#and now for the author's prattle tags

[janumun]

A Practical Demonstration (LaDS Sylus - NSFW)

Rated: NSFW/18+ Words: 9.8k Pairing: Sylus/Reader

Tags: size difference, oral and vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, rough sex, mild mentions of stalking (not Sylus or Mephisto for once LOL), inexperienced (NOT virgin) reader, edging, drinking, [im]proper use of evol, explicit sexual content

Summary: When you end up disclosing a mortifying truth to Sylus about your dating life, deep in a drinking session; drowning yourself within a bottle — or three — of alcohol until you black out is the only option left to you to avoid that sharp, intuitive gaze for the rest of the night.  

That is, until Sylus throws a counter offer your way, one that sounds far too tempting to your scrabbled brain. Being the brilliant voice of reason you are tonight, you accept.  

[A fic where Sylus shows you exactly how good sex with a perceptive partner feels like when you confess your less than optimal dating experience.] 

Author’s Notes: Truly clown moment when I believed this fic would not exceed more than 4k words and yet again, here I am sitting on an almost 10k monster. I love what being horny for these men has done for my inspiration. Thank you so much to @chibamari for providing the prompt that birthed this fic. Already working on a religious desecration imagery angsty sex fic with Xavier and Queen MC, based on his first myth, as we speak.

The lingering remnants of your foiled meeting are muted with the press of rouged lips against the cusp of your cool glass, the liquor within, sliding easy down your throat with your fervent swallow.  

Placing it back down with a defeated sigh, you lean your arm against the counter, cradling your warming cheek against the crook of your palm.  

You never should’ve let Tara talk you into an impromptu date with a mutual acquaintance she’d considered ‘the perfect match’ for you; her giddy excitement and enthusiasm to get you a date had been too difficult to turn down. You cursed yourself underneath your breath at your inability to say no to those big, wide eyes and cheery smile; exactly the components that had saddled you deep into the disaster you’d considered that date to be — if it could be called as such.  

You’d excused yourself half-way through the man’s self-absorbed prattling — ruining the taste of the expensive steak in front, one you’d been wanting to try for ages — on excuse of an urgent mission coming up.  

A hand tucking your phone close to your ear, to reinforce your hasty lie while the other had slipped your card to your assigned waiter, making hasty work of settling your end of the bill. You’d swept up your coat and purse, striding out the lavish restaurant on swift-heeled steps before your sputtering date could so much as lift a hand in protest.  

Which is what had now landed you firmly in your current predicament, within the confines of a cosy, well-known bar, not too far from where you’d started.  

Nursing a budding headache within the bitter notes of alcohol, to help ease at long fraught nerves. In between the ever-looming threat of Wanderers and the obstructive wrench thrown into your investigation into the Ever group, along with how busy work usually kept you, you were exhausted, suffice to say. The insignificant man tonight had just been the icing on this long-ruined cake.  

Tara’s suggestion; to put yourself out more and ‘let loose’ for a bit, had ended in mild regret in going along with it, in the first place.  

It had been far too long since you’d been in a relationship — let alone enjoyed a date with a man; your professional obligations kept you busy, coupled along with an extremely low desire to invest yourself into the dating pool, to wade and weed through to one that matched your wavelength.  

A flash of an alluring garnet gaze sparks through your mind’s eye in passing, at the thought, one you physically shake yourself out of.  

Now there was a man entirely on the spectrum opposite to your frequency. Your inability to resonate with him had only been just one of many failures toward mutual understanding.  

“Another one for you, Miss?” The bartender inquires; you’re nodding before you can think it through. 

“Yes, thank—” 

“She’ll have a mojito instead. The usual for me.” A deep, rich voice drifts at your back — before it scotches down, involuntarily and low into your belly — just as the large hand you feel slip across your shoulder in greeting. You close your eyes against the intrusion, hoping the hazy apparitions of your mind would gift you a damn break just once tonight; as if having had him conjured out of mere musings. You shudder.  

The alluring man at your side does not dissipate as you’d direly wished, seating himself down onto the stool next to yours, completely at leisure at having snuck into your space, unannounced once more. You hated how infuriatingly easy the Onychinus head found himself able to pervade your every space, along with each of your thoughts — the latter of which you did not wish to dissect apart tonight. Or, ever, if you had the choice.  

“What are you thinking of, with such a severe frown on your face?” He speaks, as if he does not know the exact reason for your irritation. “You’ll put a permanent knot in there if you don’t stop.”  

You choose to ignore him in lieu of offering a resigned nod to the bartender for the order Sylus had placed on your behalf. You could use a less inebriating drink now, especially so if you were to deal with the man beside you. 

“What’re you doing here, Sylus?” You sigh against the dredges of your last drink, letting the bitter liquid warm your throat.  

“Has the alcohol numbed your memory as well, sweetheart? We had an appointment, did we not?” Your respective orders are deposited in front, just as he moves to take the drink in between long, tapered digits, bringing it up to his mouth for a taste.  

The slow drag of his Adam’s apple against his throat as he drinks, tugs your gaze towards it — an involuntarily reflex you aren’t able to control. Sylus’ scarlet gaze canting sideways to capture yours is what finally has you wrenching away from the delectable sight, cursing your fast settling inebriation for the mis-step.  

He was an attractive man, your mind had long made begrudging peace with the fact, even if you’d both started off on an extremely wrong — horrid, actually — foot. And he’d proven himself to be a reliable companion, when the two of you had caused waves within N109’s criminal hub, in a quest for the Aether Core. His side of the bargain he’d kept, in exchange for your deal to forge a steady resonation with him. One you had no thoughts of reneging on, you’d keep your promise to him for the massive aid he’d provided. And yet, you could not help bemoan the fact that this very man confounded you, to your very core, to the point you weren’t sure what to make of his intentions. And yours.  

But surely, you weren’t this physically deprived that Sylus of all people was beginning to sprout this visceral a reaction from you?  

“And I texted you I couldn’t make it tonight, sweetheart.” You quip, pinching your forehead in between thumb and index. “This really isn’t the time, Sylus.”  

He raises a careful brow at you, and God help you, even that gesture is incredibly beguiling to your slushed brain.  

“And you couldn’t make it because” he prompts, tapered digits drumming against the marbled countertop. “you wished to spend your time out here, dressed to the nines, in a party of one?”  

“So what if I wanted to?” All your prickly response earns you is a discerning gaze, zoned in on you. You exhale hard through your nose, shoulders steeling to utter your next words. “Oh alright, I had a blind date tonight.” You’re not sure why exactly you’re divulging something this private to the man. 

The way his brows shoots in simmering surprise before they bunch in at his forehead in a frown is almost comical, you would’ve snorted at the expression he’s pulling if not for his next words. “So that’s what had that imbecile out there on your trail, lingering at the door for.” He scoffs. “You may not have enjoyed your date but you certainly got yourself a love-struck fool nipping at your heels, kitten.” 

“Wait, what?” Bewilderment wars cold within your mind at the disgusting revelation of the man tonight having possibly followed you and Sylus having caught him dead in the act. “What did you do to him?”  

“It’s fascinating how your first assumption is that I did anything to him.” His pleasant chuckle curls within your ears; a low, throaty burr. And when you give him one of your own looks, “Alright, don’t look at me so. Mephisto presumed you had a far dangerous stalker on hand than that sorry bastard, when he saw him lurking about you.” He swirls his glass of whiskey in between casual fingers. “I gave him some cordial talking to and sent him on his merry way.”  

A million queries hurtle within your mind — what did his “cordial talking to” ensue exactly? Why had Mephisto been trailing you? Why did Sylus feel the need to step in and personally take care of your potential stalker?  

You reach to take a swig of your own glass, feeling that headache pinching once more at your brow. “I don’t appreciate you having your silly crow keep tabs on me, Sylus. But,” Reluctant gratitude stirs at the tip of your tongue as your mind slowly processes the situation at hand. If it hadn’t been for Sylus’ interfering ways, you might’ve been saddled with a problem far worse than the infuriatingly suave Onychinus leader on your hands tonight. “Thank you for taking care of that creep for me, I guess. I appreciate it?”  

You think you catch the strains of barely there surprise within his gaze, along with an amalgamation of emotions you aren’t able to parse before they’re shuttered out of sight. Replaced with a cool smile, he angles at you. “The alcohol has you honest for a change, kitten. I can’t say I dislike it.”  

That infuriating remark has you almost wanting to take back your thanks, almost.  

“Your engagement for the night has scurried off home with his tail in between his legs, leaving you to your celebration of one.” His touch is a flitting, warm caress against the shell of your ear as he folds a stray lock of hair back in place. “Are you going to say why you’re out here by your lonesome yet, furiously downing liquor, instead of back in the safety of your house?”  

A gibe sits sharp across your tongue at his probing, wanting to tell him to back off and out of your business, he had no reason to be asking whether you chose to go out on a date or throw yourself a self-wallowing party, to let loose for one damn night. You weren’t even sure why Sylus pricked at your nerves the way he did — riling you up in the manner he did. Each single touch, every look fraught with meaning. He did and went as he pleased, without a care for what people made of him; self-assured as if the world itself, he held, in between those devious fingers. And he probably did too, his reputation one of absolute power within N109 Zone and without.  

That very same man — the one who’d told you he’d make full use of you, as you did him — perched atop a bar stool by your side, asking you a question that seemed devoid of his usual ribbing. And perhaps, it’s because of that one sole thought that you find your mouth moving — or simply, because the alcohol has sniped your inhibitions. “Tara’s been on my case lately, insisting I need to get laid to blow off some stress.”  

“Oh? That hunter girl with the bob, the very eager one.” Sylus looks immensely amused; your mind sifts through memories to recall how exactly Sylus knew her before it clicks: ah, the company retreat you’d stumbled into Sylus a few weeks back at. How could you ever forget? The day had been a nightmare.  

“The very one,” you blink. “Hence the failed date tonight and my immeasurable disappointment.”  

“Why? Were you planning on sleeping with that loser?”  

You shake your head at him, horrified at the mere thought. “No, it actually went as well as I was expecting it to. Bad, that is.” You take another enthusiastic swig of your drink, a modicum of clarity returning to your stuffed head. “The sorry state of the dating pool at large, for a hunter with limited time on her hands isn’t exactly stellar. Even less so for men who know what they’re doing. And my luck in that regard seems particularly disastrous.”  

In hindsight, you knew you were word vomiting your thoughts out at this point, with way too much candour than was appropriate for the situation, you’d regret it tomorrow perhaps — no, most definitely. But at the moment, underneath the glazed pleasant bubble of alcohol loosening your tongue and the enticement of an extremely alluring man, who had his entire attention focused upon you, you couldn’t bring yourself to care.  

He huffs an amused half-laugh. “What sort of men have you been with exactly, kitten?” 

“Not that many.” You retort. “...Two and both during my schooling years, very briefly. I was a giddy teen, excited at the prospect of a loving boyfriend. Both their expectations from the relationship were obvious from a mile away, though.” You scrub a hand through the carefully primmed fall of your hair, not caring for the accessories you knocked askew. “God, I don’t think they even knew what to do with a woman, outside of getting their dicks wet.” You laugh at your own odd joke, tumbling within your brain.  

“It’s actually crazy how I’ve never had a man make me properly come in all my years—” Your words die within your throat at the realization of your horrifying admission.  

Surely, you’d thought them within your own mind and not just blurted your entire sob fest onto the man in front? A wretched sound of dismay leaves your throat at the inscrutable look upon Sylus’ face, shredding apart any sliver of hope you’d had that you had only been musing in thoughts.  

Gods, Tara was right, your idiotic self did need to get laid, you’d gone mad at long last. And made of yourself, a fool in front of the man you were begrudgingly attracted to. There was no coming out of this and you woed the fact that you’d even let yourself drink in the first place. 

“It does seem like your dating life has been rather disastrous up to this point.” Sylus responds, at last, insouciantly plucking his glass of whiskey off the counter for a swig, so at counterpoint to your rioting emotions.  

“Sylus.” 

“What is it?”  

You reach over, a hand securing about his broad shoulder, as you tip precariously close into the man’s space, plucking the glass straight out of his hands.  

“Hey—” Before darting back as far as you’re able, a feat Sylus did not think a woman even half-drunk was capable of.  

Taking a large gulp of the acridly strong liquor down your gullet, in a prayer to knock yourself out like you’d originally intended to before Sylus had walked in all over your small parade. Anything to blot your memory of the knowledge of your mortifying words to Sylus. But curling vines of red and obsidian are cleaving through your plans just as swift, one sliding about your waist to prevent your precipitous tilt upon the narrow stool while the other plucks the liquor clean out of your hands after a single pitiful swig.  

The swirls of misted red disappear just as furtively swift as they’d appeared once they have you righted upon the stool and out of harm’s way.  

A low sigh rings heavy above your head at your absurdity. “That’s enough. We’re leaving.”  

Affording you no room for feeble protests as he slips a cool palm around yours; long, thick fingers reassuring in between your own before he tows you away from the glittering inebriation of night life.  

Clarity from the merciful remnants of your intoxication is unwelcome tonight — like cool gunmetal pressed fast against your temple, siphoning the entirety of the alcoholic flush from your system. Having utterly failed at your attempts at getting hammered so you would’ve had at least an excuse to fake post drunken amnesia in the face of your shame tomorrow.  

Instead, here you were, deep within Zone N109 once more, incarcerated to the room Sylus had appointed temporarily as yours during your first visit to the place. One that had over time, turned into your housing and personal space, indefinitely, for whenever you happened to drop by on business with the Onychinus head. On business, you firmly reminded yourself. Even as the significance of the fact that Sylus had thought it fit to make space for you within his very own — his home — was not lost on you.  

You remembered trying to sweep a kick to the back of his shins, back at the bar, for having you bodily dragged out into the sobering night air and towards where his car awaited, parked by the curb.  

“Let go of me, you big brute.” Those vexing vines of red had curled about your leg mid-motion, tugging you up sharply before your world upended and you’d been tossed unceremoniously like a sodden sack of rice onto the broad expanse of one of his shoulders. You’d dug your nails into his back in punishing protest at his audacity.  

Earning yourself a derisive snort for your efforts. “Continue pawing at me like that and I’ll have you trussed next, kitten.”  

Your mouth had curled into a silent snarl, thumping futile fists against his solid back. “Try me.” 

“Don’t think I won’t.” He’d warned mildly before he’d continued on his merry way, wide stride that had barely faltered with your struggles.  

You sigh in defeat, scrubbing your palms down your face in recollection of the memory — your reflexive annoyance at his actions stemming more from your own mortifying situation than any real anger at him.  

He’d brought you back to his place, closer from where the bar was located, instead of back home, where the two of you risked running into any of your acquaintances, Xavier for one.  

And you couldn’t afford to let the people around you know of the Onychinus head — Sylus understood that instinctually, even if you did not speak of it. Content though he seemed to perpetually keep you in a state of life-threatening heart palpitations with his goading ways; absently recalling how Sylus had been Tara’s first man of choice for her date plan, owing to how he’d found it fit to barge in on their last team retreat.  

Shaking your head, you press a hand against your forehead as you move to wipe your body clean, having opted for one of the more comfortable outfits to change into for the night, you’d brought over from your place to his during one of your earlier visits — amusement sparking at you to witness how Sylus had thought it fit to buy you a couple new dresses, to add to your sparse collection, hanging within your wardrobe. As if you two were something more than acquaintances and professional partners.  

Your mind really seemed to have free reign over mad thoughts tonight.  

A knock resounds through the quiet of the room, effectively piercing your thoughts. “Are you done yet?” His familiar, welcome burr sounds from the other side of the door.  

“I am. Come on in.” The handle glides open, revealing Sylus standing in the doorway, having swiped his outerwear for a casual dark red button down, the sleeves rolled up to reveal the firm strength of his forearms; a sight you aren’t able to tear your ogling from, as he steps into the room. He closes the distance in between you in three easy strides. Crowding you within a room that feels too small and sweltering all of a sudden.  

“Feeling any better now?” His voice wrenches your gaze away from the sliver of skin revealed beneath the top two buttons of his shirt unfastened.  

You sigh, cursing at licentious thoughts. This man, in his incinerating, sensual entirety, frustrated you to no end. “I am, Sylus. Thank you.”  

“Good.” He hums. “Because you should stay awhile, a day or two at least.” 

“What? Why?” 

“I have to make sure that weasel you had tagged to you tonight doesn’t try getting too smart. Mephisto caught him lingering close to your streets after the whelp bolted following his wretched stalking attempt.”  

The revelation has nausea stirring at your gut; what had you gotten yourself into with that despicable creep? You were going to throttle Tara the next time you saw her.  

You sigh. “While that is disturbing behaviour and I’m grateful for the concern but I think I could’ve handled that idiot fine on my own.”  

A frown belts at his brow. “He’s a colleague from work, isn’t he? Despite his absolute spinelessness, that weasel is a trained Hunter with an authorized weapon on hand.”  

You raise a questioning brow at him, half inquisitive how exactly he knew your date happened to be a work acquaintance. Barely a few hours spent on his radar and the sorry fool already had all his information scraped and into the Onychinus head’s clutches. You did not envy his position, at the moment, massive creep though he was, having stood witness to how Sylus wiped his enemies clean out of existence. 

“Sure you’re capable, sweetheart, and your weasel is an idiot but do you want to be vigilant, glancing over your shoulder for a stalker, round the clock?” He pitches his head, waiting for your answer.  

His words give you pause, his reasoning not entirely without weightage. You mutter a quick curse underneath your breath, frustrated at how terribly disastrous tonight had turned out to be.  

Sylus’ smile quirks, taking your expletives for the affirmation they are. “And besides,” his hand shifts against your cheek, skimming a thumb down the curve of it, “you did enthusiastically mention your hazardous luck with dates. Might as well take care of this one before the vermin starts to fester.”  

A skitter of irked embarrassment bruises at your ego. “Are you making fun of me right now?” 

“Not in the slightest.” His thumb has switched towards your bottom lip, trekking a ghosting path across the swell of it. A different kind of emotion spurts within your chest along with the simmering annoyance, at his testing touch. “On the contrary, I was going to make an offer, one of mutual benefit.” His voice skims an octave lower and scotches deeper into your belly. “What do you say? Would you like to hear it?” 

His searing touch drifts down your chin, sweeping against your jaw. You’re unsure of the mesh of emotions that are surging through you at his evocative touch; indignation, surprise, reluctance... desire. You can barely focus on the words issuing from his mouth.  

“Well?” He prompts. “I don’t recall taping your mouth shut, sweetie.” His thumb returns to caress a path across your parted lips as if to make a point; a hushed throaty laugh leaving him at the hitch of breath that action elicits. He knows what he’s doing to you and he’s rousing you on purpose; the absolute scoundrel.  

“What’re you trying to say? Speak clearly, Sylus.” Your tongue darts forth to lap a quick path across the bottom of your lip; Sylus’ gaze rolling down your face to settle at your mouth when you do, a sudden simmer of heat flaring within blood-red.  “I despise riddles.” Another deep chuckle issues from his mouth, one that stirs into your belly without permission, much like the man himself.   

“What was it that you said earlier?” The tip of his thumb edges just past your lips. “Ah yes... you’ve never had a man make you come.”  

You flush at the recollection, cursing yourself for the umpteenth time tonight. You’d made a terrible mistake and you swore you’d never drink again, if it meant Sylus would just fucking drop it. Or you would, and the ground would swallow you whole. You’d confided a mortifying secret within a man who confounded you to no end.  

