#and got rewritten several times

[slothquisitor]

Some Credit in Trying

New relationships are hard to navigate. Also, let's have a new first kiss *after* Moonrise. Astarion x Liv, 3.5k, fluff-adjacent?

Also on AO3.

As Moonrise Towers recedes behind them, a curse lifted and a direction found, Astarion breathes in the lighter air. There’s a hint of sea breeze, a promise of sunshine and warmth ahead of them. Nothing has gone the way he thought it would at Moonrise. They know now what the Absolute is, and who is behind this entire plot. An elder brain, The Chosen of the Dead Three. It’s like something out of the adventure stories he loves so much. It’s….a lot. He believed they were out of their depth before with all of this, but now, he knows how laughable and naive they’d been. There are gods at work. And they’re what? Supposed to steal these netherstones and save the day? It’s probably hopeless, but he feels far from it. Perhaps it’s the high of the victory at Moonrise, at the way they’d faced down Myrkul and Ketheric and won, but Cazador can’t be that far out of his reach. 

He knows what the scars on his back mean now, knows all about Cazador’s little plan. He could not only snatch this ritual away from Cazador, but he could take the power for himself. How delicious would it be to not only stop the man who ruined his life, but also to take this ritual that means so much to him for himself? If he’s successful, he’ll never be at the mercy of anyone ever again. He’ll be able to walk in the sun and be the master of his own fate once they get rid of the tadpole. He will be free, and he will never have to be afraid again. 

 Liv wants to stop Cazador too, but there’s some hesitation whenever he mentions completing the rite himself. Nothing good can come from devils, she says. Can he really just sacrifice his siblings so callously, she asks. He’s sure that she’ll come around, sure that he’ll convince her to see the reason in this. An elder brain and Bhaal and Bane’s chosen will be nothing when he is the one who ascends. It’ll all but guarantee their victory. 

It’s so close he can almost taste it. 

With Baldur’s Gate just one sleep away, their growing group has set up camp in a crumbling ruin on the hillside. The city spreads out in the distance like a promise, the soft glowing lights twinkle like fireflies. After endless weeks in the wilderness, the Underdark, and the Shadowlands, the city feels like light and life and… home. It surprises him how sentimental he feels about the place, now that he’s seeing it again in freedom. He’s not the only one. 

Wyll and Karlach are trading stories by the fire, reminiscing about places they love and hope to see again. Shadowheart sits near them, maybe she’s hoping something will click a forgotten memory into place. Astarion is content to drink with them, offering his own critiques or insights into if a tavern or restaurant still exists or has changed management in the years Wyll and Karlach have been away. 

Eventually, Karlach glances around before leaning over to him. “Hey, where’s Liv gotten to?”

“Why are you asking me? I’m sure she’s around,” he lifts a hand to encompass their little camp, but he knows it’s the wrong response as soon as the words leave his lips. 

Karlach frowns. “She slipped away after dinner and hasn’t come back. I’ll go look for her if you won’t.” Karlach’s golden eyes are awash with disapproval, and guilt settles into his stomach. Her extended absence in the evening isn’t her usual way, and he should’ve noticed. But he didn’t. 

“I will of course go and see what she’s gotten up to,” he says, a note of apology entering his voice. The truth is that he’d noticed she wasn’t here, but simply hadn’t thought that much about it.  But now that he looks around the camp, he sees no sign of her. 

“You do that,” Karlach says. Her words are delivered with careful control, a hint of admonishment lacing them. 

He’s not very good at this…whatever he and Liv are to each other business, and it’s clear Karlach has seen that. It’s not that he wouldn’t have preferred to be spending time with Liv this evening over anyone else, but he…simply hadn’t thought about finding her. And of course, Karlach would ask if he knew where she was. They’d scarcely been out of each other’s sight, and he’d taken every opportunity to be as close to her as he could at every opportunity. Their…attachment is no secret. 

While their companions aren’t privy to the specific details about what is or rather what isn’t currently happening within whatever they are to each other…he’s still sure that they look at the two of them and know what he knows: that he’s invariably getting the better deal out of it. He’s not sure what he has to offer anyone beyond complications and baggage. His feelings for Liv are genuine, but somehow he still feels like he’s taking advantage of her kindness. 

Perhaps he should’ve let Karlach go; she’s probably better company this evening anyway. But he does go, setting off on his own exploration of the ruin, hoping to find wherever Liv has absconded. 

It takes some doing, but eventually, he finds her at the top of the highest point of the ruin. She’s sitting up against the parapet, facing the city that’s visible from her vantage point only because the opposite wall has crumbled away. She glances up at him as he approaches, and looks relieved, perhaps. He takes it as an invitation. 

“It’s quite the spectacular view,” he says, sitting down beside her. They’re not quite touching, but the proximity is nice on its own. “Is everything alright?”

She looks back at the city and sighs. It’s a heavy thing, and he realizes that of their group, she’s the only one (aside from Halsin) who hasn’t seemed excited about getting to the city. 

She shrugs. “Sure. Just thinking about what we’re going to find when we get to the city is all.”

“So you were brooding,” he says the words with a hint of tease, knocking her shoulder with his own, hoping for a smile or a laugh or something. 

“I wasn’t brooding,” she says, shooting him a long-suffering look that is a confirmation all its own. 

“Sulking, ruminating, or worrying then? I could go all night with the synonyms.” Liv is always steady, always so unflappable. Seeing her like this makes him worried. He used to think it would be entertaining to see her break, to fall apart spectacularly. Now, he wants to be the person who helps keep her together. 

“Oh, I know.” She finally huffs a little laugh. “Maybe a little bit of worrying.” 

He leans in closer and takes her hand in his in a gesture that has lost none of its novelty for the familiarity. Her fingers lace with his, warm and steady and sure. He loves this. “Tell me what you were worrying about, my dear.” 

She shakes her head. “Nothing that matters. Truly.” She squeezes their joined hands, as if in reassurance, but he knows her too well to believe her. She’s not lying, not in the sense that she’s trying to be dishonest, but she is so very good at minimizing her own problems, worries, and concerns. Before Moonrise, he might have let her have the deflection, might not have pressed, but that’s not what this is anymore. 

“It matters to me,” he says. “Talk to me.”

If thinking of himself too much is his failing, then this is hers: she never thinks enough of herself. Her world-ending tadpole problem is nothing in the face of other’s suffering. She wants to save everyone, always. Even him. He wonders sometimes if she’s ever tried to save herself if she could be that selfish for anything. 

She is quiet before finally glaring out at the city as if it’s just another enemy to stand against. “It’s just my family…I don’t want to see them, and I’m afraid it’s inevitable.”

She never talks about her family. Oh, he’s pieced together a few things. He knows she has siblings, all older, but he doesn’t know their names, or what they’re like. But the fact she doesn’t want to see them is enough for him. Liv is kind and doesn’t say no enough. But if she’s decided she doesn’t want them in her life, well that’s all he needs to know. He doesn’t speak, just squeezes her hand lightly in encouragement, so she knows she can go on. 

“I don’t know how to talk about them. With you,” she admits, glancing at him before looking away again. “I don’t know how to talk about them with anyone. But especially you because…you’ve experienced far worse, and I don’t know. I don’t know how to tell you without minimizing your pain.”

He doesn’t know what to say. He’s sure he’s not given the impression that he is an especially empathetic person. And it’s true, he doesn’t have a lot of practice giving a shit about other people’s problems. When he first stumbled off of the nautiloid, he wasn’t interested in solving anyone else’s problems but his own. Two centuries of captivity and he was finally free for who knew how long, and he didn’t want to waste this chance, this opportunity. He was desperate for it to mean something. The urgency has faded somewhat. They’re protected, and they’re not going to turn into mind flayers any second. And well, he knows his companions now…it’s different. Sort of. He’s finding himself moved more often these days. It’s annoying, and probably Liv’s influence. But…he cares about her problems. Always has, even when he wouldn’t allow himself to ask about them. He has no such internal rules now. 

“I’m not used to being trusted with the burdens of others, but you so happily share mine. I want to do the same for you.” For so long, his life had been only about survival from moment to moment, there was no room for anyone or anything else. He keeps clawing space, trying to reclaim something more for himself, for her, for them. It’s not perfect, but she has given him precious, impossible moments of comfort. He only wants to be able to do the same for her. He’s just not sure how.

“I’m afraid of going back to Baldur’s Gate, afraid of seeing my family again because the only time I’ve ever felt like my own person was out here. I’ve never been looked at as anything or anyone that mattered much at all, but then I met all of you…and everyone just…trusted me, followed me.” Her words are stilted, like she’s still unsure about voicing any of this aloud. 

“It felt good. Better than good. It felt like proving my family wrong,” she explains. 

“Wrong about what?” he asks, but he’s sure he already knows the answer, or part of it anyway. 

“Magical aptitude was all my parents cared about. I was reminded, often, that I would never amount to anything, and that I would certainly never measure up to my siblings. Failure to meet expectations was not treated kindly. My parents are quite adept, and would use their magic to…motivate us.” 

He recognizes the careful tone, the way she says motivate like it’s a repetition of someone else’s lexicon, a word with its own painful universe contained within. He has many of those himself. He stays silent. 

“They also encouraged my siblings to use their magic on each other. That’s…that’s how my sister Brelia died. She was fighting with Cressida and Percy and…my parents made sure it was ruled an accident. We were forbidden from saying anything. Not that Percy or Cressida wanted the truth out there anyway.

“Roland and I just stood there at Brelia’s graveside letting people tell us how fucking sorry they were and we couldn’t say anything about it. We couldn’t tell a single person the truth. Not with Percy and Cressida and our parents standing by, watching us the whole time.”

Her shoulders slump inward, and Astarion doesn’t know what to say. He can tell that this is important, and he wishes he was better at this. At knowing the right things to say. This is real; he doesn’t want to mess it up. 

In the silence, she continues, “After Brelia died, I thought Roland would stay. Thought he’d stick around with me to try to find a way to fight back to get…justice? But he left me, went off to Candlekeep, barely even returned my letters. But I stayed…I stayed too long. I don’t know why or what I thought I was accomplishing spending every day letting them treat me like shit. And I woke up one morning about six months ago, and I…I just left.”

“They let you leave?”

She sad smile spreads across her lips. “I thought that maybe they’d come looking. I think part of me wanted them to, if only because it would prove…they cared or something. But they didn’t. I could have left at any time, and it wouldn’t have mattered. Wouldn’t have made a bit of difference. They didn’t care.” She looks at him, unshed tears gathering in her eyes. 

He feels so far out of his depth. He understands now why Liv apologizes so fucking often, the words ‘I’m sorry’ are the only ones coming to mind, but they don’t feel like the wrong ones. “I’m sorry. They didn’t deserve you.”

“I’m sure they’d disagree.” She wipes at her eyes with her free hand. “I like who I am here, with all of you. I don’t want to go back to Baldur’s Gate and be reminded of them or their impossible expectations. And I’m sure that if they’ve thought there’s anything to gain in allying with Gortash, they’d do it.”

“You think they’re tangled in all this.”

She nods. “I wouldn’t be surprised. They’re very powerful and very good at following whatever way the wind seems to be blowing. They get into things just deep enough to profit. If they thought Gortash could gain them anything, I guarantee they struck some sort of a deal. We have enough problems, and I don’t want my family to be another.”

“I’d be very happy to kill them,” he says. He means it too. 

With what has to be the first genuine smile he’s seen tonight, she shakes her head. “You know, not every situation should be solved with murder.”

“I don’t know, our track record of the last few weeks might suggest otherwise. Would you like the examples chronologically or alphabetically?” 

She rolls her eyes. “I appreciate the offer, but I think I’d rather just leave them alone.”

He cannot fathom this. They hurt her, and she what, wants them to just go on being awful? Where is the justice in that? “To go on hurting people? To let them get away with covering up a murder? What about justice? Don’t you think they should pay? Don’t you think you deserve better?” 

“People rarely get what they deserve, you don’t have to look very far even in our camp to see that,” she says. 

She’s right, of course. Karlach didn’t deserve to be betrayed and handed over to Zariel, and Gale didn’t deserve his goddess telling him to die. And Wyll didn’t deserve to have to sell his soul to save Baldur’s Gate. Shadowheart didn’t deserve to lose her memories or be manipulated by Shar, and Lae’zel didn’t deserve to be cast out from her people for questioning her queen. Liv certainly didn’t deserve her upbringing, didn’t deserve parents who cared more about what she could do than who she was. Most days, he’s not sure what he deserves, but after two centuries of shit, pure shit, he thinks he deserves something better too.

“I can’t make them sorry. I can’t make them care that they hurt me. All I can do is learn how to live my life without being ruled by it.” Where is the fairness in that? Astarion doesn’t want to take any sort of high road out of this.

“I suppose that’s what you want me to do, too, isn’t it? Just forgive Cazador and move on with my life being good and kind for the rest of my days?” He knows that his words are unkind, unfair even. He cannot be good like her; is not sure he wants to be. “That…was unfair…”

There is a hard edge to her gaze when she looks at him, her words quiet. “No. It’s alright. Cazador needs to die.” 

He agrees of course, but it is gratifying to hear it come from her. “Good. I’m glad we’re on the same page about that.”

“We’ll make sure that he can’t ever hurt anyone ever again. You have my word,” Liv says. He doesn’t like promises; they’re too easily broken, but with her, it’s different. But even as she promises this, he realizes that he’s somehow taken this moment, and twisted it to be about him. He doesn’t want that because wants her to feel heard too. 

“For what it is worth, I think you’re rather wonderful, and that has nothing to do with your magic. You’re patient, and you’re kind. You always listen, and your first reaction to any situation is to look for a way to help.” 

Her eyes narrow, but her tone isn’t accusing. “I thought you hated that I always wanted to help.”

“Because no one ever helped me. People don’t help, but you aren’t people. You’re you. And I am grateful that I met you.”

“I’m grateful to have met you too.” She’s smiling now, and he thinks that maybe he might not be completely terrible at this. “Could I…could I kiss you?” 

It’s his turn to smile. He did do something right after all. She always asks for consent before touching him. It’s not a concession he ever believed he needed, would have never asked for, but he loves it. There’s a thrill in being asked what he wants, and a safety in knowing he can always say no. “There is nothing I’d like more.”

Since Moonrise, their relationship has been deliberately careful. It has been a profound relief to discover that Liv is fine simply holding his hand or hugging him goodnight and that neither of them has felt the need to ask for more. He’s wanted to kiss her, of course he has, but if he’s being honest, he’s been waiting for her to ask. He’s not sure he trusts himself to know what the normal progression of a relationship should look like anyway. But he trusts her, trusts that she’s not going to push him into anything he’s not ready for. She’s always been careful with them both, even when he wasn’t. 

She cups his cheek, as she slowly leans in, eyes never leaving his. There’s a careful watchfulness in this, and he realizes that she’s looking for any sign of hesitation on his part. The slowness is deliberate, giving him an out if he needs it. Something in his chest clenches at the care, the consideration. But he’s never been a particularly patient person, and so he leans into her, enthusiastically closing the rest of the distance.

This kiss is soft, unhurried, a kiss just for the sake of a kiss. Liv keeps their fingers laced tight between them, anchoring him to this moment. He is not sure if he can ever match her gentleness. He is used to reading his partners, meeting them where they are, matching their urgency, their insistence, and ardor - forever aware of the half-life of those couplings. He worries that not only was he not made for sweetness, but that he is not capable of it. That he will always reach for her with sharpness, in a way that cuts and wounds. 

But she is not afraid, so perhaps, he shouldn’t be either. 

The kiss is over all too soon. Their eyes meet as she pulls away, and he wonders if this is a first kiss they might have shared, in another life, another time, another set of circumstances where their hearts were less broken. 

“Mmm,” he sighs. And because she needs to hear it, and he needs to say the words aloud, he tells her, “I did rather like that, you know.” He hopes that’s a reassurance given, a permission granted for more moments like this. 

And because she makes him feel brave, he releases her hand to instead drape his arm around her, pulling her closer to him. She burrows into his side, slotting into the space perfectly, and they sit together and watch the city glittering in the distance, a place that holds so much hurt and pain and potential for them both. They’ll face it together, of that much he is sure.

There is much to learn, and to unlearn, but he knows that he wants nothing more than the time to try. 

Thanks for reading!

[weaponizedmoth]

Been meaning to do another one of these for a second, but didn't have any cool outfit pics--until I remembered these blurry pics I had from 2021 that I could never do much with. Libbyframe is the inspo for these as usual,✨️

[scribbling-dragon]

Damn, why Scott got to tell the tales on riddles and shit like, mate my head hurts just trying to decrypted you're statement word by word...

it hurt my brain slightly to write some of the things, making sure the kind of made sense, but were also quite cryptic lol

[miguelhugger2099]

HIII tehehe

so imagine this, miggy and wifey reader coming home from a date and reader is just giggling as she remembers him being kind to all the kids who came up to him wanting to play with him. and reader is just like 'what if i just gave him one instead'

miggy notices his wifey reader giggling to himself, mini fluff moment happens. then reader exposes herself and then

~smut~

Baby Maker

long overdue and was very much in the accidentally deleted category like everything in this ask was written it just needed an ending before POOF gone. so, a thousand apologies i could not say sorry enough nonie. i tried to write down everything i remembered so i could get it out as soon as possible. as always, if you're not satisfied, this ask can be rewritten for a third time Art: feminine.999 on instagram

After a long and tiring winter, Miguel was eager to take you out for a picnic date in the warm sun again. It was always a sweet reminder of your time as young lovers and just having the simplicity of being in each others presence along with some food. So whenever the time was right and the temperature was warm enough, Miguel would plan and whisk you away to the park at the same hill you two have decided would be your spot. "Miguel just hand me something." You smile at him and stick your hands out, the picnic blanket hanging lightly on your forearm. Miguel carries both the cooler and basket as well as your purse on his shoulder. He had only asked you to fold the blanket but you wanted to help so you held onto it instead while he insisted he had everything else. "Ah-ah." He says, shaking his head. "Tengo todo, mama. I'm okay." Obviously, he was. He could carry several more things if he wanted to but you felt really bad watching him. "Give me the keys then. I'll drive." You cross your arms. In truth, he didn't want you to drive- he's a little traditional when it comes to handling things on his own while you rested freely from responsibilities. But, he sighed and instead of protesting, he nodded. "Keys are in my back pocket." He pouts dejectedly. You found it cute and rolled your eyes. You reached around him to grab the keys from his pocket, giving a teasing squeeze to his ass which he jumped at. "Oye." He says with a playful warning tone, squinting his eyes down at you. There's a hint of a smile on his lips, as well as a spark in his eyes. "C'mon." You shrug and skip in front of him, pretending to be innocent. At the car, Miguel was finishing up putting everything in the trunk, massaging the palms of his hands to ease the strain of holding onto the handles of the cooler and basket. You place the blanket over everything, feeling Miguel kiss your temple and his hand sneaking around your waist. "Good?" You ask him, looking up and cupping his cheeks. Miguel leans into you, his hands on your hips to keep him steady. "Mhm." He hums as he looks back down at you. Miguel kisses your forehead then each of your cheeks before finishing it off with a long smooch to your lips. "Let's go home." He murmurs.

Before you could move, Miguel looks down after feeling something tap the side of his leg. A soccer ball rolled a bit before he skillfully rolled it under his foot and kicked it into the air so it landed in his hand. “Whoa!” A chorus of young high-pitched voices shouted in unison. A group of kids huddled by you two, marveling at Miguel. “How did you do that?” One boy gasps, his eyes lighting up in admiration. Miguel chuckles nervously, bashful of the attention of ten-year olds. “Ah–it’s a little tricky.” He hands the ball to a little girl and she waves it high above her head. “Can you show me?” She squeals and Miguel blinks, looking back at you. You covered your mouth to hide your giggles and smile. “Go.” You tilt your head at the group of kiddies and Miguel stumbles over his words but the kids already took your approval and began tugging on Miguel’s arm back to the grassy fields to play.

As you got home, you couldn’t bring down the smile on your face, cheeks hurting with how long you’ve grinned to yourself. You let out a couple of giggles remembering how the children flocked to him and how Miguel looked carrying two grown kids in his arms when his little team scored a goal. Not only had you felt warmth in your cheeks but in other places as well. “Why do you look like that?” Miguel asks after placing the bags down near the door. He’d organize things later. “Like what?” Miguel brings his hand to the side of his face and bunches his shoulders up, looking up at the ceiling with a mockingly dreamy sigh. “Like this!” You punch his shoulder and Miguel laughs, bringing his arms around you from behind and leaves little apology kisses along your neck. “I did not look like that.” You defend yourself. “Mmm, you did. You always look like that anyway. At least when it comes to me.” He mumbles against your ear, his breath tickling your senses and you squeal to move away from him but he just holds you closer. “So what is it this time? Was I extra good-looking today? Did I sweep my favorite girl, my wife, off her feet?” Miguel presses his lips on your cheek with a loud smooch. He couldn’t help teasing you a bit. “No, it was different!”

“Hmm, different?” “The kids at the park.” You feel Miguel pause and he lifts his head up and tilts it to the side after turning you around. “What about the kids at the park?” He asks, confusion swirling in his eyes. “You looked…good with them.” He huffs a quick laugh. “Okay?” “And I was thinking, y’know,” You giggle at the thought of Miguel picking you up, filling you up, carrying a baby–making him a father. He wanted to pick your brain. “What?” He squints down at you. “What if we had a baby?” Miguel’s eyes widened, blinking in surprise. “H-huh?” His voice went up an octave as his cheeks had gotten a little redder. You felt his hands tense around your hips and you secure your arms around his neck. “What if..I just gave you a baby?” You repeat in a hushed whisper. “With your help, of course.” You giggled and your flirting sent shivers down his spine. Subconsciously, Miguel’s eyes turn downwards to your stomach–imagining it swollen and growing with each passing day with just a few pumps of his cum. His eyes dilate and he feels the blood in his body rush straight down to his groin. “O-oh, God…” He groans, his breathing already getting heavy. “Are you sure? You want a baby? You want my baby?” He whispers, his lips ghosting over yours. You could feel his hands gripping your sundress. It fell just above your knees so Miguel was already sliding his hand up under it to feel the skin of your thigh, skin still a little warm from being in the sun. “Mhm, yes, please.” You whine, feeling the rush of arousal drench into your panties from hearing Miguel hold onto his last remaining self-restraint before he fucks you silly. At your plea, Miguel wraps his arms around you and pulls you up towards him to kiss you deeply. His lips devour yours, tongue slipping past your defenses to tangle in a dance with your own tongue. One hand pushes your head closer while his other hand runs down to grip the plump fat of your ass through the fabric of your dress. Tapping it twice, he signals you to jump in his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist and he hurriedly enters the bedroom. Miguel falls on top of you, bodies bouncing on the mattress but it does nothing to stop Miguel’s desire for you.

Miguel separates from your lips, dragging his wet mouth down to your jawline and neck while his hands bunch up your dress at your waist. He brings a hand up to pull down the top half of your dress and begins to leave small love bites across your breasts before licking your nipple into his mouth. With your head rolled back, your fingers run through his hair, hips attempting to grind up for some friction but with his weight on top of you–you’re helpless. “Want me to make you a mama, huh?” He growls huskily, lifting his head up and using his fingers to flick and tweak your nipples so he could watch you screw your eyes shut and your mouth parted open as you moan his name into the air. “Want me to make you all pretty and swollen with my cum, hm? Fuck…” “Oh, God–Miggy..!” Your hands at his shoulders, arching your back off the bed and writhing underneath him in a desperate attempt to make him focus on your wet pussy. Miguel can’t help but play with your tits, groping them in his hands and squishing them. He pulls your dress further down, tracing your curves and worshiping them to engrave it in his memory. Your dress now on the floor, you lay bare with just your panties. Miguel presses down on the soaking patch between your legs and you shiver. “No me jodas, Miguel. Just fuck me.” You groan and buck your hips to grind on his fingers but he chuckles and pulls away. “Dale paciencia, mi amor.” He says even though he feels the same, his cock straining against his jeans and leaving a wet spot in his boxers from dripping precum. Miguel leans back down to kiss you, hands fumbling with the zipper and he hastily shoves his boxers and pants down his legs. Deciding he was also impatient, Miguel rips your underwear apart and he bites down hard on his lips to stop him from moaning loudly at the sight of your glistening folds. Mind cluttered with lust, you don’t even notice the tear but you do feel his hard cock rubbing between your puffy pussy lips. He sighs while he collects your slick onto his shaft, his leaking tip mixing with your juices. “Mmm, fuck yes…” He shudders, thighs flexing as his muscles tensed up. Goosebumps litter his skin and he looks down at your body. Sprawled nude on the mattress while you’re already looking fucked out of your mind when he’s barely put the tip in. His cockhead catches inside and he teasingly enters. His hand places itself on your stomach, pupils blown wide open.

“Qué pasa, mi amor? Te sientes bien? Ay, que linda eres...” He purrs as he pushes inside you. “Feel me, mama.” Each inch is slow and he makes you feel the growing stretch of his cock, veins pulsing against your throbbing walls–your cunt convulses around him to suck him deeper inside your warmth. “Mine, mine, mine. So pretty, you’ll look gorgeous when I fuck a baby into this tight pussy.” Miguel whispers against your neck. His cock twitches when you claw at his back, choking out your moans as your face flushes with a warm blush. He could feel his balls aching but he held back as best as he could. His palm feels his cock from inside you, poking through your stomach and his eyes roll back. Fuck, he’s deep. “Tell me you want it. Dímelo otra vez.” He moans, slowly rocking his hips in and out of you. Your mouth had been drooling since he teased your entrance with his cock, mind blank with nothing but the desire to be bred by your husband. With a weak and broken whimper, you begged. “Wan’ it,” You squirmed. “Breed me.” Miguel’s forehead landed on your shoulder, his body hunched over as his hand went to pull your thigh on his hip and slammed into you. You screamed and held onto him before he started pounding ruthlessly into you. You could’ve flown off the bed with just how fast and hard Miguel decided to pace at. He wraps his hands to your ass and pulls your bottom half up for easier access, dragging your wet folds up and down his cock. He pants, breathing shakily as his arms tense up–veins protruding and running down all the way to his hands. Miguel then lets go, grabbing both your legs and pushes them to your chest. He folds you in half, displaying your cunt to his eyes as his main priority. He bites his lip, grunting with every pounding he gives you. His knees dig into the mattress to anchor himself as he jackhammers his twitching cock into your warm wetness. The arousal gushing out of you and rolling down between your asscheeks and onto the bed. “You’ll be such a good mama.” He moans, curling his hips so his cock arches right into your sweet spot. Your cunt squeezes around him tightly, head thrown back while your nails rake his back in streaks of red, imprinting yourself on him. You’re a squealing mess, tears in your eyes and you could barely feel your legs anymore. Face morphed with pure ecstasy as you feel each drag of his cock empty and refill you over and over again. His bulbous tip nudges against your cervix and twitches against your velvety walls and your moans turn shamelessly pornographic-like. Meanwhile Miguel gets himself off to the thought of you creaming on his cock, his balls unleashing his cum straight into your womb and getting you pregnant. He huffs, ears ringing as his mind only focuses on breeding you. He thinks to himself that once isn’t enough. Just one measly pump of his seed won’t be enough to bear you with his child. He’d have to do it more than once. He had to see his thick load seeping out of your puffy pussy folds. He wanted to see you filled to the brim, pumped full to make sure you’ll carry. He wanted to see your belly grow, creating a being that was the perfect combination of you and him.

His mind spurs him on, mouth open as he spews his own moans and  praising your tight cunt at how well it takes him. He’s pussy drunk, hips smacking and his balls slapping against you, his body pressing your legs tighter against yourself and ravaging himself into you with heavy thrusts. He grits his teeth when you scream and clench around him, pussy fluttering as you feel the release of an orgasm shoot through your body. Your legs quiver as Miguel holds onto you, eyes rolling back and drool escaping off the side of your mouth. Your cum drips into a puddled mess below you and Miguel’s orgasm follows right after you, drilling his cock until he’s balls deep. His cock twitches with each spurt of warm cum shooting out his tip, plugging into your womb. You take deep breaths but it seems impossible when Miguel keeps your legs up. His head is hung while he waits until your cunt milks every last drop of his seed. You weakly reach up and cup his cheek to catch his attention. He meets your gaze and you give a tired smile and pull him down for a kiss. Miguel eases your legs down and kisses you back. His hands rubs comfortingly around the dip of your waist. For a moment you feel at peace, a bliss of entering a new era with him. The peace lasts for just a moment. Miguel leaves your lips and twirls your body on your stomach, lifting your bottom half up so your ass hangs in the air. In the process, his dick leaves your warmth and it leaves you feeling empty. You gasp and grip onto the sheets, head turning to try and see Miguel. “‘M not done.” He mumbles. “You wanted me to breed you so I’ll fuckin’ breed you.” His words are slurred but his mind is made up. He angles his cock to your wet cunt again, smearing the combined arousal around with his tip as if painting on a canvas. Instinctively, you moan and wiggle your hips back, pussy swelling up with desire again. Miguel smirks and pushes back inside and the stretch is familiar and comforting. Shuddering, your pussy welcomes him back by squeezing tightly, sucking him in, and he hisses. “Uyy, fuck…” He sighs. He starts off slow, bumping you forward with easy and short thrusts, feeling himself slowly grow hard again inside you. Your eyes flutter close, face smushed into the pillow and drooling on the case of it as your body lurches forward. Miguel increases his speed, one hand on your shoulder and the other on your hip to bring your ass back onto his cock. His balls smack your clit for added stimulation and it makes you jump from the electric pleasure zipping straight to your core. “Oh my God! Miguel!” You whine, heat flushing on your cheeks, Miguel’s dick reaching different places in a different position. The pain of sensitivity washes away, your pussy now craving the hot sticky liquid of your husband. Miguel looms over you, bending one leg to keep him steady as he keeps drilling deeper into you. His lips leave wet and sloppy kisses to your shoulder, panting and sharing warm breaths with you while your bodies buck up against one another.

“That feel good, mama? Hm?” He moans, burying himself in your neck while his hips snap up against yours, ass slapping and rippling with each thrust.

“Yes! Yes! Mhm!” Your voice turns high pitched, eyes glassy and unfocused while being bred like a bitch in heat. Still, you took pride in it to be the one to carry his child, to have him use your hole as his cumdump and take him however many times as long as you keep feeling like this. You’d gladly take him over and over again.

“You’ll give me another baby after this one, right mama?” He hums, tongue licking your neck and nipping at your skin. “Say you will, querida. Say you’ll let me put a baby in you again–we’ll have a big family.” He whines, humping your ass in quick strokes. “Say it, say it, say it, please, please.”

Miguel could feel himself getting closer. He could feel you getting close too with the familiar pulse and clench of your walls around his throbbing cock. His balls are wet with your slick, your wetness never ending.

“Yes! I will! Promise! Just–please!” Your words are barely audible with your face pushed into the pillow but Miguel is satisfied with your cockdrunk state. His cock engorges with the thought of a big family, you giving him as many kids as he wants and him watching it all happen once he spills as much as he wants in your willing cunt.

His hips go out of rhythm, he chases his high of impregnating you for a second time and his cock twitches violently before squirting ropes of cum to paint your walls white. He doesn’t stop pumping, wanting to feel you cream on his cock so badly even when the overstimulation makes him whimper.

With a cry of his name, your pussy pulses around him and you feel his previous load drip out of you to make space for his new one. The liquid trickles down your thighs and your shake as the orgasm is ripped out of you. When you stiffen, Miguel drags his cock out from you and flips you on your back again.

Barely giving you time to recover, Miguel lifts you up from the bed and your back makes contact with the cool wall. He holds you securely under your ass and you automatically wrap your legs around his waist once more. Your arms are around his neck, hands in his hair and Miguel captures your lips in a messy kiss. His hips rut into you to slide his dick back inside which resounds out in rapid smacks of skin on skin contact.

You’re bouncing on his dick, hair tangled and becoming staticy from your head rubbing on the wall. His thrusts slow to a stop as he focuses on making out with you, tongue dancing with yours and exploring your mouth with a low moan of pleasure.

Teeth clack against each other and you roll your pelvis to regain the friction. Pussy clenches around him desperately and Miguel lets out a guttural groan, separating from your lips to bite your chest. Your back lifts off the wall and you push your tits to his mouth, Miguel eagerly sucking your nipples and switching between left and right.

He angles up and up, feeling your walls slide on him like some silicon dildo. He gropes your ass in his palms, kneading and spreading them apart while your slick sounds out with a sloppy, dirty and wet mess. Miguel shoves you harder against the wall, pounding your body in rhythmic thrusts that bang loud enough for a passerby to hear. His back is covered with your nails marks.

You’re screaming, you’re so fucking sensitive but it’s just so hot how he just keeps going. There’s a fire that’s ignited in you–some sick form of pleasure that you get off on your husband pumping you full of semen. It gave you pleasure just how badly he wanted this–wanted you. You can’t help but squeeze around him, pussy unable to handle the bundle of overstimulated nerves so it spasms.

Jaw slacked and spit dribbling down your chin with your tongue lolled out your mouth–you can barely form a thought when Miguel’s fucking them out of you. You didn’t expect for Miguel to jump at the chance at having a baby but right now, it felt so worth it. His teeth bites at your nipple, tongue rolling around the bud and devouring it like you were the sweetest thing he’s tasted.

“Miguell…! I’m so–mmph!–fuck, I’m close!” You pull on his strands of hair and he lets go of your nipple. Miguel leaves his forehead on your chest, breath fanning your skin while he bucks into you. He cums first, his essence spilling out and dribbling back down on his cock and he grunts with annoyance. His annoyance doesn’t last long when you climax just a few seconds after with a squeal. You ankles lock tightly around his waist to push him to the hilt to keep the rest of his cum–old and new–plugged inside. Miguel shudders and moves you off the wall and back to the edge of the bed.

Miguel lays you down on the mattress with a huff of exhaustion, becoming sleepy after three orgasms. Still, he turns you on your side, lifting your leg up so he could slide in his cock between your twitching and sensitive folds.

You strangle out a whine, eyes blinking in a dazed haze. You reach around you to grip his hair and plead for mercy. You don’t know how you even lasted this long.

“Thought you wanted a baby. I’m making sure we’re having that baby.” He mumbles against your neck, humming when he sheathes inside you again. Your cunt spasms, fluttering and pulsating from overstimulation. However, Miguel is gentle this time.

He grinds behind you in easy thrusts. You feel your heart stutter in your chest, turning your head around with your mouth slightly parted, whining out your moans. Miguel kisses you, his hand gripping your thigh tightly to uphold it while his cock slips in and out of you. The evidence of his essence drips out of you and leaves a shiny coat and the milky white circle at the base of his shaft prominent from previous orgasms.

You weakly buck your ass back to go in time with his thrusting. You break from the kiss, string of spit connecting on your wet lips before you rest your head back on the pillow, heart thumping wildly. Miguel goes back to kissing your neck and shoulders.

“Asi es, mami,” He whispers huskily. “One more. Can you do that for me? Jus’ one more.” His hips roll in circles and his hand goes underneath you to reach around to your front, fingers finding your clit. He rolls it between his fingers and circles around it softly with just the right amount of pressure that he knows you like. Your hips stutter and feel another climax coming, but this time a little weaker than the rest.

“Mig…Miggy…” You whine and he shushes you gently. His fingers leave your clit and he rests his hand on your stomach, thumb rubbing up and down the small pudge of tummy where his baby will grow inside you.

