#all aboard the smut bus

[word-wytch]

Don't Stand So Close To Me — Chapter 11

Eddie x Teacher!Reader

Chapter 11/? 5.2k. Series Masterlist

✏︎ Parent teacher conferences and long forgotten stories uncover worlds beneath.

✏︎ Series Summary: Forced to move back home to Hawkins after your fiancé cheats on you, you begin to fall in love again with an audacious 20 year old metalhead, only there’s one problem — he’s still in high school and you’re his English teacher.

While you struggle starting over in a place you never thought you would return, Eddie struggles feeling stuck in a place he can’t manage to leave — until you offer to help him. Of all the lessons learned, the most important are the ones you teach each other.

✏︎ Series CW: forbidden romance, slow burn, true love, smut (18+ mdni), internal conflict, student-teacher relationship, 10 year age gap, mutual pining, sexual tension, emotions, drama, angst, character development, happy ending :)

Chapter warnings: stories within stories, high fantasy, discussion of childhood hardship, implied spousal abuse, parent death mention, drug use mention, heavy angst

Friday, November 15th 1985

Eddie was lost in another world.

He was floating actually. High above the clouds, not that he could see them. He wished he could but the empty crate he had stolen away in was the only thing shielding him from the suspicious eyes of the merchants aboard the zeppelin. His heart pounded as the wind carried him further than he’d ever been from the only place he’d ever known — the isolated Cloud Kingdom of Myrne. High atop a mountain range. A city of gold, gleaming like a beacon in the sun.

His back ached against the stiff wood rocking him like a cradle. He was lucky to be small enough to fit. Lucky that he had just enough space to shed his silk coat to use as padding. If he laid just right he could even stretch his legs toward the ceiling to relieve the cramps that threatened his claves. 

He would have to ration the dried boar’s meat and meager flask of water that he’d stashed away in his knapsack. There wasn’t space for very much, and he needed the precious real estate for not only clothing, but the jars of herbs and poultices to stave off the illnesses he was so susceptible to. 

That was why he — or, Lady Cybelle rather, ended up here in the first place. See, there was something she needed from the world beneath. Desperately. Her brother did anyway. A rare, translucent plant called a ghostfern found only in the depths of certain caves. It was a known cure for his equally rare illness, or at least that’s what she read during her herbalism studies. Much like Eddie, all she knew of the world beneath was what she read about.

Cybelle begged the high council to send for it. To send scouts to collect it. But they refused, unwilling to risk the safety of the collective for the life of just one. There was always a risk involved in the leaving and returning of Myrnish people. A risk to contract and spread more illness that threatened the lives of them all.

Cybelle was crafty though, and equally determined. She’d fashioned a mask out of moth silk with a pocket for illness-staving herbs. She would need it when the zeppelin finally landed in Torgaard. When she figured her way out of this crate without being spotted. When she set foot, for the first time, on the land she only caught a glimpse of when the clouds beneath her parted.

Eddie had grown rather fond of Cybelle. He’d been spending every evening with her since Wednesday. Ever since you handed him your world in a black three ring binder — Worlds Beneath.

It was intimate, reading your work. As if he could read between the lines and observe the way your mind worked. The way your phrasing flowed. Your choice of words. As if part of you was there within the pages. The hidden part of you.

He didn’t know what he was expecting, but he was as captivated as he was impressed. He supposed after watching you analyze literature on a daily basis that it would be more… literary. More serious. Less fantastical. But this was beyond anything he could have anticipated.

There was a secret world in you. He would catch glimpses of it sometimes when you laughed. It would peek around the mask you wore like a curious child when he talked about elves and magic. He could hear its quiet voice becoming braver. 

He was there now, inside of it. Crammed inside a crate aboard a zeppelin. You had a way of doing that, he noticed. Taking him there. Making him feel the wooden crate against his spine. The stuffy air in the close darkness around him. The fear twinged with excitement. It was a sort of magic you possessed. 

He could feel it outside the pages too. The gentle burning in your fingertips, even when you pulled away. Especially when you pulled away. The quiet wanting of it all.   

He wondered how often you went there, to the secret world in you. Did you drift there as you glided down the hallway? Would you hide there when the real world was too much?

He wondered how many people saw it. How many others you let in. 

He wondered if he stayed there long enough, set up camp and looked around, if he would find himself there too. 

______

You fixed your hair as you checked your reflection in the faculty bathroom mirror. The old light bathed everything in a yellow wash. It made your skin look as tired as you felt. You picked lint off the black blazer you pulled from the back of your closet this morning. The one with the shoulder pads. Professional, right? It made you look bigger than you felt. Perhaps parents would take you seriously if you looked like you belonged behind the desk.

There were some perks to in-service days. No classroom to manage. You got to come in at noon instead of 7:30 am. Got to be the one listening to a lecture instead of giving one. The only downside was having to stay until 7:30 pm. That and trying your best not to cry when a parent inevitably got defensive. You always looked for something nice to say about all of your students. It softened the less savory news, if there was any. More often than not it was just making small talk, telling parents what a pleasure their child was to have in class. 

The heels of your shoes clicked down the empty hallway, past the trophy cases filled with plaques of names you still recognized. You caught the ghost of your reflection in the glass, the angular silhouette of the costume that you wore. You noticed your tight pencil skirt riding up in the back and you corrected it with a downward tug, keeping on the straight and narrow path toward the teachers lounge. 

The wood paneled walls welcomed you in, and you padded across the old carpet toward the open boxes of pizza laid out on one of the three round tables. You grabbed a paper plate and pulled a few slices of pepperoni from the large, square cut sheet, the cheese already hard from sitting out. You rarely complained, and this time was no exception. Your stomach was threatening to eat itself and lukewarm pizza more than fit the bill.

You took a bite to satiate your blood sugar and made your way to the coffee station for the third time that day. Grabbing a mug from the stack, your fingers grazed the faded lettering that vaguely resembled the Chief’s Auto Repairs logo. You glanced at the clock as you filled it with your liquid vice. It was 2:37, which meant you had approximately twenty-three minutes before you had to be posted at your station. Your stomach churned, and not from the pizza. 

 “Boo,” came a gentle whisper from behind you.

Your hand jerked, sloshing coffee all over the wood veneer.

“Oh my god I’m so sorry,” Diane apologized, making haste to grab a generous handful of square napkins from beside the sugar. Her bright red nail polish glinted under the fluorescents as she blotted up the mess.

You put a hand to your chest. “No, no it’s ok,” you sighed, grabbing a napkin to wipe the bottom of your mug. “It’s good to see you, honestly. I didn’t think I would.”

“Yeah, I still have quite a few notes to catch up on. Just because I’m not a teacher doesn’t mean I’m off the hook,” she said with a wink. “What was the seminar about this time?” She tossed the napkins into the trash at the end of the table.

“Oh, just the usual stuff. Classroom management, how to have better boundaries with students, you know, hah.” Knots twisted in your stomach as you leaned against the counter, grabbing a milk carton and tipping it over your mug. 

Diane hummed, eyes fixed on your generous pour threatening to overflow the coffee from the rim. “Sounds riveting.”

“Oh yes, enthralling,��� you said, folding the mushy lip of the carton back in on itself, something to do with your hands to keep them from shaking. The coffee probably wasn’t going to help.

Diane’s eyes narrowed, “Are you… ok?”

“Me? Oh, yeah. I’m fine. I’m just uh,” you tapped your finger on the edge of your mug. “Parent teacher conference day nerves, you know.” 

“Ugh, I can only imagine. I hope everyone is nice to you today. I have no idea why they wouldn’t be.” 

You offered a shaky chuckle. “Yeah, me neither. Just getting in my own head I guess.” 

“Love the blazer, by the way. Super sharp.”

“Oh, thanks. Figured I’d dress the part.” Grabbing your plate of pizza in one hand and very full mug in the other, you took a sip off the top, marking the rim with a delicate red blot. You pulled out one of the old chairs and found your place in it, which your feet were thankful for.

Diane leaned against the table, “So, Darren called last night.”

“Oh, you’re still talking to him?” The sauce squeezed out from the corners of your bite as you sunk your teeth into the hard cheese and gummy crust.

“Yeah, a bit. Off and on. He’s a nice guy. Does stuff for his sister and her kids lot, which I feel like is a good sign, right?”

Your brows raised a little. “Yeah, totally a good sign,” you said through a mouthful. 

“He invited me to the Colts game this weekend. I think I’m gonna go.”

You blotted the sauce from your lips. “Really? I thought you said he wasn’t your type.”

“I mean, what is a type anyway? If I keep waiting around for my type I might be waiting forever. I’ve gotta just start putting myself out there, you know? Give guys the benefit of the doubt for once. You never know until you try,” Diane offered as she opened up the large box of sheet pizza and ripped off two slices onto her plate.

You huffed through your nose, “Sometimes you know.”

“I mean, yeah. Sometimes, but with this one, I dunno. I mean we do have some things in common. We both like Saturday Night Live and spending time outside. He’s decently attractive, or he was at Mojo’s anyway,” she chuckled. “We’ll see what he’s like off the phone. At the very least it’s something to do, right?” 

You swallowed your bite. “Right. I mean, hey, free entertainment I guess.”

“That’s the spirit,” said Diane as she settled into the seat beside you. 

______

The phone was ringing. Shrill and deeply annoying as it echoed through the trailer. Eddie sighed and pulled himself away from your world in his lap, his expression blank and perturbed. He thought for a moment about answering it. About putting an end to the intrusive noise, but that would mean getting up from the toasty blanket cocoon he’d wrapped his legs in, like a warm pretzel. November’s creeping chill was doing nothing to help his motivation to leave it.

So he let it ring. And ring. Until finally the answering machine picked up, coloring the voice that came through in static and tin.

“Hey man, it’s Gareth. Um… I’m kinda freaking out about this date tomorrow. I know you’re probably just gonna tell me to stop being a pussy, but uh… yeah. Call me back.”

Eddie smirked and rolled his eyes. His friend knew him so well. There would be plenty of time to tell Gareth exactly what he needed to hear. That he was, in fact, being a total pussy. Later though. Right now he was busy. 

He was a man named Lazarus now. The Amazing Lazarus, formally. And he had a full time job shuffling cards and making purses disappear. 

The small crowd that gathered around him didn’t know that though. Not in this city anyway. He was certain he hadn’t seen any… artistic interpretations of his face plastered on any of the buildings in Torgaard. Yet.

If he could be quick enough with his hands they wouldn’t even notice what was missing until they were blocks away, and by then he would have long since packed up his banner and left. 

“Is this your card?” he flourished to the unfortunate man who had stepped forward from the crescent crowd.

The man squinted. “No I don’t think it is.”

“Ah,” he answered curtly. “Oh, what’s this?” He feigned surprised, reaching forward to dip his fingers into the man’s pocket. He pulled back with another flourish. “Is this your card?”

“Why it is!”

Cheers and claps erupted from the crowd. Lazarus took a bow. “Thank you, thank you.” He took off his weathered top hat and passed it around to collect any loose change that the crowd was eager to get rid of.

The people dispersed as quickly as they came, leaving him alone. He reached into the hidden pocket beneath his leather glove and extracted a small pouch. And now, for the even bigger reveal. 

He dipped his finger into the opening and loosened the draw strings to reveal a few spare coins and…

Another pocket watch. 

It was almost like everyone carried them around in their pockets. Dull and predictable, and practically worthless to him. He sighed, wondering how long it would be before he actually made his trade worth his time today.

That’s when he spotted her — the strangest person he’d seen all day. Maybe all year. Maybe in his entire life, and he’d seen a lot of people.

The first thing he noticed was her shock of white hair, cropped in a bob with bangs like a toddler. She toddled like one too. Petite and girlish. Flat boots with curled toes flapping like duck feet against the dirty cobblestone. Deeply unstable. Crinkled gold coat gleaming like a beacon in the sun. 

But the real clincher was the mask she wore. A big crescent moon that swept across her round face. Strange and alien. Stark against deep copper skin. Eyes like saucers. 

The perfect target. 

He strolled up to her, and her enormous eyes drank him in like they were parched.

“Hey, you look like the type of person who might appreciate a magic trick.”

She looked up at him, chin lowering beneath her mask. “A… a magic trick?” 

He couldn’t place the accent.

“Oh yes,” he said, shuffling his cards in an arch from one hand to the other. “Have you ever seen a magic trick before?”

It was a silly question to be asking someone who looked like they’d never seen a man before.

“Oh, um. I do not think so,” she said, her flat silk boots stumbling across the cobblestone to regain her footing. “Sorry I am a little, uh… it is like the air here is just so… different.”

Lazarus stopped shuffling. “Different? Different how? Different from where?”

She looked around, out past the zeppelin docks toward the horizon. She pointed toward the sky. “Myrne.”

“Really,” he half whispered. In all his travels he had never seen a Myrnish person before. He had only ever heard about them from others and what little they knew secondhand of their isolated culture. 

“The air…it is just… thicker,” she said between breaths. “Sorry. I am quite dizzy.”

He took a step closer. Close enough to assess that there were no pockets to be found on her strange garments, but there was something else that excited him much more. An obelisk of glimmering pale gold that dangled from her neck. Worth a small fortune, at least. 

The gold found in the mines of Mount Myrne was different from any other precious metal in the world. It was found only there, and unlike common gold, was very hard. It sparkled rather than shined, and most importantly possessed an energy that could be harnessed. Like magic.

The gnomes would use it to power their inventions. It didn’t take much of it to make a moderate machine come alive. A piece this size could surely afford him a permanent home, and then some. No more hiding his caravan outside cities. No more paying for stables or worrying about wolves making a meal of his horse.

He could picture it now. A little cottage in Shantiglade by the sea. He would wake up to a full body stretch in a real bed. He would fix himself a goose egg omelet over a real stove with peppers from his garden. He would open his windows and taste the fresh brine in the air. 

He would stroll leisurely to the beach where no one knew his face. Where the tide would kiss his ankles and wash away his footprints. Where his past couldn’t follow him.

The pendant winked in the sunlight. She was so small. He could easily break the chain from around her neck with a single tug and run.

“So, what brings you all the way down here?” He drew closer, unable to tear his eyes from the shimmering treasure.

She stepped back in time with his advance, like a dance, adjusting the mask on her face with hesitant eyes.

“I am looking for ghostfern.”

“You’ve come a long way for a plant, my dear.” Another step forward.

Another step back. “My brother needs it. He will die without it.” 

It was a look he’d seen before. Desperation twinged with hope. He’d seen it in his own reflection more times than he cared to admit. He saw it in his mother too, though the hope faded almost as quickly as she did when the cost of the cure was too great.

She lowered her gaze. “Ghostfern is very rare. None of our merchants carry it, though I hear it can be found in caves outside of Rower’s End, but I do not know how to get there.”

Rare, expensive — what difference did it make when it was out of reach? 

“That’s a long ways off,” he offered solemnly. It was deep into the boglands and nary a merchant dared to venture along the thin, winding path to Rower’s End. The rumors of sinister creatures and  bog crone hexes were enough to keep them away.

The strange young woman seemed unfazed by this. “Have you been there before?”

Lazarus huffed. “No, I but I do know how to get there.” The gold obelisk winked at him again and he stilled his itching hands. “How about I uh… make you a deal?”

“A deal?”

“Yes, a deal. I take you to Rower’s End in exchange for that pendant you’re wearing.”

She sized him up, the gears turning behind her enormous, chestnut spheres. “You will take me back then too? To Torgaard?”

Lazarus nodded firmly, “Of course.”

Her eyes crinkled, sparkled like the obelisk she wore. “Then it is a deal.”

“Excellent,” smirked Lazarus. “Ah, what is your name, by the way?”

“Cybelle.” Certainly one he hadn’t heard before.

“Lazarus, pleasure to be doing business with you.” He extended his hand.

Cybelle cocked her head, studying his open palm hovering in the space between them like a foreign object. 

“Uh, you — you shake it. See? Like this.” He demonstrated awkwardly with his other hand, then presented her with the opportunity again. “Now you try.” 

Cybelle stared at his hand. Her fingers twitched, gaze darting from his palm to his eyes. “Ah… sorry.” She put her hands up sheepishly, waving his away. “Trying not to get sick.”

Lazarus retracted his hand and gave a single, solemn nod. “As you wish.”

______

Your eyes tracked down your list of parent names, then up at the clock. It was 6:45 on the dot. The last name on your list was scheduled at 6:40. 

There was a part of you that hoped he wouldn’t show at all. The churning in your stomach was kicking up with each minute that ticked by, anxious eyes flitting from the paper, to the door, to the clock.

Until suddenly a figure appeared in the doorway. He was tall, weathered, with a short grey beard. Hair even shorter, stark against the ruddy skin that it encircled atop his head. He wore a denim jacket with a corduroy collar and olive green work slacks stained with patches of grease.

He peered around your classroom tentatively, as if looking for a sign that he found the right one. “Hi, Wayne Munson." It sounded like more of a question.

You stood up from behind your desk with a jolt. “Oh, hi! You must be Eddie’s dad.” Knots twisted in your stomach. You extended your hand to him and put on the warmest, brightest mask you could muster. 

“Uncle, actually.” His hand was rough and thickly calloused, fingers stained from nicotine. You could smell the stale scent of his vice on him, a family habit, evidently. “Sorry ’m a little late. Still a bit early for me, I work the graveyard at the plant.”

Uncle. The questions bubbled in your gut but there was no place to air them in the split second between you. “Oh that’s no problem, you’re last on my list today anyway. Here, have a seat.” You gestured to the chair opposite yours at your desk. 

Your desk. The same desk his nephew held your hand under. Your stomach churned again.

As Wayne eased himself into the small, wooden chair, you allowed your timid eyes enough agency to take stock. There was a weight to him, not in his body but in his aura. A heaviness that you could feel. Tired stories you strained to read between the lines on his face, stained into the cracks of his fingers. You would search for the resemblance to the one you saw most often in that chair. You would find very little save for their strong oval faces and the warmth that surprised you in his ice blue eyes.

Wayne sighed, deep and heavy as he creaked back into the chair. “Alright, how’s Ed doing in class?” he asked flatly.

There was something else in his eyes, leaden like defeat. Like bracing steel. Like tired expectation. 

He might as well have said, “Let’s get this over with.” It was the same tune. A tune he memorized. Sung a thousand times. A tune his voice was tired of.

“Eddie is…” a soft smile crept onto your face and you suddenly became captivated with the pen on your desk. You felt him lean forward, hinging on the words you left hanging in the air.

And so you told him the truth.

“…one of the most creative and tenacious people I know.”

There was a breath that he’d been holding in, a sigh that permeated the stunned stillness between you. 

“I know it isn’t easy for him to be here. I know he’d rather be doing a million other things but he’s still here, you know? Despite being denied graduation twice.”

He knew. You could see it as clearly as the lines that softened on his forehead.

“I mean sure, I could tell you that he’s got a B minus in my class right now. We could sit here and talk about grades, and attendance, and behavior, but… he’s trying really hard and I don’t think that you can… quantify that. There aren’t grades for effort. They don’t give marks for how many lonely students you offer a place to sit in the cafeteria. It isn’t something you can measure.”

Wayne leaned closer, the ice in his eyes melting so much that he needed to blink it away. 

The sight stirred a deep part of you. The easing of the bracing steel into something so much softer. Tender like a bruise. You thought about Eddie Munson with pen on his hand and shame in his eyes. Your nose burned.

“You know he’s got a lot of leadership qualities too,” you said, steadying the quiver from your voice. “He’s in a band, he runs a club. He’s involved and engaged. He’s…” your eyes lowered again, thumbing at the pen on your desk. “He’s got an enormous heart,” you said, quieter. “I think he’s just… extraordinary. If you want to know the truth.”

Wayne glanced away, toward the windows, as he swiped a calloused finger at his cheek. “M’sorry,” he muttered, blinking. “Y’know I’ve been goin’ to these for the past, what is it… nine years now? Nobody ever has nothin’ good to say about ‘im. Not a single one.”

An ache sank deep in your chest. It stung, like your eyes did when you imagined the younger versions of the man who took that chair most often, and those of the one in it now. Sitting in front of the big desk. Facing someone who was far less kind than you on the other side.

“You’re the one who’s been tutoring ‘im, aren’t you?”

You swallowed, stomach churning again. You figured he’d mentioned that. It would have been strange for him not to. “Yes. A few times a week after school. It seems to be helping. He showed me his progress report, all passing grades so far. He’s gonna walk that stage this year. He will if I have anything to do about it.”

Wayne cracked a smile at your determination. “Well thank you kindly for all your patience. I mean it. The boy’s always struggled in school. Been an issue even ‘fore I had ‘im.”

“What happened before you had him?” The words tumbled out of your mouth before you even had a moment to process whether they were appropriate or not. Whether it was your place to ask. 

Wayne sighed deep as his weathered hand eased the exhaustion creasing his brow. “My younger bother is… really somethin’ else to put it mildly. Always has been. He’s in county now doin’ time for stealin’ cars and other petty shit— sorry, young lady, pardon my French.” 

You shook your head and waved it off, the humor of his comment overshadowed by the concern twisting in your stomach. “It’s fine, really. Please continue.”

“Ed’s mom on the other hand, well she had ‘er own problems but not like him. Actually, I recon Warren was the biggest problem she ever had. Real young when she had Ed, maybe 19, if even. ’S hard to remember. Younger than Warren was, I know that much. We were all still livin’ in West Virginia at the time. A few years after that Warren got in hot water with the law. Packed up Lorena and the baby and settled in Hawkins with a few gamblin’ buddies he’d met from out this way.”

A twist, deep in your heart. You swallowed, leaning forward.

“Well, Warren managed to find some stable employment fixin’ cars. Stayed out of trouble for a few more years. Then Lorena started gettin’ sick. Always had issues with her heart, see. I don’t think the stress of livin’ out here with Warren helped none. I seen the way he’d talk to her when I would visit, always so suspicious of every damn thing.”

Your chest was so tight all of a sudden. Head filled with flashes of images you’d never seen. Images that you could feel. A woman in a cotton dress looking out a window. A profound loneliness. A longing for a freedom she may never know.  

“When Warren started gettin’ into trouble again I knew I had to do something, for Ed and Lori’s sake. They put ‘im away for a year that time, so I packed it up and moved out here. It was a good year. Gave us all a break from my brother. Sorry to go on a tangent, it’s just been a lot.” Wayne sighed deeply, smoothing his beard with his hand.

 “No, no you’re fine,” you reassured, putting on your best mask for him. Behind it you were breaking.

“He was worse when he came back though. Started gettin’ into drugs. Few years after that, Lori passed due to her heart. Ed was ten at the time. I shouldn’t have let the bastard have him at all, but he was stubborn as hell and he had custody. Had ‘im for a year before he finally messed up bad enough to go away for a long while. Best thing he ever did was go to jail, I’ll tell you what.”

 “I—,” you took a deep breath, the pen on the desk so enthralling again, “I’m sorry, this is… I wasn’t, um, expecting—”

“No I’m… sorry to dump all this on you. Don’t get many people who wanna listen to be honest.”

“No, it’s really ok. I’m the one who asked. It’s just…”

“I know. Kid’s had it rough, to put it mildly.”

You took a slow, shaky inhale to steady yourself and found the courage to meet his eyes again. “He’s incredibly lucky to have you,” you said earnestly.

The ice in his eyes melted again. The steel now soft and pliant. The weight in him less heavy.

“You’ve done such a good job raising him,” you offered gently, swallowing your tears. “Really, he’s a wonderful person. You should be so proud.” 

Wayne sighed, allowing a full, bright smile to wash over him. He blinked quickly, glancing toward the windows again, and you wondered how often he heard that. If he ever did before.

“Thank you,” he said, barely audible. 

It was strange, your sudden fondness for a man you dreaded meeting. 

“I should be thanking you. For sharing. For everything,” you said, stilling the quiver in your chest with a deep breath. “I think that’s all I really have for you today.” Your trembling hands gripped the chair beneath you.

Wayne nodded, “I’m glad I came. For once.”

You smiled, big and bright. “I’m glad you did too.” You extended your hand, your open palm hovering in the space between you. “It’s been an honor to meet you.”

Wayne’s warm, calloused hand bridged the great divide and squeezed yours gently. Lingered for a moment. “You as well,” he said, a fondness you could feel in his touch. He gave a firm shake before letting go.

“Have a great rest of your day,” you said with mustered cheer as he creaked out of the wooden chair.

“You as well,” he said with a wave as he made his way toward the door. His footsteps faded beyond the threshold, into the din of the hallway. 

A deep, ragged sigh escaped you.

You thought about Eddie Munson again. Thought about his oval face and big brown eyes. Thought about them smaller. In a hospital. Filled with unspeakable sadness. Sitting in the emptiness she left behind. At home by himself drawing dragons on his pages. Fighting a monster in his living room.

Eddie Munson. With pen on his hand and shame in his eyes. 

There was hope in them too. Unbreakable. Eager and wild. Restless, and frenetic, and warm. 

All at once.

It surfaced then. The strangled sob that released from your chest. It echoed off the tile floor and concrete walls that would still surround you both.

______

A/N: Apologies for how angsty that was. I sincerely hope you enjoyed it though, lots to explore in these new worlds we're uncovering ;)

As always, I deeply appreciate any and all comments -- keyboard smashes, theories, small novels, all of it. I work very hard on this story and hearing your reactions fuels me in ways that I can only begin to tell you.

Please reblog and help others to find my precious creation! ✨

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[animestsstuff2]

•sickly sweet•

Katsuki Bakugou x Reader

Content warning: death, bullying, fluff, angst, blood, light smut ( characters are aged up to 16/17)

Part 6

Masterlist

♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎

You stood with the rest of your friends before the bus that would be taking you to your first rescue training experience. All in your costumes.

“Excited Yuri?” Kirishima asked as he peered down at you. You nodded smiling up at him.

“Yeah Kiri! Im a bit nervous too though” he threw his arm round you, squeezing your arm with his hand to reassure you.

“Don’t be! Youll do great we’ve been training for ages now” he told you, removing his arm after noticing the angry glare he was receiving from his blonde friend. He even seen his palms spark. It was obvious to Kirishima Bakugou was crushing on you, he never shut up about you. Always whining about how annoying you are but in reality he just wanted a reason to talk about you.

“All right everyone aboard the bus lets go” Aizawa said lazily as he stepped on, everyone followed and got into their seats. You got near the back with your friends and noticed the only free seat was by Bakugou.

“Can I sit here?..” you asked quietly as the blonde rolled his eyes and nodded curtly. You sat down beside him ignorant to your gossiping friends behind yous.

The bus moved and you reached into your bag for you ‘juice’ only to realise it wasn’t there and you remembered suddenly you left it on the kitchen counter, pulling your phone out you shot a quick text to your dad informing him youd forgot. A single wrap from Aizawas scarf stopped in-front of you which was wrapped around your juice bottle. You grabbed it and smiled taking a large gulp. You were glad your dad had a spare, you became uncontrollable if you didn’t have any.

“Why did Aizawa have your juice?” Bakugou asked and you glanced up at him, quickly glancing back down however away from his piercing gaze.

“O-Oh, i texted my dad this morning that id forgotten it. He must have seen Mr. Aizawa and gave it to him” Bakugou didn’t reply and just turned back to the window.

You yawned, it was really sunny today and you knew that would bother you today in training. The sun doesn’t burn you or anything but it does strain your eyes a lot and make you tired. You’re a complete night owl but thats just due to being weaker in sun from your condition.

You turned, closing your eyes and pulling your knees up as you thought a small nap wouldn’t hurt. You drifted off not realising the seat had now turned into Bakugous warm arm and the blonde turned ready to yell at you but stopped when he seen how peaceful you looked. He shifted ever so carefully and braced his arm, tensing when your not so there mind grabbed his arm with yours and wrapped your arm under and around his. It made his skin tingle where you touched and he looked back into the window, glaring as he felt his cheeks warm. Hes just never been in a position like this with a dumb girl, its got nothing to do with how cute you look- cute? He shook his head grumbling at the thought of his mind calling you cute.

“Get a photo! get a photo!” Mina hissed into Urarakas ear who was grinning as she pulled her phone out and snapped a picture. The two gushing about how cute you were.

♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎

"Hey everyone! Im thirteen and im here today to do rescue training. We have multiple areas set up with different scenarios. As you can see we have multiple areas set up, hillside rescuing, city areas etc" thirteen explained.

You all gazed in awe at the place before you. You seen a large body of water with a boat. A huge rocky hillside. A city one that was on fire.

You stood gushing about how exciting would be when suddenly. The lights dimmed and the water fountain that was sputtering water began turning purple and soon a large purple circle emerged and grew. Aizawa turned as people emerged from the large portal. They were villains.

"Thirteen! Protect the students!" He ordered and they nodded.

Kirishima looked down and looked at everyone else.

"Has the training started already? I thought we were rescuing" he asked.

Aizawa turned to us. A serious look on his usually bored face. We stepped forward. When aizawa snapped, worry laced his tone rather than his usual dead voice warning us to stay back.

"This is real. Those are villains"

"Thirteen, take the students and leave and alert the school, wait. If they got in undetected they may be blocking our contact. Kaminari use your quirk and try and contact the school" he explained as he pulled his goggles up and stepped forward.

"Wait! Theres too many for you to take on your own! Even if you can cancel their quirks you best work in stealth and one on one fights" Deku stated towards Aizawa who simply looked at us over his shoulder.

"You cant be a pro if you only have one trick" he said "Take care of them thirteen"

You felt your stomach knot as your father charged into the battle with multiple enemies. He was strong but you couldn't help but worry as he fought them.

You all followed thirteen who ran towards the door to escape when a huge purple portal took up all the space in front of the door. He was like a huge purple fire.

"Its finally nice to meet all you. I know the circumstances arent the best but we are the league of villains and we decided to invite ourselves to say hello and besides all that isnt this a nice place for all might the symbol of peace to meet his demise? I dont see him anywhere however" you narrowed your eyes at the man’s question.

You all stood, bracing yourselves for his quirk when suddenly large tendrils shot out and surrounded you all. You were engulfed in the purple smoke, reaching out you grabbed something as you were teleported somewhere else and then suddenly you fell out of the sky. You groaned and sat up looking around. You were in one of the zones. It was a ruined city.

"G-GET OFF ME!" You heard katsuki yell and you looked down, you were ontop of him.

You quickly scrambled off, feeling your cheeks heat as you became slightly flustered. A pair of arms reached under your arms from behind and picked you up. You already knew who it was. You didnt have to look.

"Thanks kiri!" You grinned and katsuki grumbled hearing the nickname.

"He teleported us to separate us" katsuki stated and you all nodded in agreement.

"These kids dont know whats in store for them" you heard a deep voice chuckle and soon you were surrounded by villains.

They all came at you. you pulled the small knife from your black boots and sliced your arm, blood flowing out and forming the a large mallet. The wound sealed over quickly, another perk.

You swung your mallet at the villain and hit his stomach. He fell back and held it as he groaned in pain, another one charged at you and he had chains, he swung one and caught your arm. He pulled you down and you let go of the mallet. You panicked, unable to free yourself from his chain as he held a small dagger raised in the air and your weapon began morphing dramatically, head full of worry at the enclosing dagger you could not focus on a single thought let alone an image of a weapon. His hand came down and you closed your eyes. The blood in your hand disappearing as you readied for the pain that never came.

You opened your eyes and looked seeing Bakugou standing where the man once stood. His palms igniting and sparking softly as the man laid groaning. His stomach burnt and clothes singed.

You turned and seen kirishima knocked his out. You watched as kirishima turned to bakugou and began talking about saving the others.

"We have to help the others. They dont have great offensive quirks like us" Kirishima stated and Bakugou shocked his head.

"Im gonna kill the portal bastard" bakugou growled

"If there low lever crooks like this then theyll be fine!" And you nodded agreeing.

"Hey since when were you so calm qnd rational. Youre always like die this and die that" kirishima chuckled and you giggled with him.

"IM ALWAUS CALM AND RATIONAL YOU REDHEADED LOSER!" He yelled.

Kirishima and you just laughed more and rolled your eyes at his dramatic outburst You got out of the ruin landscape and were in the middle where Aizawa was.

You watched as he charged at the blue haired boy, punching him in the gut. You smiled seeing all the other villains in the ground. This kid couldnt be that bad but you watched as the boy gripped his elbow.

Your dads hair dropped around him, clearly unable to maintain his quirk any longer and suddenly his elbow began to decay. His clothes disappeared and soon his skin. You rang forward but kirishima grabbed you and you struggled in his grip.

Your dad jumped away and took down another two villains, they just kept coming and he was getting tired. The blue haired boy spoke. His voice rather raspy and dry.

"Dont you think youre out of your element here eraserhead" Aizawa turned to the boy and his hair floating as his eyes glowed

"And youre still standing you really are so cool!" He exclaimed. "Oh by the way. I am not the final boss"

Your gaze snapped to the sudden appearance of a beast that stood above your father. He had a beak like a bird. His brain spewing out of his split skull. He was huge and extremely built.

You watched in once swipe the bird clawed Aizawas eyes. His goggles flying off as blood spewed and began to pull more against both kirishima and now katsuki as you felt tears fall from your eyes.

You watched as the bird creature grabbed your dads head and you saw tsu, midoryia and mineta on the opposite side in the water. The blue hair boy ran forward. His hand reached for tsu but nothing happened and you looked at your dad. His hair floating as blood dripped onto the ground.

You watched your fathers face be slammed into the ground and you stopped struggling, freezing. You watched as he pulled your fathers arm behind his back breaking it and that was it.

"DAD!" You screamed, freeing yourself of their hold as you pulled your dagger and sliced your arm. a weapon formed and you ran forward, ignoring everyone else. You wanted that boy dead.

A large dark red scythe hung over your small frame. Your arms holding it up high ready to strike.

You ran at the creature, blood pooling at you dads body as you jumped and sliced down, cutting the arm that held your fathers face in half. You morphed your scythe into a large sqaure hammer and swung it into the creature, sending him skidding across the floor as his arm immediately starting healing.

You huffed as you crouched down and felt your fathers pulse. He was still alive. You stood over him. Your breath laboured from the adrenaline as the blue hair boy was suddenly beside you, trailing a hand up your scythe. You pulled it away from him as he moved out of your attack and was by the bird creature who formed a new arm.

"You two, both very strong. Hey boy. That punch of yours are you like one of All Mights disciples?" Deku didnt answer and the boy turned to you.

"And you, who would have thought eraserhead had a kid. But that quirk, why thats blood. That seems like a villains quirk not a heros quirk." He stated but sighed.

"But it doesnt matter. Im done with the both of you now "

♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎ ︎♡︎♡︎

Anyways be sure to check out my other fic ‘a dragons beauty’

[shelfwar]

Could you write something smut with slider?

Of course! Bear with me, this was my first smut I've written in a long time, so enjoy. Oh and thank you for the request!

WARNINGS:18+ Obviously SMUT, DOM/SUB,USE OF WORDS, DECEPTIVE OF BODY PARTS, IDK WHAT ELSE....

~I do~ Slider X Reader |SMUT|

"And now I pronounce husband and wife. You may now kiss Mr and Mrs Kerner." You looked up at Slider as he grabbed your waist and leaned down locking his lips with yours as cheers erupted in  the church. "Were married." You whispered out of breath. "Yeah, we are love." He grabbed your hand as the wedding party made there way down the aisle as the two of you came at the very last once all of the guests left the building. "By the way, you look stunning today y/n." Slider twirled you around as you let out a giggle.

"And you don't so bad yourself handsome." You pecked his cheek as he looked down at you with a smile. Suddenly the church doors opened as the guests started clapping as you two made your way to thank the guests. You walked over to your parents and hugged them tightly. "My little girl." Your dad said as he looked at you lovingly. "Oh dad." "Look at you my princess and her lovely bride" "I know." You glanced over at Slider as he was talking to some of the guests, which melted your heart even more.

"Go, get him." Your mom nudged you towards him. "Mom!" She let out a chuckle as you made your way to your husband. "Hi, Ron." "Hi, love." He wrapped his arm around your waist as Iceman and some of the other pilots walked over to you two.

"Congrats you two, still can't believe your married." "Thanks Tom, I still believe it either." You said as you looked up at Slider. "Yeah, I sure found a beauty." He chuckled.

"Auntie y/n! Auntie y/n! You look like a princess." Your neice Kayla came running up to you as your brother came chasing after her. You picked up the small girl and held her on your hip not knowing that Slider was watching intently from besides you. "Why thank you Kayla." "And-and uncle Ron you look like a king." "Why thank you miss Kayla." Slider poked her small rosy cheek as she giggled at him.

After all of the pictures were taken you and Slider along with the wedding party climbed aboard the party bus and started the drinking for the reception. Although you weren't much of a drinker you still participated in the fun by drinking a mixed drink. "You okay?" You felt Slider whisper into your ear as he squeezed your hand. "Yeah, just nervous." "It'll be okay, just think of what's coming tonight." He said as he wiggled his eyebrows. "Ron!" "Can't wait to hear that to." You swatted at his arm as he started chuckling.

Once you arrived at the reception hall the bridal party all lined up with both groomsmen and bridesmaids as you and Slider were at the very end of the 3 row of friends. Slider held your hand tightly as the you both moved up every few seconds. When it was your turn for introduction Slider picked you up bridal style before walking in as the DJ announced you two. "PLEASE WELCOME MR AND MRS KERNER!!"

Cheers erupted all around you as he walked into the reception hall, with big smiles you both kissed each other. Slider slowly put you down making sure you got your footing back as you walked hand in hand  over to the wedding party tables with the others. You both found your spots which were seated in the middle of the most decorative area as did the others to. Slider pulled out the chair for you as you pulled up your dress a little before sitting in the comfortable chair. Slider soon followed, underneath the table he took your hand in his and squeezed it in reinsurance.

After everyone in the wedding party sat down they started serving the delicious food that consisted of; roast beef, mash potatoes, green beans with bits of bacon mixed in, along with a roll. You instantly dug in, cause you didn't even bother eating breakfast this morning because of all of the nerves you had.

"Best damn-" Glasses starred tinkling as it grew louder, both you and Slider stood up as he caressed your cheek before leaning into you for a kiss as cheers erupted once again. "I hate that tradition." You whispered as you both sat back down. "I could tell." He chuckled as he went back to eating. "As I was saying this is good food." "I know, that's why I got this company to cater." You giggled. "Smart girl."

