#HOW LONG WOULD IT HAVE TAKEN TO AT LEAST CLEAN IT UP. FIFTEEN MINUTES

[skopostheorie]

Japanese speaking friends please look at this AI translation NHK used for Putin's speech it's SO BAD?

[fayes-fics]

Doctor’s Orders

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, modern AU

Summary: Someone decides to play doctor to ameliorate your bad day…

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, doctor/patient roleplay, dom/sub tones, ‘medical examination’ with use of stethoscope and latex gloves, voluntary breathplay, cardiophilia, vaginal fingering, edging.

Word Count: 4.5 k

Authors Note: this is a long-awaited (9 months!) request fill for the lovely @eleanor-bradstreet. My dear, I hope this is somewhat worth the wait. To anyone medically trained, yes, I know what he does is wrong/inaccurate, but that’s the whole point: he’s a somewhat clueless but enthusiastic roleplaying boy, not a real doctor. Thank you to @colettebronte for the read-through and suggestions. Enjoy! <3

It’s been one of those spectacularly shit days at work. When you get to your boyfriend’s flat, all you want to do is shower, crash out and watch brainless TV together.

“Bad day?” Benedict intuits, wandering over from the kitchen, casual in shorts and a t-shirt, as you drop your bag like a tonne of bricks near his front door and pout.

“Hate my job,” you whine, burying your head into his shoulder as he chuckles affectionately, pulling you into his arms and busses a kiss onto your temple.

“No, you don’t; you love your job. You just didn’t love it today,” he smiles into your hair.

“Urgh, fine, yes, Mr EQ, yes, that's true,” you huff his neck, enjoying his clean scent.

“Come with me, my stressed-out noodle,” he offers good-naturedly, withdrawing from the embrace and lacing your fingers with his. He backs up, pulling you along with him further into the flat.

“Where are we going?” you pout again.

“To eat, I made us dinner,” he smiles, something melting in your chest at the sweet gesture. 

“Do I have time to shower first?” you ask, wanting to remove all physical traces of this workday from your skin.

“Of course, be my guest,” he nods towards his room, with the en suite bathroom beyond, and you drop a kiss on his cheek as you go.

—

Fifteen minutes later, you emerge freshly showered and wearing some of his clothes- a t-shirt that swamps you and jogging bottoms you have to roll up at the waist. You take a seat at the kitchen island and tuck into the amazing-smelling food he has laid out, even giving you a comedic bow as you reenter the room.

The food tastes like heaven, and you can't stop the appreciative moans at the flavour explosion on your tongue.

“Fuck Ben, this is delicious,” you assert as you swallow the mouthful.

His face lights up with that beguiling smile that hooked you in the first place all those months ago, and you can't help but lean in and give him a quick peck.

“So do you want to talk about the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day? Or is this more of a big glass of wine and stfu sort of deal?“ he hedges amiably, assessing your needs.

You sigh as you finish your next bite. “Honestly? I don't know. I’m so stressed about it all I sort of don’t want to talk about it. I feel like I need to be one of those Regency ladies who is prescribed a trip to the seaside for my nerves, you know?” you jest, circling your empty fork in the air to highlight your point.

He barks a laugh. “Funny you should say that; I was just reading a book about hilarious historical cures.”

“Yeah…?” your interest piqued.

“Dorset left it out,” he explains, referring to his roommate, a junior doctor at Guys Hospital. “It's hilarious. But I don't think they would diagnose you with a trip to the seaside, at least not based on what I’ve read.”

You swivel on your stool to face him. “Oh no? Then what would I have been prescribed, Dr Bridgerton?” you jest, leaning your chin on your hand and arching a challenging brow. But you don't miss how his pupils dilate a fraction as you address him such.

He turns towards you with a laconic smile. “You likely would have been prescribed a course of pelvic stimulations.”

You are glad you hadn't taken another bite of dinner, as you would have sprayed him with food with that spit take.

“What?!? No!” you laugh incredulously.

“Don't believe me? Go look,” he challenges, gesturing to the book on the coffee table.

“So… Is that what I think it is? Women would literally be told, medically, to masturbate?” you giggle, disbelieving.

“Oh no,” he corrects. “You wouldn't do it; the doctor would.”

“What the…??”

“Yup… ‘to alleviate the female hysterics’,” he chimes, affecting an old-timely announcer voice.

“With what?” you ponder aloud, still utterly perplexed.

“Hands, I would assume,” he breezes. “Why? Would you like a helping hand?” he winks, wiggling his eyebrows comically.

“I mean….” you trail off, still laughing but feeling a tiny buzz between your legs at the idea. “I'm not going to say no… Doctor Bridgerton,” you banter back.

Benedict puts down his fork, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows his bite of food and turns slowly towards you, an enigmatic glint in his eye.

“Well, now, you will need a thorough medical examination before I can determine if such a prescription is even the correct one,” he throws out, still with a jovial air, but the dropped octave is decidedly suggestive.

“How long until I can get an appointment?” you shoot back, feeling the atmosphere in the room shift, the dynamic between you playful but with a definite undercurrent of heat now.

“The doctor is always in… for you,” he answers, a hand landing heavily on your knee. “If you are ready, please go wait in the exam room,” Benedict responds, signalling to the sofa, that hand squeezing slightly. “The doctor can be right with you.”

You giggle and shoot him a ‘Are we really doing this?’ look. When he nods, you wiggle off the stool and drift over to the sectional as he disappears down the hallway, your half-eaten dinners now very much abandoned. Little butterflies in your stomach as you perch, eagerly awaiting his return.

When he re-enters the room, you almost forget how to breathe. He has obviously raided his flatmate's room and come out wearing a white doctor’s overcoat, his shapely calves bare beneath the hem, a stethoscope slung casually around his shoulders. He has also dug out his reading glasses to complete the look. He is so utterly convincing you don't know what to think, except…. Oh fuck yes.

“Good afternoon, Miss y/l/n,” he greets, stepping effortlessly into the roleplay. “I'm Dr Bridgerton. Tell me, what ails you today?” 

He sits on the coffee table right in front of you, looking at you expectantly for your response.

“Hello, doctor,” you begin, stilted, still a little discombobulated by his appearance and how utterly aroused you are by it. “I… I am overworked in my job and don't know the best way to relieve the stress I feel….” 

“Well, I am sorry to hear that. Let us do a basic examination so I can rule out any possible physical ailments and go from there.” Before you can respond, he produces disposable gloves from his overcoat pocket and snaps them on, your tummy fluttering at the sight of them pulling taunt around his long fingers. 

Oh, he means it.

He leans in, his hands cupping your jaw, warm even through the latex. You whimper quietly, realising he is pretending to feel the lymph nodes beneath your ear for swelling. But he doesn't let go; he just stares you down, his eyes glittering in the lamp glow. 

“Say ahhh,” he prompts.

You open your mouth instinctively, just like at the doctor’s. He pivots a hand so his thumb gently presses down on your tongue as he peers into your mouth.

“Hmm, I see no evidence of an oral infection. But I should check via other means too, to be thorough,” he murmurs, pupils dilating as you cheekily close your lips around his thumb and suck on it suggestively. The powdery flavour on the glove somehow just heightens the heat you feel spreading inside.

“Behave please, Miss,” he rebukes, but his actions say otherwise - extracting his thumb and trailing your saliva in a line down over your chin, your neck, resting it in your suprasternal notch as his fingers curl around your neck and tug you towards him.

His kiss is deep and breathtaking. His tongue unfurls into your mouth and probes yours as if this, too, is a thorough examination. You follow his lead, letting him dictate the terms, wanting to follow wherever he is going with this.

“I think we can rule out anything in your mouth being the problem,” he opines drolly over your lips. 

“Thank you, doctor,” you respond coquettish.

“Let me listen to your lungs to ensure there are no respiratory problems. Remove your clothing, please,” he orders brusquely, sitting back.

“All of it?” you inhale sharply.

“I suppose just your top for now,” he revises, looking a tad impatient.

When you whip off the top to reveal you are without a bra, his eyes flash, and the tip of his tongue pokes out as your nipples pebble in the cool air of the room. A wave of something behind your ribs as he unfurls the stethoscope from around his neck and places it in his ears.

“Please keep your hands at your sides at all times. And beware, this may be cold,” he warns.

You squeak as the cool metal is placed onto the flesh above your left breast, your hands curling around the sofa edge by your thighs so you keep them as told.

“Breath in deeply for me,” he instructs, and you do, taking a deep inhale, feeling your body bloom with his proximity as his face squints in concentration. When he doesn't say exhale, you hold, unsure what else to do, your lungs feeling tight. It seems much longer than necessary. “And out”

He drags the bell over your sternum to the same spot on the right side. 

“Again” he orders. You follow the instructions, taking a deep breath. “Hold it,” he alerts, as you start to feel the struggle for air. You do his bidding, feeling that trademark ache under your ribs under the exertion. “And release,” he instructs just as you want to disobey.

“Good,” he rumbles, “just one more.”

You pant lightly as he drags the scope down between your breasts, then jump as he presses it low into the sensitive spot where your ribs meet on your diaphragm. 

“In and hold.”

As you do, he tilts forward and suddenly seizes a nipple between his teeth. You make a strangled noise in your closed mouth, a zipping thrill right down to your clit. The surprise makes air escape out your nose, fingers grasping the cushion.

“No,” he gruffs into your breast, not looking up at you. “I told you to hold. You hold your breath until I say you can release,” he lectures. “Now breath in and hold it,” his voice taking on a steely edge that makes your pussy constrict.

Wordlessly, you do as told, and this time, he swaps to your other nipple, biting down, then lathing with his hot tongue as you struggle—tight lungs, intense pressure behind your cheeks. The thronging pleasure around where he teases you makes it an almost impossible task; starting to struggle a little, your body twitching, fingers and toes flexing.

“Let it out,” he permits, and you open your mouth, the air escaping in a loud ‘pahhhh’ sound.

“Well, I think your lungs sound very healthy,” he breezes nonchalantly as if this is just how a doctor does an exam.

“That’s good,” you defer to his faux expertise even as you feel his saliva drying on your areola. 

“Now, let's test your heart,” he proceeds, pulling the stethoscope from his ears so it rests around his neck. “Remove the rest of your clothing now, please, Miss.”

“Is that strictly necessary, doctor? Just to listen to my heart?” you waver, even as your hands go to the ties at your waistband.

“I am the doctor here, am I not?” he counters, raising a brow.

“Yes,” you demure, a pulse around your clit at how thoroughly he inhabits this role.

“You may find it easier to stand,” he chuckles as he watches you shuffling, struggling to remove your bottoms while seated. 

So you do as he suggests, his breath ghosting over the sensitive skin around your belly button as you push the loose jersey material over the swell of your hips. He growls at the other surprise lurking—you wear no underwear, your bare slit inches from his face as the clothing pools around your feet, now utterly naked.

“Is this okay, doctor?” you simper, looking down at him sitting on the coffee table as he finally tilts his head to look at your face.

“Lay down on the exam table,” he commands, his pointer finger jabbing towards the chaise.

“Make me…”

Your tongue rebels before your brain can engage, wanting to see how much he will take control if you act out. He springs to his feet, towering over you, inches from you, and grasps the nape of your neck, forcing you to look up at him.

“Are you questioning my methods?” he interrogates, his hold strong but not hurting.

Oh, yes, Benedict, well done.

“No, Doctor,” you simper, attempting to look innocent but knowing your eyes must be fully dilated by now, distracted by the pulse you see in his throat.

“I need to be very thorough before I can diagnose you accurately, Miss,” he cautions. “Do you hear me?”

“Yes, doctor.” 

“Good. Now lay down,” he instructs brusquely, releasing his grip.

You drop to the sofa and lay out for him, a thrill zipping over your skin. He places a large cushion beneath your neck and head so you are tilted up and can see down the plain of your naked body.

“Now be very still and be very quiet. Keep your hands at your sides. Whatever I do to you is to ensure your heart is healthy. Do you understand me?” he tutors, his eyes roaming your body covetously.

“Yes, doctor,” you confirm, knowing your chest is rising and falling rapidly, the anticipation burning in your being.

He places the stethoscope directly over your heart and loops it back into his ears, the cool metal now a balm against your flushed skin.

“You have a good strong heartbeat,” he states casually, “But it is a little slow for my liking….”

His gloved hand loops around the leg closest to him and hauls it wide into his lap, your knee brushing a prominent bulge under the overcoat that makes your insides clench at the very thought of his cock.

“Stay still.” 

His clipped reminder is delivered as he trails his fingertips along your inner thigh, his other hand still holding the stethoscope against your chest. Your breath stutters as his latex-covered fingers nudge your folds, already weeping.

“Well, I see there is certainly no problem with your ability to get aroused,” he intones smokily with a tantalising brush over your clit. 

His moves are unrushed, his touch maddeningly light, not nearly enough, barely a glance over your soaked flesh, making you ache for more. After a few moments, you whine and defiantly attempt to push into his touch.

“Did I not tell you to be still and quiet?” he arches an eyebrow, and you pout but still yourself and fold your lips inwards under your teeth. “That’s better. Now let's see what happens when I….”

He expertly plunges two long fingers into your pussy, your arousal leaking over his gloves as he does so. He hisses his approval at your heated cling, pushing deep as you swallow your gasp, biting your lip to prevent any more sound from escaping. His fingers hook, and his wrist twists in slow corkscrew turns, dragging thoroughly over your walls as if giving you an internal exam. You crave more: more fingers, movement, friction, more of anything, your fingernails scratching against the fibres of the sofa, keeping them at your sides as told, even as you itch to grab his wrist and direct his motions.

“Interesting,” he mutters, his fingers swirling slowly, probing inside as he drags the scope fractionally on your sternum.

You utter a silent curse, your body already quivering. The room filled only with the sound of your ragged breathing and the sodden noise from between your legs as he leisurely rocks his gloved fingers into and out of your pussy, you suctioning around his knuckles, the stretch with each stroke making you want to beg for him to make you come.

“Your heart is definitely strong,” he declares, “but I think we need to put it to the test properly.”

His thumb presses onto your clit, and it's like a lightning bolt through your being. Something about the fact it's not his skin on yours lends an extra frisson. You can feel the warmth of his pad behind the latex barrier as he flicks against your swollen nub.

“More, please, Doctor Bridgerton, please,” you entreat desperately, attempting to tilt your pelvis to ride his hand.

He groans at your use of his name, not chastising you for vocalising. His rigid cock brushes your knee held in his lap as he surges his hips fractionally, your legs spread obscenely wide as he finger fucks you, his stethoscope leaving a circular imprint on your chest, almost bearing his weight into your skin. God help you both if his flatmate cuts his night shift short.

“Your bpm is rising,” he reports as his fingers move faster, wringing filthy noises from your body now, pushing harder with every stroke, his thumb circling your clit with unerring pressure. You just moan a litany of ‘Dr Ben’, and ‘yes’ and ‘please don’t stop’ as you spiral higher.

“That's it, yes, that's what I like to hear,” he encourages, “it's like music.” 

Even you can tell your heart is thumping now, hearing it loud in your own ears as the blood rushes to your head. Just as you are about to crest, he suddenly stops his ministrations and withdraws his fingers. You cry out as he rests the soaked glove on your lower belly, pressing down softly from the outside on that spot that aches for more, your own juices dripping down between your bum cheeks.

“Shhh shh,” he pacifies, the scope he still holds with his other hand feeling heavy on your flesh as his prideful gaze travels up your panting body, gleeful at his ability to do this to you. 

You plead with your eyes as his eyes finally reach your face, silently asking him to finish.

“Wonderful, your heartbeat is so strong in my ears,” he sounds almost wistful, dreamy. 

Your breathing slows, even as you feel the burn of an orgasm so denied, your pelvis throning, your clit painfully engorged.

“Hmm, let’s go again, shall we?” he smirks.

That’s all the warning you get before he plunges his fingers back inside, this time using three, the latex glove squeaking slightly around his palm. You scream and cant your body up off the sofa to the point he briefly lets go of the scope; his glove presses down on your diaphragm, forcing you back flat so you cannot ride his fingers like you want to.

“Please, doctor…” you beseech, voice reedy and wanton, uncaring about anything but being hurled over that divine edge.

“The more you ask, the less I am inclined to deliver,” he menaces. “I will just edge you all night and listen to your heart thumping so hard for me it sounds like it wants to break out from under your ribs.” he jerks the scope pointedly over your breastbone. 

You close your eyes and bite your lip, resigning yourself to obey. That he might keep you on edge for so long, you cannot bear—you need to come like you need air.

His handsome face is smug as he once again probes your body from inside, almost experimenting based on the tiny whimpers you make. He jabs a spot that makes your entire body spasm, and a crooked, dangerous smile spreads over his features.

“Oh, look what we have found,” his chest resonant with pitch, the tone dark and sweet.

Once again, you beg silently, but he indulges in the tease. Tapping gently on the spot rather than rocking into it, a slow, gentle touch that makes every nerve jangle, like an itch you cannot scratch hard enough.

“I love to see you like this,” he admits breathily as he keeps us at that vexing pace. “So strung out and desperate to come. You would do anything I told you to right now, wouldn't you? If I just promised to let you over the edge.”

You are nodding vigorously before he even finishes his sentence, his triumphant expression almost galling if not for the desire writ large on his face.

“Good,” he snarls and starts to jab on that same spot. Desire roars fire in your veins, and you scream, your body trembling. He leans over and captures one of your nipples in his wet, warm mouth, and you scream again, uncaring what any of his neighbours may think.

You are dangling on the edge, reality bleeding into pleasure when once again he stops, and the noise that escapes your lungs is feral—a wretched groaning wail as an inferno licks around every edge of your being.

“Listen,” he growls, roughly yanking the tubes from his ear and placing them over yours. The noise is almost deafening, a thumping rhythm so fast it is virtually interpolating and looping upon itself. It's fascinating and life-affirming even as your body cries out, your clit pulsing in tempo with the thrumming beat. Greedily, he grabs them back and places them over his ears again, moving the bell to the right, his breath gusting hard.

“Touch yourself,” he orders gruffly.

It doesn't take moments for your hand to slide between your legs and catch your clit, a hardened, searing nub so wet you can hardly find grip and so distended it doesn't even feel like your body.

He leans possessively over you, a vein in his neck pulsing as he listens intently, his eyes pinging between your face, the scope on your naked chest and your hand between your legs, rubbing vigorously.

When his fingers sink back inside you, your knuckles cradled in his palm as you strum your clit, it hurtles you instantly over. You grasp his bicep as you crest the wave, your whole body held taught then snapping, shuddering and pulsing forcefully around his fingers as you tumble down that abyss, his stethoscope almost bruising your breastbone as you writhe, him singing your praises. You don't recall the next few moments, floating far away as everything is fuzzy, as if behind a gauzy filter. 

“Oh, that was perfect,” he attests sotto voce as you return to yourself, shaking with tony aftershocks. “You should hear how alive your body sounds when you come like that. Fuck that was amazing…” he seems almost dazed, his fingers dormant inside you.

As he withdraws from you, you emit a mewl, overwrought and shaking from the intensity. 

“Well, Miss,” he begins, slipping back into his roleplay. “I can say without a doubt you are very healthy, so no concern there. I can also tell your stress level is much lower now. Thus, I shall be prescribing you a minimum of two orgasms a day. Purely for your health, you understand,” he adds with a knowing smirk.

“Yes, doctor,” you nod drowsily, slurring slightly. “Should I administer them mysel…?”

“No,” he cuts in. “I'm afraid it requires a medical professional such as myself to ensure correct dosage,” his tone gravelly, snapping off the gloves from his hands, balling them up and tossing them aside. “You will need to see me morning and night for at least a month until I can properly assess whether the treatment plan is effective.”

“Yes, Doctor Bridgerton,” you purr sibilant, too strung out to do anything but languidly agree to everything he says.

As you go to close your legs, he grabs your kneecap, preventing you.

“Oh no, we are not done here,” he intones with a tinge of menace.

“No?” you stutter.

“No, I need to be very thorough,” he counters, his voice rich like velvet. His bare fingers trail ticklish patterns over the crease of your knee as he smiles perilously, enjoying keeping you on tenterhooks. “I am nowhere near done with your treatment for the day. You have only had one climax, and I do believe I said you need a minimum of two per day," he reminds you, his stare blistering. 

You watch, almost stupified, as he removes the stethoscope and swivels to kneel between your legs, grabbing them and pushing them high and wide apart, the burning stretch along your inner thighs making you gasp.

“Now, are you going to do exactly what your doctor tells you to do this time?” he grills, his fingers digging into your flesh, his gaze intense.

“Yes, Doctor.”

“Good,” the word resonates through his being as his hungry stare slips over your body, down between your legs. “Now I think you need something more substantial than fingers, don't you?” he smirks playfully.

“Please, yes, please, Doctor Bridgerton,” you implore, canting your breasts up towards him, your eyes covetously sliding down his body as he hovers over you. Your breath quickens when you see the clear outline of his cock bulging against the overcoat. Oh god, is he naked under there? The thought makes you clench again.

You raise your hands and tug at the collar of his overcoat until the first popper opens, revealing his constellation of freckles. When he doesn't stop you, emboldened, you pull again, each popper relenting, a larger slice of his naked torso revealed with each ping. By the time you are down to the last two, you see the trail of hair from beneath his belly button and moan.

“You have been naked this whole time, doctor?!” your voice hitching almost scratchy.

He grabs your hand away, pressing it into the cushion above your head as he bears you into the sofa with his weight, one of that last fastened poppers snagging cold metal against your swollen clit.

“I cannot ask my patients to be naked if I am not as well, surely?” he rumbles, hot in your ear, his warm chest covering yours. He grabs your other wrist and guides it to the same place. “Now, hold onto the cushion under your head and don't move your hands until I say so,” he orders, his smoulder turning lethal as you do as told. 

He pulls up slightly and yanks the rest of the coat open, throwing it aside, giving you only a fleeting glance before surging his leaking, heated cock right over your slit.

“God, Ben, fuck me,” your errant internal monologue slips from your tongue before you can stop it.

“Who is Ben?” he quips duskily, rocking in a distracting manner, his tip glancing into your folds. “There is only Doctor Bridgerton here tonight.”

“Doctor Bridgerton,” you amend, fingers curling into the seam of the throw cushion, fighting the urge to grab him, “please fuck me.” 

He smiles triumphantly and lowers himself over you so you are swamped by him. 

“Well, as you asked so nicely…” 

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @amygdtjhddzvb @sya-skies

Dividers credit: @/firefly-graphics

[jtl-fics]

Fluent Freshman - 41

PREV

Two and a half hours into the Banquet and FF had not moved from the chair he had sat in at the start of the banquet. He hadn’t gotten up for water. Hadn’t gotten up to go to the bathroom. Hadn’t gotten up to dance despite Nicky’s pleading. He hadn’t even gotten up when a Raven had come over and asked him to.

He was not leaving his seat.

The stadium could be on fire and he’d still try to be the last one out.

Until there was a time where he could slide out of this chair without a single eye on him and put on his winter jacket without it seeming strange he was going to remain seated.

The answer on why was under his precisely placed napkin.

It had all begun about an hour and fifteen minutes ago, not that FF was counting. Dinner had been wrapping up and people had started to get up and jostle about. Flirtations were flying across the table and generally over FF’s head. The team had been smiling, there’d been laughter, and it had seemed unlikely for anything to go wrong.

He relaxed and that’s where he made a mistake.

FF could not eat the meal served. He’d had his liquid dinner on the way over on the bus so it didn’t bother him much to have a decent looking meal in front of him and not being able to eat it. He wasn’t going to eat so he hadn’t even unwrapped his cutlery, wanting to save the clean up crew from at least his set of utensils. He hadn’t placed the napkin over his lap to protect himself, what danger could there possibly be when he was not going to be eating?

The danger came when a Trojan smacked the table hard as he laughed at something that he had taken as a joke but, knowing Kevin, was probably a serious suggestion.

Hit the table hard enough to jostle FF’s plate.

Hit the table hard enough to jostle FF’s plate and more specifically a meatball that was with the pasta served with the beef tenderloin.

Hit the table hard enough to jostle FF’s plate and more specifically a meatball that was with the pasta served with the beef tenderloin so that it fell off of his plate and onto his lap.

Fell right onto his unprotected lap.

FF had looked down at his gray pants now irreversibly blemished by the errant meatball. His mind flashing back to when Nicky had decided on these pants. Remembers how Nicky hadn’t wanted him to vanish in the lower lighting of the banquet.

FF had grabbed his cutlery and put the napkin over his lap, far too late to save his pants, but fast enough that no one would see that he had spaghetti pants.

After that the trajectory of his evening had changed dramatically.

He was going to sit here all night until they were getting into the bus and then he’d have his winter jacket on and it was a long jacket that would cover his mark of shame. You might think that FF could just slip under the radar and go try and clean off the stain or at least hide somewhere less conspicuous.

