything and I’m starting. To lose. My mind!”

It’s Sam’s desire for genuine internal stability that necessitates that she abandon her dependence on avoidance and self-isolation. Nines are often described as being “asleep,” both to their true nature and the world around them. Apart from comparing living her life to “sleepwalking,” this pervasive numbness is something Sam struggles with- her lifestyle leaves her feeling like “[her] brain [isn’t] being fully used.” While she was aware of it, it took meeting Mark, whom she describes as her “catalyst,” to change her behaviour and mindset.

“Working with Joan, and meeting you, and saving you it- it woke me up. It gave me a purpose…”

“I think somewhere amongst all the tragedy, and the panic, and the loneliness, I forgot how to be a person. Or, at least, the person I can be. And now I feel like I’m waking up for the first time in a decade.”

 It takes a glimpse of that reflection of her self-imprisonment in Mark, confined against his will, (“I know what that’s like - to be trapped like that,”) to prompt the realisation that the only way out is through, and spur her into action in efforts to achieve peace in the long term for the pair of them;

“I’ve spent my whole life afraid, it’s nothing new. I’m not going to walk away. Even before talking to him, I could have never lived with myself if I let someone rot in the past like that. Now that I have talked to him, well, I want to get him out as much as you do.”

Coming to terms with her own agency is a frightening process for her, as she herself admits;

Sam: “Whatever I am, I think what’s important is that I finally have options.” 

Chloe: “And that’s terrifying on its own.”

Sam: “Right. “

Chloe: “But it’s not terrifying in the same way as before.”

Sam: “No.”

It invites conflict in a way that undermines her inner stability, but, crucially, she begins to recognise that standing still has done the same. Compounded with the other stresses she faces throughout the series, Sam is left between a rock and a hard place, due to the conflict that arises when, to achieve her basic desire, she must confront her basic fear;

“I’m- I'm just stuck. But I don’t want to wait anymore. I want to move forward with you but I have no idea how. So I just keep pretending. I keep pretending that I know what I’m doing, that I’m confident in my decisions, that I know how to help…. I’m just- I'm not sure I’ve ever been this lost.”

Basic Fear: Of loss and separation

“I’ve been sleepwalking through my life - just waiting for the other shoe to drop, to get stuck, or to hurt someone again, or for someone to find out about me and lock me up and experiment on me- god, I'm sorry.”

After the loss of her parents, Sam approaches her life in terms of mitigating the risks of potential personal losses. Consumed by this worry, she begins the series afraid to form attachments at all, living in fear of the possible impact of her uncontrollable time-travelling episodes, concerned that they could drive others away or bring harm to them.

Dr. Bright: “And no one has even seen this happen?”

Sam: “Um, I just tend to avoid…um. People.”

As time-travelling causes her to disappear without warning, they are by their nature a sort of forcible, unpredictable separation, and as such, force her to live with the threat of her basic fear constantly;

“I’m terrified all the time. When I’m not actively disappearing I’m worried about disappearing. I’m worried about, about being caught, about hurting someone, about not coming back.”

The death of her parents-  the result of a car accident when she vanishes from the driver’s seat- is what causes Sam’s basic fear to become entangled with her time-travelling to begin with, causing her to live in a state of extreme anxiety, functioning much of the time more like an unhealthy Six than a Nine. Even after her parents’ deaths, much of Sam’s life is dictated by a fear of losing her memories of, and feelings of closeness to, her late parents- a fear, by own admission, of a further loss, despite the fact that she has already “lost,” them in the physical sense;

 “Don’t you get it? I can’t lose them again. I owe it to them to remember.”

Ultimately, this fear leads Sam to shape her life around remaining close to them, which further perpetuates her own isolation;

“I’m just a ghost, haunting this city, moving their things from house to house like some sort of shrine. That’s— I know. I know how bad that is. I’ve been living with the dead for so long - in my house, in the past, in my own head...”

The idea of moving away from the area where they raised her is anxiety-inducing enough to send her into a panic attack. This fear of change pervades other relationships in Sam’s life as well; while visiting Mark, still, trapped in the past, she neglects to tell him that she is working on a solution with his sister ostensibly because of the potential conflict and complications to their relationship that conversation might involve; 

Chloe: “I get it. You don’t want to burst the little bubble you guys are in.”