“So what?” A challenging grimace drags at your face, just as you sink a bite into his invading digit, hard. He does not so much as even flinch, his smile tugging wider instead. 

“What a spirited kitten I’ve lured into my hands.” He muses. “I like the face you’re making right now.”  

His eyes crinkle in at the corners, a mild thread of tenderness you think you catch streak through the simmering heat of his garnet gaze. It makes you want to turn away from the look, not wanting him to scrabble your heart any more than he has.  

“No,” A tapered index and thumb curve about your chin, firmly tempting your gaze back to him. “Don’t look away, keep your eyes on me.” 

And for that one instant, you listen. “My proposition is earnest, sweetie. Despite what your consensus may be, I’m quite fond of you, more so than you think.” Your breath snags in your throat at the admission; you’d be blind to not catch the clear insinuation in his words.  

His mouth skews into a smile. “Would you be averse to the idea of me showing you how it’s done?” He swipes at the swell of your bottom lip, his voice several octaves lower. Yes?” A sensual caress in the opposing direction. “No?” Your eyes flitter in hooded desire at the allure of his rich voice, scotching low into your belly to pool in between your clenched legs. 

You take a moment to inhale, slow, processing his words. Reaching a hand out to trace careful fingers against the strength of his jaw. “Do you realize the weight of what you’re implying, Sylus?” An inane question by all means. You’ve never known a man more self-assured in what he desires; you admit it’s rather arousing. 

“Oh, I do.” The distracting curve of his smirk pulls wider. “But do you, sweetheart?”  

Your fingers leave his face to drift across the open collar of his shirt, pulling him close. “You’ve been lodged in my mind for a long time.” You allow him a moment of that infuriating self-pleased smile. “Even without that pesky Evol of yours invading my skull.” Before you’re fisting his collar to rise on the tips of your toes to press your lips hard against that irksome, delicious mouth. 

Sylus’ hands curve about the give of your waist, fitting you firmer against the hard planes of him, without hesitance. He allows you free reign for a while before he chases your retreating mouth with his own, not sparing a moment of reprieve for the hungering breath you try and draw back into your lungs. His tongue slipping past your lips instead, granting you a taste and breath of what he alone affords you in that moment.  

Your hand flies to grip about the base of his neck, appreciating the firm musculature of his upper back that flexes beneath your touch when he moves to snare an arm about your waist. Fingers sinking harsh into your hip as he grinds you impossibly close to his body, siphoning the rest of your breath from your lungs.  

You’re near dizzy with the way his tongue licks into your mouth, tip teasing its way across the roof before it withdraws to slick a path against your wet bottom lip. You insist your grip harder against the back of his neck, dragging him back to you in the swelling smile he presses against your damp sighs — the drench of them flaming across your chest to pool low into your belly and settle deep in between your legs.  

Sylus lets out a low grunt against your skin — a sound that has your insides clenching in on desire — before his clutch upon the flare of your hip tightens, hand curving downwards about the swell of your ass before he lifts you up entirely on the strength of one firm muscled arm. The whimper you’re unable to tamp even against the aggression of his mouth, at his show of unrestrained desire.  

“Hold on tight now, sweetie.” He murmurs, sultry, against your lips. 

Sylus strides you both further into the room without breaking your kiss, the corded strength of his arm sturdy beneath your ass and you take that moment to appreciate what the position allows you access to, fully. Covetous fingers you run through the hair at the base of his neck to tug him into the kiss as you wish — his rewarding grunt in answer, warming your belly — against your mouth.  

Rushing down the buttoned line of his shirt, making quick work of undoing more of his buttons. A hand you slip past the edges of his shirt once the cloth against his chest is no longer impeding you, caressing your fingers against the hard planes of his pectorals. Sylus’ chuckle reverberates deep within your mouth, your fingers flexing into his shoulder at the sound. “Someone’s eager.”  

He stops at your bedside before he tosses you back onto the soft of your sheets. Not giving you the chance to even hoist yourself up on your arms before he’s towering over your body — crowded against his large frame.  

Chest heaving from the earlier stretch of your kisses and how he’d hurled you back onto the bed, you press a halting hand against his torso, playing at the lower buttons you weren’t able to undo earlier. Making hasty work of your remaining task before your fingers slide in welcome against the defined warmth of his abdomen.  

Your mouth parts in breathless wonder, eyes drinking him in voracious need, before they slip lower towards the straining length of his arousal through the placket of his pants — a sizeable bulge visible even through the pitch-black material. “Like you’re one to talk about being eager.” you quip, inquisitive digits dipping lower to ghost across the clothed length of him.  

His breath deepens at the touch, a thick chuckle slipping past his lips. “Point taken.” 

Your hand slips to curve against the swell of his cock above cloth, once more, feeling for the shape of him; larger than any you’ve had before, it sets a flitter of nervous anticipation into your chest. You want to see it, him.  

Sylus cocks his head at your inquisitive touches but doesn’t move to stop when your fingers work at the confines of his pants, until his arousal is far prominent beneath the remaining layer of his briefs. Your breath catches in your throat at the sight — he truly is big. Rather intimidating, entirely exciting.  

“Having fun?” He inquires, capturing your fingers in between long, tapered digits to bring them up to his mouth in a brushing kiss, a keen garnet gaze that refuses to relent from yours.  

“Yes,” you answer honestly.  

“That’s a good start.” He hums. “My turn.”  

Red and obsidian spiral about the length of your body, toying at the straps of your camisole, the edges of it at your belly before they’re dragging the material up across your body, and with the reveal of skin, Sylus’ eyes follow; the serrated intensity of his heated gaze, enough to have you try to squeeze your legs together on instinct to relieve some of the overbearing burn in between them.  

You can feel how mortifyingly wet you are, and yet in that moment, your mind cannot seem to muster shame.  

His thick fingers trail next across the waistband of your shorts — vined red making quick work of the ribboned bindings of the silken material before Sylus’ thumbs hook on either side, to drag your shorts and panties, torturously slow, down the plush of your thighs in one go.  

He’s hunching over to overshadow you entirely before you can make sense of it, face sinking close into the space in between your legs, hot gaze drinking in the sight of the thin strings of arousal that stretch from your pussy to your underwear before they bow and break into the sheets beneath. You watch him hum his approval, your head raised to observe the erotic picture he paints, in between your legs.  

A moan scratches free of your throat, your head falling back in shuddered pleasure when Sylus does not waste a single moment in ruining you; the broad pressure of his tongue you feel against the length of your quivering cunt as he swipes up a taste for himself before withdrawing once more.  

“Sylus.” You protest, fingers rushing to catch at his hair to pull.  

His gravelly laughter is devious against the inside of your thigh — so close to where you want him. “That’s a beautiful sound you’re making there, kitten.” He blows a hot breath against your centre, your pussy spasming at that bare action. “Let’s see if you’ve got any more of those for me.” 

“Sylus.” You try and let the irritation ring in your tone this time but all it sounds to your ears is a licentious plead.  

“I hear you, sweetheart.” He pulses a kiss against your outer folds. “I made you a deal, didn’t I?” He wrests his now loose shirt off his body before his touch returns to you once more, this time without the barrier of clothes in between you both.  

You're entirely vulnerable and naked underneath him, held to his mercies as his forearms flex about the pliance of your thighs as he hooks them about his broad shoulders. “You’re going to let me make good on my word tonight,” your legs spasm against his back — useless — as he keeps them held within steeled grips at your knees; large fingers sinking deep into the soft flesh. “and witness it too, with your entire body.”  

You feel the corded, hard strength of the muscles of his back flexing beneath the heels of your feet as Sylus ducks closer to your slit to suck at the pleasured bead of your apex. Your hips fly up on instinct at that first brush of stimulation, a moan crippled free of your lips. His smug smile you feel buried against your pussy when it gushes further against the skewed stretch of those lips.  “And you know I never renege on an agreement once made.” 

Your thoughts blank entirely the next time that adroit tongue lands against your drenched folds, his mouth swallowing you up entirely as he works at your slick with all the practised propensity of a devil set to wrecking you within your sheets.  

You’ve never had a man’s mouth down there before; you didn’t quite think it were possible to feel anything remotely close to what he was doing with your body at the moment.  

Sparks of jolting pleasure thrum throughout the length of your body, you’re not even fully aware of how hard you buck against his mouth. How Sylus thwarts each unconscious attempt of escape by dragging your pussy back to his mouth each time you squirm from the overwhelming sensation.  

His growl of pleasure is what drags part of your hazy attentions back to how white knuckled your grip is within his hair, tugging at the strands as if they were your sole lifeline to sanity. And you were beginning to suspect they were.  

Sylus’ knuckles brush against your tightened clit, knocking a groan of pleasure out of your throat. “You’re so wet.” He hooks a thick, tapered index up into your walls, clenching at his filthy words. “That’s it, sweetheart, keep doing that for me.” His laughter is a deep, hoarse sound. “I’m going to take all you’ve got for me.”  

He laps a path up against the junction of your thigh; a second finger teasing at the rim of your slit before it joins the first, in a slick easy slide.  

“Sylus,” You’re no longer caring; to your sounds, to the fact you’re dripping enough you’ve wet the sheets beneath his thrusting fingers. “Oh God, don’t stop. O-oh. God.” Not caring for the slight twinge of heat that sparks with the roll of your head to catch Sylus watching your entire downfall from in between the space of your legs; fervid scarlet gaze fixated to yours, the bow of your mouth in a constant, pleasured O curve as moans of senseless appreciation and babbled curses tumble from it. Even as his tongue laps a languid path against your outer folds, at screeching odds to the deft fingers he works into you.  

“Yes,” his growl is vehement, pleased. “Scream louder, no one’s going to hear you mewl down here, kitten. Let go.” The squelch of your arousal is loud within your ears, the pads of his terrifyingly nimble digits lighting up nerves against that one spongy spot deep within you that has stars wheeling within your wide gaze.  

And just as you think this is how he’s going to end you — the pinnacle of pleasure — he betrays your expectations once more with the hot slide of his tongue back against your clit. You nearly sob at the stimulation, a silent scream clawing up your bruised throat at how close you feel to breaking.  

“I-If you—” your words are garbled, hard to breathe. You're so, so close to a peak you’ve never fallen off of, in this manner before. “—I’m... hah, going to come.” Never had your own toys or hand or even another human, scrabbled your brains out this hard; a height so vehemently approaching, you’re afraid to fall. 

Sylus seems to understand you even through your incoherent babbling, stretching you open on his fingers in harder thrusts. “Then do it. Come on my tongue, darling.”  His mouth sucks the abused flesh of your clit deep into his mouth. A peak so in sight, you hurtle into it, your pussy spasming about his fingers, his mouth so hard, you’re near thrashing your limbs about the broad strength of his shoulders. Sylus creeps a hand beneath your ass, to lift your back and shove up deeper against his mouth as you sob out his name in senseless prayer.  

“That’s it, you’re so hot like this, you know that, kitten?” His guttural words, muted within your pussy and lost through the white daze of your prolonged orgasmic haze. Sylus continues to lap at you until you’re tumbling into buzzing overstimulation; the heavy weight of him like iron fetters at your legs as you weakly push at his face, his steeled shoulders in whimpered protest.  

“I— give me a break, Sylus.”  

He affords you a modicum of mercy, glistening mouth and chin withdrawing to rise from between the confines of your legs to fix a skewed grin at you. And when you meet his gaze, he makes a deliberate, erotic show of sweeping the broad of his tongue, slow, feral, against the edge of his upper lip.  

His fingers maintain their languid position still within your sensitive walls, each measured thrust has you shivering against the intrusion.  

You cup a hand about his strong neck, dragging him down towards your mouth. His voice low, heated in between the taste of yourself he sweeps into your mouth. “Enjoying yourself?” 

You secrete a hushed sound of approval against his exploring tongue. “I’ve never come this hard in my life,” you confess, breathless. “You’re crazy.”  

“I’ll take that as an enthusiastic compliment.” Knocking that smug grin of his only wider. And then, a softer whisper settles against your wet mouth. “You’re so good for me, sweetie. You drive me insane.”  

You withdraw from him to catch the simmering heat of his fervid desires and affection commingled within that scarlet gaze you’re so taken with. Sweeping a thumb at the clinging wetness of arousal, against the angle of his jaw, you marvel at the sensual sight he paints. “...I’m no different.” You meet his gaze, your honesty heavy on your tongue. 

He chuckles at the confession, canting his head to catch the plush of your thumb against his teeth, worrying at the flesh as he laves it up into his mouth on an obscene suck.  

The way he looks at you has arousal flushing anew within your cheeks; your insides clenching in on the fingers that languorously thrust into you, stretching you open. Lashes nearly trembling shut when his thumb traces a whispered touch against your clit before withdrawing, having your hips juddering up into his hand.  

Restless digits quiver down the length of his sculpted torso, working at releasing him from the rest of his un-wanted clothing; cut, well-tailored pants you’d more than once found yourself admiring him in but at the moment, you couldn’t survive a second longer without uncovering the entirety of his captivating body to your gaze. Sylus gently pulls out of your pussy to help you along, thick fingers running along yours at his buckle to slide is smooth out its confines before his Evol curls about the belt to toss it easy, at the side of his bed. His pants and briefs follow soon after and you nearly choke at the sight of him revealed at last to your gaze. 

Sylus’ cock is a devastating thing of beauty; thick and intimidating enough it has you salivating at the mere sight of it. You’ve never seen a man this big, blessed in both length and girth, it has your cunt clenching in on need at the sight of him. You wonder how he’d feel against your tongue if you tried taking him in, parched lips you wet with a swipe of tongue, parting at the thought.  

“Like what you see?” His self-pleased words wrench you out of your self-imposed stupor until you see that smug grin painting his face too. Your fingers delicately curve about the girth of him in a gentle squeeze; has grin falling open in a low, breathy laugh of arousal.  

Your fingers unable to wrap him up entirely within a fist, even as you stroke a slow, steady path up across his length. “You’re right,” you murmur in wanton desire. “I do like what I see.”  

“Such an honest tongue.” he groans low, in pleasure at your languid ministrations. Hooking a thumb at your bottom lip to tease it into your mouth and onto the wet muscle.  

“Honesty isn’t the only thing it can provide, you know.” You bait, in breathless, risqué whispers around the intrusion of his thumb in your mouth, sucking at him in imitation of what you truly desire from him. 

Sylus hums a pleased sound, withdrawing his finger to sweep it across your swollen lips. “Later.” He silences your protests with the wet ingress of his digits back into your walls. “You’ll have me, you have my word. But right now...” Your broken moan mingles with the guttural sigh that tumbles from his lips to witness your face shatter in pleasure. “we’re here to see how good I can make you feel, aren’t we, kitten? So, lay back.” He eases the flat of his palm in between your breasts to push. “And watch how else I ruin you tonight.” 

You moan at his filthy threat of a promise, hips rolling into the fingers he’s pressed into you, their rhythmic propulsions turning faster with each moment until he has your crest building once more. 

“Sylus.” you gasp out, fingers spasming around the wrist buried in between your quaking legs. 

“What do you need, sweetheart?” He draws down closer, body crowding yours against the sheets, the heat of his breath sultry against your sweat soaked skin. You feel the weight of his arousal ghost a searing path against your thigh and jump at the stimulation. 

“You.” you plead. “I need you so stop teasing me now, Sylus. I’ll—” 

His lips capture yours in an incendiary kiss, a violent clash of tongue, drinking your startled mewls up into his own as his fingers curl about the back of your head to hold steady underneath his assault. “You sure you’re ready for it?” He rolls his hips against yours once more in emphasis, making you shiver underneath the intimidating heat of his arousal. 

“I am, I can take it.” you insist against his wet tongue. “And even if I can’t, you promised you’d show me how good it can get, didn’t you?” You shiver. “So quit edging me any longer and put it inside me.” Your back arches in need at a particularly adept press of his fingers. “Sylus.” 

His answering groan at your fervent desires burns you higher, his soaked fingers dragging out of your clenching walls. “You really do know how to rile me up, don’t you, sweetheart?” Large hands settle about the swell of your hips as Sylus presses himself in between your legs. Letting the head of his cock, at long last, stroke at the wetness of your cunt, gathering moisture on to it. So close. 

His hips undulate in languid pleasurable strokes in between the fall of your legs, and each time the flared head of his cock bumps up at the tight bead at your apex, your hips try and jump against the caged strength of his hands holding you down. Every single stroke — up, down — has your breaths turning laboured in need, each single time he brushes down close to your hole, you clench in on instinctual emptiness, wanting to pull him deeper into you.  

“Some restraint, kitten. We don’t want you too overwhelmed too fast.” A low sound of disapproval soughs past his lips at your squirming. “Impatience is not a good look on a Hunter of your repute.” 

Your mouth falls open on a silent groan; hooking a leg about the snatch of his waist, you try and urge him into you. Earning an amused, guttural laugh for your efforts. “You’ve had me plenty ready. You’re just baiting me at this point.” 

“But you like me being this way, don’t you?” And God help you, if your brain wasn’t entirely mushed at what he’s done to you, you would’ve tried refute his observations with a lie of your own. But in this moment, you let him have his victory.  

Sylus curves a palm about the crook of your leg, fingers ghosting the underside of sensitive skin, up, until his hold catches at your knee. Keeping you fixed firm down onto the bed with the other, while he rolls his hips against you once more. “Keep holding tight,” he taps at your knee hooked at his back one last time before his hand drifts to curl about the base of his cock, pressing more of your slick up against the bulbous head.  

The first breach of him burns you open in pleasurable bliss, you hiss at the intrusion, back arching on instinctual chase of the man you’re so drunk on. Just the head in has you dizzy around him, grateful for the anchor of his large hand holding you grounded, at your hip.  

More of his member pushes past your rim; Sylus’ grunt of pleasure breaking in the tight scrunch of his brow in concentration. A thumb flits about your pinched bottom lip, end to end, before he’s coaxing it open with a firmer press of the pad of his digit against it. “Breathe for me, sweetheart.” You don’t think your body is capable of drawing air in at all but you try and trudge past the closure of your throat, gulping in a few, needed breaths. “That’s it, yeah, take me in. Slowly now.”  

It’s only when your body shudders underneath his with the ingress of almost his entire length settled into you do you realize the sheer, unyielding size of him inside, Sylus’ throaty groan of arousal, he bites into the sensitive skin of your wrist he’s had curled in between thick digits. Your cunt feels stretched impossibly wide around the shape of him, in a manner that has you whimpering on his next few testing strokes up into your walls. Sending him curling impossibly deep on each long, heavy thrust up into you until you feel him nudging, as if at the very ends of you.  

Your head rolls in restless need across the down of your pillows, your fingers skittering up the length of his arms, sinking harsh into the taut muscles of his biceps. Angry crescents you’re sure you’re marking into the skin but all it seems to do to him is make him push into you with greater need, approval heavy in the fervid grunts that issue from his mouth.  

One of his hands steals beneath your body to press in between your shoulder blades, guiding your body deeper against his as his hips piston into you. The wet squelch of your arousal heavy in the space, commingling with your damp, thick groans.  

Sylus withdraws from your body on his next slide, nearly all the way out, before he pulses back, slick, without resistance; each time, your body taken by the pleasant shock of how fully he sheathes himself into you, the stretch sending you into a dizzying spiral of mounting need.

And despite it all —  the hazy pleasure, his long, deep strokes into you — your ravenous body needs this man closer, a desire you aren’t able to word coherently. 