He would, he really would, except he can feel the eyes of Captain Jeremy on him regardless of how low his presence is. FF entered into Ultra Stealth but Captain Jeremy merely turned to him and asked a friendly question that had Nicky startle remembering that FF was next to him still. 

Captain Jeremy has x-ray vision and can see the wall behind the wallpaper. Captain Jeremy can see colors that mantis shrimp can only dream of. Captain Jeremy is standing in some secret government office pointing on the radar as CIA and Military officials look on going “What are you talking about he’s right here?” with a smile.

Captain Jeremy was the kid that ate all the cheap fruit on a dessert table before he looked at the cake when he was a kid.

It’s the first time in his entire life that he’d been completely unable to slip below someone’s attention and if it were any other time he might feel good about that. Might enjoy the idea of being seen and having the attention of someone like Captain Jeremy on him.

Except FF has Spaghetti Pants.

FF cannot escape the man’s determination to ‘make it up’ to him after Aaron had let slip that FF had a restraining order against one of his brothers.

FF insisted that it was okay.

Captain Jeremy insisted on making sure he had a good time.

FF insisted that a good time for him would be to sit at this table all night by himself. He kept to himself that what would really make it would be for him to sit without anyone around to notice he had spaghetti pants.

Captain Jeremy seemed to think that it was due to the still healing stomach injury and insisted on at least keeping him company then, unaware of the unvoiced second part.

So Captain Jeremy of the USC Trojans had declared himself FF’s banquet buddy. A man that was friends or at least friendly with almost every single player here at the banquet.

He looks around the banquet and sees the various tense standoffs at the other tables. These were men and women who would find even the smallest thing and never let you forget it.

He doesn’t know what he’d do if they realize he had spaghetti pants.

How does one recover on the court when the person you’re up against can remember the cold December evening that you dumped a meatball on your pants? He can already hear the jeering nicknames.

He wants to sink into his seat but he’s afraid to shift at all, worried he’ll dislodge the napkin in some way and the newest person coming up to say ‘Hi’ to Jeremy Knox will notice the marinara stain on his pants.

While Jeremy was distracted he did try to wet Nicky’s disposed of napkin to perhaps clean himself off a bit except before he could a Raven came up to him, “Come with me.” a large Raven Backliner says, jerking his head towards the bathrooms.

“No thank you.” FF answers in return, “I don’t need to do that.” he says assuming that the Backliner had seen him shift in his seat and assume he needed to use the restroom.

The Raven Backliner stood for a few moments as if waiting for him to change his mind but then Captain Jeremy’s attention snapped back, “Can we help you with something?” Captain Jeremy asks and his friendly demeanor had vanished.

“I-” The Raven Backliner started to say before seemingly deciding that it wasn’t worth it and walked away.

Captain Jeremy and him continued to talk. They had somehow fallen onto the SAW movie franchise and FF could admit that he was surprised that the Trojan Captain had watched the series.

“You need to come with me.” A Raven Striker says coming up and interrupting the two of them as they talked about the ethics of SAW. FF believed that it was all well and good to learn to appreciate life but there had to be simpler ways to go about teaching that. Jeremy didn’t disagree, he just also thought that sometimes there were some people who Jigsaw never intended to redeem and those people may have deserved their fates.

FF tilts his head, “Do I?” he asks since it didn’t seem like the ERC had made any sort of announcement and she seems utterly and completely perplexed by his response.

The girl looks at him, looks over her shoulder, looks back at him, “Yes?” she responds sounding so unsure that even FF wouldn’t believe her.

“I don’t think he does.” Captain Jeremy interrupts gaze utterly cooled from the warm one he had been giving FF throughout their philosophical debate.

The Raven Striker looks cowed and FF almost feels bad for her but not bad enough to console her when he has spaghetti pants.

She leaves.

FF and Captain Jeremy’s conversation shifts to winter break plans. Captain Jeremy is going home to his family and he’s taking Jean Moreau with him. “I think my mom likes him more than she likes me sometimes.” Jeremy laughs heartily. “He deserves nice holidays though so I’m always happy to bring him up.” he says voice and features going soft as he looks to where Jean Moreau was standing with a raised eyebrow next to Andrew as Kevin and Neil were having some animated conversation.

FF talks about his own plans with the Foxes and how he’ll be spending the break with them. He thinks Captain Jeremy looks a little sad about that but whatever sadness there is Captain Jeremy moves past it quickly and starts to ask if he had plans to go anywhere specific in New York. He heartily recommends the LEGO store when FF says he’s never been.

“Someone important wishes to speak with you.” An Offensive Dealer from the Ravens says and he looks like he’s about to shake apart as he stands in front of them.

“Who?” He asks, tilting his head and sipping his water.

The Dealer looks at him.

“Is it that hard of a question to answer?” Captain Jeremy asks voice stern once again.

“He’s…Master is-” The Dealer goes paler and Smith can’t help but pull out his handkerchief from his front suit pocket as he sees the Dealer break out into a cold sweat.

“You don’t look well, maybe you should sit down?” he asks with his handkerchief extended in offer. The man looks at him and then the handkerchief and then takes it. “Thank you.” he says 

“Wow a handkerchief? My pocket square is just a fake one sewed in.” Captain Jeremy laughs jovial once again as the Raven took a seat shakily.

“It’s something my dad used to always say.” Smith thinks about the additional handkerchiefs in his pockets. “A gentleman always has a handkerchief on hand to help.” He pulls out a second one, “A real gentleman has two.” he adds and folds the new handkerchief into shape for the pocket square again.

Captain Jeremy laughs, “Sounds like a great guy! He must be happy you took his advice to heart.” he says and it doesn’t hurt that bad when Captain Jeremy is saying it since he’s saying something so nice.

“I hope so.” he agrees and doesn’t feel like ruining the mood.

Captain Jeremy turns his attention back onto the Raven who has taken a seat and his eyes soften on the Raven, “Wow you really are pale. Not a lot of sunlight in the Nest?” he asks.

The Dealer swallows, now visibly the most nervous person at the table which is saying something considering that FF is at the table.”I-I’m just pale naturally.” he denies.

“Sit and talk with us until you feel better.” Captain Jeremy insists, “What’s your name by the way?” he asks.

“Michael.” He answers awkwardly.

“Great, my name is Jeremy,” Captain Jeremy points at himself, “and this is Smith. So, have you ever been to New York City before?” he asks

Captain Jeremy, FF, and Michael chat at length about Michael’s New York pizza recommendations. Captain Jeremy asks about some of the places he has been in New York and the longer Michael is there chatting the more color comes to his face and the more vehement he becomes that Captain Jeremy managed to pick all the worst places by accident.

“You’re kidding me! It was 10 bucks a slice, it has to be good!” Captain Jeremy exclaims looking as if Michael was telling him Santa and the Easter Bunny weren’t real.

“If you’re paying more than $2.50 it’s a rip.” Michael insists passionately. “If it’s more expensive than the subway ticket then it’s a racket!” he slams his fist down at the table.

“You mean to tell me that I was lied to by that person I followed on Twitter?” Captain Jeremy asks, appalled.

“Swindled.” Michael insists.

“Christ, I’ve given that recommendation to so many people.” Captain Jeremy and while gesturing he puts his elbow in his own remaining spaghetti, “Oh shit.” he says. Smith looks at the black suit jacket and thinks about a future one step to the left where he had on black pants and a black suit jacket.

“I’m sure it’s good.” FF tries to comfort offering Jeremy his third handkerchief, this one from his left pocket since the one in his breast pocket was a specific color for the ‘look’ that Nicky had wanted. “It’s just not representative of a New York slice,” he adds.

“Thanks Smith.” Captain Jeremy takes the handkerchief wetting it with the glass of water nearby and wiping away the excess of marinara and spaghetti. “I’m going to go wash this off and try to dry it for you.” he says holding the handkerchief up.

“You don’t have to do that.” FF says but Jeremy is waving him off as he stands.

“Sit tight, I’ll be right back.” he says and heads off.

FF turns to Michael, “So I shouldn’t trust anything more than $2.50?” he asks.

Michael shakes his head and turns to look at FF, “Absolutely not.” he says with a smile before FF can see his eyes flick away and he stiffens. “Hey, it’s…” he looks down and the handkerchief, “it’s been nice chatting with you but… is there anyway we can take this conversation somewhere else?” he asks.

FF blinks, “No, I’m not getting up until the party is over.” Smith declines because by this point the stain has set. There is no stealthily cleaning it now that Captain Jeremy has left.

“So, you’ll get up once the banquet is over?” Michael asks leaning across the table and as he does that Smith can see a fairly ugly bruise on the Dealer’s forehead.

“I’ll have to won’t I?” he asks because despite the not-zero possibility that he’ll get left behind by the team again. His gaze shifts to Nicky who is leaning heavily against Matt as the two sway back and forth dancing and laughing. Probably about 50/50 at this point, depending on how quickly FF can make his way out of the stadium.

Michael looks at him and there’s something in his eyes that feels saddened, “Yeah, I guess that’s true.” he says before rising to his feet. “Thank you for this.” he says and hands the handkerchief back. FF can’t help but notice how there was a schmear of make-up on it.

The Dealer walks off and FF waves him off with the handkerchief before sliding it back into his right pocket, where he kept dirty handkerchiefs. He lets his eyes wander across the banquet. He sees Aaron and Katelyn slow dancing to a song that is not a slow dance. He sees Kevin and Jean now in the middle of a passionate conversation. Jack is pouting by the punch bowl with a few other Sophomores patting him on the back. Sheena is seemingly trying to flirt with the older bartender. Nicky and Matt have somehow only gotten sloppier in the 2 minutes between when he last looked at them and now. Captain Neil and Andrew are at the dessert table and he sees Andrew offering Captain Neil a chocolate covered strawberry. He sees a gaggle of his fellow freshmen huddled together all sipping their drinks nervously he moves to wave them over back to the table. Threat of the reveal of his spaghetti pants aside he’s not used to be alone anym-

“What the fuck did you just say?!” He hears behind him.

“I said what I said. She wasn’t even that hot! Get over it!” Another mocking voice.

“That’s it!” the sound of glass shattering and all hell breaks loose.

MASTERPOST FOR ALL PARTS OF FLUENT FRESHMAN AU

NEXT

[adorawritesalot]

The Cafe

hi everyone! my first ever kpop one-shot (and my longest one ever)! spare me pls

pairing: widowed father!bangchan x cafe owner!fem!reader

word count: 3.5k

warnings: mentions of death, about five curse words, two idiots in love, overthinking, the L word, lmk if i missed anything

STORY UNDER THE CUT

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Chan was a regular at your cafe. And by regular you mean he comes by every day, 3:12 pm sharp. You would be stupid not to notice him; he’s too beautiful for his own good. His dark brown curls rested peacefully on his forehead, blissfully unaware of the effect they had on you, and his chiselled jaw looked like it could cut through diamonds. It didn’t matter if he was wearing a T-shirt or a coat, you could see his well-built body even through his clothes. He just looked so dreamy to you, and maybe that’s why you were thinking about him on your Sunday shift. One of the two days that he doesn’t come by the cafe. It was hard to wake up at the ass crack of dawn at the weekends long before Chan started going to your cafe. But ever since he first showed up in a black sweater and his hair unruly, asking for an iced americano to-go, waking up for your weekend shifts was even harder.  

“You need a coffee.” 

Snapping your head up quickly, you smiled at your friend tiredly, “Thanks, Hwa. Just what a girl needs at 9 am on a Sunday.” You quickly started making his drink to wake up at least just a little bit. 

“I’m just saying,” he shrugged, “you probably haven’t gotten many customers anyway. Had a long night?”  

You turned around with a fake scandalised look on your face, making him laugh. “You make me laugh, Park Seonghwa. I have a child to take care of!” you cried out jokingly, flailing your hands around. It made him look around the cafe and ponder on how far you’ve come. He had known you for quite some time now, meeting you at one of the many college parties his friends dragged him to. Back then this cafe was real only in your imagination, and he can remember the mental picture of the cafe he had when you first told him about your dream quite well, seeing as it was standing right in front of him. Well, besides the autumn decorations on every surface imaginable. He felt proud of you, and he would come to this cafe even if the coffee sucked. 

“I know, babe, but don’t you think you deserve to at least go on a date? And before you say something,” he put a finger up, making you turn back around, “maybe you can ask a hot customer, ‘cause I know damn well you don’t go anywhere other than your flat and the cafe,” he looked at the back of your head pointedly. 

You keep your eyes trained on the coffee in front of you as you think of a certain customer. Obviously, you’ve thought about asking him out, but what if he was taken? He seemed to be older than you, and honestly, it would be a crime to leave that man single. And the second problem was even worse; you couldn’t for the life of you function properly when he was just on the other side of the counter. Yes, that may be because you haven’t felt the touch of another human being in quite some time, but you told yourself that it was just because of his stunning looks to keep your sanity.  

“Your coffee’s ready,” you turned around, smiling at him sarcastically. 

“You really don’t wanna talk about it, huh?”  

“No, not really.” 

He looked at you plainly in silence before softening up. “Just hit me up once something happens, please. Or even when nothing happens. You know that our door is always open for you, y/n.” 

“Of course, Hwa. We still have to plan the sleepover, anyway. Now shoo before the Sunday brunchers start coming,” you laughed, and it made him check his watch. 

“Oh god, I left Wooyoung in the car alone for fifteen minutes.” 

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3pm on an October Sunday had never felt as good as that day. Cleaning tables after a long day of being alone at the cafe mixed with your playlist playing softly in the background sounded like music to your ears. Even though it wasn’t by far the busiest day that the cafe had lived through, it felt like it. Your Sunday part-time worker texted you yesterday evening that he got the flu and could barely even stand up, so you told him to get well soon and then cried for an hour, like the responsible boss you are. 

After you finished cleaning up, you set the cleaning timer on all coffee machines to 4pm, turned off all the lights, put on your coat and grabbed your stuff. Stopping the music, you looked at your phone, only to see 3:10pm written on it. That means you can still catch the earlier bus without running to the bus stop and then start that series you’ve been itching to watch half an hour earlier. You add a little skip into your walk to the door, opening it. Just as you stepped out, a body stepped right in front of you. Yelping, you step back slightly, looking up at the stranger who wanted to come into the cafe, only to find Chan standing right in front of you, in that black sweater of his that you saw him in for the first time. 

He took a step back. “I’m so sorry! Are you okay?” 

You nodded at him with a laugh, “yeah, of course. I’m sorry, too. You just really scared me.” 

He then looked at your hand, which was holding the keys to the cafe, and then inside the building behind you, seeing the lights off. His expression falls and a little frown makes its way onto his face instead. “You’re closing? I thought you were here ‘till 5 today.” 

Your expression fell too, “oh my god. I forgot to put up the autumn schedule on Google,” he giggled a little at your expression, “in autumn and winter, we close at 3pm on Sundays. I’m so sorry, this is totally my fault. Do you still want coffee? The machines are not going to start the cleaning process until 4, anyway.” 

He interrupted you with a laugh, “you really don’t have to apologise, it’s nothing. But, um,” there was some hesitation in his voice, “but would you, maybe, no pressure, really, I don’t want you to feel like you have to, um.” He looked down at his feet and then back up at you with a nervous smile. “Would you want to go somewhere? With me. If you’re not busy, obviously.” 

You laughed out of shock, “Oh, um. What? I mean, really?” He smiled, his dimples on display, and nodded.  

“Yeah, sure. Sure, I would love to.” Were you dreaming? “Do you want to go in, then? O-or-” 

“No, no, I was thinking maybe, um, get street food and just go to the park around the corner? Because I don’t want you to spend time making something? Actually, scratch that, that’s just plain and stupid, maybe I should plan something fancier,” rambled Chan, combing his hand through his hair. 

“No, I think that sounds good,” you said, maybe a little too quickly, “I mean, uh, yeah. Sure, sounds good. Perfect, even.” 

“Okay!” There was that smile with the dimples. 

“Okay,” you smiled up at him sweetly, “oh!” Turning around, you locked the door quickly before turning around. “Shall we, then?” 

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The food wasn’t necessarily good, but you would honestly eat worse if it meant you could spend more time with Chan. You were sat on a bench, a first date friendly distance between your bodies. You’ve gotten to know random things about him in the past hour and a half; he is 30, just seven years older than you. You also found out that he works in the local firm that’s ten minutes away from the cafe, which is why he comes to the cafe at the same time every day, and that he likes to make music with his friends. What mattered to you more, though, was how attentive and awfully nice he was. Paying for your food, walking on the outside of the sidewalk, and actually listening to what you had to say came to him naturally.  

“I’m sorry, y/n, but I’ve gotta be somewhere at 5, so I’ll have to go,” he exclaimed after laughing at your previous statement. His words made you check the time on your phone, seeing that it was, in fact, nearing 5pm.  

“Oh, wow, I didn’t even notice it was already 5. Time flies by when you’re having fun, I guess,” you giggle at the hopeful look in his eyes once you said you had fun. 

“I had fun today, too, y/n. I’m glad you had time for me. I’ve been meaning to ask you out for a while now, and I’m happy I finally managed to do it. You’re a great person and even better company,” he stood up and look at his feet, red tinting his ears. 

“Chan,” you started, also standing up, “could I get your number before you go?”  

He looked back up at you for the second time that day. He thought you wouldn’t want anything more with him, maybe just chatting when he gets his coffee, but that’s about it. He let his insecurities cloud his judgement. He thought you were the one who saved this date from being a complete disaster, not knowing that this was the sweetest date you have ever been on. 

Maybe this whole dating thing isn’t as hard as he remembered it to be. Or maybe it’s just your presence that’s making it easier for him. He doesn’t know, but he thinks exchanging numbers with you could be a good idea. 

And as you part ways with him, he waves at you with a giddy smile, dialling the 3racha group chat. You wave at him with a giggle and a bright smile, calling Seonghwa quickly.  

“You won’t fucking believe what just happened.” 

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It’s been almost a month since your first date with Chan. And to be honest, you were in deep. You have been texting him almost all the time, and every time he would come by the cafe, he would stay a little longer, just to see you smile. You’ve gone on different dates in the past month, but your favourites were probably the museum and the aquarium date. 

But today marks the day of the biggest, and in your opinion the most important, date so far. You will be going to a respectable restaurant, dressed in your finest clothes. Seonghwa told you, that he thinks Chan might finally ask you to be his girlfriend, something you aren’t too sure of. Sure, you’ve fallen for him, and you would love to think he’s in the same predicament as you, but your overthinking mind cannot help but worry.  

Especially since he texted you at half past ten in the morning that he can’t go on a date today, because his work will probably keep him busy until late at night. So, you texted him that you understand and that you hope he doesn’t stay in too late, and then took a break to cry in the breakroom. Your mind was screaming at you from every corner of your brain. Why are you crying over this? It’s nothing personal, you’re sure, Chan wouldn’t do that to you, but you can’t help but worry. What if you are just another girl to him, while he is the main topic of your conversations with your best friend? 

Trying to push those thoughts away, you got up from the floor and cleaned up.   

At least your part-time worker doesn’t have to close by herself, you tell yourself to feel better about this whole thing. 

:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

Chan felt like an asshole. He accidentally put his daughter’s recital on Saturday instead of Friday in his calendar, so he made plans with you. Turns out, the recital is, in fact, not on Saturday. His daughter was talking about it all the way to the kindergarten, all while he was silently cussing himself out. What is he supposed to tell you? Oh god, what if Jisung and Changbin can't come today? Nari would probably stop functioning if she saw two empty seats next to Chan. And then her teacher, who already didn’t like Nari for some reason, would be mad at her. This was bad. 

Then he remembers that he’s talking about Changbin and Jisung, the two guys who were by his side every step of the way. They wouldn’t miss Nari’s recital for the world. 

You, on the other hand? He was planning on telling you everything today at dinner; from his daughter to his feelings for you. And now he had to call off the date. Driving to work had never seemed this long. His mind was running through all the possibilities. He wasn’t stupid, he knew he should’ve told you sooner. Chan was just too scared to say anything. You were probably the best thing that’s happened to him ever since the death of Nari’s mum. What would he do if he fucked this up, too? 

Brushing it away as best as he could, he texts you that he won’t be able to make it to the date due to work and that he’s sorry. Because he truly was, and all he could do was hope that you wouldn’t take anything personally. 

Thankfully, his day at work went by quickly. Nothing out of the ordinary popped up, and so he could leave peacefully at 3 pm. He really wanted to see your smile and get coffee, but he knew he couldn’t, so he drove past the cafe to Jisung’s place, where he would be picking him up. Thankfully, Jisung lived quite close, so the drive didn’t take too long. Chan pulled up to his friend’s house like he had a million times before, unlocking the car as he saw Jisung standing there. 

“Hey, Chan,” he greeted enthusiastically, receiving a greeting back, “you excited?” 

“Hell yeah. This is Nari’s biggest recital so far. I just hope everything goes well.” 

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“Excuse me, sorry, excuse me, sorry,” he muttered as he passed people to get to their chairs. 

Changbin looked at all the parents around them, “Gods, when did these people even get here? I thought we were gonna be the first ones here.” He received an enthusiastic nod from Jisung. 

“Well, we were, but then Channie hyung just had to talk to Nari’s teacher,” Jisung rolled his eyes jokingly. 

“Sorry I care about my daughter.” 

A beat of silence passed through the group. Changbin and Jisung held eye contact with raised eyebrows until Jisung averted his eyes to look at Chan, “you okay?” 

“Yeah, of course, why wouldn’t I be?” 

All three of them knew he was fucked with that response. 

“Is this about y/n?” Changbin asked, already knowing the answer. 

The lights started to dim, “we’ll talk once the recital ends.” 

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He stood up, clapping proudly as he looked at his daughter. She waved at him with the biggest smile on her little face, and he knew he had to make things right. He turned to Jisung. “Could you go to Nari? I have to talk with Bin.” 

Jisung nodded sombrely, seeing as he wanted to hear this conversation, but ran off happily to his niece.  

Changbin sighed, “so, what did you do?” 

And so, Chan tells him. Changbin knew that he hadn’t told you about Nari, but he didn’t know Chan wanted to tell you today. Chan tells him how he lied to you, and how it’s slowly eating away at his conscience. And mainly, he tells him, “I don’t want to love her, Bin. I don’t like what that means to me.” 

“What do you think it means, Chris?” 

“It means I have something to lose again, and I’m not strong enough for that anymore,” he whispers harshly. 

“Well, if I can, I’ll tell you what I think it means,” Changbin started, “I think that means having someone who can help you bear all your problems. It means having someone who is here for you all the time. But mainly, it means having someone who loves you unconditionally, Chris. And from what you’ve told me, she’s great at all of these things. And she would probably be great with Nari, too. Nari would love her,” he paused, wondering if he should say it, “Nari will love her. But you gotta let her.” 

“But, Bin,” Chan tried to reason. 

“We both know she would want you to be happy. And if that means being with y/n, which I personally think it means, then she would want you to be with her.” 

Chan finally looked back up from his shoes to his friend. Chan knew he was right. Changbin was always right. But what about you? Would you even want him? 

“Stop overthinking and go tell her how you feel, please. I’ll cry if you don’t,” Changbin joked. 

“But Nari-” Chan began, only to get interrupted. 

“We’ll take her home. Go make things right,” he replied, pushing Chan to the entrance of the building. Chan only smiled before he took off, taking long strides to his car. 

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You sighed as you wiped down the last table. It was almost 5 pm, which meant you were closing for the day. It wasn’t your normal schedule, but it was the annual maintenance day, so your customers knew about this.  

All you wanted right now was a tub of ice cream, a cheesy romance movie to make you feel even worse, and three boxes of tissues to cry into. You knew this was stupid to cry about; after all, it was just a cancelled date. But what if this was just one out of many? Maybe he just didn’t want you anymore, or he never wanted you in the first place. 

And maybe you could just cry over a man on a random Friday night. 

You stopped the playlist sombrely, turned off the lights, and grabbed your things, seeing it was eleven minutes past five. You were supposed to be sitting in the best restaurant in the city right now. 

A ring of the bell above the cafe’s door interrupted our train of thought. “Sorry, we’re closed for the day,” you turned around, only to see him standing there, dressed in that damned black sweater of his. 

“Chan,” you breathed out, “what are you doing here?” 

Chan froze for a second. He was finally here, after sitting in the traffic for ten minutes. He had plenty of time to think about what he was going to say and do. Problem was that he forgot all of it the moment he saw you. And so, his heart took over. He took quick steps towards you. He stopped just short of you.  

“I’m so sorry, y/n. I need to tell you so much, but first I want to apologise. I haven’t been truthful with you in every aspect and,” he took a breath,” I’m just so sorry. Could we sit down?” 

