#They're both digging... but... not exactly towards each other...

[amburuthings]

Here's a tribute to the entire first arc of Riptide, an AO3 fic from @galadrieljones where we watch over Isene Lavellan as she scrambles through a painful decade in Solavellan hell.

Please go check it out ! :)

Over the past ten years, Sene Lavellan, through her romantic pursuits and journeys post-Solas, her gritty fight for the south, deciding who she will become, finds herself forever in love with a ghost, yanked down by the riptide, Solas, hunting wolves through time and space, anguish and joy as she pursues him without end. Solas will come to learn that the only possible fate is the love they share.

[dwaekkicidal]

thinking about idol!skz making their cute little stay sign an NDA

wc» 4k (APPARENTLY???)

cw» fem & STAY!reader, orgy (9), multiple rounds for reader but all of skz goes once each, both mean & soft dom skz, fingering/finger fucking, recording with a phone, 1 protected & 2 unprotected p in v, oral (f briefly & m fully receiving), face fucking, facial, light cum play?

an» i reread this like 10 times but i still hate it idk why lol, but anyways pls note that im using their STAGE names, this is really unrealistic imo but im indulging for once in my writing career bc im a weak, weak woman

shes so excited and has the biggest smile on her face, despite the fact that she knows there's mostly dirty stuff in the agreement. their manager stands nearby in the conference room, watching over every move from everyone. 'just in case'

and little does she know that the second she's done signing, they agreed to show her just why they're known for being one of, if not THE rowdiest idol group ever.

and then that sweet little smile pops up again and she pushes the signed form towards their manager. they wait patiently for a confirmation before even making the tiniest move. once they witness a nod and a bow in farewell from their manager, they smile to themselves.

lee know is the first to pounce, not even giving their manager time to walk out of the room.

the manager throws a plastic bag onto the middle of the conference table and heads to the door with some comments to the boys, and she watches as something thumps as the bag falls over and she faintly sees the shiny, square wrapper of something peeking out

lee know gives her a sickeningly sweet smile and helps her to her feet. she's confused as to why but doesn't exactly question it. she just assumes they're going to another room. and, well, it's not like she has the chance to really question anything.

not when her whole world spins and her cheek aches from the way shes all but slammed onto the conference table. and sure as hell not when her short, thin sundress is pulled up and bunched around her waist. and he wastes no time either!! it's like he's been waiting for that stupid piece of paper to get signed.

he knows it's all for the group's safety and that it was necessary for a "situation like this" or whatever crap his manager said. but that won't stop him from making you pay for it.

he's ruthless as he finger fucks you into oblivion right off the bat, leaving little comments here and there as his free hand digs into your neck, holding you down against the flat surface.

he curls both fingers directly into your g-spot and your orgasm takes you by surprise. you had no chance to warn him- or any of them- before you moan loudly and gush around his fingers. your legs kick up behind you in overstimulation, but he still doesn't let up right away. only once he remembers his other members are still there, he finally slides them out of you.

he's quick to get a taste and shoves his fingers past his lips, licking them clean as you attempt to catch your breath. you manage to shake off some of the surprise just in time for the sound of a chair scraping against the floor meeting your ears.

then you feel hands on your hips and youre spinning again. this time though, you're folded into a chair. lee know holds you against him and pulls your legs up to your chest, letting you sink down just the slightest bit and causing your head to rest against his pecs.

you're not sure what to expect until you notice i.n hovering over you. he runs the back of his fingers against your folds and laughs at the way your legs twitch from sensitivity. then he uses his free hand to stroke up and down your thigh before settling by your ass and using his thumb to spread you open.

he sits there for a moment and just takes in the sight of you just barely glistening and makes a noise of delight, as if he were eating his favorite meal.

he runs his fingers through your folds again, this time with more pressure, and teasingly dips the first few centimeters of his fingers into your hole before popping it back out and tracing little circles around your clit

eventually, amidst your whines and little hole twitches, he indulges you and sinks two of those long fingers into your walls. your legs twitch against lee know's hold and the elder squeezes your legs tighter before making some crude comment in your ear that you can't completely pick up behind the squelching of your pussy </3

i.n smiles to himself and moves his fingers roughly right off the bat. his fingertips dig meanly into your g-spot and you cry out loudly. your eyes focus on the maknae above you, taking in the crazy look in his eyes as he coos down at you in mockery of your whines.

and thanks to that, you miss the way a phone gets set up right where you just signed your life away. it's almost comedic the way they use the same tripod they use in their lives. but, again, you completely miss it.

and nobody can really blame you because the first orgasm that gets caught on the camera, literally seconds after the recording started, was enough to make your legs snap out of lee know's grasp.

i.n laughs and slows his fingers, letting you ride out that high for a moment and waiting for your legs to unclasp to pull his fingers out completely.

you think you understand now, and maybe it's onto the next, but that's not happening. not when this spoiled little brat doesn't move away from you. a few people even stand to claim their turn but, much to their dismay, i.n only sits in the same spot. in fact, he runs his fingers through your folds again, ready for a round 2- or... 3, i guess you could say.

and who are they to deny their little brother! after all, they are the ones who made him so spoiled in the first place. if they let him walk all over them without any punishment, you can't imagine the things he has planned for you.

a cry is ripped through your throat as his fingers dive in again at the same time that lee know hooks your legs over his, spreading you nice and wide for the room. the fingers just as mean as before and you can see his arms flexing as he tries to find another, deeper angle. one that he finds rather easily thanks to the telltale shivers from your body.

though, he's not really given much time to play with it as you cum again suddenly. you gasp loudly and he can tell it caught you off guard too, so he laughs and helps lee know hold your legs down and apart as he finger fucks you through this orgasm. he pulled his fingers out at the perfect time, right before it had actually became too much.

buuut, like stated earlier, they are the rowdiest group around. so did you actually think you would get a second to breathe? lol. maybe with one of the others, yes. but seungmin? yeah.... no. he actually pushes i.n out of the way, to the point where the youngest almost falls on the floor.

he then lands a brisk slap to your folds and wastes no time in shoving his fingers in, 3 of them to be exact. your eyes roll into the back of your head and one of your hands desperately digs your nails into his arm. he responds by pushing it away and landing another slap to your folds.

lee know laughs from behind you and hooks his forearm under your knee, hugging that leg to your chest and using his other hand to grip your wrist tightly. seungmin takes the chance and uses his free hand to push your other leg away, spreading you open while also pinning it up and away from you. the action makes you fall back against lee knows chest again.

his fingers are somehow rougher than the other 2 before him. you thought i.n was bad, but seungmin shows you no mercy. he even puts on a show for the others and leans down, sinking his teeth into the fat of your thigh thats just under lee know's arm

the action makes you whimper and clench around his fingers, taking him by surprise. he tests the waters and bites again, but harder. you clench yet again and the boys watch as your eyes roll to the back of your head

your mind is becoming foggy as you are forced to take everything the second youngest gives. and when you finally come for the 4th time, he pushes it even further and lands a sudden smack to your ass.

he pulls away slightly, his fingers drawing sticky shapes into your folds as mumbled chatter is heard. lee know pushes you to your feet and helps you stand up as a set of steps are walking towards you.

felix takes lee know's seat on the chair and pulls you onto his lap. you feel his hands on your hips, dragging your cunt back and forth along his cock, before you notice the man in front of you. han smiles sweetly, but when you blink you catch on to the menacing message behind it. even more so when he drops to his knees, eyes never leaving yours, and licks a long, slow stripe up your thigh.

felix giggles to himself when you shiver at the feeling and digs his fingers into your hips. he lifts you just enough for han to slide his cock inside of you. then he drops you down suddenly and hugs you to his chest.

you cry out at the suddenness and the room erupts in husky chuckles, some of them pulling their cocks out to jerk off at the sight of you getting broken in by their sunshine.

you get manhandled a little further, specifically felix positioning you so that he can fuck into you while giving han some space to work with. once they find the position that works, the pair give you no time to think.

han latches onto your clit immediately, sucking harshly and running his tongue in messy shapes against it. felix groans into your ear from the way you clench around him, but he uses it as motivation to start fucking into you.

the two hover you slightly above felix and give him space to start lifting his hips slowly- trying to find a rhythm that works for the awkward position. once he finds it, he digs his hands into your waist and starts fucking you harder, his tip hitting an angle similar to the one i.n had found earlier

your moan gets caught in your throat and you feel han smile against your mound at the sound. felix reads you like a book and fucks his hips in the same position, making sure to roll his hips slowly once he was sure that he found the right spot.

han nips at your clit softly one final time before standing to his feet again. he backs up and unbuckles his belt, never breaking eye contact with you, and smirks when he pulls his cock out.

the two move almost in sync and you're helped back onto your feet only to get pushed forward and shoved towards han's length. they hastily spit roast you and fuck you like there's no tomorrow- han's hand fisting your hair while the other holds both your wrists up and out of the way for felix, who squeezes your ass firmly before landing a playful smack to your thigh.

they take turns pushing you back onto the other, seesawing you like it's some sort of game until felix slows suddenly and finishes inside the condom you hadnt even realized he put on. he pulls away with no warning once he's done and you drop to your knees at the loss of your main support system.

han laughs and slaps his tip along your lips, then against your tongue when you poke it out obediently.

somebody on your side whistles at the sight and you feel your cheeks burn, only for it to fade once two hands rest on either cheek and use that grip as leverage to start fucking your throat.

its so sloppy, but thankfully isnt as rough as you'd have expected. he still fucks your throat roughly, but it's just enough for you to be able to look up at him under your lashes and run your tongue along his underside.

he groans and bites his lip at the feeling, eyes rolling until theyre closed as a drunk smile breaks out on his face. 'dirty girl.'

once han has you swallow his release, he crouches down in front of you and gives you a sweet peck on your cheek alongside a soft massage to your hips. he throws in a comment about how good you've been so far, only to get interrupted by one of the older boys.

but he can't really blame hyunjin for being impatient for his turn. i.n got two turns against everybody else's will so he's a little cranky that they're behind schedule.

he stalks towards you, a smirk painting his face as he helps you to your feet. hyunjin giggles as he pulls you into him and you stumble from your shaky legs. his pillowy lips push against your neck and you melt at the feeling, closing your eyes momentarily and forgetting about the other men surrounding you.

its short-lived, though, and hyunjin quickly releases your neck to spin you around and help you jump onto the table. his hand sneaks into the base of your head, grabbing onto what hair he can manage in a few seconds, and tugs your neck backward.

while he does that, his other arm wraps around your waist and holds you against his chest, making sure that you dont go anywhere.

he holds your head in a way that forces you to keep eye contact, and for a moment you’re confused as to why. but then he empties your head the second the thought comes to mind thanks to the way his cock slides through your folds

it makes your jaw drop and he mocks your expression, smiling at the end of it when you whine in embarrassment. he's so long. cock tearing up your insides already and he's not even started fucking you yet.

he starts off strong, his balls smack against your ass and the hand in your hair tightens, using the hold as leverage to hold you still so he can fuck into you even harder.

the hand on your back moves to your thigh, pushing one of them up and out of the way to give him more space to fuck you deeper. between your tightness nearly suffocating his cock and watching so much build-up, hyunjin already feels like his orgasm is close by.

and he’d be completely right, especially when your cunt makes so much of those gooey goodness noises and you leak around him like a faucet.

the hand in your hair tugs and angles you to the side. once he’s happy with the skin he can see, he leans forward and bites down on your collarbone. he leaves a few marks there before his hand releases your neck in favor of yanking your sundress over your tits. he would have half the mind to just take it off, but with his orgasm so close, he has something else on his mind.

he kisses your boob once and then kisses your nipple, he stays there just a moment before biting down on it softly and sucking harshly. your nipples were so sensitive from not being touched at all and it triggers your next orgasm. he rides it out by continuing to eagerly fuck into you and chase his own orgasm.

he finds it after leaving a few bite marks against your collarbone and groans into your ear as he fucks you through it, his hips stuttering each time you feel a warmth filling you.

he pulls away after some time passes and pulls out slowly, eyes glued to the sight of your cunt leaking his cum. he smiles and continues to stare at it for a moment, even going as far as to tease his tip through your folds and draw shapes into your clit with his messy tip. he dips it back in your hole one last time to get a reaction out of you before he’s pulled away by a hand on his shoulder.

your pussy is behind puffy at this point, but what do they care? this is what you agreed to, after all. and as much as changbin wants to feel bad for you, his cock aches so badly from something that only you and that pretty pussy of yours could fix.

he drags you off the table by your hips and flips you around, pushing you down against the table forcefully exactly like lee know did earlier. the only difference is this time, changbin shoves his cock in you all at once.

the sheer thickness of it makes you choke on your spit and dig your nails into the table. you push up to try and get a second to breathe, but he wraps his hand around your neck from behind and pulls you flat against his chest.

he mumbles something into your ear about how you need to stop running away from him, and how you need to take it or else he’ll give it to you 10 times harder.

and at first you listen perfectly! your body shakes and moves a little too much for his liking, but you obey rather nicely as he fucks you thoroughly.

you listen just fine until he lifts your hips just the slightest bit and a second pair of hands slides a folded-up sweater under your stomach, giving him a new, much better angle to ram into.

thats when you start to push back against him and disobey him.

he rolls his eyes and slams his hand against your ass, making you twitch farther away from him. he huffs under his breath and pulls you all the way onto his cock by your shoulders.

it makes him bottom out and your legs shake when he sits still, making you feel every last inch of him and every last throbbing vein along his length.

you clench around him unintentionally and it makes him loosen his hold on you, giving you some leeway to try wiggling away again. but he’s not gonna have any of that!! you’re supposed to be good.

so he drags his hands down your shoulders and down your arms until he gets to your wrists. once he wraps his hands around them, he pulls you up and forcefully arches your back as he holds your arms back near his stomach.

the new position gives him enough leverage to fuck you deeply while simultaneously preventing you from getting away from him, and with his rough eagerness, it's not a surprise that the both of you cum in the next few minutes.

he bottoms out one last time as he releases into you, emptying what feels like actual buckets into you and taking well over 15 seconds until his balls are done draining into you.

the feeling of being overfilled from multiple loads, one of which felt like gallons worth, and being bullied by his thick cock made your legs finally give out. changbin pulls out of you all of a sudden and neither of you has much time to react before your legs wobble and you fall to your knees.

he catches you as your knees hit the floor and he laughs to himself when you try to use the table to stand up, only to stumble again.

instead of helping you up, he grins smugly and watches as your legs tremble from your spot on the floor. even once he’s done, he still doesn’t help you up. he just backs away and leaves you to screw your head back on.

you really felt like you were finished, your brain was so fogged that you genuinely lost count of how many of them had brought you to an orgasm. not to mention you had no idea how many orgasms you even had.

but thankfully, it technically was the last- at least for your cunt (for now).

bang chan clears his throat to catch your attention and smiles sweetly at you from across the room when your eyes meet. he doesn’t move more than an inch, only tilting his head slightly and raising his eyebrow at you in a way that makes you ache with need.

his eyes glance to his feet before returning to your face and you take a moment to process what he wants, your brain still foggy from the onslaught of orgasms you had to suddenly endure, but it clicks fast enough for him to smile even wider when you begin crawling over to him.

your face burns in embarrassment from the others watching, but chan’s thumb stroking your cheek once you settle between his thighs makes it worth every second.

“i’ll be the nice one and give you a break.” a few sounds of disapproval come from behind you, but inevitably die down when he glances towards them. he teases his thumb along your bottom lip and continues.

“that being said…” the thumb on his other hand pushes down on his cock through his pants before dipping under his hem. “i still deserve a turn, don’t ya think?” he pulls his pants and boxers down before you can say anything and you find yourself drooling at the sight of him. “i had to sit here and watch my boys break you in. it’s only fair”

he slaps his tip against your cheek a few times, laughing to himself at the action, then pushes himself past your lips. he groans quietly with a smile painting his face as you take him deeper on your own- all the way until you feel him in the back of your throat.

his hand pushes down against your head, making you deepthroat him. he revels in the feeling for a moment before loosening the pressure and helping you pull off.

he easily falls into a rhythm like this, lifting and pushing your head onto himself. his groans were enough to get you to push your legs together, the ache between your legs somehow coming back as you pleasure the “head of the house.” between his praises and pet names, you only felt more eager to suck him harder and cause his orgasm.

you completely forget everything around you until i.n. walks into your peripheral vision with a phone on a small tripod in his hand. your eyes snap to him, staring at the smile that's partially hidden behind the phone, before staring directly into the camera lens.

you can tell it affects him from the way his smile falters and he takes his lips between his teeth.

“eyes on me.”

your eyes immediately snap back to chan and you circle your tongue around his tip in apology. he smirks and furrows his eyebrows when your tongue traces the most prominent vein on him, a more sensitive spot for him.

he already felt close enough from that, but when you pull off him momentarily and stroke him so that you can run your tongue between his base and his balls, he completely loses it.

ropes of cum paint your face and you have to close your eyes to prevent any injury, and chan only groans louder at the sight, seemingly cumming even more from unintentionally painting your face.

once he’s finished and only your eyes are cleaned off, i.n walks up to you and grabs a handful of your hair, forcing your neck back to present your dirty face to the phone that was still recording.

somebody reaches from behind you and gathers some of chan's release on their finger only to shove it past your lips. you hum and the taste and shut your eyes in satisfaction.

all 3 men laugh and hyunjin speaks up as the mystery man, squeezing your cheeks together: "say cheese~"

they know they found the perfect toy when you smile drunkly into the lens <3

“now that that's out of our system... let’s go to a different room and talk more specific details through. this room reeks of cum-”

Taglist: (red=can't be tagged)

@valkyriexo @lunearta @jabmastersupriseee @rylea08

@yaorzu-blog @amararosesblog @jiminssluttyminx @clemissleepy

@miss-daisy04 @kittyxnoa @dwaekkiiracha @honeyybbuubblleess

@mariteez @fun-fanfics @honeyybbuubblleess @kittycatkrissa

@nicora04 @chuuyaobsessed @moonlightndaydreams @velvetmoonlght

@aeri-skzver

[gayspacepiratesss]

Hiiii friends I made a thing!!! 💕 An illustrated mini-fic, to be precise.

The art part isn't quite finished but I think the last three illustrations might take me longer and I wanted to share what I have so far. There are six color plates now and eventually I hope I'll have nine. I'll do a separate art post when they're all finished for folks who aren't as interested in the story!

I wrote this because I was thinking about trauma, and Neve's love for Docktown, and how two people who take too much responsibility for things might try and fail to help each other. About how breaking out of regret prisons isn't something most of us get to do just once, but over and over again: new chapters in the same old story. Plot twists that get a little better each time, if we're lucky.

I think Neve and Rook are lucky, but you be the judge of that. 💕

***

Red-eye

In which Neve gives new meaning to the phrase "Cry it out" and Rook fights gravity with exactly the amount of success you might expect.

Content note: Some mild hurt/comfort, references to blood, angst, and many feelingsy illustrations.

-~-

The veins are starting to fade, but her eyes are still red. Staring herself down in the mirror, Neve Gallus can't honestly tell if it's the Blight or sheer exhaustion that makes it impossible to recognize her own face.

The days since Elgar'nan's fall have been hard for a happy ending: the work of digging friends from the rubble, patching injuries and broken bridges, burying or burning the dead.

Neve's gaze flickers past her reflection towards the slight, sleeping figure on the sofa behind her.

Rook has been there for all of it. Minrathous, Treviso, Arlathan. First to volunteer, last to leave at night. She's never been afraid of heavy lifting.

You showed up. You always do.

...but where am I?

In Dock Town, the ocean always made her feel like she could breathe. Here, the blue light of the aquarium is drowning her again. Cold shadows run restless across her face, almost dancing with the black traces etched into her skin.

She slips out the door alone. Again.

-~-

"Again?"

Rook sags against the wooden railing opposite Hal's fish stall, her shoulders tight even as her face falls.

The older man squints sympathetically. His hands scale the day's catch with expert automatic movements, but his eyes stay with her. "Earlier this morning," he confirms. "Same time, same story."

Every day for the past month. Early, late, in between. As soon as there was a moment they might talk, Neve disappeared. If Eann "Rook" Aldwir had ever been the praying kind, now—not the fall of Minrathous or the rise of the Evanuris—would have been the moment she was on her knees.

I would burn worlds for you, but I couldn't pull you back when it mattered.

What have I saved if I didn't save Neve Gallus?

She runs a hand through her hair, putting on a rosy face to match, and forces a grin she doesn't quite feel. "Ah, well. It's been hard for everyone, but..."

"... mmhm." Hal nods. "Time is what the city needs, maybe. Time, and they'll remember..." his voice fades. Suddenly he is very busy with the mackerel.

... that she loves them. That she always loved them. That she never—she didn't—

"It was Elgar'nan and Ghilan'ain—" Rook can't quite hide her frustration.

"I know." Hal chops a fishhead slightly too aggressively. "They'll know."

But does she know?

From the street, a shout as ropes go up to raise new scaffolding—there's work to do on some of the dockside apartments, newly in danger of tumbling into the sea.

Eann buys a fresh skewer and sinks her teeth in. "If oo fee er--" she ventures, mouth full, eyes already on the next task.

"I'll send her your way," Hal finishes.

But he won't. They both know.

-~-

They both know. Everyone knows. Neve Gallus, protector of Docktown—until she destroyed it.

She takes a long drag from her pipe, staring across the city from her perch above the Lamplighter—one of the only buildings to go unscathed by the massive tentacles of Blight that she, personally, had directed. The elegant cruelty of Elgar'nan's choice wasn't lost on her—if anybody knew how to target Minrathous' weak points. If anybody knew the city's secrets. Set her against the place she loved best and watch it fall.

In the moment, it had been a pleasure.

How do you come back from that?

When Treviso had been ravaged by the Blight, her heart broke for Lucanis—but her relief for her own people had blunted the pain. She remembers the moment Rook showed up on the field, one step behind Neve and Tarquin, one step ahead of the dragon. She remembers her own disbelief: "You came."

Eann had never looked smaller than she did against that burning-black sky, her skin—so pale it was almost blue in a certain light—flushed and uneven, jaw set against her fear. And Neve had never loved her more—a thought she had shoved down immediately, fiercely, completely, as she skewered a nearby Venatori with ice.

They won that day. Parts of it, anyway.

And when Minrathous did fall, it was Neve's fault. Not Rook's.

-~-

"Not Rook's!" Elek Tavor has brought his Threads. He shoos Eann away from the complex dance of ladders and platforms they're erecting to shore up the dockfront. "That's your job, nughead! I need her here!"

Gang members and locals set shoulders together against the weight of newly-cut stone and crumbling Blight, clearing the one from the ruined apartments and storefronts to make room for the other. They look like a training montage or an inspirational poster—if training smelled like clotted blood, and inspiration felt like vertigo.

He winks at her from over a pulley, tossing her a safety harness and a length of rope. "You're too good for us gutter rats."

She straps in, eyeing the higher floors. The corruption still needs clearing before they can fully assess the damage. It's not especially stable, but she'd rather risk her skin than someone else's. "Better a rat with wings, huh?"

"Better you than me."

She doesn't argue. Instead, she climbs -- reaching hand over hand for a better view. The city shrinks and shifts as she pulls herself above it. The Cobbled Swan blends into the paper seller stalls and merchant alleys, already in business again with whatever scraps they each could scavenge. The sea's slate mood gives way to a smudge of sky and stone, reflecting up the cliffs across the channel.

I know you're there.

Tucked somewhere among those caves and crawlspaces is a detective with a shattered heart, blowing smoke rings and tearing herself to shreds. Rook has watched her disappear, slowly but surely, with every day of "recovery." To rebuild something is to see what was broken, to go over the damage in fine detail. To catalogue every blow. But for Neve, it is cataloging her own sins, her own failures, in a neat series of boxes to be checked and confirmed with evidence. For Rook, it has been watching that soft face flinch and flatten with each victory, each moment of hope, as though it were a nail in her heart's coffin.

But Neve still comes to the city for solace. She can't help herself. And so Eann haunts Minrathous, signing up for tasks that don't really need her, checking in on the people she knows Neve loves. Looking for answers in The Case of the Blighted Dream. The Broken Detective. Docktown's Ghost.

She has tried to be patient. So. Patient. But sometimes the most ungenerous part of her thinks, I broke out of my prison. To find you. To have this.

Now I'm losing you to yours.

Distracted by the weight of her thoughts, Rook barely notices when the stone she reaches for crumbles in her hand—until it pulls the harness anchor with it, the whole wall of the second story giving way. There is a sharp jerk, and she is falling—

Falling?

Falling.

But even as her heart freezes in her throat, it is still pulling her across the water. Even as she braces for the impact, her eyes are still half-scanning the cliffside for a tell-tale flash of teal, a smudge of smoke.

-~-

Smoke.

Neve squints suddenly, her pipe drooping between slack fingers. Smoke? By the docks?

No. Dust.

Something is falling.

But the channel is not wide, and she realizes with growing horror that she can hear the sound not just of stone, blight, beams crumbling, but also voices. Shrieking, wavering. "Look out!" "Back up!" "Clear it OUT—"

And then: "Rook!"

Someone is falling.

Rook.

A blinding, burning fear bites into her chest. The pipe clatters to the ground. If she was drowning before, she is choking now, clawing her way to the surface of a dream she has been walking in for weeks. Trading pains of the past for a present that sears her lungs and surges down her spine.

Mages cannot fly, but all that is left of Neve in that alcove as she bolts through passageways and across rooftops is a pipe's worth of tobacco and the shadow of a thought, echoing like a stone dropped in a dry well.