Sam: “Yeah. I’ve vaguely mentioned that I’m looking into solutions. But I haven’t wanted to make it seem too real, yet. I’ll tell him once we get it all figured out. Once we feel as confident as we can that it’ll work. I just, I don’t want to make promises to him I can’t keep. I don’t think I could stand to disappoint him.”

This is one of the earlier instances of Sam deliberately sweeping problems under the rug to avoid the potential turmoil and loss of relationship conflict, a pattern which continues particularly as her Eight wing starts to become more pronounced.

When Sam does find new relationships, much of her energy becomes invested towards trying to ensure she won’t lose the comfort they introduce to her life and the people she cares for- her relationship with Mark is arguably largely defined by her desire not to lose him; 

“I’m scared for you. I just want to keep you safe.”

Her nightmares reflect these fears- in Episode 50: Rose, she has a dream during which she- quite literally- loses Mark in their new home, and suffers a panic attack upon being unable to find him and she goes on to express a belief that losing him is in fact, an inevitability;

“He’s just like everyone else,

He’ll soon be in your past,” 

Though he makes her “want to believe,” she describes this as a “want to be foolish”- her experiences have led her to believe the idea of keeping Mark is an unattainable dream- more of an expectation than a fear. The dread that comes with this supposed inevitably remains intense late into the series, and contributes to the breakdown of their relationship;

 “I love you and it’s…it's like having a stomach ache all the time. And I keep doing things to try and make it less painful and none of it works. Because you’re you and I’m me and our lives are just filled with uncertainty and danger.”

The potential loss is all she can focus on- to the point that she loses the peace and stability being with Mark previously brought her- being in love with him is “a stomach ache,”- in this state of disintegration, Sam’s basic fears are so overpowering that her basic desires are completely out of her reach. To avoid this situation precisely, Sam, who understands that life is inherently rife with both internal and external conflict, tries to acknowledge and accept her fears;

“Dr. Bright and I have spent a lot of time talking about acceptance. She’s told me that, even if I do get my ability totally under control, I might still have the occasional panic attack and leave without meaning to. And that I should try to accept that. Life is going to be stressful. Bad things are going to happen. It’s about how you respond that matters and that’s- that's what I’m trying to figure out.”

But this still isn’t something she has fully come to terms with by the end of The Bright Sessions, leading her to make mistakes in her desperation to control her circumstances and hold onto that which she fears to lose.

Disintegration to Six:

“It’s about survival, Sam // Never let down your guard,”

As aforementioned, Sam spends much of her life seriously disintegrated, and isolating herself out of fear. Dr. Bright describes the Sam she first meets as “malleable and desperate,” lacking “trust in herself,”- the caricature of an unhealthy Six. Gripped by an anxiety disorder, threat-obsessed, and in dire need of support, latching onto Dr. Bright even as she maintains a deep suspicion of her, Sam has all the hallmarks. Beginning to establish supportive relationships, her anxious tendencies do lessen a bit- but they are so familiar and habitual to her that she practically defines herself by them. It even becomes something of a running joke between her and Mark;

“You know, you can take the cape off for a day, Anxiety Girl. The world is not going to crumble around you ... No, no, it’s alright. You’re always preparing for the worst, I get it.”

 Her desire to protect is something that ties into her Eight wing (see below) but her constant vigilance and her distrust towards authorities such as the A.M. which underpin this desire are an unsurprising symptom of her disintegration, as is the ‘us vs. them,’ viewpoint and perception of constant danger- though, admittedly, it’s somewhat justified given her circumstances.

Sam: “You’re asking me to retreat. I’ve done that too many times before—”

Mark: “Retreat? It's not a war, Sam—”

Sam: “It kind of is. And I have a family to protect—”

Integration to Three: 

“I do want to do something with my life. Something productive, worthwhile.”

During The Bright Sessions, Sam doesn’t have much opportunity to demonstrate how she would look when integrated. By the end of the series, she still reacts with knee-jerk worry in the face of potential conflict; 

Dr. Bright: “Is that a slight against my scotch supply?”

Sam: “No, no, god— I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”  

But by no means is she quite as averse to it as she was to begin with; 

Sam: “You’re teasing me, aren’t you?”