And as he told you about his late wife and his daughter Nari in one of the cafe’s booths, you felt like a complete asshole for overthinking this. Of course he didn’t tell you, dumbass. You wouldn’t tell yourself either. A few minutes of silence were all it took for you to realise what Chan had just said. 

“Chan,” you started, trying to find the right words as you stood up, “be honest with me right now, please. Do you see this thing between us going somewhere serious? I get that you lost your wife a few years ago, and I’m really sorry to hear that. And I get that you have a daughter, so you probably won’t want her to meet me this soon or anything, but-” 

He kissed you. 

He kissed you, and it felt like all the tension from your shoulders fell right between the two of you and then dissipated into thin air. His kiss felt like a breath of fresh air although you were losing your breath slowly, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. Your hands found their way around his neck as his hands traced your waist, bringing you even closer. 

You then parted; you were both breathing heavily, but Chan’s face had that dimpled smile you’d fallen for.  

“I’m sorry, I just had to shut you up, y/n,” he giggled, “I do see this going somewhere and I do want you to meet Nari as soon as possible, because I don’t think I can handle another day without letting you know I love you. I love you, y/n.” 

The smile you had on your face could probably brighten any of Chan’s dark days, and he just wanted to kiss you again. 

“I love you, too, Chan.” 

:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

THANK YOU for reading! friendly reminder that my asks are open!

asked to be tagged: @bangtancultsposts

[777charm]

Child!MC swearing infont of the Brothers

Request: "Child!mc who heard any of the brothers(obey me) swears and says "f*ck" or any curse 😭 would like to see there reaction :)!! I understand if you don't accept my request ^7^"

Note: I AM SO SORRY ANON I ACCIDENTALLY DELETED THE WHOLE REQUEST 😭😭

Warnings: Cursing/Swear Words + Middle Aged Mom Lucifer (he gets his own warning)

Lucifer

Definitely saw this one coming, but wasn't exactly expecting the exact moment. I mean you are a young child, and you are prone to pickup some words the brothers (esp MAMMON) use sooner or later. You were playing in his office while he finished up some work, before your trip to the park later. You accidentally tripped on a crayon, crashing into a vase on a nearby table, senting it crashing onto the floor with a loud shattering sound. Almost immediately Lucifer is beside you making sure you are okay, and that no glass shards hurt you. Before he even gets the words out to ask you are even okay, you yell out "FUCK!". This one shocks him because. Well. This isn't the time he expected you to say that. At least, it was a small swear word and not a major swear-word. He kinda awkwardly skips past that, helping you up while having you sit down while he cleans up the remains of the now broken vase. Afterwords he scolds you for using the "bad word".

"MC. You know we do not say that word is this house. That is bad, and we do not repeat what others say."—Sounds like a angry middle-aged mom LMAOOOO

I think he might scold them for a good fifteen minutes, reminding them to not say anymore bad words, as that can to lead to punishment (no toys for starters).

Mammon

I feel like he's that one uncle/brother who teaches the younger kids THE SWEAR WORDS IN THE FIRST PLACE 💀 He def sets them up, and tells them to "show off" to Lucifer. He literally taught them every swear word he knows, and said "I bet Lucifer will probably like if you greeted him that way!". Speed forward Dinner, Lucifer walks in sitting down in his usual chair. MC getting happy especially when Mammon sends them the thumbs-up to go along with their little "plan". Satan and Belphegor found it alittle weird that MC was suddenly so happier than usual, and to add onto it, so was Mammon. It was like he planning another scheme....OH FOR FUCKS SAKE WHAT DID MC JUST SAY????? The table went eerily slient after MC looked Lucifer dead in the eyes and yelled out "Hi you son of a BITCH! SUCK MY DICK!". The silence was interrupted by Mamon laughing, barely holding back tears at this point. Satan and Levi joined in–Satan not believing MC actually said what he had wanted to say for so long, and Levi finding it hilarious that someone as small and weird as a "Normie Child" like MC, could swear like that. Dinner was somewhat quiet after that, and it only worsened as towards the end MC spoke up again. "Hey you fucker! I want the rest of the godamn fucking mashing fucking potatoes!" You said pointing to the mashed potatoes now on Asmo's Plate. He himself was taken back by your now more demanding vocabulary than usual. "MC-!" "NO YOU LISTEN HERE FUCKER!". Even though your words so aggressive, you said them with such a happy face that the whole table was confused. How were you happy but so angry???–Okay Dinner was cut short. Yeaaaaah very short, and a early bedtime and timeout chair for you. After Lucifer did some instigating (literally threatening to tie them from the celling) he found out this was Mammon's doing. Let's just say, not a fun week for you and Mammon..🚶‍♂️

-Might do the rest of the brothers later ! Thank you for requesting, and I'm so sorry for deleting your whole request :[ 🥞

[ilovecupcakesandtea]

Chapter 1 Chapter 3

The bed was a welcome sight after a long night of doing inventory at Melvald’s. Joyce had offered to stay and help him but she’d helped get Steve the job a little over a year ago and he hasn’t felt right asking her for help since. It wasn’t much but it was better than hopping from place to place around town, never staying anywhere longer than six months. It was just past three in the morning, he could have been home sooner but he couldn’t get himself to keep his pace in the last hour. Steve had taken his shoes off at the door and thrown himself into bed, not having the energy to get ready for bed, that would be future Steve’s problem. He didn’t have work tomorrow so he set his phone to do not disturb and plugged it in. 

Steve woke up to a crashing noise coming from somewhere in his room. He had no clue how long he’d been asleep but judging by the damp spot on his pillow, it was at least a good sleep. It took a minute before he realized his whole room was shaking. Thank goodness for all the drills he’d been forced to do in school, knowing his best bet was to get under his desk. After a minute or two the shaking had stopped. Steve carefully looked around in front of him to make sure there wasn’t anything broken that he’d have to be careful of while crawling out from under his desk. Looking around his room he noticed that not much had broken other than the lamp that had previously sat on his night stand. It was one of the good things about not feeling like he could really make his room his own, there wasn’t really anything around that could break.

Slipping on a pair of shoes from his closet, he left his room to check on the rest of the house. Steve flipped the switch to his bed light in hopes of lighting up the hallway only to find that the electricity had been disrupted by what he was assuming had been an earthquake. Going back into his room to grab his phone to use as a flashlight, his phone screen reading five fifteen. What luck he had, only getting two hours of sleep before being woken up. The hallway was clear of anything broken thanks to the lack of pictures, his mom having chosen to fill it with art instead which he was grateful for this time. The rest of the house wasn’t as lucky, broken vases and various antiques. In the living room there was a large tree limb surrounded by broken glass. 

Going outside he saw a large tree blocking the entrance to his cul-de-sac, a smaller tree leaning against the Heartford’s house, and most of his neighbors standing in their driveways. Steve knew at least one of them would have someone to call to take care of the downed trees and any other damage that had been caused but who knew what other damage they couldn’t see. It could take someone minutes or hours to get to them and he wasn’t willing to wait that long, having a hard time getting a signal on his phone to check on the kids he used to babysit. The Johnsons to his left were in their seventies so he wouldn’t dare ask them to help with the clean up, though he knew George would try to get Steve to let him help. Allen Heartford was the kind of guy to call someone before lifting a finger to even do something as small as tighten a screw, just as useless as the other husbands on Steve’s street. 

Once Steve made the rounds to his neighbors that had been standing outside to make sure everyone was alright, he went to the shed to get his chainsaw. If he wanted to be able to leave any time soon it would be up to him to get it done. George came over to offer help as expected and made sure Steve knew he didn’t have to do it. Two hours later and their cul-de-sac was no longer blocked but Steve had been up so long at this point that he wasn’t going to be able to go back to sleep anytime soon so he offered to take care of the tree leaning against the Heartford house. He was about half way done when Karen came out with a glass of cucumber water for him and offered chocolate chip muffins she’d just baked now that the power had been restored. Steve took the water but turned down the muffins, Susan was always trying to offer him baked goods. Something about it just always felt off and her baking was never good. 

After finishing the last tree, taking a shower, and calling the insurance company about the living room, he was finally able to call all of the kids. Thankfully everyone was ok with no major damage. Steve wasn’t sure if he’d be able to sleep now but he hoped the knowledge that everyone was ok would help give him enough peace of mind to try.

It had been about thirty minutes of him failing to sleep when he heard his phone go off. There was no need to check it now since he’d already checked on everyone but since it was obvious sleep wasn’t happening he picked it up.

Steve didn’t know what to think. Not only did it seem like his parents were just giving him the house but they couldn’t even bother to call him with such big news. It had him wondering how long they had been thinking about not coming back. 

Steve had always complained to Robin about how much he hated the way his mom had decorated. He felt like he couldn’t really live in the house, like his parents would be upset if they’d found even the tiniest speck of dust or dirt. He loved the idea of being able to start over and make the house his own finally, it wasn’t like his parents ever even lived here in the first place. The only problem was he didn’t have the money for all new furniture, he had some money he had set aside to move out which he wouldn’t be needing anymore. Maybe he could sell all the furniture on facebook marketplace and use that to start over. That could be enough, it wasn’t like he would need to do every room in the house right now anyways.

Immediately Steve was thinking about all the things he could do before getting new furniture. Thought of all the things they had left behind, all the miserable family photos on the walls. The only problem was he had no way of bagging these things or boxes to put them in. He was already in need of a trip to the grocery store, might as well go now and get an idea of the damage around town while he was out.

Thankfully there hadn’t been much damage that he noticed on the way, glad to see Melvald’s looking unharmed. His mind was still on the house as he turned his half full cart down the cereal aisle, stopping in his tracks when he noticed a familiar figure standing in the aisle. It had been a couple of weeks since he’d seen or talked to Eddie last, assuming he’d been busy with work. The timing hadn’t been the best, he’d finally worked up the courage to do something about the feelings he had for Eddie. Robin had been pushing him for a month to just do it already but when he’d finally given in was when Eddie had stopped answering his texts as much. They still texted a little but Steve had been wanting to talk to him in person. 

Deciding that he’d rather take the chance now, even in the middle of a grocery store, than go another several weeks without another opportunity. He started walking forward again when Eddie turned enough to see his face. He looked absolutely exhausted, maybe he’d started working more? As much as he had wanted to, Steve realized that now probably wasn’t time to tell Eddie. He could at least catch up with him and maybe find out what had him so exhausted. He’d already waited weeks, what was a few more for someone like Eddie?

[jjtheresidentbaby]

˚. ❝₊˚ blue band-aids ❞ ˚₊·

» five hargreeves & lila pitts

» on my ao3 | word count: 1k+ | rated: gen

͟͟͞꒰➳ excerpt: They blink into the academy’s kitchen and Lila can already see the sheen layer of tears built in Five’s eyes waiting to fall. Her heart cracks, she knew it was too soon to take him on a mission, they’ve only been back in 2019 for a few months and Lila’s taken over The Commission’s missions on her own to let Five adjust to being where he’s been fighting to get it.

» a/n: set after season 3 but not in the new world that we see

» warnings: little!five, caregiver!lila, hurt/comfort, minor injury, crying, mentioned canonical violence, pet names, canon divergence (five & lila knew each other pre canon), autistic five but it’s just implied

They blink into the academy’s kitchen and Lila can already see the sheen layer of tears built in Five’s eyes waiting to fall. Her heart cracks, she knew it was too soon to take him on a mission, they’ve only been back in 2019 for a few months and Lila’s taken over The Commission’s missions on her own to let Five adjust to being where he’s been fighting to get to for so long.

“Shh, it’s alright sweetheart, I’ll clean you up.” Without thinking Lila props Five up to sit on the counter, grimacing looking at his bloodied knees and busted lip. Thankfully the rest of the Hargreeve siblings don’t seem to be home and she’s able to grab the first aid kit from under the sink without interruption.

“This will sting but I need to clean the dirt out.” There’s only a meek nod as a response, Five reaching to clumsily wipe the silent tears rolling down his cheeks and looking away before Lila swipes an alcohol pad across the cuts on his knees.

They were in a parking lot trying to kill off some nobody office worker, but what was supposed to be an easy job to ease Five back into working quickly turned sour when the dude pulled out a gun of his own. Nobody at The Commission warned Lila that the man she was going after happened to be a trained boxer in his spare time and a lover of guns, it took Lila just as off guard as it took Five. The job ended after a brawl between Lila, Five, and the man- all three of them weren’t making things easy.

Guilt eats at Lila as she works on applying ointment to Five’s knees- she hadn’t seen that he was slipping into headspace until the gun went off and the man was dead in front of them. He watched her kill him. She feels sick. Five was doing so well for the past few days and he kept assuring Lila he could handle the job, that he wouldn’t slip, that everything would be okay and she should just trust him- Lila regrets listening to him. It’s her responsibility to make sure he’s safe and taken care of, at least while he’s little, and now she just traumatized him even more than he already is.

“What color?” There’s a small shake in her voice that she admittedly ignores, holding the multicolored box of band-aids out for Five to choose. Blue, predictable, she makes a mental note to buy another box of these types of band-aids next time she goes to the store. She’ll have to write down the brand name before she goes, it’s the only kind that Five tolerates having on his skin for more than two minutes.

“Very good choice.” She smiles and finishes up laying the band-aids over his knees.

“M’sorry.” Five mumbles with his head down and hands fidgeting in his lap.

Carefully, moving slow enough that Five can deny her touch if he wanted, Lila cups his cheeks and turns his face upwards to look in his eyes. It always amazes Lila how soft and tiny Five can come across, fifteen year old body aside, he’s never been gentle or anything close to it and yet he looks delicate in a sense. There’s no clenched jaw or paranoid edge in his eyes, he’s staring at Lila like he trusts her to take care all of that, that she can handle it for him and he doesn’t need to worry about it.

“You have nothing to apologize for munchkin, you did nothing wrong. I shouldn’t have taken you with me.” The nickname earns her a light blush and faint smile, the tears on Five’s cheeks drying and his breathing seeming decently normal. Thank god.

“I wanted to go.” Lila hums, taking a wet paper towel to dab at the sticky blood on Five’s lip.

“You could’ve gone on a simpler case.”

“You didn’t know that guy would be like that.” He argues with that cute little pout Lila absolutely adores and can’t help smiling at.

“I should’ve done a better background check, trusting The Commission wasn’t smart of me.” After growing up in the company one would think Lila would learn how to do things properly, and she would too, but it’s different with Five here now.

It was one thing when they’d work together before he ever time traveled back to 2019 the first time and the only time he’d regress is back at a motel while desperately trying to hide it from Lila until it happened enough times that she got him to reluctantly let her take care of him— now he’s been regressing more and more, trying to cope with three apocalypses, being more open with Lila taking care of him but still hiding it from his siblings. It’s more vulnerable now, there’s more trust between the two of them, and while that terrifies Lila it also makes her feel forever grateful that she’s who Five allows to see this side of himself.

“I wish you didn’t have to work anymore.”

The deal they made with The Commission to get back to 2019 instead of being stuck in Reginald’s world wasn’t one anyone was jumping to agree on but Lila told the Hargreeve’s she’d handle most of the cases assigned to them so they could try and live a normal life. Five protested that even more than Diego did but in the end there wasn’t anything he could do to change her mind, so instead he said he’d join her, but Lila’s been avoiding that as long as she could.

“I know munchkin, me too.” She soothes and runs her hand through Five’s sweaty hair, peeling it off his forehead to be laid back how it’s supposed to be.

“‘Miss you when you’re gone.” He admits quietly, eyes falling away from Lila’s in embarrassment.

“I miss you too, always.” More than she probably should. It’s just hard to leave Five at the academy knowing nobody else knows he regresses and wouldn’t be able to help him if he needed it, even Diego doesn’t know despite how hard Lila’s pleaded with Five to tell him as she highly doubts he’d react badly to it.

“Up?” Five’s arms outstretch towards her and Lila happily complies hefting him up to her hip, it’s easy with her super strength she can mimic whenever she wants.

“How about we go change and take a nap, hm?” There’s a tired hum in reply as Five’s head lolls against Lila’s chest and his eyes flutter. He’ll be out in minutes the second she gets them laid in Five’s bed; they can talk more when he’s awake and big again, for now she’ll soak in the peace of Five cuddling into her.

[bradshawsbaby]

Lt. Robert “Bob” Floyd As Your Husband

Pairing: Bob x Wife!Reader

Author’s Note: Sweet Bob, you precious angel, I’d marry you in an instant. This one was requested by @iluvbobfloyd​.

Warnings: Mentions of sex (nothing explicit), Bob being the purest husband to ever live.

- You’ve never felt more loved by anyone in your life than you do by Lieutenant Robert Floyd.

- This man is truly the kindest, most giving soul you’ve ever known and you feel so tremendously blessed to be loved by him.

- The two of you met at The Hard Deck when some of your girlfriends from work convinced you to go out with them on a Friday night.

- You’d only been there for about fifteen minutes when Bob had turned around suddenly and bumped straight into you, causing you to spill your full mug of beer all over your white top.

- “Oh my God! I’m so sorry! Let me help you take that off…I mean clean it up! I mean…oh my God,” Bob had stammered, his innocent face turning bright red in mortification.

- “Hey, accidents happen. You should see what gets spilled on me at work every day,” you told him with a smile, the corners of your eyes crinkling in amusement.

- Bob had just stared at you, disarmed by how beautiful and easy-going you were. When he finally came to his senses, sliding his glasses back up his nose, he managed to ask, “Can I at least buy you another drink?”

- “I’d like that,” you’d beamed.

- That had been that. You’d spent the entire night at the bar, talking and laughing and getting to know one another until Penny had declared it was closing time.

- “It was lovely to meet you, Lieutenant Floyd,” you said softly, slipping a napkin into his hand as you slid off your stool and went to catch up with your friends.

- Bob’s eyes widened when he opened the napkin to find your phone number written in a clear hand. It had taken a good deal of cajoling from Phoenix, Rooster, Payback, Fanboy, Coyote, and Hangman to finally convince him to call you.

- “Girls don’t give you their number if they don’t want you to call them,” Fanboy promised him with a wink.

- When Bob finally did call, you invited him to come to a San Diego Padres game with you.  Much to his surprise, he managed to catch a homerun ball at the game, which he promptly gave to you. You rewarded him with a kiss on the cheek, which made him blush. You didn’t think you’d ever met a sweeter man in your life.

- Things progressed quite naturally from there. Bob officially asked you to be his girlfriend not long after that, and within the year, the two of you were engaged.

- You nearly ruined your make-up on the day of your wedding when you read the beautiful, heartfelt letter Bob penned for you.  Among other things, he had written, “I’m not sure why a girl as incredible as you would ever choose a guy like me, but I promise that I’m going to spend the rest of my life trying to make you the happiest woman on earth. I love you so much, Y/N.”

- Bob really does make you the happiest woman on earth. He’s honestly nothing like what you thought a Navy airman would be. He’s the gentlest, most soft-spoken man you know, but also the most fiercely protective. A lot of people underestimate him, but you know how strong and capable he is. You never fail to remind him of that fact.

- Since you’re a kindergarten teacher, you often have a lot of projects you have to work on at home for your students. Despite his long work hours, Bob is always willing to stay up all night with you, sitting on the living room floor as the two of you cut out hearts and leaves and rainbows and smiley faces. The look of intense concentration on his face as he cuts out your project templates never fails to make you giggle.

- When you have to spend the weekends baking cookies and cupcakes for your school’s bake sales, Bob is always right by your side in the kitchen, though he often prefers taste testing to actually baking.

- On the night of your kindergarteners’ class recital, Bob shows up with a huge bouquet of flowers for you and cookies from your favorite bakery for all the kids. Your students all giggle and cover their eyes as “Mrs. Floyd kisses her husband.”

- You and Bob are excellent communicators and are able to talk to each other about everything that’s on your minds and hearts. He’s always honest with you about the risks he faces at work, and you’re equally honest about how much you worry about him.

- You cry every time Bob has to leave for a mission or a long work trip. He always holds you close and gently wipes away your tears. “Please don’t cry, sweetheart,” he begs. “I promise I’m going to come home to you. I love you too much to ever leave you.”

- Bob keeps a photograph of you and a little love note you wrote him tucked inside his flight suit at all times whenever he’s in the air. You don’t know this, but he wrote a long letter for you that he sealed and gave to Rooster, making him promise that he would give it to you in case anything ever happens to him.

- On the days when Bob returns from his missions (whenever they’re not school days), you clear your schedule entirely so that you can spend all day with him. On one occasion, you even did call out sick from work just so that you could spend all day in bed with your husband.

- Despite all the time you’ve been together, making love with Bob is never not special. He’s an incredibly generous lover, always ensuring that you’re taken care of and satisfied before even beginning to think about himself. For such a quiet guy, he’s more skilled with his mouth than you ever could have imagined.

- Reciprocity is key in your relationship. You love making Bob feel just as good as he makes you feel. He very enthusiastically lets you know how much he appreciates it.

- For special date nights, Bob takes you to fancy restaurants or out dancing. He loves watching how excited you get when you get all dressed up and ready for a night out. He always makes sure to tell you at least fifty times how stunning you are.

- A little over a year into your marriage, you get some exciting news that you can’t wait to share with Bob. When he arrives home from a 72-hour trip to a base in Maryland, he finds you waiting for him in the living room, wearing a homemade T-shirt with the word “BOB” written across it in your usual creative flair.

- “Well that is a very nice shirt you’ve got there, sweetheart,” he grins, taking you into his arms and kissing you deeply.

- “Thank you,” you grin in return, your heart pounding as you look up at him. “I was thinking that this time, it really could stand for ‘Baby on Board,’” you say, a twinkle in your eyes.

- “Baby on…baby on…baby on board?” Bob stutters, eyes going wide behind his glasses.  “Baby on…this board? Our baby?!”

- “Welcome home, Daddy!” you exclaim excitedly, throwing yourself into his arms as he spins you around with a loud whoop of joy.

- “I love you so much,” he whispers, kissing you tenderly and resting one hand against your still-flat stomach.

- “I love you, too, Robert Floyd,” you whisper back, wrapping your arms around him and holding him tight.

[iridescent-petrichor]

pull me in the deep end, now

Pairing: Steve Harringon x Henderson!Reader

Warnings: none!

Words: 1K

A/N: no st4 spoilers in this!!! but man that season was fuckin crazy holy shit!!

It was mid-day at Family Video, and not a single customer was in sight. Not that it mattered, Robin and Steve had the tendency to slack off whether or not there were paying customers around.

“Yeah it’s cheesy, that’s what makes romcoms fun!” Robin argues, hands flailing wildly to emphasize her point.

“No- it’s totally lame. Someone looking at their love interest or whatever and then, like, time slows down? No, it’s corny and it’s unrealistic.” Steve retorts, leaning against the counter.

Robin scoffs, rolling her eyes as she goes back to haphazardly stocking the new releases.

Eyes wandering around the empty store, Steve sighed to himself. “Anyway, shouldn’t Y/N be here by now? Her shift started like fifteen minutes ago.”

Meanwhile, you bolt upright in your bed, disoriented by the sun streaming through your curtains.

What time is-

Your heart dropped when you saw the clock. It was already ten after your shift was supposed to start.

“Shit!” You threw the covers off of you, leaping out of bed. “Shit, shit, shit, shit!”

You had stayed up all night to supervise the party’s dnd group at the request of… well, everyone’s parents at this point.

As it would turn out, mysterious murders and missing children going on for years on end made parents a little antsy. Being Dustin’s sister as well as someone who had agreed to babysit the kids growing up, you were given the role of resident babysitter. And chauffeur.

At least Steve has been helping you out recently.

With their campaign ending at around four in the morning, and you finished dropping all of the kids off at thirty minutes past, you didn’t get to go to sleep until much later than you anticipated. You didn’t expect to be so exhausted, but apparently, you had slept through all of your alarms anyway.

“Ugh,” You muttered, trying to tamp your hair down, already feeling how messy it was. “Shit.”

Throwing on a shirt and jeans you had lying around your room, you rushed into the bathroom to finish getting ready.

Upon entering, you glanced at the mirror, grimacing at your appearance and the bags under your eyes. You rubbed your eyes to wake yourself up more, before quickly brushing your teeth and hurrying out of the house.

Your mom tried to tell you something to you on the way out, but you had barely processed it as you jumped down the steps and climbed into your car, veering out of the driveway.

It wasn’t a long drive by any means, nor was it one that was at all unfamiliar. Having used to drive your younger brother to the arcade that stood next to Family Video, you knew the route all too well. Every so often, you managed to take a look at yourself in the rearview mirror and attempt fixing your appearance, but you hadn’t been able to clean yourself up nearly enough for your standards by the time you got to work.

Nonetheless, you scrambled out of your car, pulling the door open and only relaxing when you saw Steve standing at the register.