Wait for me. Wait.

-~-

“Wait.” Eann coughs wetly, throat clogging with dust and something unpleasantly, unexpectedly—oh. Blood. Well. She drags herself up on one elbow, waving Elek and the others back slightly, hissing as the movement sends a shock of pain through her body. “Wait, dammit! I’m not—”

“You’re not what?”

Time turns to sludge as familiar brown eyes meet hers, topped by brows knitted together in fury and fear. “Not hurt? Not climbing walls alone?”

Neve kneels beside the shaking elf, hands already moving, telling Eann’s blood to stay inside her body, her bones to know themselves under the weight of stone for seconds rather than minutes. It’s no small feat, and she is immediately sweating. They both are. “Not the Maker's own damned idiot?”

In spite of herself, Rook laughs. Weakly, painfully. “No,” she wheezes. “I am that.”

Neve’s eyes flash and then flood, tears of rage meeting her perspiration as she gingerly eases one hand under Eann’s head, using the other to clear what stone she can. “What were you thinking?”

It hurts to think. It hurts to breathe. But to Rook’s surprise, it hurts more to look up into eyes that are actually seeing her for the first time since the fight for Minrathous. A face that is furious but not masked. She coughs again, her own eyes burning, unsure if her chest is seizing from the weight of stone or just the love of Neve Gallus. “I—”

You look for lost things. Well, I look for you.

“They need you,” she finds herself choking furiously. “I was thinking they need you, and you’re not here, and I—am—so until you come back from your fucking pity party—ow—”

Neve is already on her knees. She can’t fall further. But the red spilling across the stones is more than time can stop, and she knows she needs to do something—quickly.

Eyes on me, Rook. Stay with me.

“Me?” Her rage is half for show, until it isn’t. And her heart is beating half a step too fast, and half too slow. “You think they need me? Look at me! Look at this.”

If it wasn’t for Neve, the stone would be as sturdy as it ever was in Minrathous. Hal’s fish would come out of the water in nets, not dredged from the surface with glassy eyes. She ripped through the Cobbled Swan, she crushed the lean-tos and shacks of the alleyways to little more than crumbs. She is the reason her tiny, tidy apartment stands in ruins and the cats go hungry. Docktown would be better off if it had never known Neve Gallus to begin with.

Rook screams. It is partly words. “I need you!”

And Neve is ripping her best coat into ribbons because she can’t slow time and send people for bandages, for medics—and there is.

No.

Time.

But she feels her face go numb, and her hands are shaking, and her burning red eyes fly up to meet that fierce, clear gaze. She wants to answer, but she has no answer.

Stay with me.

“What was the point—of all that—if—” Rook’s face is flushed, but Neve thinks flushed is better than pale, better than empty, better than gone. She uses the tiniest push of frost magic to calm the angry red of bones and flesh forced out of place. To stop the swelling before it starts. Almost mechanically, she wraps strips of her dragon coat around Rook’s arm and chest, shattering rocks with one hand as her other shields that stupidly precious rose-crowned skull from further damage.

“—if it didn't bring you back?” Eann rasps.

Neve is shaking so hard now that she can’t bind the fabric properly. She’s not sure it matters. “Bring me back for what?! So that I could—I would—” What can she do, anyway? She’s no healer. If Emmrich were here—or Harding—but they aren’t. And I am going to lose you, and I am going to deserve it. “So I could watch you die?”

Sharp, ragged sobs. “So you could be here—with us—” It’s not easy to cry and suffocate all at once, but Eann is making it work. “Not alone—with everything—”

The black traces of Blight on Neve’s skin mingle with sweat and stone, forming a filigree mask across her face. She feels her grip on the air, on the time around her start to slide.

Not yet. “Rook—”

Eann reaches up with her one free hand. Presses Neve’s forehead to her own, Blight and all. Her body is looser now, heavier—she, too, is struggling to keep control. Sound leaks through the barrier around them. Is someone… shouting?

Her eyes are closed. Her energy directed only towards the point where her skin touches Neve’s.

And Neve Gallus, despite her best efforts, is out of time. She winds her fingers through that rosy hair, and lets a deep, heavy sound tear through her throat. Not knowing, not caring what it is.

“Stay. With me,” she whispers. Please.

I’m here.

Around them, into sound and color and light, the city explodes.

-~-

The city explodes. Scraps of sound and light fracture through Rook’s mind, almost artful—a pastiche of pain and motion with occasional splatters of blessed black unconsciousness. Emmrich is there, then Maevaris. The Lighthouse might feature at some point. Definitely there is blood. So much blood. Then black again. And then—

Ow.

Teal-tipped fingers are laced around her hand. The bedspread beneath them is clean. The hands are not.

“There you are.” Neve has not slept in a long time. Her voice catches. “Oh. I—”

I almost missed you. Missed this.

Where was I?

Rook reaches to cup her fingers around the detective’s cheek. Instinctively, Neve presses closer, lifting her shoulder to cradle the gesture.

“You showed up.” Eann finds that smiling hurts more than she expected. She doesn’t care. “You always do.”

Neve lets out a half-laugh, half-sob. “I could have made better time.”

The light plays across her face, still silt-stained and shadowed. Eann rubs some of the dirt away with her thumb, wincing at the not-yet-mended motion of various body parts, ignoring them in favor of something far more pressing. Then she stops. “Your eyes. Neve…”

A flash of something like fear. “Oh, they must be awful—”

“No.” Eann pulls the detective closer. She kisses the eyelids, the cheekbones, the saltworn freckles. The dusted brows. Beneath the dirt, there is only the warm brown of these features she knows so well. Beneath the exhaustion, there are only shades of caramel and acorn and leather in those bright, faltering eyes.

Holding the other woman's rueful, aching, anxious face between her palms, she inspects it with great seriousness. Her own blue gaze holds steady beneath a vaguely crinkled brow.

“Neve, the Blight—it’s… gone.”

And this time Neve doesn’t need a mirror to look for her own face. To recognize herself. Something more like a laugh than like a sob curls through her throat and hangs in the air between them, weightless. “Is that so? Maybe you knocked it out of me.”

“Knocked it out of you!” Rook’s wheeze is its own commentary. “Remind me not to pick a fight with a pile of rocks anytime soon.”

“Maybe just pick fights with me, for a while.”

“Mm.” Rook still hasn’t let Neve go. Their noses bump together. “I don’t only want to fight with you…”

“Later.” Neve pushes back, smirking gently. A promise, not a refusal. “You did very nearly lose that last one. But I’ll be here.”

“What happened—” Eann is serious now, her hair falling earnestly into her eyes. “Neve. It happened to everyone. And I know—it was awful. But we can’t—I can’t—”

Not without you.

Neve pushes the hair out of Rook’s face. “I’ll be here.”

This time, when she shuts the door, it isn’t on her way out.

[aleskie]

COULD YOU TELL WHERE MY HEAD WAS AT WHEN YOU FOUND ME? | Lando Norris x Fem!Reader

SUMMARY: Six months in and everythiing feels like it's new and fragile and safe all at the same time. Like it's right where they're meant to be. Just two people holding onto each other tight even when the world tries to pull them apart.

HELL & BACK MASTERLIST PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER WARNINGS: None. I think this might hurt a little bit. Gets angsty at the end :)

Six months.

You’ve been his girlfriend for six months.

He’s kept you all to himself for six months.

And it’s been perfect.

Not the kind of perfect that’s loud and flashy, that demands to be seen or plastered across headlines. Your love is quieter than that. Softer. More gentle. A kind of perfect that breathes easy. A love he keeps close to his chest—not like a secret, but like a treasure. Something too precious to risk, too delicate to offer up to the noise.

You don’t exactly sneak around—Monaco’s privacy laws have done a lot of the heavy lifting—but you both keep things deliberately low-key. Moments spent tucked away in each other’s apartments, where the biggest decision is what to order for dinner and whether you can convince him to share.

He usually gets his meal plan—some overly calculated, protein-packed nonsense he pretends to enjoy—and you, of course, go for something that actually tastes good.

“You can have some, y’know?” you say, nudging your takeout container toward him with a grin.

“I gotta stay in shape,” he pouts. “Can’t be too heavy for the car.”

He bites his lip like he’s genuinely tempted, then dramatically digs back into what you’ve dubbed his ‘overly healthy disgusting athlete food’ after he let you try a bite that one time.

“Why is there no flavor?” you ask, nose scrunched like it personally offended you.

“Baby, I can’t have too much salt,” he says with a laugh.

“I’m begging you—save your tastebuds. I love you too much to let you keep eating this.”

His eyebrows lift, teasing. “Oh? You love me?”

Your cheeks flush immediately, giving you away. That’s all the answer he needs before leaning over and pressing a warm kiss to your temple, a smile playing at the corner of his lips.

You take hikes together, too. Quiet mornings in the mountains, far from any cameras or curious eyes—where the only ones who know your names are the trees and the wind. Where the air is light and clean, and the sun kisses your skin just enough to leave you both golden by the time you come back down.

Other times, you take weekend trips to sleepy corners of France, little towns with cobblestone streets and no real plans. He walks beside you with his hand resting on the small of your back, stealing kisses like secrets whenever no one’s looking.

He gives you a paddock pass, of course. You go to races. You’re there, always there, just not seen. Tucked away in his driver’s room, tucked into him when the world is too loud. You stand in the back of the garage, behind tinted glass or shaded corners, watching it all unfold. You aren’t the first to congratulate him when he wins—but you are the last. The only one that really matters. The one whose arms he falls into when it’s all over.

And he thinks that’s enough.

He thinks this—what you have, what you’ve built together in this quiet little corner of the world—is everything he needs. 

But you both know. 

Love this good?

It never stays hidden for long.

It starts with a photo. Blurry. Shaken. Clearly taken in haste. But it’s enough to make out the shape of him, the shape of you—your hand resting lightly on his arm as you walk beside him down an empty street at night.

Gossip blogs latch onto it instantly, dissecting every pixel. Speculating who you are, what your relationship is, how long it's been going on.

A slip-up. An unfortunate one. But it passes quickly. Just a rumor. A whisper. Your name never even makes it into the captions. The world chalks it up to a fleeting thing—a casual fling. Temporary. 

To them, it's nothing.

To him, it’s everything. A relationship that saved him, kept him grounded.

The next week, another photo surfaces. You’re getting into his car outside of your office. It’s grainy, poorly lit, the building mercifully unconfirmed. But the implication is loud, even without words.

He sees the shift right away—the way eyes linger a little longer when you walk into a room, the way people start connecting dots, even when they shouldn’t be looking.

But it’s the third photo that breaks the illusion entirely.

You’re kissing.

It’s not staged. Not careful. Just a stolen moment—quiet, affectionate, real. A goodbye kiss, probably. But now it’s on every screen. Tweeted, reposted, captioned with headlines in bold: “Who is She?” “Lando Norris’ Mystery Girlfriend Finally Revealed?” “Romance Confirmed?”

The internet explodes. Instagram threads, tabloid articles, TikTok theories. Everything from any photo of him with a woman from the last year to your Instagram profile–put on private, thankfully—gets put under a microscope. People start watching too closely. Noticing too much. Dissecting every interaction you’ve ever had in public like it’s a clue in some twisted game.

Neither of you are surprised.

You’d known it was only a matter of time.

But that doesn’t make it easier.

Because after that, everything shifts. The way people talk. The way they stare. The pressure. The questions. The quiet between you two starts to stretch longer than usual. Not because anything’s broken—yet—but because, for the first time, your little world doesn’t feel untouched anymore.

“You’re acting weird,” you tell him over dinner one night.

Chicken and pasta—a meal you’d carefully put together, following his mid-season diet to the letter. Even used that healthy pasta you hate but never complain about, just so he wouldn’t have to eat alone.

You’re too good for him, he thinks. Too gentle. Too thoughtful. Too willing to accommodate a life you never asked for.

“I’m fine,” he says, too quickly, too flat.

“It’s just…” You move around the kitchen, setting plates down with a soft clink. “You seem a little paranoid lately.”

His brows draw together, tension instantly forming between them like it always does when he’s overthinking again.

You walk over—quiet, cautious—and reach up to smooth the crease away with your thumb. It’s such a small thing, but it makes his throat tighten.

“We’re home,” you remind him, voice calm and steady. “We’re safe here.”

“I know…” he murmurs, leaning into you, letting his head rest against your chest like it’s the only place he can breathe right now. Your heartbeat is steady. Sure. Unlike him.

“I know,” he repeats, softer this time.

You hum in response, fingers running through his curls with that same quiet tenderness you always offer when you know he’s not ready to talk. And still, the guilt presses against his ribs like it’s trying to crack them open. He hates this. Hates that you’re caught up in a life that never asked for your consent. Hates that all you wanted was a nice, normal boyfriend—and he couldn’t even give you that.

“The food’s getting cold,” he says after a moment, pulling back.

“It’s alright,” you say, thumb grazing his cheek, trying to coax him back into ease. “We can always reheat it.”

But he shakes his head. Stands up, shoulders tense.

“It isn’t alright,” he snaps—not at you, never at you, but at the whole situation. “It’s not. I…” He sees the flash of confusion across your face, the slight recoil from his tone, and immediately softens. “You worked so hard on it. I don’t want it to go to waste.”

You furrow your brows, tilting your head. “Lando…I boiled pasta and baked a chicken with some lemon. It’s not like I made a feast.”

“It’s not about how hard it is,” he says, voice low. “It’s about the fact that you did it. For me.”

He bites his lip, the words struggling to form, but eventually they find their way out.

“You take such good care of me.” He swallows thickly. “You actually like me. As a person.”

You take a tentative step forward, heart aching at the way he sounds—small, uncertain.

“Of course I do.”

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” he says again, more urgently now.

“But I’m not.”

“You could,” he insists, eyes wide, voice strained. “You’re already getting dragged online, people are making assumptions, twisting things, and it’s only gonna get worse. I know how this goes.”

“Lando,” you say carefully, “What exactly do you think is going to hurt me?”

He opens his mouth, searching for the right thing to say, but you don’t give him the space to spiral.

“I knew what I was getting into when we started dating. I knew the risks—the lack of privacy, the noise, the blurry camera phone photos, the comments from people who think they know us. I’m not saying I like it, but I knew. And I still chose this.”

He looks at you like he’s still trying to believe that could be true. That someone would willingly walk into the chaos and stay.

“Why?” he asks, barely above a whisper, “Why choose it at all? Why stay?”

You reach out, your hand finding his, warm and sure.

“Because you’re worth it.”

He wants to believe it. He really does.

Wants to take your words and wrap them around himself like armor. Wants to trust that you see something in him worth holding onto.

But deep down, there’s that whisper again—the one that says you deserve better, that he’ll ruin this too, that he’s not enough.

Still, the selfish part of him—the part that aches for you, that clings to your warmth and your steady heart—takes over.

So he slides his arms around your waist and presses his forehead to your shoulder. Holds you like you’re the only thing keeping him upright.

He doesn't say anything, just breathes you in and hopes it’s enough. Hopes that maybe, if he holds you close enough, long enough, the doubt will fade. That maybe trying to believe is the first step to actually believing.

It has to be.

Because he can’t lose you. 

Not now. 

Not when you’ve become the safest thing he’s ever known.

“You get used to it.”

He overhears Lily tell you during the next race weekend you attend—your first public one since the world found out about the two of you.

“I think it’s just one of those things you have to compartmentalize,” she continues, her voice calm, matter-of-fact, like she’s said it a dozen times before. “They don’t know you, so why let them ruin your life?”

She’s younger than him, around Oscar’s age, but she speaks with the kind of hard-earned clarity that only comes from living through the noise. From surviving it. From choosing love, over and over again, despite everything.

And he watches you listen—really listen—the way you always do, your brows pinched slightly in thought, the corner of your lip tucked under your teeth the way it always is when you’re taking in something serious.

Lily offers you a small smile before turning her attention back to her phone, and it’s quiet again, save for the distant hum of the paddock.

He lingers just a moment longer, then turns away before either of you can see him watching.

But he thinks about it all day.

He thinks about how right Lily is—how relationships like this force you to grow up fast, to develop skin thick enough to shield love from the storm that tries to swallow it.

He thinks that maybe that’s what happens when you’re with someone for a long time—you start to take on pieces of each other, whether you mean to or not. A glance. A phrase. A way of looking at the world that’s softer, braver, more certain.

And he likes to believe it’s already happening with you, like it’s confirmation that he’s learning how to love with his whole chest, honest and without flinching.

He hopes that he’s taking in bits of your quiet strength, the way you stay soft even when the world tries to harden you, the way you notice the little things, like how he always taps twice on his door before leaving for a race weekend or how he craves the specific sandwich from the team’s hospitality on the long stretches away from the track.

He hopes he’s absorbing some of that calm steadiness, that warmth that makes people feel safe just being near you. He hopes he’s learning to carry himself with the same grace you do, even when you’re being watched, even when you’re being picked apart.

Maybe he’s learning how to be a little more patient. A little more open. A little more seen.

And maybe—just maybe—you’re taking in pieces of him too.

The win feels surreal. Even hours later, champagne still drying in his hair, his race suit half-zipped and tied around his waist, it hasn’t quite sunk in. He won.

And you were there. Right next to his mechanics and engineers, dressed in the number he got you, beaming with pride like you’d been holding your breath the entire final lap. He spotted you instantly, eyes scanning the crowd until they landed on yours—and then, just like that, everything else faded.

He kissed you. Quickly, but sweetly. Right in front of everyone, in front of cameras and fans and anyone who had something to say about it. He hadn’t known how liberating it would feel to love you in public—to choose you out loud. There’s still a little fear, some anxiety coiled deep in his chest, but it’s outweighed by one simple truth: you were there. And despite the roar of the crowd and the sea of people, the moment felt like it belonged only to the both of you.

He finds you later on—after the podium, after the media duties and debriefs have wrapped up—in the back halls of the paddock, away from the commotion, from the flashes and microphones and celebration chaos.

And you smile at him like he’s the only thing that matters in the world.

Maybe that’s what he loves most about you. That no matter how loud everything gets, you’re always the calm. The center. The grounding.

“You did it,” you whisper, barely able to contain your excitement. You don’t run to him, don’t throw yourself into his arms like it’s some cheesy movie montage. You just open your arms, patient and sure, and it’s more than enough. He melts into you like it’s instinct, forehead pressing into your shoulder, your hand finding its place against his back, tracing gentle circles that anchor him in place.

“I did it,” he murmurs, his voice quiet, like he’s still convincing himself it’s real.

“You earned it.”

You pull back just enough to press a soft kiss to his cheek, your lips lingering there for a moment longer than usual. He tastes salt—sweat and champagne, maybe tears—but also the faint sweetness of your lip balm, and something else. Something like home.

“I’m so proud of you,” you breathe.

He wants to stay here forever. Just like this. Wrapped up in you, the scent of your perfume, the rhythm of your breathing, the feeling of being known and loved and seen.

Because for all the glory and the cameras and the celebrations, this—you—is the part that means the most.

And then his phone buzzes.

Again.

And again.

He feels it in his hand like a warning bell—sharp and vibrating against his skin, a caution to ignore. But he doesn’t need to check it. He already knows.

Someone snapped a photo. Probably several. The two of you in the garage—his arms around your waist, your hands in his hair, the kiss you left on his cheek like a promise. The way he looked at you like you hung the stars and he was lucky enough to live under them.

It’s already made the rounds on social media. He knows how it goes: every good moment weaponized, every soft thing twisted into scandal. People dissecting who you are, if you deserve him, if he deserves you. If he’s distracted. If this somehow makes the win less about racing and more about gossip.

You notice the shift in him immediately—the way his jaw tenses, the subtle retreat behind his eyes.

“Hey.” Your voice is quiet, steady. You reach up and smooth the frown from his face with your thumb. “What’s in your head?”

“You know what.” He leans into your touch, needing the warmth of it like oxygen. “They saw.”

“Let them see,” you tell him, calm and collected. Direct. “Let them make stories in their heads and judge and post and twist it all. We know the truth.”

His gaze flickers to yours—guarded, hesitant, like he wants to believe you but doesn’t know if he’s allowed to.

“Don’t let them take this away from you,” you continue, softer now. “You won today. You gave a beautiful performance. You drove your heart out—made it look easy. That’s all you. That’s who you are.” You lace your fingers through his. “Let them talk, yeah?. We don’t owe them anything.”

He exhales, long and slow, as if the weight of the world loosened just a little from his shoulders.

And then—

He smiles.

Soft. Full. The kind of smile he only ever saves for you.

“Come with me,” he says, standing a little taller, tugging gently on your hand.

“To where?” you ask, matching his grin.

“Anywhere.” He tilts his head. “Somewhere with cake.”

A beat. 

“Or alcohol.”

You laugh—really laugh—and just like that, the rest of the noise fades.

For now, it’s just you and him again.

Just love.

Everything comes to a head on a random afternoon.

The kind of afternoon that starts slow, lazy, golden. The kind meant for thumbing through the pages of a book with soft music playing in the background, the sun casting gentle rays through the windows. The kind meant for lounging around in socks and oversized shirts, for dancing in the kitchen when no one’s looking. The kind where he stands behind you, arms draped around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder as you half-heartedly try to cook.

“I’m trying to focus,” you protest with a laugh, elbows nudging him away, but not really.

“You’re doing amazing,” he mumbles into your neck, not letting go. “Very professional. Extremely precise stirring technique.”

He’s warm and drowsy with contentment, and he would’ve liked nothing more than for the day to stretch out just like that—lazy and uninterrupted. But, of course, it doesn’t.

Your phone rings. Twice. Then dings with a new email. And then again.

You sigh as you check the screen, posture already shifting into something stiffer.

“Shit.”

“What is it?”

“One of our team members went AWOL and I’m next in line to clean up the mess.” 

 “On your off day?” he frowns.

 “Yeah.”

He doesn’t like it. Not even a little. But he doesn’t complain. Doesn’t ask you to put it away or remind you it’s supposed to be your break. He just watches you sigh again and mutter something about needing caffeine before you settle on the couch with your laptop balanced on your knees.

So he makes it his mission to be as close to you as humanly possible while you work. He brings you water. Makes coffee. Adjusts your blanket. Scrolls quietly through his own phone while stealing glances at you every other minute. You’re focused, brow furrowed in that way he finds maddeningly attractive. You chew on the inside of your cheek when you’re deep in thought. You mumble phrases under your breath when you type too fast and lose your place.

And even though he knows he shouldn’t—because you’re busy and clearly stressed—he can’t help but press a soft kiss to your temple when you let out a frustrated sigh.

“You’re doing great,” he murmurs.

You sigh again, leaning into his touch just a little. “I’m trying.”

After a moment, you look around like you’re searching for something.

“Hey, babe?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you get my phone for me? I need to contact someone. I think I left it charging in the kitchen.”

“‘Course,” he says immediately, already standing up. “Don’t go anywhere.”

You give him a tired smile. “Not planning to.”

And as he walks off to grab your phone, he feels it again—that tiny little ache in his chest.

The need to protect your peace.

To make all this easier.

To keep the world quiet just for you.

When he comes back, you’re typing fast, eyes glued to the screen, lips pursed in concentration. Your coffee sits forgotten on the table, half-full and growing cold. He figures you’ve probably pushed aside your contacts and messages for later, choosing to lock in and power through the work in one sitting.

He doesn’t bother you. Just settles in beside you, thigh pressed against yours, and reaches for your phone where it’s now resting on the arm of the couch. If he can’t have your attention, he might as well amuse himself.

Every now and then, he takes over your Instagram for fun. It started as a joke—one random post captioned “she’s in a meeting so I’m the boss now” that had your friends in stitches—and somehow became a bit of a tradition. Your close friends list is basically a fan club for his antics now, and while it was a little shocking for everyone involved the first time, it’s now just expected that he’ll hijack your socials from time to time.

He flicks open the camera and starts filming himself dramatically sighing, pouting, and flopping back against the cushions.

“She hates me now, actually,” he writes across one story in bold text. “She doesn’t want to cuddle anymore. Pray for me.”

He adds another clip where he zooms in on your focused expression.

“She used to look at me like that,” he writes underneath, adding a crying emoji for dramatic effect.

Within seconds, your best friend replies:

“Deserved, really.”

He snorts, already halfway through typing a sarcastic reply—something about being emotionally neglected, maybe tossing in a meme or two—when a new notification pops up.

It’s from your message requests.

His thumb hovers. He knows he shouldn’t. You’ve both always had an open-door policy with each other’s phones—no secrets, no locked messages—but still, this feels different. A quiet line he shouldn't cross. But something about the way the name looks, the small preview of the message beneath it—long, too long for a normal DM—makes his stomach twist.

He hesitates. Then, against his better judgement, taps the message open.

And instantly wishes he hadn’t.

“Why don’t you just stop pretending like you’re not with him for the clout and money and end it already?”

That was just the first line.

His chest tightens. A strange, acidic kind of anger burns in his stomach as he scrolls down, eyes locked on the words. He reads through the entire message—every insult, every cruel assumption about you. They dig at your work, your background, your family, your worth. Each line more venomous than the last.

And then he sees it.

“Just go and kill yourself already. You don’t deserve him.”

He stops. Stares at the sentence like it might change if he blinks enough times. Like maybe he read it wrong. But it’s still there, clear as day, etched into a DM from someone who didn’t even have the decency to use their real name or face.

His throat is dry. The room suddenly feels smaller, tighter. Was this… what you were going through behind his back? And for how long?

His fingers scroll shakily to the rest of your requests. They’re all the same. Cruel messages. Graphic insults. Threats to your life. The occasional guy sending disgusting messages and unsolicited photos like they had any right to your attention.