Sylus’ diligent handling of you — although, a gesture appreciated — is not what you require of him in the moment. He’s your first in so, so long; desires shuttered in since forever, along with the intense need to be thoroughly loved over by this man; your need to have him fuck you without restraint, after a heart so long spent in warring against its yearning for him, overflowing off the cusp of your poor control. Manifesting in the fingers you rush about the angled cut of his hips to squeeze, your legs tightening their hold at the back of his waist to pull deeper inside.  

Your eyes meet his in fevered haze; a slip of your tongue to drench parched lips, falling open to voice your desires before Sylus’ face crowds your vision. His mouth pulsing a quick kiss of violence against yours, it siphons your entire breath from your lungs at the aggressive curl of his tongue into you. “Alright,” he utters on a wet, hoarse whisper against your lips. No more questions, no more unsurety. “I’ll give you what you need.”  

He’s gingerly worked himself into you up to the near base of him when large hands move to grip on either side of your abdomen, the pads of them pulsing into the pliance of your skin — heated scaffoldings of flesh. Heralding the slow, squelching withdrawal of his cock from your depths up to the tip. Until Sylus plunges back into you with a force vehement enough you see stars white the scape of your vision with the audible slap of hips meeting the back of your ass.  

And it isn’t until he starts driving into you in that punishing pace, manoeuvring your body as if you were a mere doll meant to house his cock do you realize with primal joy that you love how he’s taking you. You’re delirious on the feeling of his cock ramming up into your walls — the massive stretch of him, each single inch of hot, unyielding flesh — hard enough he’s driving you up the sheets, your voice you do not realize is a shrill scream of pleasure.  

Everything — you, him, your hot, clenching insides around him — is all too much, all of a sudden, you’re drowning in the ecstasy of the feeling of him overwhelming your senses.  

And the man above, an unfettered beast; he folds you deeper into the mattress with the ardent swing of his hips, large hands gripping hard onto your waist as he guides your own weak thrusts back onto his cock with ferocious precision. Each single glide of the swollen head of his cock dragging him deliciously against that one spot inside that has you quivering apart around him. A deliberate assault of your sweet weakness. Truly, he knows your body as if he’d had you before several times already; the thought is as exhilarating as it is terrifying, having your pussy spasm around him on instinct, dragging a vicious growl out of him that has you whimpering at the sound.  

The sweat slicked concentration and fervid arousal that knits at his powerful brows is addictive, the heated flush of pleasure and effortless exertion — all of him an erotic sight, meant to throttle you into finishing ruin. The violent tatters of your orgasm you feel crumpling within your belly, fast approaching.  

You try and buck against his hips faster, pace paling in comparison to the near bestial propulsion of his cock into your depths. Sylus groans at a particularly harsh squeeze of your cunt; a hand leaving your waist to feather his knuckles against the drenched slide of sweat and tears at your cheeks you know are ruddy in desire. “You’re taking me so well, kitten, so deep inside that small body.” You might’ve offered a word of approval if your throat wasn’t so swollen from the breathless moans and ruinous pleas he’s knocking out of you instead. “You’re clamping so hard around my cock. Do you not want to let me go?” His large hand drifting against the lower stretch of your abdomen, before he presses the flat of his palm in deep, as if he could feel for the place his cock pounds up as if against your very womb, angling his hips to brush at the sensitive bundle of nerves at your apex and you nearly weep at the tight stimulation.  

“C-Clo—” is all the words your battered throat can manage out before your head’s falling back against the pillows, tear-strained gaze blown wide with the unrelenting intensity of his pillage of your body.  

But Sylus groans in approval, understanding of your broken prompts. “I’ve got you. Let that pretty pussy of yours weep more for me, sweetheart.” 

You moan unabated at the filth that issues from his lips, your body immediately moving to obey his instruction in the spasm of your walls.  

His hand slides against the length of your hooked leg to hoist it up and over a broad shoulder as his large frame arches over you, nearly folding you in half. The new angle driving each of his wild thrusts hard against your swollen clit. Your back nearly snapping with the force of its curve up towards him with your next shrill scream of his name. “What a perfect, perfect girl for me.”  

You're no longer coherent, a garbled speech and cotton head your constant companions — only dimly aware of the muted sounds of wood striking against concrete walls as Sylus drives your body violently up against the headboard. The distant absence of pain you only realize is possible when your cheek curls sideways to sink against the simmering warmth of the red and obsidian mesh of his Evol, keeping your head pillowed against the strength of his thrusts.  

His face descends towards you, a thick hand easing beneath sweat soaked locks to grip at your neck, holding firm for the ravenous mouth that plunders yours, choking your moans against his tongue. Your spit trails useless past swollen lips, Sylus’ tongue immediately following a broad path against your jaw, your chin to lick at the combined essence of sweat and spit. His guttural moan at the taste, sending you nearly into your orgasm, so close at hand, you’re spasming useless about the great length of him. 

Long, tapered digits flex about the delicate expanse of your neck, coaxing your pleasure-drunk gaze up towards his.  “The way you’re looking right now...” You catch the flex of his other arm at the corners of your vision as it slinks in between your bodies. “a man could get addicted, sweetie.” His thumb presses against the abused bead of your apex in that instant, knocking a scream free of your parched throat, body arching in the slick slide of your breasts pressed flush against the broad planes of his chest. Even that stimulation at your nipples is too much; the heat in between your legs tempered to an inferno.  

The precise, perfect strikes of his cock into your walls, along with the insistent pinch and press of your clit in between adroit index and thumb has your crest rising. White hot heat undulates through your entire body. The merciless sting of a delicious bite you feel Sylus sink at your straining neck, right beneath your jaw, “Come for me now, sweetheart,” accompanying the hammering thrusts of his cock, his thumb at your bundle of nerves is what finally has you ripping apart on an orgasm so intense your gaze blanks entirely.  

Jaw falling open on a shriek so unlike yours, you do not recognize the sound of your own battered voice until Sylus presses two thick digits into your slack mouth to toy at your wet tongue as if he could capture that sound for himself. “You’re so damn beautiful.” His pace unrelenting through the violence of your orgasm, stretching your own peak so long, spasming about the wet heat of him until Sylus’ hips too stutter as he finds his release into your welcoming depths.  

Pulse after pulse of ejaculate so abundant, hot, it drives you into another release — or perhaps, you’d never even stopped coming — a pinnacle so high, your fall from it is prolonged, pleasurable. Your mouth sucking hard at his fingers, willing them to serve your anchor.  

Sylus’ gaze meets yours from across the small pocket of space in between your faces, heated and stifled with your breaths. Scarlet eyes, simmering, pupils blown so wide in low settling arousal as the two of you breathe deep in unison. Several moments of reprieve, you allow your bodies as you come down from your highs.  

A small part of you distantly realizes a single session with Sylus has effectively ruined you for life and you’re unsure if you’re bemoaning the fact or thrilling in delight at it. You think you just might be far more infatuated with this infuriating man than you’d initially thought and the notion of being this adoring of him mildly terrifies you. Just as the sliver of tenderness that threads through that garnet gaze as he pushes back sweat soaked strands from your face to study you. “You alright there, sweetie?”  

You can’t deny it any longer. “Never been better.” you wheeze past a sore throat. And God help you, the grin that skews at his beautiful mouth at your answer has your heart refusing to settle into rest, even after your mind-numbing release.  

“That good, was it?” You do not have the energy to refute him, settling for a light slap at his bicep. 

His arms flex about your body before he rolls you both over. Releasing himself, slow, from your depths — you groan weakly at the muted stimulation before he hoists himself onto his arm.  

You reach a hand forwards, curving it about his face, thumb sketching at the angle of his jaw. “Stay with me tonight.” you ask of him quietly.  

Mild surprise flickers within blood-red garnet before it’s replaced by the tender quirk of a strong brow. “Didn’t plan on leaving, sweetheart.” He tips his head further into the crook of your palm, pulsing a quick kiss onto the skin. “Sleep tight, now. Your eyes are glazing over.” 

And for that one moment, you listen, letting the warmth of his engulfing embrace shepherd you into dreams of scarlet eyes and amused smiles — the only ones you’ve been able to think about for a long time now. 

End Notes: Tagging as requested: @samanthagnicole , @catboi-anon , @bitches4lifebro , @beebumbo , @hellinistical , @chocomii-chan

If you’d like to be tagged in my future stories, you can fill this short form here. If you’d like to be removed, shoot me a DM!

You can also find me on Ao3 and twitter, if you’d like to chat or just squeal with me about hot characters, in general.

[bg-brainrot]

To Be Known (Astarion x GN!Tav)

Featuring: Astarion x Rogue!Tav

Series: Fits into Love at First Knife, AO3 link here

Summary: Astarion reads a book and wonders what it means to be known.

Tags: Astarion's POV, POV Second Person, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Fluff, Comfort, Vampire Spawn Astarion, set in Act 3 but pre-Cazador, Astarion is Bad at Feelings,

A/N: Disclaimer up top: I'm not abandoning any of my other fic! Promise! Just trying to get over a tough month and get back into the swing of things :'D

Also, based on the quote: “To be loved but not known is comforting but superficial. To be known and not loved is our greatest fear. But to be fully known and truly loved is like being loved by God.” (disclaimer: I’m not religious, and I know this quote comes in a few different forms, but google told me about this version so I stuck to it.)

Word count: ~2.1k

“To be fully known and truly loved is as if you are loved by the gods,” Astarion reads aloud, to no one in particular.

A silence follows, wherein his mind repeats the words he’s just read, absorbing none of them. To be fully known and truly loved… The words don’t seem to stick. 

Finally deciding that the sentence isn’t worth his effort, he tosses the book onto his bedroll with a groan. “What rubbish.”

Outside of this author's haughty approach to prose, Astarion doesn’t particularly care to think too deeply about what it means to be loved– especially by any godsforsaken deities. 

He has only just come around to the idea of love, not that he’s said the word ‘love’ to you just yet. It felt too much, too heavy a word to carry considering all of the other burdens the two of you bore between you. But the idea of it? Well, he was warming up to it. And with every moment shared between you, he believes he may be warming up all the more.

But what does being known have to do with love? No, that concept has him pulling his brows together, getting up from his bedroll and putting distance between himself and the drivel that Gale had recommended to him.

That’s what I get for listening to the damned wizard’s tastes, he thinks, shaking his head slightly. Some philosophical prattle, just as verbose as he is.

But even as he stands, brushes himself off, shoves the book away to the furthest corner of his tent before he makes to leave, the question of being known never escapes him.

What does it even mean to be known? he wonders, now lost in thought as he emerges from his tent. How could anyone know me, after all I’ve been through… do I even know who I am anymore?

The idea hangs over him, trails him like a storm cloud as he begins stalking about the camp you’ve all set up in the outskirts of Rivington. He’s not sure where his feet are leading him other than away– away from the distasteful book, away from away from your knowing gaze, which would only pry his thoughts out of him.

Much to Astarion’s disappointment, the trail he takes doesn’t stop the winding path his thoughts have taken.

Have I ever been known? he wonders, vaguely registering the breeze in his hair and the distant sounds of running water as he travels further and further from camp.

Perhaps I was once upon a time, but I could hardly be expected to remember now, could I? The thought is bitter and unwelcome, though likely true. He brusquely swats a branch out of his way and continues into a bramble unrepentantly. Gods, how can he bring himself to care about something as trifling as nature when he’s quite busily lost in thought right now, thank-you-very-much.

Astarion releases a sigh as he finally fights his way into a copse of trees. Secluded, finally. 

Alone. 

With his thoughts.

Which won’t seem to quiet despite the soft chittering of small animals, nor the sickly sweet smell of flowers in the air.

Why are some pitiful poet’s ‘words of wisdom’ even bothering me? he thinks as he lowers himself onto the trunk of a fallen tree. What’s even the use in being known?

Astarion crosses his legs in front of him, watching with narrowed eyes as his boots press into the soft grass, crushing it easily. There is no use to being known, he decides as he presses harder with one foot and the grass is further flattened. To wish that is…

His foot twists down even more firmly.

Pathetic, Astarion thinks, lifting his boot back up to see his handiwork. The grass lies flat, thoroughly smashed by him. This world is simply about being the one who tramples, and not the one being trampled.

That thought oddly comforts him. He knows the push and pull of power well enough– this dynamic is second nature to him. Like an old, threadbare blanket, it wraps around his shoulders, providing no warmth, but plenty of familiar reassurance.

It’s moments later that the blanket is wrenched from him and he’s laid bare once more, under the startling sunlight of your attention.

“Astarion?”

Your voice pierces through his thoughts, and his instinctual answering emotions are new to him. Surprise. Elation. Relief.

The vampire had been utterly unprepared to hear your voice, convinced he’d found a spot away from you all. Convinced that you wouldn’t be here with your thoughtful gaze– not now, while he’s still busy sorting through a myriad of questions. But he still can’t deny the way he welcomes your presence. 

He suspects that your perceptive gaze can easily catch that, despite the way his shoulder’s tense and the way his head turns away, his ears still tilt back toward you, ready for your next words.

“Astarion, there you are,” you say. He hears the same emotions he feels in your voice. How odd it feels to be mirrored by you. He can’t deny enjoying that either. “What’s the matter? When I couldn’t find you around camp, I thought the worst might have happened."

The man scoffs, trying his best to sound unaffected by your sudden arrival, refusing to meet your inquiring gaze. “And what, pray tell, did you assume could have happened?”

“We’re practically at the Gate, Astarion. Anything could have happened. Need I remind you what happened to Dribbles?” you respond, voice tight with worry. 

Ah yes. The dead clown. “It will take more than a shapeshifter to take me out, darling,” he retorts, still refusing to turn toward you, now dutifully inspecting his nails.

You let out a small huff of disapproval. “And what about Cazador?”

“I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself,” Astarion replies, though the thought of being caught unawares by Cazador bristles at him. If he did get caught, it would be entirely Gale’s fault for lending him that book… He shakes his head of white curls and continues, “Besides, I barely got more than a few dozen yards away before you came chasing after me. I could hardly be in any real danger.”

When you sigh, he finally turns to face you. The expression you give him then isn’t frustration, nor anger– it’s an unusual mixture of worry and… joy? “I couldn’t help but chase. Would it be pathetic to say that I miss you when you’re gone for too long?” you respond.

He’s not sure he has an answer to that.

Especially when he feels pathetic for how light his undead heart feels at the statement.

Astarion drops his head, avoiding your gaze, and hoping you don’t catch the startled happiness on his face.

When it’s clear he doesn’t have a response for you, you change the subject as you close the distance between you, “So, what brought you out here?”

“Nothing,” he replies, too easily. You know it’s a lie. He knows that you know it.

“Nothing, eh?” you ask, finding a seat next to him on the fallen tree. “What about that nothing has you running into the woods?”

“I was not running,” he defends, with a click of his tongue. “I was taking a brisk stroll.”

“Fine then,” you relent, elbowing his arm gently. “What about it led to a ‘brisk stroll’?”

There’s no use hiding from them, is there? he thinks, leaning back on the trunk. “I’ll tell you,” he begins, staring out into a bush. “But only if you answer a question for me.”

“Anything,” you say, and he can feel your shrug on his arm.

“Who am I, really?”

You still. Astarion had expected no less. After all, it’s not an easy question to answer– even for him. He’s putting quite a lot of undue pressure onto you with the question, it’s selfish really… but he can’t help but want to be selfish around you.

So he lets the question settle into the silence.

When you finally speak, your voice is crisp in the muted sounds of the clearing. “Promise you won’t care for me any less after I answer you?”

Astarion snaps his head back at you, his mouth turning down in a frown. “Well that depends, my dear. What are you planning to say?”

“Promise?” you press.

As if he could care any less for you– he would have done so already if he could. “I promise,” he murmurs reluctantly. “Now, please, the suspense is really too much.”

“You are Astarion,” you start, reaching out for his hand. He cautiously places his in yours, unable to hide the twitch of a smile as your warm fingers lock with his. “You’re a beautiful, elven vampire, with silver hair, and red eyes. You’re talented, witty, and…”

Your voice trails off, and Astarion can’t help but wonder why you’d been so hesitant to answer. So far, he is loving this answer.

“And you’re an absolute arse at times.”

“Excuse me?” he gasps, moving to pull his hand out of yours.

You don’t release it, but you do continue, “You laugh at the misfortune of others, you steal, you lie, you cheat at games, you can be incredibly selfish.”

“Darling, are we certain you care about me after all this?” he grumbles, giving up on fighting your grip on him as your words wash over him. He knows all of this, of course, has been entirely unashamed of it all before… but it feels different when you say it. When you lay it out plainly before him.

“Yes,” you answer quickly, tugging on his hand gently. “Because all of that makes you you. And, personally, I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

He blinks at you, confused on how you arrived at this conclusion.

“You are so unabashedly you, love. And I adore that. I know it might not feel like it after all you’ve been through… but you are still yourself. No one has been able to take that from you.”

Now Astarion stares at your intertwined hands, wondering if he deserves such impassioned, absurd words said in his defense. His voice comes quietly when he asks his next questions, “And how do I know that’s who I have always been? Who I was meant to be?”

You bring his hand up to your lips, pressing a soft, warm kiss before you continue, “Astarion, I don’t know what might have bothered you, but I want you to know that, no matter what it was, you’re amazing as the man you are. Whoever you were, whoever you think you were meant to be, you should be proud of who you are now. And… once we deal with Cazador, I hope you have the chance to rediscover that man.”

Astarion hadn’t meant this to be some kind of journey of self-discovery– really, he’d only been irked by the needless philosophy of the book Gale had lent him. But, hearing you say those words, it feels as if some weight has been lifted from his shoulders.

Worry, he realizes. Of losing who he was, of course, but also of being utterly, desolately unknown. Naturally he needn’t have worried because here you are, ready and willing to understand him. To accept and care for him, even while knowing him, flaws and all.

Maybe being known wasn’t such a burden. Not if it were by you.

“Yes, well,” he begins, suddenly unsure what to say to your earnest words. “Thank you for that, I think. Though, really, I could have done without all of the barbs. It feels like I've been struck by psychic damage.” Astarion gives a dramatic head loll, averting his flustered face.

You laugh and squeeze his hand. “Well, it’s a good thing I have no clue how to deal psychic damage, but I’ll be sure to get Gale right over if you need a good jostle to the brain.”

Gale’s done enough of that, Astarion thinks. But he doesn’t say so to you. Instead, the man simply shakes his head. “I’m quite alright. Speaking of the rest of those fools, they’ve likely begun to burn the camp down without us. Shall we head back?”

While the trek to the clearing had been filled with spiraling thoughts and matters of the self, Astarion finds that the journey back is filled with far more soft touches and kisses– Not that he minds.

In fact, he thinks with a smile, as you both walk together, practically falling into each others’ arms. Maybe this was who I was meant to be all along.

That night, once he’s settled back into his tent for bed, Astarion reads the passage once more, “To be fully known and truly loved is as if you are loved by the gods.”

Astarion is certainly no closer to believing in the gods’ willingness or ability to love him, but he could hardly care. No, he suspects that he knows what a god’s love is– after all, if you truly love him, fangs, scars, and all… well, that may very well be divine.