Steve was bored out of his mind at the register while Robin was taking inventory in the back when he saw you climb out of your car. He froze, unable to ignore how beautiful you looked. Your hair was done up in an effortless way, your keys held casually in one hand as you pulled the door open with the other.

Stuck in a moment that felt like hours, Steve swore he could actually feel himself falling deeper in love with you.

It wasn’t anything that was new to him, but he could’ve sworn you got more and more perfect each day. He’d been holding onto his crush on you for quite a bit now, and he was surprised Robin hadn’t taken notice yet. Unless she has and just hasn’t tortured him over it yet.

Everything seemed to melt away, with you shining brighter than any sun he could imagine. He didn’t even think it was possible for you to get more beautiful, but when you looked up at him and smiled, he was immediately proven wrong.

God, he was such a goner.

“Steve, hey! I’m so sorry I’m late, I was up all night babysitting the kids – not that they even need it at this point – and you know what nightmares they can be. I didn’t get home until like four-thirty, and it was just-” You took a breath, giving him another effortless smile. “It was a lot.”

Steve half nods, barely able to listen to what you’re saying. If he were to put it to words, it felt like he was underwater, with the way everything besides you was being drowned out.

He could practically feel his heart beating out of his chest, loud enough that he wouldn’t be surprised if you could hear it too.

“-Steve?”

He snapped out of his daze, turning his focus back to you with a short laugh.

“Yeah, uh, no worries.” Steve grinned. “Me and Robin had it handled.”

“Thank god.” You sighed in relief, visibly relaxing from that.

“Yeah, it was crazy busy in here, as you can see.” He gestured to the empty store around the two of you. “But I think we held down the fort okay.”

You threw your head back, laughing loudly. It was a sound Steve could relish in forever, cherishing the way your face lit up.

“Thank you, Steve.” You reached over the counter, holding his hand in yours for a moment before running off to punch in.

Steve stood, frozen, staring at the spot you’d just occupied with a dopey smile on his face.

“Corny and unrealistic, huh?”

He jumped, not even hearing Robin approach. There was no telling how long she’d been standing and observing you two.

“Okay, okay.” He relented, turning away from her. “But it’s still corny as hell.”

“And you still really have to ask her out.”

[garbagevanfleet]

Pink Lemonade (series)

PART THREE

Pairing: Sam x female!reader

Word Count: 6k words

Summary: Being a counselor at your childhood summer camp had been your dream since you were little and you had a specific vision of how it would go when it finally happened. You had not, however, planned to make an immediate enemy.

WARNINGS (this chapter): there really aren’t any (yet)

Special thanks to @gardenvanfleet​ for being the very best editor and friend

Special Playlist here

The walk back to the campgrounds the next day was tedious. You hadn’t slept very well, and the wooden floor had given you a tight knot in the small of your back, but you still tried to enjoy the coolness of the morning in the woods, protected from the sun. 

After breakfast, the kids all had time to clean up and shower in the cabins, and then they were off to their first free time. You had a pretty good feeling that they would end up doing some low-impact things after the physical activity from the day before. 

The time you got to yourself was blissful. 

You enjoyed a long, hot shower and then laid out on your bed, just staring up at the ceiling as you listened to some music on your phone, paired with the bird song outside of your window. Of course, it felt like the time was up too soon when your alarm went off, alerting you that the kids would be ready for their next activity in fifteen minutes. 

Either by pure coincidence or fate, Sam was stepping out of his cabin at the same time - you were brushing the wrinkles out of your fresh shirt, so you didn’t look up at him for a delayed few seconds. When you did, however, the sight of him made you embarrassingly pause all of your movements. 

For the first time since you’d met him, his hair wasn’t tied up at the back of his head, but rather draped over each shoulder. He must have just showered as well because the chestnut-colored strands still looked a little heavy and damp. 

He met your eyes with a suspicious look. “What?” 

You at least had the sense to feel embarrassed, and you could feel your face flush warm. 

“That’s- Your hair is,” Your mind went completely blank for a second under his questioning gaze. He had a way of doing that to you. “Really pretty.”

He looked at you like you’d grown a second head, his brown eyes boring into yours intensely enough to make you fidget your fingers against your jeans. After a few torturous seconds of you waiting for a response, he finally snorted a laugh at you. 

“You’re so annoying,” he replied, although you could almost pretend like maybe his cheeks were flushed a peachy color at the compliment. “Are you ready for whatever shit’s next?”

“As ready as I can be after sleeping like shit last night,” you agreed, following as he turned and started heading back towards the main building. His strides were naturally longer than yours, forcing you to have to work a bit to keep up. 

“Don’t worry, we only have to do it two more times over the course of the summer.” His tone was more of a complaint than anything, and he paired it with an expertly annoyed eye roll. 

You hummed. “I actually kind of like the camping nights - the kids have so much fun.”

You were half expecting him to snap at you, so when you glanced over at him out of the corner of your eye and you found him smiling at the ground as he walked, you couldn’t help but be taken aback. He didn’t say anything else the rest of the walk, but for the first time since you’d known him, the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. 

“What’s the activity?” He stopped just a few feet away from the double doors, crossing his arms over his thin chest. 

You pulled your phone from your shorts and opened up the docket. “Looks like we’ve got a farm animal lesson. Hands-on,” you reply. 

His face turned up in a look of disinterest. “What the hell is that? I’m not touching horses or whatever.”

“Actually, it’s more like goats and puppies. Little animals. There’s a tiny farmette over by the archery range. Did they tell you anything at all about this camp before sending you here?” you asked, eyebrows raised.

He shrugged absently. “They gave me a pamphlet that I didn’t read.”

“Naturally,” you agreed sarcastically but kept the tone light and playful. “Why would you need to do that?”

He hummed at you noncommittally, which you were willing to count as a win. 

The kids were predictably beyond excited to the point where you had to remind them that everyone would have a turn with the animals and they had an hour and a half to do so. The animal caretaker was a kindly older woman with a kitten tucked into her sweatshirt pocket, and the kids loved her. You were instantly convinced that, had she been there when you were a camper, you would have fantasized about her being your grandma.

She had shown the kids how to properly brush the animals, though, judging by how little fur was collected, you were able to deduce that this was probably an activity she did with just about every group of campers that came through. Still, the critters seemed to love it, as did the children, and by the time you were leaving, you had 16 smiling faces. 

And one that looked perpetually bored. 

On the walk back, you let the kids run off ahead to do whatever they pleased for their free time, though you did make them promise that they’d stay on the trail so they didn’t get lost - the very last thing you wanted was to have to answer for that. 

That left you and Sam with only the forest sounds surrounding you as the gravel crunched under your sneakers.  

“So,” you started, but were promptly cut off by him. 

He hummed like you were exhausting him, though there was a little uptilt to the corner of his lips. “Are you about to ask what I’m doing next?” 

You glanced over at him curiously. “How did you know?” 

“Because you’re predictable,” he replied, a tad snarkier than you’d prefer. Still, you thought it was something you could work with - it wasn’t as if he’d flat out shut you down yet. You decided it made sense to test the waters further. 

You scoffed, rolling your eyes, but there was no venom behind it. “Fuck off with that.” As soon as it had passed your lips, you were second-guessing it, but he just barked a sharp laugh. Without allowing him the opportunity to cut in, you continue, “You really think you’re some kind of intellectual, huh? Above everyone and everything?”

Instead of answering your sniping (not that he has to - it’s clear that you were correct in your assumption), he replied, “I’m going to go smoke a cigarette or three, and enjoy some peace from you, and I’m positive you’re going to find Josh.”

He was right - that is exactly what you were planning to do, but only because you’d already burned through your earlier free time alone, recharging your proverbial battery. And it had been truly heavenly. You were too embarrassed to admit that he had hit the nail on the head, so with a concealable amount of blush, you curiously asked, “How do you know him?”

You had realized that he’d stopped walking a second too late, so when you paused and turned to look at him, he was already standing a few steps behind, wearing an expression of genuine incredulity on his sharp features. “Josh?”

The way he’d said it made you question whether or not you should feel like a jackass, but you couldn’t seem to figure out why, so you cautiously nodded, making him huff a sour laugh. 

“He’s my fucking brother,” he half-spat, though it would seem to you that he was at least a little entertained by the situation. At any point before this moment, you were positive he would have been beyond mean with you.  

You were so preoccupied with being impressed that he’d been handling it so well that you hadn’t really considered what he’d actually said - so when it dawned on you, you just stupidly uttered the word, “What?” 

He eyed you in sudden suspicion, wrapping his arms around his slim chest. “Are you shitting me right now?” 

“Don’t look at me like that - you two don’t look anything alike,” you argued back. “Not to mention that he might be the sweetest boy I’ve ever met and talking to you feels like being trapped in a box with a poisonous snake.” 

The quickest flash of a smile appeared on his face and then it was gone. You waited for him to say something, but you were met with the kind of silence that felt like it longed for closure. 

“What?” you prompted impatiently, trying to figure out what you could have said to warrant that reaction. 

“Snakes aren’t poisonous - they’re venomous. I’d think you’d know that, being a professional camp counselor and all.” You were shocked to find that there was little to no smug quality, which he easily could have peppered in since he was correcting you. Instead, you could describe it as ribbing - almost a little playful. 

“Is that-” You paused, unsure how to proceed. The last thing you wanted to do was make him upset now after the progress you’ve made. You tested it out in your head to make sure it sounded okay before asking, “Are you calling me a professional because I signed up to do this? As opposed to being court-ordered?”

He let out a huff of faux indifference. “You take it too seriously.” 

As much as you wish it hadn’t, that one rubbed you the wrong way - you desperately wanted to be able to say that after doing this with him a few times, you were starting to become unaffected by it, but you couldn’t. You were still feeling that flush of shame flame through you. That’s why you opened your mouth and said in a goading tone, “Lemme guess - you’re the baby of the family?”

You could tell you’d struck a nerve because his eyes narrowed further as he crossed his arms over his chest. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“It means that I can tell you’ve never had to take care of anyone but yourself,” you stated, offering a little smile as consolation for the stinging words. 

It doesn’t seem to help much - not that you thought it would. Before he could butt in, you continued, “I’m doing this because I loved this camp as a kid and I want to give these kids a chance at the experience I had. But, we - as counselors - are responsible for little human lives. These kids have families that love them and they’re putting all their trust in us, Sam. I’m not sure why a court system would have decided it was a good idea to put them in the hands of a criminal.” You were afraid it would come out as condescending, but to your surprise, you could hear the jesting smile you were wearing. 

He, very obviously, couldn’t seem to figure out how he wanted to proceed. He let his eyes rake over you and then flitted them around at nothing in particular as he informed you, “I just want to get this over with. You’re such a pain in my ass.” 

A part of him meant it, that much you could surmise, but there was also a noticeable lack of contempt. The statement’s teeth didn’t sink in quite as deeply. “I don’t know Sam - I think if we’d met under different circumstances, we could have been friends.” 

You offered him a cheeky smile and turned on your heel to continue down the dirt path. He let out a long, strained breath as he fell into pace with your steps. Barely audible, he grumbled, “Not on your fucking life.”

Josh was waiting for you by the cabins by the time the two of you broke through the treeline, his back against the wood siding and one of his sneakers propping him up. He shot you both a smile as soon as you were close enough to catch it, but when you glanced over to Sam, you caught just the tail end of him wordlessly slip into the boy’s cabin, shutting the door behind himself in a rather abrupt fashion. 

“What’s eating him?” Josh mused, shoving off the side of your cabin with his foot. To accentuate his question, he ran his fingers through his curls, loose from the humidity. 

You nodded at him to follow you as you headed off down the path, not wanting to stick around any longer than necessary. It’s not like you could have a meaningful conversation with the threat of Sam hearing through the open windows. 

“Same thing that’s always eating him,” you replied, rolling your eyes. 

He hummed in response, and you knew that the next words out of his mouth were about to be said in a teasing tone. “I don’t know. I’ve heard it’s been going pretty well - that you guys make a good team.”

You wrapped your hand around his wrist and directed him to follow you through the trees, and before he could vocalize the questioning look that his features had adopted, you explained, “Short cut. We’re gonna sit by the lake.” You didn’t wait for him to agree, because you knew he was more than happy to follow you wherever you could be leading him. Instead, you decided to reply to his earlier jesting. 

“Sam sucks a lot, but he’s still somehow better than Eric. At least Sam is willing to interact with the children he’s meant to be counseling.”

“Yeah, I think he really likes the kids,” Josh replied, carefully removing a vine of thorns from his path. The tone he’d taken on was verging on “proud”, and now you finally know why that would be. 

You could see the sun glimmering off the water through the slivers of openings in the trees, so you decided to hold any further conversation until you were both perched on the top of one of the picnic tables - you figured that anything you had to say would be better said in comfort. Well, that and you were a little concerned that one of you would end up eating shit if you weren’t paying enough attention to where you were stepping. 

“So,” you started coyly, looking over at him from the corner of your eye. “Were you going to tell me that Sam was your brother?” 

To your deep surprise, the corners of his lips tugged up into a knowing, little smile. “So, you have been talking to him then. I’m going to take that as a good sign.” 

You shot him a pointed look that elicited a laugh to tumble from his parted lips, but you didn’t have to prod him any further before he folded his hands in his lap and drew in a breath of preparation.

“I was going to right away, but after I saw how weird things were between the two of you, I didn’t think you’d want to keep hanging with me, and I really like your company,” he answered in apparent honesty. 

You smacked Josh’s shoulder lightly, trying to keep a scolding tone, but falling short when you heard him giggle. “Well, thanks a lot! You made me look like a complete idiot, asking him how he knew you.” 

Of course, all this chiding managed to do was make him laugh harder. “I wish I could have seen it,” he replied, giving you a beaming smile. “Listening to you two interact is better than cinema.” 

You rolled your eyes at him, though there wasn’t a single shred of you that could be mad at him. Not at Josh - somehow managing to outshine the sun with his pearly-white grin.

“I’m so glad that you find us entertaining. How the hell did you get stuck with him as a brother anyway?” 

An amused hum left his grinning lips. “I don’t know. One day my parents just brought him home from the hospital, and I didn’t have a whole lot of say in the matter.” After a second, he added, “I also have a twin and a sister. I’m only telling you so you have nothing else to be mad at me about.” 

You let out a huff, soaking your reply in a hefty layer of sarcasm. “Great. That information is very useful. If you really wanted to make it up to me, you could tell me what he did to get him here.” 

Obviously entertained by the new direction, he pursed back a smirk. “You know, I was thinking about it, but I don’t think I’m gonna have to.”

You frowned at him, quirking an eyebrow in question. “Why?”

“Because I think he’s going to tell you himself,” Josh stated, making you laugh in a way that was so abrupt and sharp that you instinctively clamped a hand over your mouth. 

It’s in extreme incredulity that you replied, “And why the hell would he do that? Have you met him?” 

Josh fondly rolled his eyes at the drama you were putting forth. “Yes. I have met him. And it’s my professional opinion that you’ll find out everything you want to know about him on your own. Eventually.”

You looked back out at the water and shook your head dismissively. “I wish your confidence were infectious.” 

Josh let out a long, contented breath as he leaned back on his palms, lifting his face to the shining sun. “Just relax. You’re doing great - you’re a better counselor than a majority of the people that are seasoned at this. Trust that everything will click into place, yeah?”

You looked over at him but found that his eyes had slipped shut as he enjoyed the warmth on his skin. Instead of replying, you mimicked his pose and then let his words sink in. He was absolutely right - you’d let yourself get sucked into drama and had forgotten why you came here in the first place. 

You spent the rest of the free period like that, sitting in completely comfortable silence, and when it was time to part, you stood and pulled him into a hug that he enthusiastically reciprocated, promising him you’d see him at dinner time. 

By the cabins, Sam was finishing up a cigarette, stubbing out the butt of it on the wood siding. You eyed the little char mark where the cherry had burned off the paint, but you knew he was expecting you to scold him for it, so you pointedly remained silent on the topic. 

Instead, he filled the slot with an intentionally disinterested-sounding, “How’s my brother?”

“A perfect human being,” you quipped in return, and then you noticed he had the itinerary tucked under his arm. You nodded towards it and decided to test the waters after the little half-spat earlier by continuing with a teasing tone. “Taking initiative, I see. Did something I say get through to you?”

He scoffed and sharply rolled his eyes. “He’s not perfect. And no, since nearly everything that leaves your mouth is utter horse shit.” 

You were going to press him further about his use of the qualifier nearly, but instead, you decided it would be more annoying to him if you just ignored that statement altogether. Like a toddler acting out.

“What’s up next?”

He shrugged, handing the sheet over to you. “I don’t know - I didn’t read it.” 

You breathed a laugh and then scanned over it yourself. “The kids have a guided swim activity.”

He quirked an eyebrow at you and then glanced up at the sky. “Kinda a perfect day for that,” he admitted. Just to really sell the sentiment, he tugged at the fabric of his t-shirt, peeling it from where it was sticking to his ribs. “Do we swim too?” 

You shrugged, putting on a little smile. “We can. I’m sure the kids would love that. But, we don’t have to. We actually only have to drop them off at the lake, and then we can do whatever until they’re done - y’know, since it’s guided?”

Just as the first of your kids were starting to make their way up the trail to the cabin, he glanced over at you and the corner of his lips tugged into the slightest smile. Under his breath, he noted, “I think I’m gonna try to drown you.” 

Out of the corner of your eye, you shot him a surprised look, but it was so unexpected that you had to stifle a shocked laugh. “Best of luck.” After gauging that you still had a few seconds before your kids were close enough to hear you, you added, “But just know that if you do kill me here, I’m going to haunt the fuck out of you.” 

“Please,” he scoffed. “If you were able to haunt at all, you’d be stuck haunting this stupid camp, and since I’m going to leave here the second I’m able to, that sounds like it’ll be someone else’s problem.” 

“It’s always someone else’s problem with you, isn’t it Samuel?” 

You knew it was a risk, but the full name slipped past your lips before you could stop it.

“Damn right,” he replied, taking you off guard, yet again. The aftertaste of his words was undeniably smug. “But, I don’t think we need to worry. I’m pretty sure you’ll be headed straight to hell.” 

Simply because you knew he was expecting it, you glared over at him so you could promise, “Then I’ll see you there, asshole.” 

He snorted a laugh, but there wasn’t an opportunity for a retort, because there were suddenly a few kids in front of the two of you. You didn’t think it would matter though - you knew he’d get his two cents in sooner or later. 

Once all your kids were changed into their suits, and you’d done the same, you lead your girls down to the shore, pointedly not cutting through the woods like you’d done with Josh just moments ago. 

Sam and his boys were already down on the beach, some of them already in the shallow part of the water, though the lifeguard wouldn’t let them go too far before he was able to lay out all the safety guidelines. You stayed close enough to listen to most of it, but towards the end, you decided you’d post up in one of the beach chairs, and the moment you sunk into it, there was no going back. You sat and enjoyed the sun on your skin while you watched the kids splash at each other, squealing excitedly as they chased each other around in the sand, and all you could think of was how well they were going to sleep that night - the very best sleep of your life was always had at Camp Forest Springs after a full day of fresh air.

A couple of Sam’s boys were interested enough in the little minnows that hung out by the reeds at the shore that they spent a majority of their time there. Eventually, one of them found Sam and dragged him over to show him, and to his credit, he was convincing in his faux excitement for them. 

You even found yourself smiling at how cute the display was - him sitting on the heels of his tennies in the sand. You couldn’t quite hear what he was saying, but you could tell that he was trying to educate them somehow, and you made a note to poke fun at him for being such a dedicated counselor when the time was right. 

+++

For the first time since being at camp this year, you beat Josh to a meal, though not by much. You were just sitting down with your tray as he was ushering his campers in through the front door. He shot you an apologetic look, mouthing the word “sorry” to let you know he’d be over as soon as he was through the line, but you just waved him off with a smile. 

When he took the seat across from you, he did so with a surprised expression as he let his eyes rake over how vacant the rest of the table was. There were only three other kids there, and they all had opted to sit at the other end - as far away from the two of you as possible. 

“This is always the part that makes me a little blue,” he stated with a faux frown. “When the campers stop needing me. This must be what a mother of a teenager feels like.” 

You huffed a fond laugh and then sat your hand on top of his on the table. In a dramatically consoling fashion, you assured, “That just means you’ve done a good job raising them. Plus, you’ll have all new ones soon enough.” 

“Isn’t it exciting? Then we get to do everything all over again,” he reminded, suddenly beaming a smile. “You think you’ll get sick of it by the end?”

“I can’t imagine I will,” you declined, shaking your head. “I love this.” 

“Me too.” He finally twirled some spaghetti around his fork and took his first bite, splashing a drop of red sauce onto his shirt that he glanced at ruefully. 

You snickered at him and handed over one of the extra napkins you’d had the foresight to grab. 

“Are you excited for tonight?” he asked with a hopeful smile, but he could tell by the confused look you were giving him that you weren’t sure what he was referring to, so he added, “Look at your itinerary.” 

It took you a second to pull the sheet of paper from your pocket, but once you had it unfolded, you read out loud, “Movie night?”

He nodded enthusiastically. “They implemented four new activities a couple of years ago, and each cycle gets to do one of them towards the end of their second week. They’re doing it tonight because the weather is supposed to be perfect for it.” 

“Okay, so where do we go? What do I have to do?” you asked, a little concerned that you hadn’t been informed earlier. 

“Well, they’ll explain it all at the end of dinner, but we all walk to the little farm and lay in a field where they project a movie onto the side of the barn. I’ve heard it’s going to be Finding Nemo,” he informed with a waggle of his eyebrows. You huffed a laugh at him and speared a broccoli floret with your fork. 

“Thank god I have you, huh? Well, since our kids are all grown up and flying the nest, would you like to sit with me tonight?” 

A beaming smile spread across his lips, giving you a glimpse of his white teeth. “Obviously.”

Just like Josh had said, Mr. Graywater called everyone’s attention to him towards the end of the meal to announce the activity, and it warmed you to the core to hear the dining area filled with the children’s excited murmuring. 

Your campers practically raced back to the Elm cabins, leaving you behind once you’d made them promise they’d stick to the trail and start their nightly routine while they waited for you to catch up. You’d thought you were alone until a few of Sam’s boys trotted past you, giggling excitedly as they speculated about what movie would be showing. 

You could hear him before you could see him - the dirt crunching under his shoes as he fell into your stride next to you. 

“Movie Night,” Sam noted, surprising you with the small talk. “I told my boys it was going to be Human Centipede.”

You glanced over at him, though you couldn’t see every one of his features in the dim light - the sun was just about to completely set, leaving it relatively dark under the cover of the tree canopy. 

Still, you hoped he could see the look of disapproval you were giving him. “That’s wildly inappropriate, Sam. What’s going to happen when they pull their phones out and Google that movie?” you chided, making him hum in amusement. 

“They won’t,” he assured you, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his shorts. “Because I didn’t actually tell them that.”

You rolled your eyes at him, but you couldn’t help the little upturned position that you found your lips in. “Your brother thinks it’s going to be Finding Nemo.” 

He scoffed, folding his arms over his thin frame. In the most sarcastic tone he could muster up, he simply replied with, “Cool.”

“I think it’ll be fun,” you argued. “Hey, your boys seemed interested in the fish at the lake earlier - maybe if you pull the stick out of your ass, you could have a nice time with them tonight.” 

You felt his demeanor shift next to you. Every step he took forward was less determined - every movement a little looser. When you glanced over at him out of the corner of your eye, you found him wearing the kind of smirk that had a bite to it. “Why are you always watching me? Are you worried I’m going to out-counsel you, Ranger Rick?” 

“You couldn’t out-counsel me if there was a gun to your head, Sam,” you retorted through a flat laugh. 

Clearly entertained by your sudden crudeness, he nodded in agreement. “You’re right - and I wouldn’t want to. I mean, to have this be your whole personality?” he paused, tossing you a smug without really laying his eyes on you. “I’m embarrassed for you.” 

Your teeth grit on their own accord as your brow furrowed in agitation. “I have more to my personality, you’ve just never tried to get to know me in any way.” 

“You’re right - I try not to think about you at all.” 

“Is that something you have to work hard at? Or...” You let the question trail off, keeping a coy tone for the sake of the game.

He flicked his eyes over at you and breathed a simple laugh through his nose. “Only because you’re so fucking annoying.” 

Just to show you there was no animosity behind the remark, he shot you a half-smile. 

You could have kept going all night. Sickly, you’d come to kind of enjoy the wit he was seemingly able to conjure up at any time, so long as he didn’t cut too deep, but you decided to leave it there - the two of you were quickly approaching the cabins now, and you could hear the kids chattering animatedly with each other, the excitement they were feeling for the night was palpable. They had left both doors wide open as both boys and girls raced back and forth between their respective cabins. 