“I know, mi reina, I know. I love you so much. I love you. I love you so damn much.” He whispers sweetly, Miguel kissing behind your ear. His words of affection make you whimper.

“I love you too.”

Miguel winds up cumming inside you for the final time, emptying out all of his energy and hugging you tight to his chest while you squeal and cum right after him. He keeps you close, putting your leg down and curling his arms around your waist to spoon you.

Your breathing slowly evens out, exhaustion catching up to you. Miguel pulls out, each drag shocking your nerves until he leaves with a wet plop, strings of cum connecting you both together until it breaks. He turns you around to face him and brings your head against his chest. You hear his heart hammering against his ribcage and you weakly hug him back. You feel full just like he told you he would do to you.

You can’t help but feel content, excitement blooming in your chest for the next chapter in your life with your husband. He's warm.

“We’re gonna be parents.” You whisper softly. Miguel’s lips kiss your hair and he lifts your face up to him. He continues to pepper your cheeks and forehead with kisses.

“We’re gonna be parents.” He echos. “Thank you.”

You couldn’t ask for a better man to start a family with.

A/N: me when i enforce my breeding kink miguel agenda

[kellysue]

The Suit-Making Metaphor

[Written in January, 2024] The cold eventually got bad enough that the Grandma, the kids and I fled to a hotel while Matt stayed at the house with the dogs. We were fortunate to be able to that of course, and sharing a room in a nice warm hotel was not suffering by any stretch of the imagination. Even so, it was stressful. We brought ipads, paints, books and needlework to keep the kids entertained and alleviate some anxiety, but time also had to be made for school work—especially as they would be going back to class just in time for finals. We made lists of their classes, what they had to study, what we could help with and what questions would need to be put to their teachers.

Henry’s 16 now (!!) and instead of an exam, his Humanities final was a personal essay. We chatted a bit about his writing process, what he liked about what he had done so far and what was frustrating for him. Though he had a terrific topic, he’d written and rewritten his opening paragraph several times and wasn’t making any real progress.

Been there, buddy.

As we talked, I stumbled on a metaphor that I found helpful, and so I’m going to try and share with you roughly what I said to him, and perhaps some of you will find it helpful too.

I get it, I do. It’s exactly my inclination as well. But writing like this-- where you try to perfect everything as you go, effectively writing the third draft before you finish the first--it’s like trying to make a suit from the top to the bottom. You can’t make a suit like that. You can’t start with the collar and get that perfected and then move to the shoulder. You can’t topstitch the upper part of the button placket before the bottom even exists. And even if you could figure how to do it that way, your suit isn't going to fit. Because that’s just not the best way to make a suit. Finishing the thing from top to bottom is not the best way to write, either. You start by choosing your fabric—your topic. What material are you going to craft the suit from? What’s the subject of the essay? You want to write about your relationship to various monsters. That’s terrific! That’s like a nice wool; there’s heft there—memories and feelings and personal details that resonate as truths; it should make a rich and interesting suit. Now, instead of cutting out the collar immediately, let’s choose a pattern. We need a pattern to help us cut the wool into the proper shapes. The pattern is the very basic structure of your essay. How might you organize your thoughts and feelings about monsters? The order isn’t as important as the categories. For the suit jacket, we’ll need right front, left front, sleeves, collar, lining etc. For the essay, what monsters do you want to write about? King Kong, the Rancor, the Minotaur and Bernard the Bull. Perfect. Cutting the pattern pieces out is equivalent to gathering your thoughts on each monster. Write freely about each one, taking the time to remember in as much detail as possible where you first encountered each monster, how old you were, etc. Go through each of your senses to help you recall the moment. What did you see? Smell? Taste? Feel? Who was with you? How did you feel in your body? How did you feel in your heart? Include everything that jumps out at you, you can always edit it down later. In our metaphor, this step is not just cutting out the pieces but also taking the time to transfer the pattern marks. You might not need them all, but you're sure to make a finer suit if you have them all available. Once you have the pieces, the next step is to see how they fit together. Read through each monster and look for connections. Is there an order that suggests itself? Rearrange and then edit and expand to highlight those connections. The first pass of this is basting stitches—loose connections just to test the fit—once you’re happy with the shape you can go ahead and lay in seams. Here is where our parallels start to fall apart: For the suit, you’ll want to do all the finishing touches—the handstitching, buttons, pressing, etc.—and then try it on and style it. But in writing your essay, these steps are reversed—styling is crafting the last paragraph, bringing the piece to a close. Your essay doesn’t have to wrap up neatly, in fact, you don’t want it to be too matchy-matchy. Just as an outfit’s style is improved by personal idiosyncrasies, a piece of writing is enriched by the author's capacity to engage with complexity and ambiguity. With the styling done--when you really know what it is you're trying to say--now you can go back with needle and thread and do that hand-stitching: tighten the prose where you can, polish rhythms, word choice, grammar and voice. With the whole of the thing in front of you, you now have what you need to do the kind of “third draft” finishing work that was impossible to begin with.

This might be the very definition of beating a metaphor to death, but I surprised myself with it. It was as revelatory for me as it was for Henry--probably more so.

And with that, I need to get back to those now-422 emails.

Cheers,

Kelly Sue

PS New creator-owned book coming out late fall this year--first launch in a decade or so, I think? I do need to figure out this whole newsletter/blog conundrum sooner rather than later. Advice and opinions welcome.

[dduane]

Hey! Just wanted to drop in and let you know that my Star Trek Book Club is reading our way though Spock’s World right now! I love the Horta crewmember so much. Would be cool to hear any thoughts you have on the book, as its writer!

Sure!

Work on the book started while @petermorwood and I were still roaming around the UK, trying to figure out where we wanted to live.

It was around then that Pocket Books decided that the success of their first Star Trek novels as paperbacks suggested they might want to try a hardcover and see how it went. Up until that point I'd written three Trek novels for them—The Wounded Sky and My Enemy, My Ally, and with Peter, The Romulan Way—and as far as I can tell, a combination of strong sales figures and very positive reviews led the editors at Pocket to choose me to do the first hardcover.

(Adding a cut here, because this runs longish. Caution: contains severe weather, peripatetic writers, [offstage] Highland cattle, and [because hindsight is always 20/20...] author idiocy.)

If I remember correctly, the go-to-hardcover decision was made in 1987. The book's outlining would have happened in the winter of that year, while we were staying in Scotland: the post over here talks about that a littie.

Not very long after that we made our where-to-live decision, headed to Ireland, and moved into a little rented terrace house in north county Wicklow, not far from Annie McCaffrey's place. Once we were installed there, I started work on the first draft of Spock's World.

This, though, is where a tragedy almost occurred.

Electric-power infrastructure can sometimes be an issue in rural areas of Ireland. And one night, in the middle of a thunderstorm, the post-top transformer nearest us in our little housing estate was struck by lightning. The ensuing power surge (or just possibly an EMP associated with it: jury's still out...) fried my computer.

Fortunately, most of my working disks were okay. But the last 40K+ words of the novel survived only in fragmentary form... and when I tried to reassemble those chapters from the backups, I discovered that the backups were corrupt. And the book was due at the publisher—by which I mean printed and FedExed to NY: no one was equipped back then to deal with emailed manuscript files—in two weeks.

Needless to say, things around the house then got a bit frantic. I wound up having to completely rewrite nearly the entire back half of the book from memory, as I did not have a printout. (So you'll understand that for the last few decades, hard copy [or PDFs] and backups, and backups of backups, have become something of an obsession for me. These days I use Backblaze, with which I'm extremely pleased: it runs constantly in the background, updating things in realtime as you do, and has numerous smart ways to recover your material if you need it.)

At any rate, my memory's fortunately fairly good for material I've just recently written. And I have to say that in retrospect this whole escapade may have been a blessing in disguise... as I strongly believe that the rewritten material was significantly better than in the draft that would originally have gone to the publisher. The printout went to the publisher just in time to hit that particular production deadline. The only thing really messed up in the aftermath was my back, which gave me grief for months afterward. My advice on this count: never write 40K+ words in two weeks in a straight-backed chair. :/

Anyway, there was a happy ending when the book came out: it spent eight weeks on the Times list, which was nice. (In pretty good company, too...) :)

And shortly Pocket asked me to do another hardcover. So that was nice too.

Anyway, that's the tale.

Hope this has helped! And give the book club my best. :)

[neil-gaiman]

Hi Mr. Gaiman,

As an accomplished author with several books under his belt, how do you know that a story is a dud for lack of a better word? I have a million ideas bouncing around inside my head at all times, and while I consider them good ideas worth pursuing, how am I sure they will make a good story?

I ask this because I have been dwelling on something one of my professors said last semester. He held a seminar on poetry and got to the topic of fiction writing, where he stated that he had just recently finished a story he had rewritten several times over the course of multiple years. Now I myself write as a hobby with a faint imagining that someone might see it in the future, and I have written a dud or two, where the plot was poorly formed and the ideas behind it just had a flaw somewhere in the base concept. Perhaps this is my youth and amateurity speaking, but I was under the impression that given enough time and care, any story could recover from that stage so long as it had not been completed yet. Ideas would need to be reworked, concepts retooled, characters redrawn, but the very basic idea could still survive in a different format.

My professor disagreed, stating that he has destroyed 400-500 page novels that he has written before upon realizing said fatal flaw. He stated that the story was in a state that it could not recover from, and that many authors encounter ideas that seem good at the time, but stink later on to such a degree that the basic premise must be thrown out. This seems like a tremendous loss of work to me. As writing is an art form, it feels somewhat similar to destroying practice sketches and 'meh' oil paintings that showcase the artist's progress. An idea that stinks today might be able to work from a different angle later on in my opinion.

I suppose after rambling my question is now this: are some ideas and concepts just not worth pursuing? Are some story concepts flawed from the get-go and impossible to save, and is there a way to tell that before writing the whole thing? Is it even possible to waste that time as you're getting in practice for the next tale?This isn't something I ever really thought about before being told in sure tones that this is how things work by someone with a degree is this, so I figured I'd ask the professional author for a second opinion. Apologies for the length of the message, especially if this is one you've received before.

I have things that have stalled and a few stories that, when they were done, went to the box in the attic rather than to anyone who could publish them (there's a whole novel there I wrote when I was 21). But mostly because I was writing serial comics, failure was not an option, and if something did fail it had done it in public for everyone to see. And I learned that some things I thought were failures had actually worked really well.

Some people are afraid of failure. Some people are afraid of success, which can also be a good reason for junking books and never showing them to anyone. As long as you pronounce them irretrievably flawed and show them to nobody, you will never be judged for them or have to deal with either success or failure.

[stellar-skyy]

hihi! an iced english breakfast tea with father figure blade?

“iced english breakfast tea here, for... ah, who was it? Oh, of course! Blade!”

☆ — if you're craving a drink, make sure to stop by the teashop!

i. SUMMARY: While on a trip, you receive a letter from a certain Stellaron Hunter. ii. CWS & NOTES: no warnings applicable. PLATONIC blade & gn!reader, brief silver wolf & reader, kafka & reader. father figure!blade. found family fluff. 0.5k words. iii. A/N: hi anon! this request was actually much further in the queue, but i finished it quickly so i thought i might as well post it now.

The letter is penned on bright white paper, covered in small creases that have been smoothed out. The writing on it is small, with some parts crossed out and rewritten, filling the entire page. In the corner is a small series of doodles in purple ink, crude drawings of the three Stellaron Hunters and you. The envelope is beside it with the wax seal broken, smelling faintly of spider lilies.

Inside, it reads:

[Name],

I hope this letter reaches you well, if it reaches you in the first place. I must admit I am skeptical of the effectiveness of the intergalactic postal system, but it isn’t as if there is another way to contact you, aside from tossing the letter into outer space and hoping it finds its way to the planet you are currently on.

I think this is the longest it’s been without seeing you since you were young. It is much too quiet without you around; Silver Wolf has attempted to fill the silence, but I hardly understand what she is talking about half of the time and I do not care to ask. When you return, you will have to inform me what ‘dps’ and ‘maxed out’ means, because I know asking her now will only give me a long-winded spiel about those video games she is obsessed with.

Despite you being gone several weeks now, it’s still been difficult to adjust to having one fewer member of the group. I have been turning the corner, expecting you to be there waiting for me, but I am constantly finding myself alone. Kafka tells me it’s the mother hen instincts, but she doesn’t know what she is talking about.

Silver Wolf has been asking about you non-stop, telling me she wants her Player Two back. She made me play with her for a bit, but according to her, I’m so terrible at the games that it isn’t even fun to beat me. I’m not sure what she means, she beats you all the time anyway, but when I told her that she just rolled her eyes.

Kafka misses you too, though she’s at least got enough emotional maturity to admit that out loud instead of sulking. When she found out I was writing this letter, she made me promise to tell you she can’t wait to see you again, and you’d better be taking care of yourself. I think she feels the same as I do, even as she teases me for it. Things just aren’t the same with one less person.

I know you’re wondering about me, but I’ll keep it short—I’m fine. My condition is no better than you last saw me, but it is no worse either. You don’t have to worry, and I mean that with honesty.

I trust you are using this well-deserved break to its fullest, taking in the sights and not causing any excess trouble. Elio doesn’t allow vacations very often—it’s a wonder he approved this one, with all the missions he’s sent us on lately—so make sure you take advantage of it. If you are in a tough situation, you only need to remember what Kafka and I have taught you: hit them fast and hard, and don’t leave any witnesses.

Be safe. I’ll see you soon.

Blade

reblogs and comments are appreciated! ♡

[clarisse0o]

Camp Wiegman-Part 20

Lucy Bronze x Ona Batlle

Alternative Universe : Military School

Words: 6k

Masterlist

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Tuesday, November 24; 3:15 PM - School.

It’s the first time since I’ve been here that we finish classes early. I never thought it was possible. It’s rare to see a teacher absent, but that’s the case today. The whole class decided to leave after ten minutes, seeing that he would never arrive. Especially since he’s usually already waiting for us in his classroom.

" I’m joining the girls in the common room. Want to come? " Alexia proposes.

" Sorry, I told Bronze I would come after my classes. "

" She doesn’t know we finished early. You can go afterward. "

" The sooner I go, the sooner I’ll be free from this obligation. "

" I could almost believe you’re becoming serious, " she laughs.

" I don’t think so, no! "

" Come on, go enjoy your time with Bronze now that she’s talking to you again. "

" Stop it, " I roll my eyes. " You’re really something! "

" Oddly, you’re not denying it, " she replies with a wink.

I giggle, rolling my eyes. Alexia has been making inappropriate remarks since last night, saying I’m addicted to Bronze. Well, it’s true that I was sulking when she ignored me, but I wouldn’t go as far as to say I’m addicted to her. I just missed her. She was so much on my back lately that it was weird when she suddenly disappeared. Alexia understands that I appreciate Bronze more than I let on. I stopped contradicting her when I realized my arguments were becoming ridiculous. She could hold hands with Mapi. The latter keeps asking about the progress of my relationship with Bronze since she heard me call her "baby". I’ve been teased and received the same remark as Ale. I’m starting to think I’m glad they don’t know each other. I can tolerate them individually, but I’d go crazy if I had them together. We finally reach the ground floor. I was getting tired of Alexia’s remarks. I quickly excuse myself before slipping away to Bronze’s office. The door is wide open today. I knock lightly to announce my presence, which earns me two surprised faces looking at me.

" What are you doing here already? Aren’t you supposed to have classes until five o’clock? Don’t tell me you got kicked out again? " Bronze bombards me, frowning.

" Thanks for the trust, " I roll my eyes. " My literature teacher is absent. "

" Mr. Johnson absent? " Engen repeats. " Weird… "

" Anyway, he didn’t come. We waited fifteen minutes, and my class started to disperse, so we left too, " I shrug.

The two instructors exchange a look as if silently communicating. Bronze finally shrugs, inviting me to sit. I smile at her and settle in front of her. Engen, on the other hand, stands up.

" I’ll find out what’s going on. Do you know where the rest of your class went? "

" All over, I’d say. Many are in the common room, and the others are probably in their rooms, I guess. "

" Hmm, thanks. "

She leaves, letting me alone with Bronze. She’s already making room for me on her desk. I take out my stuff, prominently displaying the exercise she gave me to complete last night. I had to do and redo it several times before succeeding. It was one of the hardest she’s given me. There’s even an equation I couldn’t solve.

" Did you do your math? "

" Yeah… Well, half of it. "

" What do you mean, half? "

I prefer to hand her my paper rather than give explanations. She immediately checks my work. She raises an eyebrow at my draft filled with scribbles. Maybe I should have rewritten it instead of leaving my mistakes, but at least she can see that I worked hard to get there. She can’t say I didn’t work.

" And the answer to my question about the sign? "

" You need to put a plus because it follows the sign of ‘a’. Since the number is positive, my answer was correct. "

" You seem much more confident than yesterday, " she smiles amusedly.

" I almost dreamed of math all night, going over your sheet you made me. "

She chuckles as I cross my arms and sink into my chair. During her explanations last night, she made me a sheet summarizing all the important formulas to know. She added the sign rules since I was stuck on them. Needless to say, I spent my whole evening revising it. It’s much more effective than all my course notes. It’s short, clear, and precise.

" At least it was useful. "

" That’s for sure… "

" So, what didn’t you understand about the second function? "

I was about to answer, but Engen startles me by speaking up. I hadn’t even noticed she was back.

" Am I dreaming, or are you giving her lessons? "

" She’s struggling since she’s missing two years, " Bronze’s spontaneous honesty surprised me so much that my foot automatically kicked her under the desk. I would have preferred that detail stay between us. I’m already ashamed enough. Bronze raises an eyebrow at my gesture.

" Why was that? "

" You didn’t have to shout it from the rooftops, " I mumble, embarrassed.

She laughs softly. I jump when Engen hugs me from behind, resting her head on mine. I tense up at her unexpected closeness.

" Oh, come on! You don’t need to react like that for so little, Ona, " Engen says. " It’s good that you’re asking for help. "

" Hmm… "

" Wiegman is stupid for putting you at such a high level if you have difficulties, " she comments.

I shrug. I could actually keep up, but the problem is that I quickly lose interest and disengage. I would have caught up long ago otherwise. Plus, if I had reacted differently when I arrived, I wouldn’t have so much material to catch up on.

" Anyway, Mr. Johnson is really absent, " she informs me, letting go of me. " I have to gather your class in a study room to work, by Wiegman’s order. "

" Do I have to go too? "

" Well, I came to get you, but you came here willingly to work with Lucy. So, I guess you stay here. "

" Yes, she stays here, " Bronze intervenes. " Do you have to supervise the class? "

" Yeah, " Engen sighs. " They’re starting to get on my nerves. She could have let them have free time, but no, " she grumbles. " We’ll have to meet up to eat. "

" No worries, " Bronze laughs. " See you later. "

We say goodbye before she leaves. I get the impression she doesn’t like Wiegman at all. Last time, she didn’t hide her hatred towards her either. One thing is certain, she’s frank and direct, like Bronze. That’s probably why I like her too.

" Alright, back to our sheep, " she pulls me out of my thoughts. " What didn’t you understand then? "

" Is Wiegman that bad? " I ask.

" Why this question? " she frowns.

" I don’t know. Engen doesn’t seem to like her much. "

" Let’s just say she’s attentive to all our actions. She’s starting to get fed up. "

" Seriously? Why would she monitor the instructors too? "

" She doesn’t want another student-instructor relationship to happen again. "

" Oh… So, are you being monitored too? "

" Yes, like all my colleagues. Can we get back to the main topic, which is math? "

" No, wait… Are you talking about me? "

Bronze sighs in annoyance. This question is important to me. With what Alexia thinks, I’m afraid Wiegman will start thinking we’re too close. I don’t want her to risk her job because of me. And does she tell her what I confide in her? I hope not, because I tell her quite personal things.

" Why this question? "

I bite my lip. I don’t know if I should be honest with her. She gives me a hard look to encourage me to continue. I decide to play the honesty card.

" Alexia thinks we’re close. She keeps teasing me about it. Do you think you could get in trouble if Wiegman thought the same? I don’t want to cause you any problems. "

" Well, I’ll explain to you if it can reassure you. Every instructor has to see Wiegman at the end of the day for a debriefing. I’m not more monitored than the others because I’m in charge of you, if that’s your question. "

" And so… Do you ever talk about me? " I ask again.

" Of course we often talk about you. I’m the one supervising you, so it’s normal for her to ask me questions about you. "

" Do you tell her what I confide in you? " I ask with some fear.

«  We mainly talk about your progress, your reactions. I would never repeat what you confide in me. If I do, it will only be with your permission, to defend you, or if it’s a very important matter that can’t be kept. "

" A matter that can’t be kept? Like what? "

" Well, something that could harm you or put you in danger, for example. "

" Okay, " I sigh. " You promise not to talk about it otherwise? "

" Ona, the only thing I’ve told Wiegman since I’ve been supervising you is the events you told me about the night you ended up drugged. If I hadn’t done that, you could have had a lot of trouble with her. "

" Is that all? " I ask with a hint of surprise.

" Of course. I would never tell her your personal or family problems. Those things only concern you. I’ll always be here to listen, comfort, or support you, but I’ll never repeat anything to her. Only the results matter to her. Do you understand? "

" And for you? Do only the results matter to you too? "

" I should, yes, " she begins. " That was the case with all my former students under my care, but not with you. "

" Why not? " I laugh bitterly. " Don’t tell me that to please me, please. "

" That’s not the case. None of my former students confided in me like you do. It’s the first time I’ve had such a close relationship with a student, and it’s only because I want it. "

" What do you mean? "

" Usually, I remain cold and impassive in my work. It’s not for nothing they call me the commander. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I was never like that with you. « 

I lower my head, realizing it is the truth. She was strict at the beginning, but our relationship quickly evolved. She became understanding, and I almost want to say she became caring. I'd like to know the reasons why, but I doubt she would tell me.

- The results are important, of course, but I enjoy learning who you really are. I care about you, whether you believe it or not.

I have no doubt about her words. She has no reason to lie to me after all. I lift my head to smile at her timidly. She returns the smile, tilting her head slightly as if she knows what I'm thinking.

- Do you have any more questions you’d like answered, or can we get to work now?

- We can get to work... Unless you’re busy. I wouldn’t want to disturb you either.

- I don’t have that much work. Your test tomorrow is more important. Let’s go back to the exercise. What was your problem then? she says, picking up the paper.

- I think you didn’t give me all the formulas. I couldn’t do it even though I went over everything.

She looks at my draft again. I blush at the idea that she's once again wasting precious time on me. I still don’t understand why she does all this for me.

- We can stop if it bothers you, I begin again.

- Are you done? You don’t need to be embarrassed because I’m helping you study. Let me look at your exercise now.

I stay quiet to avoid disturbing her further. I wonder where her math skills come from. She has good logic and had no trouble finding my mistakes yesterday. She’s not very old. Maybe she just recently left school. That would answer my questions. Honestly, who remembers things like this? It’s not like it’s useful every day!

- How old are you?

- We never ask a person’s age, Ona, she replies. It’s rude and inappropriate, especially since I’m your supervisor. For your math problem, you just need to factorize the function.

- What? Seriously, I have to factorize again?

- Yeah. It’s exactly the kind of case you might have tomorrow. Just think a little. Pen, she says, holding out her hand.

I hand it to her, and she starts explaining while twisting in all directions to find a good position. She eventually comes around to sit beside me. She helps me factorize the function, then gives me the formula to use. In the end, it wasn’t so complicated with her help.

- When you can’t do something, you need to find other solutions. There are always some.

- Alright, I sigh.

- Do you want to do another one on your own?

- That’s okay, thanks. I’ve bothered you enough with my math. I’ll review tonight.

- We have more time today, so let’s make the most of it. You’re going to do another one on your own; I want to make sure you’ve understood.

I groan in frustration, which makes her smile. I thought I could escape, but she doesn’t seem to agree. She rewrites a formula similar to the one we just did. She already made me redo what I couldn’t do yesterday. It’s quite an effective method because I manage it each time afterward. She gives me three more, which I finish in half an hour.

- Well, it looks like you’ve understood. I think we can stop.

I sigh in relief, collapsing against my chair. She laughs and offers me a glass of water, which I gladly accept. I put my brain on pause while I drink from the cup she hands me.

- It’s only five o’clock. Do you want to look at your choices tonight or tomorrow?

I think about it. My brain is mush. I’m tempted to say tomorrow, but I want to get this problem resolved as quickly as possible. I’m afraid it will take longer than it should. Neither option really interests me, so I need to decide.

- Tonight, if you don’t mind.

- Not at all. Let’s see what we have. You have the forms, I hope?

- Of course.

I put away all my math stuff and replace it with my registration form and the list of available options. She takes the latter and sits comfortably in her chair, crossing her legs. She studies the sheet while finishing her drink.

- Alright. There are already a few we can eliminate, right?

- Yes, like sports.

- Yes, she laughs. It’s a shame because you have the potential to go far with the mental toughness you have. By the way, you’ve abandoned me for the runs.

I look at her strangely. Me, good potential in sports? What a joke!

- You’re the one who was sulking, I reply. You’re the first to know that sports and I don’t mix, and that I’m not motivated to do any.

- Hey! she says, hitting my arm. I wasn’t sulking! I was just giving you a taste of your own medicine. Anyway, let’s cross out sports, you’re right, she concludes. Maybe in an other universe you would have been an athlete.

I open my mouth as she crosses it out on the sheet.

- Hey! Why are you writing on it! I exclaim. You shouldn’t!

- This sheet isn’t to be returned, Ona, she giggles.

- Oh, I say, mortified under her laughter.

- Alright, let’s be serious. Have you already thought about a future career perhaps? Let’s start with that.

I think about her question. I never had the chance to seriously think about it. Choices for my studies were always imposed on me.

- You must have thought about it before, right?

- No, I remain honest, playing timidly with my fingers.

I feel ashamed. Who hasn’t thought about their future except me? I stopped school after my diploma, without thinking about what came next. I never studied something I truly liked. Bronze puts her hand on my knee, as if trying to reassure me.

- Hey, it’s okay, it’s nothing serious. It’s going to be more complicated than expected, but it will be sorted out. Better late than never, right?

I smile timidly, nodding. She smiles back. I’m glad I consulted her. If I hadn’t, I would have probably chosen an option randomly, without really thinking about it. At least now I won’t choose at random.

- I understand better why you come to see me, and you’re doing the right thing. Let’s start from the beginning. You were in high school, so you must have studied a specialty, right?

- Science and medicine. My mother is a surgeon. She wanted me to follow in her footsteps, I explain. My father convinced me to accept, but it’s not at all what I want to do.

- At least you already know what you don’t want, she says, crossing out the option with a small smile.

- You can also cross out engineering, I giggle.

- That’s true, she crosses it out. Do you want to do something related to art?

- There’s no option for that. It’s annoying because that’s what interests me the most.

- No, but we could find possibilities that are close to it, you see? You like literature too, right?

I smile and nod. What she said earlier was true. She listens and is interested in what I say because I had already told her about my love for literature.

- So, literature could be one of the three options, right?

- Yes, it could be, I nod again.

- Hmm, she smiles, putting a check next to it. We’re making progress. Don’t forget that the order is important too. If the first one is accepted, you won’t be able to fall back on the others.

- Yes, I understood.

She scratches her head with the back of my pen. She must be thinking as much as I am. I have already studied all my possibilities to be honest. I had come to the conclusion that it would be literature, but it would annoy me to fall back on this option knowing that it’s far from being related to drawing.

- I imagine we’re forgetting math specialty? she giggles.

- Are you mocking me? I pull an exaggerated face.

- Far from it, she mocks.

- Well… You’re not wrong anyway…

- That’s what I thought, she laughs. Well, let’s go back to art then. There are several possibilities. I imagine you prefer practicing?

- Well... Yeah. What else would you want me to do?

- Well, you could also run a gallery. That would be more about management in that case. Do you see what I mean?

- I never saw it from that angle... I admit.

- That aspect could be interesting for you if you plan to be self-employed in the long term. It’s never a bad idea to have a foundation in management.

I never saw my future that far ahead. To be honest, all I dream about right now is being able to make a living from my talent. However, Bronze has a very different vision from mine. She doesn’t only see the present moment, she sees the entirety of a professional career.

- It’s true that it’s a good idea... I never thought of that. Is there an option like that?

- Well, yes. But I doubt you’ll like it.

- What’s the option? I ask cautiously.

- Business management. It’s equivalent to an MBA in regular universities.

- Oh... Isn’t that difficult?

- It’s a mix of management, finance, and commerce. It requires a lot of logic and is very math-heavy, so it’s up to you.

I nervously bite my lip. This idea suddenly cools me down. I doubt I’d enjoy it. Bronze must have sensed it given the smile she gives me.

- I warned you that the idea might not please you.

- Indeed, I agree, sighing. Can I ask what you studied? Maybe it’ll give me an idea.

Bronze looks at me for a moment, as if deciding whether or not to tell me. I know she doesn’t like talking about herself and that my question is risky. However, nothing ventured, nothing gained.

- I was going for an athlete scholarship, but a knee injury at the end of the year prevented me from getting it. I was then offered to switch to a management program like an MBA in sports.

- What do you mean? I frown.

- It’s a special track that allows studying sports management instead of business management, she shrugs. Few schools offer it. I was lucky that the one I applied to as an athlete did. It was that or staying in Portugal with a lousy program and school.

-So… You have a good background in management, if I understand correctly?

- I suppose so, since I graduated, she replies with a smirk.

- No... Well, that's not what I meant... Is there a big difference compared to the program offered by the school? I’m being silly, you probably don’t know...

- I think I can help you study, if that's your question.

I nod slightly. I appreciate how quickly Bronze understands. Sometimes I wonder how she does it, because I'm far from being very explicit.

- It shouldn't be too bad then...

- As I said earlier, management is still a good foundation that will always be useful in life. However, I don't want to push you into it if you don’t like it. That's not the goal.

- No, but you're right. I can't pursue art here, so I might as well go for something that will be useful, right? At least I'll have a fallback option in any case.

- So, do you want to keep that option then?

- Yeah, in first position.

- Really? she raises an eyebrow. Wouldn’t you prefer to put literature first? It would be a bit more creative, even if it's not related to art.

- No. The goal isn’t to become a librarian or something. I'd rather put it as a second option.

- It's up to you. And for the last option then?

- I'm not too sure. I was thinking about foreign languages. I’m pretty good at them and I like breaking down international barriers. Do people usually get their last options?

- No, never in the final year, but it’s still good to have three options. It’s in the first year that class allocation is more challenging. Students are still figuring things out, like you right now, so there are always options that interest some more than others.

- How do they allocate students then?

- Well, based on grades. They take the best students to reward them. In the second year, some students switch options if the first one didn’t convince them. And since changes can only be made once, there’s hardly any class switching in the final year. So, the third option is rarely reached.

- I see. Well, it doesn't matter then. I could put languages, sports, or even engineering!

- I wouldn't do that if I were you, she laughs. You never know. Management and literature options might already be full.

- Do you think I have a chance in sports...? I ask hesitantly. Never mind, forget it, I say seeing her reaction. It's a ridiculous idea.

I lower my head, mortified with shame. Sometimes I should just keep my mouth shut. She already told me she wouldn’t take sports for me. I thought about it because I know half of my friends will choose that option. I felt my head being lifted by two fingers under my chin. Bronze smiles at me with such kindness in her expression.

- You have a serious lack of self-confidence, Ona. I think you have potential that you probably don't even notice. You don't even realize how you always push yourself to the limit when you get a bit of encouragement. You've never given up on my punishments, even though others would have certainly done so in your place.

- At the same time, you don't give me a choice...

- I might be nicer to you normally, but I’m stricter with my punishments.

I look at her with wide eyes at these revelations. I didn’t know it was the case. She clears her throat seeing the look on my face.

- Well, it was the case at the beginning. I stopped since you calmed down. Believe me, I've never seen someone with a mentality like yours. You weren't athletic, yet you accepted my punishments. By the way, I'd like to see you again during my morning runs.

I grimace at the thought. This girl is crazy. How can she keep running when it's freezing outside! I don’t know if she realizes that snow is about to fall soon. One thing she’s right about is that I have no self-confidence. My past experiences have a lot to do with it. She doesn’t realize that she’s the one helping me get better. She pushes me to do things I would never have accomplished before. It's only because I feel she believes in me. More than I do, more than anyone.

- It’s negotiable. It’s way too cold to run right now.

- Hmm, she smiles. You’re a wimp!

- You can’t use my pride against me!

- Yes, I can, she giggles. Alright, back to the options. I wouldn’t put sports. It doesn’t align with your plans and there’s no need to include it just to be with your friends for a semester.

I blush at her raised eyebrow. Damn, she got it all. She must know Alexia is taking that option.

- If you want to do sports, do it as a hobby. Like running, for example...

- I won’t change my mind, I chuckle. Well, you’re right. I’ll stick with languages then.

- Or you could put medicine, since it would be a continuation of your studies.

- No thanks. I spent my high school years studying something that doesn’t interest me. I don’t want to go through that again and especially not to please my mother.

- Alright, she nods.

What I appreciate about Bronze is that she never asks personal questions. Or very rarely. She’ll always let me come to her when I want to open up on my own. I sigh, massaging my temples. My brain is starting to overheat from thinking. I’m glad to see the end in sight.

- It’s only Tuesday. You still have two evenings to think about it calmly.

- I don’t need to think any more. It will be management, literature, and foreign language.

- Well, if you’re decided... You can also put history if you prefer.

- You’re silly, I chuckle. Is it from spending time with you?

- Definitely.

- Oh, I say, placing my hand on my heart. You break my heart, I add dramatically.

- Poor little thing, she laughs.

I pout with crossed arms. I try to keep the expression, but it’s difficult when Bronze is smiling so broadly. She then pinches my cheek to tease me.

- Oh, but look at the big baby pouting.

- Stop it, I giggle, wriggling my head to escape her grasp. I’m not a kid.

- Oh, but you are, she says bluntly. I’ll consider you differently when you prove it to me.

- I’ve already proven it to you!

- Hmm... No. Not enough.

- Tsss. It shouldn’t be someone barely older than me telling me that.

- How much are you willing to give me? she smiles.

Where’s the catch? I thought she was going to brush me off like earlier when I asked her age. Why is she playing along? Well, why not if it helps me get some information about her...

- Twenty-seven? I say randomly.

- Hmm... Interesting.

- Am I getting warm?

- You’ll never know, she laughs.

I roll my eyes. Missed it. Of course, she won’t tell me anything. And I’m the kid? I’m convinced she’s not more mature than I am if she lets loose outside the establishment. Unless she’s really uptight, but I doubt it. She really exudes a strong self-confidence.

- It’s not fair, I say, crossing my arms. By the way, when is your birthday?

- Why does it interest you?

- Well, it interests me! I’d like to be able to wish you a happy birthday like you did for me.

- You won’t be able to. You’ll already be back in Barcelona when I have another year.

- Who says I’m going back?

- It seems obvious. Aren’t those your intentions?

I think I’ve piqued her curiosity. I smile, thinking that I’m not the only one curious here.

- I don’t know. I’ve been asking myself a lot of questions lately.

- Why? You have your life over there.

- Yeah. My life with a lot of bad memories.

- Is it because you’re on bad terms with your family?

- Among other things... With what I’ve been through the last two years too.

I fall back into my memories. I still feel just as bad thinking about it. She places her hand on my shoulder to keep me from sinking into my thoughts. She gives me a smile that would reassure anyone.