[judesmoonbeauty]

I wrote an angst about Jude today, then when I played an escort, he gifted me with 2,000 gold coins over 50 diamonds. Well, played, Jude. Well. Played. Thought about it for while, and said, "Nah, let's mess with him." So, here's a little tit-for-tat fic in which I screw with Jude for his giving me gold over diamonds. Also, this is an introduction to my OC - Isla Corbin - that I will feature in my writing from time to time. This fic was written in like 30 minutes, so keep that in mind..... WC: 1,309 Pairing: Jude Jazza x OC Isla Corbin Pronouns: She/Her CW: Cursing Tags: SWF ┃Teasing ┃Self-Aware Characters ┃Bullying Jude ┃OC Introduction

Sitting on a bunch crates near the harbor, Jude, Ellis and Isla sat together enjoying their gelato in the summer heat. The sky was bluer than it had ever been after weeks of rain, the people were working hard, but in a cheerful mood and Jude had a good morning of debt collections. There was no reason for any of them to be questioning the ordinary day, but Ellis finally spoke up after a while.

“Hey, Jude. Have you ever wondered if we’ve ever lived different lives?”

“Hah, I knew ya were off you rocker, but this an another level of creepy. ‘Course not…..why?”

Ellis pulled up from the crates he leaned against, and confessed this odd feeling he hadn’t been able to shake for a while now.

“I feel like, I’ve seen other versions of our lives…..as if they were stories written about us.”

Jude raised a quizzical brow at his assistant’s ramblings and then looked at Isla as she was munching on her cone. She didn’t seem to be bothered by Ellis’ prattling nonsense at all.

“I mean, what if we were works of fiction and controlled by some kind creator?”

“What?”

“Jude, what would you say if you lived in another world and rode around in some kind super fast black carriage that was powered like the steam engine and went on what was called a “road trip”, or if Isla were almost taken advantage of by a bad guy while she was alone in the Scala?

“Say that last part again?!”

Isla kept to herself as Jude became more and more worked up over Ellis’ hypothetical ramblings, but far from being over Ellis continued….

“Yea, what if I you went through months of suffering and pining over her because you were written to be stuffy about your feelings instead of honest about them? Hmm, I feel like I’ve seen some good things to…like you and Isla having a gelato date near the bridge, and reuniting after you saved her……playing with her hair, licking her fingers. But the most recent thing I feel like we’ve lived through was her leaving you soaking wet at the dock over there. Oh! And the creator of that story had a seagull crap on you. Hmmm, I guess you could say they’re like an author. If that’s true, then how’d you feel about it, Jude?”

Furrowing his brows at Ellis and feeling immense anger pipe up like steam, “How would I feel ‘bout it? Ha! What poppycock! Even IF that were true, I don’t remember any of it, and that’s some shitty ass author for writin’ about people like that. I’d roast their ass ‘n sink their ashes in the river Thames.”

“Hmmm, maybe you’re right. But, what if this very conversation were being written as we speak?”

Ellis points up to the vast sky to make his point, “What if they are watching us right now and every word I say, and every reaction you make is being simultaneously written.”

Jude scoffs at Ellis, lights a cigarette and decides to test his little theory.

“Fine, then let’s test it out. Go ahead, call out to this author,” he laughed menacingly.

Standing up Ellis walks a few feet away from Jude and Isla who was finally finishing up her cone, not concerned in the slightest as to what was about to happen. Clearing his throat Ellis calls out to the sky, “Excuse, sir or madam author, um…..if what I say is true……can you make another seagull crap on Jude’s shoulder?”

“Oi!!! What the hell?”

Jude stood up to walk towards Ellis, but within seconds there was a large splatter of white all over his coat.

“Ugh, what the-”

“Wow! See Jude it’s true. Thank you, author!”

A gentle wind ruffled past Ellis like it was patting his fluffy hair in approval. “That’s just a coincidence!” Jude fought back as he took off his jacket and threw it to the ground.

“Then, why don’t you try Jude? Just politely ask them do something as a sign.”

“Outta my way, ya loon.” Jude looked up to the sky too and challenged the unknown being on the other side.

“If this crazy bastard is telling the truth, then make it rain while it’s still sunny outside.”

It was a simple command to control the weather, it should be easy for an author or creator to make happen if it were true. After a few moments, nothing happened and Jude laughed triumphantly, although many onlookers did wonder if they should contact the asylum for a madman screaming commands at the sky.

“HA! See, you’re wrong. Now shuddup.”

Just as Jude was walking back to the crates to take a seat, a sudden downpour erupted and drenched him with bullets of rain and more than that, with small bits of hail pelting him. He covered his head unable to move because of the severity of the storm, and when it finally ended, he was shocked to find that neither neither Ellis nor Isla were wet. In fact, they there wasn’t even a drop of water on them.

Ellis was stunned at what just happened, but Isla just sat there on the crate resting her chin in a thinking position as she crossed her leg, and watched her lover lose his temper. Jude was shocked that what he asked to happen actually happened, no it was not what he asked, it was far more severe than what he asked. Then, if this were true and all of what Ellis said were true…..

“OY! THE FUCK WAS THAT? HAH?! I’LL CREAM YOUR ASS!!!”

When Isla erupted into a giggle over Jude’s tantrum, he turned around to find her sitting there like she was the Queen of Sheba. Her reaction was odd, she’d normally ask if Jude were alright and suggest they go for a drink or something to calm him down.

“Isla…..”

“Are you cold you, Mr. Jazza? Want me to dry you off?”

With a snap of her fingers, a strong East wind blew past Jude knocking him over, but after the wind subsided he was indeed dry again.

“H-how did you…?” He stood up from the ground and walked to his lover.

“I am she and she is I.”

The confused look on his face was quite adorable, so Isla stood up and walked over to him and pinched his cheek, “She has a message for you, Mr. Jazza.”

“What does that mean? Who is “she” and why is “she” doing this?”

Leaning into his ear - Isla Corbin - the young woman whom Jude had known since her days as a clerk at the solicitor’s office that he frequented, the daughter of the well-to-do merchant of a business called D’Lune, and his fiancee who now worked with him and Crown, now seemed to be some one completely different as she whispered in his ear….

“Because you’re fun to bully Short King.”

“Short King? I’m not s-”

Isla grabbed his head before he said another word.

“This is what you get for giving me 2,000 coins during an escort over 50 diamonds you petty, lovable bastard. Do it again, and I’ll melt your brain by stuffing it with all the fan-fiction I’ve written about you.”

“Isla, you’d better-”

The author typed for Isla to quickly give the love of her life a kiss on the cheek, and instantly the entire scene rewound to the start of the fic, leaving the author smiling happily on the other side of the sky - through her screen - as she watched the three precious darlings she loved with all her heart go about their day enjoying gelato and collecting debts - completely ignorant of the fun she just had with them.

@ichigostellaglynn @atelierquinn @mrslelouch Please let me know if you want to be added to my tags list.

[cloudcountry]

flower crowns & a sunlit dream.

Genre/Tropes: MUTUAL PINING but it's REALLY heavy on Sebek's side. Unestablished relationship.

Summary: You decided to get some fresh air and relax, and Sebek decided to tag along. And by that, of course, I mean he can't say no to you.