You made your girls all change into their jammies, brush their teeth, and take their nighttime medication before you left. Predictably, by the time you were heading out the door, the boys had already taken off, but it was alright - it gave you the perfect opportunity to chat with your girls about their day on the lengthy walk over. 

You were able to deduce that the general opinion was that none of them were ready to go home in a couple of days, and hearing that was bitter-sweet. It, of course, meant you were doing a great job, but you were also familiar with the ache that came with missing camp. Selfishly, you were relieved beyond belief that you didn’t have to experience that feeling for a while - this was still just the beginning of your summer. 

Josh was waiting for you by the entrance to the farmette, so you let your girls go ahead, telling them they could sit wherever they please, but that they could find you if they needed anything at all. 

“Did Sam not come with you?” Josh asked, as soon as all of your girls were scattered. He seemed genuinely puzzled by the idea, despite the fact that it's so rare that Sam would ever take you into consideration that way. 

“No, they left before we did.” You stayed quiet for only a second before you chanced to say, “I wish you and I were paired instead. Think of the fun we’d have.”

He hummed, his lips pursed into a genuine smile as you slowly started down the path again. “I wanted that too at first. But, now I’m starting to think you and Sam are good for each other. Yin and Yang, you know?” 

You shot him a distasteful look that he chuckled at. “I don’t wanna be good for Sam. I don’t want to help him out in any way.” 

He paused to raise an eyebrow at you before offering a dubious smirk. “That’s a lie and you know it.” 

Once you’d passed by the little barn, the trail led through another tunnel of trees and then opened up into a large, open space. The grass had been freshly cut, and there were already a hundred or more kids dotting the area in groups. 

“Should we get a blanket?” you asked him, nodding towards a little table that Director Graywater was manning, handing out supplies to the kids and counselors that needed it. 

Josh gestured to the backpack that was slung over his other shoulder. “I brought everything,” he assured, and then proudly added, “Even snacks.”

He picked a place in the middle of the field without a second thought, not asking for your input or consideration in any way - not that you minded. Once he pulled a large quilt from his bag and set it up, you sat next to him on it and realized that it was just about the perfect spot - you could easily see the movie projected onto the side of the barn (paused on the title card for Finding Nemo), and yet, there was a still a good distance between you and any other group of people. 

Like a magician pulling a rabbit from a hat, he materialized a few snack options from his bag, grabbing a baggie of fruit snacks for himself before smugly informing you, “I know you were the one that convinced Graywater to let Sam keep his campers when he transitioned.”

It was so unexpected that you found yourself entirely unprepared to reply, so you just stared at him for a few embarrassing seconds. Still, even after buying yourself that time, all you could think to say was, “So?” 

“So, that’s an awfully nice thing to do for him. Seems like you wanted to help him,” he quipped in a tone that implied it was obvious, popping a red, cherry-shaped gummy past his lips.

You took a snack-sized bag of Doritos and rolled your eyes at him. “Did you consider that I did that because I thought that it might make him less of a nightmare? He’s an asshole on a good day - I don’t even want to think about what he’s like when something goes wrong for him.” 

“Mhm,” was all Josh said, clearly still firmly rooted in the belief that he was right - which he obviously wasn’t. 

You were turning your gaze to the screen when your eyes caught on the devil in question. Sam was sitting a bit off to the side, but he wasn’t alone. His original partner was sat next to him, her knees pulled up to her chest as they animatedly chatted back and forth.

“Maybe it’s just me?” you asked, trying to sound casual, but falling short by a lot. There was an annoyed frown on your face as you nodded their way, directing Josh’s attention to them. “Do you think he’d be happier paired with her again? They seemed to get along well when they were working together.” 

He shrugged at you, wearing the slightest frown. “I don’t know - we never got to see what they were like on their own. I mean, he’s cordial with you in public too, so maybe he treats her similarly behind the scenes?” 

Your expression fell flat and unimpressed as you shot Josh a look. “He’s never had a conversation with me like that. I’m not sure he’s ever given me a genuine smile.”

Just to drive the knife a little deeper, Sam tipped his head back and laughed at something she said, and all you could do was roll your eyes.

Before you could make a comment, Director Graywater excitedly declared that he’d be starting the movie momentarily, speaking loud enough to address the crowd as a whole. You kicked your feet out in front of you and leaned back in your palms, causing Josh to instantly mimic your pose, seemingly subconsciously on his part. 

As the film began to play, he leaned over and said, “I promise you that, by the end of the summer, you won’t feel the way you do now.” You glanced over at him with a thankful smile, though you weren’t sure you really believed him. Just for good measure, he repeated himself. 

“I promise.”

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[the-soliloquies-of-sadists]

#255

This is a direct follow up to #35.

“Glad to see you make it up here ok. I’m Robert, and you are?... Eddie. Good to meet you. Did you enjoy the drive? It really is nice. That’s part of the reason why I live up here. We don’t get many clients that come up here. Most order on line, but you are the first of the season. I reviewed your e-mail again and I think I have a selection of rimchairs for you. It would help me to narrow down your selections more if you answer some additional questions….

“Here, let’s go into the workshop. So, is this going to be a chair for you? Good. Are you the ass or the ass eater? Will you ever go underneath it?... No? Ok. Don’t worry, the only time I go under mine is to work on it.... Women, men, or both?... Women. Is this part of a S&M or kink situation?... That’s fine. It’s very rare for me to find someone willing to spend all this money for the sensual aspects of eating ass. Did you bring a slave woman with you? That’s fine. Most straight men don’t….

“No, I prefer fags under mine; is that going to be an issue here? I only ask because, I want to find the best rim chair for you, and I have a wealth of expertise I rely on. I don’t want to share my experiences with you and have it be awkward.

“Good! Good! Unless we need him, the faggot is up at the main house. That reminds me, will you be using the rim chair for full toilet activities? No… you would be surprised with just how many people are. Hell, every single dominatrix I have made a rim chair for is into it. And some of those women are fucking brutal to their slaves.

“So here let’s start with these three. The left two are designed primarily for rear entry and this third one is for the front. Me personally, I prefer my slave lying behind me when he’s attending to my shithole. His tongue seems to go in deeper and at a better angle. And I don’t have to spread my legs when he’s there. That’s one of the big difference between men and women is that women are narrower than men. It gets uncomfortable at times. For me it’s just easier with it behind me. Do you have a preference?... That’s fine. They will be designed for front and rear entries, but structurally it will be designed one way.

“It’s really all about comfort. Comfort was actually that reason that got me into making rimchairs. What I saw out there was horrible. They were rimseats. To me rimseats are different than what I make. Rimseats are essentially toilet seats on legs. The faggot lies underneath, and I would squat down. I’m a big guy and I can’t sit that low for a long time, before my legs start to cramp up, about fifteen to twenty minutes at most. The problem with making the legs longer is that the faggot underneath is then straining to keep his head buried in the crack of my ass. Either it is straining to keep its tongue buried deep, or its head can move all around. Either way, the faggot tires quickly and it’s a piss poor rimjob.

“That’s why I started with the idea of transforming regular chair designs into rimchairs. I have throne-like chairs, deck chairs, reclining chairs, dining chairs, and so on. Every one has support for the toilet lying underneath, so that multiple hour-long sessions are not a problem. I can customize it to a specific head size, as well as how far in you want the slave’s face when you sit down. Or, some of the chairs allow for adjustability. I personally like feeling my faggot’s face getting wedged in there, and then to have its mouth lined up to connect with my shithole. That is priceless. No other feeling of power compares with it. If you are into slaves that are reluctant, I can make the head spaces very restrictive. I can even create a box, measured exactly to your slave’s head where they can’t move an inch. My slave tells me that it gets very claustrophobic under it. I even designed is so that the slave places its head in the box and the hinged platform lowers with a piece going below the slave’s chin preventing the slave from pulling out from underneath until you get up off the chair and let it out.

“I see you like the casual desk chair. I have one just like it at my work desk. My faggot is under that one for hours. I can be doing work, surfing the internet, or jacking off to porn. I’m not even paying attention to the tongue fucking I’m getting. It’s just adding to the general euphoria of what I’m doing.

“You have a wife, girlfriend, bitch slave, or whatever?... Oh you have an out of state friend with benefits that likes to eat ass? From what I have learned through the years, it’s hard to find a woman into it. That’s fucking awesome.

“If you really love your butthole tongued for a long time, maybe you should get a fag, until you find the right bitch. Seriously. I had one client purchase a similar seat to that one, that he had installed in his playroom. It was up against a wall. He enclosed the sides of the chair. There was a hole in the wall that the ass eater would crawl through. It was an 18 year-old faggot from down the street, and that fag tongue fucked like no other I have ever tried out, and yeah I tried it out. The most interesting thing is that they had a set time each week when they did this. The kid came in through a dedicated entrance, and the client sat down, neither of them said a word to the other. Truly amazing.

“Go on, have a seat. I’ll have it customed to your ass and thighs so that when you are sitting, your cheeks are comfortably spread. You know, those Carhartt pants are restricting your ass and legs. You’re not getting the proper placement of your ass.

“Why don’t you take them off? Other than me and shithead up in the house, no one is going to see you. I get maybe, maybe one customer a week. When we go into the design room to take measurements, I will need you to have them off. Leaving your underwear on is better than this. Briefs, no briefs. We don’t care…. Commando? We don’t care about that either.

“Look, if you think this is my way of seducing you, let me say that I like faggot boys, not real men like yourself. I get turned on when I know a man—a real hard working man—is getting his dick, ass, and everything else taken care of at the expense of faggots. I’m not talking about gay boys. I mean faggots, boys who exist to serve a real man, to take care of that man’s needs including draining his balls, eating his ass, and so on. To a faggot, draining your cock and eating your shithole is the reason for its existence, even at the expense of its own needs. So no, I wouldn’t dream of sticking my cock in you. You can count on that.

“Don’t worry about my faggot; its tiny pecker is permanently locked away. It has been that way ever since he got here last fall. You remember that first snowstorm we had? Well right before the snowfall hit its car ran out of gas, and it got stuck. At least that was its story. I made it an offer, find someone else to help in the snowstorm, or submit to me. I’ve kept it naked, with its pecker painfully locked up in that device ever since. I’ve trained it to service my shithole for hours on end. It hasn’t cum in the five months it’s been serving me.

“Let me text it to come down here…. No, it’s no problem. Go ahead and get comfortable. Take the pants off, leave them on the table. It’s best to put your work boots back on.

“That’s a beautiful cock you have. I bet the women love it. Stop the modesty thing. You are a fucking hot man, you should relish in the adoration. Have a seat. Doesn’t that feel good on your ass? You can feel the spread, but it doesn’t feel like you are falling in? Now imagine a moist tongue darting in and out of your crack.

“And speaking of a moist tongue, here’s the fag…. Faggot! This is Sir Eddie. Get under the seat and get to work….

“No more protesting. I don’t care how dirty it is. I saw your skid marks in your pants, the fag will clean you up. He lives for shit like this. Its tongue feels good in there, doesn’t it? Don’t answer, I can see it on your face. Just relax.

“I will be over there in the design shop if you need me. Try out any of the other chairs. The faggot will do whatever you want or need to feel good. You can stay as long as you like. Even over night or throughout the rest of the weekend. The fag will take care of everything for you. It’ll eat your farts, drink your piss, throat your shaft, take a beating, or whatever. Just tell it what you want, and it will comply. By the end you will understand why a faggot is better than a bitch. Make me a good enough offer, and I may throw the faggot in.”

[dragon-kazansky]

Masquerade at midnight

Gender neutral reader

[Masterlist]

[Previous Chapter] - [Next Chapter]

Word count: 5k

Notes: The finale chapter. Thank you for being here through this story. I look forward to sharing the future of this story with you soon. I have loved reading your comments and messages! It really has made this all the more exciting for me. Thank you!!!!!

♡♡♡

Chapter Fifteen - Masquerade at midnight

Ben escorted you to your room. You bid him goodbye as you lay down to rest. Tom and Daniel swore to tend to Mads, and basically begged you to go rest. You gave in and returned to your room. You don't remember much other than collapsing onto your bed. Safe to assume your body gave in and you fell asleep.

While you slept, Mads was taken to his room. Tom and Daniel lay him on his bed and made him as comfortable as possible. His ring is the only thing stopping him from fading, so they must keep it on him. Mads groaned as he let his body relax.

Knowing you're safe and sound just a short distance away is a great a comfort to him. He would never have been able to live with himself. He closes his eyes and lets his two dear friend fuss over him. After a bit of rest, he'll be right as rain. Then Mads would make it up to you. There is only one way he knows how to thank you for what you did for them.

Your ancestors would be proud of you if they saw what you did.

Mads certainly is.

Ben leaves you to rest and makes his way up to his master's room. The least he can do is lend a hand. He sees Daniel tending to the rest of Mads' wound, upon his arrival. Tom spares him a glance, but welcomes him inside.

"How is he?"

"He'll be fine. You did an honourable thing fighting Irons like you did," Tom comments.

Ben doesn't comment on it. He just lets the words sit there. Tom sighs softly and approaches him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"There isn't much you can do here. I'm sure the others could use some help, the house and the grounds took a beating," Tom suggests. Ben nods and quietly thanks him, taking his leave.

The whole passed by with Mads resting in his bed. Tom and Daniel took turns coming and going, checking up on him. The others had cleaned up the garden and house as much as they could. The bodies had been moved, ready to be buried on the grounds. Mads had insisted they be buried on his land where they'll always be at home. The house was mended as well as could be, but the fact a war took place still lingered.

By the time you woke up, it was mid afternoon. You washed, dressed, and spent a few minutes standing by the window looking outside. It looked a bit rugged out there, but you could tell everyone had done their best.

You walk out and make your way through the house. Your first stop was Mads' room. The door was open, you could see him sitting up in bed. He turns his head when he sees someone lingering in the hall. He smiles when his eyes land on you. You smile in return. He waves you inside. You enter his room and approach his bed.

"How are you?" You ask him.

"Much better now. How are you doing?"

"I'm good. I'm glad to see you," you tell him.

"As I am to see you. I have something for you," Mads says, picking up an envelope that was resting beside him. You watch him hand it over to you, then you take it from his hand. His fingers brush against yours gently. You open the envelope and take out the card within.

The card is black with gold bordering. The writing is white. It reads:

You are hereby invited to the Mikkelsen masquerade ball as the guest of honour.

Next Friday, midnight.

You look up at Mads. Your name was handwritten in his beautiful penmanship. You smile at him.

"What is this?"

"An invitation."

"Yeah, what I mean is, are you well enough? Friday is tomorrow." You place your hand on his and give it a gentle pat. He smiles as he looks down at your hand on his.

"I will be well enough for a dance with you."

"I'll need a mask," you say.

He chuckles, "leave that to me. I have one for you."

"As long as you're feeling up to it, I'll be honoured to be your guest of honour. It will be a nice goodbye before I leave," you say, avoiding his eyes.

Mads looks at you with longing.

"Before you leave?"

"Yes. I did what I came here for. I have to return to my life now," you say, though he hears no real meaning behind those words.

The truth is, since coming here, your life had turned for the better. Back home, you didn't have much to look forward to, people to rely on. You didn't know of your family history before. Adventure wasn't in your cards, and then it was. You didn't really want to go back, you wanted to stay. You just didn't want to be a burden on them any more.

"What is on your mind?" Mads asks, softly.

"Just what I've been missing. I missed some work, and probably some calls," you shrug.

"I have some thinking to do. I'll have a costume sent up to your room tomorrow night. Why don't you take it easy for now?" He smiles softly at you.

"Yeah. A walk through the garden might do me some good."

You leave Mads with a soft goodbye. He watches you go. His eyes lingering on you as you walk out of sight. His chest feels heavy with loss, despite the fact you're still under his roof.

Mads didn't see you again for the rest of the day. He was asleep when you popped back later.

After leaving his side, you had headed outside for some fresh air. Anson was standing out there looking out at the gardens. You joined his side. He smiled when he noticed you beside him. His mind has been occupied on where he would begin. Unfortunately, the garden had taken a huge hit during the fight, and you could still see the bloodstains littered here and there.

"Is the damage bad?" You ask him, letting your eyes wander.

"Nothing I can't fix, but it's going to take time. Well, there is one thing I can't fix."

You turn to Anson, the silent question of what hanging in the air.

"The statue of Mads' parents... it was badly damaged in the fight. Even I can't fix that."

You heart plummets.

"Does he know?"

"Yes. I made him aware. I took note of everything that needed doing, and what we had managed to fix so far. He went rather quiet."

You look down, feeling a little heartbroken for him.

"You did what you could. I know he appreciates that."

Anson just nods silently.

You both go for a lap of the gardens before you part ways with him and check in on the horses. A new stable is being built, but not yet ready for the horses to move in. Oscar can be seen up ahead taking care of them. You smile as you watch him brush the horse he was with. You make your way over to him and lean against the fence.

Oscar looks up when he realises he has company. He smiles and stops what he's doing to come over and talk to you. He's glad to see you're alright.

"Shouldn't you be resting?" He asks, a cheeky grin on his face.

You chuckle. "I've reserved all the resting for Mads."

"And yet, he wants to have a party," Oscar laughs.

"Yeah. It should be fun."

"Why do you sound so sad when you say that?" Oscar asks, worried for a moment.

"I guess I just didn't expect my time here to be over so quickly. I've learnt so much from all of you, but have no reason to keep on learning. I've served my purpose."

Oscar reaches out and takes your hand in his.

"Why does it have to end here? There is so much more to our world. You could pick any route and follow it," Oscar tells you.

"What do you mean?"

"Come Saturday morning, everyone will be going their own way. Back to the lives they have built for themselves. Some us will be staying here of course. This is home to a few of us, but others will be making the trip back. You could stay here, or go with one of them. Why go back to your life before?"

You look at Oscar with wonder.

"I didn't think it possible."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm not one of you."

Oscar gives your hand a squeeze.

"You've always been one of us. Let me talk to Mads. Maybe he can bring comfort to your mind."

You nod and thank him, letting the thought settle in your mind. You don't see why you can't go on as the hunter you are. There are bound to be other trouble makers, right? This is the life you were suppose to have, so why not make it so?

Oscar watches you go as you return back to the house. You belong here as much as they do. He'll show you.

You spent most of Friday to yourself. There's a lot of fuss in the house to prepare for the party tonight. You smile as you hear familiar voices giving out orders to the remaining staff. The house is being decorated, food is being prepped, music is being rehearsed in the ballroom. You're excited for the party.

A knock on your door startles you out of your reading. You look up and give them permission to enter.

Tom Ellis enters the room. You smile as he comes in with a big box in his hand. He comes over to the bed where you're sitting. Putting the book to the side, you shuffle closer to him, looking at the box.

"What's this?"

"Your costume, of course," he grins.

You smile and reach for the tag hanging from the box. Your name is written on it in Mads' familiar hand writing. You chuckle and open the box carefully. Moving the tissue paper to the side, you gasp softly at the costume folded neatly into the box.

White and gold fabric. You carefully run your hand along the top of it.

"Wow," you whisper.

Tom smiles.

"Your mask will be here shortly, Mikkelsen wanted it delivered separately," he tells you.

"It's beautiful. Aren't his colours black and gold?" You ask, looking up at Tom.

"That's what makes you so special. You'll stand out among us tonight."

You look back down at the costume and smiles softly. As you admire the detailing on it, the thought of asking Mads about what you should do next crosses your mind. Would he let you stay if you wanted? Would one of them let you go with them if you asked?

Tom watches your soft expression, but resists asking what's on your mind. He excuses himself quietly.

The ball doesn't start until midnight, you still had some time to pass before then. You ate in your room, laid out your outfit on the bed, and waited for the mask to arrive. As eleven o'clock came creeping in, you decided to start getting ready. You took your time, making sure the outfit sat right on you. It was as if it was made specifically for you. Fit like a glove.

Midnight creeps closer and you begin to worry the mask isn't coming.

Before you can freak out about an incomplete costume, a knock sounds at the door. You hurry over to it and open it. Michael Caine, Mads' butler, stands there with a silver tray in hand and a mask set upon a cushion. You're instantly drawn to the mask.

"For you."

You take it carefully and thank him. He nods and takes his leave. You close the door behind you and make your way over to the mirror. You put the mask on.

It's white and gold, like your costume. Feathers stick out one side, sequins line the bottom on the other side. The gold detailing runs along the mask in cracks, making the mask look somewhat dated, but beautiful. You look amazing.

You smile at your reflection.

With only ten minutes left on the clock, you leave your room and make your way downstairs. The house is pretty much empty. All staff were to attend the ball. Music can be heard from the foyer. The doors to the dining hall are closed, but as you stand before them, ready to enter, they open for you. You are greeted by the sight of a food filled table. The doors to the ballroom are open, and music flows in. You enter the dining hall, thanking the staff that opened the door for you, and walk slowly around the table. Your eyes are focused on the ballroom door. As you get closer, the music gets louder. You take a deep breath and enter the ballroom.

The room is lit by candle lights and chandeliers. Gold curtains hand from the windows in thick heavy bundles. The floor has been polished to perfection. The orchestra play their melodies unbothered by the crowds. People you don't recognise are littered around the room. Mads appears to have invited townspeople up to his home.

You stand in the doorway and admire the beauty of the room.

Thirteen pairs of eyes turns to you. You can see them all. Everyone in the room is wearing black and gold outfits with black and gold masks. Yet, you could still point out your vampire friends. You smile as you count each one silently.

Mads stands on a platform near the orchestra. You meet his eyes and smile softly. He returns the smile and nods subtly at you.

The music stops. You can only hear your own breathing. The clock begins to chime for midnight. Mads steps down from the platform. You notice the cane he is leaning on. Still injured, but persistent to be here. You don't expect any less from him. Mads makes his way across the room over to where you stand. You wait. The clock still chimes. Each toll feeling long and drawn out.

Upon the final chime, Mads stops in front of you. You smile up at him and wait. He holds out his hand, the one unoccupied by his cane, and asks, "may I have the honour of your first dance?"

You place your hand in his and grin.

"You may."

The music starts again. Mads holds out his cane. The man that takes it is Ben. You smile at him as he winks at you from behind his mask. Ben stands aside and you go with Mads to the middle of the room.

The party begins.

You keep in perfect time with Mads as he leads you around the dance floor. You don't care for the audience watching you. As far as you're concerned for now, it's just you and him.

"Mads?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

Mads squints his eyes at you softly. He's not sure what you're thanking him for.

"For what?"

"For bringing me here. For doing all of this and letting me experience something I never would have done otherwise. For showing me who I am."

Mads smiles softly.

"You're welcome. Can I ask something of you?"

"Of course."

"Don't go home."

You stare at him, gaze flickering between his eyes.

"I don't want to," you tell him.

He smiles.

"Many of our friends will be leaving tomorrow morning. You have options," Mads says, glancing around the room. "You can go where ever you wish to. You belong here with us. Chase a path and go on adventures. Who ever you follow will look after you."

You smile softly.

"Thank you, Mads. Really, I mean it."

The dance comes to and end. You both stop, your hand still in his. You both bow.

"You're always welcome. Always."

Mads leads you back to where Ben stands. Ben gives Mads his cane back and stands with you. You turn to Mads and eye the cane.

"Are you going to be alright?" You ask him.

"Yes. It's only really when I'm standing I feel it. The cane eases the pain. I also think I look rather dashing with it, no?" He grins.

You laugh. "Very."

Ben holds out his hand to you.

"May I?"

You smile and take his hand.

"You may."

Mads watches you go with Ben with a smile. A huge amount of weight has been lifted from his shoulders now that he's been able to speak to you. There is comfort in knowing you won't ever be too far away. You'll be in the company of someone he trusts, and that's all he could ask for.

Just like with Mads, you keep in time with Ben. This next piece is a little more lively than the one you danced to with Mads.

"Oscar said you were going home," is the first thing Ben says.

"Not anymore," you smile.

"No?" He looks at you curiously.

"Mads shared some thoughts with me. I can go where ever I want with whoever I want."

Ben watches you closely.

"What are you going to do?"

"I don't know yet. I have the rest of the night to decide," you tell him.

"Any ideas on what you want to do...?" He asks.

You grin, "not yet. Why? Do you?"

"Well, I wouldn't be opposed to you staying here. With me."

You smile softly at him.

"Have you and Mads spoken?" You ask, changing the topic.

"Yes. He forgave me for everything. I'm going to spend the rest of my existence making it up to him though."

You chuckle softly.

"If I decide to stay, then I hope to see plenty of that. I know he has forgiven you, but seeing you grovel a little wouldn't be so bad. Especially if you want to make it up to me too."

Ben just rolls his eyes. Your teasing will be insufferable, but he'll love every moment of it.