Some of them are already opened.

Which means…you saw them. You read them. And you never told him.

He swallows hard. There's a sting behind his eyes that he doesn’t want to acknowledge. You shouldn’t have had to carry this alone. And yet, you chose to protect him from this?

He would’ve done something—spoken out, pushed back, made statements, anything. But what could he have done that wouldn’t have made it worse? What would his team have let him do? But does any of that matter when it comes to you? When it's you being hurt like this?

He grips the phone tightly, heart pounding.

You're still working just a few feet away, your head tilted in focus, earbuds in, completely unaware.

He looks at you like he’s seeing you for the first time again—not just as the person he loves, but as someone who's quietly fought battles for him that he never even knew existed.

And suddenly, that soft, ordinary afternoon doesn’t feel so ordinary anymore.

He waits until you’re done with work to bring it up. Part of him is grateful it takes a little longer—it gives him time to process, to calm down, to figure out how to say what needs to be said.

Except, when the time finally comes, he still doesn’t really know.

You’re so calm, always. Grounded in a way he admires and clings to. So he assumes you’ve got it under control. No—knows you do.

But those messages… they weren’t just mean. They were vile.

Anger bubbles in him all over again when he thinks of the words strangers used against you.

Why would anyone treat you like that? You, who has only ever been kind, soft, patient. Who’s taken care of him when he’s been at his worst. Who’s stayed—despite the pressure, despite the headlines, despite everything.

And that’s when the guilt creeps in.

Because this? This is on him.

It’s his name. His spotlight. His fans. His world.

It’s his career that dragged you into this storm. That opened the door for people to hurt you just because you love him.

So he retreats for a while. Puts on his headphones and doom-scrolls in the bedroom, letting the noise of the internet distract him from the noise in his head.

A couple hours later, you appear at the doorway, arms crossed lightly over your chest.

“What happened to my clingy boyfriend?” you tease gently, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I thought he didn’t want to be apart from me for more than five minutes.”

He looks up.

You’re tired—he can see it in the slight slump of your shoulders, the faint exhaustion under your eyes—but you’re still the most radiant thing he’s ever seen.

“Join me for dinner so I can prove I don’t hate you,” you say, laughing softly.

Okay.

So…you saw the stories he posted from your account.

He smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“Actually,” he says, patting the bed beside him, “C’mere for a sec?”

You cross the room and settle next to him, legs folded beneath you.

He shifts to face you, expression unreadable.

“I wanted to bring something up,” he says, slowly, carefully. “It’s not really about you, but it kind of…is.”

You tilt your head, confused.

“Lando, what’s going on? Is everything okay?”

He nods too quickly. “Yeah—well, no. Not really.”

He pauses, rubs the back of his neck. “Earlier, when I was messing around on your Instagram…I, uh…I looked through your message requests.”

Your expression falters. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” he says quietly, guilt creeping into his voice. “I know we share passwords and all, but it still felt wrong. I wasn’t trying to snoop, I swear. There was a notification and I just—”

He hesitates, his voice softer now. “I saw what people have been sending you.”

Silence.

Your gaze drops to the blanket between you. He watches the subtle way your jaw tenses, how your fingers curl just slightly in your lap.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I didn’t know. I didn’t realize it was that bad.”

“It’s not your fault.” You take his hand again, gently, tracing circles into his skin like you always do when you’re trying to soothe him. “People can be mean, is all.”

“Mean?” His voice catches, sharp. He pulls away, running a hand through his hair, his jaw tense. “Did we read the same messages? Those weren’t just mean, they—”

“I know what they are,” you say, a little firmer now. “They were written for me.”

You lean forward, propping your chin on your palm, your eyes soft but resolute. “I just mean they don’t mean anything.”

He falls silent. Not because he agrees, but because he’s fuming—quietly, the way he does when he’s trying not to spiral.

Because how can you sit there and act like this isn’t a big deal?

“Lando, they’re strangers,” you say. “What have they ever done to me?”

“Y/N,” he says, almost incredulous. “They’re telling you to go and die! How is that nothing?”

“It’s nothing because they’re words, and—”

“Words can hurt too!” he snaps, voice breaking just slightly. “I would know!”

Silence.

It’s heavy. Stretched.

You look at him then—really look at him. The tension in his shoulders, the tremble in his fingers. His eyes, wide and red at the corners. You see it all. And suddenly, you understand.

“What are you really so upset about?” you ask quietly. “Because I know it’s not just the messages.”

He lets out a bitter laugh. “Oh, you want a list?”

You nod once. “Try me.”

He throws his hands up, not in anger but in frustration, like he’s been holding this in for far too long.

“Where do I begin? Maybe at the fact that this is happening to you? That I had to read those things and imagine you seeing them and just…dealing with it alone?”

He shakes his head, breath catching. “Or maybe it’s the fact that you didn’t tell me at all? Like I’m not supposed to care?”

“I didn’t think it was a big deal!” you argue, “These things happen all the time—for us, for people watching you guys on the sidelines. Ask Kika, or Lily, or Alex—”

“That’s my point!” he says, eyes bright with emotion. “It’s bad that it’s happening to any of you!”

“But it’s not like we can stop them!” you say, your voice starting to rise now, not in anger, but in desperation. “Why can’t we just ignore them? Why can’t we just let them be?”

“Because I did this to you!” he bursts out.

The words land heavy in the air between you.

You blink. For a moment, you don’t know what to say.

“Land—”

“This is my fault,” he cuts in, voice cracking around the edges. “If you never loved me, if we never got together, if I never approached you at that party, then—then you wouldn’t have to go through this. You wouldn’t be dragged through the mud, humiliated, harassed—hated, just for being with me.”

You blink, stunned. “Lando, I…”

“No,” he says, shaking his head, backing up like he can put space between himself and the mess he feels he's made. “You don’t get it. You keep saying you’re fine, and maybe you think you are, but I’m not. I’m not okay. And I can’t just sit here and pretend like you should be.”

“I already said I was fine, Lando!” your voice rises, not from anger, but from frustration, from exhaustion. “Why are you trying to insist that I’m not?”

“Because you shouldn’t have to be!” he yells, louder than he intends. “You shouldn’t have to be fine with this. With people sending you that shit, with people twisting everything we do, with strangers threatening you just because you love me.”

You flinch slightly at the force of his words, and he immediately regrets the volume. He lowers his voice, but the intensity stays.

“I know you. I see you. And I see you act like it doesn’t matter. I see you smile through it like it doesn’t hurt. But I saw those messages.” He runs a trembling hand through his curls, tugging slightly like he needs the sting to stay grounded. “I fucking saw them. And I know you saw them too—and you’re just holding it all in because you think if you can pretend it’s fine, then I won’t feel guilty. But I do, Y/N.” His voice wavers. “God, I feel sick.”

You wrap your arms around yourself, protective, instinctual. Like you’re trying to hold all your pieces together. The words are there, caught in your throat, but nothing comes out.

“You know, I’m not dumb. People think I am—think I just smile and drive and don’t notice anything. But I do. I know exactly how easily I could lose you.” His voice drops, ragged. “How easy it would be for you to just look at everything you’ve had to go through just to be with me and think—‘It’s not worth it.’ That no matter how much you feel for me, no matter how much we love each other, it’s not enough to put up with all this shit.”

He laughs, low and hollow—completely devoid of joy. “And the worst part? I couldn’t even blame you. Because let’s be honest, what am I actually giving you? What do you even get from this?”

You open your mouth, voice barely a whisper, soft and shaking like it’s made of glass. “You. You’re giving me you.”

He flinches like the words hurt. And maybe they do. Because he doesn’t believe he’s enough. Not really.

“Is that really enough?” he asks again, quieter now. Like he already knows the answer.

You reach for him, slow and careful, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t lean in, doesn’t close the gap. He just watches you—eyes glossy, guarded, like he’s already lost you and is trying to memorize the way you look while he still can.

“You’re not being fair, Lando.” Your voice wavers, but it holds. “Because, yes—you’re right. It wasn’t easy. And no, it wasn’t fun being picked apart or threatened or turned into some fucking headline. But I knew what I was getting into. I chose this. I chose you. I choose you every day.”

He shakes his head—not to argue, not to deny—but like the words are too heavy to hold. Like he wants so badly to believe them but doesn’t know how.

“I love you.” You say it like a prayer, like a promise. “I love you. That doesn’t change just because the world outside is loud and cruel and fucking relentless.” You blink back the burn in your eyes, swallowing hard. “So tell me—please—why are you so scared of me choosing you? Why do you keep preparing for me to walk away when I’m standing right here?”

He looks at you—really looks at you—like the breath’s been knocked out of him. His eyes are wide, glassy with tears, chest rising and falling too quickly, like he’s drowning in the weight of it all and trying not to break apart.

And then, finally, quietly—like it hurts to say but it would hurt more to keep it in—he whispers:

“You’re real,” he says. “And I’m scared.”

Your breath hitches. There it is. The pure, honest reason. The vulnerability beneath all of it.

Then—

“And I wish I never met you.”

The words land like a punch to the ribs. You flinch before you can stop yourself, and the silence that follows is suffocating.

“What?” you ask, gentle. But he hears it—the crack in your voice, the way you barely manage to get the word out. God, he’s going to break you. But maybe it’s better this way. Better for you to break now because of him than to keep breaking later because of everything else.

“I just—Y/N, god—” He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, then drags them down his face like it might ground him. “I don’t know how to fix this. I love you. I love you so much I feel it in every bone in my body. But I don’t know how to protect you. I can’t stop what’s happening. I can’t stop them from doing this to you. I want to save us, but I can’t.”

“I don’t need you to protect me,” you say, voice firmer now, though still soft. “I never asked you to.”

“I know. I know you didn’t. But I want to. I need to. And yet all I can do is watch you smile through it like it doesn’t hurt. Pretend like you’re fine. I hate that. I hate knowing you’re holding it in for me. Just so I won’t fall apart.”

“And it’s alright if you are,” you start, trying to reach for him, “Just—”

He lets out a bitter, breathy laugh. “You’re right. I am. I’m spiraling and tearing myself apart and I’m dragging you down with me whether you want to admit it or not.”

“You’re not.”

“I am, Y/N.” His voice rises, breaks. “Don’t try to convince me otherwise. Because I know—I know you would’ve gone farther without me. You would’ve been so much greater, so much happier, if you never met me. But I pulled you into something you never should’ve been a part of.”

You stare at him, throat tight, lungs burning. “So what? What are you trying to say?”

“I’m trying to save you.” His voice is a whisper now. Raw. Defeated. “I’m trying to let you go.”

Your lips part like you want to say something—anything—but nothing comes out. Because somewhere, deep down, you feel it too. The shift. The weight. The ache.

There’s a pause. A hollow silence where you swear you can hear the exact moment your heart begins to crack—splintering quietly, almost politely, like it’s trying not to make a scene.

“Whatever you’re about to say, don’t.” You step toward him, voice trembling but steady enough. “Don’t run from this. From me. I’m right here, so don’t run away.”

His hand lifts—fingers twitching like they want to reach for you, to hold on—but it falls back to his side. Useless. Empty. His eyes lock onto yours like he’s trying to memorize them. Like he already knows this is the last time he’ll see them this close.

“I love you,” he says. Like an apology. Like a confession carved from grief. “But I’m going to ruin you—I’ve already ruined you.”

“You haven’t.” Your voice breaks on the edges. “And if you have…let me choose that. Don’t take away my choice to choose you just because you’re scared. Let me decide.”

“I already have.”

And just like that, something shifts. Something final.

He moves slowly. Like his body’s heavier than it was moments ago. Like each step costs him something. He picks up his keys from the dresser with a quiet finality.

Doesn’t look back. Doesn’t let himself. Because he knows—if he does, he’ll stay.

And you don’t follow. You just stand there. In the middle of the room you built together. In the middle of everything that used to feel safe and whole.

The door clicks shut behind him.

And then it’s quiet.

So painfully, achingly quiet.

Like the aftermath of a storm you didn’t realize would be the last.

tags: @natashaklein @freyathehuntress

[callsign-swan]

Bones

Chapter Two

An animal trainer, a palaeontologist, an archaeologist, a rich boy, and an animal behaviourist on an island full of dinosaurs. They're bound to fall in love, right?

Poly Squad x Reader

Chapter One

Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd removed his hat and wiped his brow. It was so damn hot on the dig site, the prescription sunglasses covering his eyes both shielding his eyes from the sun and the dust surrounding him.

It was an unsuccessful dig, not allowing himself and Natasha to discover anything new. Just some bones, Sauropod bones that didn’t tell him anything he didn't already know about them. No, it supported his theories on their migration patterns for the paper he hadn’t yet released.

“Anything?” Natasha Trace asked as she walked over to him.

Bob shook his head and sat back on his legs. The team around him tried their best to keep the disappointment from their faces. This dig sight was supposed to hold so much more promise than this. Bob had expected a carnivore, a Carcharodontosaurus or something. But they had turned up with nothing.

No, the Sauropod bones had been something. They could still teach them something, could still help with the paper he was trying to publish. “This is still really cool,” Nat said as she pulled on a pair of gloves. She used her fingers to brush some more dirt away and carefully pulled the bones from the sand. “We’ll find out what it is and then work out what it can tell us.”

A sigh left Bob's lips as Nat pushed the bone back. Their team began to brush away the sand around the bones, trying to unearth what the dinosaur was.

Standing up straight, Bob brushed the sand away from his knees. “I’m gonna go into the trailer,” he muttered.

Natasha patted his shoulder. “Try not to be disappointed, Floyd,” she said gently and brushed the dirt away from his cheek. It was gentle and sweet, as most things between the two of them were. “We’ll find something good.”

Bob offered her a weak smile. He walked back towards the trailer he and Natasha had shared since the beginning of their dig. They usually shared a trailer; it made the dig cheaper. Once upon a time they slept on opposite sides of the trailer, but that had changed. Bob couldn’t remember when it changed, but he wouldn’t want it to go back to the way it was for the world.

As soon as Bob got into the trailer, he swapped his sunglasses for his usual glasses and opened up his laptop. As usual, a flood of emails came through. His sponsors wanting progress updates on the dig, another email from Tom Kazansky that Bob ignored, and an email from Bones.

Never before had Bob replied to Bones. The emails he received were always interesting, were always something he could reply to, but he never did. Opening a line of communication with somebody he didn’t know that well, when he didn’t have time to get to know them better, wasn’t exactly at the top of Bob’s priority list.

The criticisms he received from Bones were fascinating to read. Here was the thing, the evidence Bones had for her criticisms were based on ‘real life, in the field research’. As usual, Bones attached a photoshopped picture of a dinosaur. It was good work, someone who had enough time to read through each of his papers and photoshop a picture of a dinosaur in an open field. A new picture each time, too.

This time, there were several pictures of a Brontosaurus. Very good photoshop work, the Brontosaurus looking the exact same in every picture.

‘This is Bertha. After problems with hatching, I raised her from an egg. Her behaviour isn’t like many of the other members of her herd because of the way she is raised, so my research partner and I use her to compare to the other members of her herd. While raising her, I used your paper on the behaviour of Herbivores in the late Jurassic period.

I would love for you to meet my girl, Bertha, as well as see the other work I have done in the park. That is why I am officially extending an invitation to the both of you. Please find them attached to this email.

I hope to hear back from you.

- Bones’

Sure enough, there were two invitations to Jurassic Park attached to the email. One had his name on it, the other was for Natasha. It made sense. After all, the email was addressed to the both of them.

Bob kept looking at it, went back to look at the pictures. Bertha. She couldn't have been real, it wasn't possible.

He clicked out of the email from the mysterious Bones and clicked on the email from Tom Kazansky. Jurassic Park. Even looking at Tom's email, it couldn't have been real. But there he was, begging for Bob and Nat to attend, for their approval.

“Shit, Bob.” Natasha threw open the trailer door as she ran in. “Have you seen the pictures in this email?”

He immediately knew she was talking about Bertha. “They can't be real, Nat, but…” He trailed off, unwilling to admit it.

But Natasha knew what he was trying to say. “I think it is, Bob. And I think we have to go.”

“Nat.” His voice was soft, yet still full of warning. “What if this is a trick, a wild goose chase?”

She stared into his blue eyes, a frown tugging at her lips. When she first met Bob, she thought he was dorky. That hadn't changed, but it was something she had grown to love about him. They weren't together, free to fuck other people, but Bob had his own place in her heart, carved out just to fit him.

She didn't kiss the other people she fucked in the way she kissed him.

Stepping closer, she pushed her fingers through his hair, upsetting the way he had styled it (combed back to stay out of his face. He had been keeping it short while at dig sites, but Nat knew he preferred it to be long), and kissed him quickly. An attempt at reassurance. “What if it's not, Bob? What if it's real?”

Her hand was on his chest, over his heart. “We don't have to reply right now,” she muttered, feeling the way his heart beat beneath her fingertips. “Sleep on it.”

Bob nodded his head. “Okay,” he said, resting his hand over her own. “Decide in the morning.”

“Atta boy,” she whispered and kissed him again.

***

Bradley's arm was around you as you laid awake, staring at the window of the trailer. The stars seemed prettier on the island, shined brighter than they did back home.

You turned in his arms and pressed a kiss to his chest. Bradley stirred slightly, but he didn't wake up. He pulled you closer and rolled over, nearly rolling on top of you.

“Rooster,” you whispered, pushing at his shoulder. “C'mon, lemme go.”

His snores grew louder, as if he was making a point. You gave up, accepting your fate as a pancake. A pancake made by Bradley Bradshaw? You didn't mind that.

You glanced at the alarm clock on the nightstand. The time displayed something obscenely early, but you liked early. Without early mornings, there wouldn't have been enough hours in the day for everything you wanted to do.

“C'mon, Roo,” you tried again, smacking at his shoulder. “Let.” You pushed, trying to roll him onto his back. “Me.” He rolled more onto you, caging you in with his arms. “Go.”

“Fine,” he groaned out and rolled off of you. You took the opportunity to climb out of the bed. “If you hate my cuddling that much…”

You pulled a sweatshirt over your head and shoved your arms through the arm holes. “That isn't cuddling, Bradley. That's suffocating someone. Actually, in most countries I think it's called attempted murder.”

He lifted his hand, flipping you off.

Laughing to yourself, you pulled open the fridge. Provisions were running low, but that was fine. A shipment would be arriving soon. (That was the one problem with the park, keeping the kitchens stocked. The chefs had the difficult task of rationing everything so that it lasted until the next shipment came. A job you certainly weren't jealous of).

Bradley sat up in bed, hands behind his head and dinosaur blanket slipping down his chest. It could slip all the way off, there was nobody on this part of the island but you to see (and you'd seen it plenty of times before). “What's on the agenda for today?” He asked, eyes still shut.

He looked so pretty, so peaceful. You stopped your rummaging to stare at him. “I dunno,” you answered, entirely lost in the beauty of him.

He opened his eyes and you snapped out of it. Clearing your throat, you grabbed a yoghurt. “I might go down to the lab, see how the eggs are doing,” you muttered, rummaging through the drawer to grab a spoon.

Sitting on the end on the bed, you folded your legs beneath you and began eating. You licked the back of the yoghurt lid before folding it up and placing it on the chest at the end of the bed.

Bradley's hand touched your knee. “You're supposed to be having a day off,” he told you, looking at you with a stern gaze only an older man could accomplish. He wasn't that much older than you, but he sometimes felt like it.

You had started your job barely in your twenties, shipped off to a strange island when you were still so unsure of the world. Sometimes it was incredible to watch you, watch you demonstrate just how much you knew. To Bradley, it was incredible to watch how much you had grown since you first met.

You shrugged your shoulders. “I know,” you said, “and I wanna spend my day off in the lab. Reuben wanted to discuss a breeding programme.”

Bradley raised his eyebrows. “What has that got to do with you?”

You rolled your eyes at him. “Everything, Roo.”

“Come back to bed, Bones,” he whined, hand moving higher. “Come deal with a different type of bone.”

You didn't mean to pull a face at him. “That was terrible, Rooster,” you said as you dumped your yoghurt carton and spoon in the sink. “Besides, aren't you showing that rich guy around today?”

He nodded, his face almost glum. You pulled on some trousers and underwear, climbing onto his covered lap to kiss his cheek. His boner was beneath you, begging for attention you wouldn't give. “Don't take him to see BB without me, okay?”

“Okay,” he agreed, a soft smile beneath his moustache as he pulled you closer for one more kiss. “Give me a minute to get dressed and I'll drive you to the lab.”

Bradley's version of getting dressed for drive you to the lab was a pair of grey sweats and a white vest. Not the usual hawaiian shirt he wore on his day off. He grabbed the Bronco keys, grabbed your bag, and led you out of the trailer.

Your legs were crossed as you sat in the Bronco, driving away from your trailers. They weren't situated too far from the park, just far enough to offer you a little privacy. The rest of the staff lived in these nice little apartments, but you and Bradley were perfectly content in your trailers. Nearly a year into your position you were offered an apartment, but one glance at Bradley had you turning it down.

He drove you through the park, around the enclosures. It was too early for morning feedings, so none of your animals were active. You relaxed into your chair, watching as the sunrise turned the sky orange.

He pulled up outside of the back entrance to the visitors centre. The park wasn't open yet, not yet full of screaming children getting in your way, but you still went in the back entrance.

“Thank you, Roo,” you whispered and leaned over to kiss him. As badly as he tried to pull you into his lap, to keep you there, you didn't let him.

He pouted as you pulled away and climbed out of the Bronco. “I'll see you later, Roo! Good luck!” You cried and headed into the visitors centre.

Even at this early hour in the morning, the lab was up and running. They started early, earlier than you, and finished so damn late. It was hard work, trying to recreate everything Charlie had done. As terrible as she was, she was a fucking genius.

“Bones!” You looked up as Reuben called your name.

You walked over to him, joined him at the eggs. Five in total, under the warm lights of the incubator. “What are they?” You asked as you dropped to your knees to get a closer look.

They were in very good condition, but the eggs Reuben manufactured always were. Synthetic eggs, made to incubate the embryos created in the lab. The entire process was truly fascinating.

“Raptor,” Reuben answered quickly as he took the temperature of the eggs and noted them down.

You stood up quickly. “Raptor? What do you mean, Raptor?” There were so many different species, you just had to hope he didn't mean…

“Velociraptor, yeah.”

The grin you had been wearing all morning fell. You loved your job, but you loved it when people listened to you. “Reuben, seriously? I told you a few months ago why this was a bad idea.” You looked towards his lab partner. “Mickey, tell him.”

But Mickey raised his hands in defeat. He was no use to you.

“You can't put new Raptors in with the girls!” You insisted. “They'll eat them!”

“You don't know that for a fact,” Mickey said as he took the clipboard from Reuben. “You've never tried to add to their pack.”

Your expression was unimpressed as you sat up straight. “Put one of these eggs in with them and see what happens. Because I'm telling you now, they'll eat them.”

“What if they don't, Bones?” Reuben continued as the lid of the incubator lowered over the eggs. “Imagine the studies you'll be able to do if the Raptors take on these eggs? Imagine Roy-”

“Rio,” you corrected.

“Imagine Rio raising a baby! She could be the most nurturing mother.”

“She'll eat it,” you insisted.

Reuben rolled his eyes. You knew exactly what that meant. No matter what you said, they were going to hatch these Raptors and put them in with your girls. And there would be carnage. “Just one egg, Reuben, please!” You tried. “Let me see if my theory is right before you put these poor babies in.”

“And, if you're right?”

You shrugged your shoulders. “Feed the rest of the eggs to The Girls.”

They looked at you. It seemed like everybody in the lab was staring at you. This game had been played before, though, and they all knew how it ended.

“Fine,” he finally said. After pressing a few buttons, the top of the incubator lifted. “Just one.”

You took the egg closest to you and stashed it in your bag. “You're the best,” you said and kissed his cheek.

taglist: @daggersquaddoll @lc-birdie @lavenhaven

[hayakawalove]

Test of Love (Chapter Eight)

Chapter Eight

All Chapters

Summary: The moment we've all been waiting for.

A/N: I'm sorry this took so long. I really hope it pays off in the end for you guys. I did forget to add Suguru's tattoos and piercings in previous chapters, so we're going to pretend I did that. It's very important that he has those I swear. And by important I mean that I really really really really want him to have them. I hope you guys like it! I am so grateful for each and every one of you. Thank you! And as always, comments are appreciated! This chapter can be read stand alone if for some reason you only are reading this chapter and not the entire fic.

CW: Smut, Vaginal Sex, Threesome MMF, Cunnilingus, Hand Job, Oral F to M, Body Worship, Dirty Talk, Praise, Humiliation, Nipple Play, Creampie, Choking (on cock), Fem Reader, AFAB Reader

W/C: 6,981

Credit to benkeibear for the banner

“Suguru.” Your lips feel tingly as you speak, eyes wide as you look at the other man. “Stay.” 

The room is silent for a moment as your words settle over you. You didn’t regret asking him to stay, not in the least, but you did feel something creeping up your stomach, clawing at your insides. Fear? 

Suguru’s eyes study your face for a moment before flicking to his lover. His expression is unreadable and you’re almost positive the two of them are communicating silently. 

You dig your nails into Satoru’s shirt and fiddle with it a bit, twisting it around your fingers as your breathing comes out in shallow bursts. 

Suguru takes two steps towards you, it’s all he needs before he's right beside you. There’s an emotion on his face but you can't quite place it. 

“You want me here?” He questions. 

He shuffles your body until you’re facing him. 

“Yes.” 

“And what about Satoru?” 

“Want you both.” 