When everyone was done eating they started clearing the center of the room so you can have your first dance. Obviously it was daddy daughter dance first, you and your dad held onto each other as a slow romantic song played. "My little girl, going to a Navy pilot, who'd thought." "Beats me dad." He let out a chuckle as he twirled me around. "I love you dad." "And I love you to y/n. I know Slider will take very good care of you." "I know he will, that's why I love him."

As the two of you were dancing Slider and his mom started dancing alongside you and your dad. "Hey Ron, I think this is your dance." Your dad motioned him to you as him and his mom hugged before he grabbed your hand. Yours and Sliders chosen song for your first dance started playing (Take my breath away- Berlin)

Slider once again placed his big hands on your waist as you wrapped your arms lazily around his neck. He started to slowly rock you both back in forth to the beat of the music occasionally rubbing his nose on top of your head. "I love you y/n." "I love you too Ron."

When the song ended he leaned down and gently captured your lips with his.

When both you two starred getting tired you both said your goodbyes as you headed out to your car. Slider started it up as he grabbed your hand and put it over his crotch. With wide eyes you looked over at him. "You feel that baby? My cock is straining for you cause you look so fucking sexy in that dress, I'm gonna ruin you."

"Fuck." You whispered as you squirmed in the seat. He put the car in reverse and backed out of the parking spot, then put it in drive. Once we left the haul, he looked over at you hungrily before placing your hand back on his crotch. "Mm, the things I could do to you. I bet you your pussy is drenched for me, isn't it baby?" "Yes Ron." "Good girl." He smirked as you subconsciously started rubbing his crotch. "Fuck."

When you arrived at your shared home, Slider parked the car in park faster than ever as he ran to your door opening it. He quickly picked you up bridal style as he made his way to the front door and opened it up. Slamming the door shut his lips instantly locked with you in a fiery kiss, setting you down in the process.

"You. Me. Bed. Now!" Your brain went to hot wire mode as you tripped over your own dress trying to run up the stairs, Slider behind you cautiously watching.  Once you made it upstairs you flopped down on the bed with a goofy grin as Slider made his way into the room. "Yeah know, I can see the outline of your cock better in your whites then those khaki pants."

"Fucking right." Slider took off his hat and placed it on the nightstand,

whilst taking off his shoes. You rose your leg up hinting that you wanted your shoes off. Slider got the hint, so he softly took off your shoes and threw it behind him. "Waited all fucking day to tear this dress off of you baby. Fuck, gave me a boner right away when I saw you." "Mm, I might be wet wanna check it out?" "Yeah."

You sat up in bed as he helped remove your dress to reveal a white lingerie set that barely covered your breasts. "Fuck." "Saved it just for you Slider, just for you." Slider pounced on the bed caging you with his arms as he started kissing you like there's no tomorrow. He moved down to your neck trying to find your pulse point. "Slider!" He sucked on the point as you let out a moan grasping his shoulders, as he moved down to the valley of your breasts. Your racked your hands in his short curly hair. "I love you." He looked up at you with hooded eyes.

"Ron, I love you to." You smiled up at him. "Screw the rough sex, I'm gonna make sensual love to you." Slider continued to kiss down to your panties as he he slowly removed them. "Sit up baby girl." You listened to him as he helped remove your bra. He cupped your breasts as you started on his buttons. "Lemme do it baby."

Slider got off the bed and took off all of his clothes besides his boxers and jumped back to you. "Your wearing to much." "I know, but your pussy needs attention right now." Slider got down his knees and blew on your pussy, earning a whimper from you.

He licked a wide stripe from your hole to your clit. "Ron!" You locked your hands in his hair as he started eating you out, like a hungry man. Your hips started thrusting upwards, as you felt Sliders arm hold down your hips. "Mmm, Ron." You gasped as you felt his tongue fuck your hole.

"RON I WANT YOU INSIDE ME!" You yelped as he bit your clit. "Not till you cum." He dove right back in as you felt your walls start to flutter. "I'm close." You panted. You felt him tease his middle finger before removing his mouth, as he sunk his middle finger into your pussy you panted out his name like a prayer. "Roonn!" You whimper as he placed his tongue on you clit while fucking you with his finger.

"Don't stop. Ron don't stop I'm close. Fuck!" You gripped the bedsheets and his hair as the coil began to tighten reaching closer and closer to your orgasm.

"Cum, baby. I can feel you " You let out a silent scream as your body shook your orgasm out. "That was hot." Slider stood up and took his boxers off, so his cock could be free. He climbed on top of the bed hovering over your blissed out body. You felt one of his hands caress your check once he knew you came down from the high.

"You okay?" You looked up at him with half lidded eyes, nodding in the process of recovering from the best orgasm you've had in a while. "I'm fine just give me a bit." "Okay." Slider slowly placed his lips on yours as you could taste yourself on his tongue. You felt Slider tweak at your sensitive nipples as his kisses grew hungrier. You moaned in his month has he broke the kiss.

"Any protection tonight darling?" You nodded as he reached over to the nightstand and pulled out a condom. With his teeth he opened the packet and handed it to you. "I want you to put it on" "Okay." You sat up in bed as you took the condom out of the package and lighty touched his dick. You pinched the one end as you started rolling it down his shaft, he let out a groan as you laid back down.

"You ready?" He said as he stroked his dick. "Of course Ron." He smiled as he hovered over you again but with one hand he held himself up and with the other he held his cock. He ran it up and down your slick folds earning small whimpers from you.

After awhile of him doing that he finally put the tip in as he inched in slowly. He grabbed one of your hands and held it very tight as he bottomed out. "Fuck, your always so tight." "Only for you Ron." You moaned as he thrust back a bit before slamming back in. He looked down at you as he started thrusting into you hard making you squeal, out in pleasure.

"Your taking my cock so well love." "Fuck, Ron I love you!" You moaned as he placed your legs over his shoulders to get deeper into you, if it was even possible. He buried his head into your neck while you clawed at his back. "Ron!" You cried as you took his face and made him look at you. He leaned down locking his lips with you in a very sloppy kiss, as you felt that familer feeling rising in your stomach.

"Ron, I'm so fucking close." "Hands and knees now." Slider pulled out of you as he knelt back watching you get into position. Once there you felt him thrust into you very hard, with a moan you clawed at the sheets. "Holy fuck!" His pace was brutal at this point, just to reach both of your highs together.

"I'm so close y/n!" "Me-me to Ron." You felt his fingers travel up to your clit and that's when you exploded, you let out the loudest moan that would make a porn star blush. Slider flipped you both so you were back to laying down and him looking at you again.

As his thrusting became sloppy, your eyes started to water as a howl erupted from Slider indicating that he came to. Slider rested his head on yours as heavy breathing became labored. "You okay?" He said as he caressed your cheek. "Yeah, just tired." "Okay, I love you to." He pulled out of you whille you whined.

He pinched the top of the condom and tied it up throwing it into the garbage can. He then left the room as you heard water running, and in He came with a washcloth. He started cleaning up your vagina and started kissing your plush thighs. Once he was done he dug through some drawers pulling out one of his shirts, his boxers and new underwear for you.

He put back on his boxers as he helped you put your underwear and his shirt on. Once done you climbed underneath the covers as he turned off the light and hopped into bed with you. Instantly you crawled up to his side, placing your hand on his toned chest as he wrapped an arm around you.

"Good night Mrs Kerner." He planted a kiss on your forehead. "And good night Mr Kerner."

[kittydcoxx]

RAAAHHHHHHH BEIDOU FIC I WROTE ON THE BUS beidou simps come get ur meal pspspsp

GUYS IVE LOST MY MOJO??!?!?!! IDK HOW TO WRITE SMUT ANYMORE??!?!?! TERRIBLE!??!?!?!!!!!!! AUGHHHHHHH but here is the food for my poor little fellow beidou simps who are fed nothing but mere crumbs. I offer you a really shitty beginning of a fic that i literally wrote on the bus home bc i didnt have data. 😮‍💨

Not proof read WHATSOEVER and whatever beginnings of smut there is is at the very end of the post bc 😭😭😭 i was procrastinating it bc im soooo rusty but wanna get back into the groove of it again.😒😪

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The floor beneath you booms with the rhythm of the music blasting from the speakers. The lines to the bathrooms are backed up, and your friend had informed you that it is in fact not because that many people need to use the washroom, but because people are using substances or hooking up. This was the last thing ever on your bucket list, partying just wasn't your thing, but as per your friend's birthday wishes, you were met with pleas from her for "just one club night pleaseee!" And you had denied her far too long that you decided "what the hell, why not."

A few drinks in your system (though not intended, the peer pressure of your friends begging you to join just one round eventually led to... a few) left you more lax than usual, and to everyone's surprise, you had the incredible capacity to actually dance. This is the first time you've really lost yourself in the music, every other opportunity ruined by the idea of people watching and judging you, but with a little liquid courage and a confidence boost as a result, it actually seemed as if you wanted to attract attention, though you had no idea who's attention you had just wrapped around your finger.

-----

She had just come back from another expidition. It wasn't intended to be a long one, just a short trip from liyue to inazuma to transport a couple items, yet rumors from the crew about treasure and the ever repeating teasing that the captain had "replaced her sense of adventure for domestic living" had gotten under her skin enough that she made room for quite a few detours. She doesn't frequent clubs very often, usually opting for a drinking party aboard the Crux with the rest of the crew, yet tonight she wished for a different experience, and truthfully, she also wished for an excuse to be away from the crew for a while. This club seemed to have opened during her few-months venture on the grand seas of teyvat, and of course as an avid enjoyer of all things alcohol and parties, it was a necessary measure to make sure this club was up to par.

Striding over from the club doors to the bar counter, the atmosphere hits her face. This place was god damn huge. It seemed to be a spot for the younger generations, and the rest of those who are trying to fit in, albeit desperately. There were many foreigners, but still a decent amount of locals inhabiting the club as well. The music from the stereos blasting with a genre that would definitely take her to get used to, the rapid pace of the rhythm and lyrics and new assortment of melodies definitely would take one aback had they never heard it before. The sheer amount of people dancing and drinking and lining to the washrooms was almost overwhelming, even to our party-headed captain. The bar had never been so inviting. Resting her body weight on a bright red faux leather stool, she orders just a simple mixer, skeptical of the specialty drinks being served, the otherworldly-ness of it all taking her by shock. After knocking back a few of the same drink, she sits and observes the crowd, waiting for some sort of buzz to kick in, her energy zapped from the long months at sea but aware that after a few drinks she will be as rejuvenated as she was before she left. As she scans the dance floor, her eyes lock on a particular figure dancing the night away. Jumping, swaying, waving and just having what seemed like the time of her life, her animated moves enticing and entertaining to watch. Every change of the music makes her movements change, and at this movement the dancing changes from upbeat to passionate, sensual.

------

The music had transitioned into a one that you were definitely sure was in some form naughty. The way the vocals whined and whispered, as if entrancing you into slowly swaying your hips and dragging your hands up and down and across your body to the rhythm, completely unaware of the attention you had just gotten from a not so secret admirer staring from accross the club. Sitting at the bar was a muscular woman, her furthest eye covered by a burgindy eyepatch, her uncovered eye locked upon the sight of your body moving to the music. Almost immediately you tense, and she notices, your eyes meeting, your's communicating a sense of alarm, her communicating intrigue. Once finally able to shake off the trance in which you fell upon meeting her gaze, you realize she had disappeared. Perhaps she went to freshen up? Or perhaps she just straight up left. Either way, no one else was obviously watching you now, and the music began calling to your body once more, continuing your slow movements to the rhythm.

-----idk what to put here so were skipping to the smut---------------------------

Her toned body looms over you, your arms rested on the pillow under your head. She pauses for a moment, taking in the image of you underneath her, so perfect and so pretty, just for her to see. Your clothes lay on the floor and it sets in that you are now completely on display for her to see, set out in front of her like a warm, steaming meal ready to be devoured. It had not completely registered that you had become in this position, but did it really matter? In this moment, nothing matters except for her.

Her hands trace paths along the sides of your body, trailing from your hips, to your waist, resting slightly underneath the lower part of your ribs as her head lowers into the crook of your neck, leaving kisses and marks into the plush of your skin, trailing down to your collarbone before making a beeline of kisses from the front of your neck, pausing again right before your lips touch, feeling the heat of your staggered breaths against her face, a smirk growing as she prides herself in how quickly she stripped and made a mess of you without actually even touching you.

"Mmm... you're really enjoying this aren't you doll?"

[for-a-muse-of-fire]

imagine being loved by me

Fandom: The Witcher (2019)

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x fem!poc reader

Summary: You clock him as a witcher the moment he steps into your tavern - his kind never scared you the way the did the rest of the village. So he kills things for money? What’s the alternative - being overrun and eaten alive by things that go “bump” in the night? Given your complete and utter lack of shame, you proceed to flirt mercilessly with the White Wolf, and the night just gets more interesting from there.

Warnings: NSFW/18+ ONLY I STG, GET OFF MY LAWN DAMN KIDS. Smutty smut smut, oral (f receiving), dirty talk, I’d say some dom!Geralt if you squint a bit, plus some standard violence and swearing. Geralt and reader both say fuck a bunch.

A/N: Inspired by my current obsession with Hozier’s song, “Talk”. Y’all, I think this is the first legit thing that I’ve written in several years. Like, at least 5. Maybe more. It’s not perfect, but I still did the damn thing, and that feels pretty rad. Some of you lovely people requested tags - like a dingus, I did not keep track, so this is me doing by best. I honestly don’t think I have to fortitude to keep up a taglist, so I’ll do my absolute best to tag everything under #tutu scribbles so it’s easy to find.

I'd be the sweet feeling of release Mankind now dreams of  That's found in the last witness Before the wave hits, marveling at God

He appears in the doorway towards the end of the night. Most of your patrons have stumbled home, save for one small table that has been carousing with a mission. You’re ready to read them the riot act when the stranger steps into the tavern, ushered by a blast of sharp winter air. You notice him right away, mostly because he might be the largest man you have ever seen. He’s tall, and so broad-shouldered that he brushes the door frame on his way in. You momentarily forget what you’re doing in favor of gawking a bit, bar rag paused mid-swipe when he pulls back the hood of his heavy cloak.

Gods on high, he’s handsome. Almost pretty.

Features that belong on a marble statue and a soft looking mouth that you can’t help but focus on.

He takes a cautious glance around the room and catches you staring. Given that you don’t know the meaning of the word “shame”, you don’t bother to duck your head, though you have enough sense to not grin out-right like a loon. It’s difficult, though.

White hair. Honey-gold eyes.

What really gives him away is the silver medallion that swings out from under his cloak. The size of a large coin, it shows a snarling wolf’s head in profile.

A Witcher.

He holds your gaze and something shivers its way down your spine. His boots carrying him silently across the worn floorboards and you find yourself trying to fluff your hair, make the riotous curls behave for once. You move to meet him when he sits at the end of your bar – even seated, you’re nearly eye-to-eye with him. The smile you offer is a crooked one, bordering on coy.

No harm in a little fun.

“Just in time, friend,” you rib him gently. “I was getting ready to close down and call it a night.”

“Lucky me,” the witcher rumbles. Rumbles - you’re not sure what else to call it. His voice sounds like gravel and thunder. His golden eyes take in your face, and you feel warm, in spite of the drafty space. Something in the vicinity of your stomach starts to flutter excitedly.

Testing the waters, you lean against the bar top with crossed arms. His eyes dip to the swell of your breasts at the top of your bodice.

You grin. “What’s your pleasure, Witcher?”

Gold eyes snap up to meet your darker ones and there is heat in that gaze. The witcher lets out a low kind of a sound, that soft mouth of his turning up at one corner.

The fluttering thing in your belly turns liquid – molten.

 “Ale,” he says, handing over a few crowns. “Please… miss.”

 “Right away.”

You pull a clean tankard from it’s spot and you turn your back to fill it. Being under his gaze isn’t unlike standing in direct sunlight – you can feel it press warmly against your back and shoulders. You try to focus on pouring a decent pint, but all you can think about is the fact that it’s cold out, and it’s been far too long since you’ve had someone warm and vital in your bed. The golden-eyed man behind you certainly seems vital.

Mind made up, you turn to present him with his ale and lean into the bar again. His eyes dip down the line of your neck, a little farther, and then up to find you grinning.

“Enjoy,” you tell him “Get comfortable, Witcher. I’ll be nearby if you need me.”

He “hmms” at you, very nearly grinning himself. Teeth caught against your bottom lip, you pull yourself away and begin your end-of-night duties – gathering empty bowls, cups, dirty utensils – to bring them through to the kitchen. You find yourself stealing one last glance at the witcher as you bump the kitchen door with your hip and slip away. A song, some manner of bawdy barroom ballad, comes to mind unbidden and you find yourself humming tunelessly to yourself as you start the washing.

You swear, you’re barely gone a few moments when you hear the racket begin. Raised voices, drunk voices – damn, you’d forgotten the table of stragglers – and the low rumble of the witcher. An irritated sigh huffs up from your chest and you dry your damn hands on your apron, leaving the rest of the washing in the basin.

The loud voices of drunk men become more clear as you step up to the door separating the kitchen from the tavern: “We don’t want you here, fucking mutant.”

There’s a crash, then the thud of fist hitting flesh. Dammit. So much for your fun tonight.

You swear under your breath and reach for your only real weapon – the heavy wooden baton has a place of honor beside the kitchen door. Slowly, quietly, you easy your way back into the main room. With the layout of the tavern, you’ve appeared behind the drunks – the witcher can see your movements from where he stands, the idiots can’t. The witcher’s mug of ale has been shattered on the floor. He’s surrounded, three drunks around him and the bar top at his back. The red mark high on his cheekbone gives you a hint as to who swung the first punch.

Golden eyes meet yours. You see his jaw tense, and he gives a short jerk of his head; ‘stay back,’ the motion says. It’s almost enough to make you take pause, until you see the glint of a blade; the witcher is focused on you, not on the knife that one of the drunks just pulled. Adrenaline zips through your system and you lunge without thinking, wielding language most unbecoming of a lady. How you manage to keep from tripping on your skirts is beyond you. The would-be knife fighter gets three bone-rattling strikes – knee, diaphragm, nose – and drops, clutching his face with some creative profanity.

His drunk cohorts gawp stupidly at you. You glare daggers in return.

“You are no longer welcome here,” you snap. “Get the fuck out, or it’ll be you on the ground next.”

They considering their bleeding, whimpering friend on the floor and decide not to chance it. You keep your club at the ready, watching as the morons pick up their wounded friend and usher him out the door. The breath that you didn’t remember holding comes whooshing out, and then you turn to your last guest. He’s tense as a wire, fists still clenched – your voice seems to snap him out of it:

 “All right, Witcher?”

He exhales, pulling his focus from the door and back to you. “Yeah… yes,” he replies. You watch him flounder a moment, as if he’s just realizing what happened. “Thank you. That was… thanks.”

 “Any time.”

That’s apparently not a response he’s heard before – it shows on his face for the briefest of second, and then you can see the barrier drop behind his pretty gold eyes. He seems cold as the winter outside when he speaks again, “I’m sorry for the trouble, miss. Thank you for the ale.”

A few more crowns appear from the folds of his cloak – he leaves them on the bar, and you can’t help but blink at him as he starts to make his way to the door. It’s entirely possible that you should leave him be, but you still find yourself calling out:

 “Hold on, Witcher!”

He almost ignores you, leather-gloved hand on the heavy iron handle of the tavern door. You can’t help it – he starts to curse under his breath, and you find yourself grinning about it. He’s still grumbling when he finally turns and those honey-colored eyes find your face again. You tilt your head, curls akimbo across your shoulder, and offer up a soft smile.

Some of the ice behind the witcher’s eyes starts to melt and you could swear he’s trying not to smile back. “… Geralt,” he rumbles at you. “My name is Geralt. Of Rivia.”

 “Geralt of Rivia,” you murmur, and offer your name in return. “Please, Geralt. You’re nearly knifed in my establishment and I think courtesy dictates I offer you something by way of apology. Besides… when was the last time you had a hot meal?”

That perks him up. He may not be fully human, but he’s still male.

You exhale, a breathless chuckle of sorts, and move closer. If there’s an extra sway in your hips, well, you can’t help that and he doesn’t seem to mind. He’s momentarily distracted by the cut of your bodice again and you preen internally. You offer him the hand not holding your club and smile up into his face.

“Come and sit with me, Geralt of Rivia.”           

         ___

After the broken tankard is swept up and the spilled ale dried, you disappear into the kitchen and return with a plate for your guest – the night’s dinner special. Braised beef, potatoes with garlic and butter, and roasted winter vegetables from your garden out back. Geralt, finally stripped of his cloak and gloves, tucks in with the ravenous hunger of a tired traveler. He shovels a mouthful down, then stops, blinking down at the plate.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, frowning.

He very nearly speaks with his mouth full, thinks better of it, and swallows. “This is fucking delicious,” he says, deadly serious. You laugh.

“Thank you.” Pride swells in your chest; you’ve always been proud of your cooking. “Most of it came from my own garden.”

Geralt hums. His next bite is smaller, and he takes his time chewing it. The sight of him enjoying his meal makes you feel contented. He eats, and you go about your work. The fire in the hearth has burnt down some, but it’s enough for you to be able to finish the night’s cleaning. When you slip back behind the bar, Geralt’s plate is empty – he may have actually licked it clean. He seems almost content himself as he finishes his ale.

 “Still hungry?” you tease. He squints at you for a moment, but the corner of his mouth ticks up.

 “No, thank you. I may not need to eat again for a few days.”

You laugh at that, “Good, that’s what I like to hear. Stay put, all right?” You nod at the bruise that’s started to bloom on his cheek. “I think I have something for that…”

The empty plate is cleared and you grab a small basket from the kitchen. After filling Geralt’s mug one last time, you pour a small goblet of wine for yourself and come to sit next to him at the bar. He watches you as you open your small kit. “A cook, a fighter, and a healer?” he muses. “Is there anything you can’t do?”

“Can’t sing for shit,” you shoot back. “And a cook, yes, but you’re very generous, calling me a fighter, or a healer. Really, I think I just know enough about either to be dangerous…”

Geralt snorts indecorously. “I think our friend with the broken nose might beg to differ.”

“Doesn’t take much skill to break a nose – long as you swing hard enough. Hah!” You’ve found it – the little salve jar at the bottom of your kit. You turn to Geralt with a grin and hold out the jar for his inspection. “I hear your lot are the expert on this kind of thing. What do you think?”

He “hmms” again – you rather like that sound – and twists open the top of the jar. You watch him give a careful sniff before he peers in to look at the contents itself. “Frankincense,” he mutters. “Honey… mugwort? Good mix.”

You grin. “Thank you. Does the trick for black eyes and stove burns. Gimme that – “ Taking the jar back, you take a sip of your wine before tapping the big witcher on the knee. “Turn this way, please.”

He cocks an eyebrow, but obeys, and you move to stand between his splayed legs. Gods, but he’s warm. Heat rolls off of his body like the warmth of your tavern fire and it’s all you can do to keep from leaning into him. By the way he’s eyeing you, you’re not sure if he’d mind. You tap a little of your healing salve onto the pad of your ring finger and place the jar back on the counter – when you meet his gaze, he nods in silent consent. Gently, you take his chin in your hand and turn his bruised cheek towards you.

 “You heal faster than most, I’ve heard,” you murmur, gently pressing the salve into his skin. “But I can’t imagine getting hit in the face feels good.”

Geralt snorts again. “No, it doesn’t. Not something you really get used to, either.”

“… Geralt, how many times have you gotten punched?”

 “This week, or…?”

You blink at him. When he smirks back, you realize that he is, in fact, pulling your leg. “Oh, you’re the funny one, are you?” you say drily.

He continues to smirk as you grumble, tugging his chin so you can finish applying your salve. Both of you go quiet. The silence isn’t strange – it’s almost comforting. You hear the last intact log on the fire pop. Outside, the wind has picked up. It whistles past the windows, makes what’s left of the fire gutter in the hearth. It’s going to be wickedly cold tonight. You consider your room upstairs, that empty bed…

 “Geralt?”

 “Hmm.”

You chuckle. Your hand drops from his chin and he uses the opportunity to meet your gaze again. It’s at that moment that you realize just how close you are, and perhaps he notices too. Golden eyes scan your face lazily – heat blooms in your chest when his gaze drops to your mouth. He can probably hear the way your pulse kicks up, what with those heightened senses of his.

Maybe the night wouldn’t be a wash after all.

“I have a hunch,” you mumble. “Don’t be alarmed.”

You kiss him. His lips are dry, but smooth. He lets you lean into him, hands braced on his powerful thighs. His palm is so warm against your hip that you can feel it through your skirts; the sensation makes you shudder against him and sigh into his mouth.

Geralt growls, and you feel a desperate, aching heat settle between your legs.

The hand at your hip presses into your lower back and you stumble into him. You taste the ale on his tongue, try to lick the bittersweet flavor from your mouth as his other hand joins in to squeeze at your ass. He crushes you closer – even through the sturdy material of his trousers, you feel the hard line of him straining against your belly. A whine cracks its way up from your throat, and you want…

You want.

 “Stay with me,” you gasp, pulling back for air.

Geralt’s eyes are hooded, his lips slick and kiss-swollen and it takes every ounce of your willpower to keep from lunging in to bite at him. You run your tongue along your own bottom lip and he tracks the motion hungrily.

“Stay with me,” you say again. Your arms wind around his neck. “Keep me warm tonight, Geralt of Rivia.”

He grins slow, pulls you back to him – the tip of his nose is cold when it traces up the line of your neck. “I think I’d like that…”

Teeth and tongue and lips map the curve of your neck. Your fingers tangle their way into the witcher’s hair and tug when he sucks a bruise onto your pulse point. He rewards you with a low sound, breathless and hot on your skin. Oh, he likes that.

 “Keep that up,” he growls. “And I can’t be held responsible for my actions.”

You tug again.

The dam breaks.

You’re not sure how, but his hands feel like they’re everywhere; pushing through your curls, squeezing at your hips, groping at your waist. It’s like he’s trying to break you apart, piece by piece. Strip you open until you’re nothing but bared nerve endings and gasping breath.

Somehow, you make it upstairs and into your room. It’s a miracle that the only clothing left behind in the tavern is his cloak and gloves. Everything else is strewn this way and that through your room – your bodice ends up thrown over a chair and Geralt’s shirt nearly gets stuck on a rafter. One of his boots ends up by the cold fireplace and he kicks the other one off as he whips your chemise over your head. He crowds close, pushes you back until he has you laid out naked across the bed.

Geralt’s grin is lopsided – wolf-like – as his golden eyes take in your bare skin. Your breath stutters when he lowers himself, lips hot and smooth on the skin of your neck. He nips and bites his way down your torso, pausing only to lave his tongue over the dark peak of one breast, then the other. Fire shoots through you and your eyes slam shut – you gasp his name, make him chuckle into your flesh. Strong hands ease your legs apart and you jump when he bites at the softness of your belly, just below your navel. You can feel his low laugh more than you can hear it.

 “Easy, little rabbit,” Geralt murmurs. You breathe out a shaky chuckle and prop up onto your elbows, just in time to watch the witcher reach up to tie his shock-white hair away from his face.

Your mouth goes dry. That wolfish grin is back.

His breath is hot on the crease of your thigh. “I’m just getting started,” he rumbles.

Then Geralt swipes his tongue up the slit of your sex and you wonder for a moment if this is what being struck by lightning feels like. His tongue finds your clit and it is suddenly very hard to think anymore. Your back bows up from the bed as you groan brokenly. One hand shoots down, fingers reaching for something to keep you from flying through the roof, and you grip at the witcher’s hair again. The growl he lets out buzzes against your core and it all goes fuzzy after that.

You feel him grip bruises onto your thighs. You feel the rasp of his stubble. Then, pressure, followed by delicious fullness a Geralt pushes one finger, then another into your slick heat. He stretches you, twisting and thrusting his fingers in time with the flicker of his tongue. You gasp for breath, hips lifting to meet Geralt’s mouth. He seems to be enjoying himself as much as you are – he growls against you, and the hand on your thigh jerks you closer. The sound his mouth and his fingers on you is utterly depraved, wet and sloppy.

Geralt’s fingers curl inside of you, pressing up towards your navel. You come, hard and fast, crying his name.

Over the thunder of your heart, you hear him growl against your thigh, “Fucking beautiful…”

He lays a few biting kisses to your inner thigh before he stands and swipes the back of his hand over his mouth. You stare up at him with outright hunger as he strips off his trousers. He’s solid muscle, battle-scarred and gorgeous, thick cock curving up towards his belly. He smirks, but doesn’t move, seemingly content to let you feast your eyes.

Once you’ve had your fill, you meet Geralt’s hooded gaze and push yourself back on the mattress. With a little extra arch in your back, you crook a finger. Geralt crouches and crawls up the bed to you. His hips settle between your parted thighs, hands braced on either side of your head. Those eyes of his scan your face hungrily before he lunges in for a kiss.

You lick the tang of your cunt from his tongue. The underside of his cock slides against your clit, making you arch into him with a whine, “Geralt…”

He hums low in his chest, shifts his weight to bring one hand up to cup your cheek. “Look at me, sweetheart,” he rasps. His thumb strokes slowly over your cheekbone. “Look at me – want to see your face – “

Geralt shifts back and thrusts home, hard – the blinding pleasure punches the air from your lungs in a shout. Your hands fly up to grip his back. “There it is,” he groans. “Good girl…”

All you can do is mewl in response, trembling. The thumb brushing at your cheek moves to your mouth, pressing and stroking at your bottom lip. You meet Geralt’s gaze with lust-glazed eyes and suck the tip of his thumb into your mouth.

 “Fuck”, he hisses.

He drags a slow thrust out, and pushes back in to the hilt over and over. Each heavy thrust of his hips drives you into the mattress and you meet him eagerly, pitched cries muffled by his thumb. Geralt curls himself over you. His thumb pulls from your mouth with a wet sound so he can grip your chin instead, force you to meet the heat of his eyes. It’s skin and sweat and heated, desperate pleas. Your hands grip at his shoulders, his back, nails leaving lines of red that only spur him on. The witcher pushes at your chin, baring your neck to him so he can scrap his teeth against your sweat-slick skin. You clench around him with a low cry.

His lips press against your ear and he starts talking, rumbling, low and filthy. Your eyes nearly roll back into your head.

Fuck, the mouth on him. He tells you how fucking good you feel around his cock, how wet you are for him; it’s a litany of debased promises and you can only gasp in return. The rumble of his voice, the drag of his cock pushes you higher and higher, tightens the coiled lightning in your belly. You are unconcerned with keeping quiet.

Geralt slips a hand between your bodies. The pad of his thumb pulls across your clit and you are gone, your orgasm fierce and relentless. You keen, whole body curling up into Geralt’s chest; your teeth catch his shoulder and you bite down hard enough to bruise.

The witcher gives a ragged shout into the side of your neck. He pulses into your clutching heat, hot and steady.

Neither of you move for what seems like an age. You feel sticky, and sore, and it feels good. Geralt shifts at last, carefully slipping out of you – you both shudder with the last aftershocks. “Fuck,” he grunts.

“Pretty sure we just did, love,” is your slightly slurred response.

Geralt squints down at you, but you just smile sleepily back, and it’s enough to make him laugh. Like a good gentleman, he makes certain to roll off of you before he collapses on his stomach with grumble. He pulls you into his side; you hum contentedly. The blistering heat beneath your skin has begun to cool, and you feel wonderfully boneless.

The witcher can barely keep his eyes open, but he tries to focus on your face. “All right?” he mumbles into a pillow.

“More than,” you murmur back.

“S’good…” And he’s out cold.

 You follow soon enough.

         _____

You don’t wake until the next morning, sore, but very pleased with yourself. Winter sunlight, bleached and cold, pours in from the casement. There is a brief pang of disappointment when you reach for Geralt and find him gone, but then you hear the crackle of a fire and turn over. It’s a lovely sight. The witcher stands from his crouched position in front of your now-lit fireplace, and you take a moment to admire the well-sculpted curve of his backside as he pulls his shirt on. He’s found his trousers and boots, as well – pity.

 “Thank you,” you mumble, sleepily. He turns to you as you sit up, bedsheet clutched over your nakedness.

 “Don’t mention it.”

You study his handsome face for a moment. His expression is unreadable, but his golden eyes are warm. “Leaving?” you ask.

 “Have to,” he tells you. “Unless your town has a noonwraith that needs destroying.”

 “No, thank fuck.” You stand and stretch with a groan, tying the bedsheet over your breasts. “Well, come on, then.”

Geralt chuckles, but follows you downstairs and to the kitchen. Into a kerchief you tie a loaf of bread, some good cheese, salted pork, and dried fruit. The witcher looks at you with something akin to surprise when you hand him his provisions. You simply smile back and step into him. He allows you to wind your arms around his neck, meeting you halfway in a kiss that makes your heart skip a beat. You don’t want to let go, but you force yourself to step back after a few breathless moments.

 “Goodbye, Geralt of Rivia,” you murmur. You consider more, almost don’t, and then, “If, ah… if you ever find yourself out this way again – “

“I will. I’ll have to.” He gives you a crooked grin. “Only place I can get good meal around here.” 

You laugh outright, and it seems to make Geralt’s grin widen. Following him back into the main tavern, you insure he has his effects and provisions before you watch him take his leave. With a shiver, you recall the newly lit fire in your bedroom and find yourself taken the steps two at a time to get there. Between the cold, bleached sunlight shining in from the window and the warmth of the fire in the hearth, it doesn’t take much to convince yourself that a lie-in is just what you need.

Your pillow still smells like him.

[binch-i-might-be]

smut anon: nonbinary and panromantic, can I join you too? I'll bring cookies :D

get in loser, we're going to harass some cishets

[writefightandflightclub]

A lasting impression (Steven Grant x fem!reader)

Summary: Steven falls asleep on you. No… I mean literally on you.

Reader: fem! Vagina-owner. She/her pronouns. Gendered language e.g. girl, pretty.

Author’s note: I couldn’t resist a second bash at Steven. I adore him 🥺 Written largely before Ep2, so it’s Ep1-centric.

Genre: one-shot, fluff, pining, meet cute, silliness, but also angst I’M SORRY. Definite angst. (If you don’t want the angst and think ignorance is bliss, stop reading at the heading “the next day” for a far fluffier experience. Either version should feel complete.)

Rating: Mature for mentions of sex. NO SMUT.

Warnings: EPISODE 1 SPOILERS. Mentions of: memory lapses / time-skipping / sleep disorders - inc. insomnia, night terrors (reader). Loneliness. Sex references (nothing explicit). Swearing. Rejection themes. Not proofed very well.

“Oh god no,” you hiss, upon seeing the limp torso of the stranger in the row opposite you begin to cant dangerously towards the aisle. The priorly sleepy (now sleeping) stranger has been nodding off intermittently for the whole bus journey so far, causing his pretty curls to bounce and flop over his forehead in a way which has kept drawing your eye.

If you don’t intervene soon, however, the crumpled heap of him on the floor will be drawing your eye, as the bus zooms dangerously fast around a loose corner. And so, you urgently shuffle your bum to the aisle-edge of your seat, stretching your arm out across the space to nudge the man into a more upright position. Your palm contacts his arm gently, but with enough force to redirect his centre of balance; just right.

It’s often amusing to watch someone fall asleep on public transport, you think. The gradual head loll, followed by the sudden jerking awake? The embarrassed look around - sometimes an abrupt, rough snore snatching them awake, the kerfuffle resulting in covertly passed laughter - little bundles of joy spread between the other passengers with a stifled laugh behind a palm here, and mirth-sparkled eye contact there? Cracking entertainment, that. At least, it is when you’re out of data for the month and can’t watch videos of cats taking baths to amuse you on the route home. However, with this guy… it’s simply not funny. The sheer aura of despondency he wears like a cloak sees to that. All you want to do is hug him. Sing him a lullaby. He looks flat enough, deflated enough, that you could lie him on your floor and use him as a bath mat. Of course, apart from those persistent, voluminous curls.

But, it’s more than that. There’s something else about him which means you’re simply not laughing.

Instead, you’re… looking.

Is it his infeasibly long lashes, fanning out over his cheek? The set of his sharp jaw bobbing gradually towards his chest? His broad hands, resting - palms up - against his denim-clad thighs?

You snatch your eyes away. Christ. You’re sure this can’t be right. You don’t think it’s illegal, but surely it can’t be right to - effectively - watch someone sleeping, can it? Without their knowledge? Even on a bus, there’s surely rules for that sort of thing?

Regardless, for the sake of his physical safety (quite aside from any -ahem- personal motivations you may have), you’ve been keeping a pretty close eye over in his direction ever since he’d boarded. You’d watched him shuffle aboard the bus, immediately dropping his Oyster card on the floor, and almost losing the lid off that bright pink, heart-shaped box of chocolates - currently tucked under one elbow - while he bent to retrieve it. He’d practically gone full Frank Spencer.

Well. Typical Steven, you’d thought to yourself as you saw the scene unfold. This poor bugger can never seem to catch a break.

Oh, yes, that’s right - you do know his name.

And whilst he’s technically a stranger, in that you’ve never been formally introduced, you know a fair few other things about him too.

You’re not a stalker or anything - it’s just that by divine intervention, this rather cute man has happened to share your bus route for the past few months; a fact which utterly delights you (that full-on tummy butterfly level of delight) - around 8:30am and at 5:30pm, Tuesday through Friday.

In your past few months of very distant admiration of him, you have learned a few things. You know, for example, that he alights for work near Museum Street. You know that he’s a bit of a bookworm - ancient history, puzzles, and poetry almost exclusively. That he drinks an unholy amount of coffee from a large keep-cup. (Oat milk too - you’d noted the little barista-applied sticker that one time.) You know that while he’s seemingly awkward and generally knackered as all fuck while he’s awake…he’s positively breathtaking when he’s sleeping.

You know that his name is Steven. Never Steve or Steve-o or anything else. You know this, because you’ve overheard copious sweet voicemails he’s left for his mum on his journeys home, detailing whatever he’s been up to that particular day. He’s so soft spoken that you never quite catch the details, but you can’t miss his sign-off of “Laters, gators”, which makes your face split with a bright, involuntary grin whenever you hear it.

You’ve learned something about yourself too, through your casual but routine observances of him. You’ve learned that you clearly have a soft spot for environmentally-conscious history nerds with pretty, dark curls; because you’ve definitely developed a little bit of a soft spot for him.