- You’re not alone anymore. I’m here if you need it, just like Alexia and the others. I’ll never leave you, and if you ever need to confide, I’ll be all ears.

She puts a bit more pressure on my shoulder. I smile faintly. I just need a bit of support and she offers it willingly. I’m on the verge of speaking, but I can’t yet. It’s still too hard. Just thinking about it brings tears to my eyes. I try to control them to keep them from rolling down my cheeks. I know that if I ever feel the need to open up, it will be to her. I trust her. It won’t be Alexia or even Mapi, but Bronze. She’s the only one who has reached a level where she has influence in my life. I’m simply not ready yet. To avoid breaking down, I decide to change the subject entirely.

- I need to fill out the form.

She nods understandingly, removing her hand from my shoulder. I immediately miss her touch. It was reassuring. She pushes the form in front of me, placing my pen on it.

- Only fill it out if you’re sure.

I don’t hesitate at any moment when writing down my choices on the dotted lines. They can only be the right ones. Her advice has been valuable, and I know she’ll help me if I run into difficulties. I like all the options. Even the languages will be useful later if I work with foreigners. International communication is important. I just hope my first choice gets approved. Bronze and I exchange a smile when I put the pen down. I take a deep breath and slump back into the chair. I look at the sheet where the options are proudly written. I have no regrets. Now, we’ll have to wait for the results. I check my watch, which reads six o'clock. It took an hour for me to finally know what to do with my life. She really took her time with me. Three hours have passed since I sat in this chair.

- By the way, you didn’t answer about your birthday.

- October 28th.

I look at her in surprise, not expecting a real answer. She smiles with amusement.

- Alright, I’ll make a note of it.

- Well, I still have some work to do, she says, standing up.

- Thank you for your help.

- You don’t need to thank me, she smiles as she sits down across from me.

- Do you mind if I stay a bit longer to work?

- No. The door is always open, as you can see, she says, pointing to the door.

- Haha! I just want to review my math and then I’ll leave you alone.

- You have a lot of courage, she chuckles.

- Good grades are earned, and it saves me from doing it tonight.

- True. You’d better get a good grade after all this studying, or you’ll hear about it from me.

I nod with a smile. I hope so too. I could have met up with Alexia, but I don’t want to. I need to succeed in my test, and studying is the key to success. My smile doesn’t leave my face as I watch Bronze resume her work. I’m glad things are finally falling into place since yesterday.

[aesopsharpmybeloved]

Bound - MAJOR UPDATE

The NEWTs can be quite stressfull. Luckily, professor Sharp knows exactly how to make his young sweetheart relax a bit.

Aah, sweet sweet PWP ❤ Huge thanks to my dear friend and partner in crime @tea-withjamandbread who authored several ideas in this smutty story, and to Maarty for her continuous support 🥰

UPDATE! After I posted this two days ago, I re-read it and realised I hated it. So like 70% of it has been rewritten and almost 2k more words appeared. Oops. So it's basically a new fic 😂

18+ GO AWAY CHILDREN, srsly

Bound (14.1k words)

tw: teacher-student relationship, age gap (reader is an adult), explicit sexual content, lights bdsm, light bondage, blindfolded, body shots, masturbation, oral sex, vaginal sex, comeplay, dirty talking, pwp, corn with feelings

During the NEWT exams, some classrooms were emptier than others. For example Potions and Transfiguration both held only about twenty-five students each, because of the complexity of the subjects. However, the same could not be said about the Charms classroom. The number of Seventh years who partook in the NEWTs exam in Charms was quite high every year, the subject (and its teacher) was not only popular, but universally demanded in most work fields. This year was no different. In fact, it seemed to break the record. 

You felt like a thousand Galleons once you left the stuffy room. While the Charms classroom was usually a very comfortable place to be, spacious and airy, when filled with nearly sixty nervous young adults, one Hogwarts professor, and two overseers from the ministry, it got quite stifling quite fast. You were rather confident that you did well on the written part of the exam, and you weren’t particularly worried about the practical part that was scheduled for tomorrow, but you knew better than to rest on your laurels. After all, it was one of the things your beloved insisted on instilling within you. So, some extra practice it was - you were certain that he would understand why you sought the warmth of his embrace a little later than usual.

You made your way over to the Owlery to let professor Aesop Sharp know that you would take some time after supper to practise your charms up in the Room of Requirement after dinner, before coming to seek him in his chambers. The summer was blooming, and most of the students were enjoying the warm day, many of them nose deep in their books, preparing for the following exams.  

After you’ve climbed the spiral staircase of the tower, you could see Diana was sitting on one of the perches, watching the other owls around her with mild interest. She hooted in greetings once you came into her field of view, and you approached her immediately, letting your finger lightly scratch under her chin. You were the only one allowed to do so for more than a few seconds. 

 “Hello, girl,” you said softly. A year ago, you didn’t think you’d ever get an owl. The school owls you’d use were, more or less, reliable, and you hardly needed a pet cat, seeing as there were dozens upon dozens of them roaming the castle. You weren’t exactly certain your parents would even allow you to get a pet. You weren’t certain of it even as you handed the nice gentleman a decent sum of money for the impressive greater sooty owl you fell in love with the first time you saw her in that shop. One of your greatest decisions ever, you decided.

 —

 Your mother nearly fainted when you returned from your international travels sporting a large cage containing the dark bird. Diana released several rather frustrated noises every now and then, less than thrilled to have to limit herself to the enclosed space. 

“That thing is not staying,” Father had said after he snapped at Mother to take a hold of herself. “That thing is an owl, father,” you replied defiantly yet calmly. Mind, you knew they most likely wouldn’t be anywhere near as excited as yourself with the purchase, but you had hoped there wouldn’t be any hostility. It would seem you thought wrong. The middle aged man was rather red in the face: “I can bloody well see it’s an owl, (F/N), and it has no place here! This is one of the finest houses in Knightsbridge, not some bloody forest!” You took a deep breath. Damn it, you used the phial of Felix Felicis potion you brewed at the end of the previous term on getting your parents to agree to let you travel by yourself, and left the rest of the potion at Hogwarts. If only you were able to use Accio on it all the way from here… 

“Hyde Park’s just around the corner, father. There are plenty of owls there, so it’s not like anyone would think it strange to see one more flying around. Father, please, it’s only for the following month before I go back to school, you won’t even see or hear her.”

 Your father lifted a finger in the air, but before he could resume talking, your mother’s voice cut in: “Let her keep the bird, Lionel. She already paid money for it, and she’s hardly going back to Australia just to return an owl… and besides, it’s not…it’s not that bad. I hear that the DeWitt fellow from Kensington had a live falcon present at a formal evening he hosted in his house, and it was apparently a big success with the guests.” 

You could hear a small tremble in your hervoice, and she was still watching the owl warily, but at that moment you could nearly hug her. Your father fumed for a few moments, his small eyes switching between Diana, your mother and yourself. Finally, he sighed, looking morosely out of the window: “Fine. But I hear one hoot in the middle of the night, I’m throwing the thing out. What a bloody waste of money…”

You hurried to your room with your new companion, before you could bite back that it was your hard earned money you spent. You didn’t want to risk your father retracting his agreement with Diana staying.

—

You grimaced somewhat at the memory, but then sent a smile Diana’s way: “Don’t you worry, girl, we’re not going back there. I rather think the freedom of the Highlands is more of your style than the busy Hyde Park, isn’t it?” The owl hooted softly, as if agreeing with you. You could hardly blame her - you now knew you were the same.

You then held up your hand, showing Diana the short letter you needed her to deliver. 

“You know who it’s for,” a grin adorned your face and in Diana’s expression, you could see the owl equivalent of a good-natured eyeroll. She offered her leg to you to attach the letter to. 

“You be nice to him,” you waved your forefinger in front of the owl in a cheeky warning, and she responded in kind, by gently nipping at the digit and then swiftly spreading her wings and leaping off the Owlery window, prompting you to chuckle.

You gazed after her for several minutes, lost in thought. You couldn’t believe that less than three weeks separated you from graduation. 

In eighteen days, your time at Hogwarts will be over. You’ll empty your dorm room for one last time, have one last breakfast in the Great Hall as a student, and say many heartfelt farewells to the people you’ve met here over the three years. You would of course stay in contact with your closest friends, like Natty, Poppy, Sebastian and Ominis, and Amit… You’ve been through too much together, too much to just say one last goodbye and begin your lives on your own. But some of the others, like Samantha or Imelda, well, who knew when your paths would cross again. 

-

 Sebastian and Natty were both hoping to catch a job as curse breakers at Gringotts, which would offer them a chance to not only become even more capable wizards than they already were in their own rights, but also see the world, get acquainted with more wizarding cultures. Poppy would be joining her Grandmother in her research, as you knew since the day you first met the girl in Beasts class. And Amit was, along with Adelaide, joining her uncle’s business, his desire to learn more about Goblins not having died down over the years in the slightest.

And Ominis? Well, he didn’t know what he wanted to do just yet - and which employer would take him in with his condition - but he seemed happy nevertheless. Similarly to yourself, the last thing he wanted was to return to his family, and having already secured himself a different abode, the lad looked content for the time being.

 However, you were certain you were one of the only ones, if not the only one to stay so close to Hogwarts. Even Sebastian planned to leave Feldcroft behind…Seeing as his once home became no more than an empty house, his uncle dead and his sister gone and refusing to speak with him, nothing but memories of his gravest mistake filling the empty rooms, you could hardly blame the Slytherin for wanting to leave it all behind.

And you? Well, you were all set up, weren’t you. A job already waiting for you, and a small house at the edge of Hogsmeade ready for you to move in. Frankly, you were quite excited at the prospect of living by yourself, setting your own rules, running your little household the way you want to, making the space yours. 

Thanks to professor Weasley being the greatest (deputy) Headmistress, you had a special permission to leave the castle a few weeks back, so that you could apparate to London and get various items of furniture and such for your rented house. 

And, interestingly, the Hogwarts potions master was somehow already present when you suddenly appeared in a little hidden alley a bit away from the Leaky Cauldron. 

And since he was already there, he could perhaps tag along to offer advice as to which items he found appealing and appropriately priced in regards to their quality. And since the two of you were already in Diagon Alley, well, you may just as well nip round back to the Leaky Cauldron for spot of lunch, and then why not take a little stroll in some park, arms linked and bodies joined at the hip, enjoying the cool air of early summer. 

 In a way, it was a little taste of what things were going to be like when the two of you no longer needed to hide, when you were free to show your feelings towards one another openly. And not just that. In a way, one that you were a bit too shy to think about just yet, it was like a taste of what things were going to be like one day, when the two of you would join in a shared life permanently… And somehow, this little secret thought was what made you blush during this little encounter of yours…

-

Dinner itself was rather uneventful - every so often, your eyes would travel up to the High table and over to the professor. Occasionally, he was already looking back at you with a small smile on his face, sometimes he was focusing either on his own meal, or on one of his colleagues sitting next to him, chatting. However, it seemed the potions master had the ability to feel your eyes on him, for after a few seconds his head would turn your way, and his own dark eyes bore into your own. 

And each time they did, you felt a little shiver run through you. 

 Somehow you managed to actually climb all the stairs leading onto the Seventh floor instead of immediately sneaking off into Aesop’s rooms following supper.

You made your way towards the training room that materialised in the Room of Requirement the previous year. The large chamber never ceased to amaze you with its ingenuity - as you finished your descent down the stairs, you found the room nearly empty with only one item in the middle. An item you recognised instantly - it was one of the puzzles you’d solve during the Merlin trials! 

Excited, you took off your blazer and rolled up your sleeves, so as to achieve maximum mobility and comfort. 

 ‘Flipendo ,’ you cast on the upper stone non-verbally, piecing together which way you have to turn it. And once you did, once the symbols matched, the whole thing just disappeared into thin air, leaving another object there in its stead - this time it was a broken statue, and you knew what to do immediately.

You sent spell after spell at the various items that appeared before you. You were handling yourself quite well too, being able to react quickly and send the correct enchantment. There was a brief moment of panic at one point, as the room suddenly filled up to the brim with water, which made casting the bubble head charm that much harder, but otherwise you felt confident and calm. 

You only just finished casting a perfect performed Descendo upon a floating training dummy, when you were suddenly plunged into darkness. Quickly casting Lumos, you realised that you were stuck in some sort of… cavern? A stony cavern, that was for certain, and a seemingly inescapable one. A frown riddled your brow.

Stone, stone, what to do with being stuck in a stony prison? 

At first, you tried to transfigure one of the rocks that seemed to be closing you in into a smaller object, which hadn’t worked. Depulso had a similarly dissatisfactory effect. Casting Bombarda or Confingo would’ve been entirely too dangerous to even try in this situation, as they would both recoil off the stone and hurt you… 

It took you a few more seconds until you remembered: the Gouging charm, of course! 

You pointed your wand at one of the stones again and thought as hard as you could: ‘Defodio.’ However, that didn’t seem to do the trick either. But the spell was correct! It had to be! You weren’t aware of there being a different spell you could use in this situation, and as Revelio did not reveal anything special about the stones that had you trapped, you were even more certain that the Gouging charm was the correct one… You just had to cast it right…You squeezed your jaw tighter and tried again.

 ‘Defodio!’

 And again, nothing. Damn it!

You were beginning to feel a little nervous if you were to be honest. The space you were in was rather tight and not exactly well ventilated, and as you attempted to cast the spell again and again, drops of sweat appeared at your hairline.

 “Defodio!” you cried out loud desperately, but all that followed was a light pop, as if a small pebble popped in half somewhere among the rocks. 

 Dear heavens…

Would the Room let you out if you couldn’t perform the spell? Or would you stay trapped inside, slowly losing precious oxygen until you suffocated? Surely not! Deek would come looking for you sooner or later certainly. He’d find you, he’d hopefully be able to get the Room to drop the spell it trapped you with. Wouldn’t he?

“Defodio,” you barely heard, the voice sounding terribly muffled. You had to actually shield your eyes as the stones around you began opening up and the light of the room hit you. 

After a few seconds during which your eyes grew used to the light once more, you finally saw the source of the successfully done spell. Aesop Sharp stood some ten feet away from you, wand raised and a little concerned expression on his ruggedly handsome face. 

 You finally managed to catch your breath which you didn’t even realise grew so laboured and fast during your uncomfortable stay within the cavern: “Th-thank you…”

He didn’t say anything for several minutes, waiting for you to calm down, and only then he spoke, his voice soft and gentle: “Are you alright, (F/N)?” 

You felt colour rush into your cheeks and embarrassment seep to your gut. Your eyes fell to the ground in shame. As if sensing your thoughts, the professor spoke again: “This is a very complicated spell, (F/N), even for many experienced wizards - there’s no point beating yourself over not being able to cast it non-verbally,” he came a little closer, and touched your shoulder with his free hand, his thumb rubbing small circles through your shirt.

“As you perhaps heard just now, I didn’t manage to cast it verbally either,” you replied, your voice quiet. Goodness, and here you were, feeling so bloody confident about the practical exam… What if this spell appeared among those you’ll be examined from? What if you fail then like you failed just now? Could one spell ruin the entire exam?

 “Darling, whatever you’re thinking right now, stop,” Aesop spoke, his large warm hand sliding down your arm until it reached your own hand, and curled around it soothingly: “not being to perform the spell non-verbally several times coupled with being very much stuck inside a pile of rocks is not exactly good on the psyche - I bet by the time you decided to speak the spell out loud, you weren’t nearly as focused on the correct hand movements as before, were you?”

 You didn’t say anything. He was right, though - during your last attempt to cast the spell verbally, you were sort of just wildly flailing your arm rather than doing the short, jerky wrist movement that the spell required. 

 “Let’s try something…” Aesop said, and then stored his wand away. He moved to stand behind you, wrapping his left arm around your waist and taking a hold of your right hand with his own. 

You let him move your hand until it was pointed forward. More rocks materialised out of nowhere and formed something of a small mountain right in the middle of the room. “Why don’t you try to send the spell non-verbally again? If it doesn’t work, take ten seconds to breathe deeply and calm down, then try again. And if that doesn’t work either, another ten second pause, and then send it verbally. The important thing is to perform the spell itself. Non-verbal casting does get you bonus points, but you’ll hardly be chastised if you speak your spells. However, if you stress yourself out because you’re unable to cast the spell without saying the incantation, you’ll find it difficult to cast the spell verbally as well.”

He then gently began moving your hand in the pattern of the Gouging charm, just making sure you remembered the proper movement, before he moved his head to be able to whisper into your ear: “Go on and try. And remember what I told you.” 

You shivered a little at the feeling of his hot damp breath upon your skin.  

You concentrated your hardest upon the stone formation, moved your wand in the pattern he made you practise again earlier, and thought your loudest ‘Defodio’. 

And… nothing.

“Alright - that was a fair enough try,” he spoke, calmly and far from critically, “I could feel your magic, but it was not enough. It was not concentrated enough. Breathe, my sweet,” Aesop whispered again, “Close your eyes, count to ten, and breathe deeply, in and out.”

So you did. You closed your eyes and began counting slowly, timing your breaths so that they were slow, deep and steady.

 “Alright - now focus. Imagine the stones already broken in half, an entrance forming among them, and only when you can clearly see it in your mind’s eye, that’s when you send the spell.”

You listened to the teacher, letting his close proximity calm you down enough to be able to once more fully focus. You stared unblinking at the small mountain in the middle of the room, trying to imagine it opening up into a cavern. 

Just like when you were standing before a treasure vault, or perhaps an ancient tomb in the Highlands, an entrance materialising right in front of you, after you’ve sent the correct spell on the stony key cube. “Steady,” Aesop whispered again.

 ‘Defodio,’ you commanded in your mind, your wrist turning in that jerky pattern, and suddenly…

Crackling and popping could be heard, and a hole started to form in the midst of the rock formation, soon reminding you of an actual entrance to a cave. You couldn’t help but turn your head to grin at Aesop, finding him grinning back at you already. Both his arms now curled around your waist: “Splendid job!” He pressed several prickly kisses on the skin of your neck, prompting you to giggle breathlessly.

 “My knight in shining armour,” you breathed out, leaning into your beloved further, “first you save me from suffocating in The Cavern of Certain Doom, then you save my performance tomorrow… Although I don’t know how we’re going to arrange you standing behind me while I cast this spell,” you finished with a small chuckle, your hands coming to cover his own around your midsection. 

“You’re in luck,” Aesop simply replied, “this spell is not among those that are used during the exam. I can’t tell you anything else, unfortunately. However, I had the chance to watch you for a while before your unfortunate rocky situation, and I wholeheartedly believe you’ve got nothing to fear tomorrow. You’ll be brilliant.” 

You smiled and fully succumbed to the comfort of his embrace. “Not as brilliant as you are,” was your whispered answer as you let your head drop to his shoulder in a silent invitation. One look at your parted lips was all it took for Aesop to seize the moment. His lips moulded against yours in a passionate kiss not a second later.

You pocketed your wand quickly to be able to turn around to face him and wrap your arms around his neck. Soon your fingers found their place in his hair, and you promptly began messing it up, dragging your fingernails through the soft locks. You accepted his tongue in your mouth shortly after, letting the older man taste you to his heart’s content and ravish your mouth as he saw fit. 

One of his hands came to take hold of the underside of your thigh, and he effortlessly lifted your leg up to place it over his hip. You lost your balance somewhat, but Aesop held on tight, his strong arms rendering you standing upright right where you were, as well as making you very aware of the effect your heated snogging had on him through this very close proximity. 

You managed to stifle the groan that threatened to escape you, but weren’t able to stop yourself from tugging on his hair harder, which in turn made him produce an unintelligible noise into your own mouth. 

“Oh, sweetheart…” he breathed out, closing his hand tighter on the flesh of your thigh, pressing you even closer, “if we don’t stop now, I think I might actually ravish you right here on the floor. Which I wouldn’t be exactly opposed to, mind, but I’d rather not traumatise our house elf friend was he to appear. For one. 

“For two, the ground is hardly a very comfortable place to rest afterwards…”

Your breath caught in your throat at his sultry voice. A few chosen words, and here you were, quite ready to actually really let him take you right there, right now. 

You were both torn from your little game of seduction by a series of loud sounds coming from one end of the room. You swiftly turned your heads in that direction, watching in bewilderment as a door appeared out of nothing. It was no ordinary door, though - it was camouflaged to look like the wall around it, and had it been closed, you could barely see it was there at all. 

From the entrance of the training room, it was virtually invisible.

“I swear, if that is what I think it is, I’m about to start really doubting this place, “Aesop said with a disbelieving expression on his face, “Vivariums to breed bloody Graphorns is one thing, but making a whole new room solely so that a professor can make love to his student sweetheart on a surface more comfortable than a stone floor? Now that’s ever so slightly questionable.”

You couldn’t help the small fit of giggles that overtook you then. Aesop watched in mild amusement as you covered your mouth. 

“You know,” you said once your laughter died down, “that’s what this place is all about; it provides without judgement. You really need to use the loo, it creates the loo. It feels like you could do with a bath, it makes a bathtub… And now here we are, the two of us very much needing a nice, comfortable and private space, and, of course, the Room is ready to provide.”

The professor pulled back slightly, a sly smirk on his lips as his hands kneaded the flesh of your hips. “Well… In that case, we’d be quite ungrateful not to make use of whatever the Room prepared for us, wouldn’t we?”

Without warning, your feet left the ground as the potions master bent to toss you over his broad shoulder. You barely avoided a collision with his strong back by bracing your hands against it.

 “Aesop!” you squealed out, only prompting him to chuckle smugly and use his free hand to swat gently at your buttocks. “You absolutely incorrigible man…” you sighed then, accepting your fate. You were unable to deny that there was something completely exhilarating about being manhandled like this. 

Several months ago, Aesop would’ve needed at least two phials of Wiggenweld potion to be able to just toss you over his shoulder and walk with you like this without doubling over in pain. However, following the extensive exercising he did while his leg was on the mend, Aesop felt healthier and stronger than ever, and he carried you like you weighed nothing at all.

From your position, you were only aware that Aesop was carrying you towards the newly formed room, but you couldn’t see a thing, despite attempting to turn around as much as your current position allowed you. Finally, the professor stopped in his tracks and whistled: “Well I never… this looks quite enticing indeed…”

Slowly and carefully he lowered you down until your feet once again touched the ground, his hands seemingly accidentally lifting your skirt slightly in the process, running over the backs of your thighs. 

You immediately turned around to see the new room for yourself, and grinned wide right away. Oh yes, you thought, this was indeed quite lovely.

The new room was bathed in a soft moonlight, and there were at least a dozen candles placed around on the various surfaces within. The flames of the candles danced and swayed slowly, creating a very tantalising atmosphere. There were several pieces of furniture. Before the artificial window stood two comfortable looking armchairs, and to the side of the room was a dresser, a white basin with a matching water jug and a few washcloths upon it. 

However, the obvious centrepiece of the room was a (very) large and beautiful bed, with intricate details adorning its dark wooden frame, and covered with deep purple sheets giving off a silky shine. It looked incredibly inviting, and you had to restrain yourself from jumping straight among the copious amount of pillows.

The Room of Requirement outdid itself indeed, it was one of the most beautiful if not the most beautiful bedroom you ever laid your eyes on, and it seemed Aesop agreed with you in this regard: “Now I feel a little self-conscious about your first time being among the mismatched chaos of my aunt’s cottage to be honest…” 

You could not help but grin at the teacher: “Oh, I thought it was quite charming, actually! However, rest assured that it matters very little to me whether we are at your aunt’s cottage, in your chambers, or in this spectacular room. I’m just glad to be there with you.” 

Aesop smiled at your words with the kind of smile that always made butterflies flutter within your stomach, and this time was no exception. You never understood his insistence that you deserved better, someone younger, better looking, who hadn’t made as many mistakes as he. 

In your eyes, he was perfect in his imperfections, and handsome beyond all reason.

You barely noticed your hand glide over his prickly cheek, your thin finger tracing the edge of his lips. His eyes fluttered a little under your tender touch, and his look was devoted and filled with adoration. And when you suddenly gripped his tie just below its knot and pulled him towards you, you were quite surprised to feel a very similar sensation. 

Aesop too held onto your blue and bronze Ravenclaw tie, and he also used it to pull you closer for a passionate, nearly bruising kiss.

The kiss was much too short however, as Aesop parted your lips mere seconds later in order to release a hearty chuckle, for he noticed your accidental synchronisation as well. The pause before another kiss was not horribly long though, and soon the professor was very much snogging the living daylights out of you, something you definitely didn’t mind.

“You know,” he murmured during one of your brief breaks for air, voice low and a little hoarse, “you gave me something of an idea…”  

“Oh? What sort of idea?” you mumbled in reply, your fingers slowly probing at the lapels of his overcoat before sneaking down to unfasten the buttons of his waistcoat. The potions master was smiling as he watched your growing desire, and his grin widened even further upon your whispered question. His dominant hand once more closed around your tie, now over the knot itself, and pulled down. The tie grew looser around your neck until it slipped from its knot entirely, remaining hanging in Aesop’s hold. 

“You see, I wondered whether I could perhaps make use of this. And my own tie as well… Tie you by the wrists to the bedposts, spread you nice and wide for me, then have fun making you come apart for me again, and again, and again…” he purred into your ear, marking the end of his sentence with a quick nip at your earlobe, prompting you to shudder noticeably. 

“So?” he whispered again, “what do you say?”

The smug bastard, you thought, grinning. He knew very, very well just by looking at you, that refusal of his proposal was the very last thing on your mind, the first electricity like impulses of impending lust fluttering through your core. Aesop smiled and started kissing a hot trail over your throat, but otherwise made no further advances.

“I need an answer, my love…I need you to say it,” he reminded after another minute or two, and you belatedly understood his restraint in taking things further just yet. 

“Y-yes, Aesop” you finally replied, voice a little shakier than before. 

“Good,” came out of his mouth as little more than a sigh, and his hands slid up to begin undoing your crisp white shirt, pulling it out from where it was tucked under the waistband of your skirt in the process. You watched almost mesmerised as his large long fingers made easy work of the small, delicate buttons, all the while his mouth latched onto your neck again. 

He kissed the newly uncovered skin after he’d slipped the soft shirt down your shoulders. Hot tongue glided over your collarbones and the clever fingers slid down the sides of your bosom before taking hold of your waist. His head dropped further and he nuzzled his face into the cleavage of your chemise before kissing at the path in-between your breasts, as much as the silky material covering them allowed him anyway.

He raised his eyes slowly and waited until your gazes connected. While his cheeks were slightly flushed and his dark eyes made even darker by the growing arousal, there was also that cheeky glint within them you were so fond of witnessing. It made another shiver run through your frame. The reason was simple: every other time Aesop had this look in his eyes, you knew he was going to say or do something that would plaster a nearly permanent grin on your face. Utter some deeply ironic quip, long-suffering comment concerning his students, or offer some rather cheesy pick up line. 

However, when he got this look in his eyes as the two of you were about to retire to the sheets, it meant a single thing: You were not leaving this bed tonight.

He bent even further, his lips making contact with one of your nipples, which was visibly perked under the thin chemise following his previous actions. The sharp sting of his crooked teeth on the sensitive tissue made a barely audible mewl escape your open mouth, and when your lover’s tongue circled the teat through the undergarment, your knees buckled somewhat.

 His chuckle against the now damp material of your undershirt didn’t help much either. 

“I can see we best get you to a seating position… Can’t have you tumble down for me just yet, now can we…” he said, sounding very satisfied with himself. 

He guided you to the edge of the bed and sat you down. The mattress felt firm yet comfortable, but you didn’t really have time to ponder about it for too long, as the potions master kneeled before you. He took hold of one of your feet and propped it up on his upper thigh so that he could unfasten the laces on your boot. And once he did, his large hands slid over your leg appreciatively, fingers teasing at the stocking covering it. Your skirt was lifted a bit to reveal the soft, milky skin of your upper thighs, as well as the simple elastic garter holding the hose up. 

Aesop made quick work of it, and seemed to be immensely enjoying slowly peeling both the garter and the stocking off your leg, dragging his nose and lips over the skin of your knee, your shin, your instep. The discarded clothes landed somewhere on the floor behind him, and he focused his attention on your other leg. 

Once you were completely barefoot, he raised a single finger in a silent request for you to give him a moment. He shifted to sit on the ground instead, and started undoing his own heavy boots, haphazardly throwing them to the side once they were loose enough for him to slip his feet out of them. With a barely audible grunt, he stood up again, rose to his full height, and made the height difference between the two of you greater than ever. 

There was a small predatory glint in his eyes as he towered over you, but he remained so gentle still, raising his hand to merely caress your cheek with utmost gentleness. You happily leaned into his touch, turning your head a bit to be able to press a kiss against the heel of his palm. 

“I’m going to need you to scoot further back on the bed, love” he requested in a quiet, unreadable voice, but you didn’t hesitate to comply. 

You only just managed to sit back enough for your entire body to be upon the bed, before your back made sudden contact with the mattress behind you. As it turned out, as soon as there was enough space on the bed, the potions master nearly leapt up upon it and on top of you with the ferocity of a wild thing, using his hands to pin yours above your head on the mattress, before rendering your entire body immobile using his body weight. You felt the low rumble of his laughter all over you, saw the irresistible smirk on his mouth, his face right above yours. Without further ado, you connected your lips again.

You couldn’t help but grin when he finished the kiss with a playful nip at your lower lip and scooted back in order to rid you of the rest of your garments. He popped open the button of your skirt, and unabashedly tugged it down along with your drawers. 

“Aesop Sharp, you truly are an insatiable man…” you muttered amusedly, prompting the teacher to snort. Soon, his palms again covered your thighs and began sliding up, excruciatingly slow, pushing the chemise up inch by inch. He always did this part slowly, almost reverently, lapping up your naked form with his eyes just like he did that very first night… 

And like that first night, you were justly bothered by the obviously unfair difference between your states of undress. You were quite ready to comment on it too, after the last piece of your clothing joined its companions on the floor, but found yourself speechless after your lover moved to straddle your waist, your previously discarded tie in hand along with his own. When did he even take it off?

“May I, dear?” he asked again, taking your hand and moving it above you at a slow pace, in case you had changed your mind about the whole thing. 

You felt your face burn as you nodded: “Yes, Aesop…”

Soon thereafter, Aesop was securing your left wrist to one of the bedposts using your Ravenclaw tie. You noted how careful he was tying you to the bed, constantly making sure the tie wasn’t squeezing your wrist tight enough to cut off your blood flow, but also that there was no way for your hand to get free following any sudden harsh movements. Your other hand was promptly taken care of as well, and Aesop moved back to sit across your hips and admire his handiwork.

The obvious hunger in his eyes made more blood rush into your cheeks, and your hands balled into loose fists.

You were completely naked before him, physically and mentally, vulnerable and defenceless… And yet you felt entirely comfortable with the situation. You felt exhilarated and excited as to what Aesop was about to do to you. The man himself seemed content to simply touch and observe you for a while, his warm hands caressing your body everywhere he could reach, mapping your curves, connecting your freckles and moles using his fingers. 

“Might have to re-tie you later,” he mused out loud in a low voice when he dragged his digits over your arms, making your body break out in goose flesh and making you squirm slightly at the ticklish sensation. “Oh?” you asked, your eyelids heavy with anticipation. You didn’t expect his next words to make a tremble run through you, but they sure did: “in case I want to flip you on your hands and knees instead…” 

Seeing your reaction, another predatory grin spread on Aesop’s features: “Oh, this is going to be fun… For now, though, I think it’s only fair you’re not the only one disrobed.”

Aesop began to take off his clothes then. First to go were his overcoat, jacket, and the waistcoat you unbuttoned previously, all of which the potions master shook down and away in one go. However, then he must’ve decided that a bit more teasing is in order, and each following article of clothing was removed slower than the last one. Aesop was fixing you with a smug smirk as he slowly shrugged the suspenders off his shoulders, and started unbuttoning his own white shirt. 

You licked your lips and your fingers flexed on their own accord as he revealed his hirsute chest.

That made him grin even more. He knew you loved to touch him, that you loved to run your nimble fingers through the hair on his breast, to pull on it, to bury your face in it to inhale his scent. He loved when you did that too. However, right now he was rather enjoying witnessing you like this even more.You remained silent but inhaled shakingly when he started to unfasten his trousers, revealing the sizable bulge in his pants.

A relieved little sigh left his mouth: “Finally. Those were getting uncomfortably tight… Then again, I hope to get into something even tighter later…” The potions master slowly untied the lace of his pants and slowly pulled them down.

His erection sprung out from its cottony confines, and your mouth watered at the sight of him. Your thighs squeezed together as much as they were able to, considering the tall man was still straddling you, and you found yourself perhaps slightly desperate to continue.

Just seeing Aesop like this, half naked, his large cock throbbing, his inhibitions tossed out of the window, and his gaze positively ravenous did inexplicable things to you. Your already swift heartbeat quickened up further and your womanhood dampened with sheer lust. 

You watched in fascination as his own fingers wrapped around the stiff penis, and he began to stroke himself slowly. Merlin, while you weren’t able to touch him, you could recall the feel of him inside of your hand perfectly, the organ hot and thrumming under your fingertips, getting even more sensitive at its mushroom-like pink tip, out of which a small clear droplet of fluid spilled already.  

He shifted somewhat and used his feet to spread your legs a little bit, just enough for him to slide the shaft into the gap that appeared between your thighs, dragging it through your damp folds and over your swelling lovebud deliciously. A noise so quiet you almost struggled to hear it yourself snuck out from your throat and you swallowed heavily, squirming at the teasing. He pumped his hips a few times, enjoying the sweet friction and riling you up further. 

He chuckled then, though it was audible in his voice that he wasn’t nearly as calm as he perhaps pretended to be. His breath was definitely shorter than it had been, and the rise of his eyebrows was absolutely unmistakable.  

He remained stationary for a little while, nestled within your legs, before a low chuckle rolled through him: “My apologies, dear, I seem to be getting terribly ahead of myself.” He braced his arms on the mattress next to your ribs, and slightly awkwardly climbed off the bed, mindful not to trip over his own undone trousers.

He removed his socks, then fully took off the dark breeches, his drawers soon following. He took his sweet time carefully folding each discarded article of clothing, which contrasted with all the other clothes that were haphazardly thrown on the floor previously. 

You watched his every move; someone as tall as Aesop shouldn’t be able to be this elegant in their movements, especially so during an activity as simple as removing one’s clothing, yet he managed perfectly. It was actually nearly mesmerising to watch him.

You heard a dark chuckle when he turned to the dresser to place his folded clothes onto it: “Oh, Room of Requirement indeed! This is exactly what I was thinking about just now,” he said, seemingly more to himself than to you. He slowly turned around to show you what he discovered on the piece of furniture. It was a long stripe of soft-looking deep green fabric, a little wider than a ribbon. It took you several seconds to understand what he intended to do, by which point he was already sitting on the edge of the bed next to you. “What do you think? Do you trust me, my love?” he asked gently, reaching out to touch your hot cheek, calloused fingertips dancing over the smooth flushed skin in gentle patterns. You thought about the idea for a little while, swallowing nervously. It all came down to a simple fact: 

You did trust him. You trusted him absolutely.

You didn’t really know what to expect from the experience of being both bound and blindfolded, though. What if not being able to touch him, or even see him at all would make it uncomfortable for you? Or what if the lack of sight would make the sensations too intense? It was yet another unknown for you. But then again, so was sex itself mere months ago. And Aesop was so completely brilliant, guiding you through all of it, holding your hand, and being so patient and sweet with you. Every single day, you discovered together what worked for one and didn’t for the other, staying respectful of one another’s boundaries and feelings.