Author's Comments: I wanted to write something nice for Sebek because a lot of people don't like him and I'm like "guys :(((( he's trying his best :((((" Also we both like reading and hate coffee which I think is really funny LMAO

~~~~~

The warmth of the sun was like instant stress relief as you stepped out into it. Breathing in the fresh air, you made a mental note to stay in the front lawn on Ramshackle a bit longer to decompress. With Grim holding onto your pant leg as he prattled on about tuna cans and the like, you made your way back to the dorm with a spring in your step.

The fence surrounding your run down building had never looked so beautiful.

Gently patting Grim on the head, you sent him off into the house to snack on his canned fish. He went happily, rushing through the doorway as his tail swished happily behind him. You were just about to go lay down in the grass and watch the clouds when you heard rapid footsteps approaching from behind you.

There was only one person they could belong to.

“Hello, Sebek.” you said, continuing your way into the grass and flowers.

“Human!” he yelled, skidding to a stop behind you as his bag thumped against his hip, “What are you doing?”

“I could ask you the same thing. Why are you running around like your ass is on fire?” you hummed, sitting down in the grass, “Why don’t you come join me and relax? We have the next two days of school off, you know.”

“I don’t have the time!” Sebek snapped, spinning on his heel to book it back down the pathway.

“Oh please, I’m sure you do. What else could you possibly be doing right now?” you sighed glancing around at the meadow of flowers before you.

You were all too familiar with Sebek’s eccentricities and how to slowly put a stop to them.

“Oooh, dandelions! Hmm...I think they would suit you.” you gasped, gently plucking them from the dirt.

“What? Flowers?” he turned back towards you, eyes narrowing as the weird weaving you were doing with the freshly picked dandelions.

“Yeah. C’mere.” you patted the spot on the ground next to you.

“But-!” Sebek flushed as you narrowed your eyes at him, patting the spot next to you more.

He pursed his lips and sat down ungracefully on the rustling grass, unable to stop himself from glancing around awkwardly. He wasn’t sure what to do in this situation, or even what to do around you. You were so confusing to him, especially when you acted like this. He watched you as you hummed a soft tune, weaving the flowers into a circular shape. Sebek felt his heart seize in his chest, a reminder that the way he felt about you was never to be revealed. It didn’t matter how nice you were to him even though he screamed at you to go away, you’d always make him feel weird in the best way possible.

Shuffling around next to you, he rested his chin on his hands. There was no use trying to fight you off when you wanted him around. He’d learn a while ago that he was a little too weak for you.

“Here!” you held up the crown of flowers, setting it on his head, “I knew it. Dandelions suit you.”

He felt his face explode with warmth as you smiled at him, the light wind rustling your hair in a way that made it impossible for him to look away.

“Wh- I- Ah-” he cursed himself for not being able to speak, but you seemed to think reducing him to an embarrassed mess was funny, “If you’ll excuse me! I have a book to get to-!”

“Ooooh, what are you reading this time?” you asked, scooting closer to him.

Too close!

He jolted back, coughing sheepishly into his fist. You didn’t seem weirded out, only smug. How rude!

“It’s about a witch and a princess.” he grumbled, ignoring the happy twinge in his chest when you asked. Nobody really cared to ask what he was reading except for you.

“And?” you beamed. Rather cutely, might he add.

Curse you, human!

“The princess and the witch work together to rid the kingdom of the corrupt government running in it the princess’s absence! They tried to kill her years ago but failed, and the witch and her go on this huge adventure where they get into a lot of trouble and....” he froze, realizing how animated he’d gotten with you watching him like he deserved to be listened to like that.

You nodded slowly, a nonverbal request for him to keep talking. Sebek looked away, brow furrowing.

“Human! I won’t spoil it for you! Read it yourself.” he produced it from his bag, shoving it into your arms.

“Won’t you read it to me?” you asked, holding it like it was a precious treasure, “You were looking for someplace to read in peace, right? You can just pretend I’m not here.”

“But...But I’d have to start from the beginning!” he protested.

“Isn’t that better than just giving it to me, though? It looks like you’re almost done, but if you read it to me you could just mark that spot too and take it back to your dorm with you!” you argued.

He huffed, snatching the book back. You laughed, scooting closer once again.

“Checkmate.” you teased.

“Quiet! You want me to read to you, don’t you?” he hissed, opening up the book.

The first few sentences were a pain to get through, since he could feel you staring at him. The longer he kept at it though, the less it bothered him. You were just a little human, after all. There was no reason to be so nervous! Yeah! He could totally do this-

A warm pressure on his thigh made him jump out of his skin, eyes wide as he looked down at you.

While he was reading, you’d made yourself comfortable against his thigh, pretty eyes staring up at him as you waited for him to continue.

“Is this okay?” you asked, and all he could look at were your lips.

“Fine! It’s fine! Just don’t bother me again, human!” he yelled, face aflame once again.

He tried to hide his blush with the book, but it was in vain. He knew you could still see the way his ears burned red and the way his hands shook, and he knew you’d stay by his side and poke fun at him whenever you possibly could to see him flustered all over again.

But maybe, just maybe, he didn’t mind you all that much.

[guppygiggles]

Like Real People Do ♡ (Casper x Avery)

☁️ Summary: Casper moves to a new town. A peaceful morning longboard ride along the boardwalk leads to a chance encounter~! This story is written in first-person (Casper's) perspective.

☁️ Warnings: Light tickling (accidental + clinical setting), mild injury (no blood or gore), death mention (no actual death). Loneliness/insecurity mention.

☁️ Author's Note: This is my first fic (ever, lol, not just with these characters) so I hope you enjoy it! Please let me know if the tags/warnings are wrong and I will fix them. I am so thankful for the support and love I have received for my characters, it means so much to me.♡

This is a series now!

Part 1 *you are here

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

If you just got here and want to know more about my characters, you can read my comic starting right here!

"Alright, go ahead and lie back," the doctor instructed as she pulled the extender out from the examination table. I did so, swinging my legs up and planting my socked feet on the extender. Goosebumps rose on my arms as the cold vinyl was easily felt through my thin t-shirt. My eyes traced the borders of the sterile white ceiling tiles, my lips pursing as I prepared to be examined. "I'm just going to feel your belly, okay?"

“Just,” I thought.

"Okay," I sighed, and then locked my teeth together. Perspiration formed between the vinyl and my clammy palms, and a familiar heat began to creep from my ears across my cheeks. Invisible under my soft layer of pudge, my stomach muscles knitted together. As she leaned over the table, I avoided the doctor's eyes, as if one glance would betray some emotion a little too complex -- a little too personal -- for a routine checkup.

She lifted my shirt to the bottom of my ribcage, prompting a shiver as the cold air rushed over my bare skin. Her icy fingers began to unceremoniously probe my stomach; starting above my bellybutton, she pressed and prodded in a seemingly random pattern. Toes curling, I tried to steel myself, to compose my face in a mask of indifference, even as I felt my blush deepen. My belly trembled as her fingers traveled down each side, then lower, pressing into the spots just inside each of my hip bones. I twitched, my composure faltering. Mercifully, I was able to quash my giggle into a sound more akin to a cough.

“Did that hurt?”

“Ah, no, it's just… sensitive,” I answered, cleaning my throat to lend more credibility to my coughing.

“Okay, good. You can sit up now.”

I sat up – a little too quickly – cursing myself as my head spun.

“Well, you're very healthy. We'll keep an eye on that low BP, just make sure you stay hydrated, exercise, yadda yadda, you know the drill,” she prattled as I prepared to leave, jamming my feet into my shoes without untying them.

I checked out at the front desk and got in my car. Once safely in the driver’s seat, a relieved sigh rolled from my chest. In the privacy of my sun-bleached and beat-to-hell Versa, I could admit, at least, in my mind: while I enjoyed being ticklish, it did make doctor visits a challenge at times.

Back at home, the rest of my Saturday proceeded without incident. My new job offered weekends off, a pleasant change from the unpredictable schedule of my previous position. Since I had just moved to Port Oleander, though, I didn't have anyone to spend them with. Most of the time, that was okay; I was pretty introverted, but I did get lonely sometimes. Well… more often than I liked to admit.

Standing over the sink, I ate dinner – leftover chicken with rice and green beans – while watching YouTube on my phone. I took a shower and brushed my teeth. In bed I watched the ceiling fan spin in the dark, trying to follow the tips of each blade with my eyes, until it gently hypnotized me to sleep.

+++

When I awoke, the room was dark and still. Rolling over, I grabbed my phone and checked the time, blinding myself with the backlight I had forgotten to turn down. Four a.m.

I mopped a sweaty hand over my face. For no reason I could discern, I had been waking up three hours before my alarm every day for the past month. With no hope of going back to sleep, I would scroll on my phone, waiting until it was time to get out of bed. Today felt different, though. While I would generally awaken groggy and irritable, today, I was restless and alert.

Summer was hot and humid in my new city, so I pulled on a pair of cargo shorts, my most breathable binder, and a loose t-shirt. “It’s supposed to be nice today. Maybe if I ride my longboard, I'll run into some other skaters and make a friend or something,” I thought, then blushed in spite of myself. Not very many people skated anymore, especially not in my age group, and even if I did run into someone… would they want to befriend a visibly queer person like me? Would I even be safe? Oleander seemed generally more open-minded than my hometown, but since moving there, I had already been the recipient of enough sour looks to make me gun-shy.

I shook my head to stop the spiral.

“All I can do is try.”

+++

Yellow streetlight bathed the boardwalk pavement as I made lazy, wide carves down the vacant street. Aromas of coffee, food and ocean spray enveloped me as businesses began to open. The smooth pavement was a refreshing change from the rough sidewalks where I had grown up, and with my wheels gliding like marbles on glass, I barely needed to push. Clean, cool air filled my lungs and whistled through my short hair, pulling negative thoughts from my mind. It was more than a plank of wood with some metal and wheels attached; it was a magic carpet, and I lived to fly.

I surfed along the boardwalk, watching the sky lighten in shades of red and orange as it prepared to welcome the sun. It was my first time visiting the boardwalk since moving to Oleander, and as I coasted, I came to a pier that stretched way out into the water.

“That might be a cool place to watch the sunrise,” I mused. Angling my feet into a turn, I felt my wheels roll over the wood slats, gently vibrating my feet up to my hips. I was surprised at how soft the wood felt; it rattled a bit, but it wasn’t unpleasant. The pier was dotted with awnings and folded-up stands, but no vendors had opened yet, and I was glad for the lack of pedestrians to avoid. I pushed hard as I cruised down the pier, feeling the cool salt spray on my bare arms and face. As I looked out across the water, something caught my eye.

I thought it was a glass bottle catching the light as it bobbed in the surf, but as I looked closer, I became more convinced that it was not a single object; it didn’t just shine, it glittered, as if someone had spilled a container of sequins in the water. Unlike debris, though, the sparkly mass did not follow the swell of the waves. Seeming to act of its own accord, it moved toward the coast and then back, vertically upward and then down, hovering just above the water. Squinting in the pre-dawn light, I could have sworn it had a smokey, blurry haze around it, too. There was something distinctly alive about its movements. Transfixed, I watched it move almost playfully as it bobbed and weaved along the coast.

By the time I looked up, it was too late. I slammed my foot down to brake, but the slick wood did nothing to stop my forward momentum. My arms pinwheeled as my stomach connected with the guardrail at 10mph. It was only then that I realized just how high the end of the pier was. Shock and vertigo seized my body as I flipped over the rail, hands grasping uselessly at empty air. The next few moments of my experience proceeded as a flashback.

I was nine years old, crying on a beach chair at the public pool. I had jumped off the high-dive for the first time, my skin stinging and red as my dad wrapped me in a towel and sat beside me. He rubbed my back. “You were brave for jumping, angel, but you gotta be careful how you hit the water next time, okay? Water is just like concrete if you’re too high.”

“I wonder if I’ll see him again,” was my last thought as I plummeted into unconsciousness.

+++

The first thing I became aware of was a high-pitched whistle, followed by a musty scent, like wet stone and paper. I opened my eyes to a small, circular room.

Across from me, just beyond the foot of the bed I was lying in, was a red door. The walls were white-painted brick and featured bookshelves that practically exploded with books. “This isn't a bedroom with some books,” I thought, dazed, “it’s a library with a bed in it.” From every available wall space hung scientific illustrations of all kinds. Above my head, a tall window flooded the room with sunlight.

I tried to sit up, causing pain to radiate from my stomach. I was hurt, and this wasn't a hospital, meaning I was in someone else's home… in someone else's bed.

My mind scrambled to fill in the blanks. I woke up too early, again. I was skateboarding. I could smell pancakes and coffee. I wanted to watch the sunrise from the end of the pier. My feet tingled as I recalled my wheels rolling over the wooden slats; it seemed to go on forever. Did I make it to the end? Wait… what was that in the water?

Whatever happened next must have led to my injury. Did someone attack me? I couldn't remember seeing anyone on the pier, but maybe I was wrong. Did I fall?

Immediately, I checked my clothes. They weren't wet, which meant I didn't hit the water, but my back felt a bit damp… perhaps from sweat. How long was I unconscious? Frantically, I jammed my hands in my pockets, looking for my phone. Not only was it gone, so were my wallet and keys. Fuck!

With some difficulty, I kicked my feet out from under the heavy quilt and tried to stand. For the first time, I noticed that the bed had a small table beside it. All my effects were there, along with a glass of water and some over-the-counter painkillers. I urgently checked my phone.

“Six P.M.?!”

I had been sleeping in a stranger's bed for at least eight hours. No, probably even longer. I thrust everything into my pockets and made for the door, feeling a flash of fear that it might be locked. Mercifully, it wasn't.

The door opened with a creak that was loud, but did not travel as the hallway was incredibly small. Stairs led both to and from the tiny landing, going so far in each direction, I could not see where they terminated. Whipping my head around, I looked out the window. I could see nothing but sky. Was I in a tower?

I heard movement from above me. Whoever it was that brought me here was coming back. I started to descend the stairs, as quickly as my aching stomach would allow.

“Wait, stop, please!” A man's voice called down the spiral corridor.

I didn't stop, though. Racing down the steps, I practically tripped over my own feet as I scrambled to escape. Maybe he didn't kidnap me – he did leave all of my belongings, after all – but I wasn't sticking around to find out. My heart thundered in my chest as sweat broke out all over my body. The stairs seemed to go on forever, and I could hear the stranger behind me the whole time I ran, begging me to stop.

“Please, you'll hurt yourself! Please stop!”

When I finally reached the bottom, I threw open the heavy door and gasped as I was met with a cold spray of seawater in my face. Far in the distance, across miles of ocean, I could see the coast. Desperately looking from side to side, I saw that the tower was surrounded completely by water. There was no escape.

“Please… don't go any further. There's no way off this island. Please, I don't want you to get hurt.”

A hand on my shoulder made me jump. As I spun to face the stranger, all the blood drained from my face.

I was stricken by how tall he was, dwarfing me by at least a foot. His skin – if you could call it skin – had the appearance of thick white smoke trapped in a bottle, seeming to billow and roll beneath the surface. Most strange of all was his head. I could see the faintest outline of a human-shaped face, but it expanded outward from the sides and top, forming rolling peaks like a cloud. In the center were two large eyes, the irises and lashes of which were both stark white. Despite the creature’s fantastical appearance, he wore a simple blue button-down shirt and slacks.

Suddenly, I felt sure that I had died on that pier. Perhaps I fell. Perhaps I was still falling even now, synapses grasping at straws, presenting a frenzied hallucination before death. I could feel my grip on consciousness slipping, like flat shoes sliding on ice.

“Please don't hurt me,” I whimpered, fighting the pressure behind my ears and eyes.

“My dear, you being harmed is exactly what I am trying to prevent.”

“What are you? Am I dead?”

“I'll explain everything, okay? Please come back inside,” he pleaded, offering me his hand. My strength was fading fast. Deciding that the risk of trusting this stranger was preferable to collapsing in his doorway, I took it.

+++

Like the bedroom I had awoken in, the lighthouse kitchen was filled with sunlight as I sat at the table. Riding above the ever-present scents of sea, stone, and paper, the dining room air was thick with bergamot and lavender.

“I know it's summer, but I drink hot tea year-round. Would you like some?” he asked.

I suddenly became aware of just how thirsty I was, having been unconscious for so long, followed immediately by a frantic jog down the longest staircase of my life.

“Please,” I croaked.

I watched the back of the cloud-man’s head as he prepared the tea, my brain immediately connecting the loud whistle I had awoken to with his old-fashioned kettle.

He took a seat across from me, porcelain clattering softly as he placed the teacup and saucer in front of me. I sipped, relieved at the familiar and comforting flavor of earl grey.

“Listen… I'm… very sorry. It's really my fault you ended up here… that you got hurt.”

I looked up from my tea, brow furrowed. His eyes were pained as he stared at the vinyl kitchen floor.

“I was collecting sea glass and I lost track of time. When it's dark, humans can't really see me, so I usually do it at night,” he glanced up at me, the faintest hint of blue tinting under his eyes, “when I saw you watching me, I was just going to disappear into the water… but then I saw you hit the end of the pier. You hit it so hard. I got to you before you fell into the water, but you were already unconscious. I didn't know what to do... so I brought you here, to my lighthouse.”

His face was a mask of apprehension and regret. I had no memory of hitting the guardrail, but it did explain the bruise across my stomach.

He continued, “I’m not a medical doctor, but I've read many of your medical textbooks. I… examined you, while you were unconscious, to make sure you weren't seriously injured. Professionally, of course!” The blue tint under his eyes deepened and spread a bit as he stole another glance at me. Was he blushing?

I offered a humorless laugh. “Well, I'm glad you didn't take me to the hospital, my insurance doesn't cover that, and god knows I can't afford it. I've fallen off my skateboard before, it's no biggie. I'm sore, but I don't think it's, like, serious,” I supplied casually, trying to comfort him.

He perked up, just a little.

“I'm really very sorry, and I'm sorry if I scared you, too. I know that seeing me must have been quite a shock. I've read many of your books, and watched you on TV and on the computer, but I've never met a human before.”

Reality began to settle on me. I still wasn't totally convinced that I wasn't flailing in midair, moments from death and hallucinating vividly, but if this was real… then this was the coolest shit that had ever happened to me.

“Even – and perhaps, especially – if am about to die, what's the harm in playing along?” I thought.

“What… are you?” I asked.

He brightened a bit more, even managing a shy smile now.

“I believe in your language, the closest word to describe me would be ‘elemental.’ I learned that from one of your Dungeons and Dragons books. And, I do actually have a name,” he gained a bit of confidence here, giving a little hand flourish, followed by a bow, “Doctor Avery Nimbus, at your service.”

I giggled, and as I did, Avery’s face lit up; his grin was so big, it curved his eyes into half-moons. For a moment, I could swear the room was brighter, and a warmth spread through my chest.

He proceeded, “And you are…?”

“Well, my name is Casper. I'm just your regular ol, garden-variety human.”

“Casper, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he said, extending a hand across the table. I clasped it gently, his large hand almost completely enveloping mine. His skin had an interesting texture, too; it was cold and soft, much softer than human skin, and I could feel the swirling tempest beneath it, like storm winds against a window pane. He held my hand for just a tick longer than I expected. By the time I looked up, he was already looking away.

“Ah… it's starting to get dark, now. I should take you home,” he said softly.

I frowned. I had so many more questions. A pit grew in my stomach as I thought of returning to the mundanity of my life after this experience, but I couldn't just drop everything, could I…? Besides, I was afraid of overstaying my welcome. I had been sleeping in his bed for hours.

“How do I even get home? You said there's no way off this island, and I didn't see a boat out there…”

Avery beamed again. This time, there was a sly twinkle in his pale eyes.

“Allow me to show you.”

+++

I gasped as Avery hoisted me into his arms, easily carrying me princesses-style despite my extra pounds. The night wrapped around us like a star-studded cloak, Avery's body nearly invisible in the darkness. He stood on the rocky edge of the tiny island, the crashing waves spraying us with salty mist.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

“Oh, god… as I'll ever be,” I whined, my hand clutching the fabric of his shirt.

“Then here we go~!”

With that, Avery leapt upward with incredible force, propelling us into the night sky. My stomach dropped as I squealed, memories of the drop-tower ride at my hometown amusement park flooding my mind. I hated that ride, but my brother always made me go with him. Avery was trembling, though, and it took a moment for me to realize it was because he was giggling.

“I always love takeoffs,” he tittered, and then began to walk across the air in slow, bouncing leaps. The cool night wind caressed my cheeks as I leaned into his chest, blushing and grateful he couldn't see it in the dark. Looking down on the city below us, I could see where the black of the shore met the twinkling yellow of the boardwalk lights. In that moment, I forbade any further notion of this being a hallucination; even if it wasn't real, I was going to live as though it was.

+++

My feet kissed the ground just outside of my door. Looking up, I stared into the glittering blackness of Avery's face, the bits of ice in his cloud-head catching the lights around the apartment courtyard.

“Will I see you again?” I asked.

“If you like, certainly.”

“Can you come back tomorrow night?” I blurted out, blushing brightly -- and now, there was definitely enough light for him to see it.

For the first time, Avery laughed a real, genuine laugh. It was a symphony that started as a tinkling of giggles, crescendoing into a hearty boom that rattled my chest like a thunder clap, tickling my ears and making them flush.

“Absolutely, dewdrop.”

[bullet-prooflove]

All The Rumours Are True - Sam Abrams x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @irishavengersassemble @proceduralpassion @crazy4chickennuggets @callsignartemis @annieradcliff @thebewingedjewelcat @cosmic-psychickitty

Brief references to Better and Will's struggles in Smoke Break

Sam doesn’t realise there’s a rumour about him until he sees two interns in the elevator tittering and nudging each other. He’s used to commanding a certain level of respect and he’s worked hard to cultivate his reputation. He doesn’t suffer fools gladly and he has very little time for gossip and nonsense. He doesn’t say anything, he simply lowers the chart he’s reading and tilts his head towards them. The giggling stops immediately.

Good, he thinks. Now he can concentrate.  

“Doctor Abrams.”

He sighs and lowers the chart a second time and fixes the interns with a steely glare. The first one shrinks back, the second one straightens their shoulders before continuing to speak.

“Is it true?”

“Is what true?” He asks mildly irritated by the interaction.

“About your wife.”