Sam begins to show tendencies of the healthy Three, becoming more self-developing and energetic, when she finds a project- namely, the improvement of the A.M.- to which she can lend her expertise and strengths. Early in the series, she describes herself as being tired of adventures- but newly ambitious, she begins to take a different tune;

 Dr. Bright: “Do you think you’re ready? For another new adventure?”

Sam: “Yeah, I think I am.”

  w8:

“Imagine what I could do if I was trying, if I had full control.” 

At the start of the series, Sam feels completely out of control, like any unhealthy Eight- she views herself as at the mercy of her time travel and her anxiety disorder. In this desperate situation, her self-isolation is an effort at maintaining control in the only way that she believes she can. Dr. Bright recognises this desire for control, and appeals to it when trying to convince her to harness her powers.

“You can learn to control it.” 

And as the series draws on, Sam becomes very occupied the idea (“I want to take control,”) and her Eight-wing becomes more and more apparent. When she gains some control over her ability, she soon becomes frustrated that she can’t have complete control over it- this is something she has to “try to accept.” This desire for perfect control after dealing with a complete lack of it for years might seem counterintuitive, or even ungrateful, but it demonstrates the importance of control as a motivator for Sam, and more critically, her fundamental discomfort confronting a lack of it. 

Like many Nines, Sam is initially out of touch with her anger, to the point that it’s something she jokes about;

“I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. Well, you know, if I had enemies, that is.”

But when given proper incentive, she begins to exhibit the “intense eruption[s] of anger,” common to Nines who typically default to repressing it, and especially to Nines with an Eight wing- as when she punches Damien after he abducts Mark, surprising herself and those around her. In comparison with Nines, Eights are typically far more familiar with their tempers, and nothing is as likely to provoke them as the feeling that they (or their loved ones) are being manipulated or controlled against their will. Sam repeatedly lashes out in reaction to precisely this fear- early on in the series when she feels “manipulated,” by Dr. Bright, for example, and towards anyone who contributed to confining or controlling Mark (Dr. Bright again during Zero Hour, and Agent Green when he starts to “check up on” her.) 

Also like a typical Eight, Sam shows repeated reluctance when it comes to expressing vulnerability- she has issues talking openly with Mark and while she initially describes his respect for her privacy to Chloe as one of the reasons why she likes him, her self-described habit of “keeping [him] at arm’s length,” becomes a problem when they enter a genuine relationship, contributing to the communication issues between the pair of them; 

“I love you so much. Do you know that? No, I mean, how could you, it’s not like I’ve ever told you.”

More importantly, Sam’s desire and subsequent efforts to maintain control over her newly dangerous environment eventually lead her to go, in her own words, “full tilt control freak.” Enneagram Institute describes this as a need “to keep the environment, and especially other people, from hurting them and those they care about,” all the while cloaked “in a layer of emotional armor.” Sam likens herself repeatedly to Mark’s “knight in shining armor,”- at first seemingly jokingly, but it’s a role she takes to heart- usually revisited when she perceives that she has failed to keep him safe- and eventually she extends the metaphor to include “dragon[s]”- the potential dangers posed by the various people threatening Mark’s safety;

Mark: “You were still my knight in shining armor. You saved me from the dragon.”

Sam: “But what if there are other dragons? I don’t know how to fight every kind of dragon, you know? If I don’t know what kind of fire they breathe or how resistant you are to that fire—”

Mark: “This metaphor is getting away from you, babe—”

Sam: “I need to know how to keep you safe. And I don’t want to do anything that makes you uncomfortable - I know there are things that you don’t want to talk about and I respect that but-”

It’s the unfortunate combination of her desire to maintain control as a result of her Eight wing, and her tendencies away from interpersonal conflict and vulnerability as a Nine with an Eight wing specifically, that lead her to violate Mark’s privacy in the manner that she does- time travelling into the past to observe his personal traumas at the AM and contacting Damien, both without his consent or knowledge, rather than confronting him directly. She does come to realise that she’s becoming an embodiment of exactly that which she fears, undermining the autonomy of those she loves, and hurting them in the process;

Sam: “This isn’t— I’m not this person. I don’t want to be this person.”

Damien: “And what person is that?”

Sam: “The kind that tries to make decisions for other people. I can’t do this.”

Returning, even, to the armor metaphor, realising at last the fundamental flaw in her approach;

“I’ve just been grasping at anything that I could use as armor even if it meant leaving somebody else defenseless.”