It was so easy with Aesop. It was amazing with him. 

You knew you needn’t have ever worried. After all -

“If anything starts being too much, if it gets uncomfortable, even a little bit, just say the word and I’ll immediately stop and release you,” Aesop said sincerely, still stroking your cheek tenderly. You couldn’t help but smile at him, channelling all of your love for this man with your eyes.: “I trust you completely, Ace.”

The professor grinned in reply, his hand squeezing the piece of fabric a bit tighter. He leaned down to place a single kiss on your pliant mouth, and then tied the blindfold around your head. It indeed was as soft  and smooth as it appeared, but it blocked out way more light than you would’ve thought a thin stripe of cloth like this one could. That is, you were suddenly plunged into absolute darkness, which disoriented you momentarily.

Nothing happened for at least a full minute, no touching, no kissing, if you didn’t hear Aesop’s soft breathing right in front of you, you would’ve nearly thought he left, which was of course silly.

But then… First thing you felt was a warm body descending upon your own once more, both enticingly and comfortingly, a pair of arms coming to curl around your back. Then, a hot pair of lips claiming yours in a slow kiss. Finally, his breath teased at your earlobe again: “Could you do me a favour, dear?” he asked, sounding more playful than ever. Your mind felt quite clouded over, but you managed a very eloquent ‘huh?’. However, even in your heavily distracted state, you were sure that smug smile was still plastered on his face: “Would you please test your restraints for me?”

A breathless chuckle escaped your lips, but you decided to humour him anyway. At first you tugged at the neckties in several short bursts. That, unsurprisingly, did absolutely nothing. So you decided to truly try, and put your entire strength into an attempt to loosen the restraints enough to get free. You were sweating and breathless by the time you realised there was no way for you to get your hands free. Without magic, that is. 

“So, my dear… Are you able to free yourself?” Aesop whispered against your lips, his large nose dragging against your own in a manner that was contrastingly cute compared to the delectably filthy sound of his voice and the even filthier unspoken promise.

 “No, I’m not.”

”Good.” 

And not a second later were you gasping in surprise which swiftly turned into a moan of pleasure as the professor’s mouth latched itself onto your breast, his teeth worrying your sensitive nipple rather roughly. Aesop bit and he sucked in the way he knew you loved, and he always did so until it became nearly painful, at which point he stopped and focused his attention on your other nipple, giving it the same treatment. 

Normally, you’d be dragging your fingers through his hair and tugging on it, but now all you were able to do was to squirm and accept his merciless ministrations. Every now and then he pulled away slightly in order to blow cool air onto the teat, prompting it to harden even further than it already was.

You could only imagine your nipples being raw red and swollen when he finally lifted his head up again. They felt so very tender, and your quim was throbbing longingly. “Now what do we have here?” he asked lightly, clearly enjoying himself immensely, “another lovely thing I can use…” 

Did the Room create another object? What could it be? 

You gasped loudly when something cold and liquidy hit your collarbone and poured down between your breasts to further spill down your sides and into the little hollow of your belly button. A strong scent hit you then - is that Firewhisky?! While you didn’t enjoy the taste of the liquor, you couldn’t deny its smell and the alcoholic vapour combined with your current state of arousal made for one sensual mix. 

And the mix was made even more sensual when Aesop’s mouth proceeded to lick the alcohol from your skin, being very meticulous in his effort not to let a single drop go to waste. After he’d finished by drinking the last few drops from your belly button, he gave a satisfied grunt: “Hm, my sweet - I don’t think I ever want to drink Firewhisky a different way…”

You were now able to hear soft sounds of skin on skin, and another small sigh left your mouth. You truly wished you could see him, as you didn’t doubt he looked completely delectable. In your mind’s eye, you did see him; he was half hovering over you, half kneeling upon the bed between your own legs, slowly stroking himself while he played you like a violin, plucking at all the right strings. He repeated the process a few more times, pouring and licking the liquor off your body, mindful that it didn't get onto the more sensitive bits, all the while audibly pumping himself and groaning at the combined sensations.

It was complete and utter hedonism, and bloody hell you loved it…

“A-Aesop…” you sighed. You could smell his musk and the Firewhisky, and it was driving you positively ravenous. Not being able to touch him or even see him was only adding to the desperation. “Hmm? What is it, my sweet?” came from above your navel, Aesop’s breath cooling the damp skin and making you shiver, the words very nearly purred. You opened your mouth to speak, but no sound came out. You didn’t actually know what exactly you wanted to ask for - the only thought on your mind was him. You just wanted more of him.

There was a bit of shuffling; you felt the change in pressure on the mattress around you, and soon he was straddling you again, this time higher up your chest. He was very careful not to actually sit on you and potentially squeeze something too much. His scent got stronger, and the soft sounds of his hand languidly sliding over his shaft louder. “What would you like, dear?” 

You could feel your cheeks redden impossibly, and were all of a sudden a bit glad for the fact that you couldn’t see him. Noiselessly you opened your mouth and stuck your tongue out obscenely. A chuckle was your sole answer before long fingers slid into your hair to stroke it: “I rather think it’s my turn to make you feel good, sweetheart, not vice versa,” he said quietly, but you couldn’t mistake the little tremble in his voice. 

“Please…” you whispered back, before opening your mouth again. Aesop’s hand slid back from your hair and he caressed  your cheek instead, before putting two fingers on your tongue and making you open your mouth even more. You instantly any recognised the next thing to touch your tongue. You closed your lips around the engorged glans, and began to run your tongue around it, rolling it in your mouth and worrying at the slit at the top. You then hollowed out your cheeks to add suction to the movements of your tongue on him. 

His breath shuddered, and the hand on your cheeks tensed somewhat when you began bobbing your head up and down as much as you were able to in your position, releasing soft groans every time you managed to take him in further. Soon his own hips joined into the slow rhythm, and he used his hand to guide your head along even further.

The musky scent of him, the slightly salty taste, his beautiful sounds, oh, he was absolutely intoxicating. You licked along the defined veins of his cock, no doubt looking a right slobbering mess, but neither of you were capable of caring. If your hands were free, you'd be gently kneading at his bollocks, or perhaps toying with his nipples, but you had to admit, being restrained like this made for a very heady experience as well…

“Mhm, f-fuck,” he grit out before a hard thrust forward, one that guided him all the way in. You felt the tickle of his pubic hair on your nose, felt him twitch inside of your throat. You breathed deeply, fighting your gag reflex, the fabric covering your eyes dampening slightly with the tears that burst out following your efforts. You swallowed around the heavy prick, prompting another choked sound from your lover. 

The hand that was holding your cheek before tangled into your hair, and closed into a fist around it just enough to make you feel the pull, but not any pain. “I could just come right now-” he said, his voice low and dripping with pleasure, “paint the inside of your throat…” Your eyes fluttered under the blindfold. You wouldn't mind. The few times he allowed you to actually finish him using your mouth were completely glorious. “But that’s no fun, considering I’m planning to ruin you before I even fill that sweet little cunny of yours…”

 And then, with what seemed like a lot of effort, Aesop loosened his hand on your hair and pulled back and out of your mouth, a thin string of saliva clinging onto his tip still before separating, and falling unceremoniously down on your neck.

You heard him breath heavily for a few minutes, calming himself down a bit to be able to carry on with your little play. He moved back so that his legs framed yours again and his hands braced on the mattress on each side of your head.

 “I rather think it’s time to make you cry out for me , my dear.”

 Before you were able to gather your bearings, he claimed your lips in a filthy hot kiss, his tongue probing and penetrating, immediately overpowering your own into submission. You could taste the Firewhiskey he lapped up off your skin, and were sure he could taste himself on your tongue. You only sighed into the incredible kiss, letting him take absolutely everything he could possibly want. “You are driving me mad, (F/N)...” he muttered against your lips, a sense of urgency in his words, and ran his hands over your arms. They were beginning to feel quite numb if you were honest, but Aesop’s touch still made your skin break out in gooseflesh, and the promise of more pleasure to come made you completely uncaring towards any numbness.

Using his hand, Aesop turned your head to the side to be able to bite down on your pulse point, and he once more began to descend down your form. A trail of kisses and little bites led him back to your breasts, and he couldn't resist flicking his tongue over your poor, oversensitive teats, which made you whine quietly and toss your head around a little. Your thighs were rubbing against one another unconsciously, as you were trying to bring at least a little bit of friction to your soaking wet cunt. 

“Oh, I don’t think so, love,” Aesop said once he noticed your efforts, some of his smugness seeping back now that he wasn’t root-deep in your throat, and forced his own leg between yours, “as I said - my turn.”

You felt terribly cold when he pulled away somewhat, immediately missing the warmth of his strong body. Your legs were then mercilessly spread open, exposing your nearly aching womanhood to the cool air of the chamber and making you gasp. You heard what sounded like a growl leave the man who was currently digging his fingers into the sensitive skin of your thighs where he held them, no doubt leaving small bruises in his wake. 

“Bloody hell, sweetheart,” he mumbled, further opening your legs, “I wish you could see yourself right now… See yourself the way I see you… So beautiful. So sweet and lovely, all spread out like this. Like a feast ready to be devoured...” 

A single finger slipped across your seam, dipping within your folds teasingly before dragging over your swollen clitoris. “You are absolutely drenched,” Aesop remarked, the urgency in his voice coming back. Though he said his words lightly, airily almost, you could feel what felt like a snare drum in your veins. You were like prey face to face with a predator, and you knew that he would strike any second now. Your thighs trembled in anticipation.

And while you half expected it, it still caught you unawares when he lunged down, burying his face between your thighs. His lips, tongue and teeth all at once began an intense assault on your most primal senses, the relief of having your need finally attended to combined with the need itself forced a choked cry out of your throat, and for a second you couldn't comprehend why you couldn’t feel his hair between your fingers, when your hand was clearly reaching for it. 

No, your hands were instead balled into tight fists and you shuddered violently. Your lover was groaning in pleasure as he licked and sucked at your damp skin before letting his tongue delve into your fluttering opening, one of his hands letting go of your leg and coming in to help. His calloused thumb quickly found your lovebud, and began to rub it in a circular motion, in the same rhythm in which his tongue thrusted inside you.

Because of the absence of sight, it was like you could feel every single sensation twice as intense. Aesop’s little grunts as he devoured you, his thumb relentlessly worrying at your clitoris, that sweet, sweet sting of his beard on your tender skin, and the complete inability to do anything about any of these things, bound as you were, made the little electric sparks that announced an impending climax approach much quicker than usual. Mind, Aesop was perfectly capable of making you come within mere minutes, but the teacher was fond of taking his sweet time riling you up, and in turn making sure you were ready for him to fully take you. 

Two fingers pushed in alongside his tongue in search of that hidden bundle of nerves that never failed to make you moan for him. And find it they did, swiftly and precisely. 

You didn’t expect the orgasm to rip through you the moment the tips of his digits bumped into it, but here you were, crying out embarrassingly loudly and arching your neck and back as much as you were able to, while your toes curled and the sudden pleasure made your body feel like it was on fire. It was obvious your lover didn’t exactly expect it either, if his little gasp was anything to go by. His mouth left you, but his hands remained where they were, the fingers inside you actually pushing against your walls with every contraction of them, stretching them open. 

“My, my…” he said a little smugly as you still writhed under the sensations, your breathing laboured and your heartbeat almost too loud for you to hear him, “that was quite unexpected. However, very, very much welcomed. In fact, I rather think I’d like to do that again.” And without further warning and without you having any time to come down from your high, the teacher dove right back, his mouth returning to your entrance, and his devilishly clever hands doubling their intense assault. And just like that, you were thrown right back into the toe-curling sensations, your body so bloody sensitive, yielding to Aesop like he was its true master. Despite having just climaxed less than two minutes ago, you felt bloody close to the edge once more, and Aesop seemed hellbent on mercilessly shoving you over it again, lapping up at your fluttering entrance like a man starved.

Then however, as his fingers started to pump quicker inside you, making sure to hit that spot again and again, his mouth was forced to retreat, and he instead used it to suck at your lovebud instead. 

Another sudden and earth-shattering orgasm flooded over you in a truly ridiculously short amount of time, and now you were trembling all over, your thighs shaking nearly violently. You weren’t even aware of the surely whorish sounds you were producing, but your sweetheart obviously appreciated them, for you heard him growl: “That’s it, my sweet - sing for me…” 

This time he didn’t stop his ministrations even for a second as you came on his fingers and mouth a second time, and you remained a moaning, blubbering mess. You could feel a film of sweat covering your inflamed form, your own heart hammering in your ears louder that the bells of the Bell tower.

It was… It was actually becoming too much in the span of such a short time, and you were beginning to feel a bit dizzy from the unstopping pleasure, overstimulation setting in. Your dry throat burned from the sounds you made, and as yet another orgasm approached you, fast, intense, and feeling destructive, you knew that your limit would have been reached after that. 

So you gathered up all of your strength, all of the sense you were able to muster at the moment (which wasn’t a lot but it was hopefully enough for you to be able to say a single word), and you took several shallow breaths, fighting more moans that were bubbling in your throat.

“J- ah! J-Jobberknoll!” you managed to squeak out before another powerful burst of pleasure rolled through you and you cried out once more, the cloth over your eyes once again getting wet with your tears, the sensations too much.

Too much! Too much!

However, less than two seconds later, it all stopped entirely, the fingers retreating from your pulsing heat, the mouth ravishing your clit disappearing, and a pair of strong arms taking gentle hold of your hips instead. You shuddered out a soft sound of relief. 

One of those strong hands softly touched your face and caressed your cheek. “Are you alright, (F/N)?” Aesop asked, the concern in his voice winning over the obvious arousal, “did I hurt you?”

 It took you at least a minute but possibly even more to gather your wits about you, to catch a breath, to stop feeling like you were either going to faint right there or climax anyway despite no longer being stimulated. All the while, Aesop’s hand was stroking your cheek, the other holding your hip still, and the teacher daren’t move.

 “I-” you finally managed to grit out, your voice sounding foreign to your ears, shaky and hoarse, “N-no, you didn’t hurt me, b-but… it was becoming too much. I’m sorry…”

 You heard him click his tongue reproachfully: “What did I tell you about apologising for stopping me when you want me to stop?” You took another several seconds to reply: “... Not to.” 

“Exactly. If anything, I’m proud of you for having spoken up,” he said quietly, caressing your hair in praise. You opened your mouth a few times, and we're just about to ask for some water, when something cool touched your lower lip. You swiftly recognised it as the rim of a goblet, and eagerly opened your mouth further. Aesop carefully helped you take several large gulps of water, soothing your dry throat. Once you were done drinking, your lover put the goblet away again, probably where he found it in the first place, and again stroked your cheek.

Do you want to fully stop? It’s absolutely alright if you do,” he said then, his fingers tracing the features of your face with utmost gentleness. “N-no!” you replied, perhaps way too quickly, but completely sincerely, “No, no, I don’t want to stop, I just-... I just need a few minutes.” 

The professor’s body covered your own again, bringing on a beautiful sense of comfort. “You can have as much as you want, dearest… is it alright if I kiss you in the meantime?” he asked, and you could feel yourself melting a bit on the inside.

Yes, the older man very much was capable of turning into nothing less than a ravenous beast during your tender fun, but was completely ready to stop the very moment you showed any discomfort, and even ask permission for a kiss after he just made you come twice, face buried in your quim. 

“P-please,” you whispered only, raising your head a bit in a blind search of his lips. You didn’t have to search for very long at all, as the hot mouth covered your own in a kiss so gentle, it contrasted your previous passion beautifully. However, that doesn’t mean this kiss wasn’t passionate. 

After all, you could taste the proof of your own arousal and pleasure on his lips and tongue, and it was such a strangely heady sensation, you felt your core flutter again.

“Mhm…” your lover groaned between kisses, “can you taste how delicious you are? How amazing you smell? You are like bloody ambrosia to me, and I’ll never stop craving more. I could come just like that, just devouring you like so, forcing those sweet sounds out of you. Almost have, just now…” You proceeded to whimper into the next kiss, his words making the primal thing in you purr happily. 

“A-Aesop… I-... you can continue… please…” you whispered against his lips. You could feel him smile, his hands once more going to your hips and massaging them shortly. “Are you certain, (F/N)? We can wait a little more, if you need. Do you want more water?” he asked.

“N-no…” you replied, “no, I'm fine. Please, continue.”

He pulled back again then, and you could feel his engorged glans against your opening. You were already taking a deep breath, preparing for the penetration, when instead the teacher’s cock slid right along your seam and over your sweet spot, making you shudder in both pleasure and mild frustration. He repeated the motion several times, each one making you feel you’re about to go mad.

“You have to tell me what you want, my love,” your sweetheart whispered, his voice betraying the fact that he was barely restraining himself now too. You were already red as a salamander, but you still felt even more blood rush to your cheeks.

 “F-... Fuck me, Aesop!” You breathed out.

There was a few seconds of pregnant silence, but then the potions master chuckled gleefully: “Merlin’s beard, love… Words one could consider crude, but from your lips… Like a siren’s call… And your call is always my command.” 

However, before he could finally line up with the entrance into your warmth depths, you spoke up once more, a hint of embarrassment colouring your voice: “B-but wait! Can you… uh, can you please take the blindfold off? I need to see you…” 

Instead of laughing or refusing, Aesop gently caressed your cheek and moved his hands to remove the blindfold. “Of course, sweetheart. Let’s get this pesky thing off, shall we?”

Even though the room was quite dim, having spent long minutes in complete darkness, it took you some time to adjust to the light. You blinked repeatedly, your vision a little blurry, but soon your eyes focused on your lover. You couldn’t help the smile that bloomed on your face. Aesop too was smiling down at you, his eyes filled with both love and lust, pupils so dilated they made the teacher’s orbs look entirely black. His cheeks were reddened, and you could see the area around his lips glistening damply with the proof of your desire.

“You know,” he said gently, “I also prefer it when I can see you, see you fully, that is… I love looking into your eyes when you come for me…” 

Once more his hands took hold of your cheeks, and he dipped his head to give you another deep kiss. 

“Ready?” he asked, pushing a strand of your hair out of your eyes and across your sweat-slicked forehead. You beamed up at him, drunk on your pleasure and your love: “You take such good care of me, Aesop… Yes, I’m ready.”

The older man gave you another shiny grin and sat back on his heels. He grabbed his throbbing erection in his right hand, and gave himself several slow strokes, using his index and thumb to play with his foreskin, pulling it over his glistening glans halfway before pulling it back again, your eyes watching his every move and your womanhood fluttering in anticipation. 

“Of course, my love,” he said, “After all; you’re mine. I’ll always take the very best care of you. You can count on that… For now, however… For now I’m going to render you unable to count even to five.”

As much as you could, given your restricted position, you leaned over to watch him guide his prick to your dripping entrance. A sigh left your lips when he shifted forward and the dark pink tip sipped inside, the familiar stretch making you bite down on your lower lip. In a fluid motion, he thrust himself all the way inside, forcing another soft groan from your mouth. It was scary how addictive this feeling was, the feeling of complete fullness, of your bodies being this absolutely connected. You could feel the beat of his heart through his shaft within you, frantic like yours was. “Hmm…” Aesop sighed, his eyebrows rising in the pleasure of being completely enfolded within your plush heat, his voice soft. 

He stayed where he was for several moments, just enjoying the sensation and letting you adjust a little.

Effortlessly, he then lifted your lower body off the bed and placed his legs below your hips and bottom, making you sort of awkwardly sit in his lap while your upper body remained pretty much hanging by the hands secured to the bedposts. You were entirely in his control, unable to move at all. Not that you minded. 

His forehead made contact with your collarbone, and his arms curled around the small of your back, and he shallowly pumped his hips a few times, making the two of you produce soft sounds of pleasure. The rhythm he set was slow at first, the teacher’s mouth again closing around one of your nipples, your breast muffling his soft little grunts as he sheathed his cock within your core repeatedly. 

“Have I told you your breasts are the eighth world wonder, my sweetest?” he purred with a smile when he released the pebbled teat, once more red and sensitive from him rolling it between his teeth on the very verge of pleasure and pain. And while you were in the middle of another pleased sigh, you couldn’t help but chuckle at his words.

“Oh, Ace…,” you murmured, “I never knew how difficult it would be… Not b-being able to hold you…” Your eyes were partially closed as you enjoyed the sensations of him languidly fucking your tight little quim while worshipping your body. 

The professor smiled softly: “Would you like me to untie you?” You thought about it for a while, but ultimately decided to remain bound - after all, it was not every day you indulged in this kind of play, it’d be a shame to end it prematurely. 

“Mhm… no. No, it’s alright. I can tie you to the bed n-next time…” you whispered, moving your own hips as well as you could given the position, both of you searching for that one magical angle that made you cry out for him. “Now, that, ah…” Aesop groaned upon another thrust, “that’s an idea. Keen to leave me a moaning, trembling mess, are you?” Your eyes fluttered and your lips spread into a smile. “Y-you know how beautiful you are in that state?” you whispered, the image appearing in your mind’s eye. 

Aesop, completely dishevelled, blushing, sweating, whining in the pleasure you were bringing him. All the while being entirely at your mercy.

“Likewise, (F/N),” he growled slowly before suddenly snapping his hips roughly against your own, making you choke out a gasp, “which is why I intend to get you into that state right now .”

And then his pace quickened rapidly, and he finally found that spot that rendered you positively speechless. His fingertips dug into the flesh of your hips enough to leave small bruises there, and he began to ram into you in earnest. And, just like he promised, you were indeed soon reduced into a state of overwhelming pleasure, but this time you let it claim you fully and entirely, your hips quickly unable to keep up with his, and you could do little more than just lie/hang there and take it. 

The room was filled with the beautifully vulgar sounds of your bodies uniting, again and again, the noises of gratifications that poured from your open mouths, and the banging of the headboard against the wall behind it following Aesop's wild movements. You whined and writhed, your nails digging into your palms when they would normally be making small crescent moon shaped cuts in the skin of the teacher’s muscled back.

He leaned over suddenly, one of his hands curling around the headboard close to your right hand, while the other moved south. His thumb found your lovebud, and he began rolling it roughly in rhythm with his powerful thrusts.

The added sensation to the little pink pearl was like a summoning call to your previously snuffed out climax, and it began to return tenfold, your walls fluttering around the large cock, your entire form beginning to tremble under the delicious assault on your senses. Aesop’s other hand found your own where it was suspended at the bedpost.

“A-Aesop…” you barely managed to wine out, your grasp on the English language lessening rapidly. “I’m g-going to…” your head was thrown back, your eyes were rolling into the back of your head on their own accord, and you needed more.

“I-I’m… I’m close too,” he groaned and increased his pace even more, forcing more filthy noises pour out of your mouth at the dizzying feeling. And as you found yourself dancing upon that edge, your toes curling in on themselves, and the coil in your stomach tightening, Aesop suddenly pulled his hand away from where you were so intimately joined in order to wrap it around your throat. 

He wasn’t squeezing you very hard at all, just sort of pushing, lessening your oxygen supply. You trusted him, though, you trusted him to never hurt you, and right now he was making you feel so, so bloody good. 

The shortness of breath somehow made the chaotic flurry of sensations even stronger, and you gave a half-choked hoarse cry when you felt that knot inside finally explode into blinding white pleasure, one that made all of your muscles spasm. You felt that intoxicating feeling of soaring hot pleasure roll over you like a tidal wave. You let it consume you.

Your following sound turned into something of a sob, because of the sheer intensity. When you somehow managed to open your eyes, all you saw was Aesop, his face directly above yours, his eyebrows knitted and his eyes screwed shut. His mouth was opened, and a string of grunts was leaving it as he too found himself on the very verge.

With a muttered curse that had his voice rising half an octave, his eyes snapped open, and he looked directly at you. His gaze was both frightening and beautiful, he looked wild, like a primal being. He intended to take, and he was clearly past the point of all reason, chasing his pleasure within your contracting depths.

In a quick move, he pulled out, and used the hand he was gripping your neck with to roughly tug at his cock one, two, three times. A guttural growl that reminded you of a predatory animal reverberated through the room, and a hot rope of pearly white come spread over your stomach, followed by another one upon your ribs, reaching your breast even. He then proceeded to roughly thrust himself back into your quim, forcing a desperate whine from your mouth, and you felt more of his hot seed filling you in short bursts, igniting you from within.

Aesop’s forehead landed on your own, hot puffs of his breath landing on your damp lips, the hand that was holding your own tangling into your hair as he still pumped his hips slowly to ride out his orgasm.

You were perfectly marked by him, inside and out, claimed as his own again.

His strength gave a minute later, and he collapsed on top of you heavily, his breathing ragged and his heartbeat frantic.You gratefully accepted the weight and warmth of his body. Waves of gratification still rocked through you, and a sweet afterglow was settling in. 

You turned your head to the left, where Aesop’s face was still buried in the crook of your neck, and pressed several soft kisses against his bearded jaw, nuzzling against his scarred cheek with your nose. One of his hands was still stroking through your hair, damp with perspiration, while the other curled around your back, holding you close.

As you cooled down from your shared ecstasy, your lover finally lifted his head, but only to connect your lips in a satisfied, lazy kiss, the previous lust-crazed passion replaced by sweet tenderness. After several minutes of gentle kisses and soft words, he looked into your eyes. 

“Are you alright, sweetheart? I haven't hurt you, or squeezed you too hard?” the professor asked, his voice low with residue pleasure and slight fatigue. The hand in your hair went to gently stroke at your neck instead, checking for any damage he might’ve caused. You couldn’t do much else than beam back at him: “I’m alright, Aesop… Although I can’t really feel my hands.” Your smile got a little sheepish as you nodded in the direction of your hands, still tied to the bedposts by your and his neckties. 

“Ah,” Aesop hummed, “of course, dear, let me just-” and then, following a wave of his hand, the ties began unknotting themselves before simply sliding off your arms. You felt pins and needles in the limbs as you finally lowered them to rest on Aesop’s strong back, but couldn’t find it in yourself to care, just happy to be finally able to hold him.

You stayed like this for a few more minutes, just enjoying the intimate closeness, before Aesop finally moved to sit up on his heels again, his now soft member leaving your depths. Your lover murmured something under his breath as he looked down on your body and then on his own. And then he smiled: “I made a bit of a mess - I’m sorry dear.” 

His voice betrayed him though, he sounded everything but apologetic.

He was looking at you with a mix of smugness, possessiveness, a hint of renewed desire, and overwhelming love, as he observed the product of his pleasure clinging to both of your stomachs and dripping out of your core. You were blushing heavily, but didn’t feel uncomfortable at all. With a simple wave of his hand, the jug that stood upon the dresser poured water into the washbasin. Another wave, and it floated towards the bedside table, along with one of the soft looking cloths. 

Aesop’s elegant fingers curled around the textile, and brought it into the water. After squeezing out the excess liquid, he set to clean you. You were happy to find the water nicely warm, perfect for your tired, slightly sore body. Aesop very slowly and very carefully washed your torso, making sure to be extra gentle around the more sensitive areas like your tender nipples. He rinsed the cloth and continued lower. 

Many times, a quick Scourgify was enough to get both of you by, but it seemed Aesop was currently intent on prolonging the intimate atmosphere that settled between you, taking the sweet time to clean you up himself. 

Only after he was done with you did he finally use the washcloth on his own body, scrubbing the drying seed from the hair on his stomach and giving himself a quick wipedown. Once he was finally all done, he carelessly tossed the fabric into the basin and curled up next to you on the bed. He helped turn you on your side to face him, and pulled one of your legs over his hip. 

Soon thereafter, a very soft duvet slid upwards to cover your bodies and wrap them in its warmth. Your older lover then gently brought your wrists to his face and frowned momentarily: “If time comes when the two of us want to repeat this experience, I’ll get you some softer and finer restraints.” Your wrists were red where they were tied. “And I’ll get you some ointment for your wrists.”

You smiled at the professor. He was always so concerned for you, always making sure you were alright, even after he made you see stars and experience pleasures you wouldn’t have thought possible. 

“You do take such good care of me, Ace,” you repeated, drunk on your current state of comfort as well as the love you held for the incredible man who held you in his arms, blinking slowly, “but I think I quite want to keep my wrists as they are… As a… little reminder…”

A new wave of possessiveness flashed in his eyes for a second - you knew he adored seeing you embrace the marks he left on your body. You, after all, also loved to see the imprints of your fingernails clearly visible on the skin of his broad back, or the hint of the love bite you left just below his collar. It was clear the two of you had some sort of thing for marking the other as your own, as well as being marked. 

Your eyes closed on their own accord when his large, warm palms enveloped your face in their hold, and he sought your lips in a slow kiss. He helped you mould around his body in a way that was comfortable for both of you. 

“How long do you reckon we can stay here?” you asked softly, the fatigue that followed your most pleasurable love-making turning into outright sleepiness as you snuggled under the duvet. Your hands lazily stroked each other's bodies, your hair spread around your heads on the shared pillow. The moonlight from the artificial window got dimmer, and the flickering candles became the main light of the room, further deepening the intimate atmosphere. 

 Aesop hummed quietly: “I’m not expected anywhere. And I rather think your roommates no longer question your absence at night - after all, we planned to be together tonight anyway.” You huddled further into his warmth: “Good. I’m fairly certain I wouldn’t be able to walk back to your chambers right now anyway.” 

Your responses prompted a small chuckle out of the potions master: “I would’ve gladly carried you all the way back into my chambers, though I suspect the portraits and the ghosts would surely give us some curious looks.” You chuckled as well.

“It’s nearly surreal that in less than three weeks, there will be no more sneaking about… well, as successful as we were actually sneaking about anyway…” you continued, “if I finish my practical exams, that is.” The teacher only smiled at you, squeezing your waist: “You’ll be incredible. I know you will. And, I mean,” he pulled back to look at you, a grin on his face and a mischievous look in his eyes, “we can sneak about recreationally, if you so wish. However, I for one am quite looking forward to not having to do that, and instead be able to court you openly. If you’ll have me, that is.”

Another blush entered your face upon his sweet words: “Always, Aesop…”

“Still,” he spoke again after a while, “shame you’re such a responsible adult, going nearly straight to work following graduation - I would’ve hoped to have you all to myself for the summer. Though I of course realise you, uh, didn’t know whether there was even a possibility of a shared summer when you applied for and accepted the job. Still, if Miss Peck would be able to relieve you for, let’s say, a week… Well, we could go somewhere if you’d like. Devon, for example, is quite lovely this time of year.” 

As he spoke, the older man was fidgeting with your fingers, a hopeful undertone to his voice. You couldn’t help but smile warmly at him: “I think Ellie can miss me for one week, as long as I owl her about the matter in a timely manner… What can you tell me about Devon?”

Aesop’s grin could light up the entire Great Hall, and it certainly made a whole kaleidoscope of butterflies flutter around your stomach, as he turned to lean over you a bit: “Oh, let me tell you…”

Hello, and thank you very much for reading. I hope you enjoyed this dirty little story. As always, you can also check this story as well as all of my other stories over at AO3. I adore feedback! ❤

[therecordconnection]

Some Thoughts Regarding James Somerton

I know I'm rather late to the conversation and some of these points may have already been talked about in some form elsewhere on the site, but if you don't mind, I have some thoughts of my own regarding the subject of hbomberguy's latest video and I would like to take time to voice. This blog is normally dedicated to music and music writing, not posts about disgraced Youtubers, so I apologize for the detour in regularly scheduled programming.

First, I think it's important to make the distinction that Somerton isn't just a case of "problematic Youtube guy got owned... twice" but rather a genuine case of academic dishonesty, which is several grades above youtuber drama. This isn't something like Tati Westbrook getting angry at James Charles for sucking dick and cock at a birthday dinner. This isn't Ethan Klein and Trisha Paytas or whomever having beef. It's not Charlie Critikal talking about some stupid drama of the day or someone just using Youtube videos to say a bunch of gross and problematic stuff. No. This is a fucking grifter who not only lied, cheated, and stole his way to the top, but also did it by using a vulnerable community that has long had their voices snuffed out and their history completely rewritten or wiped from existence altogether. What history he didn't plagiarize, he twisted and outright lied about. He just made shit up to suit his own gross agenda.

A lot of things about James Somerton left me absolutely livid, and I admit that I didn't even know who he was until hbomberguy's video. I think what makes me the most mad is that I went to undergrad and grad school with a number of jackoffs that were just like him. People that didn't give a shit about the art of writing and research and just treated academia and the pursuit of knowledge and how to critically engage with art and media into a stupid game that only chumps take seriously. Somerton pisses me off because I AM a writer. When I write the Ranting and Raving series of posts on here, that stuff doesn't just fly out of my ass. I have to sit with a song, study it, research it, and make sure I know what I'm talking about so I don't look like a clown. I also have to make sure that I link and credit where I'm getting information from. It's not just important for my own satisfaction, but it's important for anyone who stumbles upon a post on this blog and takes time out of their day to read it and/or reblog it.

I think that's the part that makes me the most mad. That he and Nick Hergott have so little respect for the work that goes into researching and writing about a topic that other people are really passionate about. Spending time with something, studying it, and figuring out an interesting and unique perspective on it is a great feeling. Sharing what you find or how you see something with others and having them either like or reblog your work is an even greater feeling. That's my writing that somebody enjoyed and thought was worth sharing with others. Fuck fuck fuck Somerton for thinking you can take a million little shortcuts to get to that result.

While I'm on the topic, I don't think Hergott gets a pass for Somerton's actions. I've seen some people make the argument that he isn't complicit and there's a chance that he genuinely had no clue that Somerton was doing this... but I don't buy it. There's no way he didn't know and wasn't in on it in some capacity. Even if he wasn't, as Todd in the Shadows pointed out in his video on this situation, Nick is, whether you like it or not, an accomplice to Somerton's lies and he is complicit in the blame, due to his name being included in the "Written By" credit of a lot of those videos with Somerton. The way I see it, I find it hard to believe that he couldn't have known. I imagine part of Hergott's signing on with Somerton was that in the event that shit hits the fan, Hergott would be used as a fall guy to help deflect accusations of plagiarism.

To return to Somerton, in a way, he's almost worse than AI/Chat-GPT because, really, an AI has no morals. It can only do what someone punches in and tells it to do. Somerton is a guy who does have genuinely insidious ambitions and knows fully what he's doing. That shit about "only the boring gays who didn't mess around in the eighties survived the aids crisis" is the wildest and grossest accusation I've seen about gay people in some time. The wild takes about the Nazis (especially all the wrong things he said about fitness relating to Nazis) should also raise a lot of red flags. I'll say this though, I don't blame anybody in the slightest for not fully realizing Somerton was saying shit like that or doing all of what he was doing until hbomberguy and Todd presented it a certain way and made it all very clear. It's easy to not notice it when Somerton buries it by ripping stuff off from other, better writers. So, if you were someone who was a big fan and was genuinely shocked by the things Todd had to fact-check and debunk and worried that you're a bad person for having not caught any of them, trust me, you're not. Nobody should blame you for not catching it. <3

While I'm ranting about this, I want to say that Somerton's patreon grift was really gross to see exposed as well (through Dan Olson's really great thread, which can be read here). I understand the allure of wanting to buy expensive gear and thinking that's somehow needed in order to make Good Content™️, but there's a stark difference between someone saying "I think I need to shell out a little money in order to get something of higher quality" and "I need to have the appearance of looking like my stuff is being made with high quality stuff." As someone who has been experimenting with trying to turn his writing into video, I did some audio tests this weekend and realized that maybe (just maybe) the old Turtle Beach microphone my brother left behind when he moved out isn't going to cut it. If I want to record something I can be happy with, I'm gonna have to bite it and look at getting something decent, but somewhat affordable from a Best Buy or something. You don't need the best tech in order to make something great, but you can't use copper tools forever if you have the means to be able to enjoy using iron ones, you know?