Sam’s eyebrows furrow into a frown and his heart starts to beat a little faster in his chest. He’s a logical man, but when it comes to you his brain jumps to all sorts of irrational conclusions. Are you sick? Are you hurt? Have you been brought into the E.D?

“What about my wife?” He snaps, clutching the clipboard to his chest. The intern changes their mind about the interaction and instead takes a step away from him falling silent. Sam rolls his eyes at the response before sighing and adjusting his tone. “What is going on with my wife?”

“Oh!” The intern says, their cheeks colouring as they fluster. “No, she’s fine. I think she’s fine. She’s not here, at least I don’t think she is… I wanted to ask you about her book.”

Sam leans back against the wall of the elevator and exhales loudly.

For a second there…

His brain snags on the interns’ words before he turns his attention back to them.

“Yes, my wife wrote a book.” He informs them. “It’s on the Times Bestseller’s List at the moment.”

“I’ve read it!” One of the interns abruptly tells him, before gesturing between them and the other intern. “We both have.”

“Ok.” Sam shrugs his shoulders. “Good for you.”

The doors to the elevator open on his floor and Sam is relieved to leave the weird exchange with the interns behind him.

***

It’s Halstead that brings the rumour to his attention. Ever since Jimmy Lanik made a comment that Will reminds him of Beaker from the Muppets, Sam can’t unsee it. Sometimes when he’s prattling on, Sam tunes him out and imagines Beaker’s voice just to get through the conversation.

“I didn’t know your wife was an author.” He says conversationally his elbow comes to rest on workspace that Sam is scribbling down his notes on.

“She didn’t take my last name.” Sam mutters as his pen scratches across the paper. “She’s very much her own woman.”

“Very modern.” Will remarks, nodding sagely.

As far as Sam is concerned that’s the end of the conversation. His personal life is exactly that. Only now Halstead is hovering like he wants to say something else, and Sam hates this sort of dilly dallying.

“Spit it out.” He says, setting his pen down on the clipboard.

“Her book really helped me.” Will says finally, his mouth set in a thin line as he crosses his arms over his chest. “I was in a really bad place a couple of months ago and Doctor Charles recommended it. It really changed my perspective on mental health and how I view myself.”

“Oh.” Sam says, nodding his head in understanding. “Good.”

He plays with the silver Parker Pen, you had bought him for his birthday between his fingertips. He’s always wanted one, but he’s just never seen the point. He doesn’t write correspondence; everything is digital these days. His desire for it wasn’t logical, he just knew he liked it. When he’d opened the box with the rainbow-coloured bow on he had been completely delighted.

Sometimes there doesn’t have to be a point, you had told him as his thumb had trailed over the customised engraving. It’s just something you feel in your heart.

“My wife is very good at what she does.” He says to Will, his gaze lingering on the pen in his hands. “For her counselling is a calling. During and then after the pandemic, the mental health services were overwhelmed with people in crisis. It started as a blog initially and then it gained traction from there. She started writing her book in the evenings as a way of reaching people who didn’t have access to the help they needed. She wanted them to understand that they weren’t alone in their struggles, to help them find a way through the darkness. The proverbial light at the end of the tunnel.”

Sam sighs before clipping his pen back into the top pocket of his lab coat.

“I’m glad it helped you, that’s it’s doing the work she set out to do.”

“I went to her book talk; Jimmy’s wife was going, and she invited me along. She thought it would be good for me.” Will says abruptly as Sam is about to walk away. “There were a few others from Med there, I think that’s why…”

Will trails off and Sam finishes the sentence because suddenly it all makes sense.

“… everybody is talking about me and my wife.”

“There’s no author picture in the back of her book and her social media is private. Nobody realised that the woman we’ve seen you having lunch with is the same one that wrote the book until then.” Will tells him.

“And you’re all wondering what she’s doing with a man like me.” Sam summarises, before rapping his fingertips upon the surface of the workspace.

Will shakes his head.

“Actually no.” He informs the neurosurgeon. “Part of the talk was her discussing her own mental health issues, how the pandemic and the pressure of it, took its toll on her. She told us about how her husband had supported her through it, how he was this beacon of light in a very dark time of her life.”

“Oh.” Sam says.

He doesn’t like to think about that, about how much you were suffering. He remembers the night you broke down, sobbing into his chest because you’d spent weeks struggling and it had all become too much. The burden of other people’s hurt had become too hard to bear and you were coming part at the seams. The next day he had marched into Goodwin’s office and told her to clear his schedule. There were more important things going on at home and he needed to be there. She had been understanding, cut back his hours until the storm had passed, allowed him a phased return so he could be there when you attended your own appointments. He would take you out afterwards, the bookstore, the ice cream shop, skating once – which he was horrible at. Things to make you feel better because therapy could be brutal and all the wanted was to see you see you smile again.

“She’s the love of my life.” He explains to Will. “I hated seeing her in so much pain. It gave me a little insight into why she wrote the book. She had access to the help she needed, but what about those that don’t?”

Sam crosses his arms over his chest.

“Before that they were just statistics but afterwards…” He shakes his head as he recalls that moment of realisation. “It reminded me that there are people behind those numbers, individuals who don’t have the tools to cope.”

He pauses before he meets Will’s eyes. It’s rare that he is this open with anyone outside of you, but Halstead’s bore his soul by mentioning his issues. It seems only fair that Sam returns the gesture.

“My wife is a very special person.” He tells the other man. “It’ll mean the world to her to know that her book helped you through a tough time.”

“The work she’s doing…” Will says as he tucks his hands into his pockets. “It saves lives.”

Sam thinks about his own emotional state before he met you. The nights he’d come home and put on Tchaikovsky before pouring himself a Scotch, the hours he would spend pouring over medical journals, reading articles, watching highlights from seminars and conferences he’d missed. There had been no work life balance for him, there was just work and there was always plenty of it to be done. Then he had met you. His world had gone from shades of grey to erupting with colour.

Dates filled with laugher, good food, tender kisses. Late mornings spent making love, while the two of you listened to the rain patter against the windows. He’d started reading fiction again, getting hooked on Dan Brown before exploring other literary works. He’d joined a book club hosted by one of the firefighters from 51 to expand his horizons, made some friends along the way. He’s happier than he’s ever been and that’s all thanks to you.

“I know.” He tells Will frankly. “She saved mine too.”

Love Sam? Get added to his tag list!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[thekinkyleopard]

The Sneeze Room

A Sven and Elex Rqst SnzFic

FT: Sick Remi

⚠️Content Warning⚠️

Fluff, Sick Fic, Contagion, cursing, bullying

Description: Sven finds a reason to compete against his brother, Draeko. Rightfully so, he tags his boyfriend Elex in, who is extremely apprehensive when he finds out a sick Remi is going to be there…

Author’s Notes: I really wanted to torture Elex in this one and what better way to do that than poke at his germaphobia with a disgusting contagious Remi! :^D I hope you like this one Nonny! Art, Remi, Sven and Draeko all by @aller-geez

Sven came racing into the living room, Elex was putting together some sort of lego project when the cat stumbled upon him, paying no mind to the fact his boyfriend was already busy, he began to buzz. “Babe! Babe! So, I was out at the park, right? And I ran into my insufferable brother, Draeko,” rolling his orange slitted eyes to emphasize his annoyance. “And cause he can’t help but torment me, he and his little friend Levi came to tell me that they’re entering a competition tonight,” Elex was paying little to no attention to the story his boyfriend was prattling on about, simply just trying to make sure he had the right bricks for the right parts.

“Yeah, and?” the badger scoffed at the idea of the leopard and the hybrid being able to accomplish any sort of competition between the two of them.

“It’s 25k and it’s an escape room! I told him I bet half that chunk, me and you could finish before them two,” snickering a bit at the idea but then crossed his arms. “However, they’re bringing Remi as an advantage because they said it was entirely unfair if it was me AND you, seeing as you can escape even a prison cell,”

“Heh, yeah I can,” Elex smirked, still tinkering with the colored blocks as his head grew a size too big.

“Okay, sweet, so you’re in then right?” the other lit up, almost completely ready to start bouncing off the walls he was full of so much adrenaline.

“Wait hold on, you said Remi is going?” Elex suddenly looked up from his project and over at his boyfriend, his face full of skepticism and caution.

“Yeah, why?” The cat suddenly paused, curious to his partner’s reserve.

“I’m not going anywhere near that fleabag,” the badger officially met his boyfriend’s gaze, his own clearly written in distaste now. “He’s been ranting and raving all over Barkbook about how he’s sick again, no, nuh uh, keep that sack of illness the hell away from me,” the germaphobe shuddered, just the thought alone of being next to that mongrel with his open maw expelling hundreds of bacteria at him….he shuddered.

Sven's voice was laced with annoyance, yet tinged with a hint of pleading as he tried to persuade his partner to take on the daunting quest. "Babe, please. We need you to take one for the team," he urged, knowing that their success depended on their joint effort and determination.

“N.O. No. Not doing it, he’s gross, he’s unsanitary, he’s also extremely fucking pigheaded and wont cover his god damn MOUTH, NO!” Elex now sat back, crossing his own arms over his chest, and turning his back to the other. Sven raised a thin brow and cocked his head to the side. It seemed he was going to have to pull out the big guns. Time for operation “Question his manhood.”

“So just like that then? Just gonna let that behemoth be the reason you don’t win this for us? Shit well, I guess I’m dating a pussy instead of a man,” the cat shrugged his shoulders loosely starting to turn on his heels when he could almost physically hear Elex’s last strand of patience, snap in half.

“Excuse me? What the fuck did you just say? That I’m a PUSSY?” the man slowly turned his head to glare daggers in the direction of his audacity filled boyfriend. “A PUSSY?”

“What? It is what it is, you’re scared of a little germy wolf, and that’ll be the reason I never truly out due Draeko, so long as he has that damn wolf,” shaking his head back and forth, clicking his tongue with disappointment. “It’s a shame, you know?” Elex’s mint green eye twitched in response, his fingers pulsating until they closed in to quick, tight fists.

His words were tinged with frustration and a hint of fear, as he vehemently denied being scared. "I'm not afraid…" he insisted, "just…CAUTIOUS... I don't want to risk getting SICK," He emphasized his words through clenched teeth. Despite his efforts to remain calm, the tension in his body was evident as his face flushed with a deep red color. Every muscle in his body seemed to be on high alert, ready to flee at any sign of danger. He was determined to stay level-headed, but the emotions were slowly creeping in.

“No, yeah, right, scared, cautious, pussy, same thing,” Sven clicked his tongue and shrugged yet again, and that was seemingly pissing the badger off even more than his words. How he was so careless and casual about denying his manhood, and his strengths?

“Fine! Fuck! I’ll go! But at the end of the day, if I catch whatever freak virus that asshole has, you’re gonna be the one nursing me back to health, you hear me?” He narrowed his dual colored eyes before aggressively, and less than politely, started packing up his lego project, mumbling to himself with disdain. “Stupid fucking Draeko…always having to trigger Sven into some dumb shit that I get dragged into….why cant that idiot have a….idk..donut eating contest or something? Why is it always so absolutely irritating…” the green haired man was fuming as he went back and forth between cleaning up his mess and keeping what he already had built, safe.

Sven couldn't contain a small chuckle, careful not to let the grumpy badger hear his quiet victory. He was determined to prove himself as smarter, stronger, and more resilient than that damn hybrid, by blowing him out of the water of this competition. With Elex’s innate ability to escape more situations verbally or physically, they had it in the bag.

~LATER THAT NIGHT~

They arrived at the venue, Elex feeling less and less inclined to be there as they parked and started to get out of the vehicle. “Are you sure I have to come? Like…I can’t just stay in the car?”

“No El, you can’t just stay in the car,” the Cheshire rolled his orange eyes impatiently, shutting the door and locking the vehicle behind them with the fob. “Am I really going to have to go into round two of the conversion stage?” the badger sighed deeply at his boyfriend’s response and grumbled back.

“No…please don’t bring my manhood back into this,” sighing with exasperation and an avoidant…distant look in his eyes. As they entered the building, the stench of sweat and stale air filled Elex's nostrils. He wrinkled his nose in disgust, grumbling under his breath about the lack of cleanliness of the venue alone. He followed Sven, who was already strutting towards the entrance, trying to present himself as much more confident than he was.

The two made their way through the sea of random people, avoiding the pungent smells and germs as best they could. They reached the registration desk and handed over their entry forms. "Welcome! You're just in time we start in 5 minutes," the speaker behind the desk said with a grin, handing them a map to their starting location.

Elex could feel the eyes of the other competitors on him, anytime he’d make eye contact with some unsuspecting visitor, he’d lift the left side of his upper lip and scowl. Effectively turning away lingering eyes with his threatening gazes. He then ignored their stares as he and Sven followed the map to their starting point. As they approached, they saw Levi, Draeko and Remi all standing outside a door marked “11” the same number given to them on their map sheet.

“Draeko,” Sven glared at his brother, the two sets of competing eyes glaring down at each other. The first thing Elex noticed however, was Remi, dry heaving and coughing into the crook of his elbow with sunken, swollen and pale glowing green orbs.

“Oh…dear god,” Elex whispered with a terrified expression written across his face. Levi looked up, and noticed the apprehension, and in usual fashion tried to soothe the badger’s worries.

“Hey, El, sorry, I know…but I swear, he’s on the mend! It doesn’t look like it but…I’ve managed to not catch it!” The cat nervously scratched at the back of his neck, voice slightly muffled as he was the only one adorning a mask. The badger narrowed his multi colored gaze.

“Okay well, do you have an extra mask?” crossing his arms over his chest in an impatient, but waiting stance.

“Shit, no sorry just this one…I mean you could have it if you wa-…” the cat embarrassingly shuffling through his pockets and jacket to see if he might have a second but coming up short. He knew he would, but he had to play it off like this wasn’t part of Drae’s plan to keep Elex at his lowest.

“No, no thanks,” shaking his head quickly in response, there was no way in fuck Elex was sharing a mask. YIKES. Especially not with someone he barely even knew. “I’ll just…try to…stay away,” Looking the sickly wolf up and down who could only smirk in response before jolting forward with his hands out to scare the apprehensive man.

“Boo!” Remi chuckled as Elex stepped back significantly to avoid the other’s sudden threatening touch.

“Remi! Knock it off!” Levi nudged the large man with his elbow, trying to hide a snicker of his own. ‘Fake ass bitch,’ the badger thought inwardly catching the leopard’s response. Despite the ongoing fued between Sven and Drae, and Elex at the rest of them, things were seemingly pretty calm at this moment, no insane bragging quite yet just narrowed eyes and stale, uncomfortable vibes.

Sven ignored the bickering three, his focus on the task at hand, scoping out the map and trying to see if he could already spot the first answer but it was really a whole lot of nothing. "Alright El, let's focus on the competition," he spoke without looking up, trying to bring their heads together on this, but Elex couldn't avoid the ill-fated wolf's stern emerald gaze, and the sight of him churned his stomach. He could practically envision the germs seeping from the wolf's every pore, a reminder of the bacteria that could infect him if he didn't keep a reasonable distance. He noticed the way the large man suddenly froze, and hitched…his mouth opening slowly. Elex now stepping back 3 notches when the wolf lurched forward and let out a loud, obnoxious sneeze that sprayed within the few feet radius in front of him.

“Hi”DTSCHIEW!!…SndDff…my bad..” he snarfed loudly, rubbing his wet, red, chuffed nostrils against the sleeve of his button up, Elex almost gagged.

"I think..." Elex began, but hesitated. "I think I made a terrible mistake coming here, Sven, seriously, this guy looks terrible, I want to go home…” he whispered to the side so only his boyfriend could hear his anxious worries.

Sven raised an eyebrow. "We just got here and you already want to tap out? No, don’t make me go into the pussy lecture again..” they both made eye contact now, each one’s gaze stern but neither of them broke.

“Fine,” the badger folded, knowing there really was no telling his boyfriend, no, when he wanted to do something. So instead, he pouted, and tried his best to avoid Remi’s consistent, slightly distant, but cold stare.

“Alright folks! We are getting ready to open the room doors, are you all ready to get going?” one of the hosts announced through a megaphone at the different teams all awaiting their entrances.

Sven, Draeko, and Levi nodded in unison, readying themselves for the challenge ahead. Elex, however, hesitated. He could feel the tension rising in the room, a palpable sense of anticipation that made his stomach flutter. He looked around the room, taking in the different faces of his friends and competitors, each with their own unique qualities and motivations. He swallowed hard and turned his face back to the door. He could do this.

As the host's voice boomed through the speakers, the doors buzzed open, and the group stepped forward. Sven and Draeko pushing and shoving at each other to get through the door first, fighting to take charge. He looked at the map in his hands, studying the intricate layout and trying to envision the path to victory but everything they could see ahead of them was on the paper as well. “Elex check out that right side of the room,” Looking over to make eye contact with the badger who was very apprehensive to move anywhere in that direction seeing as Remi was leaned up against the wall of that side, hanging on for dear life and certainly no help to the challenge itself. Sniffling loudly, his eyes rolled back, he wasn’t even sure why he was there at this point himself. He just did whatever Levi begged of him.

“Fffffuuu…—h’DttTISHh!” Remi sprayed violently in front of himself and Elex groaned loudly, looking back over to Sven who was now back to shoveling and fighting Drae to get a better look under the dressers and furniture. Taking a deep breath in, the germaphobe took a few steps closer to the wolf, that was directly blocking his way.

“Hey can you just…move a little that way?” His voice was neutral, he didn’t want to add too much emotion behind it, because he knew that Remi didn’t do too well with overtly emotional people. Despite that he was physically shaking, his brain swarming with the endless possibilities of illness and death that were haunting him, he remained calm enough to meet the other’s sunken gaze.

“Yeah, no cad do bud, Lebi wands me do keeb you from helbing…maybe, don’d be sugg a baby…SNDDFfF” the wolf tried to tease and chuckle, knowing full well he and Levi were really here to offset the badger. Elex’s brows furrowed and he let out a deep, irritated sigh before he shook his head.

“Fine, dont wanna move? Then I’LL move you my fucking self,” The badger stepped closer, and Remi stood up straighter, crossing his strong arms over his chest and smirking downward before letting in a deep inhale. “Dont….Dont you fucking do it,” the wolf could only grin larger despite the obvious tired look written behind his eyes.

Draeko, Sven and Levi all deeply invested in their searches for clues that they could not even spare a second to notice the ‘man off’ going on behind their backs.

“H-Hah!…” the wolf started, Elex took one step back, he winced but then took a deep breath, prepared himself mentally and shoved at the wolf to move him aside. “Oh-…Hell no,” Remi stumbled loosely to the side, truthfully not suspecting that the badger would grow a pair enough to stand up to him. He reached over, trying to grab the badger by the shirt but he was entirely too fast as he bobbed to the side.

“No! Just mOVE! Dude!” he argued as they did a sort of two step around each other, the badger quickly grabbing a painting off the wall to use as a shield while Remi finally blew his lid unable to contain the sneezes he was using as leverage.

“HNkt’KNXTuhh!! tch’ISSH! iH’tSSH!” the large man sprayed a cloud of salivic mist across the painted frame that was being held a good 6 inches from Elex’s body initially.

“This is my NIGHTMARE! Sveeeeeen!” he finally called out to his boyfriend, who gasped loudly as he turned around, the badger thinking finally he was going to be rescued.

“You found the first clue El! Great fucking work ! “ the spot to which the painting had once hung, was bare, but a single note in the middle of the empty space. The Cheshire snatches the piece of paper and covers his viewage of it. The badger practically turned into the saddest puddle in the world when his boyfriend walked right past him to immerse himself within the escape.

“Hey! Let us see!” Drae reached over to grab at the note the feline snatched it off the wall, but to no avail, completely unable to see what the clue was.

“NO! I dont have to for at least 5 minutes, Elex found it, thats the rules!” the green haired badger looked over at his boyfriend with a raised brow. Did his man just…whine? Like a child? Over rules? He shuddered. Everything about this was not right.

Sven huddled around Elex, both of them curious about the clue he had accidentally found. The cat held the note up, his eyes flicking over the contents. "This is a tough one," he said, shaking his head. "I don't know if I can see anything useful here…” It was just a bunch of lines in a strange pattern. What were they looking at? The badger knew he’d seen this before, somewhere in a codes book, he squinted and scanned it, suddenly feeling a harrowing feeling hover him.

Remi had been stood off to the side, but was becoming curious as he watched Drae and Levi who were desperately trying to peak around the two men. The wolf, still recovering from his sneezing fit, his nose red and raw, slowly approached the group, his open breathing mouth casting over the two as he towered them to read the note. Elex felt the entire world suddenly rattling around him as he felt the man, hosting his hot breath over them. “YO, dude can you, BACK the fuck up?” The badger immediately got defensive, backing a few inches away while the wolf could only snicker again, wetly, the sound of an inhaled and swallowed knot echoed around them. Elex’s lips pulled back in disgust. “GOD, You’re so fucking gross when you’re sick dude,”

“Yeah? Do someding aboud id,” the wolf flexes his chest as he stands firmly in his position, crossing his arms over himself and smirking with a cocky resolve.

"I’m going to-…” Elex begins to wind up his fist and Remi gets ready to respond appropriately, but the two of them are suddenly snapped out of it when the sound of Sven’s irritated voice cuts through them.

“Guys! Knock it off….here Remi, take it…shits useless,” The wolf goes to reach for the note but not before the badger quickly intercepts and snatches it from between them.

“It’s not useless, before Caveboy wonder here walked up to muck up my fuckin’ air …I know what it is…” he stepped away to stand on top of a chair he looked down and pointed at the ground. “There, it’s a super rough, detail-less pattern of the rug…snDff…” he sniffled, unexpectedly, unconsciously, at the end of his grand announcement, something, wasn’t right.

However as proud of the moment it was, immediately Draeko started clawing up the rug to find the next clue. The Cheshire looked over at his boyfriend with a look that almost made the green haired man want to let Remi just eat him. "My bad…” he said sheepishly before avoiding eye contact with his boyfriend who was now just trying to get over to the rug before Drae.

“This damn thing wont pull up!” The hybrid grunted struggling to lift the rug off the floor from any of the four corners, Sven, watching carefully to see what the loophole might be. Elex now climbing down from the chair he shook his head back and forth moving to approach the two before Remi side stepped him and blocked his path.

“Dude, move,” the wolf shook his head. “MOVE,” the duo color eyed man squinted at the miserable wall that was Remington Connors.

“Loog, normally, I lige you, ok, no hard feenings bro,” He paused before shrugging with certainty. “Buuuuuud…whadeber Lebi wands he geds so…" The green haired badger rolled his eyes and crossed his arms.