Finally, and probably most importantly, you’ve come to learn which his correct bus stop is too. A knowledge which, unbeknownst to Steven, has saved his hide on a number of occasions.

After witnessing his abject dismay, several times now - the man having jerked himself awake moments too late, watching his stop slink by the window in a blur with gentle, resigned despair - you took it upon yourself to intervene. To offer a little helping hand.

Your interventions are subtle, to say the least. Sometimes you will cough loudly -once- within earshot, or stage a very sudden telephone call at just the right volume to be mildly intrusive. Sometimes, you will simply nudge him awake with a gentle hand, pressing the bell on his behalf with a soft smile so that by the time he comes to, filtering through the layers of sleep and back to reality, he finds the bus pulling-in precisely where he wishes to alight, and at just the right moment.

Yes, your interventions are subtle… but perhaps a little too much so?

You’ve noticed him - can’t help but notice him - but you don’t believe he’s noticed you.

How could he, you suppose, when he won’t meet your gaze, whenever you bravely attempt to spark up a conversation or share a smile? Or, how could he see you when his eyelids are always dropping with tiredness - or closing altogether as he drifts off. Why would he notice you, anyway? Someone like him? Someone as perfect as him?

Still, you hold out hope that one day you might finally make a lasting impression. Especially after that one day recently, when he finally paid you some direct attention.

He had looked a little different that day. More awake, for starters - maybe that had been it. He’d been standing taller. Carrying a gold fish in a small plastic bag, arm hung down by his side. And, when he had boarded the bus, as usual, he had noticed you right away. His big brown eyes had snagged on yours. He had appraised you confidently, instead of shyly, offering you an effortless smile as he had looked you up and down. Successfully walking a fine line of being appreciative, without it coming off at all as lecherous.

He’d looked at you. Really looked at you, and you’d thought about him all day after that. Then, you had barely stopped thinking about him since.

“Jesus Christ, Steven,” you grumble in the present moment, as his torso once again sways precariously.

In response, thinking on your feet, you slot yourself hurriedly into the vacant seat next to him, so that you can better subdue his near-perilous movements.

Jesus. The bus driver is particularly chaotic today. Must want to get back to the depot stat, given this is the last bus of the night and his shift will be due to end.

You’re riding the bus home later than usual today, after seeing a late night exhibition. You’d taken yourself, on your monthly “self-date” - because none of your friends seem to be quite as into the “weird” and/or “shit” things you personally enjoy frequenting. And so, given the lateness, you were very surprised to see Steven appear here at the same time too.

Even stranger than that, was the fact that he’d been on a date by himself too. You’d quite accidentally eavesdropped on today’s voicemail to his mum. Given that the bus was near empty at this hour - aside from a cantankerous looking woman sat on the folding seats at the front, and a bunch of drink-addled football fans (wasn’t the match yesterday?) singing up in the top deck - it would have been hard not to overhear. He’d told his mum that the date had gone well. That she’d loved the chocolates and the flowers. Yet, between the fact he was alone, still had both those items in his possession, and looked like he was about to burst into tears at any given moment, you deduced that was a lie. Or; if not a lie, at least a truth he couldn’t bear to hear out loud quite yet.

You’d guessed that maybe he was stood-up, from context, and you find yourself wishing desperately that you could have switched places with his date tonight. You would have shown up. You would have told him how handsome he looks in this black buttoned-up shirt of his. You would have kissed him goodnight, if he’d wanted to kiss you too.

How sad, you think - your eyes sweeping over the now crushed roses - that you were both out tonight alone, each of you wishing for some company.

You shuffle a little closer to Steven, keeping as much of a respectful distance as you can on the seat. You clip your hand on to his arm like a little Lego person’s, pinning him in place and making sure he’s more or less maintaining his upright position. No danger of his face colliding with anything here. Not under your watch.

The woman at the front of the bus looks judgementally at you for it. Or, maybe that’s simply her face and you are using her as an avatar for judging yourself. “I’m not robbing him or anything,” you shout-whisper in her direction. “Just want him to keep all his teeth.”

You like his teeth. They’re perfectly imperfect.

As you ponder on that thought, the bus jerks to a sudden stop, the driver leaning out of the window and shouting at some poor cyclist. And, of course, the slamming on of brakes causes Steven to jerk awake.

Oh shit. You hadn’t thought about what would happen when he woke up.

Here you are, sat right next to the bloke, in a different seat than you had been in before, on an almost empty bus. Steven’s eyes open slowly, and he looks at you in rightful confusion. “Hello.” You greet shakily, still clutching on to his jacket. Oh damn. You really hadn’t thought this all the way through, had you? “I’m not trying to rob you or anything. I just wanted you to keep all of your teeth,” you blurt hurriedly, falling back on your last coherent thought.

His eyes widen and he lifts a hand to his mouth and jaw in concern, feeling his face with his fingertips and drawing them down to look at them, as though he expects them to come away covered in blood or something. He seems exceptionally relieved that his teeth and jaw remain intact.

Fuck. You hadn’t meant to alarm the man.

“Hiya?” he says then, with a dazed, sleepy blink. And then… a slower blink. Well actually - it turns out - half a blink, since it results in him closing his eyes and not opening them again.

Yeah. Also known as sleeping.

He’s sleeping again.

So much for your lasting impression.

You sigh out a breathy laugh at your own expense and at the ridiculousness of the situation, but this time, as Steven keels over into the land of slumber, his head falls sideward, until it comes to rest softly on your shoulder. His head! On your mother-freaking shoulder!

“You sweet sleepy prince,” you chide far too fondly, thinking that perhaps, you can gently shrug him off before he settles there. However, your gentle jostling fails to rouse him, and you don’t have the heart for anything more vigorous.

Well shit. What do you do now?

Is this… okay? You know him and he doesn’t know you. Not at all. Is it okay to let someone sleep on your shoulder if they don’t know they’re doing it but you do know that they are and they don’t know that you do know them even though they don’t know you, or what?

Wow. Your gold medalist sprinting thoughts race to the worst case scenario, as they usually do, and you are practically running through your defence before the jury in your head within moments. “I wasn’t robbing him, your honour!”

Alright, you think, after a few deep, calming breaths. It’s alright. You don’t think it’s illegal to let someone who fell asleep on your shoulder continue to rest there. Possibly not even morally objectionable either. If anything, aren’t you doing him a favour? Letting him get some proper shut eye? He sure as hell seems to need it.

You gulp though. Because, oh god. What happens this time when he wakes up? Wakes up nuzzled into you? You’ve left it too long now as well. You’ve let this whole goddamn situation spiral out of control and there’s no possible way you can ever come back from this, is there?

You fix your eyes straight ahead in panic at the fact you now have a glorious Steven head parroting on your shoulder, light little puppy snores sounding from him. Snores which are so cute you feel like your heart is being crushed in a vice.

There’s only one remaining option left, you realise.

To consult the group chat.

Hastily, you retrieve your phone from out of your coat pocket, keeping one arm very still so as to not disturb the still-technically-a-stranger, thankfully able to type sufficiently well with your other hand.

“!!!!!!!! Help me!!!!! Bus crush man is asleep on my shoulder. This is not a drill! What the fuck do I do?”

Your friend Amy is first to respond. Within a second. Slow night at work, mate?

Bestie: “😂😂😂😂Couldn’t keep him awake could you you boring sod?”

Then, the pings come thick and fast.

Foz: “Bus crush man!!! 😍”

Harps: “Is that the sleepy one? …Or was that bookshop crush man?”

Bestie: “He’s *asleep* on her, what do you think? 😂😂😂. Anyway keep up, bookshop man is old news. It’s all about the curly cutie these days 👀”

You sigh. Can they get to the bit where they’re helping soon, or what?

You: “Helpful guys, thanks a lot 🙄 My expiration is imminent - are you not getting this?”

As your shoulders rise and fall with your deep sigh, contemplating how this situation is 100% terrible, actually, Steven stirs a little with the motion of you dejectedness. Suddenly terrified that he’s woken up, with a perfect view of your phone screen, you twist your head in horror to check he’s still snoozing. The last thing you need is to have to explain who “bus crush man” is to “bus crush man” himself. However, as you twist your head, the shift in position dips your nose down towards his luxurious curls, and you practically let out a moan of pleasure as you exhale your inhale. Jesus his hair smells good. Like honey. Like cinnamon. Like freesia. He smells mother fucking edible. Like some divine nectar of the gods.

You: “Oh fuck me. Full on panic stations, you lot. He smells so. Fucking. Gooooood.”

Bestie: “Fucking Perv 😂😂😂”

Harps: “Get a new emoji, Ames. You’re such a bloody milennial.”

Foz: “Wait. Explain. Are you on the bus or did you pull him?!!!?! I thought you said he’d been blanking you for weeks, babes?”

Bestie: “Keep up, bitch. On Thursday he was making eyes.”

Well this endeavour is useless. They won’t stop prattling on and you, meanwhile, inch ever closer to your doom.

You: “Cheers for the stellar advice, you absolute numbnuts (affectionate). I’ll figure it out myself, shall I?”

Bestie: “wait!”

Finally.

Bestie: “I know what you should do.”

You’re waiting.

Bestie: “send us a selfie so we can get a proper look at him 😂😂😂”

You huff out air in exasperation.

You: “Ames, I swear to god.”

Well. That was a dead end.

You love them but…

You’re the last single one of your group, and though that means they love to live vicariously through your dating adventures… it also sometimes means they are blooming useless when it counts.

You swear you can even feel your blood pressure spiking; but Steven, meanwhile, is apparently in a state of bliss. His breathing is slow and snuffly and soporific. His face is nuzzling into the crook of your neck, meaning that his soft, dense curls brush in an utterly heavenly way across the bare skin above your collar.

When that happens, sending a pleasant little shiver snaking down your spine, you perhaps look down at him a little more fondly than you should. As though he belongs there, next to you. Perhaps breathing in a little too deeply, eager to get a waft of his delicious scent again. You know you’re perhaps taking it too far, because the woman on the folding seat is giving you that very judgemental look all over again.

That’s when your next, rather horrifying thought strikes you.

Oh god! What if she wakes him up and tells him you were smelling his hair?! You think you would quite simply pass away if that was to happen.

Still, even though you didn’t know what to do at first, you are so glad you didn’t move away. You like feeling the weight of him up against you. Like his reassuring scent of cinnamon and old books. And his curls are so soft and still tickling the bare skin above your collar and… is he? Talking in his sleep? He is. Something precious and mumbly about a “beautiful dream.”

You smile softly to yourself, your heart growing three sizes.

A beautiful dream.

He deserves that, you think.

Sure, you don’t know him. Not really. But you’ve never seen him be anything but gentle. Never heard him say anything unkind. He’s never pushed his way through the crowded aisle or elbowed himself a touch more wiggle room on the busy commute. He’s never jumped the queue. He always gives up seat if somebody else needs it. He always remembers to call his mum. He never dog-ears the pages of his books. Always uses a bookmark. How could anyone like that not deserve beautiful dreams.

You know all too well what it’s like to have bad ones, and if his are good right now, you wouldn’t dare to rob him of a precious thing like that.

Now, you know you exactly what to do. You shouldn’t move him. You should let him have this sweet dream for as long as is possi-

-the bus jerks.

Fucking typical.

Steven’s eyes snap open and he looks around quickly. As if he’s trying to remember where he is after emerging from a deep state of contentment and into a sticky public bus. After skirting it around the interior of the bus, he turns his gaze to you, his eyes in soft focus still, his blinks languid. His gaze travels all over your face and he gasps in a small breath, his face lifting with the subtlest and purest of smiles.

For a moment, he looks at you as though through a veil of stars. As if you are his beautiful dream. As if he believes that he’s still dreaming when he looks at you, all wrapped up in the comforting blanket of it. Safe and warm.

That is, until a half-filled can of coke is chucked down the stairs of the bus, rolling and spluttering everywhere.

You seethe in a breath as Steven is snatched well and truly back to the waking world, harshly stolen from slumber, but slowly piecing it altogether.

“I’m so sorry. Did I?” He points cautiously at your shoulder, before wiping a trail of drool from his chin.

“You fell asleep on me.”

“I drooled on you a little bit there as well, look.”

You do look down, at a wet patch on your jacket. So he did. “Oh,” you wave a palm dismissively. “Don’t worry.” You’ve fantasied about kissing him enough that you don’t even find stranger-shoulder-drool repulsive. God, you really need a date.

He flounders for his next words for a moment, so your motor-mouth reliably pipes up to fill the gaps. “Was my conversation boring you or something?” you scoff lightly.

Steven looks mildly panicked. Apologetic. “Sorry. Were we talking?”

“No. Sorry.” You cringe. You weren’t, really. “It was a joke.” Yeah. Nice one. The best jokes are the ones you have to explain after the fact aren’t they. You’re such a fucking hoot.

Steven laughs kindly then. Blinks his dark-circled eyes at you, as if he’s still not quite sure if he’s awake.

“Heavy weekend?”

He puffs out air. Pumps his eyebrows. “Spent most of it blacked out.”

You raise your eyebrows in turn, and your lips form an “o”. You hadn’t pegged him for a warehouse rave type, or whatever other type of partying might cause him to black-out. Does he get rat-arsed on the regular?

Anyway, upon seeing your surprise at his words, it occurs to Steven that maybe that wasn’t a great thing to have said without any further context.

“I mean. Not really,” he says nervously. “That was a joke too.” You smile but you don’t laugh, contemplating the fact that you’re so desperate enamoured with him that you’d probably even go to a warehouse rave (your own personal hell) if it meant being closer to him. “I’m just tired. From the gym,” he adds.

You do laugh then, which makes the poor man look a little affronted. It’s not that he doesn’t have a “gym body” or anything like that - all sorts of bodies can be gym bodies. It’s just that he doesn’t exactly strike you as a muscle head. Besides, he seems to have his nose buried in a book so often that you simply don’t think he’d have time for repetitions of squat thrusts.

Heat finds your face when you consider him performing that motion however, and you opt to swiftly move on from any talk of the gym whatsoever - in case that leaves you deceased too.

“Well. Look at us,” you smile. “Two comedians, eh?”

A smile flickers at corners of his mouth. “Sit-down comedians…” Oh. You get it. Because you’re not doing stand-up. Your musical laugh lilts over him. “Maybe we can get that nice person over there to be out compère.” He gestures towards the cantankerous lady. “Hiya!” He waves down at her, an endearingly restrained little wave, accompanied with a cautiously bright smile.

“Cheeky sod,” she scolds, and his face drops immediately.

You take the moment to look out of the window, at the streets slipping by in a blur. You desperately try not to notice the single curl sticking up and out of place on Steven’s head as he turns to follow your gaze, because if you do you will be pummelled by his cuteness all over again, and it’s given you enough of a beating already today. “Sorry. I was just worried you’ll miss your stop. You get off by the Tesco express - is that the one?” He looks at you quizzically, and so you hastily explain. “I’ve seen you on here a few times. You’re a couple of stops before me so…”

“Oh!” He says, studying your face as though trying to place you. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t recognise you. From the bus.” He looks at you and blinks in confusion, like he really has never noticed you before. Maybe you were imagining it on Thursday. “Yeah. That’s me. Next to the Tesco Express.”

“We said hello the other day actually. When you had the fish?”

Ouch. Well. That one hurts. Not even a flicker of recognition in his eyes when you say that. That’s a blow to the ol’ self-esteem.

God. Maybe he’d been smiling at someone behind you and you jumped on it - like a total tool.

Regardless, though, of whether he knows you, you’ll still make sure he doesn’t miss his stop today. Just like usual.

Steven shakes his head softly in confusion. Lifting a head to scratch his crown of curls. “Sorry. It’s just… If I’d seen you, I definitely would’ve remembered you,” Steven says softly, that veil of stars over his gaze again as he studies you. Bashfully, you exhale a breath, and you wring your hands in front of you with nerves. Well, that’s a nice sentiment for sure. But, clearly it’s not the truth, is it? He did forget you. Steven looks at the floor as if in apology. “I mean. You seem completely lovely.” God, this is worse, you think. Can’t he just gloss over the fact he has zero clue who you are and move on? Still, in the next moment, he looks achingly sad, ever so suddenly. His eyes wet. “Only thing I can think is… Must have thought you were a dream.” His fave grows pinched. “A beautiful dream. Can’t always tell the difference, some of ‘em. Seem so real sometimes, don’t they?”

You nod, blinking profusely. Trying to understand what to make of all of this.

And wow. Shit. Why is there a lump in your throat, exactly? You swallow it down. It feels all scratchy. Your chest feels full of emotion.

You hate seeing him in pain. You only want to make it better.

You don’t understand everything he’s talking about - not precisely. But you do know something about that feeling. About not understanding what’s real. Not knowing the difference. You’ve been plagued by night terrors since you were a child. You always believe you’re awake when the monsters visit, however hard you try to understand they’re not really there.

You follow Steven’s gaze down to his lap, where he now nestles the battered box of chocolates.

There’s that lump in your throat again.

You know he was likely stood-up, but you don’t entirely feel like admitting you eavesdropped on his conversation, and so, you offer a prompt. He can be the one to decide how much he’d like to share with you.

“Secret admirer?”

He laughs pitifully. “Yeah. No. I don’t think so,.. more like blatant enemies at the minute, actually.” You nod your head in sympathy. Again, you’re not entirely following what he’s meaning, but the feeling of him being cut-up about it translates perfectly. “I got stood up a little bit. On a date.”

You hum in understanding, conveying your sympathies. You hold yourself back from gushing that you can’t possibly imagine - can’t understand why anyone wouldn’t jump at the chance to be with him. “Well. You know what they say. Rejection is redirection.”

He perks up a little. Offers you a soft smile. “Rejection is redirection. Yeah. I like that.”

He looks into your eyes again. Really looks at you, and then he nods his head as if he’s made his mind up about something, with utter certainty.

“Do you like chocolates? I don’t wanna waste ‘em.” Upon seeing light shock pass over your face he backpedals, just a touch. “And anyway, I’m vegan so I can’t even eat these. Properly hate food waste, so…”

“Thank you, but my mum always told me not to takes sweets from strangers.”

“Oh of course. Sorry. I didn’t mean to be creepy or anything. Thought it might be nice. I hate food waste so…”

“I meant…” You bump your elbow against his. “I can’t take sweets from strangers. So… maybe you’d better introduce yourself?”

His face cracks into a smile now that he understand you. That’s better. So much better, seeing him happy. “I’m Steven. Steven Grant. I work in a gift shop.”

“Nice.” You can’t stop grinning. Can you ride around on this bus forever, please? You offer your name next. Steven repeats it under his breath a few times, as if desperately trying to embed it in his core memory. And, since he provided his profession too, “I work in a library.”

“A library! That’s amazing!” His genuine, unfiltered enthusiasm makes you laugh with surprise. There’s such a purity about him. Not necessarily an innocence; but a forthright integrity that seems all to rate these days. You get the sense that although he’s soft-spoken and unassuming, he shouldn’t be underestimated. That he know what he likes, what he wants, and what he stands for. You like that about him.

“The gift shop’s always the funnest bit. What’s the best ware that you stock?”

He turns more in his seat, angling his body towards you. Your knees bump together briefly. “Well. It’s mostly plastic stuff, yeah? Which ultimately isn’t great for the fishes is it? But we do have these little pyramid paper weights. They’re quite snazzy, I think.”

“Paper weights, hmm? Is that what the pyramids were built for?” you jest. “I’d always wondered about that.”

“Actually they were used for…” Steven begins to correct, out of sheer passion and breadth of knowledge of the topic more than anything, until he clocks the wide, playful grin on your face, your hand falling on to his forearm as you shake with mirth. “It was a joke,” he realises in time, huffing out a soft laugh.

“It was a joke, Steven,” you confirm good-naturedly.

A pleasant silence falls over the two of you, and you can feel the dull warmth of his arm burning through his layers. However, just then, his stomach rumbles rather loudly. “Sorry. Still a bit hungry, and I really didn’t want to eat these chocolates if I can help it. Already had a steak today - so I haven’t been too kind to the cows.”

“Oh here…” you rifle briefly in your handbag, for your leftover half-pack of Doritos. You unfurl the packet and offer the mouth to him. “Would you like a mini pyramid? I think these are vegan.” His soft yet chaotic laugh, and the way his eyes crinkle at your lame joke, has to be the most beautiful thing in the world, you think. “Or… what did your caregivers tell you about taking snacks from strangers?”

“Well,” he says softly, looking up at you from beneath his lashes in a way that makes you feel like you’re spinning. “We’re not strangers anymore, are we?”

“No,” you breathe, voice far too husky as Steven blinks bashfully at you. “I guess we’re not.”

There is a gentle heat eddying in between you, you think, but then, despite every effort to stifle it, you’re sure, Steven fractures it with a sudden yawn.

“Am I keeping you up?” you joke, certainly not blaming the poor man.

“Sorry. It’s not you. Definitely not you. I’m just so knackered.”

Yes. You’d picked up on that as a theme from his life.

“Do you want to get some more shut eye? You can lean on me again if you like,” you offer. “I really wouldn’t mind if you did.” Really. No lie.

Steven looks mistily down towards your shoulder, as if that sounds rather appealing. “That sounds lovely. But… I don’t want to go to sleep.” You furrow your brows in light confusion. That sounds a little counterintuitive. “Don’t want to forget you,” he admits. “Don’t want to confuse you for a dream.”

You smile at him. A little too fondly. God, you’re plummeting for this man. Fast. “You’ll know I’m real, dafty.”

“How?” His eyes go big and round and soft, searching yours in earnest as though you hold all the secrets he’s been searching for answers to.

“‘Cause you’ll see me when you wake up, won’t you?”

It’s that simple. Really. But it causes Steven to deliver a happy but bewildered smile. “That would be nice.” He flusters. “Really nice, that.” He glances down at your lips, his gaze a little heavy. With desire this time? Maybe?

Wait.

Hang on a minute.

Does he like you?

You really hope he likes you. You try to turn the flirtation up a notch to test the waters. Try to push things a little in that direction, if he’s willing. Turns out, you barely even have to try to inject flirtation into your voice at this point. Your desire has sunk into your middle and your voice has sunk with it, becoming a deeper, husky thing. “Or… if you really do want to stay awake. I… I think I can find some way to keep you up?” You quirk an eyebrow at him. Wait with bated breath for his reaction.

He gulps. You see it trail down his throat. You see a deeper colour flush his brown skin, heat crawling up his neck, even as he nods with vehement agreement at the prospect. “Yeah? You reckon?”

“Mmm.” You smile saucily, hoping he likes this new direction. You think that he does. He looks like he’s going to blow a gasket… or something.

“That would be…” His gaze drops to your lips again. “Really nice.” He makes a strangled sound in his throat. You see his hand shift, as though he almost moves to place it on your thigh and then thinks better of it - much to your dismay. “Do you like puzzles?” he blurts then, in a higher-pitched, rather choked-out voice.

Gosh. He’s cute when he’s nervous too. Maybe you’ll make him nervous later -in a good way. If he wants you to.

“What? Like Wordle?” His curveball takes you by surprise. Unless a puzzle is some new sex fad you know nothing about because it’s been so long since you last did it with anyone. Entirely plausible.

“What’s wordle?”

“Oh my god. Steven. Are you living under a rock?”

He pulls on his collar. Pops the top button open. “You probably don’t want to see where I’m living.” Another gulp. “There’s a lot of sand. I’ve got some sand issues at the minute, so it’s not the best time for visitors.”

You lick your lips, an unintentional drag of your tongue along your lower lip, and the gesture seems to drive Steven wild. He makes another strangled little noise. Something like a creak. Like he’s straining under the weight of his own desire, his chin jutting a little closer, closing a little of the gap between you.

“Shit,” you realise when it’s too late. When you’ve already whizzed by the Tesco. “Steven, we missed your stop.”

You failed him.

He follows your gaze out of the window. “Bollocks. And it’s pissing it down now as well. Next stop isn’t for ages.”

You bite your lip, hastily forming a plan. “Do you… Um. Would you… want to come back to mine until the rain stops? I can show you what wordle is. Make you some coffee?” You gesture down to his lap. “Help you finish those chocolates?” How many reasons can you give to tempt him? “And… Um. I don’t have any sand problems at my place. Not one.” You smack your lips together.

“I dunno. Do you…” he takes a huge breath. You wait on tenterhooks for his question. “Do you have any oat milk?”

Is that his dealbreaker?

He seems uncertain. Nervous. And so, you have a flash of concern. You don’t want to pressure him. Not at all. Not in the slightest. “You don’t have to. Obviously. I just thought it might be nice.”

Steven bravely reaches his arm out then. His fingertips brushing along the sleeve of your forearm, so gingerly that it makes your eyes flood with unexpected tears. “I think that would be perfect, actually.” He looks quite sure now that he would like that.

Meanwhile, you are transfixed with him, with his hand sweeping along you. It causes a hot flush of your skin. A prickle of sweat under your coat.

“It’s late though,” he asks softly. “Won’t I be keeping you up?”

“To tell you the truth, I’m a bit of an insomniac. Steven blinks at you then, as though you’ve just said something of deep significance. You wave your hand in the air. “It’s a whole thing. Night terrors. Sleepwalking. I just need somebody to tie me down to the bed, I think.”

Oh god. It’s an offhand comment you’ve used 100 times before as shorthand for your sleeping challenges. A way to play it off lightly - not invite too many questions. But when Steven almost combusts -a vein popping beneath his eye and one in his forehead- you realise what you’ve just said, and with him, the words seem to hold a different meaning.

Did you really just say that?

Did you actually just say that?

You need someone to tie you down to the bed?

Steven laughs nervously, but his eyes are unblinking now. He seems fully awake. Fully invested. “Was that a joke as well?”

Alright. Fine. You’ll risk it.

You toss him a subtle wink. “Only if you want it to be.”

He makes an unintelligible, stuttered noise.

Ding.

Hurriedly, you reach out to press the bell. It wouldn’t do to miss your stop as well.

“Really, Steven.” You reassure firmly as the bus swings around the mini roundabout. “You don’t have to come back with me. Or, if you just want a cuppa while you wait for the rain to stop you can do that. Whatever you feel comfortable with. Alright?”

His face twists. “It sounds very lovely. I… I want to. I just… Sometimes I lose track of time. Don’t want to overstay my welcome.” He looks out at the pelting rain, as if to point out it looks like there’s no quick end in sight. That he might be at your place for hours.

“Well.” A hard swallow trails down your throat. “That’s okay by me. You can stay all night if you like.” A sudden heat burns in your cheeks when you hear your words out loud. You hadn’t meant it like that, not really. You’d just meant he can stay as long as he likes.

Even so…

You can’t say you would be opposed.

“Okay,” he nods, a cautious smile tipping his full lips. “Yeah. Grand. Thank you.”

“Okay?” You ask again, out of surprise that he’d be interested in spending longer in your company, more than anything. But then, you remember. That Steven seems like a man who knows what he wants.

He nods again. You feel positively giddy.

You continue to feel giddy as the bus drops you off, and you hastily put your umbrella up. Steven shuffles closer to you, upon being invited, to fit beneath it and shelter from the rain, and this action places your face pleasantly close to his.

He looks at you again. Like you’re a dream, and you hope that you’ve finally managed to make a lasting impression.

You let out an awkward laugh, as everything in you screams out. You’re close enough to kiss, if you wanted. If he wanted.

Steven is wordless, his lips curved softly upwards. His eyes soft as he engages in a gentle study of you. And wow. Given that you were talking about being tied to a bed only moments ago - a bolder topic - his sheer proximity is making you infeasibly shy.

“I’m just down this street here,” you gesture, and Steven nods softly.

“Okay.”

You smile back.

“Can I…” His voice is even smaller than usual. You have to lean closer again to hear him. “Can I hold your hand?”

Your face splits into a huge smile at the sweetness of him, a surge of happiness rushing in your chest. “Yes,” you answer quickly, voice all breath. And so, you turn to walk side by side, huddling close to stay beneath the canopy of the umbrella, and Steven slots his hand into yours.

His palm fits yours so well, his hand broad and pleasantly warm. You feel butterflies erupt in your stomach. You never want to let him go.

“That feels really nice.” Steven gushes, even sounding a little emotional about it. Maybe he’s been alone as long as you have, wishing for someone to hold.

“It does, doesn’t it?” you agree. You might even be a little emotional too.

“You’re so lovely,” Steven praises, then immediately thinks better of it. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, Steven. You can compliment me if you like.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I think you’re lovely too.”

He tugs ever so gently on your hand, and draws you to a stop, the two of you coming face to face again, rain thundering down on the pavement all around you and bouncing up on to your shoes. “I think you’re really pretty,” he gushes earnestly. “Like a beautiful dream.”

“Can I kiss you, Steven?”

He nods. “Please.”

When your lips press to his cheek, for a sweet, chaste kiss, you certainly do feel like this is the stuff that dreams are made of.

The next day

You: Amy.

You: Amy?!!!

You: Are you awake?

Bestie: (….)

You see that she’s finally typing and you fire off your message at record speed.

You: Bus crush man spent the night 😱😱😱😱

Bestie: 🤯 I stg I just spat my coffee all over the cat. Babe!!! Tell me everything. How was it?

You: *melts into puddle*

Bestie: 😍 Deets. More.

You: We talked basically all night. Really talked. And then… this morning we… you know.

Bestie: I can *see* you wiggling your eyebrows right now. You mean you bonked? 👀

You: I can’t believe I’m about to say this but we basically made love, Ames. It was… it was just. Perfect.

Bestie: baby girl 🥺🥺🥺 I’m so happy for you! And your vagina! 🎉

You: 😂

You: Ames. I’m a bit scared though, tbh. I haven’t felt this amazing in a long time. Am I being a major idiot? I think… I think he felt the same way too.

Bestie: I’m sure he did, you’re a catch bbz. Have you spoken to him since?

You: He’s been at work all day. But he should be finished now. He gets on my bus at the next stop. Shit he’s there. My heart has left my body I’ve gtg - I’ll ttyl ok? Love you x x

Bestie: Love you. Come round for goss. Stat!

You watch Steven preparing to board the bus with your heart in your mouth. Before settling your phone in your pocket, you fire off one final message to her.

You: I think this might be it Ames. I really think this might be my person.

Bestie: 😍😍😍😍 He’d be a lucky man to have you, hun.

You are physically shaking with pleasant nerves as Steven boards, and you’re already smiling fondly. The process is a hell of a lot smoother than it was yesterday - no comedy routines. He’s standing taller too. Looking more confident. You hope that has something to do with you, and what you got up to last night.

He walks up the aisle, and settles himself in a spot next to you. “Hi,” you smile giddily, the breath all but punched out of your lungs. Your cheeks straining against the sheer force of your smile. He’s so handsome.

“I’m sorry,” he says robustly, a confused divot notching in his brow. “Have we met?”

You bat his arm playfully with the back of your hand. “Haha.” You deadpan. “Very funny Steven. You’re such a comedian.”

He looks at you blankly. “I’m sorry. You must have the wrong guy.”

You blink in confusion when his eyes fail to soften upon greeting you. When he fails to drop whatever bit he’s doing. You frown, shocked by how fast the tears ball into your lashes. “Steven? This isn’t funny.” Why do you suddenly feel sick?

You tug on his sleeve ,but Steven pulls his arm from out of your grasp, taking a step back. “Really. You seem swell, but I’m sorry. I’m not your guy.”

He’s not your guy.

You swallow, but the lump in your throat stays there. You look at him through a haze of tears, which you battle to quell. He isn’t is he? He’s not your guy. Maybe he was never destined to be, for this person in front of you now seems like a different man entirely. His whole manner different.

Where has the warmth gone, which he showed you last night? Where is that man?

The man of your dreams?

You look at him pleadingly, and still nothing.

Is this one of your night terrors? For this is the only plausible way the man before you now could possibly exist, isn’t it? A cruel monster capable of dismissing you so readily, after all the ways your opened your heart and your body up to him mere hours ago.

“Steven,” you whisper, in one last ditch attempt, but your plea is ineffectual. He reaches his arm out to you, but this time it is you who steps away, not wishing for his duplicitous hands to touch you again.

What a coward. What a bastard. Of all the cruel ways to fob you off, this is what he’s chosen? He had got what he wanted from you, hadn’t he? Taken it. Pretended to be who you needed just to get into your knickers, and now…

Well now, you don’t even recognise the man before you.

With tears now cascading down your face, you elbow your way towards the front of the bus, dinging the bell repeatedly and pleading at the driver to pull over as fast as possible. “Stop the bus. Stop the bus. Please. I need to get off. I need to get off!”

You feel humiliated. Used.

You spill out on to the pavement, and your feet carry you to the nearest wall, where you lean up against it. You’d sob your heart out, but he’s already stolen it. Already crushed it.

You hope you never have to look at him again.

You’d had one night together.

One which had seemed blissful and magical, at the time. At least for you. But, clearly, with Steven, that hadn’t been the case.

Clearly, you’d failed to make any sort of lasting impresion.

Wednesday

Steven wakes up in his bed to the sound of his alarm.

He awakes with a start, as always. Flashes of this and that come back to him, but one image stands out to him in stark relief.

A face. A lovely, pretty face.

He’d just had the most beautiful dream of his life.

A dream that has seemed so real, that he even looks for you as he proceeds with his day. Looks for you on his bus route home. Scours the faces of the passengers, searching for yours.

He doesn’t find you.

He doesn’t find you, so he can only conclude that you never were real at all, and of all the things Steven has come to doubt, this has to be the most painful thing of all.

“Just a beautiful, perfect dream,” he mouths sadly to himself as he alights the bus one or two stops too late. He’d fallen asleep again.

When he steps off, he looks around. He doesn’t think he’s been there before, but that street off to the left looks awfully familiar.

He looks down at his hand then. At his palm, as though it’s suddenly cold and empty; but then he shakes his head.

“A beautiful dream,” he mouths again, and he wanders home alone.

He’d give anything to see your face one more time.

Anything at all.

[robinrunsfiction]

Weird specific request, but could you maybe do a Gerard x reader where reader’s band is on tour with them? Her band has accidentally left her behind at a rest stop and MCR does her a solid and gives her a lift in their tour bus? And this gives Gerard more time to talk to her and it’s all cute

Forgotten and Found

Pairing: Gerard Way x Female Reader Rating: General Requested By: Anon Word Count: 1,100 Author’s Note: Yes I'm posting on Thursday, no this is not smut lol just some fluffy goodness to help you all through your week

“You have got to be kidding me!" You exclaimed as soon as you stepped out of the convenience store.

Pulling out of the parking lot was your band’s tour bus, completely oblivious that you were not onboard. The worst part was your cell phone and all your belongings, except for the bag of chips and a soda you’d just purchased and about $2.64 in change, was on the bus as well.

“Was that your bus?” You heard someone ask behind you. Turning to look, you saw Gerard and Ray walking out of the convenience store.

“Yea! And I don’t have my phone or money or anything!” You exclaimed. “I’m so screwed!”

“Happens to the best of us,” Ray laughed lightly.

“You would know,” Gerard said sheepishly before turning to you. “We may have forgotten Ray a few times back in the day. Come on.”

“What?” You felt like your ears had failed you. 

“Unless you wanna stay here in… wherever the fuck we are,” Gerard laughed.

“Oh hell no,” you shook your head and followed the musicians.

You had yet to see the inside of My Chem’s bus. Your manager had been very clear about giving Gerard, Ray, Mikey, Frank and Bob their space. They were the main event, you were just the opening band, and you were to remember your place, pay your dues, so to speak, and not be a pain in the ass to anyone. But of course, the guys from My Chem had been nothing but gracious and kind to you and your bandmates whenever they got the chance to hang out and talk to you, but sadly that wasn’t often as you'd like, as they were so busy. 

“Picked up a straggler,” Ray announced as you climbed up the steps into the front lounge of their bus.

“Hey (YN),” Mikey nodded, glancing up from the comic he was reading.

“Hey, thanks for letting me come aboard!” You winced. “That sounded so dumb.”

Frank snickered. “That sounds like something Gerard would say.”

You glanced over at Gerard, whose cheeks had a hint of pink across them, and you were certain it was the cutest thing you’d ever seen.

“Shuddup,” he muttered under his breath.

“We couldn’t leave you behind!” Ray smiled at you.

"I appreciate it!"

After borrowing their tour manager’s phone to call your manager to let them know where you were, you settled in on the couch with the cursed snack that caused you to be left behind. Ray and Frank had gone in the back to play video games and Mikey continued reading, You had yet to see Bob, so you assumed he was asleep in his bunk, or just being himself and avoiding everyone. You were curious what Gerard was up to when he came out from the back, a backpack in hand.

“Hey,” he said, sitting down on the opposite end of the couch from you. “Bored yet?”

“A little,” you laughed lightly. “I wish I had the book I was reading or something. What are you doing?”

Gerard held up the sketch book he had pulled out of his bag. “Drawin,” he replied.

“Oh cool style. Do you just do that for fun, or are you working on a project?”

“I’m working on a comic. I dunno if anything will happen with it, but I have an idea I wanna explore. Do you wanna see?” He asked. He sounded a little nervous.

“Sure,” you nodded, sliding closer to him, so you could see his drawings better and Gerard put his arm over the back of the couch so you could move in closer. He was so enthusiastic about getting to describe his characters, the world he was building for them, and what he wanted to have happen in the story. It was fascinating just to watch him talk, but he was also wonderful to have a conversation in general with as well.

Somewhere along the way, between talking about your how you spent your summer vacations back when you were in school and your current dreams for the future, Gerard’s arm slid down from resting on the back of the couch, to over your shoulders and you tried to contain how much that thrilled you as you moved in a little closer to him. You were so lost in the moment that you didn’t even notice Mikey getting up and wandering deeper into the bus. If you would have looked up, you would have seen him roll his eyes, and shake his head as he left. You also didn’t notice the bus was slowing down.

“Ya know, I think I’m actually really glad that my bus left me behind,” you said softly.

Gerard nodded. “I am too. I’ve been wanting to spend more time with you, but everything is so busy, I haven’t gotten the chance.”

“Really? Me?”

“Yea,” he nodded. “I mean if you wanna spend time with me.”

“Yea, I want that,” you whispered when you realized that you and Gerard were somehow even closer now.

“Can I kiss you?” He asked, noses brushing as he rested his forehead against yours.

“Yes please.” The words were barely out of your mouth when his lips met yours, ever so gently, but more intently as you moved together. His hand that was wrapped around your shoulders slipped down so it was on your waist as you grabbed at his t-shirt while the kiss deepened.

“What the hell is going on?”