As your dance with Ben comes to and end, you both make your way back to the side lines. Ben goes to fetch you something to drink, so you wait in the ballroom for him. You're not left alone for long as a couple of gentlemen occupy either side of you. You chuckle at their antics for your attention.

"Hello boys," you look at either of them.

Michael and David.

"I hope we're not interrupting anything," Michael says, admiring you.

"Not at all."

"Mads threw this party in your honour, how are you enjoying it?" David asks.

"I'm having a wonderful time. How are you two?"

"We're well," Michael replies. "Any thoughts on what you're going to do after tonight?"

"Not just yet. Are you two staying or leaving?" You ask them.

"Leaving. I'm heading for London for new work. Michael is staying behind," David tells you.

"Which means I'll have room for a new room mate," Michael says, being casual about it.

"Is that so?" You smile.

"He's already trying to replace me!" David accuses.

You laugh and let them bicker either side of you. Ben returns with drinks in his hands and you excuse yourself to meet him. You take one of the drinks and sip it.

"What are they fighting about?"

"They're fighting for my attention," you chuckle.

"Can I steal you away for a moment?" Another voice chimes in. You turn and see Oscar behind you.

"Sure," you say, putting your drink down on the nearest table and leaving Ben's side. You follow Oscar over to the large windows. The French doors are open, letting some air in. You both stand in the open gap, looking out into the dark garden.

"Did Mads speak with you?"

"He did."

Oscar smiles, keeping his eyes on the garden.

"I wouldn't blame you if you wanted to return to something familiar."

You shrug. "I don't think I have a place back there any more."

Oscar turns his head and peers at you curiously. A little part of him hopes you will stay here with him. He's groan rather fond of you, and would hate to see you go. He won't get his hope up though. He won't say anything about it, the decision is yours at the end of the day.

A new piece begins to play. You turn back to the ballroom and see Lauren dancing. You smile as you watch her. She looks so at home here. It's a wonder she can move like that when she can't hear the music playing. Your eyes a drawn to the piano which is now occupied by Tom Ellis. Of course he would play his piece for her while she dances.

You turn to say something to Oscar, but he's gone. You turn back to Lauren who dances gracefully.

Taking small steps around the outside of the dance floor, you don't pay attention to who is in front of you. You bump into someone and turn to apologise. The apology is caught on your lips as you smile at them.

"Hello Jodie," you look her up and down. Her outfit matches everyone else colour-wise, but she looks very stylish.

"Good to see you," she smiles.

"You too. Hey, I actually have a question for you."

"Oh?"

"That sword.... was that yours?"

Jodie grins and nods, "yeah."

"That's so cool. You looked so badass with it."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I didn't exactly get to admire you for long because I was being hunted. It was kind of a bad day to be honest."

She chuckles softly.

"As much as I would like to keep you company, I think Barry is looking for you."

You turn around and spot Barry searching around the room. You shouldn't be too hard to spot because you're wearing white, but he hasn't noticed you yet. You smile and turn back to Jodie.

"I'll have to catch you before everyone leaves tomorrow. See you later," you wave at her and walk in the direction of Barry. When his eyes land on you he grins and meets you halfway.

"Hey," he starts.

"Hey you," you smile.

"We haven't spent a whole lot of time together..."

"No. Sadly not. I'd have liked to spend more time with you Barry."

"There are whispers about you. The others wondering what you'll choose to do next. I could have a word with Master Daniel if you want to join us..." He shrugs.

You smile softly.

"They're talking about me already? I haven't decided what I'm going to do yet. I need to make my choice before everyone leaves in the morning. I appreciate your offer, but I have some thinking to do."

Barry nods.

"I can't ask any more of you."

Lauren finishes her dance and hurries off to meet Tom at the piano, kissing his cheek in thanks. You smile at them. You sigh as you continue wandering around the room. Perhaps a few moments by the dining table will allow some time to think.

You leave the ballroom.

There are a few people in the dining hall. Benedict and Anson are in there, picking at the table. They're talking quietly to each other. You smile and walk over to them. Two masked faces look up as you approach and they smile at you.

"The guest of honour graces us with their presence," Benedict grins.

"I'm making the rounds I suppose," you laugh. "Have you been in here all this time?"

"Not all the time," Anson says. "We saw you dancing."

"What did you think?"

"Splendid," Benedict compliments.

You smile at the pair.

"What will you two do come morning?" You ask, wanting to know what other choices you may have.

"I return to London with Hiddleston. I feel it's only right that I speak with you before we leave," Benedict says, having your attention for now. "I'm sorry about that night. I should have done better to keep you safe."

You shake your head.

"No. Don't apologise. It never should have happened, but it did. There is nothing we can do. Don't feel bad about it. I don't like the idea of you feeling guilty for the rest of time because of it. I forgive you. All of you. In the end I made a decision I thought was best for keeping me alive, and here I am."

Benedict siles softly at you.

"That's all I needed to hear," he says.

You smile at him and then turn to Anson.

"And you?"

"Well, I live here these days, so I'll be around," Anson says, smiling.

"I'll have plenty of company if I stay," you comment, liking the comfort of that.

You hear the music quiet in the next room.

"Come, Mads wants to say a few words," Benedict says, leading the way back into the ballroom. You follow with Anson in tow and re-enter the party.

The crowds are gathering where Mads stands on the platform once again. His eyes find yours as you make your way into the room. You keep walking until you're in the middle of the room. Here, everyone can see you.

"I thank you all for coming tonight. It has been an event to remember that is for certain. Tomorrow, many of my friends will part from here and return home. I thank you all for coming when I call. I mean this in the nicest way possible, but I hope we don't meet like this for some time," Mads says. People laugh. "This party is in honour of my esteemed guest," Mads holds up his drink and smiles at you.

People around you raise their glasses and turn their heads in your direction. 

"I called upon you for something you did not have to accept, but I cannot thank you enough for making the choice to come out here and save us from destruction. No soul is as brave as yours, and I think I speak for all my company when I say, you'll be remembered for years to come. Your family name flourishes with what you did. You should be very proud."

You smile and try not to get too emotional.

"Here's to today, tomorrow, and the days the follow!"

Everyone in the room lifts their glasses and cheer.

"Please, enjoy the end of the party, all coaches and cars will be preparing to depart shortly."

Mads stands down from the platform. You walk over and greet him.

"You're making me feel very special," you tell him.

"Good, as you should feel."

"I think I'll retire to my room now, but I'll have a decision made come morning," you say.

"I am curious as to what you'll decide to do next," he smiles.

You bid him goodnight and begin to make your exit. Before you make it to the door, someone comes up beside you and links your arm with his. You smile. Turning your head, you're greeted by the sight of Daniel's eyes behind his mask.

"Shall I escort you?"

You grin, "I'd be honoured."

Daniel escorts you out of the dining hall and up the stairs.

"Pity we didn't get to dance," he says, glancing your way.

"Perhaps another time," you suggest.

"You're getting my hopes up," he teases.

"Oh dear, well, you'll just have to wait and see," you chuckle.

You both come to a stop outside of your bedroom door. You turn and face Daniel with a soft smile.

"Can I have the honour of removing your mask?" He asks.

You smile.

"Be my guest," you say, turning around.

Gentle fingers raise to the back of your head and untie the knot that had been keeping your mask in place. You reach up and catch the mask as it loosens from your face. You lower it gently and turn back to Daniel.

"There you are," he smiles.

"What time is everyone leaving tomorrow?"

"Around ten, I believe. Don't sleep in. I want to see you once more before we leave," he says.

"And if I wanted to come with you?"

Daniel grins, "then I'll your seat warm for you."

You smile and kiss his cheek.

"Goodnight," you say.

"Goodnight," he repeats. 

As you enter your room, Daniel walks away. You close the door behind you and lean against it for a moment. You sigh softly and push off the door. You walk over to the window and peer outside. There's still a few hours until sunrise, but you don't feel tired yet. You look at the mask in your hands and run your thumb across it.

"What do I do?" You ask yourself.

Deep down you know what you want to do. You know who you want to stay with. Your heart had already made a decision some time ago, you just needed to convince yourself. Gazing back out the window, eyes on the moon in the sky, you smile softly.

The choice was easy. Come morning, you'll let them know.

This is what you want.

This is what your life will be from now on.

You'll continue to make your family proud and leave your old life behind. Your new life starts here and now, and you can't wait to see what happens next.

"This is what I choose," you whisper, setting your mask on the windowsill.

You lay down on your bed and close your eyes, smiling softly.

Your mind is made up.

♡♡♡

@lieutenantn @ntlmundy @ilussionary-forest @that-one-fandom-kid @mischief-siriusly-managed @madhatter2727 @gabrielapoe-16 @baronesszemo-blackwood @valquiria3000 @wannabevampire @ten-tenya-iida @crackedout @rothko-mirror @niceshadeofblue @my-fic-corner @bdffkierenwalker @nezla @bb-skyrunner @dezzylou24 @meganlpie @casi-eternal  @janine-007

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

Anklets and Necklaces

Inspired by this tweet.

@5-secondsofcolor I’m not sorry.

Female Reader insert. NSFW Content (18+). My smut writing is hella rusty. So I do apologize, whoops.

_______________

Calum plays at the anklet, spinning it around and around her joint as her legs are crossed and resting in his lap. The gold jewellry is hardly ever taken off since he gave it to her. In return, she gifted him a chain with a tiny pendant with her initial etched into the back of it. The front of it is an arrowhead. He wears it so often now, that when it’s off, he feels a little incomplete. It’s an easy gesture to carry her everywhere with him.

“Okay we gotta decide what to eat for lunch like now or I’m going to get hangry,” she states.

Calum glances up from his phone, to see her still scrolling on hers. “Oh no. Not hangry,” he teases. But he knows she means it. Her warnings have about a thirty minute window, just enough for a delivery if they get something simple. Or if they want something more complicated, they need to find a snack now while the main course is cooking. “What do you want? Thai? Mexican?”

“Would you hate me if I said I really just wanted nuggets from McDonalds?”

The pout on her lips makes him laugh, “No, I could never. Usual then?”

“Yes, please.”

Stretching across the length of her, Calum pushes his lips together, trying to ask for a kiss. She laughs in return and squeezes his cheeks. “Be lucky you’re cute,” she states before lifting up slightly to meet his lips. “And squishy.”

“Ain’t nothing on me squishy,” he huffs, straightening back up to put her order into the app.

She sets her phone down on her stomach, gazing up over the sharp line of his jaw that his plump cheeks sit atop. And while it’d be easy to return with a poke and a verbal jab about his cheeks, she just watches him. His fingers deftly work over the screen. The white tank sits as a stark contrast to the depth and glow of his skin. “I think all the right things on you are squishy.”

“Yeah, what are those?”

“Your cheeks. And as much as you and your trainer kick your ass, I know happy weight when I see it.”

Calum grins, a chuckle shaking through him as he sets his phone down on the arm of the couch--the order completed on his end. He pinches at her thighs. “Take that back.”

She shakes her head. “No, I don’t think I will. I like it--just like I like my cookies. Hard on the edges gooey in the middle.”

Standing for just a moment to let her legs fall onto the couch, Calum kneels onto the cushion, hovering above her. Her eyes glitter just a little as she talks and the soft easy smile on her face lets him know that it’s all out of love--what’s she’s saying. The pads of his fingers run along the side of her thigh. “Be lucky I love you.”

“I am already lucky, so say what you gotta say. Roast me, my love. It’s not like we don’t do that anyways.”

And truth be told, Calum had no response. Not when he looks at her, because God all he sees is the person that’s been with him on his bad mental days. She’s been there when Calum was sure there was no lower low or higher high. And what do you say to that person that’s been there, seen all of you that there is to see? With a gentle and chaste kiss, Calum settles for silence.

“Cat got your tongue now, huh?”

This--this Calum can respond too. It’s all too easy. “I know what else my tongue can have.”

“I know something your tongue can have too.”

“Really now?” Calum asks, dragging his fingers over the top of her thigh and tracing the line of her lounge shorts. “Food will be here in fifteen minutes though. So that’s up to you.”

“Not nearly enough time to savor it. Besides,” she starts and takes a pause. Her lips pull into a side smile and Calum knows what that means. One brow quirks in anticipation and Calum watches her. The silence settles for a little too long.

“Besides what?” he prompts again.

“Besides, I need the mail to be delivered first.”

“What did you buy?”

“You’ll see later. I promise. It’s really not even supposed to be used for lingerie. But I’ve wanted these for a long time and I specifically have a set I’m trying to complete.”

There’s the black mesh set that she’s slowly been building out. The main piece came in weeks ago, at this point it might even be months ago that that came in. He was privy to it then and gave it the christening that it deserved. But there wasn’t any other lingerie set that needed expansion. Not at least to his recalling. “Which one is it?”

“I’m not saying.”

“Oh please,” he whines, dropping his head into her neck. His lips softly and slowly seal kisses into her warm skin.

“No, Calum. I’ve been waiting on this package for weeks. It got held up in customs and I-” she sighs at his lips sucking at her skin. Not hard enough to cause a bruise, but just enough to make her spine tingle. “You’re going to have to do better than that.”

Calum pushes up, with a huff, sitting back down on the opposite end of the couch. “This is killing me, you know?”

“Well, you ain’t dead yet. So I think you can tough it out for a little bit longer.”

“Begrudgingly--I want you to know that.”

She sits up, swinging her feet to the floor. “Your sacrifice will be duly noted. The mail will be here before you know it.” The couch releases her weight and Calum watches her pad into the kitchen. “Do you want anything?” she calls.

“I’m good,” he returns, knowing that he will be counting down the seconds until the mail comes. She returns with a glass of water, sitting back down on the couch, but bringing her feet up underneath her as she motions to the TV. “You watching that?”

Calum answers with a shrug. He wasn’t anymore. He originally turned it on mostly for the weather and some news. He found himself bored and flipping through channels before settling on the sports channel while he took care of Duke in the morning. Noise to fill the space since his brain needed the distraction. He hadn’t slept all that great the last few nights, decent sleep. The closer and closer the band got to putting out music the more his nerves kicked in--sometimes they were sneaky. The nerves come up faster than Calum had anticipated. And right now, they won the first round. But Calum was working hard to combat them so he could get about his daily life.

“Go crazy,” he finally verbally responds. And she picks up the remote, changing channels too fast for Calum to even understand how you could process what was on before decking it was a no. She eventually settles for HGTV--not quite caring what show was on. 

The first knock that comes to the door is the food that Calum ordered for the two of them. He answers it, popping up in the hopes it’s the mail. When it’s not, he sighs just a little but places the bag down onto the coffee table. “Your nugs, my queen,” he teases.

“Thank you, my good sir,” she returns with a grin, opening before divvying out what is for who. “You wouldn’t have happened to shot up like a bat outta hell because you wanted that to be the mail?”

Calum feels the heat in his cheeks, but bumps her shoulder gently. “No, why would I ever want that?”

“Oh I don’t know,” she scoffs in return, dunking a nugget into the sweet and sour sauce. They share a soft bout of laughter before turning their gaze back to the TV. Duke’s paws click as he ventures into the kitchen for a drink of water from his bowl. The lapping and splash of his tongue echoing just slightly as the screen goes dark between the show and the commercial break.

Calum lifts his gaze, taking in the soft angle of her jaw. She curls up around the carton of fries, eyes glued to the screen. Does she even have the slightest clue what she does to him? It’s not even the involved things like dressing up for him, or comforting him. It’s just her, when she’s munching on fries. Or when she sleepily walks behind Duke in the mornings. It’s when she hums as she cooks. It’s the dancing she does when she’s cleaning. It’s the pouts when she messes up on something and her brow furrows in as the determination settles onto her face.

It’s when she fucked up a birthday cake for him once--not greasing the sides of the pan enough and then adding a tad too much milk--called him crying about it and then in a minute flat resolved to make him brownies instead. Because she said she’d be damned if she didn’t make him something sweet to nibble on or pass along to the guys. And Calum’s not even that much of a sweets guy, which she knew, so she only settled on giving him half the batch she made. She, of course, saved the other half for her and her friends.

And it’s just the moments that she’s not even trying that makes Calum melt. Like when she paints her nails, she offers to do his first. Or when she lays down next to Duke, and in their shared silence, they seem to communicate everything with each other.

“I love you,” he states.

She turns, eyes widening for a second before grinning around her sip of iced tea. “I love you.” Her brows furrow just a little. “You okay? You’ve hardly touched your food.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine.”

“If you didn’t want McDonalds, I could’ve done something else. Literally anything else,” she continues on almost as if she hadn’t heard him.

“It’s not the food,” he giggles. Calum reaches out to caress her cheek. “I’m okay.”

She nods. “Okay.”

“I just love you, that’s all. Wanted to share it with you.”

Her grin is soft as it lifts her lips. “Good because you’re not getting rid of me that easy.”

“I wouldn’t dare dream of getting rid of you.”

Another silence envelopes them. Calum finishes his food and takes the empty containers to the trash. Another episode starts up from the speakers and just above it, he hears the chime of his phone. “Do you want me to screen it for you?”

“Yes please!” If it’s one of the guys, they won’t mind her answering. If it’s someone important, he doesn’t want to miss the call.

“Calum’s phone,” she answers but he can already hear her feet shuffling to him in the kitchen. “Okay, Ash. I’ll keep that in mind.” Her voice comes closer and Calum shakes his hands just a little to get rid of the excess water before drying them. “No, I can’t say what it is without taking a look. Did you use the soil I recommended last time?” Another pause comes from her and when Calum turns, he finds her leaning up the kitchen counter, phone halfway pulled down but not fully away from her ear. “Yeah, I definitely think you should consider changing soils. But I can take a better look tomorrow for you. I’m going to pass along the phone now.”

She hands the phone over. “He said it was important.”

“Thank you,” Calum says in a whisper, pressing a kiss to her forehead and then placing the phone to his ear. “Yeah, Ash?”

Calum’s not even sure how long the conversation goes on. At first, it is important information that Ashton’s trying to confirm--a date and time for a meeting that they had later in the week. He says he wrote it down where he writes down all their meetings but it’s not there. And Ashton’s trying to make sure that he doesn’t miss it. So Calum shuffles to his office and verifies in his calendar the time for the meeting.

But then the conversation diverges--they start talking about everything and anything. So much so, they’re laughing. Calum doesn’t even hear the knock at the front door. But he does notice her scurrying off into the bedroom. The door closes with a soft click. Duke comes trailing after her but notices the closer door and then keeps down the hall to the office. Calum reclines back in his seat trying to get another angle at the door. But it’s closed fully.

“You okay, gramps?” Calum asks Duke.

“Oh fuck off, mate!” Ashton laughs.

“Not you, you fucking egg. Duke--I was talking to Duke.”

“Oh!” Ashton giggles. “Sorry, I thought you was trying to talk shit.”

“I don’t have to try and do that to you.”

“Oi, don’t start something bro.” The two of them laugh and Calum bends down to scratch behind Duke’s ears. “Alright, thanks for confirming that meeting. I’ll see you tomorrow in the studio?”

“Yeah--bright and early. Talk to you later.” The call ends and when Calum spins around in his desk chair, his jaw drops as she steps out from the bedroom. It’s not exactly something new--as in something that she’s never worn before. But it doesn’t mean he ever gets tired of seeing her like this.

The white bustier pushes her breasts up and almost over the cups. And he travels the look down, taking in the baby blue skirt, fishnet knee highs. And he goes back up, taking in a black strap wrapping around her thighs. She notes the lustful gaze and steps right on the line of the threshold to the door.

“So,” Calum starts, trailing his gaze down and then back up to her face. “Not the black lingerie I was anticipating.”

“No, I’m waiting for the heels I want for that lingerie to go on sale. Besides, you didn’t like the collar I liked so I’m still searching.”

“It wasn’t that I didn’t like it. It’s just too similar to one we already bought.”

“You’re right, but still.”

Calum cracks a smile at the reluctant confession. “But enough about that. This--this is a cute outfit.”

She nods, smoothing out the pleated mini skirt. “It’s less about the outfit and more about these,” she says, tapping at the thin black band.

“And those are?” Calum asks. It’s one step closer into the room and Calum think he can make out a heart shaped metal loop in the middle of it. She takes a second step closer and Calum can see clearly it’s some sort of thigh garter--leather or something related as the material. “Oh,” he breathes.

She continues slowly to approach Calum and when she’s just in arms reach, she lifts the skirt up. It goes up inch by inch and Calum’s entranced. Watching more of her thighs revealed to him. And soon it’s black panties--mesh and if Calum remembers correctly crotchless. But wrapped around her waist is another band of leather. Two pieces hook to another metal hoop right on her hip bones and then one trip connects the top piece to the bottom.

“A harness garter belt--what do you think?” she asks in a whisper.

Calum exhales, desire stirring in the pit of his stomach. He reaches out, wrapping his fingers around her thighs and pulling her into him. He kisses in the spaces between the leather, gingerly, lips hardly touching her skin. “I think you look beautiful,” he hums, dropping his head on his neck to look up at her.

Her eyes are still closed and Calum softly runs the tips of his fingers up her thigh, tracing the lines of the harness. With a deep exhale, she finally blinks back to reality. “Not too silly?”

His brows meet in the middle of his face. Why would she think it’s too silly? There’s nothing silly about her standing in front of him, clearly excited about her own purchase. “Angel--I’ll be damned if I ever think this is silly.”

Swinging her leg over and settling onto his lap, she grins. “Thank you, love.”

Calum holds onto her hips, rubbing his palms down to her ass. “So you said this technically isn’t lingerie?”

“No--I don’t think so. But I think they could be--a small accessory to something I already have.”

They share a kiss, much too quick for Calum’s liking so he pulls her back in for more. And her arms wind around his neck as he continues to palm her ass. Here, he doesn’t really care what it is technically or not. She looks absolutely amazing. “I like it. In fact,” Calum starts, moving to grip her thighs before housing them both up and then plopping her down on the desk. “I really like them.”

Calum stands between her legs, nose brushing and bumping against hers. Here, she can feel her core aching as Calum’s fingers trail closer and closer to her heat. It’s feather light--his touch, but it makes her feel electric all the same. “Cal,” she hums.

“Yes baby?”

There’s nothing that comes out of her mouth but a small huff, a rushed and harsh exhale at the feeling of his fingers dancing across her skin. He grins pulling back just a little to see the way her face goes slack, almost as if she’s at peace with him between her legs.

“Was there something you wanted to say, darlin’?” Calum tries again, taking just a half step back away from her.

With her eyes still closed, she smiles. “I want to know,” she starts, exhaling softly to counter the thud of her heart in her chest, “if you’d so kindly want to make love to me?”

Calum can’t help his own small tuft of laughter. “Darlin’, I’d do so happily.” They don’t always wind up in bed like this--but it’s nice, to be comfortable even to be this forward with this and this open.

Calum takes her hand as she hops down from the desk. “Give me a twirl,” he asks. She obliges, turning in a circle for Calum, punctuating the back view by lifting her skirt up. “Silly girl,” Calum laughs, giving a firm but playful tap to her ass.

Facing Calum again, she wraps her arms around his torso. “But you love it.”

“I do. I love you.”

They share another kiss and she slowly walks backwards out of the room. They get lost in each other--Calum in the way she fits against him and her in the way Calum holds her, palms spanning across her back and tight enough that she wonders if he thinks she’s going to disappear but gently enough at the same time that she’d love nothing more than staying here forever in his hold.

Calum finds the zipper to the top and slowly drags it down. The material exhales, slowly falling away from her body and when it falls to the floor, he kisses her neck, down to the swell of her breast. Her moans are soft, just above a hum that makes just enough noise for him to hear. And it goes right to his gut.

Here there's very little need for words. When Calum gives, she takes happily. But when she tugs at his hair, Calum knows to step back, lets her give something to him. Her kisses are soft against his skin, but make him feel like it’s being set on fire. One that he’d happily stay in, let the blaze consume every inch of him, if it meant that she was always the one to take him.

His shirt goes to join hers. Her mouth teases his nipples as she descends further down on him. Calum thinks he sighs, all he can do is just shut his eyes and let go into the feeling of her teasing the cut of his hips beneath the sweatpants. She’s always like this, teasing him. At first, it used to annoy him. But now he loves it, loves just how close she’s willing to push him to the edge, push his buttons but always delivering at the end of it.

Her meticulous work, to watch him jump at every scratch of her nails and nip of her teeth, is enjoyable. But Calum blinks open his eyes to cup her jaw, which stops her. When her gaze lifts, Calum motions for her to stand. “Yes?” she grins standing to her full height.

Calum presses their foreheads together. “I missed you.”

“Well how dare I keep a man like you waiting?” With a slow kiss, tongues just barely dancing, Calum walks the two of them to the bed. The back of her knees hit the edge of it and she buckles just a little. Calum catches her from falling. “Turn around,” he whispers into her ear, “please.”