Somerton's grift reminded me of guys like Onision and Spoony. Grifters who looked to Patreon and other creator donation sites for an easy pay day and would bitch and cry and complain that it's your fault when they don't get it. Somerton making poor financial choices ON TOP of it being money that he scammed from a community of people that were looking to invest in a voice that they genuinely thought was speaking for them in a meaningful way, only makes the grift more disgusting and foul. Even if he's just "some Youtuber," Somerton still had a responsibility to his audience to present queer topics in an ACCURATE manner. He didn't and we all have the right to be angry with him about it. This isn't just silly youtuber controversy, this is academic dishonesty in it's purest form and if it gets you expelled from any college program, it should get you expelled from being able to show your face on Youtube as well, which is how Somerton's story will end.

I've been on the internet for many years. I've seen some of the worst, most problematic creators of all time find a way to bounce back from all kinds of controversy and find some kind of success again. I don't think that will happen for Somerton. Not one bit. What he's done is something you can never come back from, no matter how much you try to reform. If two different youtubers can make two completely different videos about why you suck, I don't think there's any recovery. What happened this weekend is a now classic episode of World's Most One Sided Fist Fights Caught on Film.

This post has gone on for a while, so let me wrap it up. I mean this without hyperbole and without exaggeration: James Somerton is a disgrace to both media criticism and the art of video creation. I genuinely hope he remains propped up as a cautionary tale of what can happen when you fully decide you have absolutely no respect for the Humanities and decide that lying, cheating, and stealing your way to the top, all while scamming and being incredibly shitty towards a community that has long suffered and is STILL suffering greatly to this day, is better than any kind of academic honesty. I understand that Somerton is just "some youtube fraud" to some people, but the problem lies more in what Somerton's actions and motivations represent. I really think hbomberguy's video on plagiarism is going to do a lot of good. It's going to help a lot of people avoid doing it as well as help people become more aware of what it really looks like and all the damage it can do.

Thank you for your time.

P.S. It doesn't really need to be said at this point, but make sure you support the queer voices and writers that did the work Somerton thought was good enough to just copy and paste into a video. They're the ones that suffered the most through all of this and my heart goes out to them, from one writer to another. <3

[yellowocaballero]

Writing update

I should probably give an update because things been slightly whack. Roughly, in order:

Was having issues with my medication, and writing got really difficult. Wanted to write Naruto, could not. Continued writing that Jason Todd story because what am I going to do, not write?

Fix medication issues. Feel like I can write again. Open up literally almost fucking random word document, see that it was the first paragraph of the More Than Zero rewrite (the story from my Star Wars No Chip AU) that I never did.

Go nuts.

Sixty pages into doing the rewrite, I decide that actually this story cannot function at all if I don't stop writing it and go write an entirely different story, which is somehow necessary for the quality of this story. Time to write the one of the many other No Chip AU stories I never got around to writing.

Go nuts.

40k of the Neyo story now exists. It's good, mostly.

Realize at this point that I cannot post a 40k fic on Tumblr and that the complete series is now clicked into my mind as an anthology, which means that it needs to go on AO3.

For several different reasons, one of which is admittedly marketing, I would like the series to stand on its own, so I need to completely rewrite the Order 66 story to establish everything about the universe that the ordinary roleswap fics established.

Realize I've gone nuts.

Decide to completely rewrite the Order 66 story anyway, it is at least twice as long and basically completely different.

As I do this, I realize that now the Rex buildingsroman story doesn't work at all, so I need to cut one section of that and rewrite a portion of it as well.

I would also like to make some semi-significant changes to the Bly story.

I am currently in the state of going nuts and will continue to be going nuts until some undetermined point in the future, at which point I will post every single fic in one story on AO3. There will be a metanarrative.

Decide that I was completely correct in aggravating literally everybody by refusing to post this on AO3, because if I had posted it on AO3 then it would have been way more difficult to rewrite all of this. I also feel a lot more confident in the quality of the rewritten versions and have, fortunately, improved over the last two years as a writer.

I think.

SO YES, I WILL BE POSTING IT ON AO3 THIS TIME. OKAY?

This is all BIG news for like maybe three people. All that to say, I will not be posting anything for a bit and then So Much will be posted. The revamped series should stand on its own and not need any knowledge of its parent AU. This is why I've disappeared off the face of the Earth. I will come back with Star Wars.

[chiriwritesstuff]

The Girl in IT- 8. The Panic! in the Breakroom (Christine's Version)

A Boss! Joel Miller x IT Specialist F! Reader AU

The LIST │ Series Masterlist

Chapter Rating: M

Chapter Summary: Joel and Sugar spend some time apart and have serious conversations about their relationship's future. Everything is about to change...

Chapter Warnings and Tags: No outbreak AU, Boss x Employee Relationship, Sugar Daddy Lite, Reckless Driving, Talks about Periods and Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome (PCOS) and all of the shitty things that could happen with it including blood loss, miscarriage, and painful pregnancies, Someone gets punched (it's Joel, he gets socked in the face), Sugar takes a backseat as chaos ensues, Badass Ellie Miller, Ellie is going through it, Joel is going through it, Sugar's going through it!, Badass Survivalist Bill to the rescue, There is no smut in this chapter (like at all), no beta we die like men!

Word Count: 8.2 K

A/N: Here it is, the first chapter of my big rework, as I mentioned in this post. If you've read the original posting of this chapter, you know it ended with a surprise pregnancy and a proposal. As much as I know many of you enjoyed that outcome, it was also a departure from my true intentions for Sugar and Joel's relationship timeline, which set off a chain reaction for this story. I was afraid of alienating my readers- I thought by avoiding a darker or more heartbreaking storyline, I wouldn't upset anyone and felt like giving a happy ending to this chapter was the right move. Upon reflection, I started to regret it. Trying to censor myself out of fear of losing readers and not staying true to myself is not the way to go, and I've learned from this lesson.

There is a massive plot change in this chapter. Most of the story is the same, but I have included several pivotal moments with Joel and Sugar that will change the tone of the rest of the series. I do promise that we will be getting our happy ending, just at a different pace. This chapter does have some triggering moments, so please read the tags before reading. I also want to note that chapters 9 and 10 will be completely rewritten. I have set those chapters to private as I continue to rework them, and I hope to get those chapters out promptly before we dive into 'My Wife in IT'. Thank you so much for reading and for sticking around. I really do appreciate it.

"The conference should only be a few days, baby," Joel reassures you, planting a soft kiss on your forehead before disappearing into the walk-in closet to grab a flannel.

As he starts getting dressed, he catches your lingering gaze and teases, "See something you like, baby?" A mischievous smirk plays on his lips as he zips up his jeans.

Unable to resist, you slide out of bed and join him. Wrapping your arms around him from behind, you pout and playfully protest, "Do you really need to go, though?" You reach around him to button up his shirt, meeting his gaze in the mirror. "The bed will feel so empty without you... and it's kind of weird being here alone."

"Well, with Ellie being in the house I bet you'll hardly feel alone, hell, I can just see her attached to your hip the whole time," Joel replies, spinning around and pulling you into the warmth of his broad chest, kissing the top of your head. "You won't even notice I'm gone when she's around, she'll keep you on your toes plenty."

"Have you spent time with Ellie lately? You know anything could happen when she's around."

Joel smirks, "You've got a point there. I still need to fix the oven from her latest kitchen mishap. But hey, don't stress. If you bring Sir Bubbles along, she'll be entertained for days. It's like she's more attached to him than she is to both of us combined."

"But do you have to go, Joel?" you protest once more, "I'm sure Tommy can handle things; he's a big boy."

Joel raises an intrigued eyebrow. "Bigger than me, Mami?" he murmurs, giving you a little pout.  

"No one is bigger than you, Papi," you tease, giving him a wink. Gazing up at the ceiling, a sudden wave of unease twists your expression. You find yourself clutching at your middle, groaning slightly in pain.

"Baby? Are you okay?" Joel is suddenly at your side, his face etched with concern. He pushes your hair out of your face, giving you a small smile.  

"I don't want to call it, but I think my period is coming," you reply sadly. 

"You would think with all of the times we've tried to get pregnant, surely it would take," you sigh, frowning as you stare at the ceiling, not wanting to face Joel and his disappointment. "I'm sorry, Papi."

"Why are you apologizing to me, Sugar? We have all the time in the world! Besides, I'm loving all of the attempts," he wiggles his eyebrows, pressing a kiss on your forehead. I'm more concerned about your health than anything else, okay?"

"Okay. I'm just worried because we're not getting any younger, and I don't think your knees can handle chasing a toddler," You tease, pulling him into a slow and languid kiss.  

"I'll have you know, all of this sex we've been having has given me a new lease on life, I haven't worked out so much in my damn life! I'm in my prime, baby." Joel runs a hand through his hair as he walks over to the bedroom door, scanning the hallway for Ellie. He turns back to look at you on the bed. "Promise me you'll see a doctor if you get any worse?"

"I can't make any promises-"

"Sugar, I'm serious. If you start to get worse, you call Ellie and have her take you to the doctor. I mean it, baby. Please. Just put my mind at ease, okay?"  

"Okay."

"Ellie!" Joel's voice echoes down the hallway. "Come here for a second!"

"Yeah?" Ellie pops her head out of her bedroom door. "Are you heading out now?" She strolls out, securing her hair into a ponytail as she settles beside you on Joel's bed. "Hey, why don't we swing by your place after the old man leaves to pick up my buddy? I can't wait for Sir Bubbles to see his new cat jungle!"

You flinch slightly, adjusting into a seated position next to Ellie. "Sure thing. We can grab some lunch on the way, too."

Joel clears his throat, retrieving something from his dresser and handing it to you with a smile. "I've been meaning to give this to you sooner, but since I'm leaving for a few days-"

You open the envelope he hands you, eyes widening at the realization that he's giving you an American Express card that matches his, your name etched onto the metal surface. "Woah, Joel, I don't think this is necessary-"

"If you're going to be spending time under this roof while I'm gone, I don't want you using your own money for things like groceries and necessities, especially if it's for you and Ellie. Use this card while I'm away; go to the mall and go wild," he glances at Ellie, who grins conspiratorially. "But no more guitars, Ellie. Not after the last time."

"How was I supposed to know the guitar was $10,000? The one in your office is twice the amount, I swear!" Ellie groans, knocking her shoulder against yours. "I'm sure Sugar will keep me in check, you have nothing to worry about, old man!"

"Hey, are you ready yet, asshole?" Tommy's voice suddenly booms from the front door. "We needed to head to Waco ten minutes ago!" he exclaims.

Joel sticks his head out of his bedroom door. "Yeah, just give me a damn second!" Grabbing his weekender duffle, he presses a kiss on your cheek. "Okay baby, I need to go. I'll see you in two days, okay?"

"Okay," you reply with a smile, pulling him into a kiss. "... and don't worry, nothing bad is going to happen to me, okay? Promise."

"Reservation for Miller," Joel tells the hotel receptionist, retrieving his wallet from his back pocket to produce his Amex. "It should be under Joel Miller."

"Welcome back Mr. Miller!" The receptionist beams, tapping away at her computer. "Let me just pull up your reservation. Give me a moment... Ah, yes, reservation for Joel Miller, one room, two keys."

"Wait, hold on," Tommy interjects, nudging Joel aside. "What do you mean one room?"

"The reservation for Miller only indicates one room," the receptionist replies with a sweet smile, her head cocked to one side.

"Well, there must be some mistake, miss." Joel's brows furrow with concern.

The receptionist glances at the screen, her brow furrowing slightly. "I apologize for any confusion, but that's how it's listed in our system. One room, two keys for Mr. Joel Miller."

Tommy exchanges a perplexed look with Joel, a touch of frustration evident. "Look, we need two separate rooms. Must've been a mix-up. Can you check again or maybe offer us an additional room?"

The receptionist hesitates for a moment before typing away on her keyboard. "I'm sorry for the inconvenience. Let me see if there's anything available." After a brief pause, she looks up. "I'm afraid we're fully booked tonight, with the conference and all, and the reservation is for a single room. Is there anything else I can assist you with?"

"Please tell me there's at least a cot or a pull-out couch in the room," Tommy groans, shaking his head.

The Receptionist hesitates, giggling awkwardly. "Well, there's a king-size bed? I guess it's pretty spacious?" 

Joel and Tommy exchange glances, silently communicating their dissatisfaction with the situation. "Alright, fine," Joel concedes with a sigh. "We'll make do with what we have. But this better not become a habit."

The receptionist offers an apologetic smile. "I assure you, Mr. Miller, we'll do our best to make your stay enjoyable. If you need anything else, please don't hesitate to ask."

Joel and Tommy head towards the elevator, resigned to share a room for the night. As they walk away, Joel mutters to Tommy, "We'll sort this out tomorrow. Let's just get some rest for now."

"I guess it'll be like old times, brother, sharing a room and all," Tommy grunts. "I swear, if you snuggle up with me or fart in the sheets, I'll punch you right in the balls."

"If my memory serves me right, weren't you the one sneaking into my bed when things got a bit dicey in the night?" Joel retorts, arching an eyebrow while casually checking his emails on his iPhone. "Oh, Joel, I'm so scared of the boogeyman, can I sleep with you tonight?!" he imitates in an attempt at a childish voice, smirking.  

"It's really gonna be like that, huh? You're gonna play that card? What about that time after we watched 'A Nightmare on Elm Street'? Weren't you begging Mama to let you sleep in her bed, thinking Freddy's gonna suck you up from your bed like Johnny Depp? Am I gonna wake up to you screaming?"

"Oh, go fuck yourself, Tommy, you ass-" The elevator dings to their floor, a family staring back at them. Tommy clears his throat, navigating around the family, shooting Joel a look as he heads to the room. "Evenin'," Joel murmurs, tipping his head to the family. "Excuse me."

Tommy is already in the room by the time Joel casually strolls in, rummaging through the welcome basket the conference organizers had prepared for Joel. "Well, it's nice of you to grace us with your presence, 'Mr. Austin's Entrepreneur of the Year 2023,'" he teases, extracting a bottle of Johnny Walker. "At least they give you the decent shit." Taking a swig straight from the bottle, he hands it over to Joel.

"Nah, I'm not drinking tonight," Joel murmurs, dropping his weekender unceremoniously on the floor as he plops onto the bed, pinching the space between his eyebrows. "I want to stay sober just in case Sugar calls me."

Tommy takes another swig, settling on the couch beside the window with a view of the city of Waco. "I noticed that she was looking a bit pale. Something going on?"

"She told me that she's about to start her period, I'm assuming that they can be quite an ordeal," Joel muses, glancing at his phone screen displaying a photo of you and him at your birthday dinner. A smile creeps across his face as he observes the image, capturing the moment when you kissed his cheek while he smiled at the camera. "I just have a really weird feeling like something's wrong," he groans, stretching his back onto the mattress.

"Well, Sugar's a big girl; I'm sure she'll be okay. Hell, I know how periods go, with Maria and all. Maybe I'll have her check in just in case." Tommy looks out of the window. "This is nice, you know. The two of us. Feels like it's been ages since we've done something like this."

"That's because the last time we were like this, it was your bachelor weekend in Vegas, and you ditched me and fucked off on some strip club crawl with your friends," Joel chides. "Then you had the fucking audacity to crawl into my bed, only to throw up on me in the middle of the night."

"I told you I was sorry! Shit, you could have come out with us, but you were still hung up on Sugar, even then. I don't know if that girl knows just how much you've loved her all these years."

"All that matters is she knows how much I love her now. Besides, I think it's only a matter of time before I ask her to marry me," Joel muses, revealing a ring from his jeans pocket.

Tommy's eyes widen at the sight of the diamond ring, whistling. "Shit, Joel, you're serious. How many carats is that puppy?"

"Just about 2 carats. Do you think she'll like it?" Joel asks nervously.

"I think she would say yes even without that rock; the girl's been crazy about you."

"I'm scared shitless, to be honest," Joel murmurs. "Never would have thought I would be put in this situation again, getting married and all... wondering if it's the right thing to do since my first marriage crashed and burned."

"Well, it's not like you married for love the first time around," Tommy muses, taking another swig.

"Now I have a second lease on life, time to get married for real. For love, this time."

"So, you get the girl, you ask her to marry you. But what about after that?" Tommy asks, taking another swig of Jimmy Bean. "... are you guys planning on having any kids? Do you want any more kids? You're not getting any younger, brother. Surely you don't want to be chasing some toddler when you're pushing 60-"

"I mean, we talked about the prospect of having kids, Sugar's only 36. I'm not gonna deny her of something she may want because I'm older than her." Joel responds with a heavy sigh. "Truthfully, I would give her anything she wanted, no questions asked... but sometimes I think to myself, what about our kids? I don't want to die before they become adults, you know?"

"... but is kids something that she wants? Sugar's a beautiful woman, surely if she wanted a family, she would have already gotten one, you know?" Tommy muses, chuckling to himself. "Maybe she would have gotten her head out of her ass sooner and sought you out beforehand."

"What are you trying to say, Tommy?"

"I'm saying, maybe before you ask her to marry you, you both have all of your cards on the table, brother."

"What if she wants kids, though? What if she wants a family, and I'm too old to give it to her? I don't want to lose her, I can't lose her. Not when I've just gotten her. I didn't work hard for these last ten years only for me to lose the girl because I can't give her what she wants."

"I have a feeling you don't have to worry about losing her, Joel. I do think that you should talk to her, at least."

Joel nods, a knot forming in his stomach as he contemplates Tommy's words. "Yeah, you're right. I need to have an honest conversation with Sugar about this. I owe her that much."

Tommy claps Joel on the shoulder, offering a reassuring smile. "She loves you, man. Just be open and honest with her, and I'm sure you two will figure it out together."

"Yeah, I hope so," Joel murmurs, a mixture of determination and anxiety swirling within him.

"So, what's the plan for dinner tonight?" Ellie asks, idly toying with Sir Bubbles by the towering cat tree in the family room. "I was thinking of whipping up some homemade Hot Pockets. I saw Sam snacking on them the other day, and they smelled divine!"

"You know, Ellie, you could just buy them at Randalls for $2 instead of going through the trouble of making them."

"Yeah, but where's the fun in that?" She grabs her phone, tapping away at Safari. "I found a great recipe that seems easy enough! Why don't we head to Randalls and grab the ingredients I need?"

"The whole beauty of Hot Pockets is the convenience," you groan, shifting on the sofa while flipping through channels. You wince as you manage to sit up. "You're not one to do things half-assed, are you?"

"I'm a Miller; we don't do things halfway. We must embrace chaos in all its glory, you know?" She glances at you from the corner of her eye, frowning at your pained form. "Are you sure you're okay? You look really uncomfortable sitting there."

You offer her a small smile through the discomfort. "Yeah, I'm just fine. It's that time of the month for me, always a bit uncomfortable."

Ellie nods in agreement. "Yeah, I hate it when I have my period. The cramps, especially! How do you deal with it? Midol?"

"Well, I have a condition that makes periods hell for me," you admit. 

"PCOS is a beast I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. It's like period symptoms on steroids, honestly. Bad cramps, nausea, heavy period flow, the whole nine yards and then some."

Ellie frowns at that. "How long have you had PCOS?"

"Since my mid-twenties?" you muse, scrolling through your phone. "It's been a while, that's for sure."

"Bullshit! That's like a decade! How can you deal with such painful periods like that every month? I would be yelling at the doctors to rip my uterus out!" Ellie pets Sir Bubbles, her face deep in thought. "I heard that women who have PCOS have a hard time conceiving. Is that why you haven't had any kids yet?"

You snort. "Yeah, well, I haven't been trying to have kids, either."

"But I bet it's different now that you're with Joel, huh? I bet he's been wanting to knock you up since you agreed to be with him," she smirks. "I mean, for someone who built his own house, you'd think he would insulate the walls a little more, make it more soundproof-"

"Ellie-" you grit through your teeth, cheeks burning with embarrassment.

"What? I know it's just human nature to want to be intimate with your partner-"

"Ellie, deciding to have kids is a big step in any relationship. It's something that changes your life forever."

"...and is that something you want, Sugar? To have kids?"

"I don't know what I want, really," you respond truthfully, shrugging. "I never really allowed myself to think about the future like this before, and now that I'm with Joel... it's making me question whether or not I would be a good mother. I... I didn't grow up in the most nurturing home when I was a kid, but I do remember promising myself that if I were to have any kids, I wouldn't raise them the way my parents did."

"That's understandable," Ellie quips thoughtfully, settling herself into the couch as she faces you. "I don't think I would ever want kids. It seems so freaking scary and overwhelming; I can't fathom the kind of pressure you're feeling about it. Have you talked to Joel about this?"

"We've talked about it," you admit, the weight of uncertainty evident in your voice. "I don't know if he wants kids, but I'm just not sure if I'm ready. I don't know if I'll ever be ready, you know? I'm scared of disappointing him. What if he sees it as a deal-breaker?"

Ellie nods sympathetically, her demeanor softening. "I get it, Sugar. It's a tough spot to be in. But Joel loves you for you, not for whether you want kids or not. And if he's the right guy, he'll understand your concerns and respect your feelings. Joel's a lot, but I know that this man would do anything for you. I don't think you have anything to worry about. Trust me, I live with the guy."

You exhale slowly, feeling a bit lighter with Ellie's reassurance. "Thanks, Ellie. I guess I need to talk to Joel and figure things out."

"Exactly," Ellie responds with a hopeful smile. "Communication is key. Just be honest with him, and who knows? Maybe you two can find a way through this together."

"You know, you're pretty wise for a little shit, but I do appreciate the words of wisdom, Ellie Bellie. Maybe you're not so bad after all," you tease, a chuckle escaping your lips. "Thanks for the armchair therapy. Should we get a move on to buy the ingredients for these hot pockets of yours?"

"Yeah, yeah," Ellie sighs. "We might as well head to Target, so we can get some Midol too. Grab your key; I'm driving! Can't have you navigating these streets in your condition. Plus, I've been meaning to take the Tessie out on a joyride!"

The next morning, you wake up to find blood on the sheets. Panic grips you as a sharp, stabbing pain surges through your lower body, causing you to double over in agony. You suppress tears as you carefully slip out of Joel's bed, realizing that your flow was so heavy it soaked through to the mattress. Gathering the sheets, you remove your stained pajamas and underwear, wrapping yourself in a towel to avoid waking Ellie down the hall.

On tiptoes, you make your way to the laundry room, groaning with each step. After depositing the soiled linens and clothes into the wash, you hobble back to Joel's bedroom. Sighing, you enter the bathroom and draw a hot bath. Glancing at your phone, it's 5:34 am. You meet your reflection in the mirror, eyes widening at the sight—your skin is pale and clammy. Quickly splashing water on your face, you try to shake off the discomfort.

You recall your recent FaceTime with Joel. You remember the sadness and concern in his eyes as he saw your pain. It's not like any period you've experienced before.

"Baby, I really think you should go to the ER," he pleads. "Wake Ellie up, have her take you-"

"It's just my period, Joel," you assure him, smiling through the pain to ease his worry. "Sometimes they get really bad, maybe this time is one of those times."

"I just wish you wouldn't be so stubborn, Mami. This is really concerning, maybe I should drive back-"

"I just think I should sleep it off. If it's not any better, I'll go to the hospital, okay? Sleep makes everything better," you promise, knowing your stubbornness may hold true. It's not new to you, but how is Joel to know?

"I wish I could keep you on FaceTime all night, just to make sure you're okay, but I don't want to keep you up with all of Tommy's snoring-"

"I'll be fine, baby, don't worry. You have a big day tomorrow, Austin's Entrepreneur of the Year," you tease, hoping to divert the conversation. "I love you so much, Papi. I wish you were here with me."

"I wish I was too, baby," Joel smiles. "Call me tomorrow? And please, if it doesn't get any better-"

"... I'll go straight to the doctor. I promise."

"Hey, Sugar, you don't look too hot."

"I'm fine, Ellie. Just a little headache," you assure her, managing a weak smile while holding up your Owala water bottle. "Probably just dehydrated, nothing a little water can't fix. I also got my period last night, and it always gives me problems. It's just a bit heavier than usual."

Ellie eyes you with concern. "Maybe it's time we get it checked out. Joel did say-"

"I know, Ellie, but I'm already behind on my reports, and Tess will flip if I don't finish them by the end of the day. I'll tough it out. If it gets worse, I promise I'll get myself checked out. I'll even let you drive me there, okay? Let's just keep this between us for now. I wouldn't want to bother Joel by being a baby about period cramps."

"Well, could you at least try to eat something? I swear the last time I saw you eat was yesterday. Joel's gonna kill me if something happens to you, and I really don't need that kind of stress right now. Not before the apprentice exam," Ellie urges, sliding her glass container into the microwave. "Besides, you can try out the Hot Pockets we made last night!"

"Isn't this supposed to be the other way around? I'm the adult in this equation; I should be looking over you, not the other way around," you chuckle. "What would Joel say if he saw us right now?"

"He would give us his best frowny face and bridal carry you out of here, taking you to the doctor," she replies, taking the seat across from you. "I'm not lying when I tell you that you look sick as hell. You should be at home, resting! I'm really worried about you, Sugar. For real this time. You need to at least eat something so you don't pass out!"

She places one of her creations on a plate, presenting it in front of you with a flourish as she begins to devour her own, inhaling it in a few bites. "Damn, that was good," she exclaims to herself, leaning back in her chair, taking a sip of her Baja Blast. "Come on, Sugar," she pleads, "Eat!"

You take a deep breath as you eye the hot pocket, your stomach churning at the overwhelming smell. With a hesitant smile, you lift it off your plate, taking a small, careful bite to avoid offending Ellie. "Mmm," you say softly, placing it back onto your plate. "You really outdid yourself this time, Ellie!" you commend, pushing the plate away. However, the effort to conceal your discomfort becomes futile as your head starts to spin when you attempt to stand.

Ellie's eyes widen as she quickly rises from her seat. "Sugar-"

"Ellie, I'll be right-"

Before you can reach the door, everything turns black.

"Sugar!" Ellie screams, dropping to her knees as she attempts to lift you, panic evident in her voice. "Somebody, help!"

Bill bursts through the door in an instant, his eyes wild as he assesses the situation. "What the hell happened?"

"I don't know!" Ellie exclaims, cradling your head in her lap as tears stream down her face. "She wasn't looking too good, so I gave her a hot pocket, and she took one bite and fainted! What am I going to do? Joel's going to freak!"

"Bill?" Frank calls out as he enters the breakroom. "What the hell is going on?!"

"Frank," he says calmly, "Call 911. Tell them that someone passed out." He turns his attention back to Ellie, his eyes focused. "Ellie, do you know if she hit her head?" Ellie is frozen in place, her breathing erratic, the weight of the situation settling in.

"Ellie!" Bill shouts, trying to maintain control. "Focus! Did she hit her head or not?"

"I don't know!" she says shakily, her hands trembling. "Everything happened so fast!"

"Bill," Frank says uneasily, "She's bleeding," he points to your lower body, his eyes widening in fear. "It's a lot of blood, fuck, is she... what if-"

"Fuck this!" Bill mutters, urgency in his voice as he picks up your limp body. "Frank, get the van, we need to go to the hospital, NOW." He looks over at Ellie, who is crying uncontrollably. "Ellie, call Joel."

"But Sugar begged me not to call Joel-"

"Joel won't forgive you if you keep him in the dark. Get him on the phone, NOW," he commands, darting towards the door behind Frank. "... and pick up the pace! You're coming with us!"

Ellie grabs her phone from her back pocket, her hands shaking as she scrambles to call Joel. She curses as it goes straight to voicemail. "He's not answering! It's going straight to voicemail-"

"THEN CALL TOMMY, ELLIE!" he shouts as Frank parks near the entrance, engine still running. He hurries out of the driver's seat, opening the back door. "Ellie, sit here! I need you to elevate her head!" 

Ellie jumps into the car, phone in hand. Bill gently places you in the van, positioning your head across Ellie's lap. "Keep it elevated, okay?" Ellie nods, looking at you with concern. "Do you think she's going to be okay?" she whispers, placing a hand on your cheek. "This is all my fault-"

"Ellie," Bill says, heading toward the driver's seat. "This is not the time for that," he steps on the gas, swerving to avoid an oncoming vehicle. "Put Tommy on the phone, now!"

Ellie fumbles with her phone, quickly dialing Tommy's number. As the line rings, Bill navigates the van through the chaotic streets, tension thick in the air.

"Come on, Tommy, pick up," Ellie mutters anxiously, glancing at you still cradled in her lap. After a few tense moments, Tommy's voice crackles through the phone.  

"Ellie? What's happening?"

"It's Sugar. We're on our way to the hospital. Something's wrong," Ellie replies, her voice shaky. "I tried to call Joel but it's going straight to voicemail! Could you put him on the line? Please!"

"Shit, Ellie-" Tommy stammers, "He's about to go on stage-"

"What's going on?" Joel notices Tommy's unease. "Who is it?"

Tommy hesitates as he puts the phone on speaker. "It's Ellie, something's happened at the office-"

"Joel? Dad?" Ellie cries, her voice quivering.

"Ellie? Baby girl, what's wrong?" Joel asks worriedly, peering out to the stage as the emcee begins. "Baby, what's going on?!"

"It's Sugar, something happened at lunch-" she sobs, looking down at your pale form.

Tommy's eyes widen as he witnesses Joel's demeanor change rapidly. "Ellie, what happened to Sugar?" he soothes, trying to get her to calm down through her sobs. "Come on baby, breathe-"

"She passed out at work! I know, she shouldn't have gone in, but she swore that she was fine! I tried to get her to eat something and she looked sick all of a sudden... and then she was on the ground, bleeding! It all happened so fast, I swear! I'm so sorry, Dad! It's all my fault!" she cries.

"Joel," Bill cuts in, honking as he narrowly misses a car he overtakes. "I'm heading over to Austin General, ETA 2 minutes. She's lost a lot of blood." He runs a red light, a barrage of horns erupting from the maneuver. "I don't know what's going on, but I'm going to get her there."

"You're driving her there? Why didn't you call 911?" Joel demands.

"They would have taken too long, Joel. Minutes we do not have. Trust me, I'll get her there faster than they could," Bill hesitates. "Joel, I think she's-" The line cuts off as Ellie's phone dies.  

"BILL? ELLIE??!" Joel screams into the phone frantically as he runs his hand through his hair. He tries to call Ellie back, only to be met with voicemail. "Fuck!" he shouts, trying to call Bill. "Why aren't they answering?"

"Joel, you're gonna have to tell me what the fuck is going on-"

"Sugar collapsed at work. They're on their way to Austin General now. Grab your shit, we're leaving."

[and it's with my great pleasure to introduce you to our keynote speaker and Austin's Entrepreneur of the Year, Joel Miller!]

"Okay Mr. Miller," the assistant interrupts, hand on his earpiece. "You're up!"

"I have a family emergency, I need to leave," Joel replies, attempting to make a quick exit.

"No can do, Mr. Miller; it's your turn!" The assistant insists, pushing Joel towards the door.

"Are you deaf?!" Joel shouts, forcefully removing the assistant's hands from him. "I already told you, my wife is being taken to the hospital right now-"

"Just get on stage, say your piece for five minutes, and then you can go straight to the hospital," the assistant insists, shoving Joel towards the door, unfazed.

Joel's frustration boils over, and he shoves the assistant back, his anger reaching its peak. "Listen, I don't give a damn about your schedule! My wife needs me, and I'm not wasting another second here!"

The assistant, angered by Joel's defiance, clenches his fists. "You're not going anywhere until you fulfill your obligations. This is important!"

"Joel, we don't have time for this!" Tommy grits, glaring at the assistant. "If we leave now, we can miss the rush on 1-35."

The assistant grabs Joel's forearm, pulling him as he makes his way towards the door that leads to the stage. "You're getting on that stage, give your fucking speech, and then you can fuck off and get to your little wife-"

Joel pulls himself out of his grasp. "Are you fucking kidding me? Don't put your hands on me!"  

The man glares at Joel. "Look asshole, we fucking paid for you to come here, and you're not going to make some half-assed excuse about your sick wife-"

Joel's patience snaps, and he throws a punch, hitting the guy square in the face. "Don't talk about my wife like that!"

"Fuck! You broke my fucking nose!" he shouts, tackling Joel to the ground. He manages to land one good punch before Tommy intervenes, pulling the man off of him and shoving him to the ground. "What the fuck is your problem, man?" he yells as he tries to get up.  

"Joel, are you okay? Come on, let's get the fuck out of here before they call someone!" Tommy hoists Joel onto his feet, his lip split and a bruise forming on his cheek. They run towards the parking garage, Tommy throwing his keys at Joel as they jump in, peeling out of the parking stall. At the corner of Joel's eyes, he sees security guards running along the lot, searching for them.  

"Stop!" one of the guards yells, trying to block the truck at the exit. Joel swerves around, narrowly avoiding the guard as they pass the parking attendant booth. He hits the gas, driving through the parking arms, pieces flying over the dashboard as they merge onto the main road. "Joel, think they'll chase us?" Tommy asks, the tension thick as they speed away. "I don't think Maria will appreciate watching us on a high-speed chase on the evening news-"

"Shut the fuck up, Tommy!" Joel cuts him off, navigating towards the freeway out of Waco, heading to Austin. "Just let me fucking concentrate on the road!"

"Slow down, Joel! Dying on the way there won't help anyone!" Tommy yells as Joel narrowly avoids a car while speeding down the freeway. Fortunately, no police cars are chasing them as they make their way towards Austin. "I can't believe that guy wanted to fight you, and you just started throwing punches!"

"Tommy, not now," Joel grits his teeth, gripping the wheel tightly. "I knew I should've stayed home. If I were there, then-"

Tommy's phone rings, displaying Sarah's face on the screen. He answers the Facetime call, and Sarah's concerned face fills the screen. "Where are you guys?" she asks nervously. "Ellie's phone died, but the hospital just called asking for information. You're her emergency contact, Dad."

"Do you know what's going on?" Joel inquires as he navigates down the freeway. "I don't have my phone, but we're on I-35 right now, should be there in about 30 minutes."

"They can't release any information because we're not family," she says hesitantly. "I'm legally supposed to call her parents, but-"

"You can't call them, Baby. She wouldn't want them there. Tell them she's my wife, and I'm on my way," Joel insists.

"Dad, I don't think we should lie about that-" Sarah expresses her concern.

"I'm all she has, baby. I can't be kept in the dark. Were you there when it happened?"

"No, but Dad, she was bleeding. There was a lot of blood-"

"Damn it!" Joel slams his hands on the steering wheel, his eyes wide as he overtakes a few cars, stepping on the gas. "I should've followed my gut and stayed home. She was already in pain when I left yesterday!"

"Well, speeding down the freeway isn't helping, Dad!" Sarah shouts through the phone. "We're all concerned for Sugar, not just you. I sent Tess to the hospital to bring chargers and Bill and Frank's phones. I need you to relax; it's not going to help her if you two get into an accident!"

"I can't help it, baby girl. I love her, and it's hard to think straight. All I'm thinking about is how scared I am. I can't lose her. I've already known how it feels losing her all these years; I don't think I can survive a second time."

"I know, Dad," Sarah replies. "Just get to her in one piece, okay? I'll let you know if I hear anything back."