You and Gerard jumped apart like a couple of school kids being caught under the bleachers by a teacher. 

“Why are we stopped?” The manager called up to the driver, and you realized that his concern was regarding the bus, not you and Gerard.

“Traffic is at a stand still,” the driver called back. “Radio is saying an accident up ahead has all lanes blocked, so we’ll be delayed, but we’ll still be there before the show tomorrow.”

“Looks like you’re stuck here tonight,” the manager said to you before retreating to the back to inform the rest of the guys..

“I guess I better get comfortable on the couch,” you rolled your eyes. 

“Umm,” Gerard started, and you glanced over at him. “Not to be too forward, but you could share my bunk if you’d like. If not that’s ok, you can just take it, I can sleep out here.”

“You’re so sweet, but I’m not going to put you out. I will however take you up on your offer,” you smiled.

Gerard grinned, getting up, and offering you his hand before leading the way back to his bunk.

[riverlethe]

(via Sailor Moon Usagi GIF - Sailor Moon Usagi Balancing Pen - Discover & Share GIFs)

Fic Authors Self Rec

When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love! 💖

Thanks to @areptiledysfunction1107 for the tag!

Here are mine, in no particular order.

1. Once More, with Feeling! This is my ongoing WiP, a re-write of the Dark Kingdom arc in which Usagi and Mamoru begin dating before learning each other’s alter egos, and then navigating a relationship in secret afterwards. It’s mostly Manga-canon from Mamoru’s perspective, and I took some liberties with Mamoru’s psychometry and plot. There’s angst-galore (who doesn’t love angst?) but also plenty of tenderness and romance.

I purposely didn’t age them up because I am a sucker for the “high school sweethearts thing” (yes, she is in Jr High, but you know what I mean) so while their relationship is very physical, (as teens tend to be), there is nothing explicit.

This was my foray into writing, if you will, because I needed a mental distraction from my health care worker job during COVID back in 2021. OMwF! has changed so much since I originally started posting it, and I just couldn’t be prouder of it considering it is my very first fanfiction, even if a few of my other stories were posted first.

Rated M

2. Home My Day 2 Contribution to UsaMamo week 2021 was supposed to be about Post-Stars Usa and Mamoru while he is at Harvard for his Study Abroad 2.0, but the story took itself in another direction. What was originally intended as a sweet story about how Usagi is “Home” for Mamoru, instead transformed into an emotional Usagi-centric introspection about the events of Stars.

And I just love it. All aboard the Feels Bus!

Rated T

3. Interlude Full discloser, this story was written for 2 reasons: 1. Because of a discussion on the Moonlight Legends Discord back in August or Sept of 2021 in which we lamented the lack of Dark Endymion and Usagi/Sailor Moon fics, and 2. Because I wanted to push myself out of my M-rated comfort zone and write some actual smut for the first time.

Now, for some, the smut-level of this story is still pretty low (I referred to it as “Diet Smut” when I originally posted it), as it wasn’t overly explicit. But when I reworked it a bit for @dendyweek, I did make it a tad more explicit. I also made the story a better a companion for another I wrote later called Consequences, a Princess D Masquerade fic inspired by @areptiledysfunction1107′s Deja Vu (and posted with her approval) that became an unintended prequel to “Interlude” (funny how that happens)

Rated E

4. What Dwells Within My Day 4 contribution for @dendyweek 2022. I really wanted to try my hand at a psychological horror inspired piece, and I had so much fun writing it. As we move further and further away from Dendy Week I find myself wishing I had done even more with this concept, perhaps even a short multi-fic, but I am so very proud of this story as it is.

Rated T

5. The Morning and Evening Star My Day 1 contribution to @sailormoonrarepairweek is all about Sailor Venus!

SilMil Venus makes an interesting proposal to Kunzite to blow off some steam, and the rest is history. While I don’t have anything against any ships involving the senshi, I just don’t really ship them with anyone. But if I did have to choose one SenShi pairing, it would be Venus/Kunzite.

This could very well be the only non-UsaMamo story I write, and I love how it turned out.

Rated E

Tagging @goddessalthena @moonchildoh8 as many others I know have already been tagged, but please feel free to share your own favs! This is open tagging! I don’t know everyone who writes, so please introduce yourself and your works!

[hongism]

mists of celeste ➻ 37

➻ pairing: ??? x fem reader ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst, smut ➻ word count: 16.9k(? i think?) ➻ rating: M ➻ warnings: language, violence, guns and weaponry, blood, future warnings tba chapter specific warnings: talks of torture, talks of past self-harm, nothing directly graphic all mentioned through conversation, graphic depiction of a panic attack ➻ summary: Sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you

⇐ previous | next ⇒ | masterlist

✧✧✧ act five ➻ part four

​​​

“I’m going to kill the king, Hyunwoo.”

“Y/N, you can’t… that’s going too far.”

“I don’t think we have a choice any longer.”

“We always have a choice, Y/N. It’s just about what you decide to do with that choice that matters. Think about why you’re doing what you’re doing, and what your intentions truly are. It’s not about revenge or payment for a crime — the crimes of his people cannot be put onto his shoulders.”

A sigh passes through your lips, one that sounds more exasperated than anything else, and Hyunwoo lifts a brow upon hearing the noise.

“This is revenge, Hyunwoo. He allowed my past to be taken, he created the law that allows the military to do that. Not to mention the other crimes he has committed — even if they are a result of him sitting idly by and watching them happen. I’m not saying Jisung is always right or that he is a saint for wanting to do this. But if Jisung won’t commit to doing it, then I’ll do it for him.”

“And we swore to find a way to get those memories back, Y/N. Don’t let this cloud your judgment. Don’t let your devotion to making Jisung happy decide your future. If this is something he wants, then he should do it himself and face the consequences on his own! It’s not a burden that you should bear as well. I know this is something you will come to regret!”

“Then you’ll have to stop me with force because I’ve already made my mind up about this. I don’t see Jisung getting in my way right now. But after all, isn’t this what he wants? He’s just too much of a coward to do the dirty work himself!”

“We both know where he stands on this, which is precisely why he’s not here. Just — please let us try one more time. I’ve spoken with a few of my off-planet contacts about this, and we have one last idea that might reverse the effects of the serum. You know how difficult this is; the military keeps such a tight wrap on everything about the serum. It’s near impossible to just get a spare vial, and even harder to examine how it works with test subjects while still being ethical. We are trying our best, I promise, just please hold out a little while longer. Jisung is getting things set up now… so please… just come with me and try before you do anything drastic.”

The man extends a hand, palm facing towards the ceiling and fingers outstretched for you to take. There’s hope in his eyes, a hope you haven’t seen from him in a long time, and that look is what brings your feet forward. You place your palm over his and curl your fingers tight around the side of his hand. He squeezes back as a small grin overtakes his lips.

“If this doesn’t work, then you know what I have to do, Hyunwoo.”

“I know,” he whispers. The hope in his eyes flickers a little, like a flame hit by a gust of wind. “In that case, I’ll do whatever I have to so that you don’t come to regret that decision.”

“Hey, get up. It’s go time.”

You wake with a start, not fully come out of the memory that paints the insides of your eyelids until you look around at your surroundings. Yeosang seems to be the one who woke you seeing as his hand is still outstretched to your arm. The sight of him brings you back to reality and reminds you of where you are and what exactly is going on. Jongho sits on your other side, dressed in nicer clothes than you’ve ever seen him wear before — a pleated and pristine navy suit complete with a bright yellow tie and hair gelled back on his head. Yeosang too wears a somewhat expensive garb although he appears more natural in the silk tunic covering his torso. His naturally dark roots are starting to peek through the blond near his scalp, accentuating the harsh part down the middle of his head.

Despite the fact that both look relatively harmless in this state, you know they each have weapons hidden somewhere on their person underneath that formal wear, just as you do with the knives strapped over your thighs under the skirt attached to your waist. Such an outfit like yours is something you hardly agreed to — it was moreso an insistence on Seonghwa’s part to at least dress the part (although he had to listen to some of your incessant nagging about how you could never fight in a dress so he had to settle on finding a substitute in the form of a jumpsuit with a skirt wrapped around the back. Yet the more you pick at the seams and touch the fabric, the more you recall the none too pleasant conversation you and Seonghwa shared as you were preparing to leave for the mission.

“Perhaps I do have an eye for beauty after all, or is it that you simply look breathtaking in anything?” Seonghwa stands in the doorway to your bedroom, not a mind for privacy as he watches you struggle to tug the zipper of your suit up.

“Can’t even breathe on my own, huh?” You huff out as you drop the zipper in defeat.

“I’ve already seen every inch of you, have I not? There’s nothing to hide that I haven’t seen before,” Seonghwa says through a laugh. He watches your cheeks flush with color before dropping his arms to his side and coming closer to you. He remains wordless as he pulls your zipper up for you, smoothing the fabric under his fingers down once it’s pulled up to your neck. “It suits you. Things like this, I mean. The silk makes you look… softer, yet the color combination of black and white makes you look lethal. Perfect definition of beauty, no? That something so delicate could also kill you? A wonderful dichotomy in my eyes.”

“Someone is in a poetic mood today.” You don’t hide the way your eyes roll to the back of your head, but Seonghwa doesn’t seem all too bothered by your show of faux-annoyance. Instead, his hands find your hips and turn you to face him directly, staring so intently into your eyes with his own dark ones that you lose the rest of your retort.

“I’m sorry. I wanted to go on this mission so desperately but that didn’t quite work out.” You’re quick to shake your head, already in the midst of denying his words before he even finishes his sentence.

“It’s alright. I’ll have Yeosang and Jongho there with me.”

“I would go if only Hongjoong would let me bu—” The thought cuts short as you place a hand over his forearm.

“Seonghwa, it’s okay. Hongjoong is right to have you stay here while you’re not 100% better. And you can both keep an eye on Jisung this way. We’ll bring Wooyoung back as quickly as possible, I swear.” Instead of consoling the man, your words seem to have an opposite effect as he drops his gaze to the floor.

“If I were stronger, this wouldn’t even be an issue. You should not have had to waste so much time having to look after my fragile and weak mental state when you could have caught up to the ship sooner and had all three of them back in one go.”

“This is what we’re working with, Hwa. It has nothing to do with your welfare. We still would have been too late regardless of whether that night had happened or not. So please — it will all work out and be okay. It has to.”

Seonghwa’s smile is quaint, a small twitch of his lips, then he’s leaning in to close the distance between your lips. You lift your hand to push hard against his chest, furthering that distance before he gets the chance to meet your lips with his.

“I just put on this black lipstick and you already want to mess it up? How rude,” you scoff. That isn’t a real reason, and you both know it, and you only solidify that further when you speak next before biting your tongue. “You shouldn’t push it right now. I still haven’t forgiven you for not fighting my decision to go with Jisung. Besides wasn’t the decision to… stop whatever this is mutual?”

“It was, of course,” he murmurs back, not quite meeting your eyes. “I am merely a creature of habit, so it will take some time for me to adjust to this change. But… Y/N, might I be so bold as to ask you something?”

“Hm, isn’t that a question right there?”

“I’ll take that as a yes then?” You regard him with a small nod but pull away so that his hands drop to his sides again. “Were any of the feelings you had for me something real and tangible? Not just because of what we are and that comfort of both being Sirens, I mean.”

You should have known he would bring this up eventually, especially with how the two of you are constantly dancing around each other and the topic. Still, you aren’t ready for it.

“I… don’t think I know the answer to that question, but even if I did, I-I might not be able to answer with complete honesty.” The smile that comes to paint Seonghwa’s lips is nothing short of sad and painful, not quite reaching his bright eyes with its usual mirth.

“It’s a conversation I wish for us to have one day, but I too fear that I might not be able to be completely honest either. Perhaps — perhaps we got a little too caught up in the heat of things without truly thinking about why we were doing the things we were doing.”

“Why did you do it then? I was the one who gave the initial push, I started things, I claim responsibility for that, but you pulled right back. So why?”

“I have found time to think about such things quite a bit lately since I was left in the medbay alone for so long; however, now is not the time to talk about that as it would take too long. Has Wooyoung brought you back yet?”

“No, not since the night in the medbay. But San very clearly said three days until they would land on Dorado, and it’s been six since then. They should be there by now, and the deals should have gone through. Wooyoung’s was to be immediate after all.” Seonghwa’s smile drops into a half-hearted scowl.

“Without Wooyoung on the inside, we will have no way of knowing where San and Mingi are.”

“Unless Jisung decides to be kind with his information.” You run a hand through your hair, mussing the already down tresses enough to be somewhat noticeable. “We’ll have to make do.” Seonghwa stretches across the empty space between you

“I won’t keep you any longer then. Tell the others good luck from me, and please… be careful? No unnecessary risks if you can avoid them. I’d like to see you all back in one piece.”

Reality swoops in on you as Jongho places a firm hand over your thigh.

“You alright? I can practically feel you thinking so hard.”

“Yes, yes, of course. Just… wondering about the mission.”

“It’ll be okay,” Jongho murmurs, squeezing at your leg a little tighter. “It’s a straightforward mission — easy in and out.”

“Hopefully.” Yeosang is the one to hum the word but he doesn’t look at either of you as he speaks. “Once we’re in, I’ll talk to the main desk and ask for someone with Wooyoung’s general appearance. It’ll be a bit difficult because they will have given a new name — something a prostitute would have. I’m not sure how many people in there will have similar appearances to Wooyoung but we’ll have to do our best. You two remember what you’re supposed to do?”

“Yes,” you nod. “Follow suit, wait fifteen minutes for you to pass through the reception area, then ask the same thing. A male short in stature with black hair and tanned skin. All prostitutes have collar so it won’t be Wooyoung’s defining feature any longer.” The recitation rolls off your tongue with ease after having heard Yeosang repeat it so many times by now. He nods in approval nonetheless.

“Remember there are cameras in each of the rooms. Don’t know how they use them but it’s something to be aware of. Hopefully, one of us will be able to come across Wooyoung, and in the case that you do?”

“We are to stay in the room with him for the allotted time, ping back to the ship and let Hongjoong know we have him, then wait for his signal,” Jongho responds. “His contact here on Dorado will be hacking their surveillance systems once we are certain that we have Wooyoung in a safe position.”

“Hongjoong sure seems to have a lot of contacts for someone who doesn’t trust people,” you murmur more to yourself than to anyone else, but Yeosang picks up on it nonetheless.

“His contacts are few and far between. This is one he has known since before he became a captain, so he holds a bit more trust with him. Back to the plan though, after his contact confirms our safety, you’ll crack a window and hop out hopefully unscathed. Remember that the Upper Echelon of Dorado is tight on security. Whoever gets Wooyoung out will have to be mindful of guards and try not to look suspicious. If any guards stop you, do not engage with violence. Simply do as they ask you to and tell them that Wooyoung is your slave. And one last thing: don’t forget we’ll be going in silent so keep a close eye on your wristbands. Understood?”

“Clear as day,” Jongho says while you offer only a hasty nod.

“Good, stay sharp then. We’ll be landing soon, and it’ll be go time immediately after that.” With that, Yeosang sits back and shuts his eyes, leaving you and Jongho to stew over the plan again in silence. At least until you decide you can’t take it anymore and turn to talk to the Berserker again.

“Are you nervous at all about the mission?”

A shrug.

“No more than usual. Recovering Wooyoung won’t be easy by any means, of course. It’s a step in the right direction, right? How are you feeling?” As though sensing your nerves, he pats your thigh a few times, and you simply stare down at the dirty floor beneath your feet.

“I feel a bit guilty in a way because I’m not too worried about the mission,” you admit, albeit quietly because you aren’t sure how please Yeosang would be to hear the words. “The only thing that is on my mind right now is how San is doing and if he’s okay.” Although you told Seonghwa otherwise, the sudden radio silence that Wooyoung has given you has made you anxious to an unspeakable degree. And not having the security of being able to see San through Wooyoung’s eyes is plaguing you more than you’d like to admit.

“I understand that,” Jongho says through a deep exhale. “I feel the same way about Mingi right now honestly. No matter how much faith and trust I have in Mingi, that fear always lingers and resides in me.”

“That’s how I feel about San. I shouldn’t be worried about him but part of me is just fearful that we won’t make it in time. That he’ll accept the serum before we can get him out.”

Jongho brings his hand up to take hold of one of yours, squeezing around your palm as tight as he can without hurting you.

“I know San better than I know anyone on the crew, besides Mingi perhaps. I’ve spent years at San’s side. He was the only person who trusted me at first and trusted me enough to let me in. That trauma he bears, the scars on his past, the red in his ledger, those lingering pains that resurfaced when the mutiny happened — I have felt them all. I spent months at the foot of his bed, taking what pain I could away for as long as I could, just existing to comfort him and help him get through even one more night. And in that myriad of emotions I felt from San, not once did I ever feel him desire to take it all away. Those scars he bears are part of him, and he treats them as such. Something like… small accessories on a bigger picture that he won’t let go of. So no matter what happens, I have confidence that San won’t let them win. He’s far too stubborn for that, his heart is too big, he has too much love in his body for such a thing. He would rather die before he forgets the crew, and that fact alone makes me confident that San will hold out.”

You are left in the wake of Jongho’s words for too long, letting them crawl under your skin and find a home there. You count the seconds that pass before your voice finds you again.

“I understand that.” Forty-one seconds. “It’s just the fear of him being hurt when I’m not around to stop it that is hard to get past.” Jongho’s smile is nothing if not soft and gentle, the epitome of understanding.

“In our line of work, that fear is always present. It’s always a possibility too, but at some point, you reach a point where you accept that sometimes, you won’t always be able to save someone from all pain. Just because you can’t prevent every ounce of pain doesn’t mean that you are doing something wrong or that you’re not doing enough.” Jongho pauses. Some emotion fills his red eyes and leaves them swimming with something unspoken. “There are some pains that we must allow to happen, no matter how much we wish to do the opposite. Even something as horrid as pain can be necessary and needed to move forward in life. Try not to dwell on it too much and focus on Wooyoung for now, yeah?”

“I’m trying my best,” you sigh and drop your head back against the seat. The second your thoughts begin to drift, you are brought back to another memory, this time one of Hongjoong’s dark office with Seonghwa at your side.

“You punched Jisung in the face?”

“Please, I let him off easy,” you huff back, ignoring the lieutenant’s slight shock in favor of finding interest in the wall.

“That’s not the important part,” Hongjoong cuts in from where he sits behind his desk. You shift to glance over the captain. “Does Jisung know anything about you being a Siren?���

“No, not that I recall,” you mutter after little thought. “I never slept with him or anything like that, and I can’t remember him ever seeing my back so it’s safe to assume he doesn’t know. Besides who would just see tattoos and immediately assume ‘Siren’?”

“Then his interest in you has nothing to do with you being a Siren?”

“Exactly, but why is that important? I can tell you why he wants me if that’s what you’re curious about.”

“We’re just eliminating suspicions right now.” Hongjoong shifts his focus to where Seonghwa stands. He wears a bit of a cocky grin as they stare at each other, both feet slung up on the edge of his desk and one brow raised. “See? Jin has nothing to do with this.”

“That doesn’t eliminate the possibility altogether!” Seonghwa retorts. A frown mars his otherwise pretty features, twisting his lips into a scowl so deep that you feel your own muscles ache at the sight of it.

“You live your life in fear of Seokjin. For what? Do you not trust me to keep you safe?”

“That isn’t it and you know it, Joong. I will not sabotage your plans simply because of what I am. That is why we keep my identity to be a closely-guarded secret yet our number one enemy knows of that identity. That is a weakness, and it’s one that you need to take seriously.”

“Why is that? Sheltering you would be more suspicious to the crew than anything else. Unless you would like to inform them of your identity? Allow me to call them all right this instant.”

“No! No, Hongjoong, I — fine. Have it your way. Keep believing that you’ll be able to fix where Jin went wrong by ignoring the issue altogether because th—”

“That’s enough.” You bristle at the tone of the captain’s voice even though he is not speaking directly to you. “I’m still on edge as well, Hwa, and I know you are as well. I know why you are too, but please have at least a little faith in me. Now, Y/N—” Hongjoong turns back to you now “—I’d like to ask about the nightmares you had that night.”

Your initial response is to inhale sharply and glance over at Seonghwa with panic boiling in your gut.

“Why do you want to know?”

All Hongjoong does is roll his eyes and drop his feet off the side of his desk. You purse your lips at the action, watching him with wary eyes as he shifts his position to prop his elbows up on the same wood.

“Seonghwa, you’re dismissed.”

“I — Captain?”

“Dismissed, Lieutenant. I need to speak with her in private.”

“Why is it something I cannot be present for?”

“That was an order, not a suggestion. Now go.” If possible, the temperature of the room would drop ten degrees. Seonghwa seems to want to retort further but he bites his lip instead. Then, he gives a quick bow at the waist and mutters a goodbye before slipping out of the office without any further issue. “What did your nightmares consist of?” Hongjoong repeats, arching a brow as he speaks this time as though it will get you to talk faster.

“You didn’t have to get me alone to ask me that, did you? What is this really about?” The questions flow without hesitation, and your second refusal to talk about the dreams draws a sigh from Hongjoong’s lips.

“Do you know anything of Seonghwa’s relationship with his mother, Y/N?” A beat of silence. You shift your weight from foot to foot, glancing away from the captain to find interest in something on the floor.

“I… did witness a few of his memories when the two of us were still with each other in the dreams, but — if you mean to ask me about his nightmares, I have nothing to offer. I didn’t see those at all.”

“No, he already told me all about those nightmares. I don’t need to know more of them,” Hongjoong exhales with a shake of his head. He draws his arms up over his chest as he talks, falling back to slump in his chair and letting his exhaustion shine through. “Initially, I was going to have Seonghwa go with Yeosang and Jongho on this mission. But now, that plan has changed and I will be sending you instead.”

“Why?”

“I can’t send Seonghwa down to Lynder unless I myself can be at his side the entire time. There is far too much of a risk if I am unable to do that.”

“Risk? Of what? He would be with Yeosang and Jongho, would he not?”

“Yet if even the barest whim overcomes him, they would have to listen to whatever he says because of his position as lieutenant. I am the only one with more power than him, and as such, he has to listen to me. If he goes to Lynder, the risk is of him abandoning the mission to seek out his mother.”

“That doesn’t sound like something he would do at all,” you counter. Both you and Hongjoong drop your chins at the same time, although yours is more of an accusatory and pointed action compared to the slumping defeat that comes over Hongjoong’s body when he lowers his head.

“I don’t know how much or what exactly you saw in Seonghwa’s memories. I do not need to know either. But something you need to know is that we have been back to Lynder exactly once since I met Seonghwa there. And that one single time, two years ago, we had to lock Seonghwa in the brig for six days straight to keep him from breaking out to kill his mother. Seonghwa tore cuts into his arms and shoulders so deep that Yunho had to come stitch him every night until we finally chained him to a wall to get him to stop. When he finally gave up on trying to break out, I went in and took the cuffs off, only for Seonghwa to choke me hard enough to fracture my neck and leave bruises that lasted for several weeks.”

“A-Ah…” The sound of your dry swallow echoes in your ears. It’s hard to imagine Seonghwa — cool, rigid, stoic, gentle and calm Seonghwa — ever being so depraved and rabid as to harm himself as well as Hongjoong. Seonghwa, whose greatest fear is losing his captain. Yet the grave expression coating Hongjoong’s delicate features remains serious and deadpan, and you know every word is one that holds a memory that is painful to recall. He’s telling the truth.

“Have you ever had that voice in your head telling you to be cruel, Y/N?”

“Of course I have,” you admit through a whisper, like the words are going to break the threads of tension hanging in the air.

“Seonghwa has lost his will and his mind to that voice time and time again, and it gave him his reputation as the Lieutenant of Death. Mingi may be a slave to a childhood which bred him to be a monster, but Seonghwa? He’s a slave to his own consciousness, the part of him that spent years trying to be perceived as an Elitist so that he could hide what he really is, someone cold and calculated without an ounce of remorse or emotion. He put his own monsters under the bed, but now he can’t get them out.”

Hongjoong sits up a bit straighter all of a sudden. His gaze is still unfocused and hazy though, refusing to look you straight in the eye. Either subconsciously or through the fog of that revisited memory, Hongjoong lifts a hand to his neck and rubs idly at the skin there.

“My Seon—Lieutenant is strong, but strength isn’t worth a damn thing when the person you’re fighting is yourself. He admitted to me once that the thought of letting that voice win is more terrifying than the act of killing his own mother. So for that reason, I can never allow such a thing to happen. Seonghwa’s demons are nothing if not rabid dogs begging for a pound of flesh, and if he can’t fight them on his own, I’ll do it for him.”

“Y/N, are you sure you’re alright?” Jongho yet again brings you back to reality, most likely a bit disturbed by the way you are squeezing his hand tight enough to hurt, but he takes it without complaint. “You keep drifting out of focus.”

“Yes,” you say, filling your chest with air when you remember to breathe properly again. “Everything is fine.” Rather than responding with words, Jongho just places his other hand over your joined ones and brings them to rest on his thigh. If you listen closely enough, you’re able to hear him humming a soft melody under his breath but the rumble of the transport car covers most of the sound up. Still, it’s a relaxing sound that brings you some much-needed peace of mind for the remainder of the ride.

And as it turns out, Yeosang wasn’t bluffing when he said the three of you would be there soon because you had barely started listening to Jongho’s soft song when the car comes to a screeching halt that leaves you lurching forward.

“Alright then.” Yeosang stands first, hands smoothing down the fabric of his tunic even though it’s still perfectly in place. It’s not against his nature to get nervous or anxious, but it is still odd to witness like this. He is usually stoic in an unsettling way yet the grim expression he now wears is only accentuated by the crude shadows cast over his face. “It’s go time. Let’s get Wooyoung back in one piece, yeah?”

With that, the three of you climb out of the vehicle to be greeted by a dark and pristine city with thick clouds of smoke billowing through the air below you. Looking over the lip of the road is like looking down a cliff with the dramatic fall to the lower portion of the city. You weren’t exactly prepared to see such a drastic difference between the upper and lower echelons, yet looking over that cliff is like looking into a different city altogether with wooden buildings and decrepit warehouses that can barely hold themselves together. Where you stand with Yeosang and Jongho feels like a different world altogether with roads lined with lights and technology, tall buildings made from wood with exquisite carvings detailing the sides. From what you saw of the city in Seonghwa’s memories, Lynder has not changed one bit since he was here last.

You can’t clearly see many of the buildings below your feet, but it doesn’t stop you from wondering which one could possibly be that bar where Seonghwa met Hongjoong, if it even still exists. Jongho pulls you away from the road by the arm, tugging you along behind him as you approach a new building. The swaying wooden panel outside the door is a dead giveaway, but it’s the absurd amount of lilies trailing over the railings that tells you what this place is.

“They weren’t bluffing with the House of Lilies name,” you mutter, wrinkling your nose a bit at the overwhelming stench. Yeosang has grown alarmingly still; he lingers outside the tall double doors with a hand hovering over the brass handles without budging even an inch for far too long. You could pretend to not know why he’s hesitating, you could act like he is merely holding you back and push past him in annoyance, yet instead, you find yourself laying a hand atop his shoulder and squeezing the fabric there lightly. “No matter what happens in there or what we find in there, we will bring Wooyoung out alive.”

Yeosang releases a shaky exhale that makes his shoulder quake under your fingers.

“I know we will.” He looks past your face to make eye contact with Jongho then gives a curt nod. “Here goes the first fifteen minutes of hell.” The Elitist pushes hard against the brass handles, and the door gives way to his effort.

If you thought the smell outside the House was horrid, you don’t even know how to describe the reeking stench of flowers that hits you with the force of a tsunami. It’s thick enough for you to feel as though you are wading through a sea of flowers when in reality it’s just a strange yellow haze hanging about the interior. Yeosang doesn’t let the smell affect him in the slightest; he walks inside without missing a beat, shoulders pushed back so far it nearly hurts to see. Despite that, he walks like a prince, like someone who knows how to act in high society with ease, and for the first time, you don’t see Kang Yeosang before you. Instead, it’s Kang Minhee, the forgotten prince of Aera, who walks before you and heads for the front desk where a middle-aged woman with dramatic hair and hefty makeup stands.

“We should mingle a bit and look natural,” Jongho whispers when the two of you stop just inside the doors. “May I?” He motions to your arm with a small smile, not saying anything else and leaving you confused.

“May you…?”

“Quit being dense and give me your arm,” he huffs back and extends his elbow for you to loop your arm through, and this time, you get the hint, hooking your hand around the inside of his arm. Yeosang shifts to look back at both of you as you pass, and you offer each other discreet nods before he returns to speaking to the receptionist.

You let Jongho lead the way for the most part since you aren’t sure what you’re supposed to be doing outside of “looking normal”, although even doing that is somewhat difficult. Jongho doesn’t stray far from the entrance area until Yeosang dips into a hallway and out of sight without looking back at the two of you. Moments later your wristbands buzz, signaling that it’s time for the first fifteen-minute countdown to begin. Jongho shifts to fiddle with his wristband while you keep your hand folded over his elbow still. It gives you a chance to glance around the whorehouse without the distraction of having to act normal, but frankly, there isn’t much to see beyond the bodies filling the foyer and mingling about the lounge before you. There are flowers everywhere — probably an overabundance of them, and they aren’t just lilies as they were outside. You can’t pinpoint whether those flowers are the source of the clawingly sweet scent stuck to the insides of your nostrils or not, but that yellow fog seems partially responsible to some degree.

“You seem to know how to look like you belong in high society,” you mutter once Jongho pulls his attention back to your surroundings. A huff of laughter leaves his lips.

“It’s not because I grew up that way. I was merely an observant child who wanted to grow up and have more than what I had.” A smile cracks his stony expression. “Isn’t that what all children want?”

“I—”

Well, you wouldn’t really know, would you?

Jongho’s expression softens as he realizes what he’s said and who he has said it to, and his gaze turns apologetic seconds later. He turns to flag down one of the workers milling about with drinks, taking two glasses of what looks like wine in one hand. Jongho angles one of the half-full flutes in your direction. You take the hint with relative ease despite the clawing scent of flowers still muddling your thoughts.

“I didn’t mean to hit a nerve,” Jongho says through what seems to be a sympathetic smile. “What do you think your childhood was like? If you don’t mind talking about such things. We have time to kill after all.”

You draw your lips into a tight purse, curling them around the edge of the wine glass and pressing an imprint of your dark lipstick there. Subconsciously, your hand tightens around the inside of Jongho’s arm as well, although the Berserker doesn’t comment on the added pressure as he simply continues to regard you with the same steely and careful gaze.

“I think it must have been rather sad,” you admit after some thought. It must not be the answer Jongho was expecting at all because his brows draw together in confusion. “What kind of childhood must one have for them to willingly sell away their memories by fourteen? The more I think… about that time — when they gave me the serum — I recall fighting the doctors but I don’t think it was because I didn’t know what they were doing. I’m certain that I knew my memories would be taken from me. It was the act of them strapping me to a chair like a prisoner that frightened me.”

This time when Jongho smiles, all you can see is pain in his deep red eyes.

“I would have given anything in the universe to have my memories taken away at that age too, if it’s of any comfort to you.” He pauses to swirl the liquid in his glass, watching the red liquor dance before his eyes under the yellow haze around your bodies. “Don’t think you’re weak for wanting to forget that past. No child should ever deal with pains that strong, even if you can’t remember what they are.”

“People like you… San, Mingi… the whole crew honestly — how can I not view myself as weak in comparison? People who were given the choice but denied it and rejected it unlike me, who apparently didn’t want to be left with some shred of dignity. What did I become with that fresh slate they gave me? All I could do then was be weak, but it seems like that hasn’t changed one bit.”

Jongho won’t let up with that devastating smile, and you are about to turn away so that you don’t have to see it any longer when he finally lets it fall.

“For what it’s worth, you are rather strong in my eyes. During your fight with Jisung, I’ll admit that I tried to ease some of your pain then. It’s not something you know about — the others know of it by now so I should have told you sooner and I’m sorry for that but I have a special mutation in my genes that gives me the ability to take away and absorb emotional auras. I inherited it from one of my grandparents so it’s something I grew up learning how to use and I carried that over when I joined the crew. I attempted to do that with you because you were in so much distress and I was worried but — b-but your pain was too much for even me to bear. So before you go around calling yourself weak, you ought to give yourself more credit. Just because the pains you bear are different doesn’t mean that they are any less than the pains the rest of us bear.”

Jongho doesn’t say anything more than that; he slings his wine back in one shot like it’s nothing then places the now empty glass on a waiter’s tray as he’s passing by. You don’t touch your own, mulling over the glass as you fall deep in thought. If Jongho could feel that much from you, then it begs the question of what else he might be able to feel from you.

Can he sense that I’m a Siren too? Would he be able to tell that Seonghwa and Wooyoung are Sirens as well?

Your mind shifts to latch onto something else he said. Your pain was too much for even me to bear.

“It’s okay, Y/N. Stand down,” he murmurs. “You need to pick your battles, and this is not one for you to fight right now.” Again you feel that pull of warmth coming from him, like someone is trying to pull something from your chest, but it retracts almost instantaneously. Jongho falters. His eyes squeeze shut harshly, face contorting with something that almost looks like pain in your eyes, but that lasts less than a second before he’s recovered again. It’s not enough to stop the onslaught of emotions coursing through your veins.

You had been too preoccupied at the time to think about that moment until now.

“That time — did I hurt you? When you tried to take it away, did I hurt you even a little bit?”

“Nothing you did hurt me, Y/N. It wasn’t your fault, I promise you didn’t do anything. It’s something I have done time and time again for others on the crew and something I would do again as well. It’s what I’m good at, and something I was born with for a reason. If it helps even a little bit, then why would I not take the temporary pain?”

Every fiber of your being is telling you to fight those words, to tell him that it’s not worth it, your pain should not be a burden he has to bear as well, yet no words fall from your lips. Your mouth stutters uselessly without saying anything, and Jongho just keeps smiling like nothing is wrong. The clenching in your chest is not fine, however, and you force yourself to turn away from him in the hopes it will alleviate that pain. Instead, your eyes travel to a head of bright red hair that is so starkly different than anything else in the room that you have to stare right at it. It would be nothing odd or out of the ordinary to you since the crew you are now part of has such a wide array of hair colors. It would be something you look right past without much thought.

And yet you find yourself staring right at it. Right at the girl who turns to look around the lounge with red hair sweeping through the air.

You jolt.

Something hits your shoulder hard enough to tip your drink over and spill some of the red wine onto the floor. Your hand retracts from Jongho’s arm to touch the knife hidden behind the fabric of your skirt. You’re forced to pull your gaze away from the girl, finding the man who bumped into you to just be a stumbling drunk man with little sense for spatial awareness and direction. Jongho wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you a bit closer to his body. The man continues on without any regard for you or the wine he just spilled. Jongho takes your glass with his free hand, discarding it at the nearest flat surface before redirecting his focus back to you.

“It’s okay, Y/N, everything is okay.”

“I’m fine,” you murmur back, but your gaze goes straight back to where that redhead just stood.

“You look like you just saw a ghost.”

Instinct tells you to stay put and continue on with the mission, putting that familiar face to the back of your mind. But again your heart is clenching painfully in your chest, racing so fast that you feel the pounds echoing in your ears, and you know you can’t let go of her that easily. Not when she’s this close to you.

“I think I did.” You pull away from Jongho to go chasing through the crowd after that red hair, but the Berserker moves with you in a rush.

“Y/N, we can’t get off track. There’s only six minutes until it’s your turn to go to the counter.”

You wave him off with a dismissive hand rather than responding with words. Moments later, you find your target again, just as she is turning to head for the hallway that Yeosang went down not too long ago.

“Soojin?” You throw the name out as a last resort, mostly a desperate attempt to see if you are right and your eyes aren’t playing tricks on you in this heady yellow haze.

She freezes in place. It gives you just enough time to shove past the crowd and get closer to where she stands. You close your fingers around her shoulder, tugging with as little force as possible so that she turns to face you. There’s not a doubt in your mind when you see her face. She seems to recognize you as well based on the way her eyes are blown wide as saucers. The girl — well, you suppose she would be a woman by now — glances past your shoulder to look at Jongho. Her throat rolls as she swallows around nothing.

“You must have me mistaken for someone else,” Soojin whispers, bringing her gaze back down to you. She dips her head a bit then pulls away from you to head down the hall. You think back to Jisung — the threats and odd comments he made combined with the newly resurfaced memories of Hyunwoo lingering at the forefront of your mind, and you know without a shadow of a doubt that you can’t let her go this easily.

“P-Please, Soojin — I need to talk with you. It’s important, please, I have so many questions and no one else to ask.”

“I’m sure you do, little scapegoat,” she huffs back. “I actually have work to do though and a client waiting for me, so I’m not all too inclined to speak with you. I’m not sure why you came here, but I don’t think I have the answers you’re looking for either.” You don’t have a chance to keep her from leaving after that because she turns and leaves so quickly that it leaves you reeling. Jongho tugs you back by the arm, pulling you from the hallway and out into the lounge again before you can chase after her.

“What the hell was that?” He hisses under his breath.

“She — I-I knew her. She w-was my teammate, one of the p-people assigned to my unit in the military. I… I had no idea she ended up here of all places. Jongho, I have to talk to her, please, I have to. This c-could be what I need! If Jisung won’t tell me the truth, then maybe she knows something. She has to know something o-or else I—”

Your voice dies in your throat, but your unspoken desperation seems to reach Jongho nonetheless. The key to whatever memories you lost could lie in Soojin. Things happened so quickly at the end, perhaps she learned of something before leaving Eros with the others.

“She called you a scapegoat,” Jongho says. He swallows hard, Adam’s Apple bobbing with the motion. “What was that about?”

Truthfully, you hadn’t gotten that far. You didn’t even think to question that part but it is odd and not something you recall her calling you in the past.

“I’m not sure why she would say that. All the more reason to speak to her and ask. Jongho, please!” You attempt to pull away from his grip as you speak. The Berserker doesn’t budge, too strong for you to fight like this, and he doesn’t let up even when you try to slap his hand away.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” He yanks you back to him and brings his free hand up to rest on your forehead. This time, you can physically feel the panic in your bones ebbing away and being pulled to your forehead where Jongho touches you. It’s a frightening sensation but the influence he has over you takes that fear away as well, leaving you in a daze of confusion because you know you should feel bothered right now but you cannot bring yourself to feel that way even as Jongho pulls away from you. His jaw twitches just a hair, not moving much beyond that, then he grits his teeth to hiss out his next words. “Wooyoung is our mission. You have to focus. You have two minutes to get up to that counter and do your job. We can try to track down your teammate later, but not on a mission like this.”