Suguru’s lips twist into a grin. You have a feeling they knew exactly what you wanted when you asked him to stay, but that they just wanted to hear you say it. 

The height difference is staggering as they leer above you. Satoru is at your back, hands kneading your sides as he digs his face into your neck. He's letting out short breaths that heat your flesh. 

“Tell us if you need to stop.” Suguru leans into you, his eyes darting from your lips to your face. 

You’re waiting for him to seal the moment with his lips on yours, but it never comes. It's making your mind spin at how close he is. He must be doing this on purpose. 

You press forward, smashing your lips on his. You think you feel a smirk spread across his face. His lips are like flower petals against yours, the softness making you groan. All the while Satoru’s decided to start kissing down your neck. His teeth drag down the side of your throat, following the path of a vein before he bites down. You would have half the mind to tell him to leave no marks, but you aren’t sure you have a mind at all.

Suguru’s tongue slides out to brush against your bottom lip. You tentatively open your mouth to greet him, letting the two of your tongues collide. It's hard to focus when you’re in nothing but a towel and they're dressed. The feeling of four hands covering your figure makes your stomach flip, right where one hand ends another one begins. 

A palm, you think it’s Satoru’s, glides up your thigh below the towel. It isn’t where you need it, but it’s close. The heat from his fingertips travel across your skin, making your stomach tighten. 

You almost wondered why you had waited so long to have sex as a group, until you're forced to remember. It’s suffocating. Their touch was almost too much for you to handle, yet you found yourself craving more and more of it. 

Suguru pulls away and brushes hair out of your eyes, and you look up at him, gaze hazy with lust. 

“How’re you doing, baby?” He questions, dragging his thumb across your bottom lip. 

His thumb is coated in a mixture of your salivas now, shining in the low light of the bedroom. 

You open your mouth to answer, but Satoru bites down on your neck. You let out a groan at the sensation, your eyes rolling back in your head.

“Good,” you sigh out. “So good.”

Suguru hums and watches his boyfriend abuse your neck. Satoru was going to leave bruises. Suguru can't say he hated the idea of marks caused by the two of them left on your body. He runs a hand through Satoru’s hair before leaning down to kiss the side of your mouth. Your lips pucker in an attempt to kiss him back, but Suguru can tell the action is lazy. Your movements are unhurried as you tilt your head to the side even more to allow more access to Satoru, who’s leaving a wet trail of saliva down the column of your neck. 

You don’t think you’ve ever felt so good in your whole life. They hadn’t even touched you yet, not really at least, but it already felt like an unreal experience. It felt like all the puzzle pieces were finally falling into place, this event being set into motion for longer than you were even aware of. 

No, you had no idea how long Satoru had been planning this. You had no idea how many nights he spent talking to Suguru, going into detail about how much he wanted you, and how much Suguru would want you too once he met you. You weren’t aware of how many times they’ve had sex since meeting you, your name slipping from their lips as they openly fantasized about you being there with them. 

Suguru grabs your hand and tugs you away from Satoru, who’s cerulean eyes flick up in frustration. Suguru was sure that Satoru could stay in that position forever, leaving hickeys on your throat until you were entirely bruised. But Suguru had bigger plans.

He positions you in front of the bed, his hands reaching up to trail the towel lining your body. His eyes are heavy as he looks down at you. 

“We don’t need this anymore, do we princess?” He questions, his voice quiet. 

Your bottom lip trembles as your throat goes dry. You feel like you’re under his spell. 

“No.” You murmur, looking up at him as you tug the towel, letting it fall to the floor. 

You don’t think you’ve ever heard a room get so quiet before. The heat of both of their gazes is searing into your skin, burning you more than the hot water of their shower did. It’s nearly impossible not to shy away under their gaze, your hands fiddling with each other while you wait for something to happen. 

“Fuck,” Satoru groans under his breath as he looks at you. 

The both of them had seen you naked before, but never like this, not in the presence of each other. 

“Do you know how perfect you are?” Suguru asks.You can’t tell if it's rhetorical or not. 

Suguru lifts a hand to grab your fingers, pulling your hand up. He places a kiss on your wrist, turning your arm over outstretched in front of you. He's kissing the inside of your arm, slowly making his way up. 

You had never felt so worshiped before. You suppose that was a good way to describe Suguru’s affection. Fondness that bordered on dedication. 

His actions are slow and deliberate as he goes up. You aren’t sure what exactly it is you need, but you know you need more. 

“Suguru-“ you begin. 

He pauses his ministrations to look at you. The intensity in his eyes borderlines on too much. 

He rests your arm to your side before hooking a finger under your chin, tilting your head up. His lips are on yours before he pulls them away. 

“What is it?” He asks. 

How do you tell two beings who are nearly gods that you want more from them? Take, take, take, it's all you know how to do. 

“I want more.” You speak. 

Suguru guides you to sit on the bed, nudging you to scoot back all the way. He looks behind his shoulder at the other man before grinning. You weren’t sure if you should be scared of their antics, but whatever it was they were planning you knew it would be better than not being touched at all. 

Suguru steps to the side, letting Satoru stride up behind him. He's already yanking his shirt over his head, allowing his perfect form to gleam under the light. His gaze causes your stomach to twist, watching the way his eyes clearly feast on your exposed body like he hadn’t eaten in weeks. 

Like he hadn’t fucked you in weeks, even though you were sure there was still remnants of his cum leaking from your hole. 

You clench the sheets beneath your fingers, squeezing the fabric to give you some semblance of comfort. He’s hovering over your legs now, his hands gripping your knees. 

Satoru spreads your legs forcefully, a bit too harsh causing you to gasp. Suguru’s watching the event unfold as he sits beside you, next to your shoulders. 

“Easy Satoru, you wouldn't want to break our new toy, would you?” 

“I'm sure she’d like it if we did.” Satoru replies slyly. 

You feel your pussy clench at that, the idea of being used and abused by them coursing through your body. 

“Oh, would you look at that. She would like it.” Satoru says, looking at the way you clench for him. 

Suguru lifts his hand up and grazes it over the skin on your chest. He’s not running his fingers over where you need them, instead opting to smooth down in between your breasts. 

“Is that right, princess?” He questions. “Want us to use you?” 

Suguru’s finger pinches your nipple and you moan, arching into his touch. He’s looking down his nose at you, and it's hard to focus under the pressure of it all. 

“I w-“ you start to speak. 

Satoru cuts you off as he lays between your thighs, holding them open as he drags his tongue through your pussy. Your legs tremble at the sudden action, nearly snapping closed if not for his tight grip. Suguru’s still pinching your nipple, twisting it slowly as he watches your expression. 

It’s too good, and they’ve barely touched you. 

Satoru slides his tongue up to prod at your clit. You can feel that you’re already swollen and needy, and Satoru’s actions are only making it worse. 

His strong hands keep your thighs spread apart to accommodate his giant frame. He looks comically large between your legs, but he also looks completely at home. His eyes are closed and there’s a ruddy hue on his cheeks, his tongue poking out from his lips to drag along your pussy. 

He was the strongest man in the world, and here he was making himself at home at your altar. 

Your moans flow freely from your lips, noises that you’re nearly embarrassed for, but not quite. They sound pornographic, but you can't help the way they spill from you. 

“Is he good at it?” Suguru asks, watching the way his boyfriend's tongue dips into your pussy. 

“Uhuh, h-he’s-“ you groan as Satoru’s tongue speeds up. 

“You hear that, Satoru?” Suguru pulls your nipple before letting go, looking at the way your eyes roll into the back of your head. 

He almost wants to coo at the expressions you’re making, they're so precious. He loved having sex with Satoru, but there was something special with the way you reacted. 

Satoru slides his tongue from your clit to your hole then back up once more. His breath is hot against your tender flesh, making you buck up against his mouth. You wonder if he can taste himself on you. 

Suguru brushes your hair back, grinning to himself at the way sweat was quickly accumulating on your forehead. It was hard work getting doted on by two men. The weight of his hand is comforting against your head, and you nuzzle into him. 

You force your eyes open to look down at Satoru, and nearly cum on the spot. His lips are shiny with your arousal, lids heavy as he drinks everything you have to give him. He must feel your eyes on him, because he looks up. He grins once he notices you staring, purposely beginning to put on a show for you.

Your clit is being strummed by his tongue, wetness coating you. He was going to make you cum. 

“Move.” Suguru murmurs, snaking his hand down your body. 

Satoru follows the order seamlessly, you didn’t even know he was capable of following orders, and instead sticks his tongue out to poke into your hole. You clench around his tongue, warmth spreading into the darkest corners of you. 

Suguru’s middle finger glides over your clit, the soft skin of his finger swirling against you. He somehow knows how to provide the perfect amount of pleasure, causing a whine to fall from your lips. The boys were working together perfectly, although you knew that shouldn’t surprise you. Satoru’s tongue is dipping into your hole while Suguru teases your clit, bringing you closer to the edge.

“You're dripping, you poor thing.” Suguru says under his breath, focusing on the way your body twitches beneath him. 

How were you supposed to last like this? Matter of fact, how were you supposed to keep going? You hadn’t touched either of them yet, there was a long night ahead of you. 

“Please, please!” You're whimpering, tears beginning to prick your vision. 

Satoru speeds up. Always eager, that one. He curls his tongue inside you, letting your slick trickle down into his mouth. He’s a mess below you, groaning with a shiny face. Suguru on the other hand maintains his pace, letting his finger stroke you at the speed he wants. 

You look up towards Suguru, allowing yourself to appreciate his features. His fox eyes were trained on your clit, although you were positive he must be able to feel the heat of your gaze. You’re looking up at him in a silent plea, asking for more even though you’re not sure you can handle it. 

“Suguru, please,” 

You moan and shift beside him, your muscles starting to ache from the strain of keeping your legs open. Suguru looks away from your pussy to grin softly at you. A face that reminds you of the calm before the storm. 

He allows his finger to rub your clit faster, chuckling to himself when you squeal and let your eyes close. 

“Feels so good, feels so good,” 

Your pussy clenches around Satoru’s tongue, making him groan louder. You would warn them of your impending orgasm, but you’re sure they knew already. It was hard not to, with the way you were twisting beneath them, your moans uncontained. 

“Think she's close, Satoru.” Suguru says, pulling his hand back from your clit. 

You almost yell from the action. You were almost there. 

Suguru brings his fingers to his lips where he dips them inside, savoring the taste of you. You're distracted watching him, so it zaps your system when you feel something warm around your clit. 

Satoru’s sucking the poor area, his tongue swirling around as his eyes fall closed. You gasp, your hand flying down to grip his white hair. He must like the way you tug it, because he sucks harder. 

Satoru eases a finger into you, then adds a second. You think the room is spinning. Everything is so hot and you can't stop bucking against his face. Your pussy clenches before you feel heat spread across your body. You're cumming, and you aren’t sure how long for. 

Satoru doesn't let up, even when you’re finished. You try to push his head away but Satoru is much stronger than you, and doesn't move. 

“Hey, take it easy on her.” Suguru lightly commands. 

His words snap Satoru out of his pussy drunk stupor. His eyes are crazed when he pulls away, unblinking as he stares down at the mess you made. 

“Sit.” Suguru tells Satoru. 

When Satoru looks up at Suguru you almost jump back. It looks like a silent battle of control, one that Satoru would normally win. That being said, you learned the rules of nature with Satoru didn’t apply when Suguru was in the mix.

Satoru gives up and looks away, grumbling under his breath. He was so excited. It was cute. You were glad Suguru was there to hold him back, otherwise you would have gotten destroyed.

Suguru sits on the edge of the bed with Satoru beside him, you on his other side. The bulge in his pants is prominent, it's hard to look away. Your legs feel wobbly beneath you as you lean over, palming at his cock. Suguru gently swipes your hair back, holding it out of the way for you as you pull down his pants. It surprises you how large he is. You’ve only had sex once, but you still aren’t used to it. 

You stick your tongue out to graze his cock, grinning to yourself when you hear his sharp intake of breath. 

“Take them off.” Suguru says to the other man. 

You don't see it, but you feel the bed shift as Satoru slides his boxers off in a hurry, allowing his cock to spring up and slap against his stomach. 

“She did a number on you, huh?” Suguru uses a hand to wrap around Satoru’s cock. 

You hear Satoru moan as you ease Suguru’s cock into your mouth, hoping your throat will open up a bit more. There’s precum sliding down your tongue, the tangy taste making you shift your legs. You wish you could watch the scene beside you, but you're too focused on your task at hand. 

Satoru’s bottom lip is jutted out as he looks down, watching Suguru jerk his cock. He’s so needy it hurts. Suguru always only ever goes at the pace he wants, but Satoru wants more. He pathetically tries to hump into his hand, whimpers flowing from his lips as Suguru maintains his steady pace. 

“I know, you want more.” Suguru says lowly, leaning towards Satoru. 

Satoru jumps at the chance and smashes his lips against Suguru, immediately sticking his tongue out to push against his lips. Suguru chuckles into the kiss and opens his mouth, tangling his tongue with his boyfriends. 

All you hear are lips smacking and muted moans. 

It’s making you turned on again. 

You aren’t sure you can take his entire cock without passing out. But you want to try. You force your head all the way down, Suguru’s cock making you gag. Your tongue slides underneath his shaft, brushing the sensitive veins lining it. Suguru’s hand stays stationed in your hair, holding it in a firm grasp. 

Suguru pulls away from Satoru, eyes watching as Satoru tries to chase his lips. Suguru looks down at Satoru’s cock, letting spit drip from his lips. It flows down until it lands on his cock, the man hissing at the sensation. Honey eyes stare at the sight, spreading his spit around to make the glide easier. Suguru had never seen Satoru so hard before. Was he like this every time he fucked you? 

Suguru groans at the way Satoru’s cock leaks into his hand. They should have brought you into their relationship sooner. Satoru should have mentioned you years ago, Suguru was almost mad that they’ve been missing out on your sweet body this whole time. 

Suguru breathes deep as he feels your lips wrap around his tip, your saliva steadily coating his cock. Luckily he had more patience than Satoru. He wasn’t sure how long the other man would last. 

“S-Suguru, ah,” Satoru groans, his abs clenching at the way Suguru’s hand glides down his shaft. 

“What?” Suguru asks, kissing Satoru’s cheek. “You gonna cum already, Satoru?” He questions. 

His voice is a bit demeaning, you think. Not rude enough at first glance, but the deeper you look into the tone, the more you see. 

“F-Feels too good.” Satoru’s lips part as he watches Suguru’s hand speed up. He's letting out an airy chuckle, body tensing. 

“Yeah?” Suguru says. 

“Yeah- fuck, fuck!” Satoru shoves his hips up. 

Suguru decides to grant him some mercy. He lets Satoru hump into his hand, his tongue gliding against his bottom lip.

The noises make you speed up. You bob your head down on Suguru’s cock, gags filling the room as you swallow each drop of precum he gifts you with. You almost wonder how he’s focusing right now, briefly hoping you're doing a good enough job. 

“Suguru please, please-“ Satoru pleads. 

You feel bad for him. If you were in Suguru’s position you don't think you’d be able to hold strong.

Suguru squeezes the tip of Satoru’s cock before speeding his hand up once more. The schlick schlick schlick noises make you flustered, as if you didn’t have a cock down your throat. 

You hear Satoru whimper before the bed goes still. His head is thrown back as he cums, thick white ropes painting Suguru’s hand. He continues to slide his palm down Satoru’s cock, only pulling away once he stops leaking. 

“Good job, Satoru.” It sounds like he’s teasing him. 

Suguru pulls his hand back, bringing it to his lips. His tongue glides along the back on his hand, licking up Satoru’s cum. You don’t stop sucking his cock, you don't think you could even if you wanted to. 

The length of him brushes down your throat as you slide all the way down. You’re lost in your own world, tongue slathering along his shaft when you feel his fingers lace through your hair. 

“Princess,” he speaks quietly. 

When you tear your mouth away from him the sight above you nearly stops you in your tracks. Two beautiful men above you, yours for the taking. 

Satoru’s skin is a bit flushed from his recent orgasm, a pink hue settling over his cheeks as his chest heaves. Suguru’s faring a little better, but not by much. You must’ve been getting to him. His lips are slick with saliva, his eyes hooded and low as he looks down at you. 

“Pretty baby.” He says at the sight of you, mostly to himself you think. 

Suguru reaches over and swipes his thumb underneath your lip, ridding you from the spit that was dribbling down your chin. You almost feel embarrassed by the mess you had created. For how salacious the men looked above you, you knew you looked worse, you appeared absolutely ruined. Your poor face is a mess of tears and spit, but they think you’ve never looked more beautiful. 

Suguru pops his thumb in his mouth, licking up the saliva he wiped away. He moans to himself at the taste before easing you off him so he can stand. 

He looks daunting above you. He pulls his hair down completely, shaking his head to flick the strands from his face. It was hard to conjure up another image as beautiful as him, save for the other ethereal man beside you.

Said man's hands are grabbing at you as he slides closer to your body, his body heat easily transferring over to you. You want to pay attention to him, but it’s nearly impossible to look away from the man in front of you. 

Suguru reaches down to tug on his shirt, before yanking it off his body. He turns around to toss the discarded clothing into the laundry basket, granting you a flash of his back. A tattoo. You hadn’t gotten a chance to see his back yet, it was better than you could’ve imagined. Ink blotted his skin, taking the shape of a dragon. It spanned nearly across his whole back, it was beautiful. 

“You like bad boys?” Satoru murmurs in your ear, a teasing tone in his voice. “So do I, it’s why he’s mine.” 

Satoru leans down and wraps his lips around one of your nipples, his tongue smoothing over the tender flesh as he suckles. 

You’re moaning, one hand dragging through Satoru’s hair as you watch Suguru. He faces you once more, and you catch sight of yet another thing you missed. A belly ring and nipples piercings. 

“You didn’t have those before-“ your voice falls at the end as Satoru lightly bites your nipple. 

“Oh yeah, I didn’t have the jewelry in last time. What do you think?” 

Is he really asking that? You’re sure he can see your opinion on your face, eyes almost rolling back in your head. 

Suguru steps out of his pants before gliding into the bed, sitting up against the headboard. He looks large on the bed, you wonder how the two men even fit when they sleep at night. 

“Bring her over here, Satoru.”

Satoru either doesn’t hear Suguru, or doesn't care. He continues to suck your nipple, running a finger through your folds. You’re already so sensitive, it almost hurts. You whimper as he applies pressure against your tight hole. At this point you didn’t care who it was, you needed one of them in you. 

“Satoru.” Suguru’s voice lowers, and it works. 

Satoru eases his finger back out, pulling away to pop the finger into his mouth. It’s your chance to finally be filled up. You flip around to crawl towards Suguru, watching as he lazily strokes his cock. 

“Gotta learn how to share.” Suguru speaks, offering a hand to help you slide onto his lap. 

“I wanted her first.” Satoru murmurs as he sits behind you, sandwiching you between the two. 

“Oh, feeling a little jealous are we?” Suguru stares at Satoru, a grin on his face as you slide down his cock. 

You groan, clawing at his chest as your walls attempt to accommodate him. Satoru makes a similar noise beside your ear, stomach clenching as he watches his boyfriend fill you to the brim. 

“No, just impatient.” Satoru says. 

“You usually are.” Suguru is trying to keep his voice neutral, but you can tell it’s hard. 

You finally sit down all the way, heat spreading across your stomach as he stays still. All you want to do is start bouncing, although you knew Suguru wouldn't let you. 

“Come here.” Suguru speaks quietly. 

Satoru pushes against your back, making you press into Suguru. Suguru leans over you, meeting Satoru halfway. The two join in a kiss, a messy kiss, lips locking as Suguru tries to placate Satoru. 

You whimper at the sight, head turned back to watch the way their tongues collide. You’ve seen them kiss before, but you almost felt like an outsider at the time. There was no denying that you were intrinsically involved with the two of them now.

Suguru pulls back, lips glossy with Satoru’s spit. 

“You like watching us kiss?” He questions. “Naughty girl, can feel you clenching.” 

He pushes his lips against Satoru once more. The two of them are putting on a bit of a show, extra saliva falling from the corners of their lips as they kiss above you. 

You rock your hips back and forth as you observe the sight, needing to feel something. Suguru holds your hip with one hand, helping you rock. Satoru runs his hand through Suguru’s hair, groaning into the kiss. 

You want to keep watching, but you need more. 

Your movements speed up as you quietly plead, your pussy leaking around his cock. 

Suguru pulls away from Satoru and leans back against the headrest, both hands falling on your hips. The room around you is hot, you’re nearly burning up. Suguru’s cock is reaching the deepest parts of you, every slight movement only making it worse. 

“Ready, pretty girl?” Suguru asks. 

Your teeth dig into your bottom lip as you avoid eye contact. Why were you feeling bashful? 

“Please.” 

You don't catch the way Suguru’s lip quirks up. His hands flex on your hips as he starts to lift you up on his cock. He wasn’t going fast, but he was going hard. Each time he pushed into you it felt like you stopped breathing. 

Noises fill the room, sounds from your sopping pussy and your ass clapping against his thighs. You can almost feel the impatience of Satoru behind you. 

You’re moaning from the pleasure of Suguru’s cock, but if you listen closely enough you think you can hear Satoru making noise as well. His hand is wrapped tightly around his cock, matching the pace at which Suguru was fucking you. 

He had just cum, but his body needed more. He was so wet, precum spilling out from the sensitive tip of his cock. 

He’s split between watching you from behind, and watching the way Suguru’s expression changes each time he bottoms out. He knows exactly how Suguru feels. Satoru knows how warm, wet, and tight you are. He’d never forget. 

You hold onto Suguru’s forearms as you bounce on his cock, your eyes rolling back in your head each time he fills you up. Your breasts are bouncing with the motion, a sight that has Suguru almost doubling over. 

You never wanted this night to end. 

You don’t think you’ve ever felt so good before. 

“Suguru-“ Satoru interrupts your train of thought. 

Suguru peeks over you and smiles to himself at the sight. Satoru was rubbing himself, a pouty frown playing on his lips. 

“Can’t wait your turn?”

No reply comes. 

“Think you can take two at once princess?” 

Suguru’s looking up at you with such reverence it makes your stomach flip. Could you take both of them? You weren’t positive, but there was only one way to find out. 

“Y-yes.” You say lowly. 

Suguru presses a kiss on your forehead before easing you off his cock. Your pussy mourns the loss of him already, craving the way he stretched you out. 

“Lay down for me.” Suguru murmurs in your ear. 

You lay down on the bed, eyes fluttering at the feeling of the cool sheets beneath you. Suguru slots himself between your legs, looking up at Satoru. 

Suddenly you’re moving, body being pulled closer to the end of the bed. 

“Hey wait a,” you begin, looking up to see what was happening. 

Your head is hanging off the bed, the room upside down as you frantically look up. When you do, you’re met with the sight of Satoru’s cock above your head. It looks even bigger this way. 

“Open.” Satoru says.

Your breathing catches in your chest as you stare above you, your mouth opening in the direction of his cock. 

Satoru slides himself into your mouth, slowly until he’s filling your throat completely. 

Suguru spreads your legs wider, holding his cock with one hand as he presses into your pussy. You eagerly accept him, sucking him deep inside you. 

“Fuck.” Satoru groans, body stilling as your lips tighten around his cock. 

“Good, isn’t it?” Suguru speaks. 

They're talking about you and using you almost like you aren’t there. Why was that so fucking sexy? 

Suguru begins to thrust inside you, filling you over again as you suck Satoru’s cock. It’s nearly impossible to breathe with the way Satoru’s down your throat, the lack of oxygen making you dizzy. It doesn't help that your head is upside down. 

“Perfect, so perfect.” Satoru answers, slowly beginning to pump inside your throat. 

There was only one thing on your mind right now. You wanted to make them feel good, you wanted to make them cum. 

Suguru’s warm palms smooth down your thighs as his speed increases, cock thrusting into you, making you clench against him. You want to tell him how good it feels, but you just can't. 

Satoru’s moaning above you, staring down at the way your throat greedily accepts him. He’s wanted this for so long. The sight of your pretty lips wrapped around his cock, your drool painting his skin. 

A hand runs through his hair and tugs his face forward, causing him to inhale sharply. Suguru pulls him forward, smashing his lips against his. It was hard to remember, Satoru was always the needy one but Suguru could be just as, if not more needy than Satoru. 

Suguru wraps his tongue around Satoru’s while fucking into you, moans quietly escaping from his throat. Satoru kisses back fervently, his hips fucking into your throat irregularly. Below them, you can hear the sounds of their lips smacking. Suguru must’ve been right when he asked if you liked to watch them kiss, because you can feel yourself begin to drip even more. You couldn’t see them, but you didn’t need to. The sounds were good enough, causing your stomach to flip as they made out.

People rarely could keep up with the two boys. It was one of the reasons they worked so well together, always being the only one who understood the other. Where things might be too fast and hard for some people in the bedroom, they matched each other's styles perfectly. Suguru was a bit worried you wouldn't have been able to match them. He didn’t mind slowing down for you, but it turns out you didn’t even need that. You were accepting them just as easily as they accepted each other, and that made his heart skip a bit. Satoru wasn’t worried though, he never was. He could see it in your eyes since the day he met you. You were cut from the same cloth as the two men. 

Suguru never takes his lips off Satoru, pushing into him as his cock pistons into you faster. He could feel you rhythmically clenching around him, especially each time he knocked his cock against that spongy spot inside of you. 

Were you going to cum like this? God, he hoped you were going to cum like this. 

He desperately wants to feel you hold his cock in a vice grip as you lose it, but he knows he should probably let Satoru take the honors. He’s been such a good boy waiting for his turn, after all. 