“I don’t want to lose him but, even more than that, I don’t want to hurt him.”

What this fear of and desire for control betrays is an unusually well developed Eight-wing, most likely forged in the crucible of what Dr. Bright describes as “loss, and wars, and repeated physical traumas in the form of time manipulation,”- the absence of safety that builds an Eight. It is this same set of experiences and traits that lends Sam genuine strength and willpower that allows her to lead and effectively protect her loved ones in better circumstances. In Safe House, her efforts to take charge of the situation offers a glimpse of her potential, and by the time The AM Archives takes place, she is able to call upon her assertiveness in times of crisis, encouraging Mags and keeping mostly collected in the face of extreme danger. But throughout most of The Bright Sessions itself, Sam’s Eight wing generally manifests in ways that ultimately cause damage to her relationship with herself and those around her. 

[ohfiendangelical]

first of all, i want to clarify that this is not a callout post. it’s more of a personal catharsis thing — i don’t really have any ‘receipts’, though i do have numerous other witnesses and victims. ive been intentionally vague about this for about 5 years now, trying to keep the peace and avoid any unnecessary drama.

the story i originally gave when miranda and i parted ways was that we were simply incompatible; i implied that we were both good people who ultimately brought out the worst in each other. that is partially true — we were incompatible, and we did bring out the worst in each other. however, there’s a bit more to it than that.

i met miranda through the tumblr rpc in the early days of this particular blog. i was a young teenager. miranda was older than me, though also a teenager at the time; either a junior or senior in high school. she seemed sweet at the time, though shy and insecure. she also seemed sad a lot. we bonded over a love of the film moulin rouge and writing dark subject matter. we had our characters interact, and she quickly grew attached to both zero and i.

she quickly began to exibhit strange behavior. she would pressure me to do plots i wasn’t keen on and get extremely upset if i was hesitant. she was fiercely jealous and she would use her character, abra, to vent her personal grudges and vendettas against other writers and characters i interacted with. she accused a great deal of people in our circles of plagiarism (admittedly, there were a few cases of her suspicions proving to be true) and would bully them relentlessly, sometimes to the point of chasing them off the platform. she decided she didn’t like people seemingly at random and became hostile if i continued to speak to them.

she began to refer to me as her best friend within a few months of our knowing each other. i was not comfortable with this. i didn’t think i wanted to get very close to her, even if i had fun writing with her. however, she persisted relentlessly and pressured me into saying it back, and eventually i trained myself into believing it was true.

she forced the zero and abra ship. that may come as a surprise to people who knew us back then. i didn’t want to do it, but she would have a full-blown breakdown any time i said i didn’t see the two characters ending up together — so eventually i caved and engaged fully. this was another thing i had to learn to enjoy.

any time i made a decision for myself, she would be unhappy with me. this started out as rp- and character-based decisions only, but soon upgraded to any decision regarding real life as well. she didn’t like it when i came up with my own plot ideas and would fight with me. she didn’t like it if i talked to other writers, save for the few she deemed acceptable (until she inevitably had a falling out with them and i was not allowed to speak to them anymore). she didn’t like it if i wasn’t accessable 24/7. she became hostile if she found out i had plans or was not at my computer. she would become irritated if i talked about people in my life that she didn’t already know.

eventually, it got to the point where i rarely ever left my house, afraid of the reaction i would get. due to my mental health, i began to do homeschooling in the middle of my teen years (this was not related to her), which gave her unreserved access to me. i ended up losing contact with more than half my real-life friends. this lasted about 3 or 4 years — most of my formative teen years.

where i wasn’t allowed to have other friends, engage with other writers, have other ships, leave my house, or generally have any life experience, she was. if i brought up this contradiction i would be shamed and berated for being a bad friend. if i was worried about any of the decisions she was making — self-destructive habits, engaging with dangerous people in her real life, handling her money recklessly — i would be even further shamed. she kept me from her other friends, refusing to let me speak to any of them. she publicly played up her popularity with these friends, as well as her “fans” on her personal blog, while rarely ever mentioning me. if she wanted to prove a point, she would ignore me entirely to keep me in my place while championing and publicly lauding these other people. of course, if i spoke to almost anyone other than my few rp friends (which, again, were mostly selected by her whims), there would be absolute hell to pay.