The instruction is obeyed and she spins to face the bed. Calum finds the zipper to the powder blue skirt and almost doesn’t want to take it off her. In the end, he does-- Calum lets the skirt fall onto a pool at their feet. Without even prompting she falls to her hands, ass grinding against his hips. He traces her spine with the pads of his fingers, following all the way down, over the curve of her ass and down to the opening in the panties. His fingers gather a bit of her arousal.

“Oh,” he groans. “So wet for me,” he hums with approval.

“Always for you,” she sighs. Calum teases her clit--a featherlight touch as he dances over her core. She lets herself fall a little bit more into the mattress--another moan leaving her lips when Calum takes one finger down from her clit to teasing her entrance.

Calum pulls away, bring his wet fingers to his lips and sucking them clean. “Taste just like heaven,” he hums. He gingerly guides her back to standing and uses her hips to get her to face him again.

More kisses are shared before they fall onto the mattress. Calum takes hold of one of the straps around her thigh and tugs her down, closer to him and she laughs. It gets caught off and morphed into a moan as Calum’s tongue licks a wide stripe up her. He’s careful of the mesh material of her panties, but knows that carefulness won’t last long. Not when her arousal coats his tongue. Not when her nails scratch over the muscles of his shoulders or tangle into the curls on his head.

She melts under the work of his mouth. The mattress merely becoming the vessel to hold the mess she’s bound to make and become. The room echoes the moans and slurps. Fingers gripping at the sheet, she chants Calum’s name. His tongue working magic over her core and just when she thinks she couldn’t possibly handle anything more, she notices the stretch at the addition of his fingers.

“Fuck,” she whines, lifiting one leg and he slips in even deeper, curling his fingers and hitting just the right spot.

Calum hungers for her pleasure--the high-pitched whine and groan as she releases. Some days it’s just the sound he needs to ground him. She gives short and breathless huffs, and quivers underneath him. “Gonna be a good girl?” Calum asks, fingers still pumping at her.

“Yes, oh yes, I will.”

“Gonna cum for me?”

“I want to, yes I’ll come for you. Make me your good girl.” Her voice sounds far away, as if she’s not fully cognizant of what she’s saying. Not quite babbling, but definitely talking so fast words bump into each other and slur together.

Calum grins, sucking at her clit again and she groans, head throwing back against the pillows. Her toes are curling--her whole body growing warmer with the passing second. The heat coils in her lower gut and she’s pleading. Though, she’s not sure who she is really meaning to plead to, but she wants to cum so badly.

Then it finally happens, one moment she’s sure she’s nearly in tears and the next, the coil snaps. She squeezes, hips raising off the bed and Calum continues to ride out her orgasm, gently pressing her back down into the bed. She hisses and starts to push at his shoulders, the signal that it’s too much. So Calum places one last kiss to her clit before pulling away from her glistening core.

Beneath him, eyes fluttering close, she looks angelic. Calum holds himself up above her and just watches the way she tries to collect her breath. “You’re beautiful, you know?” he whispers, not wanting to shatter the silence.

“No kidding?” she teases, winding her arms around his neck. The necklace dangles just a little in her face and she takes one hand to trace the chain. Hooking her fingers into it, she tugs Calum down to her. The taste of her arousal on Calum’s tongue makes her head spin. Calum caresses her side and stomach as the kiss deepens. Here is all they need--the soft and deep kisses, the moans that they swallow from each other.

Her hands leave from around his neck and begin to push down his sweatpants and underwear. And he lets her, even pulls back to kneel on his knees as she sits up. Their kiss hardly breaks and she’s quick to tug the cotton material down, hands wrapping around his length.

He groans at the squeeze--nothing too hard just enough pressure to make his whole body ignite. Her hand pumps him, once, then twice slowly and teasing him. “Baby,” he sighs, relishing the feeling of her hands working over him. The stay like that only for a minute or two before Calum pauses her to step down and full disrobe.

When he climbs back onto the bed, he crawls over her. “Welcome back, handsome,” she greets.

“Oh, it’s so good to be back,” he returns, grinning.

She runs her fingers over the tattoos decorating his chest, out of habit, out of something to ground her for a moment. There’s no way he’s real and it shouldn’t ever shock her like this. But sometimes it sneaks up on her and the realization of how madly in love she is with his man hits her all over again.

“What are you thinking about?” Calum asks.

“How much I love you,” she answers softly.

“I love you too,” he returns, bending down to kiss her. It’s soft and sweet--the kiss. For a moment, they just inhale the breaths of the other. It’s a tender moment, one that neither one wants to interrupt, so they let it linger, smiling at each other. She stretches up to kiss him, one hand trailing between their bodies and Calum catches the hint all too quickly when she traces along his length.

“I haven’t forgotten, love,” he exhales in a breathy laugh. “Trust me, I could never forget.” Once lined up, Calum’s slow to sink into her. One, he wants to drag this out, enjoy every inch of him that she grips of him. And two, because he wants to make sure that even in the lull that she’s ready to take him.

Her head falls back, hair pushing into the pillow and neck exposing itself to him. A tempting sight but Calum loses himself in the feeling of her wetness. He’s slow, pulling out just a bit before sinking further back into her. Her sighs and words of encouragement are soft from beneath him but they fuel him.

The pace quickens and both of them groan at the ecstasy. Out of reflex, she lifts one leg to readjust her hip flexor and Calum brings it up, resting her ankle on his shoulder. He kisses over the joint and the anklet, savoring just how much of her he can feel like this.

The chain dangles in her face, brushing in the valley of her breast and she revels in the feeling of Calum reaching the full depths of her body. She digs her nails into his flesh, more curses falling from her lip. But some of them get lost in the groans that win out. “God,” she huffs. “You’re everywhere.” And though it’s a bit of strain to get the words out because Calum’s pace is relentless as he snaps his hips into hers, she pushes the words out.

“You always take me so well,” he praises, watching the way her face contorts. “Oh, so soon, love? You’re going to cum again for me so fucking soon, like a good girl.”

Her whine slips out first but she nods, feeling the coil tightening yet again in her lower abdomen. Her body is hot, and she can already feel the prickle of sweat on her forehead. “Please, baby, please,” she begs.

“As you wish,” he hums, his own orgasm approaching faster than he anticipated. His body humming as the warmth spreads. The bed rocks just a little, hitting the wall and the sounds echo around them as they sigh and moan to each other. But the only thing that really matters to them, is each other.

“Fuck, baby,” he whispers, voice straining as she orgasms. No noise comes from her, but her mouth opens like if she had the breath she’d definitely be screaming his name. This time the quakes last longer, her whole body shaking. “You’re okay, you’re okay,” he hums, bumping his nose against her jaw, still riding through her orgasm.

“Shit, oh my god,” she shudders, wrapping her arms around his neck.

There’s a slight hiss when Calum moves again, and he kisses over her face, starting with her nose and then moving to her cheeks. Another quake takes her and Calum, not anticipating it, groans-- his orgasm now right on the edge. It won’t be much longer, but she nibbles at his earlobe. “Thank you,” she whispers. “Made me feel so fucking good. I want you to cum in me. So fucking deep,” she hums.

And while Calum’s trying to get his own rebuttal to the tip of his tongue, she squeezes around him. “Fuck,” he yelps just a little, his body erupting with his orgasm. His body shudders and he’s so blindsided by the feeling, his slips just a little, more of his weight settling onto her than usual.

She doesn’t say anything, just hums at the feeling of him succumbing to the pleasure. “Oh, that’s what I wanted,” she encourages. It leaves her throat like a purr and Calum shivers again at the sound.

They lay together, for a moment, her nails scratching lightly at the muscles in his back. Calum sinks into her, body going heavy. Her slight shift squeezes around him and he groans, sensitive. “Don’t--I can’t,” he laughs.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to.” Even her own voice sounds heavy and slurred. She kisses his temple and Calum pushes up. He’s slow to pull out, enjoying the drips that follow of his own release spilling out of her. With one finger he gently scopes it back up and into her. The familiar twinge of desire pulls at his lower gut and it’s almost enough. She even shivers, but Calum watches the way her eyes stay closed.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Sleepy now,” she returns.

“Let’s get cleaned up first and then we can nap.” His voice sounds farther away towards the end of the sentence and she assumes he went to the attached bathroom. The rush of water from the sink confirms it. Something wet and warm presses against her--no doubt Calum with a warm washcloth.

The clean up is swift as both of them share a shower and then under the sheets, they curl up around each other. Calum kisses the top of her head as she nuzzles in closely. “I want pancakes after our nap,” she mutters.

“I think we still have some blueberries.”

She pops up onto her elbow and grins a little. “It’s like you can read my mind.”

Calum laughs. “Maybe just a little bit.”

[writertitan]

As the World Caves In

pairing: levi x reader

word count: 3449

themes: levi’s pov, certified levi angst, lots of pining, levi just needs a hug tbh, song fic request that i think fits the vibe of the song

requested by anon

War.

All Levi can see is war. Everywhere, every second, every hour. It was all he had ever seen, from the moment he’d been born. He had long accepted that war was as inevitable as breathing. With that acceptance had also come the knowledge that that was all he would ever see. Only the gore, the death, the filth of war.

His feet ache as he trudges down the street alongside his horse, the reins loosely gripped in one hand as he keeps his head down, too tired to face the curious gazes of civilians. The evening rain splatters relentlessly atop his head and dribbles down his cheeks and soaks into his sullied uniform; the rain has always bothered him, but it is especially bothersome today.

He is here to fight for the beauty of humanity, but it isn’t a beauty he would ever get the chance to see for himself. That beauty was for those who came after him. He would suffer for them, he’d face the ugliness for them, if it meant that nobody would ever have to go through the horrors of fighting for humanity again. He would take it. He could take it.

A glance towards Hange tells him all he needs to know. The squad leader’s shoulders are hunched forward and Levi purses his lips, knowing they’d injured their back hours before, a result of so much heavy lifting. The wagon full of corpses and dead weight is much farther behind them, but the creaking of wheels seems deafening. Today, it feels like the world is ending.

Gore, and death, and filth. That’s all war is. All that war is, is the end of the world, every day.

With a sigh, Levi lifts his head up to stare straight ahead, expression as steely as ever.

He is here to fight for something that isn’t his. No need to get caught up in his thoughts about it.

War.

War was his life’s purpose. It was all he’d ever get to see. He’d have to see the end of the world every single day. There is no beauty in war.

-----

Fifteen minutes later, the first handful of scouts have started wandering off, Levi’s gaze wandering with them. Some of them go to greet family members. Others slump together in alleyways to take a break. And then there are others that have stepped into a tavern, a couple of them beckoning for Hange to come along. Members of their squad.

Before Levi’s gaze could turn away, Hange, always perceptive, meets his eyes.

“Want to come grab a drink?” they ask him.

Levi feels his jaw clench tight at the thought. He shakes his head.

“No,” he answers simply.

But it’s too late.

Hange grabs a hold of him and calls for a scout to come help with Levi’s horse. A designated horse-sitter, it seems, who does it solely for the promise of the steady flow of booze to be delivered to him outside.

“I just want to get back to base, Hange,” Levi protests, but his voice is dull and lifeless. There’s no venom to his fight.

“One drink, and it’ll be nice to get out of the rain,” Hange insists. They’re trying so hard to be upbeat, to have life in their eyes. Levi knows Hange well enough to see past the facade. There’s no signs of joy past the surface.

Hange wants to be numb tonight and have a warm body nearby. It’s the least Levi can do.

As dirty as he thinks taverns are, Levi feels much dirtier when he steps in, spattered with mud and blood and whatever other filth. He’s still drenched from the rain. It hasn’t let up and he doubts it will cease at all until tomorrow morning. He can hear it thundering on the roof of the tavern, like a furious heartbeat.

His boots squeak as he follows his comrades to a table; it’s not lost on him that the tavern has grown completely silent the moment they arrived.

He tries to ignore it but Levi’s prone to returning a few curious or frightened stares with some mean glares.

He does just that as he walks behind Hange, and it seems to work. But there’s one stare coming from somewhere in the tavern, he can feel it, but he can’t find the eyes. Everyone else has taken the hint and ducked their heads away. Almost everyone.

When he finally finds the pair of eyes on him, a crack of thunder booms outside and Levi swears that it stops time for a moment. Can thunder do that?

You clearly work here at the tavern, hair tugged out of the way and apron stained with ale. Eyes as big as the moon when they widen at the realization that he’s caught you staring. But you’re not staring in fear or curiosity or annoyance. Your eyes only hold kindness.

Levi doesn’t realize he’s frozen in place until you turn your head away from him and hurry off. It’s only until your gaze is torn away that he remembers he can move. And then he hears Hange calling for him from the table they’d settled on, a spot waiting for him.

He feels heavier and lighter simultaneously as he sits down and tries to focus on the meaningless mutterings between the scouts after shedding his cloak and jacket. Not even Hange is contributing to the chatter.

It’s not long until he feels someone behind him and Levi stiffens, the fresh memory of your face popping into his head. Slowly, he turns his head to look.

It’s you.

You’re expertly balancing a tray on your shoulder as you set down pints of ale in front of his comrades, not a word leaving your mouth. You can read the room perfectly. Levi can’t even bring himself to be angry that you didn’t come to ask about their drink preferences first. He’s willing to drink ale tonight.

But he’s surprised when, instead of a pint, you set down a mug of steaming tea in front of him.

“I’ve heard that you prefer tea, sir,” you murmur, and he can sense that you’re timid about what you’ve just said. Then you add, “But let me know if you’d like something else to drink.”

Levi is at a loss for words and he can’t pinpoint the feeling in his chest. He just nods curtly, staring up at you, holding your gaze, watching the way you get more and more flustered. Finally, he looks away, down at his tea, and brings both hands to wrap around the warm mug.

“Thank you,” he says, and slowly turns to watch you walk away from over his shoulder.

Is the tea thing really a topic of conversation everywhere?

He takes a sip and, while it’s an average cup of tea by his usual standards, Levi swears no other cup of tea has warmed him up faster in his whole life.

-----

The next time he’s at the tavern, it’s the night before departing to go beyond the wall. The soldiers are already some bottles deep in drink, swallowing their grief down along with the ale. It’s raining again, harder than the first night he’d come here. And Levi’s eyes have searched for glimpses of you since he arrived.

You always seem to escape his view. There are only fleeting glimpses as you saunter around, cleaning up and serving, and then disappearing to the back of the tavern where only the employees are allowed. You’re not the one to serve his table this time. But the fact that he was served a cup of tea tells him that you’re aware he’s there.

Levi doesn’t notice that when he can’t see you, you can see him. Thus, your gazes never cross paths.

He finally gets a good view of you when you come out wearing a cloak and a tired smile and tired eyes, and agree to help a barmaid serve a table of men a few meters away from his table, before you leave. You look uncomfortable as you serve them. They’re rowdy. One of them grabs the sleeve of your cloak and tugs hard. Levi hears the ripping of seams and then an uproar of drunk laughter from the table. And those eyes of yours fill with tears as you try to pull away to no avail.

Levi doesn’t realize he’s at the table until his hand is fisted into the man’s hair and yanking it so the drunkard can look at him.

“Keep your filthy hands to yourself,” he says in a low voice. He’s as calm as ever, but there is a dark undertone to his words that has the man and all his friends shutting up and shrinking back.

It disgusts him that these men would make you experience something like that.

When his eyes find yours, you’re looking at him in wonder, tears still lingering at your lash line.

“Thank you,” you breathe.

“You don’t need to thank me,” he mutters, and his only coherent thought at that moment is that his heart is pounding against his chest like the rain is pounding against the roof. Furious heartbeats.

The terrors of the world dawn on him full force when you clutch your cloak tighter around you and look towards the door. Levi knows war, and he knows terror, and he knows evil. He’s never thought about the fact that out there, you’re just as prone to the end of the world as anyone else. This tavern, this dingy little tavern, has been an escape for him.

It terrifies Levi to think that you’re out there on your own.

“Are you going home?” he asks you, and when you nod hesitantly, he makes up his mind. “I’m walking you home.”

“Oh, you don’t have to-” you begin, but Levi shakes his head.

“I want to,” he interjects. “It’s late and I’d like to know you’re safe. You seem like the type that finds trouble easily.”

“I seem like the type?” you echo, a corner of your mouth twitching up briefly. A hint of a smile.

Levi mentally curses himself but doesn’t elaborate further.

“Yep,” he confirms.

How can he tell you that he thinks that about you, not because of those men, but because you’d caught his attention? You’re doomed if you’re around Levi. Anyone and everyone is.

But he just can’t help himself.

“Okay. Thank you,” you whisper with a shy little smile, your eyes twinkling in the dim light of the tavern.

Levi clears his throat awkwardly and follows you out, ignoring the questions from his comrades, and definitely ignoring the little whoops from the ones who are too stupidly drunk to behave.

The rain is pouring from the sky and Levi grimaces, always bothered by the rain, and pulls the hood of his cloak over his head. He turns to you as you do the same, and only in that motion does he see how badly that drunkard has ruined your cloak. Your head may be protected from the rain, but your body is getting drenched.

He doesn’t give it a second thought before pulling off his cloak and shoving it your way with a grunt, the rain instantly drenching him.

You look at him in surprise, eyes as big as the moon again when they widen, and shake your head swiftly to refuse.

“Your cloak is useless. Use mine,” he tells you before you can verbally decline. “I’ll be fine. I’ve dealt with a lot worse things than getting wet.”

You reluctantly switch your cloak for his and Levi folds your ruined one over his arm so you don’t have to carry it. And then you start walking together, falling in step with each other easily. The streetlamps illuminate the wet pavement as the two of you walk together.

“Captain Levi, you really didn’t need to walk me home,” you say after a few beats of silence. The only other sound is the pattering of rain.

He turns to look at you briefly, because he just can’t stop looking at you, and for a moment he feels a dark pang in his chest when he looks you over while wearing his cloak. The green looks lovely on you, and while his heart flutters at the image of you wearing something of his, it also sinks at even the thought of you being a scout.

Levi would never want you to own a green cloak of your own. He would never want to expose you to war.

There is no beauty in war.

And you are very beautiful.

His head spins for a moment.

It’s the first time Levi has ever thought that about anything or anyone.  

He has never had the luxury of seeing something beautiful before. He sees death and he sees war and he sees terrors beyond the walls. Levi has seen nothing but the cruelties of a dying humanity.

And now here you are, so beautiful, the person who gives him tea and stares at him with wide, kind eyes.

“It would just make me feel better to know you’re safe,” he says when he realizes he hasn’t said anything back yet.

You give him a shy smile, and then Levi replays your words in his mind and frowns to himself.

“And you can just call me Levi. Not Captain Levi,” he adds.

When you say your name, Levi realizes you’ve never been properly introduced. He didn’t even know your name, and you’ve got him acting this way.

Like everything else about you, your name is beautiful to him.

“Don’t you just love the rain?” you sigh, stretching a hand out from the cloak to catch raindrops on your palm.

“I hate it, actually,” Levi responds.

He cringes at how blunt he sounds, but when you actually laugh, he softens and looks at you from the corner of his eye.

“Why do you love the rain?” he asks.

“Because it makes everything look beautiful,” you answer easily, turning to him to give him a smile. “I think rainy days are magical.”

Levi takes a look around, and he doesn’t see what you see. Everything just looks wet.

But when he looks at you, he sees the way that the raindrops catch onto a few stray strands of hair peeking out from under the hood of the cloak you wear, and he sees the way the air puffs out of your mouth from the chilly temperature, and he sees the way your eyes glimmer in the faint light of the streetlamps, and he thinks that’s beautiful.

It turns out you don’t live that far. The short walk makes Levi frown in disappointment, but when you reach out and gently touch his arm to get his attention, he feels a rush of heat flow through him. And something else, another feeling that he still can’t quite pinpoint.

“Come inside for a bit to dry off. I have tea,” you tell him.

And how can he refuse that?

He helps you start a fire in your little home and he lets you make the tea however you want instead of giving his usual instructions. When you give him a quilt to wrap up in after hanging up the cloaks and stepping out of soggy shoes, Levi is almost in disbelief at the comfort he feels as your hands playfully toss the fabric around his shoulders. The comfort almost makes him uncomfortable.

He only knows war. He doesn’t know this...new feeling. What is it? It feels like it’s at the tip of his tongue.

When he looks out the window, he knows better than anyone that there’s a war going on. He’ll be riding out to meet it face to face tomorrow morning.

But when you sit down next to him in front of the fire and hand him his tea, a quilt draped around your shoulders too, the both of you fall into a lovely silence and Levi can actually forget about it all. In your little home, it does not feel like the end of the world.

For the first time in his life, he is experiencing something beautiful.

-----

Levi’s feet ache as he trudges down the street.

A scout has agreed to take his horse back to base at Levi’s request. Though he usually wants to get back to base as soon as possible, today is different.

Two days outside of the walls and all Levi wants is to see something beautiful. He can hear the creaking wheels of the wagon carrying the dead, far behind him, but haunting him.

He feels heavy.

And he’s back to feeling like it’s the end of the world, and the world is on his shoulders.

He doesn’t want you to see him like this, deep down. Right now, he looks a mess, and he feels a mess. He’s not beautiful, and you don’t deserve to look at the result of war. And Levi is the result of war. He’s scarred, physically and mentally, and he looks like he’s seen nothing but doom. In truth, he has.

But none of that stops him from trekking to your little home, the evening light slowly turning to dusk as he approaches your street.

He’s basically operating on instinct, horrors flashing through his mind as he knocks on your door. There was so much death, again. There was so much fear and so much terror, again. It’s the end of the world.

The things thrumming through his mind stop as soon as your door opens as he’s greeted with the sight of your wide, surprised eyes.

“You’re back,” is all you say, and Levi swallows thickly and nods.

You can see the remnants of war in Levi’s eyes and he can tell, and he feels ashamed to make you witness that. But his shame ebbs when you step aside to silently welcome him inside your home, eyes as kind as ever.

“Would you like some tea, Levi?” you ask him, voice just above a whisper.

He steps inside and everything is as he remembers it from two nights ago. There’s a fire crackling and a few quilts tossed over chairs. He spots the one you’d let him borrow and wants nothing more than to have you wrap it around him again.

That indecipherable feeling comes back again as soon as the door closes behind him. The one he can’t quite place yet. When he looks at you, he feels it stronger than ever and makes his gaze soften.

“I’d love some tea,” he murmurs.

Levi stiffens when you move toward him rather than to your kitchen. He’s frozen in place, doesn’t know what to do when you’re inches away from him. Your eyes search his face before your hand comes up to gently caress him from temple to jaw, just once, and then your palm settles nicely on his cheek.

“I’ll make us some tea, then,” you tell him with that gentle smile of yours, and then pull away from him to go to the kitchen.

He stands there for a few moments longer before settling into the chair he’d sat in before, quilt wrapped around him as he stares into the fire.

The smell of tea wafts to him and Levi turns to watch you prepare it.

Beautiful.

That unknown feeling is coursing through him now, and Levi has come to the conclusion on what it is, but doesn’t want to believe it.

Because a man like Levi doesn’t know anything about this feeling.

What does a man like Levi know about peace?

He looks out the window and understands that the world is ending if he doesn’t do anything to stop it. There is war out there and he has to fight.

But when he looks at you, it doesn’t matter.

He’s been fighting for something that isn’t his. Maybe that can change. He can let himself have this. He can let himself know peace, after an entire life of fighting. Levi would like to fight for you. He’d like to fight knowing that it’s to make sure you never have to see what he sees.

Even if the world is ending, it’s okay right now. He’s okay with it as long as he can stay here with you and protect you from it.

When you give him his tea and sit next to him, you don’t bother to press him to talk about it. Levi appreciates that. When you cup his cheek again like you’d done earlier, he’s glad you don’t say anything when he leans into your touch. He doesn’t want words right now.

He just wants to revel in the feeling you’ve brought him.

Peace.

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Wounded Love (Lady Dimitrescu/F!Reader)

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: M for mature. Blood, more blood, heavy language, seriously lots of blood. Literally the bloodiest/most detailed thing I've written. Genre: Super angst with some fluff to ease the pain. We're talking putting honey in your cup of poison to make it taste better. The ending is split, with both a happy and a sad ending. Warnings: Minor surgery (technically?) while the patient is fully awake (that's the reader, btws), blood loss, graphic depiction of a wound and how said wound is taken care of. Possible trigger for self-harm, as the reader is performing part of the surgery themselves. Also brief mention of cannibalism in the bad ending. This may very well be a Dead Dove: Do Not Eat sort of thing. Notes: While I have more medical knowledge than the average person, due to my Girl Scouts training + having a mother as a nurse, I am in no way shape or form a medical professional, and do not suggest that the methods of treatment used in this fic be taken seriously. If you find yourself seriously injured, do not attempt to replicate anything you read here. Only a portion of this is based on a real-ass incident I went through, the rest is based on a dream, and what I experienced was not what you want to do in an emergency.