You have it in you to at least be angry enough to tug your arm out of his grasp.

“Don’t touch my emotions like that again. I understand you trying to take my pain, and as much as I hate that and despite the thought of you taking my pains for me, this is different. Emotionally sedating me for the sake of completing a mission better is different.”

You don’t give him a chance to reply before you’re heading off for the counter where Yeosang stood not too long ago. The woman who previously occupied the space behind it has disappeared, now replaced by a young man who must be younger than you from the looks of it.

“How can I help you, ma’am?” He asks as you sidle up to the desk.

“I’d like a room, an hour’s worth.” You fumble a bit with your pockets as you try to fish a credit chip out without exposing the knife strapped to your thigh, but the boy doesn’t look up until you slide the chip across the counter.

“Of course, of course,” he hums. “Do you have any preferences for pleasure tonight?”

“A male short in stature with black hair and tanned skin,” you recite back, forcing a smile onto your lips when the boy glances up at you. He tilts his head to the side. You swallow the saliva gathering in your mouth as the stare grows unsettling then he shakes his head and speaks again.

“Would you like someone more submissive or dominant?”

“Hm? Oh, um…” That wasn’t part of the plan. Surely Yeosang would have mentioned it if he had known they would ask. But what would he have said if they asked him the same? “Um, submissive is fine, I suppose?” The boy hums again then motions towards the hallway where Yeosang and Soojin both headed down.

“Your room will be on the second floor, Room 213. Please take the stairs at the end of the hall.” He passes a keycard your way along with your credit chip, leaving you with a grin and a soft-spoken, “Your courtesan will join you shortly. Enjoy.” You bristle at his words but manage to smile a little bit as you take both the card and your chip back. You leave the counter to head for the hallway, not pausing to look back at where Jongho might be, but you ping your wristband as you go. Nothing has come in from Yeosang’s side again so it’s safe to assume he doesn’t have Wooyoung with him by now. It leaves you and Jongho with more pressure and either more or less of a chance to recover him, so you can only hope for the best as you climb the stairs to the second floor.

Room 213 is empty as expected when you slip inside, and it’s free from that odd yellow fog outside as well, so you bask in the freedom and breathe fresh air deeply while you can. It’s a basic and standard room — much more like a small hotel room than anything else from the cabinet near the door and the double bed pushed up against the wall. There’s a metal sink as well close to the window but nothing else adorns the room leaving it rather dismal and simple. Not that you expected these people to treat the courtesans with even an ounce of respect; it’s still disheartening to think of Wooyoung being stuck in such a small and cramped space without a choice.

Whatever peace you thought you could have is cruelly interrupted less than five minutes later as a series of shy knocks reach your door. You blink up from where you sit perched on the edge of the neatly made bed. Is this how Yeosang felt waiting for his door to open? You inhale sharply, heart pounding mercilessly in your throat and choking you with the strength of an actual hand. And shamefully, you can’t even bring yourself to look at the door when it slides open, too afraid of not seeing Wooyoung standing behind it.

“Y-Y/N?”

You snap your head towards the door so quickly that your neck pops with the effort, eyes blinking open faster than ever, and even when your gaze settles on him, you still can’t quite believe he’s really before you. In that moment, the two of you merely regard each other with stunned stares like neither of you can believe this is possible, and in that time, the door slides shut again to leave you together in the all too small room.

“Wooyoung.” You bring yourself to your feet, standing on shaky legs as you face him. “W-Woo—”

He cuts you short by barreling into you with such force that it knocks the air out of your lungs. The metal around his neck scrapes against your skin hard enough to cut but you pay it no mind as he squeezes his arms around your waist and releases a heart-wrenching sob into your shoulder. Reason returns to you then, bringing you to ping your wristband again; although this time you tap it three times to alert the others that you have Wooyoung with you now. There is nothing more to do after that other than to hug him back as his tears soak your neck and shoulder.

“I-I didn’t — I di-didn’t want to lose hope b-but… fuck it was s-so hard not to and I was st-starting to think I wouldn’t ever s-see you again,” Wooyoung sobs. You almost want to cry with him if not for the small blinking light in the upper corner of the room that catches your eye and sends a surge of panic through you.

“The cameras, Wooyoung. They’re still on, we need to—”

“Y-Yeah, they’re — they only c-check if you hit the button by the bed.” Wooyoung pulls back from your shoulder, at last, rubbing at his tear-stricken cheeks so hard it makes his skin blossom with red. He pauses to catch his breath, or at least steady himself enough to speak without choking on his words. “That si-signals that you’re unsatisfied so they’ll c-check and see what’s — what’s wrong before sending a new courtesan.” Wooyoung puts his hand in yours and laces your fingers without hesitation. The touch seems to offer him some more comfort that helps calm his small hiccups and cries. “Is Y-Yeosang okay?”

“He’s alright, yeah,” you whisper back through a smile. “Misses you something awful, but he’s here too. He tried to get to you first, but they must have sent someone else to him. Jongho came as well. To get you. We came to get you, Wooyoung.”

Those words make Wooyoung’s eyes well up with sickening haste. He sinks to the bed before another sob forces its way out, and you sit down beside him like the mattress might collapse if you move too quickly.

“I’m so glad. So fucking g-glad. Being in a pl-place like this without Yeosang — it’s fucking hell.” Wooyoung sinks his teeth into his lower lip just to keep it from trembling.

“Have you…” Surely it’s not a question you have any right to ask, and part of you feels like Wooyoung did need your help but merely did not want to bring you to this place, even if just to watch through his eyes. Still, you swallow the nerves and force the question out. “Have they made you work yet?”

“It’s not important whether they did or not,” Wooyoung says through a weak smile, but that tells you all you need to know. It sounds too rehearsed and monotonous, like he’s been told to say this even if only by himself. “B-But what’s the plan? How are we getting out? Is someone coming to get us?”

“Um, we’re to wait the allotted time here until we get news from one of Hongjoong’s contacts here. He’s a hacker, and he’ll take care of the surveillance system so that we can open the window and get out that way. We’ll meet Yeosang and Jongho in an alleyway not too far from here after that. Then head back to the ship on a transport car.”

“Thought of everything, huh?”

“I sure hope so.”

“It should work just fine. We’re on the second floor though, so it’ll be quite the fall. Just remember to not go face-first.” Wooyoung’s smile is infectious, and you laugh along with his jest, hand squeezing around his. “How is Seonghwa doing?”

“A-Ah, I nearly forgot you knew about that. Um, he’s alright but Hongjoong didn’t think he was well enough to come on the mission with us.”

“Captain is up then? Yeosang mentioned he’d been out for quite some time because of his injuries. That’s great news that he’s up! I — he’ll be happy to hear that I have some info about where Mingi and San are being held too. I can tell him when we’re back on the ship. B-But Seonghwa is okay otherwise?”

“Yunho said there’s no lingering signs of health issues so he’ll be okay physically. I… I have so many questions that I don’t even know where to begin.” Wooyoung’s smile stretches a bit wider.

“I assumed you would. That’s okay though; we have a full hour to use anyways, so you can ask me anything while we have the time to be alone together. I would say we could do it later when we’re back on the ship but Yeosang probably won’t let me out of his sight for even two seconds from now on. It’d be best for us to get it all out now so we don’t have to hear him scribbling in that damn notebook of his.” Wooyoung can’t hide his elation despite the teasing words, and you know that getting to see Yeosang again soon means more to him than you could ever understand. Yeosang must be feeling the same way himself, waiting out this hour with painstaking patience.

“What happened in the days you didn’t let me in? You went quiet for so long I was getting worried.”

“Ah, we shouldn’t start there,” Wooyoung murmurs, glancing down at the floor. He pauses. The breath of hesitation leaves your stomach in knots. “Nothing you want to hear, I promise. That’s why I didn’t try to bring you in. It wasn’t anything pretty, but I assure you there was nothing they could do to hurt me physically. I’m too far gone for that sort of torture. It’s… over and done with now. More scars to add to my collection, and more for Yeosang to cry over probably. We’ll both be fine. You’re probably wondering about the whole connection thing and us both being Sirens and such, right?”

“I — admittedly yes, but looking back now it seems almost obvious? I can’t believe I didn’t see it sooner, I guess. But yeah, specifically that connection or whatever it is. Yeosang said he didn’t know much at all about it.”

“Right, yeah, I don’t know much myself either, to be honest.” Wooyoung presses his lips into a pout. “It’s hard to say what exactly it is. Seonghwa’s books don’t really have anything about this sort of occurrence, but what I’ve gathered from it so far is probably all that Yeosang told you. ‘There’s no place in the universe that you can hide from each other’. Daichi told me that once.”

“He told me the same actually.”

“Mhm, I think he knows a bit more about it than he claims to. For me, I can almost hear you in my head when you’re in distress, even when you’re far away. Except it doesn’t sound like you’re scared or anything like that. It almost sounds as though you’re softly singing to me? Like… I’m on a boat with gentle waves and you’re singing to me through the water. When I’m asleep and dreaming and you reach out to me for help, I can close my eyes and find myself on a boat like that. A white boat on a black lake. And I hear you singing to me in the water, look down, and see a tiny flickering light through the darkness. For years I’ve had that dream.”

“Yeosang… he talked about you having such a dream. Swimming in a black lake and trying to reach someone but not being able to?”

“Yeah! Um, I’ve woken him up so much because of that very dream. I would have that dream time and time again before you joined the crew, desperately swimming to reach you but it was like something was blocking me from getting to you. Like I could never reach you no matter how fast I was. I would never be able to get in. Then suddenly — one night I did, and I woke up in a box of fabrics in the cargo bay.” Wooyoung shifts to look you in the eye, a weak laugh slipping through his lips. “That feels so long ago now.”

“I’ve been wondering how to thank you for that,” you murmur. “If not for that moment, I would have died.” The skin around your nails suddenly seems a lot more interesting, and you busy yourself with picking at it mindlessly rather than looking back in Wooyoung’s direction. He doesn’t let your hand drift far from his though before he’s tugging it right back into his grasp. His other hand finds its way atop yours as well, holding your joined ones together tightly.

“I didn’t do it to get a thank you. It was just… the right thing to do. It’s sad that we live in such a bad and awful society where you feel the need to thank me for doing something as simple as that.”

“Did you not thank Yeosang for saving his life once upon a time?” You dare to ask. Wooyoung is a bit startled at first, caught off-guard by both your sudden question and the content behind it, but he laughs loud and clear without restraint.

“For someone who claims to hate talking about his life, he sure does talk a lot, doesn’t he?” Wooyoung brushes his bang out of his eyes, pushing the strands that have quickly grown unruly and long to the side. “Yeosang never lets me thank him. Any time I’ve tried, he shut me down before I could finish. Honestly, he saved my life twice. Once when he chose me from that lineup of slaves and spared me a crueler fate, and once when he broke those chains and set me free.”

Chose… me…? Then it wasn’t Yeosang’s mother who picked Wooyoung out for him?

You don’t get to dwell on that thought for long because Wooyoung simply continues to ramble, more and more peace coming to his shoulders as he calms down further.

“Yeosang only ever thanks me. As odd as that is.”

“Did you — have you ever saved his life then?” You already know the answer to that question, but it’s already hanging in the air between you by the time you catch yourself.

“Yes.” Wooyoung is beaming by now, lips stretched wide as he grins. “I got him out of prison when they charged him with treason.”

“And that’s what he thanks you for?”

Wooyoung’s smile doesn’t falter even as he shakes his head in denial.

“He never claims to have saved me, not even once. Instead, Yeosang says that I saved him.”

“B-But why? Objectively he did save you, so why does he not acknowledge that?”

“Because, Y/N, there’s a difference between loving someone and being in love with someone. Yeosang and I loved each other for many years before. But just loving each other wasn’t enough for Crown Prince Kang Minhee to break my chains and commit treason. When ”I love you“ turns into ”I am in love with you“ and ”I am in love with the mere idea of you“, then Yeosang set me free. Even though I would never have asked him to do it, he chose to on his own accord. So he thanks me and says that I saved him because of that. Because I trusted him enough to put my life in his hands time and time again and let him fall in love with me. He claims it to be a difficult thing — allowing an Elitist to fall in love with you. But with Yeosang… he has only ever made it easy. There are times where it is difficult and frustrating, where I wish that he could be anything other than an Elitist, for fuck’s sake, times when I would rather break his neck in an absolutely non-sexy kind of way, but that’s part of love and loving someone. That’s why he’s grateful to me. It sounds selfish and egotistical to say, but after having him repeat himself for so many years, I’ve grown to accept that even if I don’t believe I deserve it.” Wooyoung speaks with a raw conviction that you’ve heard before. It’s the same tone Hongjoong used when speaking to Seonghwa in the medbay, the same tone Yeosang used when talking about Wooyoung and their past together.

Even if you wanted to formulate a response, you don’t think you would be able to because of how overwhelming the emotion in Wooyoung’s voice is. He’s had every opportunity to blame Yeosang for the misfortune in his life, claim that if only Yeosang hadn’t picked him from the start he would be better off, claim that Yeosang got him out of being a slave only to put him in a more dangerous position. Wooyoung could even blame Yeosang for not protecting him well enough to keep him from being kidnapped and tortured.

Yet not once has Wooyoung blamed him.

Perhaps you were being unfair in pushing the blame onto Seonghwa’s shoulders when he didn’t fight your decision to go with Jisung. Is it so wrong to want someone to fight for you? Yet Yeosang has fought every day for Wooyoung and continues to do so. Wooyoung, who has been through hell and tortures he does not wish to speak about, asked about Yeosang’s well-being before anything else. Yet if they were in your position — if Wooyoung were the one agreeing to go with Jisung to save the others, would Yeosang not drop everything to fight for him?

Your mind screams back at you, telling you that it’s different, the situations aren’t the same, the relationships aren’t the same, and you cannot compare yourself to people like Wooyoung and Yeosang who have had years to figure this out. And so, you don’t compare yourself to them.

Rather you compare Seonghwa and Hongjoong to them. How Seonghwa’s worst nightmare is not being able to save Hongjoong from himself. The sheer will and determination in Hongjoong’s eyes when he said he would never let Seonghwa’s demons overtake him. You can’t help but wonder if perhaps that is similar to what Wooyoung and Yeosang have. Neither are anything remotely close to what you have — had, your mind suggests ever so helpfully — with Seonghwa yourself.

“It may be selfish, but I don’t want you to push me away. I would rather be hurt and still have you in my life rather than to be perfectly fine without you.”

That memory slips through unannounced and unasked for, and the mere prospect of why it’s coming back to you while you’re having such thoughts scares you so much that you slam the door in that memory’s face and throw away the key before it breaks loose.

“But anyway that’s — I rambled a bit too much, that’s not the point, um, have you ever had similar dreams like those? The ones I had, I mean? Before waking up in my body or before you came to the crew, any time you can remember. I know you haven’t had much opportunity yet, but you’ve had a few experiences by now.”

“I can’t recall ever having those sorts of dreams. That dream you mentioned about the lake — I had a dream that I was drowning in a black lake the night you came to save Seonghwa, but when I wake up in your body, it’s simply that. All I know is falling asleep and waking up like a passenger in your consciousness. I don’t have any control like you’ve had over my body.” Wooyoung’s eyes are oh so expectant and pleading, and it twists something painful in your gut. You want so badly to have information for him, to be able to give him answers or even a hint as to what could be going on, but frankly, you have nothing to offer. “I’m sorry, Wooyoung. I-I feel utterly useless in this whole situation. I d-don’t know what’s wrong with me or my head, I just can’t remember at all and I don’t… You and Seonghwa seem to have this whole Siren thing figured out, how it works, what sort of abilities you have, how to use them. I, on the other hand, have so many gaps and missing pieces in my memories. I’ve had one or two moments where I consciously used some sort of ability, then Seonghwa tried to help me learn, but other than that I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“It’s okay!” Wooyoung rushes to reassure you, squeezing his hand tight around yours as he smiles again. “Y/N, please don’t worry about that. I don’t expect you to have an answer right now, it’s really okay. We’re gonna figure this out together now that you finally know what I am and we’ll be back on the ship soon. And I can help you understand more about being a Siren in general too! If we can get to the Dreamscape together, maybe Daichi will be willing to talk.”

“Last time I was there, he tried to kill me and told me that if I kept asking questions he would end my life,” you snort. Wooyoung’s smile drops into a grave expression that doesn’t fit his features.

“In the beginning — when I first started seeing Daichi, that is — he wasn’t like that. He wanted me to find other Sirens. That’s what ultimately made Yeosang choose Captain’s crew because Daichi had told me there was a Siren there. Then as more time went on, Daichi seemed to get more and more frightened by the idea of Sirens finding each other. He started telling me that someone dangerous would find me, someone I should guard myself from.”

“He warned me of the same when I first came aboard. But Seonghwa mentioned how Daichi’s job is to guide Sirens to each other?”

“That’s true, yes, but Daichi seems to have changed his mind along the way. I can’t understand why, but I’m sure it will make it a lot more difficult to find two more for Captain.” Your conversation dies a bit there, leaving both you and Wooyoung to stew over the predicament. According to Daichi, you spent years denying your identity and refusing to listen to him, so you never made an effort to find any Sirens like both Wooyoung and Seonghwa have been apparently. Still, it leaves you more curious than before, especially given what all happened in your latest escapade in the Dreamscape.

“Tsukio can find you anywhere, even while far away! This mental connection you share, this link — the two of you are a dyad, a yin and a yang, a pair that cannot be severed. No matter how far apart you are, the two of you will always be able to come back to each other.”

“Did he ever tell you that we will always be able to come back to each other?”

“Come… back to each other? No, I’ve never heard him say such a thing before.”

“I remember seeing you in a dream before, not the Dreamscape but an actual dream. But that dream felt more like a memory, and I asked you about it once in the medbay. I know you told me no then, but does it have anything to do with what Daichi said possibly?”

“Hm, I suppose it could?” Wooyoung leans back and looks up at the ceiling. You can’t figure out what’s on his mind just through his expression, and what he says next doesn’t help much either. “But I don’t have any sort of memory like that.”

“You — you were wiped with a serum too, weren’t you?”

“Did Yeosang tell you that as well?” Wooyoung asks through a frown. “Did he mention how guilty he feels about that too? Probably, that would be very much like him to do so. Guilty for things that aren’t even his fault… but yes. Yes, my memories were wiped too.”

“I have another question. I’m sorry for asking so much all at once. Yeosang never gave me a clear answer though, so I’m still curious, but why haven’t you told Hongjoong about this?” Wooyoung doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he sinks his teeth into his lower lip and refuses to look your way for a bit. The silence drags but it’s nothing uncomfortable or unsettling. It isn’t like you’re on a time crunch right now either, so you’re more than willing to wait until he is ready to speak.

“It’s something stupid and selfish honestly,” he whispers after a bit. His other hand finds purchase on the bed, picking at a loose thread hanging off the sheets. “I didn’t expect Yeosang to take it so seriously, but now he’s adamant even when I try to tell him otherwise. Really it’s just that when I was still a slave, I didn’t always have to wear the collar. It dampened and muted my abilities so I couldn’t use them freely. Shocked me a lot too whenever I foolishly tried to use them without permission, leaving some really ugly and awful scars. Yeosang always treated the wounds when that would happen.”

His hand travels up to touch the band of metal hanging about his neck. You follow the movement with your eyes. You can’t miss the spreading scars underneath the metal as he shifts it, like little lightning bolts of pale skin hiding beneath it, and you wonder if that’s what you felt the first time you woke up in his body.

“I have a lot of scars from lots of different things. It shouldn’t be any different, and it shouldn’t even matter because it’s stupid and childish and I need to get over it. Even though the collar is dead and doesn’t work, like it doesn’t mute my abilities anymore or anything like that, just the idea of having it on keeps me sane. Being a Siren is both a blessing and a curse. Some abilities you’re born with are crueler than imaginable and can be used to do horrific things. The things I was forced to do with mine are not something I ever want to revisit again. So… I keep the collar on because the trauma I suffered while wearing it for so many years keeps me sane. Merely the idea of wearing it prevents me from using my abilities because I was conditioned into a state where if I tried doing anything while the collar was on, I would be hurt. When it comes to visiting you, it’s different because I’m asleep when that happens. And whenever people other than Yeosang or myself try to touch it, I get thrown back into the memories of his father taking it off me to use me as a weapon and I-I can’t — it’s too much to bear.

“I trust Hongjoong. I really trust him and admire him and respect him so much. As much as I do Yeosang even if it’s in a different way. But I have an innate fear of authority that tells me no matter who it is, the people who have power over me will abuse it. That if anyone above me knows I’m a Siren, I’ll be used again, and I’m afraid of that. So it’s not that I don’t want to tell Hongjoong. Just that as long as I have this collar on and as long as these demons linger at the edge of my mind, I don’t think I can ever tell him what I am.”

You want to express an apology for bringing those memories back or at least offer an ounce of consolation because you can almost feel the pain radiating off his body in waves. But the moment you reach out to pull him into a hug, the door to your room slides open out of nowhere. You jerk, and Wooyoung lifts an arm to protect the both of you, but you take the initiative in pushing him down to the bed. In one swift movement, you climb in front of him, one knee down on the mattress and the other stretched out in front of Wooyoung’s body. The blade against your thigh is cool on your fingertips, but you don’t pull it out quite yet. The flash of red hair before you stops you at the last second.

Soojin?

The girl is already halfway in the room, door sliding shut behind her, and the second it’s fully closed, she turns to twist the lock into place.

“W-Wait, we’re n-not supposed to lock the doors!” Wooyoung protests, leaning up over your shoulder to see better. Soojin levels him with a sharp glare. You reach behind you to push Wooyoung back enough so that he’s hidden behind your shoulder, matching Soojin’s stare with equal intensity. The girl steps closer to you, draws a single finger up, and stabs you hard in the chest with her dull nail.

“You and me need to have a chat after all it seems.”

“What do you mean?” You clench your fingers around the handle of your knife, still not completely at ease with the woman standing in front of you.

“What do I mean? I mean that my fucking client downstairs just tried to fucking murder me and gave me a message from Han Jisung of all people! Seeing you and hearing from that bastard on the same day after being free from that past for several years? That’s no fucking coincidence, Y/N.”

“Murder!? How did you — how did you get away?”

A laugh of disbelief escapes Soojin’s lips as she pulls back a few feet.

“I killed him, of course! What else was I supposed to do? I dumped the fucker’s body out the window for staff to clean up later. This sort of thing happens frequently enough for them not to question it, and besides, I told them it was a jealous worker so they won’t really care all too much about him. But what the fuck is going on? Why are you here and why did Han Jisung just tell me my time is up and try to have me killed?”

“I… I-I don’t — I’m not with Jisung, I know nothing about that at all. He—” You cut yourself short with a sharp inhale, eyes darting across the floor like it has all the answers in it. “Wait, he knew I would be coming here though. Did he know that you worked here?”

“Unfortunately, not by choice though. We ran across each other around a year ago in the city, and I mentioned working at the House in passing.”

You shift to motion back at Wooyoung and pull your hand off the knife on your leg at last.

“He was brought here against his will by Jisung. Well, whoever Jisung is working with at least. I only came to get him out. We’re — he’s part of the crew I’m working with now. Jisung knew where he would be and that I would come to get him.”

“And he’s still a psychopath when it comes to you then?” Soojin scoffs, brows knitting together to accentuate her disbelief. “He tried to have me killed just so that I would stay out of your business?”

“I don’t know, Soojin,” you exhale. “It doesn’t make any sense why he would do that. I already made a deal with him and he’ll get to take me regardless of what happens here.”

“T-Take you?” Wooyoung interjects. “Take you where?” His hand latches around your elbow and squeezes hard. You ignore the man in favor of maintaining your focus on Soojin, however, much to his dismay.

“Unless you know something Jisung wouldn’t want me to know and he couldn’t even risk the thought of us running into each other and speaking.” At that, Soojin tilts her head to the side in confusion.

“What could I possibly know that you don’t?”

“What happened before you left the crew?” Her confusion intensifies to a dramatic degree.

“Have you gone mad? Do you not remember or something? You were always a bit bad with memory, yeah, but has it gotten this bad?”

“Please, Soojin, I’m begging you please just tell me what happened before the crew fell apart. I know you called me a scapegoat for a reason, please.” You reach out across the empty space between your bodies, having to stand to reach her, but when you do, you close a hand around her wrist. Soojin blinks between where you hold her and your face without speaking for so long that you think she’s going to refuse you again.

“I called you a scapegoat because I thought you were in on Jisung’s plan at the time,” she says finally, pulling her other hand up to run through her hair. “You would’ve done anything for him so I thought that was just another part of it.”

“What did I do?”

“I should be asking what you remember happening instead.”

“What I remember is stealing documents and plotting to dismantle the military from the inside out with you guys but I fucked up. I know I fucked up and got caught and Hyunwoo took the blame for me and it got him fucking executed.” Soojin leans back, hand tugging out of your light grip.

“I know nothing of what happened after Ash, Juyeon, and I left Eros. But before we left…” It’s her turn to hold you by the wrist. She turns your arm over and exposes the inside of your left arm, right where that damned brand sits against your raised skin. “You didn’t deserve this. It wasn’t your burden to bear. You were the scapegoat, and that’s why the team fell apart, that’s why we all broke up and ran away. You didn’t plan to steal anything, nor did you plot a thing. Neither did Hyunwoo. It was all Jisung; Jisung wanted to dismantle the military and kill the king. When Juyeon, Ash, and I found out what he was planning to do, we brought it to Hyunwoo. All Hyunwoo said was that stopping Jisung wasn’t something he could do. So he told us to leave while we still had the chance and that he would take care of things. He would take the blame so that no one else would have to get hurt. But you didn’t want him to do that, so you ran off and carried out Jisung’s plan for him.”

“Which part? Did I k-kill the king… before Hyunwoo died?”

Soojin heaves a deep sigh.

“The last night we were all together as a team, you snuck out of the barracks and infiltrated the palace. You stole the documents Jisung wanted — whatever the fuck they were because I don’t even know why he wanted them in the first place if he was going to kill the king anyways — and you killed the king that night too. Everything went to shit. It all happened too fast for the rest of us to know what was really going on. You just came back to the barracks and turned the lights on and…”

You don’t realize how hard your head is pounding until the woman trails off, voice dying in her throat, and then it hits you will so much force that you feel your body beginning to lurch. You would fall over, most likely smack your head on the sink as well, if not for Wooyoung jumping up and catching you by the waist before you can fully go down. And thanks to him, all you do is hunch over and hold your head in your hands as a stab of pain sears through your skull.

“Breathe, Y/N, breathe for me,” he urges as you slump your weight back against him. “You need to breathe, okay? You’re hyperventilating. One breath every five seconds, slow it down, you’re okay.”

“Th-There was blood. There was blood, wasn’t there?” Looking at Soojin fills your vision with pure crimson, but it’s not because of her hair this time.

“Yes,” she whispers back, not daring to speak any louder than that. “You were… drenched in blood that wasn’t yours. And we were so scared you had been hurt somehow. I carried you to the bath and cleaned you but you didn’t have a single scratch on you.”

“O-Oh god,” you choke out. The red in your vision turns coppery as a different image takes over and a new memory swarms your head.

“What the fuck did you do!?”

Hands squeezing hard around your throat, shoving you under bloody waters.

“Let her go!”

“You ruined everything! How could you do this? Why are you so fucking useless? I told you to sit still and not do anything!”

The water spread to your nostrils and forced its way in as you struggled to find air.

“Jisung, release her right this instant!”

The hands around your throat just grew tighter.

Wooyoung eases you down to the floor when the rest of your strength leaves you. He keeps a hand at your waist, using the other to hold your head to his chest in a desperate attempt to control the wild tremors shooting through your body. You keep a hand pressed to your throbbing temple but it does nothing to alleviate the pain you’re in, one that feels as though something is trying to rip your head in half with their bare hands.

“C-Can’t remember more. I can’t, I do-don’t want to remember anymore, I — it hurts. It hurts too much, it hurts so much.”

“Shh, it’s okay, it’s okay. You don’t have to remember anymore, okay? You’re good, you’re done, no more. No more.” Even through the pain, you can’t miss the desperation in Wooyoung’s tone. His hand moves for your arm where your wristband sits, buzzing uselessly against your skin. “Y/N, what does this mean? Is something happening?”

You want to answer, You even open your mouth to do so. Yet the moment you do, the taste of that metallic soapy water fills your mouth and you choke on air.

“Y/N, please, what does it mean? Are we in trouble?” You think you shake your head but the panic in Wooyoung’s eyes isn’t reassuring and you aren’t sure you have any hold over the muscles in your body right now. “Please, do you know where our friend is?” He asks, directing his focus to where Soojin kneels in front of you.

“The brunette?”

“Brunette? No, no, I’m talking a blond?”

“J-Jongho,” you force out, gritting your teeth until your jaw hurts from the force. “Jongho… here too.”

“I saw that name on the register,” Soojin cuts in. “I checked it to find what room you were in and saw his name further down on the list.”

“Please get him and bring him. Please, I know you — we just need your help right now, please,” Wooyoung begs. His grip on your waist tightens a little as Soojin hesitates, and it doesn’t let up until the girl nods and leaves the room in haste. Wooyoung brings you back to his chest once she’s gone, matching your shaky breaths as he gently rocks you back and forth. “I can’t… know your memories or the pain you’re feeling right now, but I know what it’s like to suddenly be hit with memories you forgot you had. Ones that were suppressed behind an iron wall. I know what it’s like to have it slip out and hit you.”

“It fucking hurts.” You clench your jaw again, feeling a burn of pain up the side of your face with the movement. “Like someone is stabbing my b-brain with a da-damn icepick.”

“Are the memories painful?”

“I d-don’t know. I can hardly think straight. My head hurts. That’s all I can think about.”

“The serum… I’m assuming it’s the same one I was given back then. It can’t take away memories. Yeah, they tell you that it’s a wipe, but that’s only because they don’t want you trying to find those old memories. It can’t remove parts of the brain like that. They just use it to lock away memories but there’s no guarantee of it being permanent, so when you do remember something they tried to lock away, it hurts.”

“D-Does it hurt you like this too?”

“Yes, but I’m — pain isn’t something that bothers me all too much, and I’m lucky enough to have Yeosang nearby when it happens. I’ve got a prescription for the pain from Yunho too. We can… we can get you something long-term back on the ship.”

Another stab of pain hits as the door slides open, metal grating hard on your ears, but this time Jongho stands with Soojin. He rushes over to join you and Wooyoung on the floor in a panic, obviously torn between being excited to see Wooyoung again and your current crumpled state.

“Yeosang’s hour is up and he’s waiting at the meeting point. Captain hasn’t buzzed in on the contact yet.” Jongho reaches down to lay a hand against your forehead. You’re quick enough to turn your face further into Wooyoung’s shirt, inhaling the sickening floral scent that clings to his skin.

“Don’t even think about trying to take it away,” you hiss.

“I can’t take physical pain, don’t worry. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“Here, something for the pain.” Soojin interrupts the moment to lean over you with a cup of unknown contents. “Fast-acting pain reliever. Every room has some in it just in case patrons get too out of hand. We keep it in the cabinets, I promise it’s nothing bad. It’ll numb you and make you a bit sluggish for a while, but it’ll also take the pain away.”

“Thank you,” Wooyoung murmurs as he takes the cup from her hands. He helps bring the cup to your lips, pushing some of the murky grey liquid inside into your mouth, and you struggle not to gag around the taste of it. He doesn’t stop until the entirety of its contents are drained into your mouth then tilts your head back to keep it down when some threatens to drip out the corners of your lips. An unknown hand comes down on your knee.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry.” Soojin. “I didn’t mean to hurt you with this information.” You swallow hard only to choke a second later on the putrid aftertaste clinging to your tongue. Wooyoung lets you cough into his shoulder without complaint, passing the now empty cup back to Soojin.

“You couldn’t have known,” you murmur after escaping the coughing fit. “It’s not your fault.”

“I didn’t know what they would do to you after we left the planet,” she sighs through the quiet of the room. “I should have expected it honestly, knowing Jisung, but maybe I hoped he would be better than that. He always manipulated you so it only makes sense that he would try to manipulate your memories too. Do you at least know what happened a little bit better now?”

“Y-Yeah, yeah.” You try to pull away from Wooyoung and get up but his grip on you doesn’t let up. “My memories were taken away for a second time and replaced with something else. So instead of only losing fourteen years of my life, I lost eighteen and spent the last three years believing those manipulated memories to be real. I’m peachy.”

Another buzz from your wristband pulls your attention away, and Jongho glances down at his own too.

“Cameras are down.”

“Let’s go then,” you mutter.

“Are you okay to move? Don’t push it if you’re not strong enough.”

“We need to go now while we still can,” you protect, letting Wooyoung help you to your feet even if it’s on shaky legs. Jongho gives a curt nod then heads for the window, no doubt to pry it open. Soojin catches you by the arm before you can fully turn away.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. Even if you can’t remember all of it, there are still things I regret saying and doing to you. I should have known back then how much Jisung was manipulating you and not pushed so much blame onto your shoulders.”

“You can get out now with us, Soojin. While you have the chance.”

“And do what with that freedom?” She huffs out a dry and lifeless laugh. “Wander aimlessly? Ash and Juyeon are both missing in action. I have no clues or leads on where they might be or if they’re even alive. I don’t have anything left out there beyond the House.”

“I… if I hear anything out there about them, I promise I’ll send you a message. I’ll find a way to get news to you, maybe through my captain’s contact or something. I swear if I can help you get out of this hellhole I will.”

Soojin reaches up to ruffle her hand through your hair, mussing the loose locks more.

“You always were a good kid, Y/N. Too good for the life you were forced to live.” It hurts to watch her smile. It hurts even more to let Wooyoung guide you to where Jongho waits by the now open window. “Go while you can, you three. The medicine will wear off in a few hours, but hopefully, you’ll have access to something better by then. I’ll make sure you get out safely.”

Jongho dips through the open space first, hopping down to the pristine streets below with little issue.

“Send Y/N down next!”

You can’t tear your gaze off Soojin. You don’t know when you might see her again or if you even will, and it hurts to leave her behind like this but she just keeps smiling at you with bright eyes and blinding hair.

“T-Thank you, Soojin. Please stay safe, if you can.”

“Always.”

With that, Wooyoung hoists you over the ledge of the window and dangles you far enough down so that your fall is softened a bit. Jongho catches you by the legs, taking the brunt of your weight before you hit the ground. Wooyoung drops down beside you without warning a second later. As Jongho eases you down, you dare to glance up at the window you just left from, and it shuts slowly without a sign from Soojin inside.

Wooyoung rushes back to your side and loops an arm back around your waist when you start to slump forward again.

“That’s — that’ll look too suspicious,” you mutter, pulling his arm back to his own side.

“We just dropped out a fucking window. I’m sure that would look more suspicious.”

“I’ll be okay.”

Yet two steps later, you’re stumbling over your heels and Jongho comes to your rescue this time. He tugs your arm through his own as he walks forward without saying a word. You can only lean your weight on him and slump your chin against his shoulder.

“Thank you…”

Silence drapes over the three of you as you make your way to the meeting point with Yeosang. You aren’t in as much pain as you were earlier (Soojin wasn’t bluffing when she said fast-acting) but the medicine is already making you a bit groggy. It feels a bit like you’re wading through sludge just trying to walk a few steps, and frankly, Jongho is the only thing keeping you going at this point. Wooyoung lingers at your other side. Every once in a while, you feel his worried gaze find its way to your form. He might even be speaking to you at some point because you hear something that sounds vaguely like his voice through the radio static in your ears, but there is far too much on your mind and too much to think about right now for you to pay any attention to that.

If… if I killed the king before Hyunwoo’s execution, then who did I kill that night? Did I kill anyone at all? Was that memory fabricated? What have I been working towards all these years if that’s a lie?

Funny how your search for answers only left you with more questions instead. There are too many questions to keep track of and not remotely enough answers to them. You know you won’t be able to have those answers yet either, not while San and Mingi are still missing and Jisung is bothering you. Where would you even look for answers now? Jisung would never tell you a thing, Hyunwoo is dead and gone, and now you’re leaving Soojin behind.

The one thing that reaches your brain through the static in your ears is a dry and choked sob. You pull yourself out of your thoughts as Wooyoung disappears from your side. It doesn’t take much to guess why. You’ve reached the meeting point, the all too small alleyway where Yeosang waits for you three, and Wooyoung is running straight to him with reckless abandon.

“Y-Yeosang, angel, Yeosang, my god I’m—” Wooyoung’s voice dies in a cracked sob when he reaches the Elitist. His hands barely brush the man’s shoulders because Yeosang drops to his knees in front of Wooyoung, face hidden but no doubt bearing tears, and he balls his fists around the flimsy material of Wooyoung’s pants. He presses his forehead to Wooyoung’s hip, hands traveling further up to press against the small of his back. Wooyoung can only card a hand through Yeosang’s hair in response, but it’s enough for now. It’s enough for both of them like this, with Yeosang’s knuckles white from the pressure of clinging to Wooyoung, and you and Jongho maintain your distance as best you can to give them this moment.

“Are they happy?” You whisper to Jongho even though the answer is blindingly obvious before you. The Berserker’s lips twist into a small grin.

“I don’t think there’s a word strong enough to describe how they’re feeling right now.”

Yeosang pulls his head off Wooyoung’s hip and stares up at the man with tears on his cheeks and stars in his eyes. Wooyoung dips down to the Elitist’s height, pulling his face up to his own and slotting their lips together like nothing else in the universe exists around them. Again, it’s raw, as all emotions between these two seem to be, but it belongs to them and it’s something you can’t take away from them. When they part lips to gulp in desperate breaths of fresh air, Wooyoung places his forehead over Yeosang’s and takes the breath from his lungs like that. They don’t exchange words but there doesn’t seem to be a need for words either, not until Yeosang seems to catch hold of himself and come back to his senses.

“The car is waiting for us at the other end of the alley. Driver’s already pulled up.” Jongho nods when the Elitist drags his gaze over to where the two of you stand. Yeosang lets Wooyoung pull him back into space after that, unable to contain a smile as the Siren continues to press more kisses to his cheeks. You and Jongho trail behind them to the other end of the alleyway. Seeing them together like this makes it worth it. You knew it would and you were striving to bring them this moment, but seeing it unfold before you like this increases that feeling tenfold.