“Are you fuckin’ kidding me? You can’t just allow me to play the game? Isnt that cheating? Two V One?” shaking his head, he could feel a slight tingle in the back of his throat, unbeknownst to him, the same tickle that was building every second within Remi.

“Yea bud…Lebi lowkey blows ad puddles,” he admitted of his little leopard before he hitched, his mouth falling open and before Elex could even step back, spewed outwardly in a loud, quick, spritzy series of sneezes. “ITSCCCCHH’ah!.. iH’tSSH!.. Hh’IISHH!” each one left him and greeted Elex, who practically went pale, his soul leaving his body as he felt each little droplet invading his skin.

“AAAHHHHHHH!!!” He cried dramatically, loudly, the whole room turned to look at him. “I want OUT! Let me OUT! Oh my god… that was so foul….WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!” The badger turned to scratch at the walls, tearing paintings down, knocking over objects wrecklessly in a fit of panic and slight rage. “OUT!! I’m DONE! I do NOT want to be in here with him anymore, nOPE!!”

“Elex! Elex! ELEX!” Sven tried to call his panicking partner who was probably only envisioning his skin burning alive from the amount of sickly contact he’d had.

“No! Sven! I quit, this sucks, I don’t wanna fucking do this anymore,” the cat sighed with disappointment and nodded.

“Fine…Fine…you can leave, it’s fine…” but the badger looked up and he could see the heart break written all over the other man’s face.

“No…nevermind…it’s fine…Um…” he walked over, and leaned into his boyfriend’s ear to whisper. “Try pulling at the middle of the rug…” trying to give his partner the assurance that he was still in this. Sven smiled, only pulled up half his face but regardless, it was a smile. The cheshire walked over, plucked at the middle of the rug and a small square of it came up and a little key was hanging from the bottom of it.

“Holy shit!” the teal and orange haired man was actually stunned to see his boyfriend’s street smarts were still keeping them ahead of the game.

“Fucking A…we were so close,” Draeko sighed with slight irritation, Levi patting his friend’s shoulder to comfort him on their second L of the night.

“Okay bud, where doed thad gey eben go? SndFf'…” the wolf interjected, sliding his sleeve across his running, reddened nostrils. Elex grimaced.

"Ugh, okay there can’t be too many keyholes in this room right?" Elex replied, still bothered by the germy, contagious raven haired man, feeling his own immune system losing the battle against him.

"Well, it's a key...to where? Do we have any idea?" Levi asked as he examined the small key hanging from afar as Sven held it up.

"I don't know," the other cat admitted, "but we should probably start looking around…" He gazed about the room and amongst the many scattered objects on the ground, Sven having to manually turn and check, taking in the chaos caused by Elex's fit.

"Alright...let's move on, then," Draeko agreed, trying to control his frustration.

As they began searching the room for more clues, it didnt take long before Remi was back at it with following the badger around, hovering his every movement. “Look dude, if you’re gonna be on my dick, fine, but at least cover your fucking mouth….I’m already starting to feel light headed” he started to palm at his forehead, testing his temp. “I swear if you get me sick…”

“Heh, probably already are pal,” the wolf stated with another cocky grin plastered across his stupid, red and tear stained face. Levi looks over to see the two of them back at it, bickering over the fact that his boyfriend was pretty disgusting when he was sick. All according to plan. The leopard looked high and low but all three of them were falling short of finding anything that resembled a key hole.

Elex trying to look around the stupid wolf, immediately noticed something off about the wallpaper that was exposed in a spot one of the paintings had been hung up in, but couldn’t get himself to focus with Remi constantly stepping in front of him. “Okay dude seriously! Stop! You’re pissing me off,”

Elex growled, attempting to shove his way past the wolf, but Remi simply laughed and stepped back further, crossing his arms as he sneered. Elex took a deep breath, trying to calm himself and focus on the task at hand.

Sven, noticing Remi's irritating behavior, quickly stepped between them. "Look, this is straight up blocking, which is cheating, stop," he said, placating him with a stern glance. Remi snickered putting his hands up defensively now.

“My bad, my bad…snDddFf..” stepping to the side he snarfles loudly, his glowing gaze never leaving Elex as the badger cautiously walked past him now.

“Jesus…” Elex shook and then finally stepped close to the wall he had been trying to get a better look at. There was an obvious bump, like the wallpaper had been poorly placed over it. “This is weird…” he ran his flattened palm over it and then began to slowly peel the paper away. Levi stood up, taking notice now and watching along side Sven, Draeko deeply invested in the search still, he hadn’t even noticed the rest of them found a hint.

The badger carefully peeled away the wallpaper, revealing a hidden door behind it. "Babe, I think I found something," he said, excitement creeping into his silently whispering voice trying not to draw too much attention despite the fact Remi and Levi were watching. Well Remi actually had stopped watching to check his phone, he was more than bored being there.

Elex, Sven, and Levi quickly gathered around, staring at the door in disbelief. It was small, but they could all easily squeeze through and nondescript, blending seamlessly into the wall. "Well, let's see where this leads," Sven said unoptimistically, inserting the key into the lock. It clicked as he turned it. The door creaked open, revealing a dimly lit hallway with a faint flickering light at the end. "Well I mean…" the badger said, crawling inside the medium sized entrance that wound him up into a tall but cramped hall. There were large body sized mirrors that followed down. Elex took a deep breath but felt his anxiety creep in when he realized they would all be stuffed in this hall together with Remi.

As they ventured deeper into the mysterious corridor, Remi's lingering coughs began to echo through the narrow space, causing Levi to place a hand over his mask to double shield him from his boyfriend’s germs. Draeko and Sven shared a worried glance themselves but it was quickly melted and masked into that of competition again.

The hall seemed to never end, and the flickering light grew dimmer with each step. The group was getting increasingly claustrophobic, and the smell of Remi's sickness filled the air. Elex’s head felt hot, his throat feeling tighter than it had been and he was starting to sweat at each side of his temples. This wasn’t good. He needed to get through this puzzle, and lock himself in his room away from Sven if he could. “H’H…Hih…HHH…” they heard it from behind them as they squeezed through the hall.

“Please no…” the badger whimpered but not before long the horrendous sound of germs being displaced around them, they echoed in their ear drums and the badger could see the mess of salivic clouds misting painted reflections in the mirrored walls.

“iit”shHIEW! ihh-ih’TSSHHH!!” The other three men shuddered in disgust, covering their mouths and noses as Remi continued to hack and sputter. "We need to get out of here," El said, his voice cracking with panic.

Sven nodded, his face pale as he took a deep breath. "Quick, let's hurry…we’re getting closer to the light we just gotta keep going…” the cheshire managed to motivate the weary crew that continued to push through, but to their dismay, the light was nothing more than a mirror at the very end of the hall reflecting off the light above it. “So what it’s just a long hall of mirrors?” he asked with confusion.

“I guess so…SNdDf…” Elex sniffled, this time realizing it, and quickly snapping his hand over his face to hide it from the cat. “mMmhh…” he hummed as if he was deep in thought. Sven noticed the peculiar behavior but decided to pay more attention to this, apparent puzzle they were locked into.

“Okay, so maybe…one of these mirrors are the door?” Draeko and Levi looked at each other and immediately started peeling mirrors off the walls to check behind them. Quickly, Sven followed suit. “Come on babe! “ El was starting to feel worse for wear as he tried his best to keep it all under wraps, and at bay. It was seriously insane how fast Remi’s super germs spread through one’s immune system and just disables it.

As the group frantically searched through the hall of mirrors, Remi continued to sneeze and cough relentlessly, his horrible and contagious sounds “Hh’IISHH! -hd’ISCHhh!” echoing through the cramped space. Elex could feel himself growing weaker with each passing moment. Disgusting, defeated and downright disappointed. He took a deep breath and forced himself to focus, his eyes scanning the crowded reflections in search of a clue.

Suddenly, he spotted a slight distortion in one of the mirror surfaces. He pointed it out to his boyfriend silently by walking up to him and nudging the cheshire. They both approached the mirror quietly and they hesitantly began to pull, revealing a hidden door behind it. Sven immediately inserted the key into the lock and turned it, the door creaking open to reveal, the very large warehouse they had started in.

They reached the end. “Congratulations!” Sven threw a fist in the air and snickered throwing his index finger at his hybrid brother.

“In your face! We finished first!”

“Oh, actually, you guys are 4th place…but you made it out and thats always a reason to celebrate!” the crew cheered for them and both Sven and Draeko’s faces fell with defeat and disappointment. Elex shook his head and slapped a hand over his forehead.

“We were in competition with EVERYONE in the ware house??”

“Y-yes, that was explained in the sign up and rules section,” the man seemed confused as he looked at the frustrated green haired male. The badger could only shake his head back and forth.

Elex couldn't believe their luck - or lack thereof. Fourth place in a warehouse full of competitors was not the outcome they had hoped for. Deflated, he turned to the group of people he’d come with, who were also wearing expressions of disappointment. So he was basically going to spend the next few days in bed, deathly ill without 25k to smooth it over.

Sven let out a frustrated sigh and Draeko kicked at the ground, mumbling under his breath. "Well, at least we made it out," Levi said optimistically, trying to lift their spirits.

Drae nodded, forcing a small smile. "Yeah, you're right, We did make it out in the end." He glanced over at Remi, who was still coughing and sneezing uncontrollably. "But I think it was probably a mistake bringing Remi…I have a bad feeling we’re all gonna be worse for wear tomorrow," he said, concern evident in his voice.

Remi waved him off weakly. "I'b fide, you guys will be fide too, id’s judt a liddle cold," he rasped trying to clear his throat after the fact.

“Yeah well…this was a bust,” the badger grumbled, his fever starting to burn hotter, his body weaker by the minute as he tried his best to stay focused on getting back home and maybe locking himself up in the shower.

Remi, on the other hand, wasn't doing much better as he continued to sneeze and cough, his entire body wracked with chills and a throbbing headache, the cold he had caught threatening to take him down. “Huh’GDTS’ue! hdt’ishhhh!” the sound of his fit causing Elex to jump out of his skin.

“Alright guys, I’m gonna get him home and in bed….this was fun!” The leopard took his mate by the arm and began to lead him to the exit of the warehouse leaving the three left to stand in awkward silence. Sven avoiding Drae, Drae avoiding Sven, And Elex just desperately trying to swallow his symptoms of illness. He was sweating at a much more profuse rate now.

"Let's get out of here," Sven finally spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. Elex nodded, staying quiet knowing that is boyfriend was probably feeling extremely defeated after all that effort they just put into trying to win. Draeko didn’t say a word to either of them, simply dialed up his phone and called his demon for a ride. Elex definitely wanted to make sure he was gone before that asshole showed up.

They made their way out of the warehouse, the door creaking behind them as they emerged into the cold night air. The three stood in silence for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts. Elex clutched his chest, feeling the weight of Remi's germs bearing down on him with each crushing inhale.

Sven shook his head, a look of disappointment spreading across his face. "We should've never come here," he muttered to himself. "We should've known better than to trust that idiot to have given us all the information ahead of time,"

Draeko sighed, glancing over at his brother, shaking his head. “You know, Sven, I was almost actually starting to just enjoy spending time with you by the end of this…but you’re just so stuck on the past, it’s really a shame,” the hybrid furrowed his brows before ditching the two with their own thoughts. The badger dare not speak, knowing 7 was already feeling fragile enough.

As they walked away from the warehouse, the frosty air seemed to penetrate Elex's every pore, making him shiver involuntarily. His fever was raging now, and he could feel the cold settling deep within his bones, but he dare not pay it any mind as they made the trek to the car.

"I can't believe we actually went through with this and lost," The words escaped Sven's lips in a low, grumbling tone, barely above a whisper. His body posture slumped as he dragged his feet closer to the vehicle now.

Draeko's eyes clouded over, his thoughts drifting to the harsh words he'd spoken earlier. "Yeah, if they hadn’t been so focused on cheating we might have had a chance," he said after a moment, his voice low and tinged with annoyance.

For a moment, they fell into silence, each lost in their own thoughts about the night's events. Elex could feel his strength ebbing away, his body screaming out in protest as he struggled to keep his footing.

"Let's just go home," Sven said pressing the fob twice to unlock the car, they both slid inside, silently, they started the drive back home.

“Can I play some music?” Elex asked nervously, truthfully he couldnt stand the silence and he needed to drown out the possible noises of him struggling for his life on their way back.

Sven sighed heavily, glancing over at his boyfriend, who gave him a flushed, but innocent smile. He pressed a button on the stereo, and the familiar strains of their favorite band filled the car. For a moment, they let out a sigh of relief, lost in the music. But the awkwardness that haunted them was deafening, and Elex knew he couldn’t hold back his overbearing symptoms any longer. As the music played, and the cat white knuckled the wheel as they drove without a peep, the badger slunk in his seat and allowed his face to fall from the mask a bit. He felt like shit.

His head was on fire, his body felt cold, he was shivering and sweating at the same time, he very steathily, pulled a tissue from the side of the door. He then crumpled it into his sleeve and brought his hand up with the tissue hidden behind his sleeve, he sniffled gently into it. Softly rubbing, trying to relieve himself of the itch. Sven was lost in his own universe, unaware of his boyfriend’s suffering.

Meanwhile, the misery was slowly but surely getting the best of him, and yet he couldn't bear to disturb Sven, he knew that he would only feel worse on top of losing. He couldn’t also deal with the fact he’d forced his boyfriend into illness. The music filled the car with a melancholic melody that somehow seemed to comfort them in that moment.

As they drove through the empty streets, Elex's fever raged on, the cold that had settled deep within his system now spreading to his very core. The heat of the car seemed to only magnify the discomfort, and the pain in his head was becoming almost unbearable. He wriggled in his seat, desperately wanting to peel his shirt off or at the least blast the AC. He took a deep breath in before his nostrils flared, twitched and tickled. Immediately he shut his mouth, trying to hide any indications that he might just sneeze, his nostrils wet with anticipation.

With every mile that passed, Elex grew weaker, and the virus that threatened to consume him grew stronger. He clutched his chest, trying to hold himself together, his body wracked with chills that didn't seem to want to let up.

Fifteen minutes that felt like several days, finally they arrived home. The ill feeling badger pictured himself sprinting inside and locking himself in the bathroom and dying in the shower for a couple of hours until he felt well enough to emerge. Yet, he was unable to even move, it was starting to worry Sven as he saw Elex just laying there with his eyes closed, head slumped back and mouth gaping open. “Babe? You good? It’s time to go in….” asking cautiously.

Believe it or not, the green haired man was conscious he was just incredibly weakened by this point and his legs felt like jelly. He was also beyond drained from trying to pretend like he wasn’t knocking on death’s door. “Y-yeah..gimme a sec…I’ll meet you in there…just tired…” he cleared his throat trying to sound more convincing before he noticed his boyfriend nod, turn and give him his space.

“Holy fuck…finally..SNDFfdF..” he sniffled loudly, it filled the car with the wet sound as he brought a tissue to his persistently itching nose. He rubbed it so hard there was a rhythmic clicking sound that rang in his ears. “H-H…Hh’…” he struggled against the tissue. “H’uSSHHhhiew! h’USHhh’iew!” he suddenly burst from within, his tickling nostrils getting the better of him as he sprayed into the already pretty dampened mulch. “Gross…” he muttered weakly. It felt good at least to get that off his chest…it might have been just what he needed to get in the house, past Sven and into the bathroom.

He mustered up the last of his strength and pushed himself out of the car, stumbling slightly as he made his way towards the house. Each step felt like a monumental effort, but the thought of finally being able to rest in the warmth of their home drove him forward. The badger's pallor was ashen, his eyes heavy with fatigue. Without a word, he walked into the house, quickly, as much as he could, past his boyfriend that spun around to try and catch up, into the bathroom, locking the door shut and sliding down the door in agony. “Fuuuuuu…” he groaned stubbornly, he made it, but at what cost. His head was now spinning. “H-H…Ih…” he struggled against the quickly building sensations inside him.

“Els? You good in there?” He already knew the truth, it was obvious as night and day. Elex only ever rushed to the bathroom like this when he was ill, and trying to actively hide that from him. Idiot. Why did he ALWAYS go to the bathroom? He knocked gently. “Babe?”

“N-No I’m okay just go-gotta piss…” he lied through his teeth before the inevitable came barreling out through his mouth and into the quickly rising palms of his hands. “Heh’EhDTSHiEw! etUSCHOO!” it was like he had entered his own personal hell, he groaned weakly his hands wet of his sickness, and his nose starting to leak down his darkened skin.

Sven's heart clenched with worry as he heard his boyfriend struggle on the other side of the door. He knew Elex too well to believe the feeble excuse he had just given, and the sound of his sneezes only confirmed his suspicions. Without another word, Sven retrieved a spare key from its hiding place and swiftly unlocked the bathroom door. “h’UHtTSCHhiew! hh’ieXSSHH!” more distressing sounds of illness and ache echoed from behind the door, the green haired man falling further into his sickly resolve.

What Sven found inside once he ripped the door open, tore at his heart. Elex was hunched over in the corner closest to the door, pale and shivering, his face contorted in discomfort. The tissues in his hands were already soaked through, and his eyes reflected a mixture of pain and embarrassment.

Sven knelt beside him, placing a comforting hand on his back. "Elex, why didn't you tell me you were feeling this bad?" he asked softly, concern lacing his voice.

“I….didn’t want you to feel worse…after the loss,” he grumbled, avoiding eye contact like a small child that’d been caught in the cookie jar. The sick badger then managed a weak shrug in response, a fresh wave of static tingling over him. He felt utterly defeated, both by his illness and by his inability to hide it. Stupid. The cat's chest ached at the sight of Elex trying to bear the burden of his sickness alone, all for the sake of sparing him more grief. He gently took some tissues off the roll of paper and began to wipe at his hands and then handed him a warm washcloth, using it to dab away the sweat that dotted his feverish brow.

"You’re a pain in my ass you know that?" Sven chuckled jokingly, a mix of fondness and exasperation in his tone. "You don't have to go through this alone. We're a team, remember? I'm here for you, no matter what,” the man emphasized as he leaned closer to kiss the man on his clammy forehead.

Elex finally met Sven's gaze, seeing the genuine concern and love behind those serious orange orbs. A feeling of relief washed over him as he realized he didn't have to suffer in silence. With a shaky sigh, he leaned into Sven's touch, letting himself be comforted by the warmth of his presence.

As the Cheshire helped Elex to his feet and guided him to their bedroom, the badger felt an instant sense of relief, guilt and fondness wash over him. He couldn’t believe what a fuckin dick he was to this man sometimes, truly he didnt deserve him. "I can sleep on the couch if you prefer babe…I dont want you to have to be put ou-..H-Hh’uhSSCHHIHHww!” out shooting another one but the delinquent was quick enough to aim into the crook of his elbow.

Come on you, just get into bed don’t worry about me,” he shook his head at his ailing mate, all he could really think about was getting him rest. Elex sniffled loudly trying to wobble his way to their shared bed and slide inside but was stopped by the cheshire who let out a harmless chuckle. “Babe, you’re still wearing your clothes,”

“Oh…righd…sNdnfF..” he grumbled and groaned the whole way through trying to undress himself before 7 had to step in.

“I’ll do it babe, it’s fine,” taking over as he helped Elex out of his clothes and into a fresh pair of pajamas. The badger let out a soft sigh of relief as he finally settled under the warm covers, feeling a sense of comfort wash over him. Sven tucked him in gently, making sure he was comfortable before climbing into bed beside him.

As Elex lay there, his body still trembling with fever, he couldn't help but feel grateful for Sven's unwavering support. Despite his stubbornness and attempts to push him away, Sven had never wavered in his care and love for him in the last decade of being together. Though his reflections were short lived when he felt a down pour of trickling madness. His nose was on fire, his throat was demanding and it was going to come out again. That same, messy, loud, affliction. “Hh’UmfsHhhiew! h’UsHh’iew!” it was almost like he couldn’t catch a break but the cat handed him a tissue and he smiled weakly. "I love you…" Elex mumbled hoarsely, his voice barely above a whisper.

Sven's response was immediate, his hand reaching out to caress Elex's cheek tenderly after the man had taken the soft material. "I love you too, you stubborn fuck," he replied with a soft chuckle. The green and brown eyed man squinting with distrust now but still cracking a side smile.

“You’re not wro..h-.UShh’iew!” he released into the pit under his blanket, more so into the fabric than not, or else he put himself at the risk of getting his chest wet with sick. He shuddered and Sven leaned in closer to the other, wrapping his arms tightly around the slightly taller green haired grump.

“Bless you, my little earth pig,” immediately Elex rolled his eyes into the back of his skull.

“Stooooobbb I hade when you call me dhad,” Sven couldn't help but chuckle at Elex's grumpy response, finding solace in the fact that even when he was feeling at his worst, his partner still had enough spirit to protest endearingly.

"Alright, alright, no 'earth pig' then," he conceded with a smile, pressing a gentle kiss to Elex's forehead. The badger let out a tired huff of contentment at the affectionate gesture, his eyes fluttering shut as he leaned into Sven's embrace.

In the comfort of their shared bed, surrounded by warmth and love, Elex finally allowed himself to relax. The weight of his illness seemed a little lighter with Sven by his side, offering unwavering support and care. As sleep began to tug at his consciousness, he whispered softly, "Thank you for taking care of me."

Sven held him closer, feeling a surge of tenderness for the stubborn badger who had captured his heart so completely. "Always,” and the two found themselves closing their eyes, and drifting to sleep.

The End

Author’s Notes: I had so much fun with the dialogue in this!!!!! But I really truly hate myself for choosing escape room because A: I’ve never done one B: I put forth no energy to research them either and just hit a road block for two weeks instead 😭🥲 Which is another reason there’s no smut cause I just really wanted to be done 😂 I hope this was at least enjoyable!!! I’ll do better with the next Svelex rqst I promise 😂

[mania-sama]

with every line, a comedy

Where Is Your Rider - The Oh Hellos

➼ 01 - i know that wicked shape to your smile ❧ Information (Summary, Tags, Chapters) ❧ Next Chapter ❧ Word Count: 3,449 ❧ Cross-posted from Archive of Our Own

Author Note: okay before you jump into this fic, i need you to know that the first half of this fic was written BEFORE kaveh’s backstory came out. i was also 15k words in before mehrak even existed so it is not in this fic i’m sorry 😭😭

-

The people of Sumeru did not dream.

For countless years, the Akasha had been feeding from the unconscious minds of all that wore its terminals. Of course, this had not been known by the people of Sumeru — all it had been to them, for all of their lives, was an earpiece that provided them instantaneous access to all they wanted to know. It had been nothing but free information for them.