she was fairly popular on her personal blog, and became regarded as an authority and critic on social issues. a great deal of her “hot takes” were extremely damaging, or not thoroughly researched. half the time she did not know what she was talking about. if anyone disagreed with her on anything — even mundane, small things that had nothing to do with social issues — they were deemed either racist or misogynistic or both. (miranda is a latinx woman, so she has had to deal with institutional racism. i want to make it clear she wasn’t a white girl crying racism — all of this is bad enough without misleading claims.) if she were informed she could not be an authority on the plight of demographics she did not fit into, she would throw a fit and talk in circles until she came up with something to make the other person, sometimes a member of the demographic she was representing falsely, appear in the wrong.

she had a great deal of internalized homophobia that offended me (i’m bisexual), and when i called her out on it, she grew highly emotional and guilted me relentlessly. i never brought it up again. after we parted ways, she came out as a lesbian. this was after years of her throwing a fit if i so much as said i’d kiss her in a playful context — though she sexted me once. she became distressed or annoyed if i ever mentioned it, which left me feeling rather dirty and used, especially since i was 17.

the body positively movement was gaining traction around this time, so she latched onto that, “reclaiming thickness”. the problem with that is that she was rather thin with slight curves. i, however, am heavyset — and was made to feel ugly by her for it while she also talked over me about thickness, fatphobia, and body shaming to further her own personal agenda. 

i underwent extreme personality changes with miranda controlling my life. i was an outgoing and confident teenager, if not a bit obnoxious, before i met her; now, to this day, i am rather reserved and shy. i have trouble befriending people. certain typing patterns make me anxious (miranda had a distinct textual tone when she was upset). my self esteem isn’t what it used to be. i have to triple check my own perceptions of things — even now, writing this, i have to wonder if everything really happened the way i remember it, or if i am just melodramatic and oversensitive.

i have countless horror stories, fragmented anecdotes. examples of her behavior.

she once claimed to have taken a bunch of pills in a suicide attempt, then immediately backtracked when i, worried sick, was preparing to call someone, saying that she threw them all up and was fine. she went to bed immediately after, making it clear she was irritated at me for responding to what i can only assume now were theatrics.

when the older boy i thought i was in love with molested me, and i — young, confused, and upset, with only a few hours having passed — considered speaking to him again, she berated me and threatened to cut all contact, saying that she “didn’t think she could be friends with someone who would do that”. (she also berated me when i expressed concern that she was still in contact with someone who abused her.)

a few months after my brother, who i loved more than anyone in the world, died unexpectedly, she expressed the news had upset her because she “knew it would change things between us” — in her mind, my grief took a backseat to the inconvenience of my attention being elsewhere.

when one of my friends expressed interest in one of my characters she was especially attached to, she came at me in violent hysterics, saying “HE’S MINE”, as though he were a real person. this fight escalated to literal life threatening perportions when my friend became hospitalized, the violent bullying and gaslighting from miranda being a factor.

when i began to hang out with my real life friends again once a week after years of isolation, she claimed that i didn’t care about our relationship and that we weren’t “working out”, and she may not want to be friends with me anymore.

i have a lot more, but i think we’ve gone dark enough for now.

i also want to bring up the way i behaved. the relationship did bring out the worst in me. i began to think like her in a lot of ways. there were times when i was cruel and manipulative and selfish. there were times when i was mean to other people. there were times when i would react to something in a melodramatic, irrational way when it didn’t have to be that way. i think that i became a really bad person for a while. there are still some habits that i’m trying to unlearn — like not saying what i mean and then getting upset with people for not knowing anyway, or being harshly critical and judgmental of those undeserving, or seeking out affection through ridiculously convoluted ways. i’m working on it. (honestly, i’m deathly afraid of turning into her.) a lot of it has been worked out of my system after five years, but there are relapses from time to time.

when i began to tell one of my friends about what i was experiencing, i slowly came to realize it wasn’t normal. i came to terms that it was abusive. eventually, i reached a point where i felt brave enough to disconnect. i told her that i couldn’t do it anymore, and then said goodbye. she tried every trick in the book into getting me to stay, but i managed.

i will still get the occasional message from her every six or so months that proves she hasn’t changed and has no intention of changing. the messages range from hostile to desperate to sad and asking for forgiveness.

based on what ive heard from other people, she’s only gotten worse.

there are currently 6 other people i can think of off the top of my head who also had traumatic experiences with miranda. and that’s just the few i know of.

so, there you go — that person i wrote with for years and years and seemed so happy with was basically keeping me hostage. i know that may come as a shock to some, and not to others. i hope anyone else who has been hurt by her is also brought some relief by the truth finally coming out: no, you weren’t crazy!

if anyone else would like to come forward, too, i’m always listening. it may help to talk about it.