"What do you mean I can't go in with her?" Ellie groans, attempting to keep pace with the gurney as they rush you down the hallway towards a room, with Bill and Frank following behind.

The doctor raises an eyebrow at her. "Are you her family?"

"She's my sister!" Ellie asserts. "I was adopted by her family!"

"Doctor," the nurse interjects urgently. "She's lost a lot of blood; she's going to need a transfusion... she might be in the middle of a hemorrhage-"

"If you know she needs a transfusion, then what are you waiting for?"

"The patient has O Negative, and we don't have any on hand-"

"I have O Negative!" Ellie tells the nurse, showing her wrist. "I found out my blood type after an accident as a kid. Take it from me, please!"

The doctor eyes Ellie warily. "... and you're sure she's your sister?"

"Not by blood, but by heart. Please, doctor. She's important to me, and I know she would do the same for me in a heartbeat," Ellie pleads.

The doctor sighs, nodding his head in agreement. "Fine, if you say that she's your sister, then I'll just take your word for it. Nurse, prep her for a blood draw. She's a match."

"Hey! You can't park here!" The hospital security guard shouts as Joel and Tommy hastily exit the car, leaving it right outside the ER. Joel sprints through the hospital, Tommy trailing behind him. He reaches the receptionist's stand, his chest heaving. "Where is she? Where is my wife?!" he demands, attempting to jump over the partition, with Tommy trying to hold him back.

"Sir, I'm going to need you to calm down," the receptionist replies, glaring at both of them. "I'm going to need a name."

Joel hesitates but states your first name, adding 'Miller' as your last. Tommy shoots him a look, signaling the obvious lie, but Joel gives him a warning glare. The receptionist's eyes narrow at Joel. "She was just brought in 20 minutes ago. She's currently under observation but will be put in a room soon. Should be room 203. You can wait for her if you'd like."

Joel breathes a sigh of relief. "Do you have any idea what's going on?"

"I don't, but the attending Doctor should be with her. He could answer any of your questions," she hands him a clipboard. "I'm going to need you to fill this out for me with her information, and then you can head down the hall and take a left. Her room should be a few doors down that corridor." She assesses his disheveled state. "Sir, are you needing assistance as well?"

"I'm fine," Joel dismisses her as he fills out the form. He takes out his Amex and hands it to the receptionist. "I don't have her insurance card, but please put all charges on this card."

The receptionist's eyes widen at the color of his Amex. "Certainly, sir."

Joel strides down the hallway towards room 203, catching a glimpse of Ellie in the room adjacent to yours, a nurse tending to her bandaged wrist. His heart lurches at the sight, but he pushes the worry aside for the moment. As he approaches your room, he sees Bill and Frank sitting on a nearby bench, their expressions heavy with concern. Frank rests his head on Bill's shoulder, a distant sadness clouding his eyes.

"Bill!" Joel's voice echoes in the hallway. "Thank you for bringing her here!" He notices their somber demeanor and furrows his brow. "What happened-"

Bill hesitates, his gaze flickering with reluctance. "Joel, I think it's best if you go inside and talk to the doctor," he suggests softly, his voice strained with emotion. "He'll be able to explain everything to you." He offers a weak smile, though it fails to mask the worry etched on his face. "Frank and I are gonna head back to the office, alright?"

"Yeah," Joel stammers, nodding. "Thanks again, Bill... for everything."

"Anytime, Joel," Bill responds, his eyes watery. "Take care of her, okay? She's gonna need you."

Joel's stomach churns with apprehension, but he nods in understanding. With a final glance at Bill and Frank, he takes a deep breath and steps into your room, steeling himself for whatever news awaits him. He nods as he walks into your hospital room, audibly gasping at the sight of you, unconscious. A doctor is tending to you, engaged in conversation with a nurse. He turns around at the sound of the gasp.

"Mr. Miller, I presume?"

"What's going on with her, Doc?" Joel asks, his face reflecting a mix of worry and tears.

The doctor eyes Joel silently, a heavy sigh escaping from his chest.  

"Why are you not telling me anything? She's my wife-"

The doctor, catching on to Joel's distress, gives a serious look. "Mr. Miller, let's maintain a level of seriousness here."

"But she's practically my wife! I'd give my life for her, you understand? Please, man to man, wouldn't you do the same for someone you love?" he pleads, Tommy, looking away from his brother to keep himself from breaking down.  

The doctor, unyielding, emphasizes, "We have legal protocols to safeguard those who can't speak for themselves. I can't divulge information to just anyone; there are procedures that must be followed for the well-being of the patient."

"Well, what can you tell me, then?" Joel's voice wavers as he pleads with the doctor. "I'm in the dark here, doctor. Please," Joel begs. "Just give me something. Tell me she's going to be okay."

The doctor takes a deep breath before delivering the news, "She was pregnant, Mr. Miller. She has Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome and is anemic. Due to significant blood loss, we had to perform a blood transfusion. Luckily, someone who accompanied her was a match."

Joel's heart sinks as the words hit him like a ton of bricks. "Was? So, Sugar and the baby... Are they okay?"

The doctor's demeanor shifts, his eyes reflecting a mix of empathy and gravity. "Mr. Miller," he begins cautiously, "Sugar lost a lot of blood during the procedure. She was suffering from a hemorrhage and was going into shock. I did everything in my power to save them both, but... I'm sorry, Mr. Miller. The baby didn't make it. Sugar almost didn't make it out herself. Without that blood transfusion-" He trails off, the weight of the situation hanging heavy in the air.  

"Ellie..." Joel whispers, realization dawning on him as he connects the dots. "That's why she's bandaged up?"

The doctor leans in, a glimmer of understanding in his eyes. "Yes," he confirms, his tone somber. "What we did was highly unethical and illegal. I don't appreciate being lied to, but your daughter's quick thinking saved Sugar's life. Despite the miscarriage, Ellie's actions kept Sugar alive. It was incredibly brave of her. I'm willing to keep this between us if any issues arise. Sugar is still with us because of her. That girl has nerves of steel," he chuckles softly, his gaze distant with memories. "Reminds me of my daughter. Us fathers need to stick together, right?"

Joel nods, his gaze unwaveringly fixed on you lying on the hospital bed. "I knew something was wrong... I should have stayed back. I can't imagine the pain she must have been in-"

"Unfortunately, this is highly common for women with her condition," the doctor interjects, his tone gentle yet matter-of-fact. "As much as we can dwell on the what-ifs, most times the baby won't make it past the first trimester. It does give us a little hope that she was able to conceive to begin with. Have you two been trying long?"

Joel's shoulders sag slightly at the doctor's words, a mixture of grief and understanding washing over him. "We've spoken about it, but only decided to try recently," he admits, his voice tinged with sadness. "But we never imagined it would end like this."

The doctor offers a sympathetic nod, his expression reflecting empathy. "I'm sorry for your loss, Joel. Losing a child is never easy, but please know that you're not alone in this. If either of you need support or someone to talk to, we have resources available. I want to have Sugar spend a day or two here, just to make sure her blood count gets back to normal. You're welcome to stay as long as you need to, okay? I'll make sure of it."

Joel manages a faint smile, grateful for the doctor's compassion. "Thank you," he murmurs, his gaze drifting back to you, his heart heavy with sorrow yet filled with love and determination. 

The doctor nods, glancing at Joel's disheveled appearance and the split lip. "I can get someone to fix that for you if you'd like. Waking up to see you like this might frighten Sugar. You must have been through hell to get here."

"Pretty much," Tommy says sadly, his eyes filled with tears. "Thank you for saving Sugar, doc. We really owe you one."

The doctor nods. "Yeah, well, thank your little girl; she's the real hero today." He gestures behind Tommy and Joel. Ellie stands at the doorway, nervously fiddling with the bandage on her wrist. Giving Joel one last nod, the doctor makes his way to the door, giving Ellie a comforting pat on her shoulder as he walks away. Joel turns his attention back to Ellie, a sad look on his face as he tries not to lose his shit in front of his brother and his daughter.  

"Ellie-" he starts, his voice shaky. "Baby-"

"Oh, it was nothing, you know, just another day at the office," she casually says, downplaying herself. "Besides, she's family, and we do anything for family." 

"You're damn right we do," Tommy boasts, pulling Ellie into a side hug. "You saved the day, Girlie."

"You sure did," Joel cries, pulling her into a tight hug, his tears soaking into her hair. "You did so good, baby girl. Thank you, thank you, baby."

Ellie hugs Joel back, sobbing into his chest and clinging to his shirt. "I was so scared, Joel. It made me think about what happened with Marlene, and I just froze! If Bill didn't step in, I don't know what would have happened—"

"Ellie—"

"... and I told her that she should tell you. She looked so sick, so I told her that she needed to eat something, and I gave her a hot pocket—"

"A hot pocket?"

"Yeah, we made it last night, and even then, I knew something was up. She was always wincing and flinching in pain, told me that she was on her period—"

"Ellie. She was bleeding out, then. It—" Joel takes her face in his hands, his expression serious. "She was pregnant, baby girl. She has a condition that makes her bleed heavily. Fuck, she must have been in so much pain—"

"Wait," Ellie says, her eyes reflecting shock. "What do you mean, she was pregnant? Does this mean that she lost the baby?" she says solemnly, turning her attention to you. "Joel, I'm so sorry, maybe if I had been more stubborn and firm with her, maybe-"

"Ellie, trust me when I say that none of this was your fault, baby girl," Joel pulls her into his chest as she sobs, his hand soothing her back. "These things happen all the time with women that have the same condition as her. Honestly, I'm just happy that she had you to watch over her, you did everything perfectly, alright? No more tears, baby. Sugar's still here with us, and that's all that matters, okay?"

"Okay," Ellie murmurs into his chest. "Joel, what's going to happen now? are you going to tell her? We need to tell her, right?"  

"Why don't you head back to the office with Tommy and let me worry about that, alright?" Joel responds, sighing as he sits at the edge of your bed. "I think you've had too much excitement for one day, I can talk to her when she wakes up, okay? Don't worry."

Tommy places a comforting hand on Joel's shoulder, pulling him into a side hug. "I'm really sorry, brother. If there's anything you both need, just let me know, okay?"

Joel nods. "Thanks, Tommy."

"Ready to go, Ellie?" Tommy asks, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. "We better get moving before they tow my truck out front." Ellie nods as they both give you and Joel one last glance, making their way out of your hospital room.

"Let me know if you need me to bring you anything from home, alright?" Ellie tells Joel, giving him one last smile. "Take care of yourself. I love you."

"I love you too, baby. Get some rest, okay?"

Joel looks back at them helplessly as a sob escapes his mouth. He buries his face in his hands, finally allowing himself to fall completely apart. As heartbreaking as the miscarriage is, the thought of losing you at the same time is unbearable. How could he have turned a blind eye to the pain you were going through? How could he have almost lost you, just like that? The guilt and anguish weigh heavily on his shoulders as he grapples with the harsh reality of the situation.

"I'm so sorry, baby," he cries, reaching for your hand. Joel presses a soft kiss on your forehead, his tears falling upon your face. He wipes them away as he settles himself on the seat next to your bed, his eyes never leaving your face as he waits for you to wake up. Every fiber of his being yearns for you to open your eyes, to assure him that you're still here, still fighting alongside him.

Taglist: @sarcasm-theotherwhitemeat@gwendibleywrites@brittmb115@joeldjarin@drewharrisonwriter@littlebunnybigheartfics

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@untamedheart81@paleidiot@laurrrra@la-vie-est-une-fleur29@bbiophiliaa

@thewiigers@survivingandenduring (I apologize if I missed anyone, but if you are looking for any of my fic updates, please feel free to follow my updates blog @chiriwritesstuffnotifs!)

[soobrat]

fuck up my life; hjs

milestone celebration masterlist

MINOR CHANGES MADE TO PREV ACT!

˗ˏˋ🎧´ˎ˗ pairing; han jisung x afab!reader

˗ˏˋ🎧´ˎ˗ words; 9.7k

˗ˏˋ🎧´ˎ˗ genre; this isn't your average every day angst, this is... advanced angst (+ a smidge of smut)

˗ˏˋ🎧´ˎ˗ warnings; very toxic relationship, two deplorable dirty cheaters, violence, graphic descriptions of injury (not for the squeamish), vague PIV, flashback mini smut, let me know if I missed anything, they're just cruel okay?

↻ ◁ || ▷ : I've never rewritten something as much as I've rewritten this. It's a big chapter (in terms of what happens) but it's still... well you'll have to read it. There's a reason the only smut is a flashback.

act ii ➻ glimpse of us

“Are you sure about her, Minho?” Something about Chan’s tone told you he wasn’t going to respect Minho’s decision either way. 

Minho sighs, you can tell he’s already sick of this. “Her and I have been together since we were freshmen. You guys don’t know her like I do.”

“I know her.” You inch a little closer, dangerously close to the doorway. Is Changbin there? Why the fuck is Changbin there?! “The amount of times I’ve been in detention with her, I know her plenty. I know she used to flirt with every guy there. Including me.”

Fuck, fuck. Minho doesn’t know about that, he doesn’t know about any of the shit Changbin saw. They never crossed paths in high school, so why the fuck is he here?

“That doesn’t matter, it’s been years since then. Ever heard of maturing? Bet you haven’t.”

You wince. You’re happy he’s sticking up for you, but his tone reminds you of your first time meeting his family. The way they reacted to his tone showed you this wasn’t normal for him. You gut clenches. Was his mom right?

“I know her, too.”

Your heart had effectively fallen out of your ass at the sound of Seungmin’s voice. 

“I probably know her better than you. I say get out while you can. You can’t fix whatever she’s got going on.” 

Your eyes glaze over, facing the wall but not focusing on anything. You’ve never heard Seungmin talk about you like that. This is it. There’s nothing he could use to paint Seungmin as unreasonable. Chan was an unlikable, judgmental asshole far before you came into the picture and Changbin was a drunken imbecile who flunked out of high school. But Seungmin… Seungmin was the only thing you and Minho had in common before you met. He’s a great person and even better friend. Not the type to talk shit about people or judge them unless it was truly warranted.

The type to properly convince Minho that his mother was indeed right about you changing him for the worse.

“Hey Seungmin,” You hear a chair get pushed back, the legs screeching against the wooden floor agonizingly slow. You hear the impact and the sound pulled from Seungmin because of it. You hear all of Minho’s friends react in shock and anger. You hear them order him to leave, hissing that he’s throwing his life away for a toxic bitch.

You stand there stunned, forgetting to skitter away before Minho walks out of the door. He looks down at you numbly, but you can see the regret seeping into his expression. He throws an arm around your shoulder and the two of you walk away from all his friends.

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

Jisung thought this would be the perfect environment.

“What compelled you to make that choice?”

Jisung asks himself that every day. He couldn’t dig for an answer, so it wouldn’t magically come to him now. But when he looks around after several minutes of quiet introspection, he sees a circle of impatient faces. It doesn’t distract him enough that his brain will stop flashing images of what Jiwoo will look like once he tells her this, but the words materialize nonetheless.

He’s anxious yet determined while he reevaluates these words before he speaks them into existence.

“Jisung. Jisung wake up!” 

He shoots up, brain on red alert as he looks around. Jiwoo’s jaded sigh sends fury coursing through Jisung’s veins. He looks down at his soiled underwear.

“Again?! It’s so– it’s so fucking disgusting! Clean it up!” Jiwoo kicks the comforter away before storming out of the room. Jiwoo has gained a lot of colorful language lately. Despite that, she is still shaking him awake for a drizzle of jizz. The two of them don’t even face each other in bed anymore, so she doesn’t have any on her. She wakes up at the crack of dawn, fucking rolls him over to check if it happened, and sounds the alarms like it’s defcon goddamn one. And if it’s that urgent for her and only her, why doesn’t she go sleep on the couch and leave Jisung the fuck alone? Now he’s going to function on less sleep at his job that provides sorely needed income for their new home.

Jisung snatches the bedding off the mattress, obeying her wishes like he always does. Fuming silently.

The memories crackle under his eyelids like torturous fireworks. All the moments that nudged him again and again and again until he was teetering off the edge of his admiration for Jiwoo.

After a quick inhale and beat of hesitation, the words are close to flying free like newly unshackled birds dancing in the wind. 

“My fiancée is a... m-my fiancée and I just need work.” Jisung cracks an awkward smile, reeling those angry thoughts back in and locking them up. He can't say things like that in a room full of strangers.

He looks around to see a room full of confusion and indifference. The instructor gives him a sympathetic look.

"Any one else wanna share?"

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

“We might as well get some bleach.” Jiwoo gestures half-heartedly at a bottle of bleach on the shelf. Jisung glares at her, knowing she’s not going to even look at him to give her demands. He rips the bleach off the shelf and drops it into the cart with a loud, heavy thud. She finally looks over at him, agitated.

“Why don’t you get extra detergent while you’re at it? Maybe two bottles since the washing machine has been working overtime.” Jiwoo is looking now, her eyes posing a challenge. She’s noticed the pissy attitude that Jisung has by now. Instead of getting upset that he is constantly annoyed in her presence like he thought she would, she goads him to do something about it.

Jisung tongues his cheek, knowing he could drop a bomb on her that would send her crumbling to the floor in tears. She’s gotten too comfortable with disrespecting him. It started with the sheets, but there were certain jabs and insults that revealed her true feelings.

“Maybe if you went for a jog or even to the gym, your brain would have something else to think about other than sex, sex, and sex.”

“Look at the bags under your eyes. It’s 9 am for god sakes. You didn’t work late yesterday either, you’re just sleeping half the day away.”

“This house is a mess every time I get back! I mean— how hard is it to put the cereal box back on top of the fridge? And your snack wrappers are beside the garbage can. Trash goes in the can.”

“What happened to those hobbies of yours?”

He should’ve told her then, but he really wants to tell her now. He goes to look her in the eye but notices she’s looking past him in confusion. He turns, flinching when he sees a face he recognized. He couldn’t pretend he didn’t know who he was after such a reaction, but he couldn’t fool himself into believing he didn’t recognize him either. He could never forget a face that exhibited such rage, pain, and regret.

“Do we know you, sir?” Jiwoo asks, voice losing its intensity from earlier.

Minho… that was the name you pleaded for in your sleep. The one you whispered in fear when he found out about the two of you. Right now he just has rage in his eyes.

Minho walks away without a word. When Jisung looks back at Jiwoo, her face is softer. She looks at him with doe eyes, the ones that appear when she’s not aware she resembles a fawn. Moments like these twist Jisung’s stomach even more. Times where Jiwoo is like her old self, no defensiveness or agitation. It’s the Jiwoo he fell in love with, whose image is eroded through his eyes in favor of someone else. No matter how much he forces himself, he doesn’t remember that moment when she broke his favorite anime figure when she makes that face. He remembers the first time he caressed your face after he finished doing unspeakable things to you. The way you looked at him in adorable horror, horror he couldn’t really decipher then.

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

You could kind of smell his body wash, but the smell of mildew was overwhelming. Not enough for you to peel the towel off your pillow. 

Minho left the house spotless. He cleaned up after your tantrum, and despite hours of back and forth with yourself, you can’t figure out whether he did it before or after he decided to leave. Did he clean it out of empathy? Picking up the glass with his bare hands and not caring if it cuts him because he’s so torn up that he hurt you? Or did he do it with a smile he couldn’t hide, skipping as he moved around the apartment he’d finally be abandoning for a better life?

You took a lot of time opening cupboards and drawers trying to find one sign of him ever being there. The only thing you found was a towel he used after a shower and left on the sink.

After some time in a psych ward, you decided to leave that house before it killed you. So you never did find out if he came back for it. 

You let the older woman who owns the complex know you’d be moving out. She was confused, unaware that Minho had left. 

“I speak to him all the time and he never told me.”

Light swam in your eyes for the first time in months. You take a quick inhale, darting your tongue out to moisten your cracked lips as you think through your next move. You could ask her to tell him that you’re okay. That you miss him. That you love him so much. But he wouldn’t be able to see your face, that there’s no shit eating grin or feigned regret. 

“Tell him that I’m moving out, so he doesn’t have to pay for the apartment anymore. Please.” The smile you force flickers off your face immediately after. You breeze past her with your bags before she can pry.

The view from your window is less bleak, and you’re no longer faced with empty areas that used to be filled with Minho. This is the place you and Minho used to talk about leaving to. He was frantic because his friends were urging Seungmin to press charges. You saw Seungmin not long after that, one side of his face swollen and bruised. That visual made you sick, so you didn’t mind Seungmin glaring at you and turning the other direction. 

Thankfully, Seungmin never pressed charges. 

You laugh, the silly manner in which you do so pushes you to laugh more. You spoke about leaving to this very place with two different men and you’re still here alone. You’re truly amazing.

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

Another day, another useless, petty fight. 

“It’s not normal, the way you are. I don’t care what your bros say, I don’t care what those dude movies tell you, most men aren’t like this. They aren’t animals who go feral at the sign of a tit!” 

Jisung chuckles, he can’t help it. Jiwoo uses her new naughty words like a child. He gets more pissed off looking at her smug face, so he’s glad it’s fading after he laughed.

“Something funny? There’s nothing funny about you being a pervert.”

“You don’t even know.” Jisung mutters before laughing again. 

Jiwoo moves closer, her brows lowering until they are perched right on top of her eyes. “What did you say?”

“I said what is the goal here? You bitch at me every day and I’m still the same.” The words fly free and Jisung feels lighter because of it. Jiwoo looks offended, the goading she’s been doing for weeks now finally working. 

“I bitch? Is that what I do?”

“Yes! You bitch at me at the crack of dawn–”

“9 am isn’t the crack of dawn!”

“I work late! My sleep schedule doesn’t just change because I don’t work two days out of the week! I’m! Tired!” Jisung’s volume goes flying against his will. Jiwoo flinches, this sudden change from Jisung pushing her to be incensed. She opens her mouth to fire back but Jisung is on a roll. 

“You call to bitch at me at work, you bitch at me when I come home, you bitch to yourself about me when I’m in the other room. All you do is bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch.” It’s Jisung now that sounds like a child discovering naughty words as he hurls them at his fiancée.

The breath Jiwoo exhales is shaky, her eyes glassy. She raises her hand, jaw dropping open to say her response but she stops. She hesitates in silence and Jisung’s anger builds while he watches her. Is she really hurt because he retaliated? Isn’t that what she’s egging him on to do?

“Go on! Say what you were going to say.” His volume still high, he causes Jiwoo to flinch after standing in silence for so long. 

““You don’t even know”... That’s what you said, right?” Jiwoo’s goading face is back. It’s mixed with hurt, and she doesn’t even know what to be hurt about yet. But she’s asking for it, and he’s going to give it to her.

He does what he always does, imagine her reaction. He’s entertained the scenario that she crumbles to the ground and begs to know why, shatters every dish against the ground, guts him like a fish, et cetera. Whatever happens, there’s only one way to find out, right? He just hopes he’s able to go in his room and read comics in peace without her–

His room. Their room. Suddenly he’s thinking back to the day they bought this house. She was only a little snippy then, so Jisung was a little excited. He could stop seeing you sprawled out, completely exhausted on his bed as he crawled over you. No amount of exhaustion ever stopped you from begging for more. Because of his guilt he didn’t accept Jiwoo’s offer to let her family pay for the house in full. He felt that weight off his shoulders for a little while. Then they move in and all traces of you move to Jiwoo. Even now, the hurt on her face only aches his heart because he sees you the moment you realized he was going back to Jiwoo. He only soiled the sheets more often after they moved and his thoughts of you became more shameless. Of course Jiwoo would be aggravated by him. Telling her the truth will morph that aggravation into something that could get him kicked out.

“What don’t I know, Jisung?” The look in Jisung’s eye makes her ask with more urgency. Jisung wonders about you in this moment of pressure. He wonders if you were serious about your proposition, or if it was just the two of you fantasizing that you betrayed your significant others just to get off. You asked the night after Minho ended things and he laughed mid stroke. If you were serious, you were probably hurt at that moment and somewhere alone right now. Would you let him stay with you after Jiwoo kicks him out? After he chose her over you?

“Hello?!”

“I get off on you being disgusted by me.” Jisung shouts, rendering Jiwoo speechless. This is what he’s been waiting for. She’s silent, the bitching has stopped, but he can’t help the disturbed feeling he has. Words leap from his turbulent stomach, stumbling from his lips.

“I… hump the bed thinking about you with semen on your body… and being distressed by it–”

Jiwoo gasps in horror, rushing away from Jisung like he’s a monster and not the man she’s marrying next month. She shuts herself in their room. The slam of the door and her shocked sobs echo torturously in his brain. He sits on the couch and clamps his hands over his ears. He should be consoling her, she’s going to be his wife. 

What can he say? He told her the truth and now she’s sobbing because of who he is. That’s how all this shit started. She yells at him at the beginning of every day because of who he is. Because he’s dreaming about you. About how your eyes light up when he reveals who he is. 

Next month he’ll be stuck in a constant state of being ashamed.

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

You press “play sound”, following the beep until you find where you tossed your purse before passing out last night. You fetch it from the bathtub, picking up all its contents that spilled into the basin. You fiddle with the case of the airtag, flipping it over and brushing your thumb over the exposed metal. You peer at your phone, noting the “shared with Minho❤️‍🩹”.

Can he willingly remove himself? Did he even remember that your tag is in his phone? Would he look for you–

You close the app, inhaling deeply to distract yourself from your thoughts. In your mind you reopen the app and hit the “stop sharing” button. You replay the action over and over. It’s the healthy thing to do, right? And it’s so easy. Instead, you go back downstairs and lie on the now dry towel. The smell of mildew has gotten stronger now. There isn’t even a hint of his body wash anymore. Looking at his pictures was a little too painful, this towel was the only thing that comforted you. Now it was just smelly and empty.

The emptiness left room for the thoughts to come through and terrorize you. Would Jisung come? Unlikely judging by his and his fiancée’s social media. The wedding was full steam ahead. Maybe if the two of you had kept in contact during all this time it’d be different. But you deleted all your socials and changed your number. There’s only one way for him to see you, it was perhaps too much to fly here for someone he just saw as a booty call. 

You shiver, pulling your blanket up over your shoulders and clenching your eyes shut.

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

“I’m staying at my friend’s house.” Jiwoo emerged from the room hours later. Not half asleep and asking him to come to bed, fully awake and with a duffle bag of clothes in hand. He thought maybe they’d be able to cuddle it out. He always loved cuddling Jiwoo. But that’s just like her. She’s not vulnerable, and if she is, she doesn’t show it to him. She’ll come back in a few days with her eyes nearly puffed shut from crying the entire time she was there, pretending like things are normal.

She was never the pitiful one.

The next morning, she’s not back. Jisung decides to head to the grocery store since their last trip ended early after Jiwoo got spooked by Minho. He walked around aimlessly, trying to think of things Jiwoo would get. Every item he picks up, he imagines how Jiwoo would scold him and make him feel stupid for buying it.

He ends up storming back out of the store and storming toward the bus stop. Jisung loses steam once he notices he’s heard footsteps right behind him since he exited the store. Footsteps are a normal thing to hear when you’re walking down a sidewalk. Even if they seem to keep speeding up. That’s what Jisung keeps telling himself. 

He’s afraid to face the truth and even more afraid to turn around. Because of this he’s shoved into an alley, already receiving a strike to the face the minute he recognizes who’s doing it. His glasses fly to the ground which accentuates how unfocused his vision becomes. Jisung staggers backward, shakily trying to use the brick wall behind him to straighten himself back up. Minho delivers another punch straight to Jisung’s jaw, sending him to the floor this time. Jisung writhes in pain, muttering ‘stop’ while moving his sore jaw as little as possible. His feet slip against a rancid liquid seeping from the dumpster and he lands on his bare forearm, scraping it as he raises his other arm in a vain attempt to stop Minho.

Minho digs his fingers into Jisung’s much frailer arms and flips him over with ease. 

“You moved out with her? Gave her a ring? Hm?”

Before Jisung can even begin to understand or ask what or why, Minho continues his onslaught. Minho grips his shirt with one hand and balls the other, sending it into Jisung’s face over and over.

“How long have you two been together?” Minho grits, but his tone still has this faux questioning tone. His brows are furrowed, trying to hide the fury in his eyes with the confusion he’s trying to sell.

A punch to the eye has Jisung’s vision fading to black. Fear for his mortality sets in as he tries to block strikes from this deranged man.

“What?! What do you want?! I’m not with her anymore!” Jisung yells incredulously, his voice cracking through his bleeding lips.

“Your fiancée?” Minho responds breathlessly. Through the fog in his brain and the throbbing pain, confusion sets in. His brain isn’t focused enough to decipher why he’s asking about Jiwoo. 

“Are you sleeping with her?” Asks Jisung dumbly. He doesn’t mean it and it doesn’t come from jealousy. He physically can’t think and it’s spiking his anxiety even further. He wants Minho to get to the point but unfortunately Jisung just pissed him off even more. Minho’s nostrils flare, eyes blown completely wide as he shoves Jisung to the floor. Jisung’s head bounces off the pavement, sending him even further into a haze. 

He’s brought right back with yet another punch. Blood fills his mouth. Minho mutters something about how he’d never do something like that to you. 

“She’s not going to change because you want her to.” Jisung shouts urgently. He seems to have said the magic words since Minho lowers his fist. Jisung is wary, but his body relaxes anyway because it needs it. Any more agitation and Minho will induce a heart attack. 

“She told you about us didn’t she? She told you what she put me through?”

“Yes! And I’m sorry–”

“Apologize to your fiancée, motherfucker.” Minho spits, raising his fist again. 

“What do you want?! I can’t take back what happened!”

Minho lowers his fist to grab Jisung’s shirt with both hands, pulling him forward. 

“I want you to be a horrible person on your own. Don’t drag her into it. S-she fucks random men because she doesn’t know how to properly ask for attention.”

If Jisung’s brain wasn’t practically mush right now he’d roll his eyes. This is how she got away with it for so long, because he treats her like a child. She’s a woman he couldn’t handle. 

Jisung wasn’t aware he was glaring at the man until Minho yanked him closer. His breath was hot against his face and Jisung felt fear flood back into his body.

“But you,” Minho grabs Jisung’s face, one of his fingers digging into a cut on his cheekbone. Jisung whimpers helplessly. “You ruined everything! I could’ve helped her. She was close to tiring herself out and giving in. I would’ve taken her back to therapy… you made her comfortable.” Minho’s grip loosened the more he spoke, tears pooling in his eyes as his words lost their bite. As Minho got less angry Jisung felt more and more pissed, like it was transferring to him.

“That’s all bullshit. She told me the two of you have been dating since high school and you think she’d change now? You’re ruining your own life trying to fix who she is.” Jisung’s heart is beating rapidly like last night. He feels like he could take on the world. He’s already been glared at in disgust by his fiancée and beaten to a pulp by his mistress’s ex. Nothing can stop him from saying what the fuck he has to say, and they can divorce or kill him to stop. Jisung smirks.

“You don’t know shit. None of you know! She would never actually look at anyone else…” Minho loses more and more confidence and Jisung laps it up. He feels his body buzz once he realizes the information he has. Minho has no idea. Jiwoo has no idea. Nobody has even a fucking clue but they’re about to find out.

“Do you know that place she dreamed of moving to with you?” Jisung whispers, barely able to contain the laughter threatening to bubble up. Minho sports that look of sorrow from that day. If he thinks the fact you told Jisung about the secrets that were just for you and Minho was bad, he had another thing coming. The words rush out like a wave, sending a rush of sadistic joy through Jisung in its wake.

“She asked to run away with me too.” 

Jisung drops the bomb and gives Minho a little time to process. Only a little, because laughter bursts straight from Jisung’s chest, spit flying onto Minho’s face. Jisung watches with vindication as Minho struggles to process his words. He grapples with the fact that you’re not here to confirm, but also the fact Minho knows that with you? It’s possible.

Minho’s fist trembles around the soiled fabric of Jisung's shirt. A tear breaks free from Minho’s eye as he sends his fist into Jisung’s face with a pained grunt. Jisung’s smile slowly fades as he feels his face be mashed in. If he dies here, he dies an innocent victim and Jiwoo’s memories of him are never sullied by the full truth. Minho will be punished by his own naivety and you…

“Hey! Stop!” The frantic voice sounds distant. “Someone help!! Call the police!”

Jisung is dropped to the ground. The impact is hard enough that his vision is slowly fading.

“There’s a beach right in the backyard! Ngh-!” You point to your phone, your hand falling to the bed as Jisung sinks in deep. He pushes in deeper, grinning at how hollow your noises sound when he does that. He leans over your shoulder, reaching for the phone to bring it closer to his face.

“This is niiice.” He purrs next to your ear. You roll your eyes at his exaggerated intrigue, unable to see how focused his eyes are. 

“Give it back.”

Jisung bites his lip, swatting away your hand and grabbing your throat to keep you still. 

“Don’t get distracted, now…” He warns with a roll of his hips. He grins at the wanton moan he earns. “But um… how are you planning to pay for this?” His tone wavers, his authority becoming hard to maintain the more he stares at the photo.

“I don’t do shit with my life. No hobbies to pay for, no dinners with family or friends, no girls’ trips.” Jisung flinches, glancing at your pinched features to see if that last part was pointed. Your eyes flutter shut as a pleased, wispy moan floats from your lips.

“Minho takes care of the bills and rent so I started to consider quitting my job. Instead I started saving. The only thing that kept me going was the fact that…” You trail off, Jisung can feel your body stiffening under him. Your peaceful noises get caught in your throat.

“T-that I wanted to do something nice for him–” 

“Shhh…” Jisung clenches his hand tighter around your throat, trailing wet kisses on the shell of your ear. The light catches the tear that rolls down your cheek. Jisung tears his eyes away from it and returns to the listing. He takes note of the brick wall and black wood accents, how he can already hear the crashing waves while looking at the beach, how the house looks in the winter, the fairy lights, Aewol-eup, Jeju-si–

Jisung is hoisted up onto the stretcher. Whatever the people around him are yelling is beyond Jisung’s grasp. He coughs, blood gurgling in his throat. He blinks, his eyelids suddenly heavy. His body feels heavy. He exhales shakily, giving his body the rest it’s begging for.

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

Your eyes blink open, aching from the brightness of the sun. You groan, cursing yourself for not closing the curtains before passing out again. Flashes of last night play in your mind. A guy propositioned you yet again. You couldn’t find it in you. Whether it was because you associate one night stands with hurting Minho or because you only crave sex the way you and Jisung did it now, you don’t know. Possibly both.

You groan again, rolling out of bed and straight onto the floor. Getting drunk without the follow up of sex was not nearly as gratifying. None of this was gratifying, though. Too many loose ends and questions unanswered.  

You start your scavenger hunt for your bag. You don’t even bother using your phone, it’s always in one of three places. Not the bathroom, not the bedroom floor, so it must be the kitchen. You peer behind the island and surely enough, there it is. You pick it up, grasping at the airtag case out of habit. Horror floods your body once you realize the case is hollow. You turn it around as if the tag will magically be there. You turn your house upside down searching for the tiny thing, playing the sound over and over to no avail. 

You sink to the floor, unable to come to terms with your burgeoning emotions. A tear crawls down your cheeks. You usually reserve crying for getting drunk on wine over the weekends, but it’s out of your control. Nothing comes after. No sobbing or anger. Just emptiness. You look back at your phone, seeing that the tag’s location was updated. Someone else is carrying it god knows where as it moves along the map. Further and further away from you.