Satoru’s cock slides down your throat, body using yours to get off. You just knew you would be sore tomorrow morning. You moan around him, your tongue smoothing up the sides of him.

Suguru pulls away from Satoru, not because he wants to, and holds you tightly. 

“G-gonna fucking cum.” He says under his breath.

“Cum inside her.” Satoru pleads, pushing himself into your throat harder. 

Suguru breathlessly chuckles at Satoru, staring down at the way your walls squeezed him. 

“Yeah? Think I should?” 

“Please.” Satoru moans. 

Suguru pistons into you one, two more times before he unloads, his cock flooding you with his cum. Your body twists below him, wanting more. 

You would sit up to look at Suguru, maybe even run your fingers through his hair and pull him in for a kiss. But you can't. Your lips are too occupied, your throat still being stuffed full from cock. 

Satoru’s thrusting into your mouth, groans slipping from his lips as he watches Suguru pull out slowly. The second he does, you can feel his cum begin to pour from you, dripping down your swollen core. 

It's getting harder to breathe now. Satoru’s fucking into your face so fast you don’t have even a moment to collect yourself. 

Suguru must sense your distress, because he rounds the bed and pushes himself up behind Satoru. 

Fingers wrap around the base of Satoru’s cock, sliding him from your mouth. There’s strings of saliva connecting him to you. You’re finally able to gasp for air. 

“Come on baby, don't you wanna put this cock to good use?” Suguru purrs in Satoru’s ear, grazing his lips down Satoru’s throat. 

Satoru whimpers and looks down at you, your wide eyes staring up as you catch your breath. He looks like such a mess. Bursting at the seams, desperate to fuck his cock into something so he cum. 

“Mhm.” Satoru murmurs, never looking away from you. 

“Good boy.” You think you hear Suguru reply. 

It’s hard to tell, he’s speaking so quietly against Satoru’s skin. 

“Will you turn around, baby?” Suguru asks you. 

You sit on your elbows, head woozy now that it's upright. You may have passed out if it went on for much longer. Then again, passing out while sucking Satoru’s cock didn’t sound like the worst idea.

Twisting your body, you lay with your legs facing Satoru, putting your dripping pussy front and center. The heat of the two men's gazes burn into you, it's hard to tell what’s more hot, their eyes or the cum that seeps from your hole. 

Suguru strokes Satoru’s cock several times before releasing him, lifting his hand up to his mouth to suck off the precum and saliva that covered him. 

Satoru’s eyes almost scare you. He’s unblinking, watching your pussy as he kneels down. Satoru looks like he’s about ready to sink his teeth into you. 

“Give me a moment.” He murmurs before holding your legs open, dipping down. 

“Oh my fucking god-“ you moan, his tongue gliding through your folds. 

He’s cleaning you out. He’s eating Suguru’s cum from you. 

“God, you taste so fucking,” he groans “good.” 

Satoru’s hand is wrapped around his cock as he strokes it lazily, poking his tongue inside your hole and drinking the mixture of Suguru’s and your cum. 

You fly your hands down to grip onto Satoru’s hair, pulling him in closer. His mouth feels heaven sent against you, hot tongue gliding through you. 

“Okay, ready?” Satoru asks, pulling away. 

He looks more bummed than you do at having to stop himself. 

Strings of your cum are attached to his lips as he stands up, the liquid snapping as he runs his thumb along his lip. His hands grip your waist and he tugs you closer, his cock head pushing against your hole.

Your words fail you, so instead you just look up at him with pleading eyes. He gifts you a sly grin before easing his cock into you. Satoru throws his head back and groans at how your walls feel against him. 

He can practically feel the shape of Suguru inside you. 

It feels so fucking good. He thrusts into you shallowly several times before picking up the pace, slamming inside you. 

You must be greedy, because even after Suguru fucked you, you still wanted more. 

“S-Satoru!” You all but yell. 

“Y-yeah that’s it baby, scream my fucking name.”

You’re happy he’s holding your hips, helping ground you. If he wasn’t holding you, you were sure you’d be pushed around the mattress from the force of him. 

Deep, he’s so deep. 

Gentle hands lift up your shoulders, it must be Suguru. He sits underneath you, resting your head on his lap. His legs are spread as you lay your shoulders against his stomach. You cling to his forearms, looking up at Satoru as he pushes into you. 

Suguru slides a hand down your body to rest on your clit, swirling around it to bring you closer to the edge.

“Oh my g-god, fuck, FUCK!” You want to cry at how good it feels. 

“It's alright, you’re okay baby.” Suguru says, increasing the pace. 

It’s too good. 

You’re gonna cum. You’re gonna cum. 

Satoru groans, fucking into you at an incredible pace. It’s impossible to stop moaning with the way the two men are playing your body. You dig your fingers into one of Suguru’s forearms, attempting to ground yourself.

“I know, I know.” He murmurs to you. 

“Holy shit-“ Satoru groans. 

Satoru’s movements are fluid as he pounds into you. You couldn’t get enough of him, even though you had sex earlier that day. Your pussy pulls him in with each thrust, your body begging for him.

He’s fucking you so good you just know you won’t be able to walk normally for the rest of the week. The two are working in perfect tandem. 

Your walls tighten around Satoru and you squeeze your eyes shut, letting go. You wouldn't have been able to keep it in. 

Satoru whimpers at the feeling of you cumming around his cock. Right after you fall off the edge, Satoru follows suit. Suguru’s looking up at him as he cums, caramel eyes full of love as he watches the other man, his body shaking as he comes to a stop inside of you. 

Suguru slowly strokes your clit until you come back to consciousness and weakly push his hand away. With the look he gives you you can tell that normally he wouldn’t be so gracious. Instead he takes his hands and runs them down your body while Satoru slowly slides out.

His cum seeps from your hole and you bury your face in Suguru’s lap, wincing at the feeling. Satoru’s off to find a towel. Your body’s going to be a mess tomorrow. The soreness was already starting to settle in, your limbs feeling heavy as Suguru holds you. 

“How are you feeling, baby?” He asks. 

You nuzzle your face further into his lap. At some point throughout Satoru fucking you he slid on shorts, the fabric feels like the softest thing in the world against your sweaty face. 

Satoru comes back with a washcloth, sliding it through your pussy to gather the spent cum. You’re extremely sensitive, the feeling of the rough cloth making you whine. How long would it take to get back to normal? Honestly, it was worth it. 

“Good.” You murmur, curling up. “Thank you.” 

Suguru smiles softly. Were you thanking them for fucking you or for taking care of you? 

Satoru scoops you up, holding you tight against his chest as he walks around the bed. It was easy to forget how strong he was. He doesn't even break a sweat as he slides under the covers, holding you next to him. You were suddenly grateful for his after sex neediness. 

Satoru’s arms feel nice around your body, squeezing you in a loving embrace. When you look up at him, you find that he’s already peering down at you. There’s a small grin on his lips, the flush on his face beginning to fade. You push your body in closer to him, indulging in the skin to skin contact. 

“Suguru” Satoru whines. 

“I’m coming I’m coming.” Suguru says, standing up to turn off the light. 

He glides into the bed on your other side, resting a hand on your body.

It feels so safe being between the two bodies, you forget how you ever felt safe only falling asleep next to one.

Tag List: @tojislittleprincesss, @dinolvrrr, @kimi01985, @mikisspeak, @spookysoowpprince, @reosnagi, @faerie-soirxx, @platrom, @oownowonwoo, @megumisdivinedogs, @sakui1, @maskedpacific, @riri-twix, @nanasukii28, @sugu-love, @bunviixo, @zeyzeys-stuff, @sad-darksoul, @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni, @gothiccwhore666, @reiluvr

If you want to be added to the taglist please let me know. Just specify if you want to be tagged in this fic or all my future works

[spnwin-reader]

I love 1x12 Everybody Loves a Clown almost as much as 1x06 The Art of Dying.

DISAGREEMENTS & "OH NO! YOU ARE NOT JUST LIKE ME"

John and Mary are actively, gloriously disagreeing.

Mary has a lot of good points, but don’t be fooled—John’s points are just as on the money here. (And as an aside// Mary’s pushing him relentlessly, much like Sam would, refusing to back down or give an inch where her own discomforts are involved. She's losing herself in hunting just as much as John is, delaying decision-making on purpose.

John’s way of dealing isn’t exactly like hers, and she’s a bit of a control freak, so she's being forced to confront a tough truth in Real Relationships: You are not just like me.

//

WHO'S IN A BETTER HEADSPACE, TRULY?

Despite Mary’s anxiety over how John is reacting to trauma, and with Carlos gently reminding her that "everyone processes trauma differently," it’s John who’s actually in a healthier headspace than she is!

Truth is... They're both losing themselves in hunting, and they're both angry. (But Mary trusts her own violence more than John's, of course.) She falls prey to limbo quite easily, in part because, as a leader, she has intense decision-making fatigue. It's nice not to make decisions... even for a little while.

But John's instinct is to cover his eyes, feeling his way around for Mary, because he wants to LEAVE Limbo.

JOHN: We have to get out of here. We'll break our way outta this maze if we have to. [...] Mary, there's a world out there we have to save. MARY: All you have to do is look in the mirror behind me.

This is the lure of the rearview mirror. And John says no. (He's been slowly making peace with Henry’s abandonment; this was the thing he struggled to process.) While John often runs too fast toward the future to escape the past, Mary is caught in a strange limbo—deeply entrenched in the past while pretending to look ahead. She digs her heels into what was, not processing her disappointment and fear, imagining a simple, uncomplicated future instead.

He has to get tricked into staying there.

LIMBO: A bit of misdirection. I'm sorry to have to trick you, John. But I guess the joke's on you. Now, put a smile on that face.

He even CRIES when he realizes he's been trapped!

//

FROM LIMERANCE TO GROWNUP RELATIONSHIP

Fundamentally, though, their disagreements represent that crucial point where their connection shifts from the initial spark of limerence—where everything is intense but ultimately surface-level—into something more real. It's a much deeper stage of love.

They're at that crossroads where they have to decide if they’re willing to face uncomfortable truths about each other and see one another as individuals, not just as reflections of their own immature needs—or as all-or-nothing figments of apple pie and white picket fences.

This is Dean's cosmic wisdom about romance and relationships. And it's wisdom that he wants to share with them.

(SEE 1x13 SPNprime: "Well, usually things get worked out. When you really want them to. / No more excuses, okay?")

Dean wants them to see each other and understand: They’re people who can and will let each other down. After all, Mary’s all-or-nothing, black-and-white perfectionism is something Dean knows all too well.

MARY: We can be together where there aren’t any problems, and we never have to fight again.

Limbo is the immature illusion of the nursery, the always-and-never. Limbo himself is a clown dressed in black and white, and Mary and John, in their own ways, are clowns trapped in that same black-and-white world. (Interestingly, in the next episode, they'll be wrapped in color.)

//

TOWARDS THE FUTURE

Staying together means they're going to disagree with and frustrate one another. This is the moment their relationship stops being about idealized versions of each other and begins navigating toward the future, armed with the knowledge of the complexities of who they really are—flaws, differences, and all.

It's working through those conflicts that builds something real. When they start disagreeing, it shows that they’re no longer in the honeymoon phase and are either choosing to grow together or face the fact that they might not be compatible in the long term. The "Adios."

I just LOVE when characters have to decide whether to embrace the messiness of a real, grown-up relationship—one that integrates with and balances the complexities of the real world, their families, and their obligations/responsibilities—or if it’s easier to settle for a goodbye that ultimately doesn’t challenge them, because it's something they don’t truly need.

MARY (honestly, painfully about Limbo): Actually, it was kinda nice.

It's no wonder that everyone looks at her with just a bit of fear, because this is the specter of a troubled psyche, that pseudo-suicidal thinking and the nihilism of checking out of life.

(Interesting, though, that Carlos looks more aligned with Mary, almost like he kind of "gets it.")

While Lata and John struggle with "anger mode," Carlos and Mary tend to more often be in "running mode."

//

In the end, John and Mary talk and tacitly choose to face it: all the anger, escapism, and hypocrisy while acknowledging the pains that Limbo woke up in each of them.

John is very open here, and he takes the first step in apologizing WITHOUT pressing on the wound of Mary's hypocrisy.

JOHN (understandingly): So do you really mean that? MARY: Didn't it feel good to you, not having to worry about our problems for a second, not having to worry about us? JOHN (gently): Maybe. But it also made me realize that you were right. I have been ignoring things because it's easier than facing the truth. I'm sorry for that. I am also sorry for being so angry with you. MARY (realizing): I guess I got kind of angry myself... you calling me a hypocrite and all. (scoffing, then laughing) But you were right, too. Thinking about the future is scary. JOHN: So we good? MARY: ...

It's scary to care about each other!

But also, Mary is realizing. She may not know what she wants, but it's NOT college. She won't tell John that because she still needs time to figure it all out.

It makes me think of Dean's words in 15x08, where he's talking about Michael but also... himself:

DEAN: I mean, he's been in lockdown for quite a while, you know? Maybe you just, uh, went too fast.

Because of how she was raised, Mary's been in emotional "lockdown" for a long time, too.

[akai-akai]

tf141 pro hockey players au 👹👹👹

Team Captain/Center Price, Goalie Garrick, Defensemen Riley and MacTavish (deadly duo for defense) and I'll leave the two wingmen up to your imagination.

small, rushed drabble below bc I just want my ideas in word form and out of my head

I drool over the idea of goalie Garrick getting shoved by an opponent after blocking the puck during the first period and suddenly the guy who did it gets absolutely fucking launched into the plexiglass puck barriers by Riley, knocked clean off his feet before he's dragged back up by the front of his jersey. MacTavish is close behind, gloves and helmet already yanked off, stick left abandoned on the ice as his fist connects with the guy's helmet, knocking it off his head while Price skates up to Garrick and checks on him before skating over to them, trying to stop the fight like a responsible team captain.

But then one of their opponents tackles MacTavish to the ice as Riley shoves someone else, and a third comes up behind Price and slams into him, and it's fucking ON.

Referees are almost scared to get close to the fight as more of the opponents join in, which causes more of the 141 team to join, and now there's a full on brawl as both teams benched players are jumping the barrier and now the entire rink is filled with pissed off men beating the hell out of each other. The crowd is going absolutely fucking nuts, more referees are coming out onto the ice, the announcers are having the time of their lives commentating, people at home watching are on their feet shouting, cheering their teams on.

After everything calms down minutes later, MacTavish, Riley, and two of the opponent players get the worst of the penalties, ejected from the game and forced to the locker rooms while the game resumes and heads into the second period.

MacTavish has definitely got a broken nose, Riley's eye is swollen, lip split, and they've both got bloodied knuckles. (Doesn't stop them from making out in the locker room before their coach walks in.)

They're officially benched, but both Riley and MacTavish spend the rest of the game yelling, fists banging on the barrier as they root for their team. The goal horn sounds with 17 seconds left in the 3rd period and the teams are tied. MacTavish is yelling himself hoarse, Simon has his arms crossed, mentally going over exactly what needs to happen, what plays need to be made for 141 to win.

Then Price signals to the coach for timeout, and it's called, and the team is skating over.

"I want Garrick on offense!" Price shouts over the roaring crowd and the music on the loud speakers. "Open goal!"

Riley's shouting an agreement from the bench, and then it's decided. Open goal. 6 on 5. Play dangerously.

And it works. The puck drops and the clock starts. Price's stick clashes with the other guy's then he's shooting off to the side with his stick cradling the puck. The other team gets overwhelmed almost immediately with Garrick added in, scrambling as they pass the puck back and forth at lightning speeds.

15 seconds, Price passes to their left wingman, their substitute left defensemen cuts off the opponent wingman.

10 seconds, left wingman passes to right wingman, Garrick gets into position ahead, in the opponent endzone.

8 seconds, Price is in position, skating towards the goal, Kyle in front of him. The opponents are skating with them, struggling to cut them off when 141's right wingman makes the pass.

6 seconds, the man skating next to Price snags the puck briefly, but he fumbles and Price nearly trips him as he snatches the puck back and digs his blades into the ice, speeding off.

5 seconds, Price shoots it right for Garrick, in between two opponents rushing him, Garrick receives the pass perfectly and rushes the goal, eyes locking onto the opposing goalie.

4 seconds, Garrick feints left and banks sharply to the right instead, throwing the goalie off as he whips around the right side of the goal and aims.

3 seconds, Price is shouting "Go! Go! Go!", Riley is on his feet, hands on top of his head as he watches with baited breath, MacTavish is pounding on the barrier, screaming "Get it in there Kyle!"

2 seconds, Garrick makes a fake move and the goalie dives, shin guard and glove reaching for where the puck should be.

1 second, Garrick's stick scrapes against the ice as he shoots the puck right underneath the goalie's left knee, where it's lifted off the ice slightly in his contorted position, slamming into the net with enough force to yank the mesh back and shoot the puck back out of it.

0 seconds, the goal horn blares.

Riley and MacTavish throw their arms up in the air, both yelling and MacTavish jumping up and down on his skates.

Riley and MacTavish bust out of the players bench, skating over and colliding with Garrick, Price close behind, and they fall to the ice in a heap of sweaty men and manic yelling as the rest of the team piles on top.

Garrick hands a kid his hockey stick and gives the crowd a dazzling smile. He's a team favorite for a reason.

Later, after the post-game interviews and the coach's talk with them, the boys are throwing back beers in the locker room as they shower and change, chattering boisterously. Garrick is the center of attention, claps on the shoulder and arms thrown around him. The goalie who made the winning play.

___________________________________________________________________

special interests and hyperfixations are colliding. Hockey and TF141. I need to take my meds before I spaz out over this.

maybe I should draw out the boys helmet designs. Simon with a skull on the side, maybe a German shepherd sticker (For Riley <3), Johnny with dynamite and fire motif stickers, Kyle with a British flag and a shield sticker for his impeccable defensive plays as goalie, John with a sick 141 sticker in a cool font. Not sure what else for him tbh, gotta think some more.

[fairytales-and-folklore]

She Has A Type (And It's Bad But Sad Boys)

The Owl House » Huntlow

Title: She Has A Type (And It's Bad But Sad Boys)

Author: fairytalesandfolklore

Fandom: The Owl House (Masterlist)

Relationship: Hunter | The Golden Guard x Willow Park

AO3 Rating: Teen & Up (a complete collection of author's notes, inspiration credits, content warnings and tags can be found on AO3)

Summary: Whenever he's with Willow, he feels like a normal teenage boy. Not Caleb. Not the Golden Guard. Not the Emperor's right hand man. Just Hunter, normal teenage boy, doing normal teenage things, like having a scroll and joining a sports team and sneaking out late at night to go see a pretty girl. He's just Hunter, and for the first time in his life, that feels like enough.

"So Willow, what is your type?" Luz asks, waggling her eyebrows suggestively. Willow hums, thinking it over. "Cute. Funny. Clever. Likes to read," she says, ticking each quality off on her fingers. Hunter glances up from his book and locks eyes with her, waiting on baited breath. Willow's smile takes on a fiery determination as she looks directly at him and says, "What was that phrase you used that one time, Luz? Bad but sad boy? Also, face scars are kinda hot." There's a loud crash from the opposite end of the table, the contents of Hunter's food tray scattered across the cafeteria floor in one unfortunate slip of his elbow. But Hunter doesn't seem to care. He's far too busy staring at Willow, bits of spaghetti hanging from the curls and cowlicks of his fluffy blond hair, face redder than a bard sigil, eyes wide and hopeful.

Read On AO3 | Read On Tumblr:

It starts with a game of flyer derby.

Hunter is on the lookout for new recruits, a self-assigned task (no matter what he might insist otherwise — for Titan's sake, the last thing Darius wants to do on his one day off is babysit a bunch of teenagers) to prove his worth and earn the right to wear the sigil of the Golden Guard.

After striking out a half dozen times with his "fellow classmates" (in a shocking turn of events, Hunter discovers that teens are not, in fact, into the same things as him, like authority and rules — huh, weird) Hunter comes across a poster advertising for the enlistment of the best and the brightest, and knows he's found his ticket.

So, after sneaking into Hexside and digging around in the lost and found until he's secured a suitable disguise, Hunter heads out onto the field to try out for the flyer derby team. He has a fully-formed, foolproof plan that immediately goes to shit the moment he sees a pretty girl dressed in green.

Willow's just selected the second-to-last member of her team when she sees him walking toward her across the field, a confident swagger to his stride. He must be new, because Willow definitely would have remembered seeing him around school before. Her eyes do a full sweep as he approaches her, sizing him up. He's tall — cute — blond — cute — dressed in gold, so he's clearly in the potions track — and he's really cute, Willow's useless one-track mind supplies.

Willow shakes off the thought, reminding herself to focus. She's here to build a team, not flirt with the new guy. (Even though this is exactly how her dads met…and then started dating…and then got married…and then had her. Shut up, stupid brain.)

"Hey there! I'm Willow Park, future captain of Hexside's first flyer derby team," she announces with a bright, self-assured smile, reaching out to grasp both of his hands in a friendly shake.

His hands are big, nearly twice the size of hers, clad in a pair of worn leather gloves that extend a little past his wrists. Strange, most students don't normally wear gloves — maybe he's a little sensitive to some of the potions ingredients he has to work with? Willow makes a mental note to ask if he's allergic to any plants — after all, if they're going to be seeing each other regularly, she doesn't want to risk setting him off.

Whoah there, let's not be hasty, Willow has to remind herself. You haven't even seen him fly yet.

"I don't think I've seen you around here before," she says, aiming for casual curiosity. "You're a new student, right? What's your name?" she asks, and suddenly, Hunter has no idea.

"Uh…" he falters, glancing around wildly for help, which arrives in the form of his little cardinal palisman, who lands on his shoulder and whispers a name Hunter swears he's heard somewhere before.

"Caleb?" he asks softly, and receives a gentle tug on his forelock for his troubles, followed by a chiding chirrup reminding him of where he is and what he's supposed to be doing. Oh, right. Hunter shakes his head, filing the question away for future perusal.

He glances back to find Willow looking up at him expectantly, sunlight glinting off her gold-framed glasses, making her eyes sparkle like emeralds, and blurts out the first thing that comes to mind.

"I'm Caleb!" he exclaims — because, well, he's already said it aloud, so he might as well commit.

"Caleb, uh…Jasper…Bloodwilliams," he bullshits, eyes scanning his surroundings in the hope that it'll help him come up with a believable backstory.

"I just transferred from, uh…" Hunter's eyes land on one of his potential future teammates — a healing track student affectionately scratching the belly of an enormous griffin, sprawled out on the grass meticulously bathing its back paws.

"…The Toes?" he finishes lamely, wincing in anticipation of the pretty girl with the gorgeous green eyes calling him out on his obvious lie.

But Willow just keeps on grinning at him with that smile made of sunshine, pointer finger absentmindedly curling around a lock of hair that's come loose from one of her braids. It's an exceptionally lovely shade of black, almost blue in the sunlight, giving it the effect of a starless night sky. Hunter's fingers twitch with the strangest urge to reach out and tuck it back behind her ear.

"Cool," she says with a casual little shrug of her shoulders, accepting him and his dumb little fabricated backstory just like that, and Hunter breathes a sigh of relief.

"So, first thing's first: can you fly?" she asks, crossing her arms over her chest and surveying him with an appraising look that, for some unfathomable reason, makes Hunter want to puff out his chest and make himself look as tall and broad as possible. On cue, Flapjack transforms into a staff, which Hunter attempts to twirl in a confident and flashy manner, only to end up smacking himself in the head with it.

"Oh yeah, I fly pretty girl," he says, cocky smirk slipping off his face the moment that one brain cell that isn't honed in on impressing the Captain catches his slip of the tongue, eyes wide with horror as he splutters over his course-correction. "Pr— pretty good! Pretty good. Good. Fly good. Pretty good. I fly pretty good. That's what I meant to— yeah."

Willow bites her lower lip to suppress a bout of flustered giggles, hoping she can pass off the sudden warmth in her cheeks as sunburn. Well, at least her dumb little crush is mutual.

"Okay then," she says, saving him from making an even bigger fool of himself (however charming that might be.) "Let's see you in action."

At her command, Clover transforms into a staff, and Willow takes to the sky. It takes Hunter a few seconds to register the fact that she's just asked him to do something, still reeling from the utter embarrassment of his verbal vomit, but then he's slipping into combat mode, a smile curling across his face as he mounts his staff and follows after her.

The Captain is fierce, clever, and graceful as she tears through the sky, leading him on a wild chase across the school grounds, the two of them weaving seamlessly between goal posts and turrets alike. 

Hunter has always prided himself on his efficiency, on his special ability to bolt through the air like a flash of lightning with a simple swish of his staff, but Willow is the first person he's ever met who could truly give him a run for his money. Every time he thinks he's got her moves all figured out, she surprises him, dodging him at the very last second and speeding several paces ahead.

It's a rush like nothing he's ever felt before, being up in the air like this, no heavy cloaks or fitted masks to weigh him down, wind whipping through his hair, kissing rosy chill-bitten cheeks aching from the effort of smiling so hard.

After a particularly skillful dodge, Hunter has to take a moment to catch his breath, slipping off one of his gloves to card his fingers through his sweat-slick hair, and watches as Willow whips back around, triumphant smile melting into something softer, lips pulling into a surprised little oh that sends a spark of adrenaline right through Hunter's heart. 

He seizes his chance while she's distracted, shifting through the sky in a burst of bright gold as he reappears right behind her, snatching the little green flag from the back of her staff.