[leoninaiart]

Shance - Little notes.

Just imagine Lance liking Shiro so much and wanting to cheer him up bc he sees how stressed the older one is. So he decided to leave some notes with cheering words on them.

But the thing is he is so damn embarrassed that he wrote them in Spanish because he wants to cheer Shiro but he can't help the embarrassment that comes with the idea of his hero reading some cheesy notes. And obviously Shiro doesn't understand a single word in the notes, recognizing the simple handwriting of Lance and thinking this is some kind of weird joke he isn't aware of.

He's curious about the meaning anyway. Though Lance never talked in Spanish, the notes were in the same language, and that's weird. What do they even say? Something good? Something bad? Is he supposed to translate them somehow?

But they're in war, and there's been a LOT going on. Shiro forgets the notes, hidden in the Black Lion storage, and tries to keep his focus on the situation ahead. The notes that were every morning at his door also stopped appearing. Maybe it was a good thing. This little mystery game they had was a distraction from more important things.

Then they get home.

Sure, they had to fight to push off the Galra from Earth, but they made it. This is it, finally at home. In the beginning of the execution of the big comeback, Lance is having some trouble with the Galra ships, not being able to even reach his Lion. Shiro has the biggest heart attack even when Lance stops responding, and his mind can't help but think about all the times Lance looked at him with shining eyes and a sweet smile. How he laughed, joked and was the light of the room with his bright smile. And then he remembered the notes and noticed how little attention he payed to Lance. He unfair to him, a young boy who did nothing wrong and always tried his best to just be there for them.

And he was so scared of losing him. Of not being able of hearing his sweet voice. Or seeing those deep blue eyes.

Then Lance started talking again and his soul was back in his body. Lance was fine, alive, breathing. But he couldn't focus, one single though invading his mind:

He had to fix this somehow.

They won. Sendak is finally dead.

It was like a dream come true.

A month later, the team was fully recovered and enjoying their home planet again. Shiro finally could feel that it was the moment to relax a little more, he had a lot of tirenedess accumulated. So he went to the Black Lion, even if he was no longer his pilot, the connection was still there, as strong as ever. The Lion, feeling the determination of his ex paladin, allowed him to enter. Shiro could practically feel the hype building up when he found the notes still in the same spot, mentally thanking Keith for being so uninsterested in exploring the Lion.

In less than 15 minutes, he got a small translator device from a young Garrison engineer (now that is full of alien species, translators are a must have for everyone) and was back in his room. Slowly, one by one he translated the words from the notes.

At first, the older ones were very short and simple.

'You're great'

'You can make it'

'Take a break'

'You're the best'

He laughed, the image of a very embarrassed Lance writing these very awkward words appeared in his mind.

The next ones were more strong and sweet.

'You're amazing! Never forget that!'

'The universe is lucky to have you!'

And, of course, some of them had a couple of puns, because we're talking about Lance and he just can't help it. Even small drawings of him or stars and planets. The older ones were next, and they took his breath away.

'You make me wanna be a better person everyday.'

'You are my hero, and the best leader I could have.'

'I hope you think I am importan, because you're the universe to me.'

'You're so great and talented, I'm lucky I get to be in the same team as you.'

Shiro was very confused, he didn't understand why there was such a mood change. He could practically feel how big Lance's appreciation and respect for him were in these notes. Damn, he was such an idiot for not noticing before. So focused in a cruel thing like war made him forget these kind of sweet things in his life.

There was still a letter left. But hee could read it later, he needed to see Lance. Now.

In a blink he was in front of Lance's dorm, though it wasn't very far from his. Feeling strangely nervous, he knocked the door. The door opened and Lance was there, in full glory. The marks of the battle were gone, and his (probably smooth) skin was shiny and healthy. The smaller boy smiled, curious, and before he could greet him, Shiro raised his hand with the notes.

Lance mount stayed open, recognizing them.