Once in the car, Yeosang sits Wooyoung down in one of the cushioned seats then drops to the floor between his legs even when Wooyoung protests and tells him to get up.

“Stop, that’s weird! It looks weird, Yeo, please! It looks like you’re trying to su—”

“Shut up,” Yeosang mumbles back as he drops his head to rest against Wooyoung’s thigh. “You’re the one who makes everything dirty. Get your head out of the gutter.”

Wooyoung obviously doesn’t mind all too much because he returns to toying with the Elitist’s blond locks moments later as you and Jongho settle into the seats beside the pair. And from where you’re sitting, they really do look like young boys again, more than just a former slave and ex-prince but also less than that. Just… boys who fell in love despite the odds set against them.

“I’m sorry, Woo, I’m so sorry.”

“Shh, angel, I know. It’s okay. We’re okay.”

You tune out of the conversation there. It’s far too intimate and personal for you to encroach on, and the medicine has you falling asleep in your seat anyways. Jongho seems to pick up on that, reaching over to pat your leg.

“Rest while you can.”

A hum comes as your reply as you slump to the side, head hitting the side of the car with a loud thud. Jongho exhales a quiet laugh and pulls you over to rest against his shoulder instead.

“’m sorry for snapping at you,” you murmur. You’re forcing your eyes to stay open long enough to get the apology out but it’s growing more difficult by the second. “I didn’t mean to, I was afraid… of her slipping out of my grasp but… that’s no excuse.”

Your fluttering eyes snap wide open when something presses down hard on your nose. You blink uselessly at Jongho and the finger he hovers over your face.

“Stop talking nonsense, yeah? Rest. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You’re not?”

“Hm, no, I’m not.”

“Promise.”

“I promise I’m staying right here.”

“And we’ll get San back?” You mumble just before the drowsiness wins.

“We’ll get your San back too, I promise.”

✧✧✧ a/n: yall imma be honest this chapter feels like a whole fever dream and a half but i love it nonetheless she’s my Baby i hope you guys love her just as much and enjoy her <3 lots happened but also not a lot happened? i feel like the wc is so dramatic for Not A Lot but yaknow that’s life ! next chapter we’re getting juicy and bringing a part 16 move back bc teehee that’s what i do best u know me anywho let me know what u think as always i love u all im so happy to bring u guys this chapter and so excited for the coming ones!

taglist: @faeriewoobin​​ @sugarrimajins​​ @atinyinwonderland​​ ​@sparklychangbin​ @jeong-uwu​​ @jeonartemis​​ @anothershorthuman​​ @xxbluestrifexx​​​ @haotheheckk​​ @noonawriter​​ @lostscenarios​​ @nlost21​​ @mirror-juliet​​ @okokokok123-45​ @purple-aeon​ @theoinkypiglet​ @toothlessshiber​ @atinyarmyx1​ @simpforhyunjin​ @hwangwoosan​ @vampire-jimin​ @softyubi​ @drumboydowoon​ @chatsgotmytongue​ @just-a-starfruit​ @babydolljo​ @scintillating-souls​ @khjssss​​ @rawrrainn​ @hewwo-from-the-other-side​ @icekdy​ @eggteez​​ @bangtanxberm​​ @uglychildd​ @lucymultistan​​​​

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

[angelinasway]

Regaining Hope

Chapter Eight

Pairing: Clark Kent/Buffy Summers Warnings/Triggers:Torture, Violence, Mention's of Major Character Death, Bad Language, Sexual Tension, Eventual Smut, Mentions of Sexual Assault Summary: Takes place during Man of Steel. When Buffy discovers the U.S Military trying to keep quiet about an object buried in a twenty thousand year old glacier, she immediately thinks the worst. However, when a surprise visit to the Canadian Arctic puts her in the path of a mysterious stranger her whole world is changed forever. Authors Notes: Thank you all so much for being so very supportive. You guys have been absolutely wonderful. Seriously I couldn't ask for a better group of readers. I need to warn you all that this chapter has quite the graphic and gruesome scene in it, so if that's not your thing I highly recommend skipping the part where Clark starts to watch the video. Some major questions answered here. Hope you all enjoy, and keep the reviews coming. Special thanks to my ever amazing beta Hipkarma. She always helps and inspires me. Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Previous Chapters: [Chapter One] [Chapter Two] [Chapter Three] [Chapter Four] [Chapter Five] [Chapter Six] [Chapter Seven]

[TTH] [AO3] [FFN]

Chapter Eight

 Dawn smirked as she saw the caller ID flash. So, Buffy had talked to Wes. That was good. She really didn’t want to have to break into the Watchers Council just because she was nosy and worried for her sister. Buffy hadn’t told her much when they talked yesterday, just that there was some sort of prophecy about her and this Clark guy, which just raised all sorts of red flags for her. Dawn had insisted on seeing a copy of the prophecy and her hackles raised even more when she found out how quiet Wes and Willow were trying to keep this. Looks like big sis came through however, and now it was time to give the man on the other line hell for keeping something this important from her.

 “Xand, honey, can you take Abby? Wes is on the phone and it’s time for her nap anyway.” Dawn said, reaching for the phone.

 “No!” Her one and a half your old screeched at the top of her lungs, making Dawn cringe. When they coined the phrase, ‘children are your parents secret revenge,’ they weren’t lying. Abigail was just like her too, even in looks.

 Xander came out of their shared office, a crooked and amused smile on his lips. “You should know by now not to say that word in front of her,” He said, kissing Dawn on the forehead before reaching out and swooping up their toddler. “Come on Abby,” he said as Dawn answered her call. “Daddy will read you your favorite story.”

 “Try to get Joyce down too,” She added, before saying into the phone, “Hello Wes, so good of you to finally call me.”

 She heard the groan on the other end of the line and smiled. “How much do you know?”

 “That there’s a prophecy about my sister and some uber-powerful guy she’s been spending time with, on your instruction I might add.” Dawn said in a mockingly sweet voice.

 She heard him sigh. “Yes, that is all true. Look Dawn, I’m going to send you a copy of the prophecy through your secure fax now. We’ve been able to translate some of it, but there are certain areas where…I don’t think the language is of this world. It’s nothing like we’ve ever seen in any human or demon writings before.”

 Dawn got up and walked into the office, a frown on her face. “You mean like interdimensional, there’s gotta be a reference somewhere Wes.”

 There was silence over the line and for a second and she thought Wes had hung up. She’d just opened her mouth to see if he was still there, when he finally said, “No Dawn, that’s not what I meant at all.”

 Her frown deepened as the first page spat out of the machine. She slid it off the rack and looked at the prophecy. There were several different languages written on the copy, Etruscan, Ancient Sumerian, Ancient Greek, and Latin. At the top were strange symbols unlike anything she’d ever seen before, almost flowing together like cursive. The next page that came out was Wesley and Willow’s translation of that page. She bit her lip, walking over to her desk and went to work making sure what they had translated so far was correct.

 “So,” she began casually, “what I’m getting from the first page is that this guy is much farther from home than just another dimension.” She paused, huffing in annoyance as she snootily added,” It was Sun God by the way, not Star God.” She sighed. “Who are you using anyway, Basile?”

 “Vonten,” He answered and Dawn rolled her eyes. Of course, he was using that moron’s guide.

 “Vonten is an arrogant prick Wes, that book confuses people more than it helps. Burn it, it’s better as kindling. Bachman is the best at Etruscan and Ancient Sumerian, and you already know Ancient Greek and Latin enough not to need a reference.” She said, before frowning as she came to the part about the soulbond. “Wes, what the hell is a soulbond, and why is this referencing my sister and Mr. E.T. having one?”

 As Wesley began to explain what they knew so far, Dawn's face began to pale. Oh, this was not of the good. Buffy was gonna wig to the nth degree when she found out.

 "Does she know any of this?" Dawn asked, turning around and grabbing more of the pages that were still spitting out of her printer.

 "She knows about the bond. I told her this morning." He answered.

 "And what, you’re waiting until she gets pregnant before you tell her the rest?" Dawn asked angrily. "You know this is gonna freak her out..."

 "Which is why I decided not to tell her." Wes interrupted.

 "If you'd let me finish," Dawn snapped, slamming her hand on the desk. "I was going to say this is gonna freak her out, but it would be better if you tell her now." She huffed in frustration. "This just proves how little you guys know my sister. She absolutely will freak and she'll probably fight it at first. Just the idea of her own children having to live the life she has, is not gonna be a happy, joyous moment for her. She's already worried that Joyce or Abby, or maybe even both will be called one day.” Dawn said, before emphasizing her next words, "However, my sister is not stupid, and when push comes to shove, she'll make the right decision like she always does. I get that you’re worried about the Slayer line Wes, we all are, but keeping this from her is not the right way to go about it.”

 She heard Wes’s sigh, “I realize that Dawn, but with the bond itself needing to be fulfilled, I thought that was more than enough for both of them to handle at this time.”

 Dawn looked at the pages covered in the strange flowing script, similar to the symbols on the first page. Wes was right, it was a language. "We need to find a way to translate this. Do you think this is Clark's language from his home world?"

The line was silent for a moment, before he said in annoyance, “Yes, that’s what I meant when I said I don’t think the language is of this world.”

 “Do you think Clark knows how to read it?” Dawn asked.

 A sigh came over the line, “I honestly don’t know. I believe he just discovered where he came from, so I don’t see how he could.” He paused in thought and then murmured to himself, “But even if he can’t, perhaps the ship has a historical archive or maybe there is some form of AI technology that could translate it for us.”

 Dawn frowned, “What ship?”

 As Wesley explained how Buffy and Clark met and the danger Buffy had recklessly put herself in, Dawn found her ire sparking at Buffy’s stupidity. “I’m gonna kill her!” Dawn growled. “She hasn’t done something that reckless since Joyce was born. God fucking dammit, she promised me!”

 Wesley sighed. “In her defense, it could have very well been her fate that made her act so rashly.” He paused before saying, “In any case, Clark was there and according to Buffy, he saved her and watched over her after she went into a healing sleep.”

 Dawn was quiet as she processed that information. So, she didn’t die, which meant Buffy actively tried to stop it from happening. That was good, she was still getting smacked when Dawn saw her, but at least she hadn’t completely broken her promise from three and a half years ago. It was also good to see that this godlike Champion the prophecy spoke of wasn’t just a creature with a penchant for destruction playing at being a white hat because of a curse. That was a nice change.

 “What else do you know about him?” Dawn asked. “I’m assuming you started trying to find him as soon as you started translating this.”

 “Well,” Wesley began, “We first caught wind of a possible candidate about a year ago. We’d been monitoring airwave chatter for possible beings with superhuman strength when we caught a lead. A distress call came in about an oil rig off the coast of Canada in flames and about to explode. In that communication there was talk of a man rescuing the crew members aboard the rig and preventing the tower from collapsing on the rescue helicopter with his bare hands.” He paused for a moment, before saying. “We managed to find a few other incidents of him saving people, one that happened when he was thirteen. According to the incident report, his school bus went off a bridge and into the river. Three witnesses stated that a young Clark Kent managed to push the bus out of the water and rescue his classmate.”

 Dawn whistled, “So this guy really is the real deal white knight, huh?”

 “It would appear so.” He sighed.

 “Wes we’re gonna need to access that ship.” Dawn said, looking over a small section of Sumerian that talked about a trial of choice. The rest of the page was in the alien script however, so any clue as to what that meant was beyond her.

 “I know,” Wesley agreed.

 “Which means, we’re gonna have to tell Buffy and Clark everything.” Dawn reiterated.

 She heard Wesley groan, but he conceded nonetheless. “Alright fine, Willow needs to bring them some pendants to stave off the worst of the compulsion the bond is creating. I’ll have her stop by and get you on her way, unless you want me to tell Buffy myself, that is.”

 Dawn shook her head, “No, no. I think it will be safer for everyone if I’m the one to do it.” Then she bit her lip in thought, “And don’t bother with Willow, just call me when she gets back. I think I need to do this one on my own.”

 “Very well,” Wes agreed. “Willow should be finished within the next few hours. I’ll call you as soon as I know she’s returned.”

 “Alright, in the meantime I’m gonna go over this and make sure all the parts I can read are translated correctly.” Dawn said, adding, "Talk in a few," before hanging up.

 She sighed, rubbing her fingers along her forehead. "Well fuck," she muttered to herself.

 "Everything alright?" Xander asked, coming into the office. 

 "No, not really," she answered handing him the translated first page of the prophecy.

 She watched his eye scan the words before he blew out a breath. "So, this guys an alien?"

 "Looks like." She answered.

 Xander snorted, "Man the Buffster really knows how to pick 'em, doesn't she?"

 Dawn mock glared, before she couldn't contain her amusement at the absurdity of the situation. "Well, you know Buffy. She doesn't do anything by halves."

 ****<S>**<S>****

 As Clark followed Buffy down the hallway, his thoughts were a jumbled mess. He knew she had been trying to reassure him, but her words only had the opposite effect. Were they only feeling any of what they were because of the prophecy and furthermore, given the choice, would she even choose him? She had basically confessed to falling in love with her best friend. The history they had both shared, as disturbing as it was, was an important one to her. She had cared very deeply for this man. How could he ever live up to the memory of a man who had essentially changed a piece of himself for her? Part of him wanted to erase Spike’s memory from her mind, to do whatever he could to drive this man, this demon from her past and another part of him just felt wholly lost. He didn’t want to be anyone’s second best and he certainly didn’t want her to want him only because some guy thousands of years ago decided they were destined. God, he wished his dad was still alive. This would definitely be the type of thing his dad could help him through.

 She stopped at a large set of double doors and turned, catching his expression before he had time to school it into a much more neutral one. She blinked in surprise, "Clark...what’s wrong?"

 He shook his head, “It’s nothing Buffy.”

 Her frown deepened, “Oh no, you definitely have something face. Talk to me. I promise whatever it is, I’ll try to understand.”

 Clark shifted uncomfortably, before finally admitting, “I’m just feeling a little unsure about all this.”

 Her eyes widened slightly, “Because of Spike?”

 Clark sighed, “Well I mean think about it Buffy. You basically told me that you fell in love with your best friend and were willing to marry him for eternity, but the only reason you didn’t is because you were too scared. Would you even look twice at me if he was here now? Are the feelings I’m having for you even real, or is this just destiny trying to force us together?”

 Realization flooded her expression, and she quickly shook her head. “I can’t speak for what-ifs, because I would be lying if I answered that either way…” She swallowed, “As for how you’re feeling, I’ve been under love spells before and granted you usually don’t know you’re under one when you are, but if the feeling’s part was being fabricated, we…we wouldn’t be able to fight this like we are. We would have probably already slept together.” She blushed, looking down. “Fabricated feelings they’re false obviously, but they’re very strong…strong enough to make people dangerous. If what we were feeling was a manifestation, you wouldn’t have these doubts Clark, you wouldn’t even realize there was doubts to be had.” She met his eyes then, her expression serious and stoic. “And as for the fear part, I didn’t want to get into it because…” She sighed again. “You remember how I told you that Angelus showed up right when I was starting to get my life back together?”

 Clark nodded, “I remember.”

 “Well, what I didn’t say is that I was planning on retiring.” She rolled her eyes, “I had this grand plan of going back to school and getting a degree in Art History and moving to Hawaii to open a gallery.” She shook her head, “It was stupid, I know.”

 He immediately shook his head, “That doesn’t sound stupid at all.”  

 Buffy blushed. “I just mean it was stupid that I ever thought it could happen.” She shook her head, “Anyway, I started training a girl named Rayanne when we were first getting the new Watchers Council on its feet. She was bright, witty, resourceful and she already had the makings of someone who could be an excellent leader.” She looked at her feet, her hands clenching. “Me and Giles had agreed, in three-years-time, when Ray was eighteen, she would step in and fill my shoes. Faith didn’t want the position and the only other possible candidate that actually did, I flat out refused due to her inability to get along with just about anyone but Willow. I mentored Ray for over a year and she became…well, like a little sister to me. After the whole General Voll fiasco, I was ready to promote her to Senior Slayer status. She had been on it more than any other girl at the compound, helpful and demanding when need be. She’d fought through a horde of zombies and we came out of it with zero losses. The attack was completely unexpected and if she hadn’t been there, I don’t know what I would have done.” She met his eyes, “I was so proud of her.” Buffy sighed, “A few months later is when the first girl, Alicia went missing, and by the time Ray disappeared, there were already six that seemed to have just dropped off the planet.” She swallowed, “Angelus revealed himself and killed Giles a few weeks later, and almost three weeks after is when we found Alicia. She was the first and youngest to go missing and she was the first he dropped on our doorstep.” Buffy shook her head squeezing her eyes shut, “I knew what he was doing to Rayanne then, and that she would probably get the worst of it because of her association with me. Alicia was just a taste of what Angelus was capable of.” She opened her eyes, meeting his. “I wanted to have Spike claim me so we would be strong enough to save her and the rest of them, and I was scared because I knew I’d be asking for the wrong reasons. I was afraid Spike would know it too and I would only hurt him by asking. Does that make sense?”

 It was Clark’s turn to avert his eyes. “Yes,” he said quietly.

 She pulled out her phone and began to scroll through it, “Well just in case you have any doubts…” She swallowed, “I don’t even know why I kept this. Angelus loved tormenting me and we didn’t know it at the time but there were several Watchers from the old regime who were very unhappy with the way we were running things. Some of them made deals with Angelus, gave out my email and phone number and my location.” She looked at him, her lips pursed in anger. “One of them would even take video or pictures, documenting my pain for him when he couldn’t be there hiding in the shadows to see it.” She handed him her phone, “I’ve never watched this one, it’s the morning I found Rayanne, he saved her for last. I don’t need to see it, I lived it.” She nodded at her phone, “When he sent it, I didn’t even open it. I just dropped it in an archive and it’s been there ever since.” She shook her head, “I highly recommend only opening the third video file, the one that says, ‘Are you broken yet?’ She met his eyes then, “The first two will be what he did to her. So, unless you feel like throwing up, I would skip those.” She gestured with her chin at the double doors. “I’ll be in there beating on a bag, meet me when you’re done.”

 She turned without another word and went through the double doors not looking back. Clark looked down at the phone swallowing heavily, before opening the file. The video began with the image of the front of a house, not unlike the one they were in now, except there was a large tree in front and something very obviously dangling from it. It looked to be sometime in the middle of the night or perhaps early morning, but he couldn't tell either way due to the lights on the house illuminating everything.

 The person carrying the camera ran towards the house and a refined British voice in distress yelled, "Ms. Summers, come quickly. I think it may be Miss Stevenson."

 The front door flew open and there she was, except she looked nothing like she did now, her eyes were wild, feral even, and she was so pale and sucked up. She looked hollow, worn-down, nothing like the girl he’d spent the last couple of days getting to know. The scream that tore from her lips and the look on her face when she saw what was hanging from the tree, tore through him like a tidal wave of emotion. Clark felt himself growing angry at the Watcher, who was obviously playing both sides. Another man with bleached hair and nothing on but a pair of black jeans came flying through the door next, his eyes wild and worried. 

 The camera panned and followed Buffy as she ran out to the tree, falling to her knees and screaming again. Clark saw what was in the tree then and his stomach almost rebelled right then and there. It was a young girl, no older than sixteen and the only skin left on her body was on her beautiful face and near her pelvic region. The girl’s expression was frozen in a horrified scream that no one who cared ever had the chance to hear. A large white sheet wrapped itself tightly around the girl’s wrists and tied over the lowest branch, the excess linen draping behind the dead girl as some sort of sick backdrop silhouette for the body hanging lifelessly from the tree. There was hardly any blood to speak of, just a pinkish residue from where the body had touched the clean white linen, which told Clark she had been dead for more than a few hours. It wouldn’t be visible to a human through the recording, but because of his enhanced vision Clark could even see puncture wounds in places and deep gashes from where the girl had been restrained.

 The blond man came into the picture then and the Watcher came towards them, circling around so he could see Buffy’s expression, or at least that’s what he assumed the person with the camera was doing. Buffy's mouth was open in silent gulping sobs, giant tears dripping down her cheeks.

 “Love,” The blond man whispered in an apparent British accent not nearly as refined as the Watchers Clark had heard so far. The man fell to his knees behind her looking up at the tree. He shuddered as tears sprang to his electric blue eyes. “Don’t look Buffy…please kitten, please go back in the house.”

 The man placed his hand on her shoulder, and Buffy turned at the gesture and Clark could no longer see her face as she flung herself into the man’s arms and began to sob harder. “It’s Ray,” she howled. “Oh god, it’s Ray.”

 “Shh,” The blond man hushed, rubbing hands along her back in a comforting gesture. “I know,” He choked. “I know, love.”

 “We…we can’t leave her like that.” She sobbed. “I-I have to get her down.”

 Clark watched the blond man close his eyes and shake his head, “I’ll do it. Go back in the house, please Slayer.”

 “No,” Buffy shook her head as Clark caught the silhouette of another man flying from the house and over to them. The sound of retching could be heard, and it took Clark a second to realize the sound came from whomever had just come from the house and seen the body. “It has to be me. Don’t you see, don’t you get it? I knew,” she sobbed. “I knew what he was doing to her and I didn’t do anything.”

 “Oh, sweet girl, you’ve been trying to find her. We all have. This isn’t your fault.” The man choked.

 “It’s not good enough,” She screamed, shoving away from him and falling on her rear, “And it is my fault, all of it! They were called because of me, because I was too chicken shit to just except the power that was offered to me!”

 A sob broke from her lips, and she turned looking directly at the cameraman a sudden realization dawning in her hollow eyes. “You!” She snarled, her eyes flashing. “It’s you, isn’t it?” She started marching towards the cameraman.

 “Ms.…Ms. Summers,” Whomever was holding the camera stuttered and then she was there, a well-aimed kick flying towards the camera before Clark saw sky for a few seconds.

 “I’ll kill you, you son of a bitch!” She screamed suddenly hovering over the man, the wild fury in her eyes telling Clark that she had every intention of killing this man, and part of Clark couldn’t agree more. “No one else but an Angelus minion would have called me out here for Rayanne! Everyone else would know better!”

 Clark watched as she threw a punch, the sickening sound of cartilage breaking ringing through the speaker as the guy howled in pain. The way her arms were angled next and the gurgling sound through the phone told him she was choking the man before three sets of arms suddenly grabbed her, pulling her off. Clark could hear the man wheeze as he tried to catch his breath while Buffy screamed and fought the three people who had pulled her away. Faith was one of them, and then the blond man, which Clark was pretty sure by now was Spike, and another man, tall, brunet, with an eyepatch. He saw Willow in the distance coming towards them and when she reached them, she touched Buffy’s shoulder before she could react and muttered a few words that sounded like Latin. Buffy suddenly collapsed and Clark realized Willow had put her to sleep. All eyes then turned towards the cameraman.

 “Get her in the house, Xander.” Spike growled.

 “Uh, Spike–” Xander started to say when Spike turned on him.

 “Get her in the bloody fucking house, now!” He snarled, a sound like grinding bone emanating from the man as his voice altered to something more sinister. “I’m not going to kill him.” He said turning back towards the camera as two glowing amber eyes stared at Clark.

 “Speak for yourself,” Faith said marching towards the man. “I’ve been getting those fucking emails too.”

 “So have I,” Willow said, her eyes black as she stared the camera down.

 “We won’t have to kill him,” Spike clarified as he fell in step with Faith. “Angelus will do that for us.”

 “How you figure?” Faith asked, her eyes just as enraged as Buffy’s had been.

 Spike suddenly sprung forward, his arm reaching out and a ripping sound emanated as the man screamed. His hand came back with what looked like a wad of hair. “This enough Red?”

 “Plenty,” Willow said, sudden realization dawning in her black eyes.

 “Now,” Spike said, a sinister grin stretching his fanged mouth, to the whimpering man. “The way I figure it, you got three options. The first being, you can go back to Angelus and give him this tape, at which point he finds out we now have a way to track you, and oh trust me Marcus, he will most definitely kill you for that.” Clark heard the man begin to sob, and part of him wanted to turn off the video at that point but couldn’t look away at the furious amber eyes that stared back at the camera. “Option number two, you can destroy the tape and run, which if we’re being honest would be the preferable of the three, but I’m sure you are well aware of the kind of wrath he would bring down on you if he didn’t get to see his almost masterpiece complete, so I’m sure you won’t.” Spike’s hand suddenly flew forward and the man screamed in pain, “Or option three,” He growled, “Where you run like a coward and keep the tape for leverage, hoping that your usefulness hasn’t run its course.”

 He suddenly had the camera in his hands, staring directly into the screen his eyes burning into the lens. “Looks like your mole got ousted. This is your last one, Angelus. We’re coming for you and when we’re done there won’t be anything left.” The screen suddenly went black as the video cut off.

 Clark let out a trembling breath looking around him and realizing he had slid to the floor at some point, his heart pounding in his chest. God, he didn’t know, he didn’t understand until that moment. That poor girl, no wonder Buffy was desperate. How many girls did she find like that before this one was left for her? How many videos did she force herself to endure before this one was sent, even Faith and Willow had said this wasn’t the first one? Clark squeezed his eyes shut, she had told him, so had Gunn but to see it. She was driven half-crazy by what that vampire had done and he could not blame her for that. What would he do if it was his mother in that position? God, he could only imagine.

 He shakily got to his feet, listening as he heard the sound of a fist hitting leather, he walked to the doors and threw them open, not stopping when she paused to look at him. He had to reassure himself that she was okay, that she wasn’t that angry creature that he saw in the video. He went straight to her, his arms coming around her in a crushing embrace before his lips met hers. God, she was so strong, he didn’t realize how much until that moment. Buffy immediately melted into him, her lips parting for him as he slid his tongue into her mouth. She was such a small woman, everything about her was deceptively tiny, except her strength and fortitude both physically and emotionally. To go through what she had and still be able to function on a normal level was just short of a miracle.

 He pulled away and looked down into her green eyes, haunted by her past but not dead and hateful like in the video. He bent down and laid his forehead against hers and closed his eyes. “I…” He started, “I didn’t…I’m so sorry Buffy.” He whispered, and he could still feel himself trembling. “I didn’t… You hear words like torture, rape, and murder but–”

 “They’re not real until you see it for yourself.” She finished in understanding.

 Clark sighed, hugging her closely, her head resting against his chest. “I get it now, not…but I understand how desperate you must have been to try and save the girls from that.”

 He heard her sniffle, “I didn’t know what else to do. I watched all the others you know, even…even what he did to them. It was my fault, you see; those girls lost their lives because they had a connection to me.” She shook her head, “If they hadn’t been called, they would still be alive today.”

 Clark pulled away and used his hand to raise her chin so he could see her eyes, “You blame yourself for every one of them that dies no matter how it happens, don’t you?”

 She closed her eyes a shuddering breath hissing through her lips, before she opened them, meeting his gaze head on. “How can I not?”

 He sighed, hugging her close again and shook his head. He had no response to that; he didn’t think she should. He didn’t think it was healthy, but he didn’t want to get in an argument about it with her right now either.

 They stayed like that for a little while before she whispered, “You’re shaking.”

 Clark nodded. “I know, the video…I’m still upset.”

 She pulled away, meeting his eyes again. “Do you want me to show you how to throw a punch properly? The heavy bags have been warded well, we can start there.” She looked down, “It will…it will help relieve some of what you’re feeling at least.”

 “Yeah,” He nodded in agreement. “Yeah, okay.”

 ****<S>**<S>****

 To say Clark was a fast learner when it came to training would have been the understatement of the year. He was an absolute natural. He moved with precision and grace, sometimes striking so fast she almost didn't see him move. 

 As of now she was simply holding the bag for him as he got comfortable with the rhythm of landing punches and even with the wards on the bag, she could feel the impact of his strikes. At this rate she would need her suit within a few days to let him get the feel of fighting a moving target. At some point she might even bring him back to Cleveland to put him up against multiple fighters and see how he did.

 "Remember to move your feet,” She reminded. "A moving target is harder to hit."

 He nodded, bounced on the balls of his feet and struck, the impact of the punch making her bones rattle. "Whoa, nice one Clark." She laughed, "Felt that one in my toes."

 He grinned, striking the bag again harder. "You were right," he said casually in between punches. "This does help."

 She grinned, "Nothing like getting your aggression out with a bit of violence." And then she blushed, smirking, "Well almost nothing." 

 He chuckled as he threw a few more punches in quick succession, his own smirk forming on his lips. He had a mischievous look in his eyes and had just opened his mouth to comment when Buffy’s phone rang.

 Buffy sighed, releasing the bag. "That will either be Wes or Willow."

 It was now around three in the afternoon; Clark had told her he had to pick his mom up at six and it was an hour drive to Smallville from where they were. So, she was grateful that they were going to be able to get this taken care of before meeting his mom.

 Buffy walked over to her phone and answered. "Hey Wes," she said in greeting. "What's the haps?"

 He was silent for a moment and she could almost hear him roll his eyes at her butchering of the English language. "Willow," He began, "should be there shortly. Dawn would also like to see you. I told her I would call her once Willow was done securing the pendants."

 Buffy frowned, “What? Why?”

 “Dawn and I have come to the conclusion that one of the languages in the prophecy that I have been unable to identify, is most likely written in the script of Clark’s home world.” He paused, “We are going to need access to the ship, unless of course Clark can read it.”

 Buffy looked at Clark and raised an eyebrow, but he quickly shook his head. “Only a few words,” He confirmed. “I think the computer on the ship might be able to translate it though.”

 “That’s a negative, Wes,” Buffy answered, beginning to pace. “But he agrees that the computer on the ship should be able to do the job.”

 “Very well, I’ll inform Dawn to dress accordingly. The ship is still in the same location I presume?” He asked.

 “Whoa,” Buffy said halting her steps, realizing what he was suggesting. “You want us to go tonight? Clark has to pick up his mom from work, Wes.”

 “I think it would be for the best. The sooner we get this prophecy translated, the better.” He paused. “Lorne told me I needed to send out more Slayers to India, Kansas, and Metropolis within the next two weeks and I would very much like to know if I should be sending two or a few hundred. If this prophecy gives any indication of what’s to come, I would very much like to know what it is.”

 Buffy and Clark exchanged worried looks. “He only told me something was coming for Clark, and we’re gonna need all hands-on deck when it does.”

 Buffy watched Clark swallow nervously. “He told me my time for hiding was almost up, but he said it was in the coming month.” His eyes widened in realization. “We need to translate that prophecy.”

 Buffy nodded in agreement, “And I need to train you harder than just beating on a bag, which means it’s gonna be eight-hour days from here on out.” Clark opened his mouth to argue and she held up her hand, “We’ll get as much as we need to do in the mornings done, but if for whatever reason we can’t, I would loan you the money before I would let you lose your home.”

 Clark frowned, “Buffy–”

 “Take it from someone who knows what those kinda money troubles feel like,” She interrupted again. “I think in the scheme of things saving the world is a little more important than pride, don’t you?”

 His frown deepened. “You think it’s going to be that big?”

 “Lorne said all hands-on deck and it’s you. Someone coming after you has got to be as powerful, if not more.” She watched his face fall and reached out her hand out running it down his arm, “You’ll be ready, and now that we have a general idea of where this stuff might take place, we’ll all be even more prepared.”

 “Wes,” she said, addressing the Watcher once more. “Were gonna need Willow to keep close, and I would call Illyria back from Cairo.”

 “I agree,” Wesley said, just as a portal opened up and Willow walked through. Her smile melting away at the look on both Buffy and Clark’s faces.

 “Uh-oh,” Willow said nervously. “I know that face.”

 “Is that Willow?” Wesley asked over the line.

 “Yeah,” Buffy said.

 “Let me speak with her, please.”

 Buffy held out the phone to Willow, who frowned but took it anyway. “Hey Wes,” Willow said in greeting as Buffy walked over to where Clark was standing looking more than a little worried.

 “Hey,” she said quietly.

 He attempted to smile but he couldn’t pull it off. “Hey, yourself.”

 She bit her lip watching him, seeing the turmoil play across his face of having an unknown enemy out there that could be responsible for hurting others when they decided to rear their ugly heads. She didn’t blame him, if she needed to pull out her big guns as Lorne hinted then it could definitely get bad. She was optimistic however, because of what she’d had to face in her past. Clark didn’t have that same luxury.

 “I-I know you’re not exactly used to going up against big bads, or having to fight gods,” she started. “But I promise you Clark, no matter what it is we’ll deal with it together. Tonight, I’ll have my sister meet us at your place and we’ll go to the ship and find out what this prophecy says. Whatever’s coming, we’ll deal. I promise you; we won’t lose.”

 “How do you know?” He asked, a bit of hope showing in his eyes.

 She stared at him seriously, “Because I don’t lose when it’s the world.”

 His lips quirked slightly, and he opened his mouth to say something when Willow walked up to them. “Wes wants me to fit you for a suit,” She said to Clark, handing Buffy her phone before saying, “And, he wants to talk to you.”

 As Buffy reached for the phone Clark said, “I already have a suit and it’s Kryptonian.”

 Both Buffy and Willow blinked in surprise at his words, their voices ringing out in unison. “You do?”

 He nodded, “Yeah, it’s on the ship still, but I have one.”

 Willow smiled, “Well then, that’s gonna make this quicker. Can you bring it to me? I can enhance it with magic, add some safety features and protect you against the mystical.”

 “Will that still work, even if the material isn’t of Earth?” He asked.

 “Yeah Wes,” Buffy finally said into her phone, pulling herself away from the conversation. So, Clark already had a suit, she wondered what it looked like.

 “So, for the time being I’m going to send fifty Slayers to each location, but keep the others on standby incase things go pear-shaped.” He said, already planning ahead. “I’ll also be moving quite a few closer to all three locations, that way all the girls have backup nearby. I think Willow should stay there at the safehouse that way she’s not far from either of you.”

 “And Dawn, Xander, and the kids? They live in Metropolis after all.” Buffy asked.

 “Perhaps you should explain the situation to her when she gets there. Staying there at the safe house with Willow might also be a wise move for them.” Wes said, adding, “As well as a few Slayers. I know Faith’s been itching to get out of Cleveland for a mission, maybe she and a few of the other girls should accompany her.”

 “Just as long as it’s not Tanya, that girl’s a liability and she doesn’t listen to anyone.” Buffy said.

 “I concur,” Wesley agreed. “Only the girls who are focused and dedicated will be allowed to participate in this mission. I would like as little casualties as possible.”

 “I agree,” Buffy nodded, “What about the mystics, how many of those can we tap?”

 “I have sixty-eight on file, I’ll start making phone calls now.”  He sighed. “I’m just glad we have this much to go on.”

 “Me too,” Buffy agreed. “I’ll call Dawn when Willow gets done here and tell her where to meet us and to put on her suit and a warm hat.”

 “Very well,” he said. “Call me when you know more and I’ll begin the preparations.”

 Buffy hung up, walking back over to Willow and Clark as they spoke to each other a bit awkwardly. “So, let’s get this over with Wills.”

 Willow quickly nodded opening a small bag she brought with her. “So,” she said quickly. “These were a bit difficult to make since from what we’ve read the compulsion itself seems to be based purely on hormones as well as a need to unite your souls.” She looked at them both, “It took me a little while to find what I needed and even longer to put the spell together.” She sighed, “The pendants themselves will be made out of several crystals used to block compulsion, amethyst, ametrine, chrysocolla, and ruby.”

 Willow pulled out two small corked vials filled with multicolored stones and handed them to both Buffy and Clark. “Now, hold out your hands and link your free ones together.”

 Buffy and Clark did as she asked, holding their hands out palm up. Willow placed a vial in each of their hands and then covered them with her own hands, closing her eyes and beginning to chant. Buffy immediately began to feel her hand heat up and for a second it almost became unbearable and Buffy even watched Clark wince from the heat. It was gone just as quickly however and in its place were two hard looking marble like multicolored stones with a dark metallic chain that would hang from each of their necks. Buffy heard Willow mutter one more spell that she recognized to be a ward against breaking.

 “Well go on.” Willow said smiling happily at her work. “Try them on, see if it worked.”

 Buffy quickly slipped the necklace over her head and a sigh of relief left her lips. The sexual tension that had never fully abated her all day finally easing enough to where she wasn’t thinking about sex every few seconds.

 Clark had a similar reaction, his face seeming to ease slightly, but Buffy was surprised when he turned to Willow and asked, “You said the compulsion is only based on hormones, does that mean any feeling we have that aren’t sexual are real?”

 Willow nodded, “Of course, real love is something that can only be based off of free will. Its why love spells don’t ever work. You can’t force someone to love you.”

 Buffy watched amused as Clark seemed to sigh in relief, and then quickly blushed when he noticed her watching him. “Come on stud,” she said hooking her arm through his and dragging him towards the door of the training room. “Let me go grab my stuff before we go get your mom,” a grin creeping over her face as she turned and wished Willow a good night and a promise to catch up tomorrow. “And for the record”, she added quietly as they walked out of the training room. “I still want to jump you, that hasn’t changed even with the necklace on.”

 He quickly reached out to grab her arm, but she easily dodged him and took off down the hallway, a blush and a giggle leaving her lips.

 Clark was suddenly there in front of her, a crooked and devilish smile on his lips. “Is that so?” And then his lips were on hers, his tongue sliding into her mouth as she squealed in surprise.

[lesbianbooradleypsued]

The Etherian Party Bus: Point Zero

Fandom: She-ra and the Princesses of Power Pairing: Adora/Catra  Word Count:  6,898

Summary: As Darla approaches the point of no contact with Etheria, Adora thinks about how they got to this point. Just 7 months ago they'd won the war, and now she doesn't know if her little crew will ever return. Or After the defeat of Hoard Prime, Catra and Hordak were exiled for four years. Adora and Entrapta refused to accept being separated from them for that long, and loaded the two of them on Darla and then set out for parts unknown in space. Adora is currently considering everything that has happened to get them to this point as they are about to leave contact range with Etheria. Catra joins her on the bridge.

Notes: So this is just one part of a series. They'll be posted out of order with the time stamps at the beginning. Haven't written in a long while so have mercy on me. X-posted to AO3 as well. 

Tags: Smut, Porn With Plot, Rough Sex, Biting, Scratching, light bdsm aspects, Top Adora, Bottom Catra, Blow Jobs, Adora Has a Penis, Recreational Drug Use, if i forgot a tag tell me, Fluff, Not Beta Read

Seven Months Out

The rhythmic thump of heavy bass from two floors down on Darla thrummed through Adora's relaxed body like a second heartbeat.