"That was amazing!" she exclaims, breathless and smiling as the two of them touch back down onto the ground. 

"Welcome to the team, Caleb," she says, holding out a hand for him to shake, and ignoring the rush of heat that surges through her when he takes it in his ungloved hand.

Hunter smiles back at her, marveling at how soft and small her hand feels against his bare skin, and suddenly, all of his reasons for wanting her to join the Emperor's Coven are very selfish. Maybe, once she's gone through basic training, they'll be able to see each other on a regular basis.

"Glad to be here, Captain," he replies, feeling lighter than he has in weeks.

• • •

Hunter stares down at his brand new scroll, screen lit up with the missive hello_willow is typing, heart jackhammering to the beat of those three little jumping dots as he awaits her response to half a novel's worth of an apology, written in all caps and a couple of misplaced punctuation marks, because, as it turns out, Hunter is absolute dragon shit at typing.

He fucked up very badly today, and he knows he fucked up very badly, because this is hands down the worst he's ever felt. Which is truly a remarkable feat, considering Eclipse Lake wasn't the first time he'd contemplated digging his own grave. Hell, he'd chuck himself straight into the Boiling Sea if he thought it would do him any good, but for some reason, heat doesn't seem to affect him. (Unless he's in the presence of a certain flyer derby captain.)

So yeah, suffice it to say, Hunter is not feeling good about tricking the Captain and their fellow teammates into coven recruitment. Every time he closes his eyes, he's haunted by the way she'd looked in that holding cell — this strong, fierce, powerful witch crumbling under the weight of her own insecurities, admonishing herself with the same moniker Hunter has always used to shame himself, the words I'm just half-a-witch Willow playing like a nightmare loop inside his head. The way she'd stood there, glaring at him in defiance, tears pooling in the corners of her eyes as he'd begged her to get herself and her fellow teammates to safety.

He only hopes that his willingness to jump in front of them, to shield them from the wrath of a powerful coven head, had been enough to prove his contrition. And maybe, just maybe, it had, because—

After all, it'll be fifty-two weeks before Caleb's next day off.

That had to mean something, right?

Maybe if he reached out to her, made a formal apology, showed her that he regrets his actions and wants to make amends, she'd be willing to give him another chance. After all, she'd been willing to forgive him when he'd opened his big stupid mouth and made a snap judgment, calling the others pathetic before he'd even seen them in action. Maybe he could get lucky twice in one day.

Ugh. He really was two for two, and he hadn't even known her a full twenty-four hours. Hunter wonders just how far her patience extends, whether she'd be kind enough to bestow it on some idiot boy with zero social skills twice in the span of a single afternoon. 

At the very least, he has to try. And so, within minutes of making his new Penstagram account (with the help of an exceedingly exasperated Darius) he'd searched for the Captain's profile, sucked a nervous breath through the gap in his two front teeth, and messaged her. He'd spent a good fifteen minutes typing out his initial (overly formal) greeting, and the next thirty composing a long-winded speech apologizing for everything he put her through today. Now, all that was left to do was wait. 

After what feels like an eternity of watching those three little anxiety-inducing dots appear and disappear several times, Willow's words finally appear on screen.

hello_willow: Thanks, Hunter. I appreciate you trying to make amends. Lucky for you, I've got some experience giving people second chances.

And oh, Hunter knows exactly how lucky he is. He breathes a massive sigh of relief, fist punching the air in victory before rushing to type out his reply. 

rulerzreachf4n: THANK.YOU.CAPTAIN hello_willow: sure hello_willow: and just so you know, you don't have to call me 'captain' all the time hello_willow: you can just call me Willow

Hunter keyboard smashes his response, so excited to be on a first-name basis (his real name this time) that he doesn't realize he's accidentally typed out a code that changes into a picture of a little red heart until he's already hit send. Luckily, Willow doesn't seem too put off by it.

rulerzreachf4n: OK rulerzreachf4n: HI.; WILLOW <3 hello_willow: Hi Hunter :)

After that, it's almost too easy to slip into comfortable conversation, Hunter asking how she got into flyer derby, Willow launching into a story about the time she got talked into playing a game of grudgby against the school bully (Hunter grips his scroll a little tighter upon hearing that this Boscha girl had evidently dumped a whole can of garbage on Willow's head, and wonders idly whether it would be possible to have her arrested) using lots of strange shorthand that Hunter doesn't understand, but that Willow doesn't seem to mind explaining to him, unwaveringly patient and kind, never once making fun of him for his glaring lack of social skills.

Which is more than he can say for his pesky little palisman, who notices the way he's been beaming down at his scroll for the past two hours straight, and lands with a teasing little chirrup on top of Hunter's head.

"Hush, you," he quips, but there's no heat behind it (as all the heat in Hunter's body appears to have made a beeline for his face.)

She's just walked him through how to save their team photo to his camera roll and set it as his wallpaper, when Hunter notices a little crystal ball icon in the top right corner of their message thread. He's not quite sure what it does, and so, curiosity getting the better of him, he presses it, shock like a bucket of ice water shivering through him as Willow's voice sounds from the other end of the line a few seconds later.

"Hunter?" she says, sounding confused, but not displeased.

"Captain!" Hunter practically shouts, tripping over himself in an effort to sit up straight and smooth out his hair. Makeshift nest effectively ruined, Flapjack swoops into the air, landing on one of the splintered perches of Hunter's four-poster bed, twittering in that same teasing trill he'd adopted before, earning him a wide-eyed glare from his flustered little witchling.

"Can, um…can you see me right now?" Hunter asks, turning back toward his scroll with a look of apprehension.

"No, just your voice," Willow says, and Hunter deflates with relief. "I think you accidentally called me?"

"Oh," he says, embarrassment returning tenfold. "I'm sorry. I'm still figuring out how a scroll works."

"That's okay," she says, sounding like she genuinely means it. There's a mulled silence for a brief moment, and then, "I mean…do you need to go, or…we could talk if you want?"

"Yes!" Hunter exclaims excitedly, and then immediately reels himself back in, smoothing a hand over his hair even though she can't see how stupid he thinks he must look. 

"I mean, yeah, I'd be cool with that," he amends in a voice that's about two octaves lower than his usual register. (And if birds could chuckle, then that's exactly what Flapjack would be doing right now.)

Hunter huffs out a splutter of indignation in the direction of the shameless little cardinal, two seconds away from threatening a shortage of goreberries, when a soft little giggle sounds from the opposite end of the line, and all at once, Hunter's brain short-circuits, heart skyrocketing into his throat. Oh Titan I made her laugh, he muses, and immediately sets to work trying to do it again.

They end up on the call well past midnight, Willow telling him all about how she switched from abominations to plant magic and has never been happier, Hunter delving into some of the elemental magic he's been studying in secret in his spare time.

"Luz's use of glyphs is actually very similar to the type of wild magic practiced in the savage ages," he prattles on excitedly. "Not many people know this, but—"

Hunter stops short, the words dying in his throat as he glances at the clock on his bedside table and realizes he's been talking nonstop for the past twenty minutes.

"Hunter?" Willow's voice crackles from the other end of the line, sounding concerned.

"Sorry, it's just…this is usually the point where whoever was pretending to listen interrupts to tell me that they don't care, or that it's stupid, or that it's forbidden." Hunter swallows against the anxiety building in his stomach, wondering which category Willow will fall into.

"Well, I'm listening," she says with genuine conviction, surprising him. "This is fascinating. I want to hear what you have to say."

"Oh," Hunter says softly, and just like that, something that's been tightly-coiled inside his chest for years starts to unravel. "You don't think my voice is…annoying?"

"No," Willow says with a scoff, like she's offended he would even suggest that. "I like your voice. Please keep talking, Hunter."

"Oh. Um. Okay," he says, the words trembling in his throat. This is…new. He's never experienced this feeling before. It's like…he wants to cry, but in a way that feels good? Huh. Weird.

"Okay," he says with a little more conviction, swallowing against the sudden tightness in his throat as he attempts to regain composure. "So, the glyphs could be seen as patterns in the elements of the land itself, sparking to life in bursts of light, glistening in sheets of ice, in flares of fire, in the veins of plants…"

He talks about wild magic for over an hour, and Willow lets him, never once making him feel like he's boring or bothering her, even though she must know at least some of this already. After all, she's one of Luz's closest friends, and from what he's seen, Luz is pretty much the only person he's ever met who could give his loquaciousness a run for its money.

But Willow listens, and asks questions, and makes witty, insightful commentary that has Hunter gasping in epiphany and laughing until his stomach hurts. And it's nice. Because no one has ever really made him feel heard before. No one else has ever been genuinely interested in the things he has to say, or the things he likes to study. And it's just…really, really nice.

Closing in on the end of the call, just minutes before they ring off and say goodnight, Hunter finally works up the nerve to ask her the one question that's been burning in the back of his mind since that moment in the holding cells. He hopes he isn't pushing too far, but at the moment, curiosity outweighs propriety, and he has to know.

"Hey, Willow?" he prompts during one of the rare lulls in conversation, soothed by the sounds of her sleepy sighs whispered in his ear. "What did you mean earlier, when you called yourself half-a-witch?"

There's a thoughtful hum on the other end of the line, and then Willow replies, "I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours."

Hunter smiles, and for the first time in his life, he feels a little more whole.

• • •

He's sitting in his bedroom a little over a week later, head thrown back against his patched and tattered pillows, idly scrolling through his Penstagram feed, when a banner pops up on the screen, notifying him that hello_willow has just sent him a new message. Hunter bolts upright so fast he nearly gives himself a head rush, a little jolt of electricity sparking through his chest. They've been texting back and forth nearly every day for over a week now, yet somehow, the sight of her name flashing across his screen makes him giddy every time. 

With shaking hands, Hunter opens up the chat, a broad smile spreading across his face as he stares down at a photo of her little bee palisman fast asleep on her derby uniform, along with the missive so cute! Hunter glances up in time to see his palisman curled up on his cloak, softly dozing in the sunlight streaming through his open window. How perfect! Careful not to wake him, Hunter scoots toward the end of the bed, fumbles with the controls to bring up his camera like Darius instructed him, and quickly snaps a photo to send back to her.

But of course, right as he's in the middle of capturing the perfect shot, he gets a string of annoying banner notifications from an account called badgirlcoven that pop up in such quick succession they end up covering the entire screen—

badgirlcoven: Are you good now?? badgirlcoven: Is Belos evil?? You can tell me! badgirlcoven: Also hi! badgirlcoven: It's Luz!

—followed by a collection of little symbols Hunter can't make heads or tails of. What does tiny smiling demon head, lightning strike, two flowers, and a rainbow mean? Must be some weird human code.

Frustrated, Hunter attempts to swipe them out of the way, but accidentally ends up accepting her friend request and opening the conversation thread instead.

LEAVE.ME ALONE he rattles off in a quick reply, navigating back to his camera roll and selecting the one photo he'd managed to take before she'd started blowing up his scroll. Luckily, it's not blurry, and the lighting is actually pretty decent. Which is more than he can say about his profile photo, the likes of which had taken him a good twenty minutes to get the perfect pose and angle just right, following Gus's instructions to the letter.

Satisfied with his progress, Hunter hits send, watches in abject horror as it pops up in his conversation thread with Luz instead of Willow, and quickly types back sORry.wrong.person,., before closing out his scroll with a loud pop.

Hunter sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face as he flops back down onto his bed, burying his face in his pillow and letting out a little huff of exasperation. A few seconds later, he resurfaces with a sigh, flipping back over to his chat with Willow, his entire demeanor shifting from tense and irritated to light and giddy as he smiles down at her photo, adding his own to the chat, with the accompanying message: he Likes. to sleep in MY.Cloak.

Within seconds, those three little bouncing dots appear, along with a string of messages from Willow cooing over how adorable Flapjack looks. He thinks, rather dejectedly, that that'll probably be the end of it, but then those three little dots appear again, and suddenly she's telling him all about some elaborate flyer derby strat that Skara came up with the other day at practice.

rulerzreachf4n: sounds.SO.cool rulerzreachf4n: WISH. I could.; see iT in aCTion hello_willow: I wish you could too hello_willow: btw, we still haven't found a replacement hello_willow: at least, no one that's come close to matching your sick sky skills ;)

Hunter knows what that means now — it's one of the many things she's had to explain to him over the past few days — it means she thinks he's talented. Hunter feels his face prickle with heat at the compliment. He starts typing out a response before he can think better of it, his one track mind hatching a wild plan.

rulerzreachf4n: mAYbe. yOU wont; HAve to rulerzreachf4n: whAt.; iF I snuCK,. oUt of tHe caStLe to; cOme to.,prACTice soMEtimeS? hello_willow: are you sure?? hello_willow: won't you get into trouble??

Probably, he muses. But Belos hardly ever pays attention to him half the time, and if he says he's going out on missions to patrol for lawbreakers or to round up recruits, then Belos will be none the wiser.

Besides, it's kind of exciting, breaking the rules.

Whoah. Who is he?

rulerzreachf4n: iLL;FIGURE.iT OUT hello_willow: really?? hello_willow: that would be amazing!! hello_willow: okay, I'll make sure to keep you updated as far in advance as I can about each practice session

She sends a little beaming smile emoji along with her message, and Hunter can't help but mirror the toothy little pictograph as he writes back his response.

THANK;YOU.CAPTAIN, he writes back, selecting a little green and gold heart emoji that reminds him of her to go with it. After all, it's all thanks to her he even knows how.

hello_willow: any time! hello_willow: btw, heart emojis are typically reserved for expressing love and affection, either for close friends or family hello_willow: …or romantically

OK tHanKs, he sends back, along with 17 little brightly colored hearts.

• • •

It's been a few weeks now, and Hunter is really starting to get the hang of this whole having a scroll and being a normal teen thing. He's even learning to type better!  (At the very least, Gus has finally stopped teasing him for typing slower than his dad.)

He's lying back against his pillows, scrolling through all the photos he's recently saved to his camera roll — most of them are of Flapjack, some of them are of Clover (with the occasional appearance of Willow half in frame — he saves every photo she sends him.) 

Some are "aesthetic" (read: blurry) shots of the books lining his shelves, some are of pretty flowers and plants he's seen in his travels and took for the sole purpose of sending to Willow (along with novel-length descriptions of what each of their properties are used for in potions and healing, eager to impress her with his newly acquired plant magic knowledge) and some are team photos taken during practice sessions.

But there's one in particular that catches his eye — a photo of him, likely taken by Gus, doing a cool little flip in mid-air. It's one of the first times he can genuinely say he likes the way he looks. So, with a rush of uncharacteristic confidence, he decides to post it to Penstagram.

A few minutes later, he gets a notification telling him that someone has commented on his photo. His heart leaps when he sees it's from hello_willow and then immediately plummets when he sees she's written <3

Hunter is confused. Why has the Captain given him a rating of less than three? And what exactly is she evaluating? His performance on the team? His performance as a friend? His looks? (For some reason, it's that last one that stings the most, seeing as he actually kind of really liked the way he looked in that photo.) After a good ten minutes of sulking, Hunter finally works up the nerve to ask her.

rulerzreachf4n: Captain 

He lets it sit there for a few seconds, trying to figure out the best way to phrase his inquiry.

rulerzreachf4n: did I do something wrong?

Her reply comes instantly.

hello_willow: no?? why would you think that??

Hunter takes a deep breath, steels his nerves, and rips off the bandaid.

rulerzreachf4n: you gave my photo a score of less than 3 rulerzreachf4n: is it my performance? did I do the maneuver wrong? rulerzreachf4n: I'm sorry to have disappointed you, Captain

After a few agonizing seconds, three little dots appear in the chat box, indicating that she's typing. They disappear and reappear so many times, Hunter starts to worry that his heart is going to implode from the anticipation. And then he gets three new messages right in a row.

hello_willow: Hunter  hello_willow: <3 is just another way to write out a heart  hello_willow: it's just the text version of the heart emoji 

Hunter re-reads her messages about a dozen times to make sure he's got that right, emotions running wild, clouding his ability to process them all at once — shame replaced by relief replaced by a dizzying kind of euphoria over the fact that Willow posted a heart on his photo.

rulerzreachf4n: oh  rulerzreachf4n: well then I less than three you too, Captain

Hunter exhales on a shaky sigh of relief, head hitting the pillow as he clutches his scroll to his chest and lets the giddy smile spill across his face in earnest, ignoring Flapjack's teasing twitters — while on the other end of the line, Clover hovers above her little witchlet's head, smirking as Willow buries her blushing face in a pillow to keep from giggling too loudly.

• • •

Hunter is strolling through the lower levels of the castle when he feels his scroll vibrate in his pocket. Making sure he's alone and won't be caught slacking off by that sneak Kikimora, he slips into the nearest storage closet, and fumbles to open it.

He'd been hoping for a reply from hello_willow to his latest inquiry: when is your birthday and what is your favorite type of flower — unrelated, and is surprised to find an event notification waiting for him in the Emerald Entrails group chat — an invitation for a big group sleepover at Willow's house this coming Saturday night.

Oh. Wow. Okay.

He accepts before the dutiful side of his brain can talk him out of it, too excited to think of a plausible reason he couldn't go, at least for a little bit. He can't stay the whole night, of course, but he can at least stop by. He hopes Darius won't mind covering for him again, like he's been doing nearly every time Willow schedules a practice session.

It's funny. Darius acts like he's annoyed by it, like he couldn't care less what Hunter and his little friends have been getting up to, but every time Hunter comes by Darius's office, there's an unmistakable smile that curls across the older man's face, an air of pride whenever Hunter announces that he's been invited to hang out at the Treasure Shack, or the local diner downtown to split a celebratory ice scream sundae with his fellow teammates after winning the championship against St. Epiderm.

This time, when Hunter informs him that he's been invited to spend the night at the Captain's place of residence, and that he would very much like to go, Darius's eyebrows shoot up in intrigue, and there's something a little too knowing in the smile he gives Hunter when he shoos him out the door, telling him to have a good time and use protection.

Hunter isn't sure what that means. Are sleepovers normally dangerous?

A little nervous, and much later than he would have liked, Hunter arrives on Willow's front doorstep the following weekend. He knows he's got the right address the moment he sees it — a quaint, cozy little cottage the color of eggshells and buttercream, with curtains of floral-kissed ivy sprawling across the sides, and soft golden lights glowing like a summer sunrise through a set of big bay windows on the bottom floor.

"Hunter! I'm so glad you could make it!" Willow exclaims, answering the door before he even has the chance to knock, and pulling him into a bright, warm atmosphere filled with cozy camper beds and sweet-smelling aromas.

"Hunter!" his fellow teammates cheer as he steps into the living room, all three of them huddled around a big, plushy couch the size of two of his beds, debating amongst themselves which movie they should put on next. There's candy and chips overflowing in Titan-sized punch bowls scattered across every available surface, a couple of pizza boxes stacked on a nearby coffee table bearing a heavenly-smelling assortment of toppings he's never had the chance to try before.

Willow lets go of his arm long enough to offer him a selection of drinks he's never even heard of, and, not wanting to appear ignorant, he bashfully accepts a bright red bubbly one that tastes quite delightfully like ginger and cherries, mumbling several polite "thank you, captain"s before taking a seat on the couch opposite Gus. 

Willow ends up being the deciding vote on which movie they should watch next, plucking the remote from Gus's unwilling hands with a triumphant grin as she hits play, claiming that this is one of her all-time favorites. Viney opts to sit on the floor next to Puddles, while Skara takes the middle seat in between Gus and Hunter on the couch, Willow perched at her feet, leaning back so that Skara can resume braiding her hair.

The movie starts up with a lively musical sequence, and although the plot is definitely intriguing, Hunter can't help but focus all of his attention on Willow, watching as her whole face lights up with nostalgic happiness, the way she laughs and gasps and mouths along with all the well-versed lines, eyes lit up in hues of green and gold as the screen reflects off the surface of her glasses.

Halfway through the movie, Hunter's scroll vibrates, and for a moment, he worries that it's Darius, calling him back to the castle. He discreetly slips it out of his back pocket, and is surprised to find two texts from Gus waiting for him in their message thread on Penstagram.

illusion_master: okay, real talk illusion_master: do you like willow?

Hunter stares down at the chat in confusion. What an odd question. Do friends normally check in for reassurance? If so, he suddenly doesn't feel so bad about all of his impulses to do the same.

rulerzreachf4n: What?? Of course I do. rulerzreachf4n: I like all of you.

A beat. A soft, long-suffering sigh. And then—

illusion_master: no, I mean illusion_master: do you have a crush on her?

Hunter's eyes widen in alarm. He'd have thought they were well past this by now. He's never given any indication that he would crush someone, especially Willow. He's apologized profusely for the whole recruitment incident, but even then, Skara was the only one who'd done any kind of physical damage. (Poor Steve.)

rulerzreachf4n: WHAT? Of course not! I would never harm the Captain!

The very thought of it makes him violently ill. He feels a strange, sudden impulse to leap down onto the floor and shield her with his entire body, like he's afraid the roof is going to cave in. But when he glances over at Gus with wide, horrified eyes, he sees that Gus is quietly chuckling to himself as he types away on his scroll. A few seconds later, a new message comes in.

illusion_master: omt my dude, do you know what a crush is? rulerzreachf4n: I'm…beginning to suspect that I don't illusion_master: it's when you like someone illusion_master: like, as more than a friend illusion_master: romantically <3

And there's that little heart emoji again. One of several he's been routinely sending the Captain every night before they go to sleep.

Oh.

OH.

And now Hunter is panicking for an entirely different reason.

What makes you think that??? he sends back frantically, staring down at his scroll like those three little jumping dots are about to seal his fate.

"Oh yeah, I've been slowly increasing the weight of the vines each day," he vaguely registers Willow proudly telling Viney as the two of them share workout tips. "I could probably even pick up Hunter by now."

Hunter's eyes grow wide as his focus zeroes in on the sound of his name coming from Willow's lips. 

"What?" he says, equal parts apprehension and curiosity.

"Mind being part of a demonstration?" she asks, standing up and towering over him with that bright, warm smile of hers.

"Oh, uh— sure," he replies, not entirely certain what he's agreeing to, but standing up to match her positioning all the same.

"And scoop," Willow says, knocking the weight out from under him as she gathers him up into her arms.

It only lasts for a few seconds before she's gently depositing him back down onto the couch cushions, but in that brief few seconds, Hunter wraps his arms around her neck and feels soft skin and hard muscle pressed against him, smells the sweet earthy aroma of mint and basil and honeycrisp apples coming from her freshly-showered, freshly-braided hair, feels his heart skip several beats and launch into his throat as her triumphant giggle vibrates through his chest. 

Vaguely registers the sound of Gus's snort of laughter and the way his scroll starts blowing up like crazy in his back pocket. 

Vaguely registers that he's speaking, a string of nonsense words falling out of his mouth.

"Oh. Wow. Sports," he says, face burning like he's caught a fever.

Oh.

Oh.

Oh no.

• • •

It had been weird, at first, adjusting to using a new staff. Especially one with its own unique personality and a sassy little red-feathered companion with a penchant for pulling Hunter's hair. But now that he's met Flapjack, Hunter couldn't possibly imagine ever going back to his old artificial staff. Infuriatingly meddlesome as he might be sometimes, Flapjack has always lead him exactly where he needed to go, even if he didn't know it or appreciate it at the time.

He ends up on a lot more nighttime patrols than he ever used to (at least, that's the excuse he uses to get out of the castle, craving the freedom of the open sky, the feeling of cool, crisp wind carding through his hair, giving Flapjack a chance to stretch his wings and soar to his heart's content.)

It's strange, Hunter used to adore spending time at the castle, shadowing coven heads and trailing after his uncle, begging for heroic tales of how he triumphed over wild magic. But lately, he's been feeling so…confined. Like a songbird trapped inside a cage. So, most nights, he waits until everyone has withdrawn to their quarters, slips out of the castle, and takes to the sky.

He's flying over some of the cozier suburbs of Bonesborough, low enough to let the treetops skim underneath the soles of his boots, when suddenly, he finds himself landing in the middle of a clearing lit up by fireflies and serenaded by a symphony of crickets and tree frogs, with very little idea of how he got there (though he's inclined to blame Flapjack, who'd immediately taken off in the direction of a makeshift pathway gated by a colorful assortment of wildflowers, leaving Hunter no choice but to chase after him.

"Hey! Come back here, you little—" Hunter huffs in fond exasperation, the rest of his words dying on a soft, surprised little oh the moment he realizes where he's ended up.

He's only ever seen Willow's house from the front, having only ever been there the one time for that amazing, nerve-wracking, life-altering group sleepover a few weeks back, but the moment he sets foot in the backyard, he knows it couldn't possibly be anything other than hers.

Hunter stands in the middle of a magnificent garden, a colorful collection of flowers, fruit, and herbs cast in hues of silver and hazy blue in the moonlight, transfixed as he watches Willow's silhouette in the window just above, glimmering in the glow of a set of golden fairy lights that wrap around the banisters of her balcony like flowering vines.

He knows that's Willow's bedroom. He doesn't know how he knows. But he knows. He also knows that he's been standing there, staring up at her window for quite some time now, and that there's probably a big, goofy grin plastered across his face right now. Flapjack confirms his suspicions with a teasing chitter, and Hunter affectionately shoos him away, rolling his eyes and muttering, "Oh, shut up."

There's a sudden rustling from up above, followed by the sound of a set of glass doors sliding open, and then a familiar figure is stepping out onto the balcony, gold-framed glasses glinting in the moonlight as she peers over the ledge into her backyard. 