Was that a good or bad signal?

He saw how the other boy blushed, getting nervous immediately and avoiding his gaze.

'S-so you read them, right?'

'Yeah, I used a translator I got around here.'

'Oh...um...do you like them? I know they're a little weird'

Shiro smiled. This was the first time he saw how cute Lance was when embarrassed. Wait, he shouldn't think that of his teammate, not now, scratch that.

'I do, you're a great person, Lance. I'm very thankful for these notes.'

Lance watched him surprised, like he didn't expect him to say that, but then he avoided his gaze again.

'Cool. Um, about the last one, I have the missing note that continues the message.'

'Actually, I didn't read the last one, would you mind if I you read it for me? It's kind of a bummer to use this boring translator' he joked

Lance seemed like he was having an internal crisis of some kind, because he bited his lip and frowned. But then he smiled again casually, and nodded.

'Sure thing, come in, make yourself comfortable in uh, my room?'

Shiro chuckled a little and decided to sit at the bed. Lance was still up, holding the notes Shiro handled him, opening them slowly. With his voice slightly trembling, he started to read.

'I think It's about time I tell you something important. We have been in space a long time, and I don't wanna regret not telling you the truth. When the time is right, I'll give you the next note.'

Oh... That sounded... Very serious. Now Shiro didn't know what to think. Maybe Lance hated him because he never acknowledged his efforts, or because he kind of ignored his notes. The idea of Lance hating him made his heart ache with pain. He was getting so anxious he didn't even hear the sound of Lance opening the next note.

The voice of the smaller boy interrupted his thoughts.

'Alright... I'm going to read the next one. Shiro?'

'Yes?'

Lance blushed even more , those stunning blue eyes staring at him.

'Please don't freak out.'

... What? Why would he freak out to Lance? This was getting more and more strange.

'For the last few notes I've been trying to encourage you. I don't know what drive me to do it, I saw you one night looking at the stars and you seemed 10 years older and so tired. I had to do something. And even If it was a bit weird, and I knew you couldn't understand them because my dumbass brain decided to write them in Spanish, the warm feeling in my chest wouldn't go away. So I thought about it, a lot. About how much I worry about you, how much I want to show you how good I am, how much I want to spend time with you. Then I realized that you're not jusy my leader... '

Shiro's eyes widened.

'You're not just my hero either...'

Then Lance smiled, embarrassed.

'You're my everything. I like you, Takashi.'

'You... You what?!?'

Shiro couldn't believe this. He was so happy. But he shouldn't. This was Lance, his teammate, his companion. And he was just Shiro, broken after all what happened. Old and broken.

'I know it's... Disgusting that I like you... But say something, please, I'm like having a breakdown here.' Lance tried to joke, though he was crying and his voice sounded weird.

Then Shiro snapped out of his dark thoughts and really, REALLY looked at him. Lance, looking at the ground, the blue eyes full of tears. The face red, the lip bleeding a little, the hands holding his jacket with force. Then Lance looked at him too. And in their eyes the connection felt strong. So damn strong. And the warm in his heart burned. He just could feel the need. The ache of looking and Lance like this and doing nthing.

'But need of what? ' his mind asked.

'Need of Lance.' his heart supplied.

And after all what happened. The Kerberos mission. The kidnap. The arena. The lions. The war against the Galra. Zarkon. Sendak. Lotor. Haggar.

He deserves this. And Lance deserved it too.

So in half a second he's hugging Lance. It just takes another second before he can feel the warm arm returning the hug. He started petting his brown hair slowly, feeling the smooth hair. And Lance was sobbing, and laughing, and making some weird noise in between . Shiro laughed loudly, still petting his hair. And enjoying every little thing about him. His soft hair with a vanilla scent was like heaven to Shiro's hands, and he buried his head in the younger boy's neck.

The notes lied on the floor forgotten while the two of them just enjoyed the other one with small and sweet touches of affection. When Lance moved a little and kissed him in the forehead, he couldn't stop the tears, feeling the love of the other one in that small gesture, it was almost intoxicating. He didn't know how much he needed this, he needed him, his warmth, his freshness. These small things that made Lance so perfect.

For the first time in a long time, Shiro was feeling so fresh and alive. Like every piece was finally at the right place. It's okay now. Everything will be alright. Because he had the universe in his arms.