She was shamelessly lounging on the bridge in her Captain's chair in a pair of baggy grey sweatpants, a white tank top, and the comfortable black slip on shoes she wore day to day around Darla. Her right leg was draped over the plush arm of her chair and her left leg was cocked out, resting comfortably on the floor. Her right arm was folded behind her head and her left was lazily holding onto a glass filled with shimmery dark purple liquid that rippled in sync with the bass.

The bridge was dark save for the few ever present blinking red lights on the various dash boards and panels surrounding the six strategically placed seats that now comprised the ship's bridge. All Entrapta and Hordak's designs. It was just those lights and of course the large windows filled with the brilliant kaleidoscope of stars that were reflected in Adora's peaceful hazed over blue eyes.

She was lost in reflection.

In front of her were countless galaxies filled with countless lifeforms and Adora wanted to meet and learn about them all. And hopefully quell that insatiable drive in her that'd been building steadily for the last four months of the exile to just keep going.

Adora finally knew what a passion was now, something not born out of circumstantial upbringing or a sense of duty, but something you do because you want to. She wants to explore further every day just to find out something new, chart new stars, learn about a different species cultures. She wants to see what Catra feels like in her arms there with her through every new experience, so far removed from their prior life. Untethered. She knows very little about the First Ones, most of it not great, but she does know they were explorers. She figures that's where this passion must come from.

Behind her, falling further and further away every second is Etheria. It's so far away now it's no longer visible even at their highest scanning capacity.

After seven months in space, the last four of them spent finally finding out what kind of person she was outside of child soldier/She-ra, Adora's feelings about their abrupt, messy departure from their home planet had managed to settle down between resignation and dull betrayal.

It's still a very tender spot. Her logical brain understands that Catra and Hordak couldn't just escape any type of punishment for their literal war crimes. It wouldn't be fair to the countless lives forever changed by them. She also will begrudgingly concede that it would have been a slap in the face to every citizen of Etheria if Glimmer had just gone against the public demand and pardoned them. She is also begrudgingly grateful that Glimmer had ordered the most minimal punishment she had within her power as Queen.

But four years exile still seemed so long. Too long. Even longer now that she knew what her and Catra actually had. She thought she had loved Catra at seventeen, but that feeling was hardly a single star in the quadrant compared to the way she felt about her now. And she knew that with every day that passed, the feelings were just getting more and more intense. She couldn't imagine going four days without the magicat, four years was absurd.

Less than an hour after the sentencing they had left Etheria in a messy, absolutely traumatic scene on the front lawn of Brightmoon. Two of them were convicted criminals who had just been exiled from Etheria and two of them were Princesses who refused to just accept being parted for four years, the need to rebuild Etheria be damned. And as an extra spicy surprise they found out a couple of months in, that Double Trouble had stole'd away on Darla for reasons Adora was still unclear on. Something about drama and possibly being wanted.

The first few months in space had been a disaster Adora acknowledged, taking a sip of her drink and savoring the smooth herbal flavor. They had been blindly chasing the idea of restoring magic to the universe like it was their assigned mission, and not just a distraction from their current situation.

The immediate space around Etheria, it turned out, was not nice to begin with.

In the month since Prime's demise a power vacuum had opened up in the area. Entire planets were without the resources to rebuild themselves and were more than willing to fight for them, and there were opportunistic ships filled with bandits everywhere. It was chaos.

And they had flown into the middle of all that and loudly pronounced they had killed Prime and were magic.

Que a three month long shit storm.

They all just suffered.

Entrapta retreated into herself, barely coming out of the engine room unless they were under attack or broke down. She had been shaken to the core by her sudden loss of confidence in the friendships she had tentatively built over the last three years. Friendships she thought were built on mutual respect for their unique abilities and qualities. Entrapta knew she was the smart one. But only Adora, Scorpia, Wrong Hordak, and Catra had spoken on Hordak's behalf even though Entrapta provided sufficient evidence that by killing Prime in the way She-ra had, it had changed Hordak in fundamental ways. Yes he was responsible for what he had done, took responsibility for it, but he was also literally a new being.

When She-ra knocked Prime's ass out of Hordak's body and vanquished him, it was like being baptised, exorcised, and reborn simultaneously. All the clones had experienced it. Hoard Prime could not control them even again, could never take control of them again. An order coded into their very DNA that demanded them to conquer all for Prime was obliterated. That drive, an instinct really, had been as deeply ingrained into them as breathing was.

Hordak was not really washed anew like the other clones though. He didn't go from a mindless drone in a hive mind like the others, no, he'd spent thirty years waging war in Prime's name on Etheria. He was now without purpose. He was overwhelmed with emotions he did not know he was capable of that lurched violently from happiness to guilt and more often than not ended up at rage. He spoke very rarely to anyone but Entrapta unless it was to loudly argue with Adora or Catra or both of them.

Adora had spent those first few months just absolutely drenched in anger and bitterness. Her mind circled around all of the hurt that had been caused during the last three years. So much of it was Adora and Catra's. They were hit with traumatic event after traumatic event for three years, after a traumatic as fuck childhood. And against all odds they had escalated and pushed that stalemate of a war to an end where everyone won. And now because apparently they couldn't have nice things, and Adora was not smart, they found themselves in a big galaxy filled with unexpected dangers. And what were they doing? Chasing and dodging said dangers because they were just barreling ahead under her command asking every being they met if they needed their magic topped off. She was being absolutely reckless and every near catastrophe circled back to two thoughts. I'm not good enough and how could Catra love me?

Catra had felt horrible that Adora had just given up her life on Etheria so she could stay with Catra. But she felt downright evil that she had selfishly agreed to it with very little argument. Adora had pointedly told Catra that this was what she wanted. How could she deserve this? After everything that had happened Adora had chosen her? Wanted her by her side to explore this precious thing they'd started? How could she say no? It was hard for anyone but them to understand how much it meant for Adora to say those words aloud. She wanted Catra. She could not actually believe it still. Fought herself against the notion in fact. She spiraled in self hatred and guilt. Which of course meant she lashed out at Adora because that's what she did.

Adora and Catra got stuck in a vicious cycle of fight, avoid, apologize, rinse, and repeat that went on for two months. And then finally after a truly shitty day, even by those early standards, it came to a head. Catra gathered all three of the brain cells aboard Darla and had a big "aha moment". They actually had their first real mostly calm and open discussion about their feelings and baggage in their lives. They also had sex for the first time. It was a really big aha moment.

Adora hadn't thought it was possible to fall more in love with the magicat but she did. After the incident, Catra began opening up in earnest to Adora. She whispered confessions of love and attraction into her ear, began to slowly become more physically affectionate towards her. Adora's focus started to shift from saving the universe to saving them. If Catra was safe, she was calm enough to be vulnerable for Adora, and it turns out Adora needed that vulnerability like fucking oxygen. It made her better, made her feel like she could do anything in the universe she wanted. It made Adora believe that Catra loved her for her, and not for what Adora could do.

So less running around space with her whole ass showing; ending them up in dangerous situations every other day, and more let's just go away from that situation and see what's over there.

But not enough because they all nearly died in a fiery blaze three months in.

Adora had snapped after healing Catra's broken ribs, pointed Darla in the general direction of far away, and gunned it. They'd cleared the small cluster of planets nearest Etheria that they had been nervously darting around for three months, getting their asses handed to them, and just kept going. She just put the whole magical quest on the back burner indefinitely. It wasn't working, was actively endangering them in fact. It was not conducive to a vulnerable safe Catra.

When they were a safe distance away she had hidden the ship in an asteroid field and Meelog cloaked them. And then Adora had turned to Catra and asked her what she thought they should do next. It had been a very wise decision.

Catra had taken control immediately. First she encouraged/ordered Entrapta and Hordak to use their combined intelligence and any means necessary to get Darla up to date and better suited to surviving four years in space. They absolutely ran with it. They'd practically completely redesigned the layout of the ship and had even managed to expand its size over the last four months. Darla was taking on the character of a jigsaw puzzle with all the different colored materials covering her hull now. Double Trouble called it Junker Chic, Adora said she had character.

After that, and another near death experience for Adora, the magicat had proposed becoming diplomats of sorts for Etheria. Space was dangerous Catra pointed out, and that danger would likely come for Etheria again eventually. Having strong ties to planets already established in the quadrant has leaders could only be helpful.

And as her last decision Catra had released Adora from any responsibility except for occasionally parading She-ra out when the situation called for it. Her girlfriend had poked and prodded at the new ember of passion in Adora's heart until it was a raging fire.

It had been an amazing change in their lives.

Still seven months in space and in her heart, Adora was still so raw from the sheer trauma of the entire trial, convictions, and absolutely cataclysmic immediate aftermath. She'd had to carry Catra aboard Darla because the magicat was crying so hard. She felt...betrayed? Somehow used in a way she couldn't express? She had nearly died over and over and over again for Etheria. She nearly lost Catra forever for Etheria. And all they got were two weeks before everything went to absolute shit and strangers who didn't know the full story started demanding Catra's permanent exile. Some had even called for execution despite Etheria not having a death sentence. "Make one" someone had said. Adora had nearly ran them through with her sword.

Adora knows if they are ever gonna return at the end of the exile she's gotta heal more. Has to get to a place where she wants to go back. They all do.

Two decks down, in Darla's expanded cargo bayn the wildest party this side of Etheria was raging on at, what her body believed to be, very very late at night. The beat changed suddenly, becoming more powerful, and it startled Adora out of her musings. The tempo sped up and the bass pounded harder and Adora released a throaty chuckle. Her groin tightened, partly from the vibrations and partly from the effects of the drink coursing through her blood. She took a long swill of her glass and moved to rest her right hand firmly on her lap, rubbing her hardening dick through her pants and sighing in contentment.

The thing Adora lovef most about this aimless explorer diplomatic lifestyle they'd gradually slipped into was the culture they'd shared with scores of different species. The drink in her hand was supplied by the fourteen Chix'eks currently onboard the ship at the moment, who were also supplying the music.

Of all of the species they'd met so far, the Chix'eks are by far Adora's favorite. Tall and willowy bipeds, their shimmery smooth bichromatic scales come in countless color combinations and their facial features remind Adora of a bird of prey. They were also the most sincere, friendly beings Adora has ever met, and their language was beautiful. When Adora had been downstairs with them earlier she had taken her translator earpiece out and just listened to them. It was like glass windchimes in a steady breeze. They also were absolute party animals. Like having a pretty good time was in their specie's nature.

They'd been traveling with this group for the last two weeks for no other reason than they were all going the same direction for a bit.

The Chix'eks were highly intelligent and eager to share their knowledge and learn from Hordak and Entrapta's own wealth of knowledge, Catra and Double Trouble practically fed off of their clever sharp wit and general "we're always at a rave" vibes, and Adora just loves listening to their intricate music and sampling the various mind altering substances they have crafted over several millions of years of inherited knowledge.

Medicine was a specialty craft amongst their species. Their medicine was arguably the furthest advanced in this quadrant of space. The fact that the plants that grew on their home planet could affect every species they had met so far seemed fantastically impossible to Adora. But she had experienced it first hand when she'd contracted some kind of alien plague virus from hell and almost died. It was not a great time. Catra had new nightmares for several weeks. But by chance a group of the scaled beings had happened upon them and saved Adora just cause they could. And then offered to make some introductions to other friendly worlds in that part of space. They'd sparked that explorative vibe.

Oh yeah, and their passion for making addictive free, highly specialized, mind altering substances was a huge bonus.

She was glad they were on board right now providing her strange crew with comrade and the drink in Adora's hand that has allowed her to sit and think in total peace for the last hour. It would probably be one of those nights otherwise. Outside of the moments she spent wrapped up in Catra's arms, where nothing else existed but them, Adora still couldn't ever just relax. It was a little easier these days, maybe because now her mind was usually racing about exciting things, but tense situations brought out her worst self destructive habits.

And they were in a tense situation, party aside.

They were almost at the point in space where they wouldl no longer be able to contact Etheria and Etheria will no longer be able to contact them. Entrapta officially called it Point Zero. As it was, the contact they did have with home had a two week delay. They'd hovered around this point for the last month. They'd even recorded a message telling Etheria they'd be leaving contact range for a while. It was an open-ended goodbye disguised as an update, just in case.

Adora knew the decision to venture out beyond this point was on her shoulders.

Entrapta and Hordak would have loved nothing more than to gain new scientific knowledge so they could continue their shared passion for turning Darla into a flying impenetrable fortress. As well as collecting new tech to bring back to Etheria to modernize the planet.

Double Trouble wad having the time of Their fucking life expanding Their repertoire of mimicry far beyond the limits of Etheria, and raising hell in Their wake for the drama of it all. Their gift for espionage had been especially useful on several occasions as well, either to get them all out of a tight spot, or just to gather information for Adora's research.

And Catra. God Catra had absolutely burst like a supernova away from Etheria. Gone was the self loathing, guilt ridden magicat who was immediately resigned to being torn away from Adora and tossed onto Beast Island because she thought she deserved it.

Catra is thriving in space, completely free of the demons that plagued her on Etheria. She's still as snarky and sharp tongued as ever but nowadays she smiled more often than not. Her eyes were brighter. She purred almost constantly. And they hadn't fought about anything more serious than what to eat for dinner in months.

Catra had slipped into the not exactly legit role of Etherian Ambassador like a second skin. Her skill for strategy and diplomacy were nearly fully responsible for Adora's continued ability to study other species without coming across as some insane space tourist. They'd made real diplomatic ties with other planets because Catra was a strategic genius. All she asked of Adora was to bring out She-ra when the need for "oohs and aware" occasionally arose. A smiling eight foot tall muscled goddess with a sword really topped off a presentation.

Adora had never in her life seen Catra so happy and carefree.

But still all that aside, Catra had made it very clear that where Adora wanted to go, she wanted to go. They were in sync now more than they'd ever been in their lives, more than Adora suspected they could have achieved on Etheria. Their bond seemed impenetrable after seven months of constant reliance on one another, cohabitation, and working through most of their shit. When they moved these days, they moved as one.

Just thinking about her lover made Adora's heart race in her chest and her dick jumped, going from a semi, to rock hard in seconds. She inhaled deeply at the sensation, and downed the last of her drink.

The drink wasn't usually this potent. Adora had been drinking a much lower dosage of it every morning at breakfast for a couple of months. It helped her to concentrate during the day, helped to keep her thoughts from spiraling when things were tense or she felt like she'd messed up. Entrapta had explained brain chemistry to Adora briefly, she got the gist of it. She didn't need to have an in-depth understanding of it to get that it really helped just manage everything.

Tonight's drink though was not about mental health management and all about that really good Chix'ekian time.

She set the empty glass on the small table at her side and shifted so she could pull her hardened cock out of her pants. The drink had a massive effect on her senses and her libido. Everything was so intense. It felt like she perceived time slower.

For example her sense of smell was so heightened now she could smell Catra, knew she was making her way down the hall to the bridge. Her heady earthy aroma was addictive. Adora had only been minutely aware of it growing up, when they were pressed up against each other in their bunk, or claws to sword in battle. She'd never stopped to examine the nature of it, why Catra had such a distinctive scent compared to everyone else. She hadn't understood pheromones. She didn't understand the magicat instinct to mark and claim. She understood now though that Catra was different on a very basic level from Adora. It made Adora love her more.

The door barely made a sound as it opened and closed. Adora stroked herself lazily as she listened to Catra pad softly across the carpeted floor, her eyes still drawn to the wild unexplored space in front of them.

She felt Catra move around her chair and her eyes turned away from the view to watch her girlfriend kneel in front of her lap, rest her head on Adora's thigh, and begin gently running a clawed hand over Adora's exposed stomach, inches away from where Adora was stroking her own dick.

Catra's eyes were wide, pupils blown, and her voice when she spoke was practically sinful. "Hey Adora," she rasped out looking up at Adora as she scent marked her inner thigh. Adora took a deep breath and her lips curled into an absolutely love drunk smile.

"Hey Catra," Adora replied, her free hand immediately going to Catra's cheek and scratching behind her ear.

Her gaze drifted down to Catra's neck, and the thick white collar affixed with a golden o-ring she was wearing. This was a rather recent addition to their relationship and Catra had only ever worn it in their cabin. But she smelt of the woodsy incense the Chix'eks liked to burn and the herbal blend they'd created for Catra to smoke. Which meant Catra was wearing it at the party. Her dick twitched in her hand.

Catra purred at the affection and movedn her hand from the blond's stomach to swat away Adora's hand from her straining dick and began softly stroking it herself. The fine furs on her palms felt amazing to Adora's overly sensitive cock and she groaned with pleasure, head lulling back as she buried her hand in Catra's wild shoulder length hair.

"Those Chix'eks really know their stuff," Catra hummed as she shuffled closer and higher on her knees so she could press a small kiss to the base of the blond's length.

"Feeling good?" Adora asked, chuckling. She tightened her grip on Catra's mane slightly and kept her in place against her dick. She moaned when the corner of Catra's lips pressed momentarily against her balls.

"Feeling great," Catra said before beginning to lick at the hot flesh in front of her face "I'll be bummed when they break off to go home."

"Oh my god same," Adora said laughing and breaking out into a wide smile. Gently she pushed Catra backwards and sat upright in her chair, kicking her shoes off and to the side.

"You know," Catra said as Adora pulled her back towards her lap, "we're about ten minutes till we're out of range."

She might have said it conversationally but Adora knew Carta was nervous about Adora's decision. But Adora was not. Just like she wasn't nervous when she leapt into the darkness in Prime's ship, just like when she chose to spend some well deserved time with the love of her life over "duty", and just like the time she gave Catra control of their situation.

Adora pushed Catra back, leant forwards, and cupped both of Catra's cheeks, fingers immediately curling around her ears. She kissed the magicat on the forehead and deeply inhaled her scent. "Kitten I sent the message and set the course for straight ahead when I came in here an hour ago. I want to see what else is out there." Her blue eyes flitted up hungrily to the stars and then back to Catra before she reclined back into her chair.

Catra didn't look up, but she did release a suspiciously watery chuckle before she shifted forwards and wrapped her perfect lips around the head of Adora's cock suddenly. She took it deep down her throat so fast it seemed effortless. Adora groaned obscenely and buried her hands in Catra's hair, her grip tight and immediately desperate.

Adora's cock wasn't exactly small. Fully erect as she was now it was eight inches long and thick as fuck. And Catra just kept sliding her lips further and further down her length until they were stretched taunt and her breath was coming out in hot, fast puffs against Adora's abdomen.

"Gods, fuck Catra," Adora groaned out as Catra's head began to bob up and down in her lap. The blond watched Catra's throat greedily as the muscles contracted to deep throat her over and over again. They were strained against her collar.

Adora felt a sudden sharp sting at the base of her dick and hissed loudly in pleasure. Occasional knicks on her dick were an unavoidable experience when the woman sucking it regularly had needle sharp fangs. Adora relished in the familiar sting, craved it actually.

Adora's fingers tightened roughly in Catra's hair and when the magicat made to bob up, Adora forced her back down until Catra's claws pressed into her thighs, easily piercing through her sweats and into her skin. The magicat sputtered around the cock firmly blocking her airway.

Catra let out a sound somewhere between a moan and a yowl as she struggled to breath for a second. And when Adora pulled her back up she sucked in a ragged breath before a deep growl rumbled in her chest. Her bi-colored eyes were completely blown and she pulled against Adora's hand, trying to take the blond down her throat again.

"Fuck you're so desperate to choke on my dick, aren't you Kitten?" Adora slurred out. She didn't even wait for a response, just shoved Catra back down as her hips jolted up.

She began fucking Catra's throat in a slow but firm pace. Push Catra down and hold her there for a few long moments and then yank her up. Catra was growling nearly non-stop as she fought to keep her lips firmly wrapped around Adora and the vibrations from it made Adora's toes curl into the carpet.

She could happily cum like this, just release herself into Catra's eager mouth like she'd done plenty of times before, but she was suddenly starving for more. Catra's body was practically writhing on the floor, her hips jerking forwards repeatedly, and her thighs pressed firmly together. The sight of her girlfriend so fucking turned on from sucking her dick made Adora feel godsdamn invincible.

"Up," Adora ordered, not waiting for Catra to respond before she was leaning over and practically ripping the magicat's leggings off. Catra was too far gone for words or to be much help, and Adora practically had to pick her up to get the pants and underwear off her feet. She made quick work of both of their shirts too. "Come on," she growled, pulling her writhing girlfriend into the chair with her.

Adora pulled Catra forwards at the hips, pressing her down until Catra's dripping pussy was pressed against her abs. Immediately Catra started rubbing wantonly against against her, spreading her slick up down Adora's stomach. Her mouth found Adora's neck and she began pressing possessive needy kisses against her.

"Fuck you're so sexy," Adora groaned as she held firmly onto Catra's hips and watched her grind against her. Adora didn't need heightened senses to know even after multiple showers, she was going to smell like Catra for days.

"Mine," Catra growled out territorially as she made new marks to Adora's already colorful neck.

"All yours Kitten," Adora agreed. She loved feeling Catra move against her like this, but her dick was begging for relief.

It was difficult to push the writhing Catra back enough to enter her. Her girlfriend was nearly completely gone, operating on her most base instincts and desires, but Adora managed to grab her hips in a bruising grasp and lower her further down her body.

Her own hips were jerking violently upwards on their own volition and it was a frantic moment as she tried to hold Catra still enough that she could stroke up into her. "Hold still," she ordered, her blunt nails digging into Catra's hips demandingly. Catra let out a frustrated growl but stopped fighting against Adora. Adora grunted as she shifted their bodies, lined up, and slammed her dick hilt deep into her girlfriend.

Catra let out a guttural sound from deep in her chest and her claws raked through Adora's hair, pulling their foreheads together. "S-so good f-fuck Adora," she stuttered through clenched teeth as Adora began slamming up into her roughly.

Their eyes were wild and locked onto one another's. The room was filled with the thumping bass, the lewd wet sounds of their thighs slapping together, Adora's harsh ragged breathing, and a constant rumbling growl from Catra.

Every time she bottomed out in her lover Adora's heart skipped a beat. Catra's pussy was clenching around her cock almost in sync to the music and Adora felt like she would die if she couldn't get further into Catra. She wanted to live inside the woman in her lap.

Catra's head fell to Adora's shoulder and she began rambling out adoration and praise for Adora as she sucked, licked, and bit at Adora's neck repeatedly. "Fuck s-soooo fucking good. You fuck! You're f-fucking me so g-good Adora Fuck." Her body was becoming pliant above Adora, allowing the blonde to drill up at her own pace and pull Catra down on her like a toy.

The praise combined with a bite hard enough to draw blood at the juncture of her neck and shoulders had Adora howling. Adora was like a woman possessed as she heaved both of their bodies up and then down onto the floor. Catra began to scramble up when Adora pulled out of her but frantically got into position when Adora started to forcefully roll her over into her hands and knees.

This was Catra's preferred position to get fucked and Adora wasted no time before slamming back into her girlfriend. She leaned over Catra until her front was flush against the magicats silky back and braced herself on her right arm. Her left hand shot up to Catra's neck and her fingers dug in between her collar and fur.

"Fuck!" Catra howled as Adora began violently rocking against her, pushing her further to the floor each time. Catra's claws were fully extended, digging grooves into the carpet and scraping at the metal beneath it. "I love you," she growled out, giving up any control she had left and just letting Adora pound into her.

"Y-you're my, my fucking whole world," Adora managed to gasp out as she lurched above Catra. "I w-want to be inside you forever."

Catra trilled below her and her pussy began to clench so hard around Adora's cock it felt nearly impossible to pull out. She felt like Catra was sucking her into her. They were almost completely down on the carpet now, with most of Adora's weight fully on Catra.

"Mine," Catra growled desperately, her eyes were clenched shut and her body had begun to violently tremble. Her claws were locked several inches down into the floor beneath them.

"Yours. All yours. Everything I am is for you," Adora gasped out. Her heart was pounding so hard in her chest she felt like it was about to explode and her focus had completely narrowed to the feeling of Catra's pussy gripping her cock like a vice.

She could feel a scream building up in Catra's chest below her and Adora latched onto her shoulder with her teeth. She bit down hard and Catra's head snapped back as she screamed Adora's name and tipped over into her orgasm.

Adora's balls and upper thighs were drenched as Catra's pussy spasmed and squirted below her. The feeling of Catra's white hot release was it for Adora. She slammed down once, twice, a third time, and then her body went rigid as her own orgasm ripped through her. The blond's back arched and her head snapped back, eyes open and wide, her vision filled with porta literal stars as she emptied her balls deep into her girlfriend.

Below her Catra writhed and rubbed up into Adora, her pussy was milking Adora's dick for every last drop of cum it could. Adora felt dizzy from her violent release and she pressed them both down against the floor, barely managing to not rest completely atop Catra's petite frame.

They laid there together like that for a long while. Taking greedy breaths and shaking against each other. Adora was still buried deep inside Catra as the woman's pussy contracted around her. Finally when Adora started to come back to herself she eased out of her lover, chuckling lightly at the disgruntled whine Catra let out.

"Ssh baby," Adora cooed. She kept a hand on the small of Catra's back and stroked her fingers through the thick fur as she straightened up on her knees. Her back gave a satisfying crack at the stretch and she sighed looking down at Carta whose fingers were starting to dig into the floor rhythmically. Her hips were raised trying to get as close as possible to Adora's gently scratching hand. "Come on baby," Adora murmured softly as she picked Catra up.

Catra was practically boneless in her arms but Adora managed to get her knees locked around her waist and her arms over her shoulders before she hoisted both of them up off of the floor. She took a moment to get her bearings and wrapped an arm more securely under Catra's ass.

Catra had almost immediately started purring after Adora picked her up and now it was turning into a loud rumble as she nuzzled her face in Adora's neck and started to scent her. "Bed," she grumbled out against Adora's skin as her claws started to kneed the blond's shoulder.

Adora chuckled and gently butted her head against Catra's. "Yes bed time now," she whispered softly as she spared one last glance to the star filled windows in front of her before focusing on the task at hand.

By Adora's estimate she had about five to ten minutes to get Catra to the privacy of their cabin before the magicat would be forcefully holding Adora down regardless of where they were. Catra's after sex hormone driven instincts were always pretty strong and were Adora's absolute favorite moments to witness. She knew they'd be intense tonight with how hard they'd fucked and Catra still riding the high of that Chix-ekian herbal blend she'd smoked.

"Okay," she murmured taking stock of the situation. This was not her first naked Catra on the bridge rodeo. She knew there was no way she was going to be able to put Catra down long enough to get their clothes back on, the possibility didn't even cross her mind. Still, in an attempt at civility she toed their discarded clothing into a pile and mostly kicked it under her chair.

Adora took a few steps to Catra's chair and grabbed the large fluffy blanket folded up in it. "Hold tight baby," she whispered, waiting a second for Catra to tighten around her body before shaking out the blanket and wrapping it around their bodies.

She grimaced a little at the ten rivets cut into the floor at her feet. Double Trouble would have a field day with that. She shrugged because what could she really do about it now? Quickly she checked Darla's readings before heading off of the bridge. Out in the dim hallways of Darla she could just slightly make out the sounds of music and laughter and it made her smile impossibly wider as she tightened her grip around her purring girlfriend.

She had just reached their door when Entrapta swung around the corner laughing. She just managed to stop herself from running into them and snapped back. Hey smile was sweet as she observed them. "Hi Adora," she managed to whisper out despite her obvious excitement.

"Hi Entrapta," Adora giggled lightly, shifting Catra's weight to her other arm.

"I've noticed we have continued on at our current trajectory Adora," Entrapta whispered, her hair expressing her obvious delight with the way it rolled around her body.

"Indeed," Adora whispered and then smiled widely when Entrapta had to cover her mouth with her hair to keep her excited shriek down.

"Goodnight Adora," Entrapta whispered, and then leant towards Catra and whispered even quieter "goodnight Catra."

Gently Entrapta patted the area between Catra's ears with her hair, and Adora had to push down a delighted gasp when Catra's tail came up and curled around the end of the hair. Adora honestly felt like she could cry at the way Catra's tail intimately held onto Entrapta, swirling around her hair for a few seconds before dropping back down to tuck under the blanket. That gesture from Catra held more meaning than any hug could and it was clear from the happy smile on Entrapta's face that she understood that. The princess waved before barreling back the way she'd come from.

A sharp, pointed nip at her shoulder made Adora chuckle and she turned and walked them into their cabin. She shrugged off the blanket wrapped around them and headed into their little bathroom, Catra still in her arms.

In a clearly practiced routine she ran a washcloth under warm water and brought it up between them to wipe at the sticky mess between Catra's legs. Catra was starting to purr like a skiff motor now and rub her face in earnest against Adora's neck and shoulders.

Satisfied that Catra's fur wouldn't mat Adora headed back into their bedroom and turned out the lights. A light glow from the baseboards was all the light Adora needed to walk the few feet to their bed. She turned around and carefully lowered their bodies down, her muscles tensed to keep them from tipping back. They had picked up the unique bed a few planets ago after Catra had fallen in love with the design. It's sides raised up gradually creating a deep pocketed area in the middle. It was a little tricky to get in and out of, but being nested down in the middle with Catra was absolutely worth it.

After some practiced maneuvering Adora laid down and stretched out her legs, a deep sigh releasing from her chest as Catra wrapped her body around Adora's. A big goofy smile split Adora's face in half as Catra started to rumble on top of her. A moment later her kneading started back up and she began to lick gently at Adora's bruised and scraped neck.

Adora was absolutely blissed out with contentment as she buried her fingers into Catra's furr, one hand right above her tail, the other behind an ear, and started scratching. The rumbling and purring kicked up several notches and Catra began to lick at her skin in earnest.

She'd learned a lot in the last seven months, but the most important lesson had been figuring out all the ways Catra had been saying "I love you" since they were toddlers. She hadn't gotten it before the heart, hadn't thought it was possible because Catra had never said the words out loud. But every purr, nuzzle, and kneed Catra had let out just for Adora had said it for her. Adora was so fucking glad that circumstances aside, she'd finally gotten the chance to figure this out.

The room was absolutely silent but Adora could still feel the light soothing pulse of bass. They laid together for a long time as Catra's rough tongue laved over Adora's neck and upper torso. Adora kept up her diligent scratching, shifting whenever necessary to give Catra easy access to her body. The sounds coming out from Catra were honestly favorite sounds in the universe, a constant deep purr that was laid under a rumbling growl.

Catra was apparently satisfied with her grooming job because she started to settle against Adora, her purr has toned down into a lazy idle as she gently rubbed her scent glands against the splotchy skin of Adora's neck

"I love you so much," Catra murmured, shifting up to press gentle kisses against Adora's face. Her eyes blinked slowly.

"I love you too," Adorab breathed out before pulling Catra down to settle her head on Adora's chest. Adora kept gently stroking behind Catra's ears up until the moment sleep claimed her, warm and content, wrapped completely around her lover.

Darla cruised quietly through space for parts unknown.

[voltagesmutter]

Frustration

Shaw Smut

It’s 11:49 pm and I’m running out of time because Shaw’s birthday ends.

I’ve literally fallen for this lilac bad boy and I’m ready to have his babies

*Smut and NSFW Below Cut*

Just over a month you had been away from your lavender haired, bombshell of a boyfriend as you were away on a scouting location tour. It was torturous, painful and just seemed to last forever. Throwing your bag into the airplane cabin, all you wanted to do was be back in the arms of your chaotic lover.  The plane ride was excruciating, a dullness kicking into your stomach that made you double over slightly in pain.

“Boss? You okay?” A concerned Minor asked, tearing his way away from the in-flight magazine and you gave him a nod. You knew this pain too well. 

“Motherfucker,” You sighed heavily in the bathroom, mother nature decided to bless you with the reassurance of nothing being pregnant, nearly a week earlier than expected. God-damn it, your sexy plans of a reunion with Shaw, went flying out of the window. Seeing him was going to kill you, that eat-shit grin, how his clothes hung perfect to his skin, the scent of him was just another to drive you over aboard. Not only was hugely pent up from a lack of physical activities between the two of you due to your time away, now you would have to prolong it even further whilst your hormones sent you in an impassioned rage. 

You had such wonderful plans for tonight, mind blowing plans, the lace lingerie you picked up whilst you was away was just the start. The plan to wear it under one of his band tops as a little surprise would hopefully be enough for his ravage you on the spot, not that it wouldn’t happen anyway, he literally couldn’t get enough of you and your touch. In-fact he was so desperate to get his fill of you, that you A. never got a wink of sleep the night before you left, B. was late to the airport, C. so sore the following day you almost couldn’t get up from the airplane seat. You didn’t just want him physically, god no, you missed everything about him. He missed you as well, his apartment just seemed empty without you in it, not that he would admit this to you. You groaned through your head against the plush leather in front of you, this was going to be a nightmare.

“Shaw, are you here?” You asked down the phone, leaving the airport, suitcase in hand. 

“No, I’m outside parked up, they wanted to charge stupid amounts and I refuse to pay it,”. You sighed in response.

“Shaw, how far is ‘outside’?”. There's a brief pause.

“Like a mile… or five,”.

“I’m not walking five miles to the car with a suitcase,” You huff, and a small chuckle comes down the phone.

“If you didn’t take half your apartment with you then it wouldn’t be such a struggle,”.

“I’m sure Victor will gladly give me a lift,” A teasing smile on your face as you hear the engine start before you even finish your sentence.

“Be ready, I’m not paying for more than two minutes,” You could tell he was lightly pouting as he said it. 

Shaw wasn’t joking, the second he pulled up he threw your case into the car and sped off before you barely sat in the chair.

“Shaw!” You gasped as he raced out the car park, throwing the change into the machine, giving you a few seconds to do up your belt. 

“Sorry babe, but fuck the corporation for the fees,” He chuckles, his hand glinting over your seatbelt to check it was done up properly before speeding away. You chatted pleasantly on the way back to his, him teasing you relentlessly when you blurted out Anna nearly walking in on the pair of you having phone sex.

“It wasn’t funny!” You playfully bash his arm with a blush.

“Imagine if she walked in and saw you, legs spread with them fingers doing what you described,” He wiggled with his eyebrows a little towards you, “Maybe she might have joined you, now that would have been a good phone call,”. He chuckled as you hit him again, calling him a pervert. He gave you a I missed you smile, even if he wouldn’t admit it you could tell that was how he felt, as he leaned a hand off the steering wheel to place it on your thigh.

“You know, we do have a long trip home,” He smirks mischievously, the feeling of his fingertips sending shivers up your body. Although you did take a few heart warming seconds to melt when he reference his place to ‘home’. You were already a hormonal wreck from your period, the slightest touch from him was about to send your hornieness sky-rocketing. Right now, all you could think of was straddling his lap and riding him until either of you could take no more. But you refused to do anything whilst on your period, it just wasn’t something you were comfortable with. It was a blessing and a curse; the slightest touch or even look made took you to a new level of turn on but you were unable to accept any pleasure from the situation.

“Shaw,” You whined, grabbing his wrist as he tried to trace his fingers up your skirt.

“What’s up baby?” He questioned, still-in his hand at your movement. 

“I got my period,” You pout, turning your head as you hear him chuckle slightly.

“That's fine, we’ve had to wait how long anyway, a few extra days won’t hurt,” He would later live to regret that comment. The night was tortuous when you got home, sweet welcome back kisses turned into a heavy make-out session on his couch, tongues fighting with each other as he lowered himself against the fabric, you coming on to straddle his lap. It was agony, your core was burning, lust and desire pumping through your veins from every kiss. You found yourself mercilessly grinding against his growing bulge under his skin tight jeans, his hands guiding your movements as he thrusted up to you when you moaned into his mouth. He delivered to you every sense of pleasure he could as you dove your hips further and further against him, delivering a slow release to your unholy frustration. Almost ripping your shirt from your body, Shaw’s hands hastily remove the clothes from your top half, cupping your bouncing breasts, tugging at your nipples in a motion that almost made you cry out. He pulls you gently to lean down as your breasts rock freely in front of his mouth, leaning up to embellish them with his lips, sucking before releasing with a wet pop as he moves to the other. The touch of him, sending over stimulated senses through your body was enough to push you to the edge, your fingertips digging into his chest.

“I~I~I~... c-oming!” Was all you cry out, your head thrown back as your hands leaned back to grasp his thighs, riding yourself against him to a release, you clenching relentlessly over nothing. He kept his mouth against your breasts, helping to ride you down before pulling himself away. A few beads of sweat trailed over your brow as you leaned down on his chest with a slight pant. 

“Barely even touched you,” He smirked teasingly, “I hope you're ready to put that pretty mouth to work baby after that delightful teasing,”. He thrusted up so you feel his painful erection press against you. Sitting back up and leaning on his thighs, your hands so slowly snake their way to undo his belt and sipper. 

“How can I say no to you,” You giggle with a light wink.

---

Just a little over a week later, you lay in bed with Shaw pressed up cuddling you from behind, your eyes opening as the light rays began to poke through the curtains. You needed to get up without disturbing Shaw but every time you moved he let out a little ‘hmph’ in disapproval in his sleep. Your eyes scanned the bedroom floor until you saw ‘Bruce’, the plushie shark Shaw had won at a carnival (And yes he was named after Bruce in finding nemo), he had been lobbed onto the floor at some point in the night. That poor shark had seen some horrific sights between Shaw and you, poor baby, how he still had that sewn on gaping smile you’d never know. 

Shuffling yourself forward slowly, your hand just about grasped his and you pulled him on the bed. After some carefully planned manoeuvring, you were able to climb out of bed and swap your body for Bruce’s, watching as Shaw snuggled the plushie close to him. Everything about him melted your heart, you felt nothing but pure love for the young lilac haired man currently spooning a toy shark. Even though he never he said it, he loved you deeply back, he had done since the day he first saw you on the bus determined to make you his forever. 

Finally getting to wear the cladded set of underwear you brought from your trip, you had kept it a surprise, feeling fresh as a daisy and more than ready to actually get physical with Shaw (It had been the longest and most frustrating few days of your life, no amount of dry humping and blowjobs could relieve either one of your lusts). With a gentle cough as you stood at the end of the bed, Shaw murmured in his sleep before kissing the head of Bruce causing a fit of giggles from you.

“Hmm?” He sleepily asks, his eyes opening slowly before he jolted back, Bruce being launched into the air.