Your eyes flit down to the one person the item is shared with. You click the tab and then his name. “View Friend” and “Remove” are the options presented. You feel another tear roll. Your finger hovers over “View Friend”. It slowly moves down, your thumb thudding heavily against the “Remove” button.

You remain on the floor, your vision blurry with tears as you go through and delete every remnant of Minho from your phone. You get to an especially old one, a laugh bubbling from your throat at the way Minho is attempting to block the camera with his hand. You smile, a bittersweet feeling slowly peters out as you delete the last image.

“Goodbye Minho.”

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

“Can you hear me Mr. Han?”

Jisung blinks, squinting at the bright lights above his head. He wriggles his fingers and toes, inhaling shallowly and painfully at the realization that he’s alive. A feeling of gratefulness washes over him as he clenches his eyes shut. He sees you behind his eyelids. He smiles, a warm feeling radiating from each memory of you that plays. He’s alive.

“Mr. Han?” Jisung vocalizes in response, wishing he wasn’t hooked up to fifty million machines so he could turn over. But he’s alive. You don’t have to be shocked by the news and have your getaway ruined. He imagines you getting the call and clenches his teeth. If you saw him like this… would you think differently of him? Have any doubts that he could dominate you? Take care of you? Or would you only see Minho that way? Minho… was he arrested?

Jisung’s eyes snap open, the pain suddenly peaking. The pulse reads 153 as the monitor beeps incessantly. 

“Jisung?!” He hears a woman’s voice and smiles through the throbbing pain. Now he can apologize to you, ask you if you still hate him. Tell you you shouldn’t because you left him. Tell you not to look at him.

“Jisung oh my god!” Jiwoo leans over him between the rush of nurses. She covers her mouth with shaky hands as she’s pulled away. Some of Jisung’s tension eases away upon seeing her.

“He’s my fiance!” Her piercing shrieks grow distant as Jisung’s brain gets foggy again.

The next morning the fog is lifted. Jiwoo’s figure to his left nags at him. He strains his neck to look at her, unable to disguise the contempt on his face. Luckily the bandages on both his brows does that for him. He got a couple stitches for the cut on his cheek, a bandage on his nose, and gauze shoved up both nostrils. A dull throbbing ache becomes increasingly apparent in his skull.

“I spoke to the police.” Jiwoo speaks, deepening the throb.

Jisung continues his tried and true method. Met with silence, Jiwoo continues.

“His name is Lee Minho. He’s the same guy who was staring at us in the grocery store. The same guy outside our old house. He hasn’t said much, just that he’ll cooperate with authorities. That throws getting a motive out the window.” Jiwoo’s eyes are trained on nothing until the last part, when she shoots a pointed look Jisung’s way. He rolls his eyes to a different direction. 

Jiwoo sighs shakily.

“I will be pressing charges. Our lawyer says we have a case since we saw him twice before the battery happened.”

“I don’t want to press charges.” Jisung says carefully, loaded with vexation.

“And I wonder why that is.” The urge to cry Jiwoo tried to suppress breaks free, her words unstable as her eyes moisten. Jisung craves the fog.

She waits again for him to explain. Even if he wanted to, he wouldn’t know where to start.

“Answer me Jisung!”

”I don’t know him, okay? Think about it, a strange man keeps appearing and just staring at us. Did he seem like he was running an errand and just happened to stop outside of our house? Was he shopping that day? Clearly he’s not right in the head, he needs help. Not to be incarcerated.” Before each word, Jisung’s mind threatens to stumble. "Even when we spoke the day he assaulted me... something wasn't right." His confidence skates along thin ice but still sails eerily smooth. He hazards a glance her way. She’s shocked, but her concern has considerably diminished. Her confidence slowly drains away until her head droops.

… Was that it? Is she back to thinking he's just a pathetic pervert instead of a sinister one?

“Well,” Jiwoo straightens her blazer, clearing her throat with a look of slight embarrassment on her face. “He’ll still face charges for the crime witnessed. There’s nothing we can do about that.”

The two sit in silence again, but Jisung can tell she isn’t waiting for him to speak. He can see her fidgeting in his peripheral. 

“I-I’m sorry, it’s just… you really scared me that night, Ji.” Her voice wavers and Jisung stirs uncomfortably in his hospital bed. “I was scared that I somehow didn’t know you after all. I know I’m being paranoid. I just want you to know that I love you so much.” Jiwoo reaches for his hand and in a split second of horror, Jisung flinches away. She looks at him, confusion and hurt taint her features so harrowingly. Every second he doesn’t remedy this is painful but he can’t. Especially not when Jiwoo adds to it.

“Haseul and I talked about it, and I was being too harsh. Sex addiction is a real problem, and you can’t control what you do in your sleep.” Despite feeling like their relationship was hanging by a thread mere minutes ago, he watches in awe as Jiwoo’s expression becomes more… chipper. “I want us to start off our future on the right foot. I mean, we have a house now. Ji… we’re getting married.” She sits on the side of the hospital bed, grabbing his hands with glassy, hope-filled eyes.

“This is it.” She whispers. Her voice sounds sweet. She means well, but Jisung’s hands stiffen in hers. This is what he wanted. Things will be better from here, she finally sees how she was smothering him. They’ll go home, cuddle, maybe have sex with a little more understanding and communication. Have a healthy marriage. One where she willingly ignores the fact that he finds pleasure in her displeasure. Where she doesn’t know how deep that dynamic runs.

She looks a little worried when he doesn’t respond. She strokes the side of his head. His hand twitches, wanting to swat her away as if mere contact with him will speed up the destruction of her that he’s sure to cause. 

“The doctor said you might be disoriented for a little while.” She forces a quick smile, to not worry him he assumes. An assumption that triggers nausea. The feeling builds until he’s jerking upright and covering his mouth. Jiwoo briefly panics before grabbing one of the emesis bags the nurse left. She hands it to Jisung just in the nick of time. She rubs his back, unaffected by the foul nature of it all. She collects the bag after confirming that he finished. The thought of getting out of there is unsubstantial. The lethargy overtaking him is anything but. 

Sleep whisks him away and wraps him tight. He thinks he’s waking up but it’s another dream. He makes his bed, goes to work, pours a cup of coffee, takes a jog. He cycles through many mundanities before reminding himself that he’s still asleep. He cycles again and winds up in the snow. The cold burns his hands. He looks down to see them shaking and bright red, as if they’d just been pulled from the snow. His subconscious distantly tries to wake him, too distant to penetrate his unconscious. 

It hurts, his hands are pulsing but he’s standing outside a house he has no clue how to get into the house. Rooted in place, he cranes his neck to try and find an entrance. His head reaches far enough that he can see inside. There’s a fire going, the room glows a comfy orange that his frigid body longs for. He sees a figure on the couch, huddled up as if they’re as cold as he is. He reaches his hand out, accidentally knocking against the window. When you look at him it brings about an incomprehensible feeling of dread. 

You’re sobbing, yet still shooting him a bitter glare. You call out his name. His brain rattles, apologies spilling from his lips while he’s still rooted in place. You call him over and over, each call of his name makes his body jolt. He can hear his subconscious now and he’s sent into a frenzy to escape. Trying to wake feels like he’s being pulled apart in all different directions. 

He wakes with a gasp, the fog over his brain too thick to bring him out of the snow. 

“I’m sorry.” He sobs, realizing he’s being held by Jiwoo, still in the hospital bed. As she hugs him, chanting about how happy she is that he woke up, he’s punching himself for not speaking to her. Letting her know that he wasn’t disoriented when he didn’t speak to her. He should make up for leaving her hanging after she apologized and bared her soul to him. His brain might be foggy now but he has the ability to comfort his girlfriend in this time of concern for him. 

“I know it’s hard, you don’t have to say anything honey.” She whispers tearfully, sniffling as she pulls away from him. 

But he doesn’t comfort her, or come clean about willingly ignoring her.

The doctor explains to him and Jiwoo that he needs more time in the hospital. More time in what feels like purgatory.

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

Jisung isn’t sure what all this activity in his brain means. Is his anxiety active because he doesn’t want to see Minho or because he wants him to come out already. He bounces his leg quietly as he looks around. The only other visitor stands from the chair in tears, leaving him completely alone. While his eyes are trained on the person leaving, Minho sits on the other side of the glass. 

“You look like shit.” He speaks into the phone. Minho’s voice focuses Jisung’s attention back to him. Seeing Minho makes his face ache. 

“You do too.” Jisung says with a sigh of irritation. When Minho narrows his eyes at him he wonders if they’ve already started off on the wrong foot. 

“Coming here to gloat some more?” Minho asks, his eyes actually requesting information despite his retort. Jisung sighs as his eyes dance around the room. He reevaluates why he’s even here, if it was a mistake, and if he should just leave.

“We’re not pressing charges.” He starts, figuring he should at least tell him that. He doesn’t know how long he’ll be in there, or how waiting for the news of whether or not he'll be taken to court felt. He hopes that giving him the news now eases whatever concerns he’s hiding away.

“Is your head still a little fuzzy?” Minho smiles crookedly, looking him up and down. 

“No, I’m completely conscious.”

The quick answer catches Minho off guard, his smug attitude dissipating as he readjusts in his seat.

“Well, thanks.” He glances briefly at Jisung, his expression reading confusion. “And wipe that worried look off your face. I think I deserve a little time in here if I’m honest.”

Jisung doesn’t want to unpack the sound of reflection in Minho’s voice. The fact that it sounds like Minho is referring to more than the aggravated battery. As far as Jisung knows, you were the only wrongdoer in the relationship. The deeply troubled look you sported whenever anything slightly related to her boyfriend was brought up made Jisung assume you were being abused. You quickly shot that down. He can’t even begin to understand how Minho came to the conclusion that he belongs in there.

“I want to tell her the truth.” Jisung blurts out, shame overwhelming him and casting his eyes to the floor. Minho is quiet for a moment.

“I only did it because I was so worked up, but it’s nice to see that I knocked some sense into you.” Jisung looks up to see Minho with no smile on his face. Jisung feels like he’s being looked down upon despite being on this side of the glass.

“So I should do it? What if… what if it just ruins her faster?” Minho continues to hold Jisung in his judgmental gaze, either torturing him or reflecting on his answer.

“Do you care about her?”

“Of course I do.” Jisung says, a little disappointed by such shallow reasoning. “She’s my fiancée.”

“Not her.” Minho hisses, as if it’s obvious. Jisung’s eyes slowly widen as it dawns on him. He thinks of you, spreading noisy color throughout his mind. Thinking of you is always so complicated but when faced with such a simple question, Jisung feels like he can finally make sense of it. He looks at Minho, cowering away soon after realizing what information he just relayed and to whom. 

“Then don’t.” Minho states bluntly, a pinprick of venom piercing Jisung. It’s slow acting, leaving Jisung in a daze as he tries to make sense of his visit.

“And since you hit me with a truth bomb, let me help you out.” Minho cuts his reflection short, causing Jisung to look at him cautiously. "Stop acting like you care about your fiancée. You’re just lying to yourself.”

Minho watches Jisung process the truth, satisfied when no signs of fighting it crop up. Jisung hangs up the phone, slowly standing from his seat and leaving the room. Minho goes to stand himself after sitting in a little silence. 

“Not so fast, Lee. You got another visitor.” The guard says, pushing against his chest. Minho turns around to see someone standing where Jisung just was, their head cut off by the wall above the window. He feels his heart fall before finally moving his feet. He sits down hesitantly, finally meeting your nervous gaze. Your eyes dart around before you grab the phone. 

“I-I wanted to come in long enough after him that you knew I didn’t come with him. I wouldn’t do that.” You rush out, still standing and fisting your t-shirt. Minho smiles lazily, tilting his head toward the chair.

“Stay a while.” He jokes. Your stiffness melts only a little, offering a stilted smile before sitting down. Just like Jisung, your eyes don’t linger on him long, bouncing around the room. 

“So?” He says, hoping he reminds you that you have a time limit. Your eyes finally linger, and the look on your face suggests Jisung wasn’t lying when he said Minho looked like shit. He sighs.

“Listen, don’t worry about me–”

“You’re a good person.”

Your words give him pause. His chest starts to ache and the sensation makes him grit his teeth. What are you doing here?

“I know that you’re probably looking back at… us and what I did to you and obsessing over everything you think you did wrong. Just know you did everything out of love and empathy. That’s who you are.”

It’s Minho now who can’t keep his eyes on you now. He balls his fist, huffing out of frustration. “You can’t fix this.” He warns.

“I-I know. I know we’ll never get back together and I know you’ll probably always hate me. In fact, I hope you hate me. Because you should.” Your voice creaks, your brows furrowing as you squeeze your eyes shut. “I used to look down on you for drinking yourself to sleep on the couch when you could’ve done much worse. You could’ve given me a taste of my own medicine, stooped down to my level. But you never did. And you hung on for so long.” Your voice gives way for the tears and the mucus that coats your throat. 

“None of that makes you weak or stupid.” You take a tissue out of your pocket, drying your face and clearing your throat. “I know how it must’ve felt when you picked me up that night, after the news.”

“Stop.” He warns lowly. The ache deepens and threatens to make him cry himself. He tries not to think about that night. The way you looked after being utterly crushed and considering giving up on the world.

“I had no one left and you were there for me. But that was never your responsibility. I’m my own responsibility.”

Minho’s jaw quivers from clenching it so tight. Your eyes are steadfast, he can see that you mean it. That you’re not just saying this for sympathy or to pull him back in. His head droops over, unable to look anymore.

“If hating me helps you feel less responsible for me, please, replay every shitty action I’ve done until you think of me as the dirt beneath your shoes. But please never beat yourself up. You should’ve never had to deal with that.”

The silence seems to throw you off, judging by the way your eyes falter. You look down before standing from the chair.

“Wait.” Minho says just before you take the phone away from your ear. The way you look at him suggests you think he’ll take your advice and tell you how much he hates you. 

“Thank you. Good luck with everything… I hope you find support.” He looks up at you, the both of you share an assured but hopeful look before you hang up the phone.

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

Unforecast rain spooked Jiwoo earlier according to one of her younger brothers.

“Don’t tell her I told you this, but when Chuu gets all anxious it’s hilarious.” He elbows Jisung, his laughter faltering once he realizes Jisung is staring into space. “Are you nervous too?”

“Huh? No. Tell Jiwoo it only sprinkled for a little while. And we’ll be in the garden conservatory for the ceremony.” Jisung says in the robotic manner that has gotten him this far into this day.

Her brother rolls his eyes. “Okay, but I’m not going to be you guys’ messenger because of a stupid superstition. I’ll literally tell you what her dress looks like right now.”

Once he leaves, Jisung’s ears begin ringing again. People think he’s getting ready, when he really just holed himself up in building's office for some peace and quiet. Would he be able to slip out without anyone knowing? Should he leave after the vows? Or just before they sign the marriage license?

The sigh he lets out does nothing to ease him. He hasn’t had enough time to think on what Minho said. Should he have broken up with her? Or should he disappear quietly? Leave a note?

Jiwoo has been a wreck for the past few days leading up to the wedding. It’s been mostly happy tears, being so wracked with excitement to marry Han Jisung. To have Han Jisung’s children. To be with Han Jisung forever, happily ever after. Will they have kids before or after they stop speaking to each other around the house because she’s so hurt by what Jisung has done, but loves him too much to leave him?

It can’t get to that point. It can’t get to the point that Jisung is visiting her in jail after she murders you in a fit of rage. That she looks gaunt behind the glass with no light in her eyes anymore or no cheerful smile. Her family will hate him, his kids will hate him, he’ll hate himself.

“I’ve gotta get the fuck out of here.” He says shakily. He bursts out the door staggering to exit the building when her other brother stops him. He pats him firmly on the back.

“It’s that time, big man!”

He feels like throwing up again. There is no concussion this time to maybe break him out. Make him actually sick so he can trick someone into taking him to hospital. The color leaves his face as he’s guided to his spot at the end of the aisle. He can hear people whispering about him in their seats. 

“How cute! Look how nervous he is!”

“Watch how his face changes once he sees his wife.”

“I’ll get a picture!”

He stands there, jittery and struggling to breathe as he debates if it’s too late. If he should just give in. Be complicit in her downfall.

The crowd stands and cheers as the doors open at the other end of the building. She pulls her veil out of her face, looking at him with tears welling in her eyes. Cameras flash as she slowly makes her way to him. All at once, Jiwoo’s expression flickers from pure joy to hurt confusion and everyone in the crowd looks at him. The music continues as people begin whispering again. This time there is no aura of excitement.

“Why does he look like that?”

“That’s no way to look at the love of your life.”

“What is wrong with him?”

Jiwoo cautiously walks forward, standing in front of her ghostly white soon-to-be husband. She looks into his blank stare begging silently for an explanation as to why he doesn’t seem happy in the slightest to be seeing her for the first time in her wedding dress. Why he’s continuing to just stare at her when he should obviously sense the atmosphere. 

“Please be seated.” The officiant speaks. Whispers continue and Jisung’s eyes feel dry. “Thank you. Friends, family, and loved ones, we come together today, in the sight of you as witnesses to join Han Jisung and Kim Jiwoo in marriage. We gather around them now in this wonderful place, and we look on with love and hope as these two begin their new life together as one.”

As he stares into her face of horror, he imagines that this will be common in their lives. He feels disgust upon hearing the officiant describe their future. As one he says. His mind forces the image of Jiwoo being meshed into a grotesque amalgam with him to begin the rest of her miserable life.

“Jisung?” Jiwoo’s voice is frail as she jolts him back to the present. 

“Huh?”

The murmurs get louder and unabashed in their condemnation of Jisung’s behavior. 

“Ahem, I said. Han Jisung, do you take Kim Jiwoo to be your lawfully wedded wife? Will you honor and cherish her? Love, trust, and commit to her, through joy and pain, sickness and health, and whatever life may throw at you both, until death do you part?”

Jiwoo looks miserable and sickly on her deathbed, contradicting the stereotype of women always outliving their husbands. No, Jiwoo drank her days away, smoking two packs of cigarettes everyday. She withered her soul away in tandem with her physical self by entertaining her husband’s cruelty with her own. Dedicating more time to that than her kids. She wastes away in front of him, dying in the home she shared with the man who ruined her life. 

As if to make a point, his mind shifts to Minho’s face. He’s looking at him as if to asks:

“Is this what you want?”

“No!”

The gasps that come from the crowd and Jiwoo herself jolt Jisung like a bolt of electricity. 

“What the fuck?” Her brother grabs his shoulder and yanks Jisung from behind. He ignores his mother scolding him for his behavior and language. “What the fuck did you just say?” He shouts, this time shoving him.

“I-I…” Jisung stutters.

“Please! He was just recovering from a head injury. Jisung, tell them!” His own mother stands from her seat, her eyes pleading with him to get it together. His mother and father told him time and time again that Jiwoo was someone he should hold onto. That she’s a great girl who would make a great mother. They’re right. But there’s a reason he hasn’t stopped thinking about you since he last saw you. 

It starts with one step backward, the crowd silent as they wait for his response. He takes another step. And another. Then one forward. Then he’s running.

He hears Jiwoo scream after him in anguish, the crowd erupting in protest. He keeps running and running. He turns to see her brothers and her father tailing behind. His heart pumps with fear. The look on their faces is something he’s familiar with. It’s better this way, better than finding out he’s been in love with someone else the whole time. He tails a taxi, slapping the door for it to stop. It screeches to a halt and he nearly trips getting in. He falls over onto the seats, fearfully reaching for the door to slam it shut.

“Lock the doors!”

The driver looks startled, even more so when three men come banging on the window. He hears them calling him a coward, threatening to give him another concussion. He catches his breath, entering a coughing fit as he tries to calm down. 

“Where are you going?” The driver asks incredulously. Jisung says the first thing that comes to his overwhelmed mind. He clears his throat, feeling hoarse after exerting himself. His head pounds as he leans back on the seat.

By the time the driver gets there, the Eve is open. Jisung fishes his wallet out of his pocket, his only belonging now. He pays the driver and stands in front of the building. He slowly walks in, drenched in sweat in an outfit way too formal for a place like this. He sits in the same spot he did when he first came here. 

He remembers how he felt, and then thinks about what Minho told him. He wonders if he ever actually cared about Jiwoo or if he felt like she’d be good for him. If he was the same guy he was when he first sat here, he’d probably go camp outside of the house and wait for her to come home. Try to explain everything and hope selfishly that she’d forgive him. She’s better off never seeing him again.

Now what, he thinks as he orders a drink. He pats his pockets for his phone, wanting to look up nearby hotels. Or maybe he should look for ones far away. Maybe in Jeju-si…

Where’s his phone?

His heart drops, remembering that he set it on the desk in the office of the venue. How stupid of him to just run out like that. 

“Can I use your phone?”

The bartender laughs at him, jokingly asking if he’s lamenting his lost freedom as a man. 

“Tch,” Jisung smirks, accepting the phone with a shake of his head. He’s not the one who should be lamenting right now. Even if he did go through with it.

Instead of looking up hotels, he finds himself looking up a certain jail.

0:00 ───|────── 0:00

“I guess I didn’t knock sense into you after all.” Minho’s voice crackles through the speaker of the phone.

They could go back and forth all day about how Jisung acted too late and in the most destructive way. Jisung already spent all of last night doing that. He chews on his lip, looking down, trying to quickly find a way to bring this up. You’re the only thing that makes sense right now.

“Have you uh… spoken to her about any of this?” Jisung silently prays, peeking at Minho to try and guess his answer before he says it. He doesn’t expect to see Minho smiling to himself. He feels a distant ache in his chest.

”You didn’t see her on your way out from seeing me?”

Watching Jisung’s expression wither into dismay, Minho decides that he is truly fine. The possibility of you running to Jisung stings a little less knowing you weren’t lying about not visiting with him.

You were in Incheon? You… didn’t reach out to him. Maybe you forgot his number.

Jisung tries to find peace with that answer but anger bubbles up in his abdomen. He hangs up the phone, running out of yet another building. Are you even in Jeju? He laughs bitterly. He thought you said it as a way of putting your walls up, but maybe you did mean it when you said you didn’t care if he died.

After everything? After all of that?

Jisung has to find out for himself.

-> end of act ii

skz masterlist

milestone celebration masterlist

[anika-ann]

Back and Forth - part 4.1

Part 4 - Setback 1/2

Type: series; agent!reader, inhuman!reader

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader    Word Count: 10500

Chapter summary:  In which you're not sure you want to know what you've got yourselves into.

Series masterlist

Warnings: references to bad parenting bordering on emotional abuse and neglect; kidnapping; mention of armed assault; mentions of (In)human experimentation, torture and Nazi doctors; unhealthy relationship with pain; canon-typical violence and injuries; sensory overload; one wild mention of shibari; language

A/N: ALWAYS MIND THE WARNINGS; dividers by @firefly-graphics 💕; moodboard is for the vibes and does not necessarily reflect reader’s appearance

A/N2: Guess what, it's another split-into-halves chapter 🥹 Like, the plot is definite from the start of this series, the feels and little things list keep... expanding. Oops?

You were no stranger to darkness.

It was quite the opposite, in fact; you had found yourself consumed by it several times during your life, fleeting insignificant moments as well as defining ones. You remembered them all with startling quality.

The countless times merciful shadows enveloped you as you hid in your closet full of every tangible thing a child could ever want yet in a home that screamed of emptiness, tears streaming down your face, a nudge of a cold nose and a soft fur filling your hands, a breathy chuckle spilling from your trembling lips.

The rare but still too frequent black-outs after an injury, the brief moments of sharp pain in your bones, in your mind, in your head, eyes opening to bright lights scratching your eyeballs like grains of sand; standing up and starting the routine from the top, because that was what you had to do.

The one all-consuming moment as themist filled your lungs, violent cough in your ears not your own even as panic squeezed your chest because you had seen what happened to people who touched the Diviner, to ordinary humans, their body but an empty shell of crust falling apart; black substance solidifying around your feet, climbing up your body, holding you captive, paralyzed. Until the matter swallowed you whole, unconsciousness feeling like an absolution.

This darkness was different though, creeping up on you for a while; counsel, dial tone, examination, training, pity, training, more pity, restless sleep. Rinse and repeat. Rinse and repeat, until the dial tone gave way to the infamous quote about the number called not existing at all. Officially an orphan; one half literal, one half by choice, with no say of yours in the matter. Counsel, tests, pity, training. Rinse and repeat. Begging for being able to do at least a consult since with your powers unknown, you couldn’t be allowed to the field. Bless Coulson, Agent May and Daisy; mercy, after 43 879 minutes of feeling like losing it, because you couldn’t even do the one thing you had been preparing for your whole life, to be a part of SHIELD beyond being an equivalent of a prisoner.

Still, a consult was nothing but scraps of what you had trained for, what you needed to breathe.

And you were done. After a mission you had to spend on a plane – which alone was an enormous risk, since had your powers been half as dangerous as Daisy’s, you could bring the whole plane down – you locked yourself away in your bunk. You simply couldn’t take it. You were no stranger to isolation; you were no stranger to a cabin fever.

But it was too much. Everything was too much.

It had been building up for days, that realization, seeping deeper and deeper into your bones. You couldn’t even do your damn job anymore; and if consulting was all you could do, then you’d rather end your career even as it barely even started and with no clue what career path you should take then. All for a stupid piece of alien crystal that had apparently rewritten your DNA; except your body hadn’t caught up with that. You couldn’t feel the frequency and vibrations of every living and unliving thing at once, couldn’t cause a damn earthquake; you weren’t a walking source of electricity; you couldn’t melt metal, which was an expertise of a guy that had been just brought in a few days back, scared out of his mind. You were no one; with no idea what else to do with your life but the one thing you couldn’t do anymore.

The darkness that consumed you that moment was different than the one you had known before.

Darkness never felt so violent. Darkness had never felt like such a strange living thing, constantly moving. You had never felt such carnal need to escape it; you had never felt such visceral need to claw your way out of it, to be everywhere but here, anywhere, just to escape this.

And then you were. Elsewhere.

Just outside the jet, plummeting straight to your death, screaming your lungs out even as you could barely breathe in the cold thin air, tears of terror dried by gush of wind before they could roll down your cheeks. The scraps of an agent inside you and an entirety of survival instinct had you spread your arms and legs to slow down the fall, then barely managing to make a spear of yourself as the terrifying blue of the ocean appeared closer and closer; as if the shape of you when you’d hit the water could save you with the deadly drop being thousands of feet.

You woke up with an agony screaming from every cell in your body in your SHIELD home base medical, a whole lot of people baffled and worried since they had found you unconscious in the bunk with nothing wrong but your brain scans showing your neocortex and thalamus lit up like a damn Christmas tree. Not a single broken bone; no fatal bleeding. Hell, you weren’t even wet when they found you, despite you claiming – once you found the strength to talk with the agony wrapped around every syllable you forced through your mouth despite feeling like a stain of boneless pain-filled jello – that you had dropped from a damn plane. The face of everyone when Fitz eventually showed them that the quinjet systems had indeed registered a rapidly moving object which seemed to have fallen off the plane at the corresponding time-frame had left everyone not baffled but dumbfounded.

Your Inhuman ability, at last.

The power to project, except your form was a lot less astral and a whole lot more physical.

If you weren't feeling like your body was disintegrating with every hesitant breath, pain from the fall that technically didn't happen being the basic unit your body was built from, you'd cheer. Like a fool, once you were confident enough to hold a phone in your hand that felt like it should be shaking from exertion, you tried contacting your mother one last time. No change. Her loss, you tried to tell yourself, as the despair punch you anew.

But you had a new purpose now; you had a mystery to crack, an ability to master. Like you had been taught to do your whole life. And with slow, uncertain but determined steps with help of those who had been inhuman much longer than you, with the master of ice-cold zen Melinda May was too, you figured it out. You improved. You worked. You returned to the field.

And you became indispensable to the team.

The Spectre.

Despite all their fancy degrees, no one could figure out the source of your pain the first time you had projected, not even Simmons, not even when working it on it with Fitz, despite them having maybe ten different PhD in physics and molecular biology. But they were fascinated by what you could do. You being hurt the first time paled in comparison, their worry erased when there was no pain in the following instances of projection and snapping back. Then, the pain was there after you snapped back again; a sprained ankle, nothing major, nothing worth mentioning to others. Then, you snapped back with much larger portion of pain after getting shot; the relief of the team when they saw your actual body was intact was almost palpable. A pattern emerged; it became clear as day. When you got hurt in your astral form, the pain – and nothing but the pain – lingered.

But that didn’t matter. No one knew. No one could know; because when no one knew, you were a marvel, denying the laws of physics. The occasional passing out – when loosing too much blood, when nearly dying as your spectre – was but a small complication Simmons knew about. But not the pain; never the pain.

On some days, you wondered if this was the pain worth the gain you were always hearing about; if your father would have finally approved when you had been asked to assist the Avengers themselves. When you started helping them out as often as you were on a mission with SHIELD; when you signed the contract with the Avengers Initiative. On brighter days, you thought he might have even felt a speckle of pride at last, a spectre of his own watching you if he ever glimpsed down from whatever came after life.

There was one single person besides you that had found out the consequence of you getting hurt in your spectral form; one person who read you all too well not to figure it out. Andrew Garner. Agent Melinda May’s former husband of all people; a designated therapist for the newly emerged Inhumans. The very same person who had convinced you to try out all methods known of treating conditions as similar to yours as possible, the same treatment patients with phantom limb pain underwent. It didn’t help, but you didn’t blame him. If anything, it was a marvel he had even convinced you to try, somehow, without yourself being sure how. But that was the thing about Andy. He unravelled you with genuine kindness, somewhat true understanding, very matter-of-fact humour with a biting edge and a fatherly aura which was something a different therapist would probably take you apart for.

But that different therapist, one you were assigned to later on, had never measured up to him; and she never found out about just how many facts she was missing. Being a SHIELD agent, being on the same teams as Daisy Johnson who had hacked Pentagon when she was barely sixteen, meant that deleting your records at Andy’s practice after his demise was laughably easy.

When the team found out Andy that had gone through terrigenesis of his own, everything turned into a shitstorm; until eventually, Andy – at that point, a half-monster he had turned into permanently – died saving Daisy's life.

Your crippling secret died with him.

The circumstance was horrific enough to not blame Daisy for it, not one bit – and even if it hadn’t, you’d grant Andy the dignity of his choice, even if deep inside, it felt like a betrayal. He left you, like everyone else eventually did, did that after you trusted him with everything; and he did that for someone else no less. For Daisy. Maybe if her life story had been different, you would have cut her off since it had been her shortcomings that caused that. Maybe the jealousy would have been too much; but for all the things you envied her, you didn’t.

She was what you sometimes thought you could have become if you had only been a bit better, tried a bit harder. When you had thought of her as Coulson’s daughter, despite her being the child of a foster system, it was due to the unconditional love she received. But it was not undeserved. Daisy was different than you were. Where your spunk was irritating, hers was endearing. Where you seemed reckless, she seemed brave. She was like the younger sister; you were the older one who should have known better but didn’t. She had lost her parents and when it turned out she actually hadn’t, they were revealed to be literal monsters; you only had an absent mother and used to have an ambitious narcistic father and neither of those were a common knowledge to the team. Tragedy wasn’t a competition but if it had been, Skye would have been winning all the sympathy points anyway. She deserved the good things she got; god knew she received enough of bad things with it as a package deal. And she was hard not to like; she wore her heart on her sleeve and she saw good where others only saw evil. From the moment she had gained her powers, she grew like an agent and person. You admired her if anything. She was all you could never be.

You had accepted a long time ago that you simply weren’t the beacon of inspiration to others, never had been. That was a part of the reason why being in Steve Rogers’ presence turned on every single insecurity and poured gasoline into the fire of your disagreements. You knew that was on you, but he wasn’t exactly forthcoming about it; a speckle of imperfection to the otherwise perfect persona, which was, irritatingly enough, more of an actual person than just a face.

Steve Rogers was the hero, the idol, the golden boy. The soldier, the strategist; and somewhat of your personal guard dog during the missions. You suspected he despised you for it – not being more in the centre of action, guarding your paraconscious vessel instead, while your spectre snooped behind the locked door no one else could get through and fought with little consequence to her health – but in the end, he was the one building the battle plans and putting himself into that position.

There was something about him – everything – that made for flashes of darkness of a different kind too. A little wild, a little reckless, a little… hoping. Lapses in judgement and sanity, that might as well have been you blacking out, darkness that wanted to make you scream and yet give into the calling of the void foolishly for it promised you absolution.

But the darkness enveloping you now was yet another one; unfamiliar in the most uncomfortable way.

And no, you were no stranger to darkness.

But darkness had never been so overwhelming.

The faint sound of breathing that was not your own reached you first as you slowly drifted toward awareness; then the smell of metal, sweat and mould tickled your nostrils so unpleasantly you felt the urge to sneeze, so intense you could almost taste it on your tongue. Dull ache in your shoulder as you were laid on your side and had your arm twisted in an unnatural position for too long, too much of your weight resting on the joint. Cold floor against your side and bare arm, hard against your cheekbone, scratchy sensations and pressure against your wrists and ankles rendering you immobile.

Rope. You were tied with a rope with hands behind your back and that realization slammed into you with the strength of a fast-tracked truck, flashes of memories filling your mind along with dread as you snapped your eyes open.

Of all senses, vision was the one you were deprived of, finding nothing but dark shadows and pressure against your eyes; some sort of a blindfold.

The auction. The artifact. The mercs. Steve.

Your breath hitched as you tried to strain your hearing for the same faint breaths you had heard earlier despite the loud ringing in your ears, the sound pulsating with every rapid heartbeat.

In and out. In and out; not too far. When you held your breath, you could hear it with almost stunning quality.

Were you in the same room? Was the someone who took you, whoever it was, stupid enough to put you into the same holding cell? Distantly, it dawned to you that that might have as well be the ploy, to lull you into the sense of security by that, and so you bit your tongue for now.

You stirred, testing the bite of the ropes against your ankles and wrists, wrapped so tight it made you ache beyond the already rough scratchy sensation. The knots seemed firm, leaving practically no room for movement; whoever made them was skilled enough to make them so secure that it was no wonder your kidnappers opted for a rope rather than metal cuffs which would be too loose in comparison. Still, you tried to wriggle your hands out of it, a frustrated hiss escaping your lips as you pulled against it helplessly and twisted, only achieving the rough material breaking your skin. Grunting with effort, you tugged with all your might; it felt like the rope dug into the very bones in your wrist and then the pressure was gone.

With a gasp at the sudden freedom, you rolled over and swiftly reached for the blindfold, even as the sharp influx of blood back into your arms made your nerves and muscles tingle. The cloth came off with laughable ease. The intrusive light coming from the fluorescent lamp on the wall you were facing was almost sharp enough to make your eyes water, but it was a welcome sight nevertheless.

The empty room less so.

Bland grey walls with a few cracks, roughly fifteen to twenty feet with less than an eight feet ceiling, with nothing but the single old light, complete with its intrusive buzzing and unsteady glow, and a metallic door. No Steve; and still, you’d swear you could hear someone else in the room. Another Inhuman maybe? Someone able to turn invisible? You had seen an inhuman turn transparent as he was able to adapt his cells to whatever material he touched. But there was no use in wondering; you needed to act.

You sat up swiftly, sending your hair flying and tickling your bare neck. That gave you a pause; they undid your hair.