{Wounded Love}

This was a mistake. Blood stains your leg, your fingers, and bruises start to form all over your exhausted body. And for what? Why had you, a tiny, fragile human, dared to pass through this damned, lycan-infested forest? Because a woman who didn’t even love you asked you to. Now you were going to die, body certain to get left out in the cold or reduced to a pile of gnawed bones. If you had more strength remaining, you might have slammed your hand into the ground in frustration, or screamed until your lungs burned from something other than frost.

But that wouldn’t get you anywhere. Wouldn’t help you get back to the castle, wouldn’t ease the racing of your heart. So you settle for the only thing that might do any good: One quick motion pulls the scarf from your neck, sending a chill down your spine that you promptly ignore. Even with shaky hands and numb fingers, your experience is enough to let you wrap the cloth around your leg, tying the ends in a knot to secure it. The pressure hurts, just not enough for you to prefer bleeding out. A test step reveals that walking is mildly more difficult now.

“I’m going to haunt her,” you muse, under your breath, tears starting to freeze at the corner of your eyes. Still, you are as quietly determined as ever, and so once more you limp down the path. Every time you put weight on your injured leg it protests harder. If not for the snow and ice covering the ground, you might have quickly searched for a walking stick. “What could be so important about this damn package? Couldn’t Doug or whatever-his-fucking-name-is deliver it? Man can practically teleport, and here I am, watching as blood loss and hypothermia race to see who can kill me first.”

Gods were you angry. Why had this happened so soon after you had settled in? Finally you had been comfortable in Castle Dimitrescu, no longer as frightened of the residents, even finding them… charming, in a way. Then the Lady of house called to you for what she claimed to be a simple errand. You had believed her, even when she explained that you would have to leave the relative safety of her home. What a fool you had been.

“What a fool she must be,” you murmur, “to think me safe here. To think I could outlast wolfmen prowling the village outskirts.” Would she even care if she saw you now? Would she be surprised, disappointed? Would she do something to change your fate? There was no reason for her to do so. It didn’t matter how much you had helped her, how much she claimed to appreciate what you did (heavy lifting, repair of clothing, massages). You were as replaceable as any other Maiden there was. And that, that was what made you have a double-take. It came to you in that moment, a thought so painful that you could not deny it was the truth. “She never thought I would survive.”

Bitterness coats your tongue, like blood in your throat, and your brain demands that you destroy your cargo, the very thing that got you sent here in the first place. You almost do it. Feet stopping, arms shrugging the carrying straps off, bloody hands taking hold of it. Tears fall, just two, and hit the package. At that moment your plan changed. This new idea would be far, far more satisfying… as long as you succeeded.

------------------------

Spite was one hell of a drug. Enough of it and you could march your warm corpse right back to the castle, fist banging on the front door with everything you had. The path had been shorter than you thought, thankfully, but it had still taken so much out of you. Now you were leaning against the door, sliding down it, unable to support your own weight. Nothing inside the castle stirred. Were they ignoring you? Was Alcina really going to let you die inches from your “home”? Fuck that, you thought.

“Alcina!” You scream, loud as you can, startling the birds in the distant trees. The word echoes around you and rattles inside your ribs. It’s not enough. “Damn it, I am seconds away from dying, get out here now so I can look you in your fucking eyes!” Something tears a little in your throat, turning the last of your words into a hellish screech, leaving you to gasp and croak in the snow. You go to wipe your tear-filled eyes with your hands, only to remember just how much blood they’re covered in.

Sobs overtake you in just a few moments. You’re blinded by tears, deafened by sorrows, and numb from all the cold. In the aching seconds before you black out, you can only barely make out the silhouette of someone rushing to your side…

------------------------

The first thing you feel when you wake up is mind searing pain. You try to jolt upwards, only to find a pair of strong, gloved hands holding you down. Someone shouts something, but you can’t make it out, and you feel another hand gently squeeze one of your own. Pained gasps escape your throat one after the other, but whatever is hurting you doesn’t stop. It takes a full minute for you to adjust enough to make sense of where you are. At last, you understand what’s being said.

“-it’s okay, shhh, please, we’re trying to help,” says none other than Lady Dimitrescu herself. She’s the one holding your hand, doing her best not to hurt you with her grip, trying desperately to calm you down. One the other side of you, Cassandra is positioned to hold you down. There’s a tight-lipped scowl on her face, and her brow is furrowed, but she’s not looking at your face, but rather eying somewhere in the opposite direction. Following her gaze, you find her older sister is sitting near your injured leg, and is undeniably the source of some of your pain. In one hand she holds a bottle of alcohol (notably not the wine her family produces), the other holding a wet cloth to your wound. No wonder it stings so much.

“Shit, shit, stop,” you growl, barely getting the words out. But all anyone does is look at you. Alcina’s mouth opens to speak, only for you to cut her off. “I’ve got medical training, for the love of Mother Miranda let me help! How long have I been unconscious?” This time Bela stops, glancing at her mother for direction. The grip on your torso grows looser, with Cassandra evidently heeding your words, and you take the chance to sit up, careful not to move your leg. At this point you realize that there’s a needle of sorts in your arm, attached to a tube, which trails up into a blood bag. It’s clearly been improvised with equipment from the “wine-making” part of the castle.

“Fifteen minutes at most,” a new voice chimes, from somewhere behind you. “I got that cloth you wanted, mother, but something tells me I’m not done fetching things.” Ah, Daniela Dimitrescu. Was the whole family helping you?... Why? As much as you wanted answers, there wasn’t (currently) time for questions. Not when one glance at your leg tells you that some of your flesh is rapidly decomposing. The wound was made only an hour ago, and already it was getting deadlier than you could even process.

“I need a sharp, clean knife, a needle with thread, a glass of water, and someone needs to put a metal tool, sterilized, on the stove, right now,” you said, finding it easier to talk now that no one was cleansing your wound. Without hesitation Daniela dispersed into a cloud of insects, heading towards the kitchen, while Cassandra stood up and moved towards the stairs.

“Guess I’ll get the needle,” she said, sounding rather unenthusiastic.

“What are you planning?” Alcina asks, more concerned than you had ever heard her before. Attempting to reassure her, you manage a small smile before explaining.

“Got scratched and slobbered on by a lycan. Whatever they have, it’s infectious. If I want to save my leg, or at least have a chance at surviving, I have to take measures to reduce the likelihood of an infection,” you say. Now Alcina is slowly stroking her thumb across your hand, eyes narrowed with concern. There’s a look on her face that you can’t quite parse, something she’s not saying. For now you ignore it and continue going over your plan. “The best thing would be to amputate. The tourniquet might have helped prevent the saliva from getting further into my body- and I do mean might- but I can’t keep it on forever. Problem is… I don’t want to lose it. God, I’m terrified of that, and with what we have in the castle I… I’d be more likely to die of shock than not. So, well, forget that idea.

“I’m just going to remove the wound. By making a bigger wound. It’s crazy, I know, but this will kill me if we do nothing. It will probably kill me if we do. The technical term is some shit like ‘de-bride-ing’?... No, debridement, I think. Except normally the poor fucker getting cut open is asleep for the procedure.” By the time you’re done, Lady Dimitrescu is looking at you with horror. Yeah, you had a feeling she wouldn’t appreciate the idea. “Look, if this is too much… if it’s not worth saving me, if you’d rather give me a quick death, I understand. If I were-”

“Don’t be foolish, dear. You will not die, not as long as something can be done about it,” Alcina replies, quickly, eager to stop hearing you talk about dying. It’s… strange to hear her sound so confident about saving you, even stranger to realize what she called you. As if reading your thoughts, she shifts in her seat, avoiding your gaze for a moment. Shyness didn’t suit her, and you imagined it was more about her finding the right words. When she speaks, she’s looking right at you again. “I have hesitated to tell you the truth, and now I find the world playing a cruel trick on me, trying to take that which I adore. But I don’t want to aggravate your stress right now. Please, think nothing of what I have said.”

Before you could reply, footsteps reached your ears, and soon enough Daniela returns. In one hand she holds a large pitcher of water. In the other? Several knives, of various sizes, one of which you’re pretty sure you’ve seen Cassandra playing with before. As soon as you see her your face lights up, glad to be able to start the procedure.

“Oh thank fuck- or, I mean, thank you, Lady Daniela,” you stutter, reaching out as she offers you the items. Thankfully Bela had already made room on the table at your side, where she had set the bottle of alcohol down. For a moment you had forgotten that she was there. Had she already known about her mother’s feelings? Based on her lack of reaction, you could only assume that she was well aware. “I’m gonna scream, B-T-dubs. Just, uh, cover your ears?” You offer, already holding your chosen knife (big enough to be effective, small enough to offer precision).

“So… you’re going to do this yourself? Didn’t think you had it in you, red. Try not to cut anything important. Wouldn’t want to have to clean that mess up,” Daniela teases. As soon as she’s finished she has to shift into a swarm, as Bela flat out throws a knife at her. For a moment you freeze, watching as Alcina rises to her full height, staring her eldest daughter down. Behind her, Daniela reforms, clearly using her mother as a shield. “I was just trying to relieve the tension, jeez. It’s like you think she’s already dead.”

“Don’t speak another word!” Alcina snaps, sending a frightening stare towards Daniela. You cough, awkwardly, not knowing what to do. Meanwhile Bela is pinching the bridge of her nose between two fingers, clearly tired of dealing with her sister’s sense of humor. “No one will speak a word until this is finished, unless my dear needs something, understood?” Both the girls nod at that, neither feeling a need to risk any further ire.

“I’m just going to start working now,” you awkwardly chime, taking a deep breath before leaning in towards your injured leg. On closer inspection you can see a strange, dark residue in the wound. They’re specks, scattered along the length of it, and they seem more common the closer you look to the gash’s center. Gross, you think. Half curious, half checking for legitimate reasons, you bring your other hand to the cut and gently spread both sides apart. It hurts like hell, and you have to bite down on your lip to stop yourself from screaming. But sure enough, the residue is practically solid at the deepest point of the wound. “Those lycans really should be on leashes.”

Out of the corner of your eye you can see Daniela exchange looks with Bela, but neither of them disobey their mother (yet). Shaking the thought away, you finally get to the brunt of the task at hand. Your hand moves slowly, reluctant to inflict such damage against its own body. As soon as the tip of the knife touches your skin, you start to doubt your ability to do this. It takes looking at Alcina, seeing the way she watches you with equal parts concern and tenderness, to remind you why you’re doing this. Death just wasn’t something you could accept right now; not after what she had said, what she had implied.

The knife is fantastically sharp. Hardly any pressure is needed before your flesh gives away, cells letting go of their neighbors like it was a casual affair. You start at the left side of your injury, digging down a little, trying to only go as deep as you needed to. Tears formed in your eyes but you quickly blinked them away. As the first of many screams leaves your mouth, you turn and twist the knife, cutting to the right, then up. Like scooping the seeds out of a pumpkin. Fresh blood springs from the wound, starting to fill up the crevice. Quickly you discard the skin you removed by tossing it into the same bowl that Bela had put a bloody towel in earlier.

“Yes,” you shudder through gritted teeth, “this hurts so fucking bad. No, I don’t need someone to take over yet.” At this point neither of the present sisters are looking at you, seeming oddly uncomfortable at the sight of you cut up like this. Hadn’t they done worse to your fellow Maidens?... Whatever, the thought couldn’t last long when you still had work to do.

Next you take a fresh, damp cloth and dab at your injury, ignoring how it throbbed beneath your touch. Then you resumed cutting, forced to press the knife deeper in order to remove the spreading residue. If you had been a scientist, this would have been utterly fascinating to observe. Whatever had been in the lycan’s saliva was slowly eating at your flesh, but not outright dissolving it. No, it simply left the skin where it was, but killed and rapidly broke it down. Yes, it would have been fascinating, if not for the fact that there was a chance you wouldn’t be able to outpace the bacteria.

With this in mind you force yourself to hold in your next scream, hoping to make it easier for you to focus. The knife continued to cut, going lower, setting nerves alight as it did. Your vision starts to blur, and for a few seconds you think you’re going to black out. Someone says something you don’t hear, and then suddenly there’s a hand on top of your own. When your vision clears you see Bela is responsible, her grip keeping you from dropping the knife. She doesn’t let go until you give her a clear nod. Even then, she seems reluctant to let you continue.

Around this time is when Cassandra returns. Her footsteps catch your attention (it’s your understanding that carrying objects is much harder in swarm mode), and you spare her a quick glance before getting back to work. A few moments later she’s placing a set of needles and a long spool of thread next to you. Ironically, they’re the same tools that you’ve used to repair and adjust Alcina’s dresses over the past year. Hopefully they work just as well on flesh, you think. Your next thoughts are canceled out by unbelievable pain. More cries leave your lips, and your hand starts shaking. Panic is settling in fast, your movements getting sharper, leading you to make a brash decision: Time to care less about precision and more about speed.

“Distract me, please,” you gasp between grunts. No one responds at first, and you know they need clarification. Speaking is getting harder by the second, but you do your best. “Brain can’t process many stimulants, same time. Just- fuck- trace skin around wound, touch hair, anything.” Somewhere between your semi-broken sentences and screams, Alcina gets the message. She’s moving closer, now, behind you, one arm wrapping around your waist, the other rubbing gentle circles on your undamaged leg. Across from you Daniela is too busy pacing to help, though you can hardly blame her.

“Should I get the metal thing from the stove?” Cassandra asks, silently hoping that Dani hadn’t assumed someone else was going to handle that part. You’re still in too much pain to talk, so you half nod half grunt in response. Not bothering to say anything, the middle child takes off, swarm moving at what might be a new speed record.

As much as your hands are shaking, you still manage to cut away another strip of flesh, tossing it aside with even less care than before. This time Bela wipes the wound for you, practically reading your mind. The moment her hands are completely out of the way you start cutting again, crying out, throat shredded to pieces from all your screaming. Alcina sounds like she might be close to sobbing, but she doesn’t stop her movements, doing her best to distract you just like you had asked. Even Bela helps, now, tracing spots around your injury whenever she knows she won’t be in your way. The effect is minor, in the end, hardly making a dent in how much pain you’re processing.

If you survive this, though, you’re hugging every daughter as tight as you can and showering them with affection… but only after you finish doing the same for their mother.

“You are so brave,” Alcina murmurs next to your ear. It’s even clearer now how close she is to crying, her voice seconds away from cracking. Hearing her like this almost hurts as bad as the initial lycan attack did. “You are so strong. No other mortal could ever be your match. Do you understand, my dear? You are blessed, divine, and I love you so much.”

In any other setting, her words would leave you melting in her arms, radiating affection so strongly that you might as well have been radioactive. Instead, you are unable to respond, or even look her way. All you can do is press the knife to your skin again, showing your own feelings by destroying yourself for her.

The blade is starting to find more resistance, and you’re having to pause more often, spots appearing in your vision. Going faster only makes things worse, your hand threatening to slip. You’re determined to finish this, no matter what, but your need to control the situation is gradually making things worse. Alcina notices this before you do, and acts before you have a chance to protest.

“Bela, the knife,” she says, then tightens her grip on your waist. Your confusion shifts to panic as your arm is carefully, but forcefully, pulled away from your wound. “Can you finish the job?” It takes you a few moments to realize that Alcina isn’t talking to you. No, she’s speaking to her eldest daughter, who doesn’t hesitate to take the knife away from you. It’s so easy for her, between her strength and your weakness. “Don’t struggle. Let us finish this.”

Protests rise from your throat and die in your mouth. Pain flares harder now that Bela isn’t distracting you. Once more your vision goes dark, but this time there’s no pause, no hesitation. You are suffering, horribly, and the Dimitrescu family refuses to make you hurt longer than necessary. It’ll be over soon, you think, not knowing whether you refer to your pain or your life itself.

Something wet drops onto the back of your neck, then darkness overtakes you…

------------------------

“Damn those lycans, I should string Heisenberg up myself! They’re his responsibility, after all,” Lady Dimitrescu snarls, trying to ignore the tears in her eyes. Now that you’re unconscious, unable to hear what ails her, she feels free to voice her thoughts. “The damn things should never have come close to the path to the village.”

“What if she strayed from the path? Wouldn’t that explain it?” Bela suggests, even as her hands work to remove what seems to be the last piece of dead/infected flesh from your leg. She hates how the words feel in her mouth, hates suggesting that you of all people might have betrayed her mother’s trust. But it makes sense. After all, this whole mess, with you leaving the castle to retrieve a mysterious package, was all a test to see if you would try to run. It hadn’t been her idea, and Bela admitted to herself that she thought it was unnecessary.

“On the way back? Why would she bother getting the package if she intended to run?” Lady Dimitrescu asks, right as Cassandra returns. The middle child is practically juggling the metal spatula she’s carrying, irritated (not harmed) by the heat it produced. One of her brows perks up when she hears the conversation, but she keeps any thoughts she has to herself.

“Just a thought, mother, I didn’t quite believe it myself,” Bela chimes, after a pause. With that said she holds up her hand with pride, clutching between her fingers the last of the decaying flesh. The way the others react, one might have thought that a miracle had been performed. Daniela clapped her hands together, giggling a little, and finally stopped her pacing. “Don’t celebrate too much, now,” Bela reminded her, taking the spatula from Cassandra as she did. “There’s still plenty to do. It’s a good thing she’s not awake for this part.”

A good thing, indeed. She uses her fingers to spread the remaining skin a little, giving a quick examination, then deciding that she had successfully removed all remaining residue. Keeping her fingers where they were, she pressed the side of the spatula to your skin, putting the most pressure at the center of the wound. Three seconds passed, then she lifted her hand. A pause. She pressed it back into place, keeping a close eye on the affected area. This repeated several times, the gaps being necessary to prevent unintentional damage. Once the wound seemed properly closed she set the spatula aside.

“Is that it?... Did we save her?” Daniela asks, opting to finally sit down in a nearby chair. Something about her word choice makes both of her sisters scoff.

“I could sew it closed, as a precaution, but there’s no way I’d do it the way she had intended. It might be best to just give her time to rest, and see what she thinks when she gets back up,” Bela answers. For a moment her words hang in the air, but eventually Alcina gives a little nod and a hum.

“Very well. I shall carry her to my quarters, where she won’t be disturbed. Please, let one of the Maidens know to bring some food up this evening,” Alcina says, gently taking you into her arms as she does…

------------------------

BAD ENDING: It’s been six hours, with no sign of you waking up. Your other wounds had been examined, cleaned, and bandaged. Food had been carefully prepared and brought up to you, though it now remained on the bedside table, untouched. Alcina has gone to call Mother Miranda, intending to speak to her about the growing unrest of the lycans, as Heisenberg hadn’t answered his phone. For the first time since you returned you are alone. It is now, of all times, that you awaken. A gasp sends you into a coughing spree, forcing you into a sitting position. The space around you feels like it's moving, and your vision blurs. Blood spills from your mouth as you finally regain the ability to breathe.

Seconds later your vision clears, but what you see is enough to make you wish you couldn’t. The blood that spilled onto the sheets is a dark red… with even darker spots scattered throughout it. All at once you know what happened: Residue had hidden from you, or gone deeper than your wound, infecting you before you ever stood a chance. Tears threaten to spill from your eyes, but something deeper starts calling to you. Something older. Darker. It drags you to your feet, ignores the pain of your wounds, and sends you out the bedroom door.

Your mind is racing, thoughts never quite clear enough for you to understand. It doesn’t feel like you’re in control of your own movements. Was something else in charge, or were you operating on an infection powered autopilot? Answers weren’t coming, just bloodshed.

“You’re not supposed to be out of bed yet!” A voice calls out to you, making you turn to investigate. On the other end of the hallway is a maiden, one you instantly recognize. You’ve worked with her before, plenty of times, tag-teaming more tasks than you could count. She was like a sister to you. When she sees the blood staining your clothes, she gasps, then moves to support you. “Please, Lady Dimitrescu will be so upset if you-” her words melt into a blood curdling scream. For a moment you don’t understand.

And then you swallow, a chunk of hot meat slipping down your throat, and the scream dies down.

“What?...” You whisper, finally tasting the blood in your mouth, watching as your friend’s body falls to the floor. There’s a chunk of flesh missing from her neck, and the dots connect themselves in your head. You did that. Every part of you wants to scream, wants to cry out and beg someone to come kill you. Instead you fall to your knees, hard, uncaring. Your hands move themselves, grasping at the still warm corpse. Something has made you stronger, or at the very least removed the mental limits that kept you from destroying yourself. Flesh gives under your touch, tearing like paper, and you start crying as it reaches your mouth.

Footsteps approach, thundering fast, and you want to warn whoever it is. When you turn to look, you feel your hands let go of your meal. Your gaze meets that of a stunned Cassandra Dimitrescu, then drifts to the sickle in her hand.

“Kill me,” you growl, voice distorted, practically echoing. “Kill me now!” Not needing to be told a third time, Cassandra moves lightning quick, swarm-jumping forward before manifesting behind you, sickle dragging across your throat in one smooth motion. But it’s not enough. She realizes this, though, and slams her foot into your back, sending you tumbling forward. It’s enough to prevent you from countering, which gives her time to advance again, this time pulling a knife from her boot and driving it into the center of your back. When you scream, it’s not with your own voice, but that of a monster.

“Fucking fuck, what the fuck, red?” Daniella asks as she rounds the corner, eyes immediately landing on your bloodsoaked mouth. She’s quick to take in the scene, drawing a conclusion easily, even if it breaks her heart a little. Your vision fades as she approaches, and you know that it’s finally over. If only you had expired a few seconds earlier… because the last thing you hear is the startled cry of your would-be lover.

“No! No, darling, what happened-” Alcina finishes her sentence, but you do not hear it. You do not hear anything, anymore. You do not know it… but there will be hell to pay for your death.

------------------------

GOOD ENDING: When you awake, you find yourself in the softest sheets you’ve ever touched, a warm and familiar presence next to you. The first thing you see is Alcina’s sleeping face next to your own. She’s on her side, one arm around your waist, the covers pulled up to her hip. Warmth fills your chest as you take in the sight. For a few moments you just… appreciate this. Never before had you imagined that you would get to wake up next to the woman you loved so much. A sigh, one of bliss, leaves your lips. Slowly you move forward, gently placing a kiss to Alcina’s cheek. Seconds later her eyelids flutter open, and she tiredly takes you in.

“You’re… awake,” she murmurs, hardly awake herself. But her fatigue doesn’t last long. As soon as she’s fully processed the situation her eyes go wide. Then she’s pulling you closer, careful not to hurt you, and peppering little kisses over your face. “I’ve been so worried, dear. You scared us so much.” The hurt in her voice leaves you restless, making you curl up against her, desperate to soothe her worries. Moving hurts a little, but not enough to dissuade you from your goal.

“I’m sorry, love,” you say, tears pricking your eyes. “I’m okay, I’m alive, the plan worked out. You don’t have to fret for me anymore. I won’t leave you, I promise.” Slowly but surely, Alcina calms, exchanging kisses for softly running her fingers through your hair. There’s such love in her eyes that you can hardly believe you aren’t dreaming. “You’re amazing, Alcina. I could stay like this all day.”

“Maybe we should,” she offers, chuckling a little. Once again you give her a quick kiss, unable to resist the urge. “I should have never asked you to leave. I should have just trusted you.” The words give you pause, and you tilt your head in confusion. Realizing that you still didn’t know the full story, Alcina frowns. “The package is worthless, just a bundle of straw and a few rocks for weight. It was never what I cared about.”

Tension builds in your chest, and for a few seconds you have no idea how to react. It takes a minute for you to think, to connect the dots, but once you do it’s a tad bit easier to breathe. A scowl twists your lips as you think of what to say.

“If I had known that Heisenberg was forgoing his duties, I never would have sent you outside,” Alcina adds, the silence taking its toll on her.

“You shouldn’t have sent me either way,” you respond, bitterly, thinking of all that you had seen and heard on your journey. “I would have done anything to prove to you how I feel. There are other ways to show devotion- far less dangerous ways, at that.”

“I know, dear. You have every right to be angry… and watching you suffer has taught me all that I need to know,” Alcina says, still playing with your hair, trying to ease the tension. As upset as you about this recent revelation… it’s not enough to change how you feel about her, and you want her to understand that, fully and completely.

So you lean into her touch, let your eyes drift close for a moment, then softly place one of your arms around her as best as you can.

“We’ll need to talk about this more… just not right now. Right now, I need you, Alcina. I need to hold you, and be held by you, and just know that you’re here. That I’m here. That neither of us are going anywhere,” you say, resting your forehead against hers. “I need to feel safe, and your arms are the safest place I can imagine. Stay here with me?”

“It will be the easiest thing I have ever done.”