A wave of panic thrashes through him, and in an effort to avoid complete and total humiliation, Hunter attempts to dive head-first into a nearby bush, only his body won't pick a direction, so he just ends up doing a sort of flailing jog in place.

"Hunter?" a soft voice calls from up above, identical to the way she'd sounded the first night he'd accidentally called her.

Hunter freezes, rooted to the spot. Before he can say anything, Flapjack transforms into a staff and takes it upon himself to fly Hunter up to meet her, gently depositing him onto her balcony with only a few inches of space between them — the little instigator. 

"Hi," he greets her with an awkward wave, voice slightly muffled through his Golden Guard mask.

"What are you doing here?" she asks, sounding surprised but not at all displeased to see him. Which is just…wow. Hunter isn't sure what to do with that. Still, now it means he actually has to come up with an answer that doesn't make him sound like a total creep.

"Oh, well, you know," he ventures in a mock casual tone. "I was just in the neighborhood and, uh…thought I'd stop by."

At 11 o'clock at night. On a Monday. Nope, nothing suspicious about that.

Willow arches an inquisitive eyebrow. "The Emperor's Castle is pretty far from my neighborhood," she says with an amused little smirk.

"Well, see, you didn't let me finish," Hunter blunders on, digging in his pockets for an excuse and pulling out a wrinkled bit of fabric he thinks might be one of their flyer derby flags. "You uh, left this on the field after practice today. I figured it was important, so I thought I'd return it to you."

Willow full on laughs now. "That's not mine, and we didn't even have practice today," she reminds him, taking the scrap of fabric out of his hands and holding it up under the light of one of the decorative bulbs. "See? It's purple. It belongs to the other team."

Hunter has never been more grateful for his mask, hiding how red his face is right now. This is a disaster.

"So, why are you really here?" she poses the question with a quiet curiosity, like he's a puzzle she can't quite figure out.

"I—" Hunter falters, partial truth spilling out of him before he can manage to come up with something more clever. "I don't know." 

Willow stares at him, lips parted in surprise.

"This is weird," she says after a few moments, and Hunter's heart sinks to the depths of his writhing stomach.

"Talking to you like this," she clarifies, whiplash sending Hunter's heart soaring so high it nearly leaps right out of his mouth as Willow leans forward, hands coming up to rest on the sides of his face.

"Mind if I just—" she asks, fingertips finding the grooves where his mask meets the curve of his jawline, and gently tugs it upward, exposing every bit of pale, scarred, blushing vulnerability underneath.

"Hunter," she says, breathing his name between them like a sigh of relief, bursts of golden light from the string of fairy lights dancing in her pale green eyes as she stares up at him with a smile that could turn the dark into daylight.

Her hands drift between them in mid-air, like she isn't quite sure what to do with them, fingers twitching like she wants to reach out and touch him, trace the line of his jaw, the curves of his cheekbones, the swell of his lower lip. Or maybe he's just projecting.

He needs to leave. He wants to stay.

"I should—" he prompts, but he makes no move to go, merely jabbing his thumb in a vague direction behind him.

"Oh," she says, shaking herself out of the moment. "Right. It's late. Wouldn't want my dads to catch me trying to sneak a boy into my room this time of night." 

She says it with a laugh, but there's a faint pink blush tinging her cheeks, and Hunter might not know much about what it's like to be a normal teenager, but now that he has access to a scroll, he's binged his way through enough teen rom-coms over the past couple of weeks to understand the implication. 

It makes him feel giddy. He's a boy and if he's caught sneaking into a girl's bedroom in the middle of the night, her parents might think they're up to no good. (He's still a little fuzzy on the details of what exactly that might entail, but he knows it has something to do with romance and kissing and— oh, now his heart is racing, but it doesn't feel like the usual surge of adrenaline or sickly sensation of a panic attack. It feels good. It feels exhilarating.)

Whenever he's with Willow, he feels like a normal teenage boy. Not Caleb. Not the Golden Guard. Not the Emperor's right hand man. Just Hunter, normal teenage boy, doing normal teenage things, like having a scroll and joining a sports team and sneaking out late at night to go see a pretty girl. He's just Hunter, and for the first time in his life, that feels like enough.

"Goodnight, Hunter," Willow says almost wistfully, framed in the sliding doorway between bedroom and balcony.

"Goodnight, Willow," Hunter says softly, slipping his mask back into place and wondering why it suddenly feels so suffocating.

• • •

Strange, how everything can change so drastically in the span of a single evening. But then, hadn't it already been changing, ever so slowly, these past few weeks? In a lot of ways, he'd been hoping for a reason to leave, he just…not like this. Never like this.

Hunter sits in a secluded clearing in the middle of the woods, cracked Golden Guard mask clutched in the palms of his shaking hands, tear tracks streaking down his face, etched and re-traced with each wave of panic that threatens to empty the contents of his stomach out onto the forest floor.

He takes his scroll out of his pocket for what must be the dozenth time that night, thumb hovering over the crystal ball icon in his message thread with hello_willow, but every time he comes close to working up the nerve, some dark, twisted thing inside him, a voice that sounds an awful lot like the cold, lilting register of his uncl— of Bel— of Philip Wittebane, reminds him that he isn't worth her concern, that he'll only be a burden to her if he comes to her with this.

He's about to replace it back into his pocket, when he feels it buzz and light up with a new message. Lo and behold, it's from Willow, but it's in the Emerald Entrails group chat, rather than their direct message thread.

Willow: Hey Hunter, are you still awake? Willow: I had a bad day and could really use some cute photos of Flapjack right about now Willow: or, if you're up for it, maybe we could do a crystal ball call again?

Hunter breathes a sigh of relief, ready to swipe over to their chat and give her a call — even if he doesn't end up telling her, he knows just the sound of her voice will be enough to ease some of the tension gripping his chest like a vice — when he sees three little dots bouncing at the bottom of the chat window, Gus, Skara, and Viney typing one after the other, their responses coming in rapid-fire succession.

Skara: Willow, you do know this is the group chat, right? Willow: …I do now. Viney: oops! LOL Gus: late night crystal ball calls, huh ;) Gus: so do you two chat in private often, or… Skara: OMG ARE YOU TWO DATING??? Gus: oh thank Titan, finally Willow: you guys are the worst <3 Skara: THAT'S NOT A NO!!! Viney: ooooooo busted! ;) Willow: you all know he can see this, right?  Willow: you're gonna embarrass him Gus: oh you sweet summer child Gus: it's cute how oblivious you both are Viney: Willow and Hunter sitting in a tree Willow: I'm deleting my account and chucking my scroll straight into the boiling sea Skara: K-I-S-S-I-N-G

Hunter exhales on a watery chuckle, wiping a stray tear from his eyes, the heat of his blush warming his face in the bitter cold of the dense forest night air. He takes a deep breath, takes an even bigger leap, and writes to the chat.

Caleb Jasper Bloodwilliams: Hey everyone. I— Caleb Jasper Bloodwilliams: I think I need help.

In an instant, the chat blows up, everyone typing all at once, messages spilling across the screen in a chaotic jumble of what's going on?, are you okay??, and where are you? we're on our way.

Within twenty minutes, he's sitting in the middle Gus's living room, Mr. Porter setting up a bed for him in their spare room while his teammates gather around him, doting on him in a way he's never felt even a fraction of when he was serving the coven and, arguably, sustaining way worse injuries. 

But Gus insists that's just what friends do, settling a steaming mug of hot cocoa topped with extra marshmallows in between Hunter's freezing hands, while Willow teaches him a special four-count breathing technique to help keep him calm, and Viney and Skara tend to his cuts and bruises, the two of them exchanging conspiratorial smiles as they glance back and forth between Hunter and Willow, noting the fact that this is the first time they've seen Hunter smile all night.

Before he goes to sleep that night, Hunter snaps a photo of Flapjack all snuggled up in his little makeshift nest on the pillow next to him, and sends it to Willow in their private chat. A few minutes later, Hunter's scroll lights up on the nightstand, a glowing sheet of ghostly white illuminating the darkened room.

hello_willow: he looks as cute and cozy as I'm sure you do right now hello_willow: I mean hello_willow: I hope you're comfortable hello_willow: and settling in at Gus's well enough hello_willow: and I'm really happy that you're okay rulerzreachf4n: thank you, Captain rulerzreachf4n: not just for tonight, but for everything hello_willow: of course hello_willow: we've got your back, Hunter, always

Hunter smiles down at his scroll, a rush of warmth spreading from the tips of his ears to the tips of his toes. Only a couple of hours ago, he'd felt so lost, so alone. And now, here he is in a warm, loving home, safe and protected by a wonderful group of friends who had shown up for him within moments of him reaching out, and all he'd had to do was ask. Hunter isn't sure what his future holds, but right now, he feels invincible.

Oh, and Willow? he writes back, feeling a little extra emboldened. Please don't chuck your scroll into the boiling sea, I'd miss seeing your beautiful face on our crystal ball calls way too much <3

• • •

Hard as they try to prevent the Day Of Unity, Belos ultimately ends up succeeding in his plan to drain the life from every magic-wielding witch and demon on the Boiling Isles. Until, of course, Luz uses his own hubris against him, tricking him into getting branded with his own sigil magic. Half human, half monster, Belos stumbles toward the newly reconstructed portal door, using the very last of the Titan's blood from the cracked and draining key to escape into the safety of the human realm.

But there's one thing dear Philip didn't account for. He'd spent so long living in the demon realm, exceeding centuries beyond the mark of a normal human lifespan, carving corrupted combinations of the very thing he claimed to hate most into his own skin, all because he wanted to live long enough to see his ill-conceived revenge plan through, that the moment he crosses the threshold into a realm without magic, everything that had been sustaining his self-inflicted monstrous form crumples to dust, his body disintegrating like ash in the aftermath of a forest fire.

Luz sees it happen from the open door frame, the rest of the gang coming up on the tail end to watch as Belos dies before their eyes. With a heavy sigh, Luz closes the door, and with a little help from her friends, manages to detach it from its holder, bright blue Titan's blood sealing itself into the cracks of the frame and the tarnished metal of the portal key, almost as if it had purposely waited to become a permanent portal until after Belos died. 

Luz clicks the magically repaired trigger on the face of the key, vanishing the portal into nonbeing, and slipping the chain around her neck for safe keeping. She's desperate to reunite with her mother, but first she needs to ensure that her demon realm family is safe.

 With Belos gone, the draining spell breaks, and everyone with an activated sigil is safe. A little worse for wear, and with the possibility that some of them will bear those spiderwebbed scars extending upward from their coven sigils for the foreseeable future, but ultimately, alive and well.

After checking on Eda, Lilith, and Raine, Luz looks up to find Willow crouched beside Hunter, who's just been pulled into a tight one-armed hug by the former head of the abomination coven, and is now tenderly touching his newly healed arm, the two of them smiling at each other with that same remarkably familiar look Luz and Amity have always—

Oh.

Well that's an interesting development, she muses, matchmaking shipper heart going into overdrive. She can't wait to tell Amity. Maybe, when everything goes back to normal, they'll have another couple to go out on double dates with.

Genuinely smiling for the first time in weeks, Luz clutches the portal key to her chest and wonders, with no small amount of excitement at the realm of possibilities now open to her, where she and Amity should have their first official date — the human realm or the demon realm? 

• • •

Hunter sits at a table in the back of the library, trying to concentrate on the book he's been reading, lost in another daydream. He's been slipping into daydreams a lot lately, all of them revolving around a certain flyer derby captain with a penchant for plant magic — laughing with her, laying in a field of flowers finding funny shapes in the clouds with her, stargazing under a full night sky with her, the two of them cuddled up under a blanket to stave off the chill of the evening air…holding her hand, kissing her cheek…holding her in his arms and kissing her (probably very soft) lips…pressing her up against the wall of his bedroom and kissing…other parts of her. 

Hunter makes a soft little whine in the back of his throat, heat blossoming under the collar of his uniform.

These thoughts he's been having lately — they're not entirely…innocent. But he's nearly seventeen now, and although the conversation had been incredibly awkward, Darius had assured him that it was perfectly normal, finally explaining that comment about sleepover protection he'd made so many months ago. (Hunter's never had a dad before, but as far as adoptive parents go, he thinks Darius is pretty good at it so far.)

But even with the reassurance that he's not some kind of horrible, depraved monster for having these thoughts and feelings about his…friend (like he's certain his puritanical "uncle" would have had him believe) it's still unbelievably frustrating feeling like you have little to no control over your thoughts and your body's…erm…reactions to said thoughts.

Hunter blames it on the recent content he's been consuming, resents the fact that the romantic arcs in Ruler's Reach 2 and The Good Witch Azura series he'd borrowed from Luz and Amity have inspired him to branch out and search for other romance-centric fantasy novels, because now he can't stop picturing himself and a certain plant witch together in those same scenarios, and what if Willow were to show up and catch him in the act, thinking about the two of them kissing, and cuddling, and—

"Hunter!" says an achingly familiar voice, as though the thought alone had summoned her. Hunter startles, tipping back and nearly falling out of his chair, face practically glowing bright red. A steady hand reaches out to grip the back of his chair, and once again it's Willow to the rescue, saving him from imminent danger and utter embarrassment.

"Whatcha readin'?" she asks in a playful tone, glancing over his shoulder at the book propped open to a particularly steamy romance scene. Hunter flails in an effort to snap the book shut and quickly stow it away into his satchel. 

"Oh, uh— it's nothing!" he exclaims, internally groaning when his voice cracks about an octave higher than its usual register. "Just some book series I kind of sort of like. It's stupid, you'd probably—"

"I love that series," she exclaims, and even after months of knowing her, she still manages to surprise him. "Just wait 'til you get to book three, it's my favorite."

Hunter pauses, a tentative smile spreading across his face.

"So," he ventures conversationally, hand coming up to attack a phantom itch on the back of his neck. "Are you team Alastair or team Hunter?" he prompts, referring, of course, to the two biggest love interests for the main character of the series. According to a couple of forums he's perused, the fandom is very divided on the subject, and both sides have been in an all-out war with each other since its publication. Hunter is eager to see which side she falls on, if it's the same as him.

"Oh I'm totally team Hunter," Willow says with a playful wink, and Hunter's face catches fire. 

"They just have way more chemistry, you know? Plus, I'm kind of a sucker for the whole enemies to lovers trope," she adds with a suggestive smile, and Hunter's blush deepens at the mention of the word lovers.

"Did you hear they made a movie about it? It's called Love Choice and it's terrible," she chuckles, and then her expression turns suddenly nervous, finger twirling around a lock of hair that's come loose from one of her braids. One again, Hunter is struck by the strangest urge to reach forward and tuck it back behind her ear. Maybe, one day, he'll be bold enough to do it.

"We could watch it sometime, if you want?" she asks, gazing up at him with a hopeful smile. "Maybe you could come over today, after practice?"

"Yes!" Hunter agrees without a second thought. "Definitely. Absolutely."

"Okay then, it's a date," she says, a delicate shade of pink tinging the apples of her cheeks, and Hunter wonders whether his lips would leave a pale imprint, like a handprint on sunburn, if he were to kiss her there.

"Speaking of which…you uh, ready for flyer derby practice?" she asks, suddenly remembering the reason she'd come to find him in the first place.

"Captain," he says with a stoic nod and a respectful salute, smiling brightly when Willow giggles, takes him by the hand, and leads him out onto the field.

Meanwhile, Luz and Amity, who have been watching this whole exchange from a few tables away, hidden behind a tower of books in the wake of their after-school Azura book club, fix each other with wide-eyed looks of shock and delight, conspiratorial smiles worthy of the Cheshire Cat spreading across their faces.

• • •

They're crowded around their usual table in the cafeteria the following day, Luz and Amity huddled up together on one side of the table with Gus and Hunter, Willow seated between Skara, Viney, and Mattholomule on the opposite side.

"So, that's the dress I'm thinking of wearing to Grom this year," Amity says, showing Luz a photo on her scroll. "What do you think?"

"I love it!" Luz exclaims, wrapping her arms around her girlfriend's shoulders and kissing her on the cheek. "You're gonna look so pretty! Granted, when don't you?" she adds, and Amity preens, blushing a deep shade of scarlet.

"I'll try to find something similar so we can be all matchy-match," she says, pulling out her phone and sending a text to her mom, asking if she and Eda can take her shopping after school today — demon realm or human realm, she's not picky. With the portal reconstructed, she's used to spending an equal amount of time in both.

"Speaking of Grom," Amity prompts, sharing a conspiratorial smile with Luz before addressing the opposite side of their lunch table. "Willow, are you thinking of asking anyone?"

"Oh," Willow says, startled by the sudden spotlight. "Uh…I don't know. Maybe."

There's a ruffle of pages as Hunter perks up from the book he'd been nose-deep in just a few seconds before, casting side-eyed glances in their direction, trying not to make it look obvious that he's listening in on their conversation.

"How about that guy over there?" Luz asks, catching sight of a tall upperclassman who immediately averts his gaze and turns tomato red the moment he realizes he's been caught staring at Willow. "You know, the one who keeps looking at you all hearts in his eyes? He's kind of cute, right?"

Hunter's hands clench a little tighter around the book he's pretending to read — From Bones To Earth: A Study Of Wild Magic. He holds his breath, waiting for Willow's reply.

"He's not really my type," Willow says without even glancing up, and Hunter breathes a soft little sigh of relief. "Besides, he already asked me and I turned him down."

"Waiting for someone else to ask you?" Gus prompts with a teasing lilt, cottoning on to what Luz and Amity are trying to do, and playfully nudging Hunter in the ribs.

"I don't know," she says with a shy smile, glancing briefly in Hunter's direction. "Maybe."

"So Willow, what is your type?" Luz asks, waggling her eyebrows suggestively.

Willow hums, thinking it over. "Cute. Funny. Clever. Likes to read," she says, ticking each quality off on her fingers. Hunter glances up from his book and locks eyes with her, waiting on baited breath.

Willow's smile takes on a fiery determination as she looks directly at him and says, "What was that phrase you used that one time, Luz? Bad but sad boy? Also, face scars are kinda hot."

There's a loud crash from the opposite end of the table, the contents of Hunter's food tray scattered across the cafeteria floor in one unfortunate slip of his elbow. But Hunter doesn't seem to care. He's far too busy staring at Willow, bits of spaghetti hanging from the curls and cowlicks of his fluffy blond hair, face redder than a bard sigil, eyes wide and hopeful.

Luz takes this as the perfect cue to turn toward him, a rapturous smile on her face as she asks, "So Hunter, what's your type?"

• • •

"If you're gonna ask Willow to Grom, then you've gotta go big," Gus assures him on the tail end of a frantic scroll call. "And, as co-captain of the human appreciation society, I know everything there is to know about grand romantic gestures."

"How soon can you come over?" Hunter asks, wearing holes into his favorite pair of cardinal socks as he paces his bedroom floor.

"Way ahead of you, dude," comes Gus's voice from both the other end of the line and from outside Hunter's bedroom window, arms laden with all manner of glittery gel pens, giant posters, paper rose petals, and decorative balloons, struggling to free up a hand to knock on Darius's front door.

He has a fully-formed, foolproof plan that immediately goes to shit at every possible turn, Willow managing to miss every single gesture Hunter makes in an attempt to ask her to go to Grom with him, leaving an increasingly desperate Hunter begging Gus for more ideas in between classes throughout the rest of the day.

Balloons and streamers fly out of her locker early that morning, but she's too distracted trying to collect the pile of books that had also fallen out of her locker in the process, so she doesn't see them as they float away toward the high ceiling, a number of them getting caught in the jaws of other lockers along the way. Hunter glances up, wincing as the one labeled Grom pops and wilts to the floor.

She rearranges the "mess" of flower petals carefully arranged into the phrase Will You Go To Grom With Me? around the plant track homeroom the moment she sets foot inside. 

"Oh hey Hunter, what are you doing here?" she asks as she passes by him in a flurry, plucking the trio of red roses out of his hands and humming to herself as she sets about trying to find them a vase. 

"Where did these come from?" she asks, pressing her nose into the center of them and inhaling deeply. "Someone must have forgotten to pot their plants, poor things. Don't worry, little roses, I'll take care of you. So pretty." 

And Hunter can't even be mad about it, because she's just so adorable when she's in plant mom mode.

"Thank you, Hunter! I'm starving," she says as Hunter sets a tray of food down in front of her, not bothering to look down before she starts digging in, completely missing the message spelled out for her in expensive sushi that Hunter had had to order special and have delivered to campus.

Hunter falters, one hand held out to stop her, but then lets it drop. He sighs, handing her a small tin of pickled ginger, which she accepts with a cheerful smile.

By the end of the day, Hunter is at his wit's end. He doesn't know what a boom box is, or where he would even find one on such short notice to reenact some sappy rom-com scene from a movie Gus was gushing about in his grand gestures plan. 

He's making his way toward the front entrance, when out of nowhere, Willow catches up to him, breathless and red in the face.

"Hunter!" she exclaims, as though she'd been rushing around everywhere trying to find him.

"Hey, um…" she pauses, taking a deep breath as she steels herself to do something nerve-wracking.

"Do you want to go to Grom with me?" she blurts out, blushing in earnest now.

Hunter freezes, hardly daring to believe it. His face breaks out in a big, goofy grin, and when he finally remembers how to breathe again, he exhales on a shaky, half-hysterical little laugh.

"Yes," he says, a little breathless.

"Definitely." 

He steps toward her, holding out his hand and feeling his heart leap into his throat when she takes it, face aching from the effort of mirroring her radiant smile.

"Absolutely."

• • •

The following Monday after Grom weekend finds the Hexsquad (an affectionate nickname Luz invented for their little group of friends) gathered around the lunch table, comparing photos they all took together at the dance, and deciding which ones to post to Penstagram. 

Hunter sits beside his brand new girlfriend, one hand holding hers (and wow he's still not used to how soft and small her hands are compared to his, how perfectly they fit in his own) the other scrolling through his saved photos. 

"Hmm, I like that one," Willow says, chin resting on his shoulder. "And that one. But this one is my absolute favorite. I think I'll set it as my new profile picture."

Hunter exhales on a contented sigh as he selects the photos she said she'd liked and posts them to his Penstagram — one featuring all of their friends, huddled together in the photo booth making silly faces at the camera — one with just the two of them, dressed in an emerald green gown and a fitted black and red suit that Darius had insisted on helping Hunter pick out for the occasion (the photo itself, Willow's teary-eyed dads had insisted on taking) — and one that Willow mirrors in real time, leaning forward to press a kiss against Hunter's cheek, his face turning the same delicate shade of pink as it is in the photo.

Elements of this story were inspired by art by ehspio, keeperofthebox, miniminish, moringmark, and rileyclaw

[phantaloon]

okay okay im finally finished with both eps and here's my genuine opinion

the cast is 10/10, every single one of these kids knows exactly what they're doing and WHO they are, i can't imagine anyone playing each character better than them

the slight change in Sally and gabe's dynamic gave me a bit of whiplash at first, but the second time watching it, i kinda really dig it better than the books

the way they're portraying percy's feelings of inadequacy and the whole "i know I'm broken, i don't need you to make up stories for me"? fucking devastating, but it fits so fucking well (i can't remember if this is shown as deeply as it's shown here)

sally jackson is the most badass mfer and i fucking love her she is the godly parent fuck poseidon

it's been said before but sally calling percy perseus when she wants him to listen >>>

LOVED how they gave us the impression of percy having riptide while facing the minotaur, only for them to take it away (not really but percy didn't know that) and having percy face the minotaur book style rather than movie style

ANNABETH SAYING PERCY MUST BE THE ONE I SCREAMED

i am fucking loving the way they're doing percy's rage, like maybe it's bc i don't remember it as clearly in the books, but it's so raw, and walker does an amazing job portraying it, but the whole part where he offers food (a thing meant to be for gods) to SALLY, king behavior fr, and that monolog about making his father see them?? actual goosebumps

leah does such an amazing job portraying annabeth's indifference and apparent arrogance, i can't explain how much i love her, like she does it so subtly, it's just little gestures, but she IS annabeth chase (this felt especially cooler after seeing her in interviews, where she's actually really shy irl)

im not going to lie here, and like im sure it was done on purpose anyway, but i am feeling it kinda rushed, and I get it really! they won't waste time in the many chapters spent during camp introducing the world to us, when they've got few episodes, and the whole quest to showcase instead, but like, i would have loved to see percy training with luke (and besting him) and annabeth showing percy around camp (second time we've missed that) and idk just some fun little details, but like i said, i understand why they HAD to rush the intro, so I'm not upset about it or disappointed, just smth to notice

having said that, i really did love the bit of luke guiding percy through several activities trying to figure out his "calling", the callback to percy's horrible archery skills is 10/10

annabeth's yankees cap is fr a yankees cap and im crying

i nearly forgot, but im loving the nightmare sequences, i love how they're keeping the "voice" so faceless and shapeless, but just a light in the darkness of a nightmare, and really it's a great figure, bc a light in a nightmare is usually a good thing, it's the thing you run towards, and it's usually smth that helps you, but here, the light in the darkness is anything but good (quite literally) and he literally taunts percy, and fuels his fear and bitterness, and ugh I love it

the whole capture the flag sequence is 10/10 as well, i can't explain how much this healed me, just like annabeth leaving percy to be bored to death on his own, when she was right there, the transition between luke's "percy's got this" and percy doing the fucking floss dance? cinematic masterpiece, and like the fight sequence was really well done and crafted much much better than many others that rely on slow mo or weird angles, like the fight with clarisse and her spear was gold

dior's scream as percy breaks clarisse's spear alone deserves an emmy

leah portrays annabeth so effortlessly and naturally, I've said it before but i love her

i got like 10 seconds of annabeth interacting with percy and i can already see them together forever ahdjdj

overall 10/10 will rewatch again and again and again bc I'm in fucking love even if it does feel a bit rushed at times and there was the same lack of the hellhound as the movie

[minnieposting]

i want to talk about robins trailer again!

following up from this post + a cool thread i saw earlier compiling lots of details i didn't notice in the trailer! (and the morse code post)

mostly really interested in the fact that this whole thing is filmed and directed by sunday

(sc from twt thread)

i said earlier that robin must feel like she doesn't want to let down both sunday and the family, both as his sister and the "pride of the family". but this clearly shows that he's the one pulling the strings, or at least one of them.