You noticed instantly that your StarkWatch was gone, but that was barely a surprise; it had been probably smashed to pieces by now as to avoid tracking. Same went for your jewellery; once again, nothing surprising there. Your shoes, while not having exactly killer-sharp heels, could still be used as a weapon, so it made sense they would take them too. But they undid your hair. Lump grew in your throat. If whoever held you prisoner had thought to take a thing as small as a pin, the one object on you that could be, even if very remotely, turned into a weapon or be used to pick the lock of your cell, this wasn’t their first rodeo; though that much should have been obvious from the fact that whoever took you managed to snatch a SHIELD agent and one of the original Avengers.

An ice-cold fist squeezed your heart, the room screaming with its emptiness again. Where was Steve? The horrific thought of being the only one taken – the only one taken alive – blinded you with panic for a moment and his name erupted from your throat in a choked cry.

“Steve?!”

A hitch in the sound of breathing, metallic clinks to your left; from behind the wall, you realized. No invisible Inhumans, then, not today at least; you simply heard Steve over the wall, with your senses in overdrive due to the adrenalin rush and whatever they had given you to keep you under.

“Spectre?”

You exhaled slowly, closing your eyes in relief despite the husky quality to Steve’s voice. With a feeling you’d rather not examine, you realized that as you ran your palm down your face, it was trembling; and not from cold. In fact, strangely enough, you were not cold in the slightest. Given your attire – or what was left of it, you thought with a brief regret – you’d think your teeth would be nearly clattering.

Which really was the least important thing to focus on.

“Steve, are you okay?” You mentally slapped yourself for your wording, hobbling closer to the wall to hear him better. “Are you hurt?”

His first response was a cough, which was mildly disconcerting; but when he spoke, you found your shoulders sagging in relief.

“I’m fine. But they chained me with something heavy and strong enough that I haven’t been able to break free.”

As to prove his words, he must have tried again, because dull clanks of metal seemingly echoed in the room you were in as much as in his, his efforts ceasing with a frustrated grunt on his part.

Now that was disconcerting. As glad you were to learn he was not hurt, it served as another testimony that you had been taken by no common thugs – but by experienced and resourceful ones, capable of obtaining some sort of an alloy strong enough to hold down a supersoldier.

Unfortunately, you happened to know about one specific group who would be very interested in doing so – and resourceful enough to not only imprison Steve, but to fund research on how to harm him in very creative ways. You shivered, heart stumbling in your chest. Not on you damn watch. Steve hadn’t been harmed yet – unless he was being an idiot and lying to you, which you wouldn’t put past him.

“What about you?”

Gulping, you tried to ignore the seemingly genuine worry in his voice, because it only served as a hindrance to your thought process fully occupied by figuring out what kind of a mess you were in and how to get out of it.

“Tied, unharmed, had a blindfold. Not anymore,” you said matter-of-factly.  

But still probably looking like hell, you thought, a voice in the back of your mind whispering of how absurd you had to look in your slightly torn black-tie dress, scraps of thigh-highs, no shoes and messed up hair with bruises and bloody scratches here and there---

You felt your features twist in a frown as you took stock of your injuries; there was almost no pain, no wounds you were aware of. There were almost no scratches on you. Had Steve shielded you so well when you crashed into the glass display and effectively shattered it to thousands of pieces?

The low ‘that’s good’ might have been as well whispered directly to your ear, but you didn’t get the luxury to revel in the sweet note in Steve’s voice, your mind having latched onto the fact he must have kept you from harm very thoroughly.

But at what cost? Was he lying after all, not fine in the slightest? Or had the serum already healed him? It was true that unlike you, he at least had had layers of clothing to protect him, so if he was hurt, it was hopefully not too serious, but how could he have even envelopped you so completely, even with his reflexes, even--

You shook your head at yourself – that really was the least of your worries now, not being as hurt as you could have, because Mr. White Knight protected you even in the split second you two had to react when a group of thugs armed to their teeth interrupted a damn peaceful charity auction.

‘The most dangerous people there will be you two’ your ass. You were going to have words with Tony and you sure as hell were about to have a word with Steven damn Rogers.

Because this was it. This was as precise a nightmare scenario as you could have conjured up when bringing up the risks of Steve making a public appearance; being taken, hurt or worse, by Hydra of all damn low-lives on this planet. But of course, it had been of no concern,because he was going to be just fine, wouldn’t he? Goddamn him and his friends who supported this kind of behaviour-

You took a deep breath and swallowed the I told you so threatening to escape you, forcing yourself to focus on more important things. Like getting the hell out of here so you could have those fights with unreasonable men.  

Focus.

You had nothing to unlock the door; you doubted you’d find anything by searching the plain room. You could try to break through it by sheer force and weight, but it looked too heavy; any attempt would have probably only brought you a bruised or dislocated shoulder, or a busted knee and ankle.

And that wasn’t your typical modus operandi anyway; you usually got behind a locked door without even touching it.

The problem was you had no idea what the area you hoped to project to looked like.

The other option it was.

“Alright, I need you to describe the room you’re in. I can project to help the get the chains open,” you instructed Steve, not seeing any other possibility.

If you freed Steve, you might stand a chance getting out of here. And if not, you’d definitely increase the chance of him getting out of here at least, and that was good enough in your book. You’d make the rest up as you’d go.

“I’m not sure that is a good idea,” he opposed and you snapped your head further to the wall as if the incredulous look you shot him could reach him that way.

“Well, if you have any better ideas, Mr. Mighty Captain, I’m all ears,” you shot back, irritation rising in your chest – only to give way to a flicker of worry when Steve sighed and explained himself.

“All I’m saying is that that could be giving them exactly what they want. They blindfolded you – but not me. That could be on purpose, I they know how your powers work,” he said slowly and you felt an instant pang of guilt when you remembered your sharp tone; and even a bigger jab of anger in your ribcage, because you saw his point.

Tactical mastermind, a voice in the back of your mind reminded you. You couldn’t quite see why they would want you to project to him, but the truth was that Hydra – and you were solidifying your belief that this was their handiwork with every passing second – was full of freaks who might be mainly interested in Captain America and world domination, but they certainly wouldn’t sneer at powers like yours.

“If you project, you will be exposed, left much more vulnerable,” Steve continued, words softer than you’d deserve for the lip you had given him, but firm nevertheless.

He didn’t like the idea, of course he wouldn’t; he wouldn’t like the idea of whoever was on his team putting themselves in harm’s way more than was strictly necessary for the mission, let alone for his benefit. He’d never ask for them to do that, the golden boy he was; but if he didn’t see the loyalty he inspired in people, then he was a bigger idiot than you had thought.

Not to mention this wasn’t necessarily only for his benefit.

“…okay, that’s fair, but I can jump back and forth in a matter of seconds. I’ll be fine. Not to mention that if they wanted to hurt me… they could have. They sure had the time, even though I don’t know how long I was out.”

You’d swear you heard him swallow. “Me neither. It took you about half an hour to wake up from the moment I had, if my estimate is correct.”

That would be a comforting information, except it told you nothing about where you might be, how much time had passed before he woke up and what had been happening before that; or what was going to happen next. You’d rather not stay around to find out.

“Right. Well, I’m at loss for any better ideas, so unless you have some, just describe the room for me, please.”

Seconds ticked by, ones you might miss later; but once again, you’d swear you could almost hear the gears in Steve’s brain turning, his aversion to your idea palpable.

Given the sigh that followed, he must have arrived to the same conclusion. As of now, you only other option was to sit and wait and neither of you counted that as a plausible option.

“Alright, Spectre,” he gave in at last, voice thick with an emotion you had trouble deciphering. “You snap back the second something doesn’t feel right, understood?”

“Yes, Captain,” you snarked back, but the roll of your eyes held no malice; despite your better judgement and the situation, you even felt a brief tug of a smile on your lips. “It’s not like I have a death wish…”

Unlike someone.

“Spectre-“

“The room, Captain?” you pressed, setting yourself to find a more comfortable position that being half pressed against the wall that separated you, legs bent unnaturally as-

The words falling from Steve’s lips flew over your head as you realized your ankles were still bound, like ones of dumbass rookie who wouldn’t get as ready for a fight as possible the moment they could.

Too busy checking if Steve is okay, an annoying voice snickered in your mind, only making you grumble when you went to try to undo the intricate knots binding you. As you stared at them, you judged that some Hydra goon must have taken up on the art of shibari; you had no idea what on Earth you were looking at, and you had known your fair share of knots, including two that got tighter the more you tugged at them. You hoped this was one another one.

Gritting, your teeth, you tried to slip your fingers under the rope, looking for for enough space for them; but those damn knots, besides being more complicated than you’d ever seen, were also really damn tight. As you tugged at them with no avail, you let out a frustrated huff, putting all the strength you could muster into pulling your feet apart at least a bit, using both the muscles on your legs and arms.

You nearly toppled over when the rope finally gave way, your hands barely fast enough to steady you.

And steadying you needed in more ways than one, since despite your sudden freedom, the knots remained intact. Your heart, already speeding from the exercise, now hammered in your chest.

You stared at the remnants of your bounds, speechless. The knots weren’t loosened a single inch; it was the material that had fallen apart. You blinked, instinctively lifting the shreds to your face to inspect it, looking for the signs of wear and degradation which would have caused that – and finding none.

“What the hell.”

When your gaze instinctively searched for the rope your hands had been tied with, reaching for it then, you found the damage seemed to be the same; brand new but torn material. It looked like it simply couldn’t withstand the sheer strength it had been pulled at.

Which was impossible. You were no weakling, you couldn’t afford to be, but you weren’t exactly supersoldier either.

There is some major mindfuck happening here. Hydra were messing with your head; if they had some specialized alloy, they could have a damn-near magical rope, even if you didn’t understand its purpose. Or, they could have had some remnants of the altered version of the serum Daisy’s father had developed in order to match his Inhuman wife, a few samples from the times when he had tried to team up with Hydra of all possible villains in order to eliminate the other father figure she had had in her life; that could be it. You had no idea what on Earth they were trying to achieve by injecting you with it, but you did not like the possibility one bit.

Then again, maybe this was just you being high on something completely different they had injected you with. You had been feeling all sorts of weird ever since you had woken up.

“Spectre?”

Steve’s voice snapped you from your thoughts, slightly impatient – and worried. As you found yourself still staring at the rope in your hands in mute wonder, dropping it hastily right away, you couldn’t say you weren’t feeling dread curling in your stomach as well.

Why were you still alive? What did they plan to do with you? It wasn’t a coincidence you were an Inhuman in Hydra’s hands. Hydra had a history of literally cutting Inhumans apart. Discovery requires experimentation, one of the first Nazi doctors had said. You so didn’t miss dealing with consequences of that. And who was to say that they had scraped the brainwashing program? What if that was what they planned to do with you? Torture you until your mind finally would have given in, ready to comply and all that shit?

The violent shudder that ran down your spine at that and the claws of nausea in your throat were hard to shake off.

“Spectre, what’s wrong?”

You shook your head, mentally slapping yourself to the presence. Focus. Nothing was happening to you; yet.

“Sorry. Could you repeat that?” you asked, hating you couldn’t quite keep the tremble you felt running through your body from your voice.

Much like during the gala, you could imagine Steve’s straightening in whatever position he had been in; the mission-ready tone, already having been bleeding into his voice, doubled in intensity – along with his worry.

“Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

Well, wasn’t that a funny question.

“Nothing, besides fucking everything,” you heard yourself reply, Steve’s sharp intake of breath making you realize you actually said it. “Shit, sorry, I… I was struggling a bit with the bounds on my legs.”

“Okay. It is good thinking to be ready to run, to fight back. Did you get it?” he asked, this time much calmer.

Feeling the exact opposite of calm, your gaze flickered back to the remnants of your bounds once more. Mindfuck, nothing more. They were just messing with your head somehow. And damn did it work. Your words came out a little more choked than you’d wish, but this time, Steve let it slide.

“…you could say that, yeah.”

“Alright. Ready now?”

“Yeah. Go ahead.”

Yeah; that was your answer. But as you sat into a lotus position, one you always liked the best and found yourself in it whenever you wanted to sit comfortably, as you closed your eyes and took a deep breath, tried to slow down the staccato of a heartbeat in your chest, letting Steve’s voice wash over you as he painted a vivid picture of the cell he had been thrown into, you only felt yourself grazing the phantom image, dispersing like a mist the moment you tried to reach for it.

Feeling yourself frown, you forced your muscles to relax again, soaking yourself back into the words Steve had spoken; you could hear them easily in your head, seeping into your bones, almost as if he was whispering them into your ear; he described the room in such detail you felt as if you could see it through his eyes.

And yet. When you opened your eyes, you knew what would await you – and you weren’t wrong.

Panic squeezed your throat, every possible exercise Agent May had taught you, every calming technique serving to the sole purpose of centring your emotions, flying out of the window even as there was no window in your cell. Your cell. Not Steve’s. But you knew that, because the familiar feeling, almost sweet with its strange freedom, never came.

You couldn’t project. You couldn’t reach your spectre. Why couldn’t you reach your spectre?!

Your hands trembled as you tried to squeeze them into fists, nails digging into your skin, the pain familiar more than anything.

You could do this.Your life – Steve’s life – possibly depended on it. You closed your eyes again, ignoring the way you could feel your heartbeat rage in every inch of your body in its mad pace. Breathe. Just breathe. White walls that hadn’t been freshly painted for years, so old they seem vary between the shades of yellow and grey. Fifteen to twenty feet, about eight feet to the ceiling. Chains, deadbolted to the wall, thick metal anklets and cuffs, another set around his arms, another around his shoulders, one more just above his knees. Facing the heavy steel door, twelve feet from him. A single fluorescent light on the wall to his right, in the middle of the wall, two feet from the ceiling, flickering and giving the room an unpleasant clinical atmosphere.

Intrusive light behind your closed eyelids, creeping smell of mould and metal and sweat, cold floor under your thighs and shins, itchy sensation of the dress just under your nape, loose hair tickling your skin. Slow breaths, two sets, one of them quickening along with the accelerating tempo of the rises and falls of your chest, a pulsing in your temples mimicking the racing tempo of your heart-

“God-fucking-dammit!” you cried out as you jumped to your feet, releasing the pressure from your hands, even as all you felt was the urge to slam them into the wall; panic and rage swirling in your gut, tears of frustration gathering in your eyes.

Steve’s startled voice calling out your name, your actual name, made your head snapped in the vague direction of him; it only made your stomach drop, another curse erupting from our lips.

“Fuck—I’m sorry, I don’t why, I can’t--- I can’t-“

“That’s okay-”

“The fuck it is!” you snapped in response to the soothing voice, causing Steve to fall silent instantly.

You blinked up towards the ceiling, hands running through your hair as a fresh wave of guilt and despair tugged hard at your gut. He didn’t deserve that, you knew he didn’t deserve that. Just because you were feeling absolutely shitty about being a completely useless piece of--- but that wasn’t anything unusual, was it? You had poured some of your frustrations and insecurities all over him more than once and it had made for at least half of the instances you had loudly exchanged opinions.

You were better than that. You had to be. And you had to. Make. This. Fucking. Work!

“I’m sorry. I’m… I’m really sorry,” you said, so low you weren’t sure he’d hear it.

But sorry wouldn’t exactly help you, would it? Sorry wouldn’t help you if they strolled in with an array of knives and needless. Sorry wouldn’t help you if you’d hear Steve’s breathing fall silent after they’d-

“Don’t be. They probably drugged you,” his soothing voice returned, carrying only a fraction of the anger you’d expect your superior to express over you being an utter disappointment. You closed your burning eyes, breathed in and out. “I’ve been given something strong enough to disorient me too. Don’t beat yourself up over this.”

Too damn late. Not to mention he was being a hypocrite again. The way you could see him beating himself over not being able to break the chains was almost palpable. Kettle, meet the damn pot.

And wasn’t this exactly what you had promised yourself to prevent when you had headed to the auction? The fifth objective? Stellar fucking success. Not only you had failed to fight back to prevent this, but now you couldn’t seem to be able to fix it.

Without your powers and without literally anything but your dress on you, you were as useful of a resource to Steve as a water gun; but what wouldn’t you give for having at least that. The problem was they had truly stripped you of anything you would have been able to use; possibly even your powers, somehow, and managing to get into your head enough to mess with you. Really not their first rodeo. Then again, you could have guessed that from them owning those chains.

“I am sorry,” you insisted as you turned to what was becoming his wall in your mind and pressed your palms there, letting your forehead rest against the cold plaster, hoping it could help you clear and cool down your racing mind. Briefly, you wondered if you only imagined Steve’s weary sigh. “You sure you can’t… break the chains? At least some of them?”

You doubted anything had changed since the moment he had informed of the fact that he couldn’t, but here was to hoping.

Chains strong enough to hold down a supersoldier… it would be naïve to think people just had those lying around; but how could this have been the plan? If they truly were developing an antiserum, to neutralize Steve, if they had done it, you’d expect the goal of that was simply killing him – as unpleasant as the thought was. So why built a room like this in the first place? A precaution, a what-if failsafe if the opportunity arose? But how would they even know Steve would appear at the auction when the invitation was specifically listing Tony? More importantly, unless they injected him first in the midst of chaos, how did they get him? Knocking you out wouldn’t be so hard, your enhancement only lied in your ability to project. But Steve?

And then there was the question of whether and why were they developing the antiserum if they already – possibly – had something to temporarily mimic the effect of the serum itself, creating an army that could match Steve in strength at least and beat him thanks to strength in numbers.

“I’ve been trying. They are different from the cuffs they used on me during the Hydra Uprising, but they are able to withstand my strength. My best guess would be vibranium, but it must be some sort of an alloy, because vibranium is strong, not heavy,” he explained. “I can hear you thinking. What is it?”

Your gaze wandered, once again, to the shreds of rope that had torn almost as easily as a thread of silk. If they had something similar to the serum, why on Earthwould they give it to you as a test subject? Coulson’s team might have been working hard on discarding Hydra as did the Avengers still, but you had no doubt there were still plenty of volunteers waiting in line – ready to serve in any way, more than willing to be lab rats. And you knew from experience that they certainly didn’t care for consent; you still recalled easily the horrifying revelation that they had tried to administer the terrigen to everyone working for a company where no one had signed to work for Nazis, in hopes to turn as many people as possible. Was this something similar? Were they—

Your hart stumbled in your chest when a new thought slapped you in the face – one that should have occurred to you a long time ago.

The artifact.

The Kree Diviner, the original source of Inhuman powers, had been in Hydra’s possessions for decades at least – and eventually, they had figured out its potential. What if they were hoping that the artifact you had seen at the auction had the same purpose – to create an army? What if they had primarily gone after that, if they had somehow learned it would be in the auction and you had the misfortune to lead Steve straight into their clutches like a hefty bonus, with a smile on your face no less?

The idea was dizzying in the worst possible way.

You seriously needed to get out of here. Then, you could get everyone on the team on this; even as you hoped that they were already searching for you at least.

“Just trying to figure out what’s next,” you lied easily, not ready in the slightest to share the whirlwind of thoughts in your head to build a strategy. “My room’s pretty much empty except for the light, but I’ll take a look around. Hang in there, Captain.”

“Not exactly going anywhere…” you heard Steve mutter, almost as if only under his breath, but loud enough for you to hear even over his wall to make a point.

Despite his words, you could hear clanks of the chains as he did, in fact, tried to move at all and free himself on his own again. Judging by the irritated huffs and grunts you heard as you walked along the walls, looking for a weakness or anything useful, his efforts were fruitless. He couldn’t get out; his strength wasn’t enough.

Now that was a first.

…unless.

Unless the artifact somehow messed up both of you. You couldn’t project; he couldn’t access his strength. The thought was absolutely terrifying, even as a rational voice in the back of your mind reminded you that while your powers did come from the terrigen and the Kree and while the artifact had reacted to your Inhuman presence, Steve’s power had a completely different source.

And yet, the more you thought of it, the more it all made sense; it had done something to you. And Hydra might have not understood what its effects were supposed to be any more than you had, but breaking and entering and shooting people for a powerful piece of an alien junk definitely sounded like their MO.

You scoffed; and so did this. As you squinted against the fluorescent lamp, trying to ignore both the irritating sharpness of the glow and the buzzing that sounded like a full beehive, your gaze fell on a small black reflective object.

It was no surprise they had been watching you, but it still wasn’t a pleasant feeling; and you heart still leapt into your throat.

“Found a camera. Not sure if it has a microphone too,” you announced, hearing Steve curse under his breath and you followed his example, your voice as low as the rustle of the skirt of your dress “I sure have been giving them a show… Did you get a look at the attackers at all?”

“Not a very good one. I’d be willing to bet on full tactical gear, but that’s hardly a surprise. I think that at this point, it’s obvious we’re dealing with Hydra.”

Yeah, no shit.

“Yeah. I don’t want to say I told you so-“

“You just did,” Steve interrupted you dryly and you caught yourself smirking despite the absolute mess you were in, because there was a little satisfaction in saying so and hearing him get annoyed that you were right.

If you were able to annoy Steve Rogers, you sure as hell could annoy Hydra; you had quite enough experience with both. Maybe if you provoked them enough, you could get to the part when they’d tell you all about their evil plan just because you would have seemed to be on the right track to figure it out on your own. Because that was a bit of the Hydra MO as well.

“-but what I want to say,” you continued, having nearly finished your inspection of the room. So far you had found a falling plaster, a bit of mould and a camera, which wasn’t much. “Is that despite that, I’m actually willing to believe that, at least to a point, we were just a convenient collateral to what they were really after.”

Take that, Hydra fanatics. Are we getting hotter up there?

The silence that followed your words told you that Steve had caught on you doing something; or at least that he was willing to consider your theory.

“Right. Because they could have been after the… item,” he said slowly and you smirked to yourself as he referred to it cryptically. Had you been wrong – and you didn’t think you were – and had they no clue about it, this was a clever way of not drawing attention to it fully. Of course Steve would say that.

“Because of the item, yes.”

As you reached the door, you tried the most absurd thing, mostly just for the kicks since you doubted it would be unlocked; you pulled at the orb knob, twisting the massive cap made of solid steel. It didn’t budge, of course; you gripped it tighter, twisting harder, pulling at it as you propped one of your feet against the door.

And then you were falling backwards with a silent yelp, falling on your ass hard, hand still holding onto the orb.

Your jaw fell slack as you opened your palm; and it would stay that way for a long, long time.

You gulped, pulse skyrocketing, the world swinging off its axis so much you were glad you were already sitting.

Because there were marks; there were imprints of your fingers on the ball. Impressions. In steel.

“Son of a-“

“Spectre?! What happened?” you heard Steve’s concerned voice calling out distantly as you continued staring in mute shock.

That wasn’t possible. That wasn’t--- wasn’t it though? You had considered some remnants of a wannabe serum coursing through your veins, you had considered some way of blocking your powers, but… you had also already established that it might have been the artifact that had messed you up. What if it messed you up by taking your power and letting you have Steve’s?

He’s not an Inhuman.

And I’m not a supersoldier – and yet here we fucking ARE.

Scrambling to your feet, you ran back towards the wall separating you from Steve, gripping the piece of metal like a lifeline.

What if it wasn’t just strength? Everything felt so much, too intense, you had heard Steve’s voice so clearly as if he had been standing right next to you, and you had no cuts on your body despite having crashed into a glass display which couldn’t have happened longer than a few hours ago. Steve, on the other hand, had coughed, and he couldn’t break the chainsholding him down.

The mere idea was insane; but you had seen a fair portion of insane.

You were a living prove of the insane existing and you had another prove literally in your hand.

You tried to keep your voice low as for the camera not to register it, but it was probably a futile attempt. And it was almost endearing to think you made your voice low instead of being uncapable of more than choking a few words out.

“Steve, I know this sounds insane, but… did you feel something weird when we crashed into the glass display? Probably touched the… item?”

You could imagine the way his features twisted in a frown as he considered your words, your heartbeat thundering seemingly all around you.

“Well, there was this… the only thing I can compare it to is a jolt of electricity, and my head spun for a moment. It must have been how they got me,” he admitted and at any other moment, you would have laughed at him trying to find a way to explain how someone could have overpowered him, but that actually sounded plausible and you had literally had the same thought about him yourself just a few moments ago.

“Yeah, well, same. Except everything went insanely loud and disorienting, and then I woke up here and I can still--- everything feels too intense, and I… I wasn’t even cold-” you realized all over again as you said it, glancing at your practically bare feet planted firmly on the cold floor.

Another hint; among other things, you must have borrowed – stolen – his quick metabolism. That was if you weren’t simply out of your mind.

“-and I’m still not. I mean, it could be the adrenalin and some literal mindfuck they are trying to pull, maybe they injected me with something, we’ve seen various versions of wannabe serums, but if I didn’t know better, I’d think—I know it sounds absolutely insane, but…”

Steve must have realized what you were trying to imply; you knew that before he spoke up, because once again, you could hear his breathing quicken.

“I am a little cold,” he admitted reluctantly, disbelief and slowly rising alarm clear in his voice. “And those chains are… they are a lot heavier than I’d expect. It’s the sheer weight and solidity of metal with no magnets or anything else and I still can’t move.”

You didn’t know why it made your throat tighten with panic to hear him say that; you were the one who came up with this theory. But as you heard Steve confirm it, you felt a shiver ran down your spine, a slight tremble to your muscles.

You had somehow stolen his enhancements.

And you had no idea how to work with that.

You were fucked.

The room seemed a lot smaller than before; and the walls appeared to be getting closer with every rapid beat of your heart. You felt the dizzying spiral grow and start twisting within seconds; one frantic thought got pushed away by a new one, equally fleeting but menacing, and then another, and another, the rapid staccato of the process bleeding into your words too.

“Great. So, assuming that the artifact was some weird mumbo-jumbo, as you’d expect when the goddamn Kree is involved, and we were both in the general vicinity of it, is it possible that I just used your strength to break the door in a way that it cannot be opened, at least not from this side-“

“What-“

“-and we are now stuck here even more than before, because not only I cannot control this, but at the same time, I cannot project and-- great. That’s--- it just happened. I’m sorry-” you stuttered, well-aware of your voice rising in both volume and pitch and you shouldn’t be freaking out, this was a mission and you were being held captive and this wasn’t helping anyone, but Jesus Christ, you had superstrength now and the walls continued closing in and as your breathing picked up more and more, the buzzing of the damn fluorescent light growing louder, its light unbearably bright, the smell of mould tickled you in the back of your throat, nausea rising up from your stomach-

“How are you feeling?”

A single breath catching in your throat, the world zeroing onto one thing, just for a second.

Steve’s voice, gentle and soothing despite the hints of worry.

Genuine curiosity; genuine care.

A sweet timbre, seeping into your bones; four simple words that shouldn’t have a calming effect, especially since all the things you were feeling were making everything worse. But with how close his voice sounded, it felt like a warm hug; more so when you allowed your eyelids to fall shut.

There was more to it. Not how are you feeling. But it’s going to be okay.

He had no authority to say that, especially since he had no capacity now to make it so; but the calmness washed over you anyway, a wholly different feeling warming your stomach.

You weren’t alone. And you had someone who, strangely enough, knew how you felt. At least a little bit. And he sounded as if he was willing to help you; and able to do so.

“…weird,” you admitted, hearing a faint gentle chuckle that should have angered you – but it didn’t. Because it didn’t feel like Steve was laughing at you; instead, it felt like sharing a secret under covers with someone you knew he wouldn’t tell a living soul. “I mean--- but I suppose this isn’t the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen. I mean… at least I’m not-” falling from the quinjet without a clue how I got there, not plummeting towards a certain death, not just yet- “-I should feel strong, because clearly I am now, but--- maybe I’m a little overwhelmed instead, to be honest.”

You bit your cheek, certain you had said too much; you should have said you did feel strong instead. Because you needed to be; for him and in front of him. But something about the sincerity in the simple question felt like a shot of a truth-serum, one you subjected yourself to willingly. So much that you wanted to add just how overwhelmed you felt, as eager to share it as ashamed of it, but you didn’t have to. Because this was Steve – and he knew this all too well. This had been his reality for years.

“You are strong, you had been long before Kree gave you your powers or mine,” he replied in earnest, the instinct to protest, fuelled by the instant sardonic chuckle and ’yeah right’ rising in your chest silenced by the effortless firmness in his low timbre. “The strength now simply turned more physical. The hypersensitivity is normal, it takes some time getting used to. Try to focus on one sense only for now, it will help.”

…right. You supposed you might as well go with your sense of hearing. Steve’s voice had already seemed to dampen all the other senses, like a shield from the intrusive light, a gentle squeeze to your forearm, a phantom of his aftershave you had gotten a whiff of before replacing the sharp smell of the cell.

Taking a deep breath, you kept your eyes closed, prompting him to talk more – and not only for your benefit. Because for you, this was overwhelming. But to him? He had just found out you had somehow robbed him of something that was a part of him for years – decades, if you counted the time he had spent in the ice.

“What about you?” you asked quietly. “How do you feel?”

“Well, I didn’t shrink a foot and a half,” he answered almost jovially and it only now occurred to you that that could have as well happened; you weren’t sure why it hadn’t, but you’d count your and his blessings. “And so far, I haven’t had an asthma attack, so there’s that.”

Asthma. His health. The serum hadn’t only given him enhancements; it had also rendered his previous health issues non-existent. You really hoped that that specific effect stayed, along with the extra centimetres in height and the width of his shoulders and muscles he had gained.

Still; you felt the corners of your lips curl slightly up as you recalled the pictures you had once seen of him before he had been chosen for the project Rebirth. He had seemed like a sweet guy. But from what you had gathered from reading between the lines of the history books – and from the walking history book James Buchannan Barnes was when complaining about Steve’s behaviour at times – he had been as much of an irritating human being when he had been just the little guy as he was now when he was a hulking supersoldier.

Feeling your shoulders sag at the image of annoyed Barnes trying to tug away almost two feet shorter Steve, you blinked your eyes open, feeling much more at peace. You had a damn superstrength now; you might not have as good of a command of it as your over-the-wall neighbour, but you could still use it. You could help. And you’d start by getting the hell out of here so Tony and Bruce and all the scientists armed to their teeth with PhDs in fields you could barely pronounce could help you set this right.

“Right. At least there’s that. So, hypothetically. Since I broke the doorknob, I could try to use the blunt force in a better way. The door is opening into this room; by your experience, should I kick it out or use my shoulder?”

Steve cleared his throat.

“Well, there is one more thing to consider. I don’t think you are wrong, but if you are and this is a combination of some kind of a mind-game,” he started and you mentally smirked, because that was not the word you had used, “and us having been injected with something – like certain compound you gathered intel about – it would be better to have a bruised or cracked shoulder than a broken ankle or knee that would prevent you from running.”

Your heart skipped a startled beat, all the zen you had tried to gather earlier evaporating.

God, you were an idiot. The antiserum – you had thought about it before and then completely discarded it. This could be some sort of a mind-game they had prepared for you – but for Steve, if he was weaker, they could have prepared the antiserum they had been cooking as a welcome basket. It would track – maybe it would make more sense than the insane idea that you had stolen his enhancements, maybe the compound couldn’t affect the permanent changes to his body, like his height.

Then again, if that were true, if that were the goal, why were you still alive and stronger? Were they truly so interested in probing you? Hell, why was Steve still alive, if they had got the golden opportunity to easily eliminate him completely? Were they hoping for intel? How long would you have until they barged in with a set of scalpels and needles to pry information out of you? You asked yourself most of these questions before, but the answers still weren’t coming, and frankly it was getting old.

“That is a good point – but also beside the point. I can’t just sit around and wait for a miracle.”

“Never said you should,” Steve said, a faint smile in his words. “Just… be careful.”

That was certainly a good point too, because simply running into the door with hopes of breaking it, was an equivalent of stupidity one Steve Rogers himself was capable of; you should at least have some sort of plan. You had no idea what awaited you on the other side – but you didn’t think you had time to come up with a better strategy. And if you had somehow absorbed Steve’s powers, you were sure you’d be… mostly alright. And you seriously needed to get to Steve to free him so you could figure it out together.

“Pot, kettle,” you hummed under your breath as you gathered your skirt, jogged to the wall opposite to the door, taking a deep breath and bracing yourself for the impact. Whether you were enhanced or not, it was probably going to hurt like son of a bitch; cracking your shoulder in the process was not exactly unplausible.

Too bad you were out of options.

Another deep breath and then you were running, the sound of rapid footsteps from behind the door reaching your ears.

The door was thrown open before you could touch half the distance. The momentum of your body made it impossible to change direction, even in the face of the black-clad figure with a familiar flash of metal.

Two shots rang in the air, like thunder in your ears; the world seemed to slow down as it tilted sideways, then the perspective changed completely.

A sharp cry cut the air; loud and piercing.

And then the pain registered, erupting with burning intensity and clarity that made you realize that the scream had burst out from your own throat. The hard cold floor you found yourself spear on was unforgiving, but it had nothing at the agony biting into your thighs, your hands instinctively clutching at the wounds and sending a fresh shockwave of pain through your body.  

You were no stranger to pain; not even to agony.

But this one, this one blinded you; there was no prison cell, no Hydra, no irritatingly bright light. Your ears were ringing as loud as alarm bells, but all you saw was white-hot agony. You hungrily drank air with every frantic breath, trying to match the tempo to the jolts of pain that seemed to grow stronger with every heartbeat.

And with that, you got to learn about a new kind of darkness; the bright kind, white with crimson edges. Distantly aware that you rolled over, now lying on your back, you felt like you were sinking into that darkness that muffled the outside world completely, drowning in the feeling of your own racing heartbeat and the distant sound of a familiar voice shouting.

One sense at a time. Focus on one sense, Steve had said, it will help.

It didn’t.

Because this time, it was just the pain.

Next chapter

Series masterlist // S.R. masterlist

Don’t shoot the messenger!! I swear this chapter should have had something else too, something I hope you will enjoy very much, buuuut it got pushed into the second ‘half’. Don’t hate me? Read on 🥰

Also, please, if I missed any warning, let me know 💕

[cogdominium]

dreamt up an insane toontown AU on the way home from college then proceeded to spend 3 hours making an animatic for it

here's a basic rundown under the cut!! :)

missy, formerly a lab assistant of iconic inventor gyro gearloose, got caught up in one of his experiments and wound up thrown outside the entire fabric of reality. she spent an unknown amount of time stuck in a mysterious island in the far reaches of the void, with only a tree in it she could nap under.

at some point. as one of the leaves of the tree falls on her head, she gets suddenly sent back into the town she used to know, but at a time period she didn't quite remember. she witnesses an event she had never heard of before, an election for the president of the toon council? that didn't quite ring a bell. but as the events of doomsday unfold she quickly comes to realize she has been granted a gift of sorts that allows her to travel through several iterations of her reality.

from there, she begins to explore all the different worlds that branched off from hers, getting to know toons and cogs she could never have dreamt of

+ specific events in it:

toontown rewritten (presidental elections) toontown rewritten (under new management, club president) toontown corporate clash (hires & heroes, duck shuffler) toontown offline (duck hunt, the chairman) toontown offline (five nights at the factory) madtoontownreturns (the end trilogy + the COG) toontown corporate clash (making fun of robert looking like a lil nerd + rocky agreeing) toontown corporate clash (fighting the vp to rescue rain) toontown rewritten (field offices, fighting the boiler) toontown event horizon (the infinisuite) toontown corporate clash (redd heir wing) toontown online (kong vs the cog bosses) toontown infinite (their unfinished ttc event) toontown rewritten (meeting fissionton) toontown rewritten (under new management, the foreman) toontown online (laosinaa's dark pixie dust 2) toontown the animated series (deedee + cog boss poster) toontown corporate clash (high roller)

this is the song btw