“You two make a cute couple,” You tease, watching the plushie crash back down on the bed as Shaw rested against the headrest admiring the view in-front of him. You crawl on to the bed and over him.

“Happy birthday Shaw,” You breathlessly whisper, straddling him and pressing gentle kisses to his lips.

“You are the best present I could ever wish for,” His lips coming up meet yours. 

Poor Bruce lay on the side of the bed watching for hours as Shaw and you ravished each other's bodies, unable to get enough of each other. That poor plushie had seen enough to make the kamasutra look tame. 

[hedgiwithapen]

Dammit Hedgi Day

It’s That Time Again

DAMMIT HEDGI DAY Nears! In the Midst of this Pandemic, time is fake but angst about fictiional characters sure isn’t! Until the 24th of september I’ll be taking prompts, and then on the 25th, the FIVE year anniversary of my first Dammit Hedgi (courtesy of Mosylu on Can’t Live in Dreams), I’ll post the whole mess for your enjoyment and tears/ What prompts am I accepting?   Many! My usual limitations are still in place– 100% of absolutely zero smut, I reserve the right to ignore shipping requests and just write gen, I will write about characters with my viewpoints.  Dammit hedgi is a Flash type thing, but I got super into Stargirl this summer so those are pretty likely to get filled, and of course the LoT and early Supergirl characters live in my heart (and pls do note i stopped watching supergirl at s2, LoT when Firestorm left, Flash at 2 episodes to go of S6, and young justice midway through s3 so that will be a limit there) but. we’ll see. y’all know me. feel free to send shit in, and I’ll either do it or I won’t? I’ll try, anyways. (are my dnd characters open for this? maybe! but less likely than Stargirl or Flash.) you can send me a couple characters and an angst prompt from a list like THIS one or this one or if there’s a whump post out there (there are so many whump blogs y’all, love em)…. I just need a dialog or narrative prompt of some kind and at least one character option. you can send me an episode and a character for me to do a reaction fic or introspection, like Jax at the end of White Knight or Real Jay at the start of Finish Line or the bus metas during s4, or Henry in the Brainwave two parter or Yolanda in Shining Knight’s opening scene. You can send me one of my aus and a canon scene, like Apastron!Kara meeting bizzaro supergirl, or that Au’s J’onn getting sold out to Cadmus by Lucy in Manhunt. I’m down for canon!  you can send me metakitties interfering with something in young justice or stargirl! I’m here for aus! you can ask for missing moments, or whatifs, or… I mean, we’ve had 4 of these now, you know the drill. (I can’t believe it four of these...) go for it.  I may not get to all of them. but I’ll write a lot because  what Else Am I Going To Do in these UGH Times? .current aus are hella open to be extra angsted upon, maybe I’ll write a scene from a current fic if you want! . any angst potential posts you’ve seen me make, canon angst that the writers ignore! prompt away! All aboard the pain train!! Ain’t no brakes!! HELL YEAH SMORES PARTY IN HELL!

[hungline]

pairing: vmonkook genre: fluff, smut, travel au, bookstore au, vampire au, rated xxx  warnings: explicit sexual content, oral sex, anal sex, multiple smut scenes, mild swearing, mentions of blood, referenced nightmare  a/n: as part of the #BSCproject held by @btssmutclub in collaboration with group4some. a HUGE thank you to @lovewyself for the beautiful banner and to group4some as a whole for hyping the hell out of this! please check the replies for the link to our collab masterlist and read my group members’ wonderful stories as well 💕💗 you’ll also be able to find the fic playlist linked in the replies as well! 🎶🎵  words: 5002 

summary: When Namjoon and Jeongguk decide to travel to Transylvania, they end up staying long past the summer for one supernatural being with an obsession for strawberries. 

+ tag list: @dimplemono @kirtikagarg @disrespectfulkookies @honeymoonjin @reeneryu ✨ 

When they step off the bus with their one piece of luggage and backpacks strapped to them, Jeongguk almost stumbles.

He wasn't expecting the wave of sinister heat that was lurking just outside the air-conditioned windows of the bus to strike him against the face so soon. He knows that in the summer, most places are high in regards to heat, but Namjoon had assured him that it would be tolerable here.

Either Namjoon was wrong, which Jeongguk very much doubts, or an unexpected heatwave struck this town.

Probably a heatwave since Namjoon looks confused about the heat as well. Oh, well. At least the town is pretty and their Airbnb has air conditioning.

Namjoon has an interview lined up at a nearby bookstore, so they pull their luggage between them and walk into town. Brașov has an old-time feel to it, from its swooping architecture and cobbled streets to its cheery air and lacking signs of technology around. Jeongguk doesn't understand much of the language spoken around them, but he's used to that by now.

They have spent the entire summer backpacking around the world. They stopped first in Japan and stayed there for two weeks before they moved on to China. Namjoon cut their stay there short, so they ended up in Europe only a week after that. London was pretty if you could get over the pollution and Paris was even better. But now they are on their last leg of their mini-tour around the world. Transylvania.

Namjoon is a Dracula fanatic and pouts whenever Jeongguk doesn't use Dracula's proper name, but Jeongguk isn't bothered enough to remember it, so. Dracula. Everyone knows who that is anyway.

They stop by the bookstore first. Namjoon follows one of the managers into the back of the shop while Jeongguk waits in the poetry section. The shop is filled to the brim with books; old, new, current, and historical. It isn't your typical Barnes & Nobles, but Jeongguk likes it. Namjoon would thrive here anyway.

Namjoon tends to thrive just about anywhere though.

Jeongguk kicks his feet against the plush red rug underneath his armchair and turns his gaze back towards the surrounding shelves. He can't read most of the titles, but a few are in English and he knows enough of that to understand them at least. In the five countries they visited, Jeongguk's limited knowledge of English came quite handy. Especially, in London.

They saved up as much money as they could which was actually quite plenty thanks to Namjoon's books selling off the shelves as soon as they were published, but Jeongguk insisted they take on jobs during their trip anyway. After all, he doesn't want to coast off Namjoon's money forever and he definitely doesn't want someone to mistake him as Namjoon's sugar baby instead of his long-term boyfriend.

He hums as he reaches out and picks up a tiny collection of poems, browsing through it quickly. Most of the pages have very short poems on them, sometimes with illustrations, but generally without. Jeongguk wonders why this kind of book is on the best-selling shelf and puts it back, staring down at his feet and keeping a steady hand on their suitcase.

There are a few customers walking around in the other shelves, but they don't stray towards the section he finds himself in and wonders if it's because they've read these books already or they find them as interesting as Jeongguk does, which is not at all.

Just as he's contemplating picking another random book off the shelf, Namjoon returns. A bright grin that shows off his dimples has Jeongguk smiling in return before his boyfriend has even uttered a word. He already knows it's good news.

Namjoon keeps a hold on their suitcase as they leave the shop, a skip in his step that wasn't there before. He starts humming a song that Jeongguk vaguely recognizes as Hoody's Sunshine and takes his boyfriend's hand as they continue to walk.

Soon enough, Namjoon is leading them into an apartment building where he spends a few moments talking to the owner before he comes back with a set of keys in hand. Namjoon hadn't blinked an eye at the cost of the apartment they would be staying in for the last month and a half of their vacation, but Jeongguk had later calculated the cost and almost had a heart attack. It was less than half a month's worth of the rent they pay back in Seoul and that was with the utilities they had to pay for on top of that as well.

The apartment is bigger than their own back at home with a washing machine in the kitchen that Jeongguk wants to get his hands on immediately. Namjoon pulls him away though and shows him the two bedrooms, repeating the fact that the manager wouldn't let them get a one-bedroom apartment if he revealed they were a couple. Jeongguk only shrugs, not caring too much since they are bound to end up in different rooms a few nights during their stay anyway.

Namjoon presses a kiss to his forehead then hefts their suitcase onto the bed and Jeongguk loses himself into dividing and organizing their clothes.

Bran Castle broods high up over its surrounding peaks and forests. Jeongguk has to tip his head back impossibly far before he's able to see the very top of the castle.

The bus ride to the castle had lasted far longer than it actually was and Jeongguk almost fell asleep plenty of times aboard. Namjoon had nudged and prodded him each time he began to nod off and Jeongguk world startle awake, leaning heavily onto Namjoon’s side so as to not disturb the other passengers. The dense forest they had driven past made Jeongguk itch to draw, but he had left his sketchbook back at their apartment so he left his head on Namjoon’s shoulder and watched the scenery pass by.

Now, they’re here and facing a mob of a crowd. Namjoon is vibrating with excitement beside him, a travel-sized dictionary held in one hand and one of his smaller backpacks clenched tight in the other. Jeongguk can admit that the castle is gorgeous, but that's mostly thanks to the scenery that he already had his fill of.

Either way, it'll be good to listen to his mother tongue for the next few hours. Namjoon signed them up for a Korean tour of the castle, which Jeongguk was surprised they had, but Namjoon's excited so he will behave.

Near the entrance is a booth. A crowd of people mingles about there, a mix of tour guides, janitors, and tourists. The clash of languages is harsh on Jeongguk's ears as they approach, but he heeds it no mind. Namjoon keeps shooting glances at him, a wide smile spread across his face as he tries to figure out if Jeongguk is actually enjoying himself or merely pretending for Namjoon's sake. But nothing much has happened as of yet, so he's pretending for now.

They get in line and once they reach the front, Namjoon pulls their tickets out of his special folder in his backpack and hands them to the woman behind the booth so she can scan them and wave them inside. Namjoon had printed their tickets out back when they were still in Seoul, vibrating with his excitement much the same way he was doing now. Jeongguk had agreed to the tour because it was the least he could do after Namjoon had insisted on paying for all of their plane tickets.

Once they have finished checking-in and sport new colorful bracelets, Jeongguk leans on Namjoon's shoulder and goes on tiptoe to look over the heads of the gathered crowd. He spots a handsome looking man holding up a sign in Korean that reads: BRAN CASTLE TOUR.

"Found it," Jeongguk says into Namjoon's ear as he drops back down to his regular height. "Follow me."

Namjoon grips onto the back of Jeongguk's shirt and trails after him as they push their way through the crowd. Jeongguk occasionally goes back on the tips of his toes to make sure they are going the right way then maneuvers them through the bodies pressed so closely together around them. It's not as hot today as it was yesterday when they arrived, but here in the thick of things, Jeongguk feels almost suffocated by the body heat.

He's relieved once they emerge from the crowd and find their tour guide. Until their tour guide smiles at them and Jeongguk's breath catches in his throat.

Holy shit.

The man's smile is rectangular in shape, but bright enough that Jeongguk's sure it could very well light up this entire castle at night. Namjoon freezes beside him in a similar fashion at the sight that greets them but he recovers much more quickly than Jeongguk.

"Hi! Are you the tour guide?" Namjoon asks while a hesitant smile of his own spreads across his lips.

"Yep! Hello. My name is Kim Taehyung and welcome to the Korean tour of Bran Castle," Taehyung greets them.

Jeongguk blinks, unsurprised by their tour guide's fluency. "Hello, Taehyung-ssi. Are we expecting anyone else?"

Taehyung shakes his head. "Not today! But yesterday, the tour was jam-packed full of people. I almost wish I wasn't the only one who speaks Korean here. It was difficult leading the tours by myself."

"How often does that usually happen?" Namjoon asks, instantly intrigued.

"Very often this summer actually! But it was rare to have a day like that the last couple of summers. Management is thinking of hiring someone else to help me out," Taehyung smiles at them. "But enough about that, let's start the tour!"

Jeongguk takes Namjoon's hand and follows after Taehyung, finding it hard not to stare at the tour guide's ass. It’s plump and round, which is only complimented by his jeans that are practically hugging his legs. Jeongguk laughs under his breath when he catches Namjoon blatantly staring though. The pervert. At least Jeongguk is making an effort not to look.

Namjoon frowns at him but doesn't stop staring at Taehyung's ass. Probably to spite him.

Once they've passed a few other tour groups and made their way into the courtyard, Taehyung stops and turns to face them. His smile is still as bright as ever and Jeongguk feels a strange stirring in his chest as Taehyung reveals a box of strawberries that he hadn't noticed before.

He feels hypnotized as he watches Taehyung raise a strawberry to his mouth and take a bite. A bit of the fruit's juice dribbles down his chin but is quickly wiped away by Taehyung's pink tongue. Namjoon shuffles beside him, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose in what Jeongguk knows is a nervous tic.

Seems like it isn't just Jeongguk who is very interested after all.

Taehyung finishes his strawberry in record time and smiles at them when he looks up to meet their gazes. Jeongguk can't fight the feeling that their tour guide did that on purpose, but he pushes it down and tries to give his most polite smile in return. Namjoon leans into his side and hides his face in Jeongguk's shoulder instead, the coward.

Jeongguk knows it isn't in his imagination when Taehyung smirks at that.

Namjoon looks up once Taehyung has resumed the tour, speaking of the queen whose artifacts are being showcased in the castle. How the castle is popular amongst Dracula fans, but that it is only ever spooky on Halloween when tourists are allowed to spend the night in the castle. Jeongguk does his best to nod along even though he doesn't actually care.

He lets Namjoon grip onto his arm and pinch him from time to time when something excites him, but Jeongguk can't help but think that they definitely could have been doing something a lot better than this.

Of course, that doesn't mean that watching the excitement and happiness on Namjoon's face (or watching Taehyung’s ass in those jeans) isn't worth his boredom though. Jeongguk would do just about anything for Namjoon and that includes walking through an old as shit castle listening to a hot as fuck tour guide talk about its history and architecture while torturing them with his strawberries and eating habits.

By the time the tour is over, Jeongguk is half hard in his pants. They thank Taehyung for the tour and Namjoon shoves a scrap of paper that has their numbers on it in Taehyung's hand before he forcibly drags them away to the bus stop.

Namjoon jumps him as soon as they have kicked off their shoes back at the apartment and Jeongguk responds happily. Namjoon is always so gentle with him, always keeping them face-to-face as he fucks into him. Sometimes his hands will frame Jeongguk's face as he murmurs praise into his skin, but this time Namjoon grips his hair and kisses him hard as he rides him. Jeongguk comes in Namjoon unexpectedly and feels utterly boneless after Namjoon has jerked himself off on Jeongguk’s stomach.

Namjoon is cleaning him up when he leans over and kisses Jeongguk tenderly, garnering his attention.

"Again?" Jeongguk asks, already beginning to turn over so Namjoon can have him this time.

"No, maybe later," Namjoon murmurs as he grabs his hips and turns Jeongguk on his back. "But we should talk about something before we get dressed though."

Jeongguk nods, tendrils of his hair sticking to his sweaty face. "Taehyung?"

Namjoon nods in return, an amused smile on his face. "You were hard by the time we got on the bus."

"You were too."

"We should sleep with him."

"Yeah, we should," Jeongguk sighs, closing his eyes as he relaxes into the pillows. "He has our numbers thanks to you."

Namjoon kisses him again, slower this time. "We just have to wait."

Jeongguk doesn't bother with a verbal reply. He's pretty sure that the kiss is enough of an answer for the both of them.

Jeongguk is visiting Namjoon in the bookstore when Taehyung texts them.

 unknown: is this namjoon and jeongguk?

jeongguk: yep! namjoon is working right now so he can't answer messages for another hour this is taehyung, right?

unknown: yes. i thought a group chat would be a better idea than individual texts

jeongguk: well you were right

taehyung: i'm glad (:

 Jeongguk looks up from his phone to shoot a cheeky grin at Namjoon. "Seduce Strawberry Man is a go."

Namjoon rolls his eyes. "I didn't agree to that name."

"Well, it's not like Wine-and-Dine Tae was any better!"

"So you say," Namjoon says with another roll of his eyes.

"Because I'm right!"

"Sure."

Jeongguk grabs the application Namjoon had been trying to convince him to take since he arrived and angrily starts to fill it out. "Just watch. I'm stealing your job to get back at you. This is Seokjin-level of petty right here, Joon."

Namjoon laughs and excuses himself as a customer comes up to him. Jeongguk doesn't understand most of what they're saying since the customer is most definitely a local, but Namjoon has always said that practice helps more than studying when it comes to languages.

And, well, Namjoon is always right.

Jeongguk continues to fill out the application, cringing at his mediocre writing in English. By the time he's done, Namjoon has returned and spares a quick glance at the paper before he goes behind the register and starts to rifle through things. Soon enough, he's holding up a few papers stapled together and hands it to Jeongguk with a triumphant look on his face.

It's his resume. Seems like Namjoon is always one step ahead of him after all. It's even been updated since they both worked in that coffee shop back in Paris. Jeongguk shakes his head fondly and staples his resume to the application. Namjoon takes it and drops it in a small in-and-out stand Jeongguk recognizes from countless office scenes in movies. Next to that is a box of new books Namjoon immediately starts to sort.

"I'll see you for dinner then?" Jeongguk asks.

Namjoon hums in response and Jeongguk smiles at him before he turns and leaves.

He has dinner to cook after all.

A few days after Jeongguk has gotten the job at the bookstore, Taehyung convinces Namjoon to apply for the new tour guide position up at the castle.

Jeongguk isn't surprised in the least when Namjoon does so immediately and hands in his twenty days at the bookshop right after. Once it's confirmed that Namjoon has gotten the tour guide job, Jeongguk and Taehyung take him out to celebrate. Jeongguk gets drunker than he can imagine and almost climbs onto Namjoon’s lap right there in the restaurant before a smirking Taehyung pulls him firmly back into his seat. He has to forcibly stop himself from leaning in and kissing Taehyung just to get rid of that irritating smirk on his face, but all in all, the night turns out to be pretty great.

Taehyung shows them his favorite haunts slowly after their first night out. His Romanian is perfect, much better than Namjoon's and leaves Jeongguk wondering just how long Taehyung has been living here. Namjoon quirks his eyebrows every time Taehyung easily switches between a variety of languages, all with the ease of someone who is fluent in them, but never verbally asks about it.

Well, not to Taehyung anyway. Jeongguk falls victim to his musings instead each time they return home after going out someplace new with the pretty tour guide.

"You know what's really weird though?" Namjoon asks when he comes to visit Jeongguk at the bookshop one morning.

Jeongguk looks up from the books he was registering on their system, a brow raised in silent question before he returns to the ancient computer.

"He never eats anything except those strawberries he carries around," Namjoon hums, fingers tapping against his chin as he leans on the counter. "I've never seen him eat anything else. He'll order food and stuff when we go out, but have you ever seen him actually chewing any of it?"

Jeongguk pauses then, shock overcoming his senses as he realizes that what Namjoon is saying is true. "Holy shit. You're right."

"Of course, I am," Namjoon replies with a frown, fingers moving through his hair now. "It's just really strange. Honestly, if I hadn't seen Taehyung in the sunlight multiple times, I would have thought he was some kind of vampire. You know, since they only feed on fruit and stuff."

"Maybe he's just following a new fad diet or something," Jeongguk theorizes. "You never know."

Namjoon's frown deepens. "I don't think that's it. Taehyung is very comfortable in his outward appearance. I can tell just by observing him at work. It's something else, I just don't know what."

Jeongguk turns back to the computer screen in front of him again. "Well, maybe we should leave it alone. It's not like it's any of our business."

"No," Namjoon agrees, before sighing, "but it could be. He's coming to our place for dinner again tomorrow. We should make our move soon, we only have two weeks before we go back to Seoul."

"Yeah, sure," Jeongguk says.

He ignores the yawning pit in his stomach that declares he doesn't want to leave Brașov just yet and leans in for the kiss Namjoon places on his cheek before leaving. Jeongguk watches him go, not knowing what he's going to do.

Jeongguk wakes up with his heart in shambles, breaths fighting to get past his lungs.

Namjoon lies beside him, curled into himself right on the edge of the bed. Jeongguk watches him, pressing a hand to his chest to calm himself. It works slowly, but Jeongguk is just glad that it works at all. He hopes it isn't one of those nights where it doesn't because those are the worst and they have a guest spending the night too. The relief he feels is tremendous once he has managed to calm himself down.

The clock on their bedside proclaims it as seven past three in the morning. Jeongguk sighs and gets out of bed, leaning down to kiss the back of Namjoon's head before he puts his slippers on and leaves the room.

Jeongguk slows down as he passes by the second bedroom, cocking an ear out in the hopes of hearing deep breaths. When silence is the only thing that greets him, however, Jeongguk frowns and makes his way down the hallway towards the kitchen.

There he finds what he was looking for.

"Oh, you're awake," Taehyung says in greeting.

Jeongguk nods as he gets a glass of water. "Yeah. I had a bad dream, so I decided to get some water and then try to get back to sleep."

Taehyung hums thoughtfully. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really," Jeongguk murmurs. "Thank you though."

Once the glass is full, Jeongguk turns and leans on the counter. He takes a sip from his glass before he finds himself chugging the whole thing down, surprised by his own thirst.

"Thirsty?" Taehyung asks.

Jeongguk meets his eyes over the glass, setting it down once it is empty. Taehyung's eyes are dark with want and amusement, something Jeongguk has found himself getting used to after spending two weeks in his company. A box of strawberries stands on the island, open and nearly empty, but Jeongguk isn't worried. He knows that Taehyung has another one in his bag, completely filled to the brim with bright, blood-red strawberries.

"Yeah," Jeongguk manages to rasp after a while.

Taehyung smiles, the want in his gaze slowly ebbing away until amusement is the only thing left. "Think you can sleep now?"

Jeongguk shrugs. Taehyung takes it as a yes.

"Come on," Taehyung urges as he stands, flipping the lid on his strawberries closed before he holds his hand out in Jeongguk's direction. "I'll sit in the rocking chair until you fall back asleep."

Jeongguk takes his hand, surprised by the heat he can feel coming off the older man in waves. He remembers Namjoon's words in the bookshop yesterday as they echo in his head, but he follows Taehyung back down the hallway and lays down in bed beside his boyfriend.

The rocking chair creaks quietly as Taehyung settles down in it. Jeongguk can see him over Namjoon’s messy hair, but he closes his eyes anyway and throws an arm over his boyfriend's chest. He can feel Taehyung's gaze on them, branding them as his somehow and Jeongguk swallows.

Of course, they want Taehyung. Jeongguk knows that the what he and Namjoon feel isn't just sexual, but something more too. It's just hard to convince Namjoon of that when he's focusing on how long they have left here instead.

Jeongguk settles himself into his boyfriend's side and falls asleep quickly, the rocking chair's creaking sounding like a lullaby.

Jeongguk wants to get his shirt off already, but Namjoon gives him a look to slow him down. He pouts, but obeys it, and continues to kiss Namjoon languidly.

Taehyung watches from the rocking chair, one hand on his thigh as the other digs around in his box of strawberries. Jeongguk wants to watch him watch them, but Namjoon's mere presence demands most of his attention. Kissing Namjoon requires tact and all of his focus, something he learned easily and quickly after they first started dating.

Namjoon hums in the back of his throat and Jeongguk groans against his mouth, handing over the reins to his boyfriend as he closes his eyes. Hands grip his waist and clamber up underneath his shirt, barely-there fingertips grazing the bumps of his spine. Jeongguk shivers, leaning into Namjoon's embrace as his boyfriend takes his time picking him apart.

"Are you sure you want me to be here?" Taehyung asks quietly, his voice not more than a murmur.

Jeongguk glares at him. "Yes. Get over here."

Taehyung laughs, standing up from the rocking chair and approaching them. Jeongguk shivers in anticipation as he closes in, his eyes fluttering shut when Namjoon grabs the ends of his shirt and swiftly pulls it over his head. A new set of hands take claim to his torso then, pressing down on his stomach before moving upwards and rolling one of his nipples between nimble fingers.

A moan makes its way past his lips and Jeongguk loses himself in the motions. He's the first one to get naked, but then Namjoon and Taehyung follow quickly after. Namjoon ends up being laid out like a feast on the bed and Jeongguk takes him in his mouth as Taehyung works him open.

Namjoon groans underneath them, throwing an arm over his eyes as Jeongguk takes him all the way down to the base at the same time Taehyung manages to get three fingers into him. Watching his boyfriend of many years writhe under their mercy is more intoxicating than Jeongguk ever imagined actually. He almost doesn't know what to do next.

Taehyung taps his shoulder and asks him for a condom, drawing his attention away and forcing him back on planet Earth. Jeongguk grabs one of the condoms they set aside on the bedside and opens it, rolling it down Taehyung's already leaking cock before he moves back to observe what comes next.

He has to stop a moan of his own from mingling with the ones Namjoon and Taehyung let loose when Taehyung buries himself in Namjoon slowly. Namjoon is tense at first then relaxes soon after, focusing on his breathing as Taehyung and Jeongguk watch him. Jeongguk kisses him once Taehyung has started moving, the sounds of skin slapping against skin almost too loud to bear.

Jeongguk looks up when Taehyung taps his cheek though, immediately caught off guard at his closeness. Taehyung grins, gripping Jeongguk's chin as he tilts his face up towards his and kisses him.

His lips are softer than flower petals, but he tastes weirdly of strawberries and blood. Jeongguk feels his insides melt and turns towards Namjoon, starry-eyed after Taehyung has pulled away. "You were right."

"About what?" Namjoon gasps, raising the arm over his eyes so he can chance a glance at Jeongguk.

"He is a vampire," Jeongguk breathes, smiling when Taehyung pauses behind him.

Namjoon only smiles. "I told you."

Taehyung interrupts then, a frown marring his beautiful features. "Wait, you knew?"

"Of course. You're not really subtle," Namjoon tells him, gasping again as Taehyung leans over him while hitching his legs up over his waist. "You only eat strawberries."

Jeongguk watches the two older men stare at one another, not knowing if he should say something or stay quiet. Taehyung makes the decision for him though.

"Ah, so then you also know that I'm Dracula then?"

Namjoon sputters. "What?"

"Nevermind. We can talk about it later."

"You almost came just now, didn't you?" Jeongguk asks with a sly smile on his face.

Namjoon flushes. "Shut up."

Jeongguk smiles over his shoulder at Taehyung. "You don't know how many times I've dressed up as a vampire just to make him squirm during sex."

"Well, no need now. A real vampire is fucking your boyfriend. How does that make you feel?" Taehyung says, his eyes flashing before he starts to build up a rhythm again.

"Turned on," Jeongguk answers honestly.

Taehyung smirks, leaning down so he can press his nose into the hollow of Namjoon's throat, inhaling deeply. "Good. Because after I make our little vampire fucker here come, I'm fucking you, Jeongguk-ah."

Jeongguk shivers, not knowing at all what to do with himself. "Please."

His only answer is another smile before Taehyung lifts himself up and fucks Namjoon with vigor, looking from Jeongguk to Namjoon's cock. Jeongguk understands almost immediately and lays down sideways on the bed, taking Namjoon into his mouth again. Namjoon hisses loudly somewhere above him, but Jeongguk ignores it, focusing instead on getting his boyfriend to come.

It doesn't actually take a lot to get Namjoon to reach his orgasm after that. Namjoon is, of course, fulfilling his biggest fantasy after all.

Fucking Dracula himself.

Namjoon is never allowed to make fun of Jeongguk for his fantasies after this now, the vampire fucker.

It is embarrassing just how quickly Taehyung makes him come afterward. Jeongguk refuses to believe his endurance has really fallen that low to come apart after just a few minutes of getting fucked by the best cock he has ever had in his life.

Nope. Just not believable. At all.

After it is all said and done, Jeongguk lays himself on top of Namjoon and throws an arm over Taehyung beside them.

Namjoon is tapping away at his phone, a look of the most utmost concentration morphing his features. Jeongguk lazily glances at the screen before blinking himself into awareness.

"Are you canceling our plane back to Seoul?"

"Yep," Namjoon says without missing a beat. "You don't sound surprised though."

Jeongguk laughs in delight at the news and kisses Namjoon firmly on the mouth. He turns to Taehyung right after and kisses him hard, relishing in the taste of strawberries on his tongue. There's no trace of the blood he tasted earlier but Jeongguk decides to ask about that another time.

Because now they have time.

“You know as well as I do that we were gonna stay the second we laid eyes on Taehyung,” Jeongguk murmurs into Namjoon’s skin as he leans back into him once he remembers to answer the question Namjoon asked just moments before.

Namjoon rolls his eyes and runs a hand through Taehyung’s mussed hair. “Yeah. I guess I did.”

Jeongguk hums happily, leaning down to kiss his kiss lovers again. He lets the warm feeling in his heart tingle in his fingertips as he traces lines down their naked bodies and enjoys the blissfulness of this moment.

He’ll never have anything greater than these two, that Jeongguk is more than sure of.

[ghostofviperwrites]

The Ungovernable Ones - Chapter 7 - The Wild Card

Featuring: Los Ingobernables de Japon

Category:  Smut

Warnings for the series:  explicit language, explicit sexual content, dubious consensual encounters, manipulation

No amount of makeup could cover the bruises around your throat.  Remnants of Bushi’s punishment.   You had spent hours before your mirror trying every combination of concealer that you could think of, but they were still visible.  A calling card of what had happened to you.   It was quite obvious they were choking marks, there was no denying what they were.   So you couldn’t even make up an excuse.   Couple that with the fact that your throat was raw and swollen and you were not in the best of moods.  

“I see you made up with Bushi,” Naito commented with a smirk the second you walked through the locker room door and he saw your neck.  You shot him a withering glare and placed your things down on the table, studiously ignoring the LIJ leader as he continued making raw comments, finding himself hilarious.  

You on the other hand were tempted to throw your cup of coffee at him.   However you were already in enough trouble with these guys so you weren’t going to press your luck.  Instead you buried your head in your work and ignored him and his incessant questions as to whether you had fucked Bushi or just let him choke you.  You knew you should have worn a scarf.  If it wasn’t unseasonably warm you would have, but the last thing you wanted was to draw more attention to yourself.  

When the others returned you braced yourself for more harassment and you weren’t disappointed as Evil immediately noticed the marks and made it his business to thoroughly examine your neck, giving it a tight squeeze in his own hand, making you wince but sending a thrill of desire through you.  Angrily you yanked yourself free from his grip and scooted away from him. The last thing you needed was to lust after that buffoon again.  Of course when he was asked Bushi didn’t hesitate to fill Naito in on everything he had done to you with explicit details.  

Only Hiromu didn’t take part in their conversation, hanging back by himself, sitting on the edge of the counter, his feet dangling.   You couldn’t help but look at him, his demeanor such a contrast to his usual frenetic energy.   Catching you looking he gave you a small smile before hopping off the counter and exiting the locker room.   You stared at the door long after his departure, finding yourself worried about the adorably quirky man.   Shaking your head you returned your attention to your computer screen, answering emails and working on scheduling some interviews for the guys.  

You were startled from your focus when a notebook landed next to your keyboard with a loud thwack and your head jerked up to see Sanada staring down at you.  

“Can I help you?” You asked wondering what he wanted.   He leaned down close to you, and you couldn’t help reacting to him, his scent washing over you as his arm brushed across yours his long finger pointing at the post it note on the cover of the notebook before he withdrew and walked away.   Pushing back your mounting frustration with the irritating man you couldn’t help the bark of laughter that escaped you as you read the note.  

“Seriously?” You turned to the silent one.  “You are actually going to do an interview?  By yourself?”   You couldn’t believe that Sanada had agreed to do a one-on-one interview for New Japan. You couldn’t imagine how he was going to fill an entire interview when he barely spoke.   Shockingly he didn’t bother to reply, simply turning his back on you and resuming his murmured conversation with Evil.   Grabbing the post it and your phone you left the locker room to get his interview scheduled.   It was much too loud in there to have a business call.  Besides, you wanted to see if you could find Hiromu. The way he had left wasn’t sitting right with you.

Once you had scheduled Sanada’s interview you began your search through the halls.  You were about to give up when a pair of familiar red fur lined pants caught your attention.   You frowned seeing Hiromu with his head against the wall, staring up at the ceiling.   Unable to resist you approached him sliding down the opposite wall and sitting quietly until he acknowledged you.  

“You okay Hiromu?” You asked softly.  You weren’t used to this subdued version of Hiromu. He was always so energetic and loud. It was rather unnerving.  

“Why wouldn’t I be okay?” He asked tilting his head quizzically as he looked at you for all the world as if he had no clue why you would be asking such a question.  

“You’re just…You’re usually not this quiet.  I was worried something was wrong.”  You explained.  

“And you care?”  He scoffed catching you off guard with the sudden hostility.   Hiromu wasn’t usually outright mean to you.  He seemed to leave that to his brothers.  

“Of course I care.” You defended yourself.  “I care about all of you. Despite our issues I still work closely with you.  It would be odd if I didn’t have some affection for the five of you.”  

“I’ve heard all about the affection you have for us.”  Hiromu smirked pushing himself to his feet.   You followed suit with a sigh.  Of course he would know.  You were sure by now all of them knew about you and Evil and your little adventure with Bushi.    “I’m fine Y/N.”  He said as he walked away. “No need to worry your pretty little head about me.”  

Strangely enough his words didn’t reassure you.  You were convinced something was wrong with the charismatic man.   You watched his departure, paying close attention to his walk noting the lack of his usual lackadaisical arm swings and meandering that were just a part of who Hiromu was.   Something was bothering him and you were determined to figure out what it was.  

“This is just too easy.” Hiromu announced as he returned to the locker room.  

“Did she really chase you down?”  Sanada asked.  

“Yes she did.   She was so very upset that I was sad.” Hiromu said mockingly.  “I’m beginning to wonder why she was so worried about us molesting her.  It seems we should be concerned about her.  She can’t seem to keep her hands off us.”   The rest of the group laughed, heads nodding in agreement to this proclamation.   Hiromu dropped his smile as the locker room door opened behind him and slid onto the chair next to Naito as you re-entered their sanctuary.    They group congregated around them starting to plan their ten man tag match scheduled for that evening against Chaos.   Hiromu sat back in his chair, offering quiet words of input periodically keenly aware of you studying him.  

You watched his every movement, trying to pinpoint what was wrong with him.   It could be nothing you tried to reason with yourself.  Maybe he didn’t sleep well last night.   Maybe he was coming down with a cold and didn’t feel good.  It could be any number of things.  Many of which didn’t mean anything was wrong.  And he was entitled to an off day now and then wasn’t he?  Still, you didn’t like it.  You were so used to the loud chaos that accompanied Hiromu everywhere he went that you were unsettled by this low key version of him.  

While the guys were in their match you set about packing up the locker room.   You had a tight travel schedule to make it to the next town and the group had to be on their bus as soon as the match was over.  They would have to sleep on the bus and maybe get an hour or two at the hotel before they had to be available for press and their show.   It was one of the worst parts of the job, the endless travel and days like today were the toughest when there wasn’t any down time.   The last thing the guys wanted to do was pile onto a bus immediately after a match so you were sure to bear the brunt of their grouchiness.  

You were double-checking the bus to make sure every single one of their bags was packed when the guys came drifting out.   You could already tell Sanada and Evil were not in the best of moods as they trudged onto the bus.  Naito looked like he was already asleep on his feet so you hoped that meant he wasn’t going to be a problem.   Bushi seemed like the only one in a decent mood, whistling as he hopped onto the bus and removing his mask the second he was inside.   Hiromu was the last to come out a small smile on his lips as he climbed aboard.   Locking the luggage bins you joined them on the bus making yourself comfortable in a little corner near the front of the bus.  

Looking around you saw Naito was nowhere to be found and seeing a shut bunk door you figured your assumption was correct that he was going straight to sleep.   Hiromu was laying across a bench seat, Daryl perched on his chest, his fingers dancing lightly across the stuffed cat’s back as he lay there with his eyes closed.   Evil and Sanada were in the back corner heads close together in a whispered conversation that you were sure didn’t bode well for you as their eyes occasionally darted in your direction.   The last thing you wanted to deal with tonight was those two assholes.  

“You look bored Y/N.   Want me to choke you some more?” You cringed as Bushi’s voice filled the chambers and you slowly turned on your chair to glare at the man seated at the table a few feet behind you.   You were acutely aware you were now the center of attention.  Even Hiromu had cracked open an eye and was looking at you with interest.  

“You shoulda told me you were into choking.”  Evil chimed in.  “I would’ve been happy to wrap my hands around your throat.”   Your gaze darted between the two men wondering what exactly you were supposed to say in this situation.  

“That could be an entertaining way to pass this ride.” Bushi said with a smile.  “I could fuck you from behind with my shirt wrapped around your neck and Evil could wrap his hands around your throat while he fucks your face.”  

Humiliated you grabbed your stuff and rushed to the back and into one of the empty bunks sliding the door shut behind you as their derisive laughter chased after you.   Tears fell down your cheeks as you laid back on the bunk.   You were so close to just walking off this job.  You had made a mistake with Evil.   Compounded the situation with Bushi.  Now they all seemed to think you were fair game.  And you really couldn’t blame them. You were giving them crazy mixed signals.   They weren’t going to lay off either.  It wasn’t in their nature to let anything go.   Any protection your father offered you had gone out the door the second you had fucked Evil.  Hearing a soft knock on your door you debated responding.  But you figured there was only one person on this bus civilized enough to knock so you softly told him to come in.   Hiromu entered with a solemn expression gently closing the door behind him.   His lips pursed and he held Daryl out to you silently.  With a smile you took the offering cuddling the soft kitty to your chest and rolling on your side to make room for Hiromu to sit on the side of the bed.  

“You okay?”  He asked making sure to keep a respectful distance.

“Not really.” You sniffled.  “I don’t know why they hate me. Maybe I should just quit.”  

“You’re not going to quit.”  Hiromu said already shaking his head.  “And they don’t hate you.”  

You scoffed loudly in disagreement making Hiromu smile.  

“Okay, Sanada probably hates you.  But Evil and Bushi don’t.  And neither does Naito.”  He reassured her.  “They just don’t know how to be anything but jerks. Please don’t take it personally.”  

“How am I not supposed to take it personally Hiromu?”  You asked.  “All I’ve done is step into one trap after another and I’m getting tired of it.”   Tears fell from your eyes again and you choked back the sob that was trying to tear its way out of your already raw throat.  A very physical reminder of everything Bushi had done to you.  

“Can I hug you?” Hiromu asked.  “I don’t like seeing you upset.”  You cried, nodding your head shakily and sinking into the warmth of his arms as he laid down next to you.  Your head rested on his chest, listening to the thudding of his heartbeat as he rubbed soothing circles and murmured words of comfort as you laid your soul bare to him, crying out all your worries and concerns as he encouraged you. For the first time in a long while you felt safe and secure.  As if everything was going to turn out just fine.