(as i type this out, i realize the usage of "pulling the strings" could relate back to the imagery of puppets we've been seeing. they are present in robin's trailer and also seen in the 2.2 penacony trailer)

(and of course, another puppet on strings...)

not sure where i'm going with this because tbh i got side tracked because i had the realization while writing. just some cool consistent puppet imagery, obviously symbolic, just don't feel like thinking about this rn lol

ANYWAY, my original train of thought was going towards sunday being a huge pressure on her, whether intentionally or not, he's clearly got his own shit going on... but i also feel like this gives new meaning to something else i pointed out a bit ago (post)

sunday is always right behind robin! she's always in the spotlight while he looms in the shadows. another thing tho, the same person who posted that twt thread i linked to pointed out that our bird friend is seen in the corner watching robin perform (x)

in the upper right corner!

(though, ive seen speculation that the bird is not sunday's but the dreammaster's! either way, sunday is still the most involved with her in the context of my post...)

now, going back to what i really want to talk about in the first place - director sunday. i do think this is more symbolic than anything, and coming from robin's perspective as this is her trailer.

sunday is a perfectionist obsesed with control and robin's public image may not be spared from that. she may feel that sunday is essentially breathing down her neck, whether or not sunday is aware he's making her feel like this. i've always thought that sunday's perfectionism and his obsessiveness have bled into his love for his sister and their relationship as a whole. again, she clearly does not want to let him down specifically, especially when they're supposedly working towards a childhood dream.

it's just! this whole thing about freedom, or the lack of it. robin is a caged bird and that's become explicit in her trailer. who knows wtf sunday's deal is, but he's also clearly under SO much pressure, he's the head of the oak family and ALSO needs to be nothing less than perfect. dude had a whole speech about it. i also imagine they both don't talk about any negative feelings related to this, maybe even wanting to keep up appearances around each other too.

i feel like i dont have anything else to say. i just mainly wanted to talk about some observations and stuff. i am very much looking forward to 2.2 coming out later, im SO excited to dig into sunday because he is the most intriguing and mysterious to me. their relationship is just so so so interesting, im so excited to see it in all of its glory later.

and mandatory note bc i am an anxious person, i do a lot of talking out of my ass and this is just exactly that.

(uh i scrolled up to read this post over and saw i linked back to a morse code post and didn't talk about that at all. well there's SOS morse code in robins trailer! that's fucked up! what else can i say)

[liauditore]

cleo/martyn for shipping bingo?

original

when i say criminally underrated i mean CRIMINALLY underrated ok. unhinged rambling under the cut

like every fictional character and real person in the world is marina and the diamonds oh no coded but these two are literally this song so much im gonna throw up

One track mind, one track heart If I fail, I'll fall apart Maybe it is all a test 'Cause, I feel like I'm the worst So I always act like I'm the best

they mirror each other so perfectly. they're both deeply insecure people who desperately want to be strong for themselves and those around them, but they dig their own graves doing that by refusing to be vulnerable and only pushing people close to them away.

in my mind they both see the worst parts of themselves in the other person because they're so similar internally, despite having wildly different personalities.

I know exactly what I want and who I want to be I know exactly why I walk and talk like a machine I'm now becoming my own self-fulfilled prophecy Oh! Oh, no! Oh, no! Oh, no, oh!

they both have an ego and a malice that gets them antagonized by the rest of the server which is 100% their fault, and they both pretend they don't care when really both of them yearn for someone, Anyone to see how much they're hurting (but they'd never admit to it).

You type out your bias on me it’s all nitpicks and paying no mind to be so sadistic They pin on the thorns make her maleficent In bloom the rose made a perfect fit He drowns out the crowd that throws a burdened fit They blow up the sound regardless to admit They’re stabbing a knife and quote without a wit “Bet it’s no strife, no it’s just the tip”

(^telecaster b-boy lyrics cus that song changed my life but also it reminds me of them)

Just.. that one clip of Cleo admitting she's a rubbish fighter and saying that she would only drag Martyn down to which Martyn immediately responds that he doesn't care and thinks she's great company. Or any number of the times Martyn offers some dumb surface-level act of servitude towards Cleo because he doesn't know how to just be vulnerable and admit he wants some form of acknowledgement.

They keep testing the waters with eachother but one always backs out when it starts getting too real. They both just want love but their egos won't let them admit it.

Cleo has this magical ability to divorce men she's never dated and I love her for it.

OFC all this aside they're also just both so losercore and dumb and divorced and martyn being The Most Pathetic Man Ever with trying to court cleo is hilarious to watch and also bdubs ships them and I agree with everything bdubs says.

also uh i think ren should join them in the middle idk

[agi-ppangx]

Hi!

So, I'm not much of words, that's why I prefer giving ideas rather writing, sooooo...

Can you do something like: meeting 14 year old Jeongin (while reader is 14 as well) while reader was in a holiday with her family (younger brother included that is reader's partner in crime). They meet on the beach while both of them are in holiday and they find out they're soulmates (y'know those tiktok vids of finding who your soulmate is..? Something like that happened as well, maybe, just maybe, they have a soulmate sign that colors when the two soulmates make eye contact?). First kiss with him, as well as first love, but they drift off because reader was going back home, however he gives reader something for reader to remember him.

If you will do this, I also have an idea for a pt.2 bcs imagination is something I am full of. :)

Anyway, thanks!❤️

💭i could never forget you

pairing: yang jeongin x fem!reader

an: hii omg im so sorry you had to wait for so long !! i was struggling a little with this one, because i actually haven't really seen those tiktoks and i had to do lots of research so i apologise in advance if this is not what you had in mind :(( but!! i really hope you enjoy it<3 please let me know what do you think about it and thank you for this idea, it was a challenge but a very pleasant one<3 also please don't mind any grammar mistakes and typos

“ynnnn!” your brother whined right into your ear. you closed your book with a dramatic thud and looked up at him. his hair was wet - he must’ve just come out of the ocean - and he was staring at you with a huge pout on his face. “i’m bored,” he mumbled when he finally had your attention. you raised your eyebrows. “okay? what am i supposed to do about it?” you teased him, though you exactly knew he wanted you to just do something with him. your attempt to mess with him was met with yet another whine and you giggled at that, but proceeded to get up. “fine, what do you wanna do?” you asked, looking at your parents who were sunbathing right next to you, but didn’t seem to care too much about your plans. “let’s dig a hole here,” your brother pointed to a free part of the beach. you stared at him - you could’ve expected something like this. “and then let’s fill it with water.” you blinked, a bit confused. you were pretty sure you saw something like this on the internet a while ago and it didn’t end up positively. you thought about it a little and decided that, in fact, it's not a good idea. “okay, let’s do it then,” you picked up a plastic shovel and stuck it in the sand. 

an hour later and at least four reprimands from your parents the size of the hole was satisfying for both your brother and you. “now - you’re gonna stay here and keep an eye on the hole. i’m gonna go for some water,” your brother ordered and you saluted him jokingly, but obeyed nonetheless. you sat on the sand right next to the hole, breathing in the salty air and letting the wind mess your hair a bit. you observed people around you - an old couple feeding each other pieces of watermelon, the lady holding a tissue under her husband’s chin, and a younger couple, swimming together and splashing the water on each other, their laughter echoed all over the beach. you smiled to yourself slightly, deep inside wishing for a life like this in the future. you were young, so you still had time to find your soulmate. after all, your parents met when they were way over twenty years old and your aunt found her soulmate in her thirties. on the other hand, your friend from school accidentally met her soulmate when she was ten and the way she was bragging about the “beauty of the world in colours” was making you so incredibly jealous that you had no choice but to wonder when it was your turn. 

you were brought back to reality when you noticed a boy running towards the deep hole you dug. he was chasing a frisbee, his eyes so fixated on it that he didn’t even notice that something’s wrong and he kept running. you quickly got up and jumped into the hole to catch the boy before he could hurt himself. he let out a loud yelp when he slipped but you wrapped your arms around his torso. you helped him to get out of the hole and when he did, he turned around and reached out to you to help you get out of the hole, but as you were about to stretch your arm your eyes crossed and you swore the whole world stopped. you dreamt of this moment since you can’t remember when. you often wondered - did it hurt? was it overwhelming? you had so many questions, but were too scared to voice them. but now you knew. it was almost magical, you were now drowning in the boy’s brown eyes, his black hair was tousled by the wind. you took his hand in your and let him help you, never breaking eye contact. when you were finally out of the hole, you just stood there, hand in hand with the boy, both of you too astonished to even say a word. you didn’t know how much time passed, you were too focused on your soulmate standing right in front of you. 

your mother’s voice made you finally snap from this whole trance. you dropped the boy’s hand and looked at her. she looked mad. “yn, that’s enough, i told you to stop this whole digging! someone could’ve gotten hurt. apologise to this young man right now and fill the hole with sand. and for god’s sake, find your brother before he does something silly again,” she exclaimed, sounding more and more defeated with each word. she rubbed her eyes and went back to lay on the blanket. your attention was brought once again to the boy. “where are you staying?” you asked him in a hushed tone. he pointed a finger at one of the hotels by the beach. the same as you. “let’s meet at the reception at 7, okay? i think we have to talk about… this,” you added, doing a weird gesture with your hand. he nodded, still in shock. “i’m jeongin,” he stuttered finally. “i’m yn,” you introduced yourself and hesitantly started walking towards the shore to look for your brother, leaving jeongin alone. 

your friend was right - the world in colour is breathtaking. you’d spent your whole day just looking around, taking in the beauty of everything you could lay your eyes on. you finally could see why your mom always complimented you when you wore your yellow dress, the colour of your dress accentuating your eyes, and why she liked red roses so much. you thought to yourself that you might start liking them too. 

“yn? hi.” jeongin’s voice snapped you out of your reverie. he approached you, coming out from the elevator. you looked up at him, he was wearing a green t-shirt and he was smiling shyly at you. “hi,” you replied, getting up from the chair. you didn’t really know what to do - should you hug him? take his hand? it was so hard to figure this whole soulmate thing out, but you knew one thing - you felt comfortable around him. earlier, when you were holding hands at the beach, it all felt strangely right, considering that you always avoided contact with boys at your school. 

“so um…” you started awkwardly, slowly making your way to the hotel’s garden and making sure jeongin was following you. “how are you feeling?” good, you thought to yourself, it’s a good start. “confused, i guess? i mean, don’t get me wrong, i just didn’t expect to meet my soulmate here,” jeongin answered, his shoulders relaxing a little. you hummed in response, opening the door and breathing in the fresh air. you sat on a bench, looking up at the setting sun. the sky was stunning - you could spend an eternity just admiring the colour of it at sunset. “is it too soon to ask for your favourite colour?” jeongin was first to break the silence. you took a moment to process the question, though deep down you already knew the answer. “blue. it’s the rarest colour in nature and i’ve always wanted to appreciate it even before i knew what it looked like. and now that i know, it only convinced me that blue, in fact, is a very pretty colour,” you explained, playing with the hem of your dress. “you’re pretty…” jeongin whispered dreamily and your eyes widened. you were sure your cheeks were red, but maybe not as red as jeongin’s. “did i just say it out loud?” he mumbled, hiding his face in his hands to save himself from the embarrassment. you just laughed at that, placing your hand on his back and patting it a few times. “it’s okay. i guess it’s just a soulmate thing,” you added joyfully, realising that it was real life and not a dream. jeongin placed his head on your shoulder and you sat there for a long time, talking about everything and nothing, as if you knew each other for your whole lives. 

jeongin and you became inseparable. every morning after breakfast you rushed with him to the beach, swimming together and eating fruit from a local market. your parents were happy that you found a friend on your trip and even though you spent less time with them, they didn’t mind since you were having fun with jeongin. they even let you go with him to explore the town, eating local snacks and wandering in the narrow streets that resembled a labyrinth. you were glad you could get lost in this labyrinth with jeongin. you sat on a pavement in one of those streets, eating ice cream and admiring the world in colours. jeongin held your hand - it was gentle and innocent, but you felt as if your heart was about to burst out of your chest. you stole a glance at him, taking in all the details of his face. “oh, i think you have a little bit of ice cream here,” you pointed a finger on a corner of his lips. he tried to wipe it off but he missed the spot. “no, wait. here,” you exclaimed, wiping the ice cream yourself. when you did, you looked jeongin in the eyes, realising the proximity between you two. you backed off a bit, suddenly too shy to acknowledge the simple gesture, but jeongin placed a hand on your cheek and caressed it with his thumb. you loudly gulped but decided to close the distance between you and pecked him on the lips. it was short, some might not even consider it a “real kiss”, but it left both jeongin and you a blushing mess. you dropped your eyes to the ground but decided to lay your head on jeongin’s shoulder. you didn’t say anything after that, deciding to just relish in each other’s company instead.

the day of your departure came faster than you wanted and it was time to bid your goodbye with jeongin. you tried to keep your composure when you met him in the garden, but as soon as you saw his sad, faint smile, you broke down and tears started to stream down your face. jeongin hugged you tightly, letting you cry into his chest. “i got a little gift for you,” you heard his voice after a while. you looked up and jeongin cooed at the sight of your puffy eyes. his hand dove into the pocket of his jeans and he pulled out a little bag. “it’s not a lot, but i thought it might be cool if you had something to remember me,” he added, scratching the back of his neck. you took the bag from his hand and looked inside. it was a silver necklace with a rock in it. a blue rock. you felt the tears wail in your eyes again and you didn’t stop them from falling down your cheeks. “could you put it on my neck, please?” you uttered between sobs, sniffing loudly. he nodded and did as you told him, gently taking your hair out of the way. “done. now you’ll remember me forever,” jeongin chuckled, trying to lighten the mood a little. you made eye contact with him and placed a feather like peck on his cheek. “i could never forget you, jeongin.”

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[seriousbrat]

Will we see more Lily and Sirius moments in Falls the Shadow? Would love some more headcanons on their relationship🤗

Yesss actually their friendship is quite a big focus from chapter 9 onwards. They don't even know it yet but they're about to be besties. Here's a little excerpt:

Sirius sighs, tossing the book back down onto the table. “Yeah, you’re probably right. You sound like Prongs.” “Prongs…” Lily repeats thoughtfully. “What does that even mean, anyway— why do you lot call him that?” “He likes forks,” Sirius says without missing a beat. “Forks?” Lily says, laughing. “Yeah, right— what about… Padfoot, then?” “I’m dead stealthy.” She snorts. “And, er— Wormtail?” “Someone’s been paying attention,” Sirius says, playing for time while he thinks of a good explanation. “Don’t change the subject.” “He tried to grow a moustache in fifth year,” Sirius says, grinning at her. “And that’s what it looked like.” “It looked like a worm’s tail?” “Yeah, like half a worm. The arse of the worm, if you will.” Lily shakes her head in exasperation. “You’re lucky you’re so good at lying.”

Anyway headcanons (also just what I'm developing in my fic)

So something Lily really ends up liking about Sirius is how brutally honest he is about pureblood society. James is somewhat sheltered from this imo, his parents are progressives and they're new money, they're not really part of ~pureblood society~ the way the Blacks are. So honestly although James obv has some idea he doesn't really know, intimately, what those sorts of people are like the way Sirius does. And Sirius doesn't try and protect Lily from this, he just tells her:

“...anyway, look, I know these old pureblood families, I know how they work, better than James does— play their little games all you like, they’ll never accept you, never.” Lily looks back at him, resolute. “I know. But thanks for being honest with me about it.”

moving on:

Another thing they share is a sense of humour and a sort of reckless, anti-authoritarian streak. Yes, James has this too, but I see him deep down as being somewhat more thoughtful and circumspect. James has had an incredibly privileged life; on the face of it you'd say Sirius has too, except that his parents were the scum of the earth lol and he was disowned by them. On some level, Sirius can understand Lily better because he knows EXACTLY, intimately, what she's up against in the wizarding world.

Sirius also greatly appreciates intelligence and basically as soon as he starts giving Lily a chance he immediately recognises that she has it in spades. He likes having intellectual equals, that's what drew him to James in the first place and it's also a draw towards Lily. She can match him dig for dig, razor wit for razor wit. Even when they're in disagreement about something it's fun for him, and that's important to Sirius.

In order for Lily to have written Sirius a letter like the one she did, they had to be really close imo. And I believe he loved her deeply, and she him. They become really good friends in seventh year and it only grows from there. Lily really admires the fact that he turned his back on all the beliefs that he was taught as a child. Sirius, for his part, admires someone who is brave enough to stand up to what he fully knows is extremely dangerous and pernicious in wizarding society.

it's mutual respect baby. obv in my fic they also bond over: not really giving a toss about Quidditch but only caring because of James, and of course their shared vendetta against Professor Buttercrambe, which James is a bit more cautious about. Despite their initial misgivings/hostility they both deem each other more than worthy of being the most important people in James's life.

Anyway that's what I've got off the top of my head but I love their friendship so much and I have a lot of fun writing them together. So expect lots of sirius+lily interactions in short order!

[sprout-writes-stuff]

Inspired by @henderdads fic. A little thing that entered my brain fully formed and had to come out. (if I did anything wrong here let me know and I'll take it down)

It's not exactly what Steve thought he'd be doing on a friday night, he and Robin have their laptops open doing a personality quiz that the school heavily encouraged them to take.

He highly doubts a few questions (okay so there's at least 50, whatever) will tell him anything about himself that he didn't already know but Robin insisted they do it together. The part that actually interests Steve is they'll get a list of the ten people they're most compatible with, it'll even say whether that's in a romantic way or not. The last question asks about their preference (Men/Women/Any/None).

Early sunday morning Steve is lying in bed scrolling his emails and it's there! The results. He skims over all the stuff about him (he'll make a great parent someday, blah blah blah, maybe he'll read it properly later) until he finds the list. Unsurprisingly, Robin is at the top with 98.2% but the second... What? No way?

He video calls Robin immediately, it actually takes three tries to wake her up.

"Steve? It's," she looks up to the time on her phone, "7:18. Why? It's sunday."

"The email, Robin, it's here." He watches her face as she tries to understand what's happening, barely containing his amusement at that, and then waits as she checks hers.

"Aww we're compatible Stevie," she says with a silly, overly sweet smile, "like we didn't know that already. Who'd you get first with a heart?"

Steve now has his open on his laptop, staring at the little pink heart next the name second on his list.

"Steve?"

"It's... I mean, it can't be right."

"Why not? It got us didn't it?"

"It's Eddie Munson. 97.6%." The rest are all mid 80s or lower and might as well be zero for all Steve cares about them right now. Robin's jaw drops.

"He doesn't exactly seem the type to even take the quiz," she says, "you have to talk to him tomorrow."

"I don't know anything about him."

"Well you've got all the time in the world to find out."

He doesn't stop thinking about it for the rest of the day.

He sees Eddie's van pull into the parking lot and Robin pushes him towards it before the engine is even off.

"Can I talk to you?" he asks as soon as the door is open. "Privately?"

"Alright," Eddie says, confusion on his face as he follows Steve away from everyone else. "What's this about Harrington?"

"The quiz? The other night?" Did Eddie think Steve was just going to leave it?

"Oh, that's in already?" He digs his phone out of his pocket. He doesn't know.

Steve watches him read, getting more and more nervous as he gets closer to the end. Eddie looks up at him in shock. All Steve can do is nod.

"And the... heart? That's not a mistake?" He's kind of breathless.

"Huh?"

"Like, you could have accidentally checked men instead of women and that's what you came to tell me."

"Oh," Steve says with a giggle, "no, I'm bi."

The nervous energy from a few minutes ago is turning into bubbling excitement as they stare at each other, both with tentative, hopeful smiles.

"I don't know about you but I really wanna kiss you." Steve says, stepping closer. Eddie bridges the gap and their lips meet. Before they can get too into it, the school bell rings and they have to start heading to class.

"Can't believe we got each other at the top of our lists," Eddie says knocking his shoulder into Steve's.

"Hate to break it to you but you're number two on mine," Steve replies with a grin. Eddie stops walking for a few seconds and has to jog to catch up.

"Oh, of course, Buckley right?"

Steve nods, still grinning. "See you after class?" he asks when they get to his room.

"Definitely." Eddie kisses him again, a peck this time. Steve watches him leave and marvels at the fact a stupid piece of homework may have just changed his life forever.

[synthy-sizer]

You step out into the light to see Violence and Lust guarding the door, both carrying their heavy artillery. “Good, you're back. Come on. We've gotta keep moving.” You follow them to the jeep. “Where exactly are we headed?” “Broadcasting station,” Lust says. “If we can turn off the signal, we should be able to stop the drones entirely.” Things are starting to make a little more sense. “So the drones are summoned by a broadcast? And they're like sentries?” “More like a frequency,” Violence says. “It's like a trigger. It transforms them.” You pile into the jeep and Lust tears off. “Wait, what do you mean ‘transform’?” Violence grimaces. “Drones aren't naturally occurring. They're molded out of something else.” Molded out of what? You're about to ask, when suddenly…

“Hold onto something!” Lust swerves hard. The tires screech and you're violently shoved into the door. Weapons clatter and slide around in the cabin. And then, with a deafening boom, the jeep is slammed to the side with an incredible force. The metal clangs with the sound of a strong impact. Lust continues swerving wildly. More loud cracks and booms follow, getting steadily faster. You whip your head around, craving your neck to see what’s happening, and you spot it.

A humanoid figure, pale as a corpse, stands in the field. In harsh contrast to their pale skin, their eyes are covered in black material, and so are their arms. One arm is pointed towards your vehicle. Wordlessly, emotionlessly, you watch as its pointed arm explodes into a bright orange light, and you feel the thud in the earth underneath you. Clumps of earth spray into the air, some splattering into the window. You suddenly realize what's happening. You're being fired at. You're terrified but you can't look away. You feel compelled somehow to scrutinize the appearance of what must be a drone. It looks human, too human. Is it possible….?

“Bring us around!” Violence shouts over the hectic sounds of the vehicle weaving around and heavy gunfire. Lust swerves hard, taking you around the drone. As you circle it, your eyes follow the barrel of Violence's cannon. He aims silently and carefully, and just when you reach the closest distance from the drone in the arc, he fires.

Instantly, you're deafened. Your ears ring and the jeep tilts backwards from the force. You watch as the drone's arm explodes into a shower of metal and gore. Shrapnel launches in all directions, pounding into the dirt and slamming into the jeep. The sturdy windows develop scratches and marks from the speed of the metal scrap. A cloud of red blooms from the shredded arm. The air smells like iron. Lust is quick to make a retreat as soon as the drone is disabled. You watch it as you drive off. The heavy cluster of gun barrels has fallen to the ground, digging up grass with its weight. It remains attached to the stump of the shoulder by a mix of sinew and cables. Its head continues to turn towards you, following the jeep with its gaze. As it slowly shrinks into the background, you see the severed weapon and the shoulder explode in a mass of metal tendrils and fleshy pink, both seeking each other, coiling together and yanking it back up.

There's silence for a moment. Just a second to process. You can't contain yourself. “What the fuck was that?! Was that a person?!” “That was one of the drones we were talking about,” Violence shouts back! “You know that's not what I'm asking you.” You glare at him, and then at Lust and Jordan. “What happened to that person?” Your heart is pounding in your ears. You know the answer already, but you're afraid to hear it. “Fine. Ok. We weren't sure how to tell you this, and we Aldo weren't 100% sure it was true but…the signal we're trying to shut down turns people into drones.” You feel like you're going to throw up. You're faint. Your vision is blurring at the edges. “You didn't tell me….this is our fault, that everyone I know turned into….” Violence is quick to snap at you. “No, Sofia, it's not our fault. Apollo put a genetic trigger in every Luna colonist except for their higher-ups so they could be guards for them. They're the ones who see human lives as disposable. We're trying to stop it.” His words bounce around in your mind. Maybe part of you understands, deep down. But you're overwhelmed with guilt and horror. “Why didn't you just leave me here?” Jordan chimes in. “Because we need you to stop it.” You look at her, bewildered. “Think about it. You're a native to Luna and you aren't turning even though we've seen a drone this far out. Isn't that odd?” The question almost knocks you entirely out of your breakdown. “Heresy, don't start with your conspiracies. We haven't even gotten in range of a siren yet. How do we know she won't turn?” “Because of her genes,” she retorts. “I told you that doesn't necessarily mean anything.”

The two of them bicker over their ideologies, both seemingly no longer concerned about your wellbeing. You shrink down in your seat and try to process your emotions and everything that's just happened. “Watch out!” Lust's scream shakes you out of your thoughts, and shuts the bickering right up. She swerves again, and everything once again goes flying. You poke your head up to see a small cluster of drones starting to aim at you. “Broadcasting station is a no-go! We've gotta make a retreat!” You fly through the field, barely avoiding the drones’ fire. Suddenly, you realize you recognize this area. “Toward the trees! There's a path through the forest! They can't aim if they can't see us!” Lust trusts your direction, swerving around and aiming for the path. “You better be right about this! Where does this take us?” You know exactly where. “The neighborhood!”

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