Nothing was ever truly free. A price had to be paid, a debt to be owed. Unfortunately, the dues had come in the form of dreams. Their minds’ passive imaginations were snatched from under their noses, and they had been none the brighter.

Now, the Akasha was destroyed. The Akasha Terminals were no longer thieves, but now were useless earpieces that lay on the bedside of scholars and denizens alike.

The people of Sumeru had never dreamt. But on this night, the Scribe of the Akademiya and the light of Kshahrewar, along with the rest of the population, would dream.

Alhaitham, in all rights, should’ve experienced his first dream before everyone else. He’d known of the more shady aspects of the terminals before he’d truly begun his investigation on the Akademiya. He had been aware of the give and take of the Akasha, and that if he were to gain information via the terminals, he would have to give something up in return, consensually or otherwise.

He just hadn’t cared all that much.

He’d tampered with his Akasha Terminal during the investigation, but he’d never gotten rid of all the aspects of it. Mostly what he had done was make it harder for the Akasha to give information to him, and in turn make it harder for it to extract personal data. Alhaitham hadn’t been able to get rid of the dream aspect of it, though he hadn’t particularly cared to. Dreams had never been of interest to him.

Until now, of course. It had been the only subject Kaveh had talked about in their house. From the moment the architect had gotten home to the sound of his bedroom door clicking shut, Kaveh’s nonstop prattling had somewhat successfully piqued Alhaitham’s curiosity in dreams.

Sleep usually came with ease to Alhaitham. His body operated on a regular schedule with a spectacular internal clock; it only worked against him when he had to labor in the night. Kaveh liked to tease him about his so-called bedtime. Alhaitham knew he was better for it.

This night was no different. Despite anticipation creating a strange hum in his body, the familiar tug of drowsiness and exhaustion seemed to sink his body into the mattress all the same.

Nothing felt different. Perhaps he would not dream after all. 

His mind silenced and his body went limp. Alhaitham woke up in a library.

It was quiet. He could not hear his footsteps that should’ve echoed in the House of Daena, nor did he hear his clothes rustle as he walked. The book he placed on the second lowest shelf made no sound as it slid into place against the other books. Alhaitham frowned and checked his felt for his hearing aids, but they were resting soundly on his head and ears like any other day.

He stepped back from the wall of books, admiring the spines that were old and young, brown and gray, and filled with words that were flawed in a way that the Akasha could never be. That’s what made them worthwhile to Alhaitham. Flaws induced critical thinking.

Without warning or preamble, the House of Daena began to quiver underneath Alhaitham’s feet. He looked around wildly, but all of the faces and people around him were blurry and indistinguishable, and his evidently broken hearing aids prevented him from hearing anything they were possibly saying.

The scholars were milling around and reading, blissfully unaware of the House of Daena falling apart around them. Books tumbled from the shelves, landing ungracefully on the ground and tables. The pristine stone walls and bridges splintered and cracked. Dust and debris were already collected on the ground, and for the love of Kusanali, why was he the only one bothered by this?

He ducked as a piece of the ceiling nearly crushed him. Alhaitham cursed out loud, even though he couldn’t hear it. Sumeru didn’t get earthquakes — was the Akademiya being attacked? As the Scribe and Acting Grand Sage, he should’ve known about such a thing before it happened. And yet, there he was in the grand library, his precious books and records becoming nothing more than a heap of damaged pages on the ground.

Seeing no other way to save the House of Daena, the Scribe turned to make a run for it. But when he attempted to do so, he quickly noticed that all of the blurry people he had seen before were gone. In their place, and in the midst of all the chaos of the collapsing library, was a short girl with hair the color of shimmering snow.

Lesser Lord Kusanali glowed a beautiful hue of Dendro green, the purest form of the color. Her hair was tied up as usual, and her little cape billowed behind her. A piece of a crumbling pillar narrowly missed hitting her by only a few centimeters, yet she seemed completely unbothered. On the other end of the spectrum, it was taking everything in Alhaitham not to freak out.

Kusanali was in the warzone. He needed to get her out of there, and fast. But he was rooted to his spot in the House, unable to so much as lift a finger to save his Archon.

She did not speak to him. Rather, she raised her small hands and smiled pitifully at him. “Do not be afraid,” she signed, mouthing the words alongside her hand movements. “What you see before you is not real.”

His beating heart and sweating hands felt real enough. His sense of urgency and confusion were ever-present.

But the House of Daena was falling apart. One moment ago, there were scholars in the library. In the next, it was just him and Kusanali. He looked down at his clothes, noticing that they weren’t his usual choice of outfit, but rather his old student uniform.

Something was terribly wrong.

Her eyes softened at the edges. She was a rather expressive Archon, Alhaitham observed. “I would not normally do this. Waking you up now is like cutting the bud off of a flower before it can bloom. I am sorry to cut your journey short.”

A book flew between the two of them, slamming full-force into the mess of stone that was once the bridge in the House of Daena. It did not make a sound.

“But Kaveh is in danger, my Scribe,” she continued. “He is dreaming, just like you, but his mind and body have taken him elsewhere. I cannot help him effectively, but you can.”

Oh.

He must have been experiencing that new phenomenon called dreaming. The moment he realized that, the world became blurry. The House of Daena still fell apart as the unheard earthquake, or attack, or whatever his mind had convinced him it was, carried on with its raging assault. The only thing that was clear to him was his Archon. A tight frown and eyes full of concern were etched into her face like a sculpture.

Though she, too, quickly began to fade.

The young god signed carefully: “Wake up, Alhaitham.”

Alhaitham sat straight up in his bed. Darkness greeted him, along with a sudden head rush. Pressing his palms to his head to fight down dizziness, the Scribe first only recalled the fact that Lesser Lord Kusanali had just finger-spelled his name to him.

He had a dream, then. Alhaitham lifted his face from his hands as he remembered the rest of his conversation with the Archon, and then everything that came before. There was no time to process the strangeness of dreaming or the fact that he was already forgetting the majority of the details of his short dream. He reached for his hearing aids on the nightstand and left his room as fast as he could while still sleep-bogged.

His concern went as far as Kusanali’s did. His jittery nerves were from the fact that his Archon was worried enough to contact him in his very first dream. It went no further than that.

“Kaveh,” he called, his voice hoarse. He flipped up the light switch in the hallway outside his door, bright light flooring this portion of the house. Expectedly, he received no answer. Kaveh had always been a heavy sleeper. Yet his bedroom door was wide open.

Alhaitham shouted a little louder for his roommate, stepping inside his bedroom and turning on the lights. Kaveh’s bed was undone, but his ugly lion slippers were still by his bed. All of the personal items in the messy room were untouched, and one look in the bathroom confirmed that Kaveh wasn’t there, either.

The worry ebbing away at his beating heart was only Kusanali’s influence still lingering in his body.

When he stepped back out into the hallway, he noticed that it was cold. That was unusual, given the house normally ran warm if the front door hadn’t been left open for a long time, which they tended to do in the sweltering heat of summer.

Lesser Lord Kusanali’s sign came to his mind’s eye. Kaveh is in danger.

Alhaitham discerned that nothing was stolen or out of place as he grabbed his house key and jacket before leaving. None of the windows were broken, and the lock was secure and undamaged. The only thing that had been missing was his roommate; even his key, marked by the lion keychain, was hanging safely on the wall.

Kaveh must’ve left on his own violation. Kusanali said he was dreaming, but that she could not help him. That left only one feasible option, then: Kaveh was sleep-walking.

A student in the Rtawahist Darshan had a horrible case of it, though it tended to work in her favor rather than against it. Other than that, Alhaitham didn’t know much else about sleep-walking. Kaveh had never done such a thing before, so he hadn’t bothered to do any research on it. His previous studies as a Haravatat student had never remotely aligned with the topic, either.

The frigid night air hit his underdressed body like a horse. He shivered and put his hand to the ground, focusing on his Vision to pick apart the elemental traces in the surrounding area. If Kaveh hadn’t been gone for long, then his Dendro Vision should have left a trail.

Unless, of course, he’d been parted with his Vision somehow. Alhaitham shoved that thought aside and promised to revisit it later. It left him with a queasy feeling in his stomach.

After a minute of concentration, the Scribe was finally able to pull out the element he was looking for. The Dendro trail took a left down the bridge, the opposite direction of the Akademiya. If he had gone to the Akademiya, it would’ve been much easier to find him. But of course, in typical Kaveh fashion, he had to make things much harder for Alhaitham.

Sumeru City wasn’t a dangerous place at night, all nations considered. Generally speaking, the denizens were so sleep-deprived from working or being a student that they didn’t have time to get into many illegal activities. Tonight had to be the safest of all; everyone was eager to experience their first dream.

Kaveh had likely managed to get himself into danger without the help of criminals. Perhaps he sleep-walked into the middle of the river surrounding the city, or he was hanging from a branch at the top of the Divine Tree. The mental images would’ve nearly made Alhaitham laugh if it weren’t for the fact that he was the one that had to save his reckless roommate.

The trail brought Alhaitham half a mile into the city. Despite having his hearing aids in, Alhaitham couldn’t hear much outside of the cold wind that snapped at his jacket and hair. The streets were nearly devoid of the Matra and Corps of Thirty, and those that he did catch sight of ignored the Scribe as he passed by.

When Alhaitham finally, finally saw Kaveh’s blond hair in the distance, he quickened his pace and released his focus on the Dendro trail. His roommate was walking towards one of the many entrances to the Grand Bazaar within the Divine Tree. The Corps member that was usually stationed there was nowhere to be found.

Kaveh was completely barefoot and he was wearing a thin tank top, but at least he had fluffy pajama pants on. As Alhaitham drew closer, he called out the architect’s name. Kaveh ignored him. The Grand Bazaar’s door opened automatically to let the wandering man in.

“Can you hear me, Kaveh?” Alhaitham asked, reaching Kaveh’s side and falling in step with him. His eyes were open, but the gas lantern burning on the other side of the Grand Bazaar entrance showed that they were glazed over. Unseeing and not comprehending a single thing.

He reached out, carefully putting his hands on each of the architect’s bare shoulders. His skin was cold against Alhaitham’s fingers. This successfully stopped him from walking, but he did not wake.

Kusanali had said Kaveh was in danger. The Scribe sweeped the Grand Bazaar, but it was just as quiet and peaceful as the rest of the city. Though the night was bitter enough to cause their breaths to crystallize in the air, it wasn’t cold enough to the point of fearing frostbite. It was improbable for an Archon like her to lie to her own Acting Grand Sage. Where was the danger?

Alhaitham narrowed his eyes as Kaveh twitched in his sleep, mumbling incoherently. The architect’s face scrunched up as though he’d been pricked. Even though his ruby eyes were sightless, they almost appeared pained in a way that Alhaitham couldn’t cause with biting words.

“Come on, Kaveh. Wake up.” he whispered. Alhaitham shook his roommate, uncomfortable with the way he felt under his hands. When the architect didn’t respond, he jostled him harder. “Wake up. Please. ”

The twitching stopped. Kaveh looked at Alhaitham and blinked.

Alhaitham’s sword materialized in his hands as he blocked the sudden oncoming claymore, his teeth gritting together and the surprising force of the attack. The large, shining blade had almost hit his left side of ribs. Kaveh drew his weapon back to swing it in an upwards arc that was swiftly redirected by the Scribe’s sword.

The architect’s red eyes were wild like an animal’s, panting as he prepared to strike again. “Kaveh, you were—” Alhaitham deferred the claymore again, “ —dreaming. Stop attacking me and get your bearings!”

His words caused the momentary confusion Alhaitham needed for an opening. He held the tip of his sword to Kaveh’s chest, the green light from the blade illuminating his heaving body. Alhaitham couldn’t stand the way Kaveh was looking at him, like he’d just strangled a baby and threw its body in a gushing stream.

The claymore disappeared into balls of shimmering light. Kaveh gazed at him, the sword, and then their surroundings. “Where are we?” He asked with a shaky voice. He carefully pushed Alhaitham’s weapon to the side with the tip of his finger. “What are— what are we doing here?”

“The Grand Bazaar,” Alhaitham said, letting his sword dissipate in a burst of golden glory. It wasn’t lost on Alhaitham that Kaveh had started shivering the second he’d gained awareness. His bare feet shifted on the ground. “You slept-walked out here.”

The same expression of fear still lingered on his facial expressions and body language, his arms now pulled tight against his chest. His mouth opened, but just as quickly snapped closed. Whatever he was going to say was lost to the freezing wind.

“I didn’t bring your shoes or a heavier shirt. We’re a half-mile from my house, so we need to start walking.” Alhaitham turned around, the doors creaking open for him as he reached their stained glass designs. “Unless you want to spar again. In that case, you’d really just be wasting your time.”

Kaveh groaned and ran to catch up to Alhaitham. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

“Trying to take out my ribcage seemed pretty deliberate.”

For once, Kaveh didn’t rise to the bait.

It was worse to experience Kaveh’s silence than to sit through his non-stop complaining and nagging. He’d wanted to get Kaveh angry because that was easier to deal with than his concealed anguish. Kaveh’s unprovoked frenzy, filled with panic and terror, replayed in Alhaitham’s mind like a broken tape.

Alhaitham didn’t know how to comfort people. They had a half mile walk back to their house, and already he felt like he was suffocating from the tension. From his tight lips to his shivering torso and down to his stumbling bare feet, the architect was the picture-perfect representation of trepidation.

The Scribe halted. It took a moment for Kaveh to realize that he’d done so. When he turned around, Alhaitham’s jacket was extended towards him without a word.

The wind bit at his exposed arms, his thin nightshirt doing little to protect him from the cold. Kaveh gripped the jacket, hesitating before slipping his own arms and back inside it. Alhaitham ignored the way his heart rate increased at the sight of his roommate wearing his clothing and continued on with their walk.

It was a little easier to breathe the cold air after that. His neck and face were considerably warmer than the rest of his body.

“Did you dream?” Kaveh asked, his voice cutting through the night. His impartial tone was forced, unbearably dissimilar to the way he normally spoke.

“Of course,” Alhaitham replied. “Although, it was interrupted.”

Again, the bait was ignored. “What was it about?”

Kaveh pulled the jacket tighter around his body. His facial expression was contorted into careful neutrality, illuminated by the streetlights they walked under. He couldn’t tell if the question was supposed to lead into Kaveh talking about his own dream, or if he was just asking out of genuine curiosity.

If he had wanted to talk about his dream, then Kaveh already would have. Embarrassment at the sleep-walking situation wouldn’t have stopped him. So, Alhaitham answered truthfully, though he strategically decided to leave out his Archon.

“Something about books. I can’t remember the details,” he said, and then added on: “I was deaf.” Just like Kaveh predicted. Despite his roommate’s belief, Alhaitham did usually listen to his rants. It was just that they were normally so inconsequential and uninteresting that he had a tendency to forget what they were about.

He expected Kaveh to say, I told you so, or see, I was right. Instead, he was greeted with a noncommittal hum.

Alhaitham was accustomed to the quiet. He’d heard nothing in his young life until he’d begun regularly wearing hearing aids. So, really, silence shouldn’t have been so unsettling for him. Yet, everything was different when it came to Kaveh.

“What about you? It must’ve been quite the adventure to bring you to unlock the front door and run all the way to the Grand Bazaar.” It wasn’t an attempt to start an argument, but his tone certainly sounded like it.

Kaveh looked at the ground. “I can’t quite remember, either.”

Alhaitham suppressed a sigh. Lies weren’t easy to get past the Scribe — he observed people too closely for even the most secure fabrication to slip his notice. Out of all the people Alhaitham had met in his life, Kaveh had been amongst the best at lying. However, it seemed like Kaveh had barely tried to convince Alhaitham of his obvious deception.

He didn’t push the matter, opting to leave it for the next day. His roommate’s inability to bite back at Alhaitham’s small jabs made the prospect of interrogating Kaveh feel akin to setting a kitten on fire. From the way his blond hair stuck up wild from their fight to the whiteness of his knuckles clenched around the Scribe’s coat signified that their conversation was over.

When they safely entered the home, Kaveh informed Alhaitham that he’d forgotten to lock the door that night, which would’ve been how he managed to escape. They didn’t argue about it; instead, Alhaitham wordlessly locked the door and retreated to his room.

The Scribe and Acting Grand Sage of the Akademiya didn’t dream again that night. He woke up periodically, his mind in flurries as Lesser Lord Kusanali’s words haunted his conscience.

Kaveh is in danger.

[withclawandvine]

what we pretend to be chapter 3

Summary: Azriel was a veteran spy, well suited to the sneaking and solitude that comes with a life in the shadows. He was good at it. He wasn’t good at undercover missions, so he couldn’t hide his shock when new recruit and undercover specialist Elain Archeron was already seated at the conference table, looking beautiful as ever. And then it was dropped on them like a bomb: Azriel and Elain would be sent to the suburbs, posing as a married couple to gather intel on a suspicious man who, according to reports, was in communication with notorious arms dealer, Koschei Sokolov.

Author’s note: oh boy this has been a long time coming. i could blame it on my new job or a number of other Life Things but the truth is i’ve been suffering from bnha brainrot (which if you’ve spent any time on my blog, should not come as a surprise haha) but i really wanted to get this done so i could start working on stuff for elriel month this year! so please enjoy, and let the pining begin babeyy !!

Tags: SFW, undercover au, fake married

Word count: 2.1k

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42105033

As soon as the deadbolt clicked into place, Azriel let himself sag against the door. “Fuck,” he sighed. “I thought they’d never leave.”

From the moment Brian and Lynn Forth had entered the house, a headache lurked at Azriel’s temples. Now, in merciful quiet and with nothing else to distract him, the pain pounced. Not for the first time, Azriel wondered if you could be annoyed into physical pain.

From her place on the couch, Elain looked at him with amusement dimpling her cheek. “They were only here for twenty minutes.”

Although he doubted Elain would lie about something so trivial, Azriel checked his watch. Sure enough, it was barely 8:00. That single conversation had felt like a small eternity, or like he’d died and gotten stuck in purgatory, atoning for his past sins on an overpriced couch, while his neighbors smiled through every sentence. It might not have felt so punishing had they learned anything significant, but as it was, the Forths were as vapid as they were irritating.

Lynn had prattled on about the widely-adored previous owners of the house and their eventual retirement to the coast. How eagerly everyone had anticipated and speculated about who would move in next, the disappointment when the previous buyers had backed out at the last minute. And finally, the surprised excitement when word got around that a young couple would be moving in. And young you are—about our son’s age, if I had to guess. There was a pause, Lynn clearly waiting for them to confirm or deny her suspicions, but Elain had merely grinned at Azriel while patting his knee, “Aww, she thinks you’re young.”

Azriel didn’t have to fabricate the fondness in the roll of his eyes.

“Thirty’s not that far off for you, you know,” he’d said, mostly sure it was true. He didn’t actually know how old Elain was. For all he knew, she was already thirty, but he knew that this was the time to be vague. It was better to deflect with a jest of his own than assign an exact age to her.  

“And she did mention the wife,” Elain added when Azriel rejoined her on the couch, this time sitting down across from her—the cushion still uncomfortably warm from Brian—instead of next to her. That was Alex’s spot.

Azriel would hardly consider information they already had on record much of a consolation, but Lynn's comment about the woman’s age was interesting. There wasn’t anything about that in the files. “If she really is about your age, it might be easier for you to form a connection.”

“Galkin will surely get in the way, though.”  

The poor girl seems lonely—hardly ever leaves the house, with or without Ivan. Lynn had said, shaking her head with a troubled frown. Elain and Azriel exchanged a glance, unsurprised by this revelation, but unsure how to probe further. Brian, perhaps observing the small exchange and misreading it as discomfort, had cut in with an apologetic grimace, Lynn, dearest, they’ve only been here a few hours. Let’s not drag them into neighborhood gossip just yet.  

Azriel drug his hands over his face tiredly before his fingers finally settled at his temples, pressing into the tender flesh.

“You okay?” Elain asked, taking care to keep her voice low.

“Just a headache,” he said, but it made Elain frown, as if he’d told her something deeply troubling.

And then she gave a bit of a jolt, “We haven’t eaten yet today!”

Lack of nourishment was one of several potential culprits; he still wasn’t going to rule out the neighbors.

Elain reached for the welcome basket Lynn just threw together! for them on their coffee table and pulled at the artfully curled ribbon holding the crisp cellophane wrapping in place. Azriel watched her set aside the bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon, a scented candle, and a bag of locally roasted coffee before finding the list of her and Brian’s favorite delivery places and skimming it over.

“Indian or Thai?”

At the mere thought of fresh naan, Azriel’s stomach growled, “Indian sounds great.”

The dining table was still overrun with boxes, so they spread dinner out on the sofa table, promising they’d get to it tomorrow. It was unnervingly real—looking Elain’s messy hair and feeling the ache in his back and arms while they sat cross-legged on the couch, inhaling takeout too fast to talk. Here, inside the liminal space of a half-decorated room and low lamplight, Azriel really could just be somebody’s husband, procrastinating on unpacking.

But then he remembered that the boxes weren’t brimming with tchotchkes, and that getting the equipment inside ready, online, then securely stored could take all day. Whatever couldn’t be mistaken for a personal tablet or basic office equipage would have to be hidden away in filing cabinets or the closet. And that was just the beginning of tasks they had to accomplish to make sure the house was as unremarkable as possible.

Elain dunked a piece of roti in her aloo matar, “We need to meet the rest of our neighbors. Figure out who’s involved.”

“Or if they know anything,” Azriel added. “Even if they’re not working with Galkin.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “At the very least, Lynn seems invested in the neighborhood. I wouldn’t be surprised if she knew something.”

Luckily she was also endlessly chatty; getting her to divulge something wouldn’t be a challenge. Anything was better than what they had now. In the grand scheme of things, Ivan Galkin’s connection to Sokolov wasn’t a very significant lead, and one they probably only had because of the risk that came with doing business with someone new. They didn’t know the nature of the collaboration or what either man wanted from the other. They didn’t know what Galkin had to offer that made Sokolov decide it was worth the risk.

With the headache ebbing and his hunger sated, Azriel was painfully aware of his exhaustion. The kind that made his eyelids feel sticky with each blink, the normally thoughtless action becoming deeply unpleasant. It would be easy to blame it on the long day of driving and hauling and arranging, but in all honesty, Azriel had spent the previous night restlessly pacing around his apartment. Half preparing and half wrangling with his anxiety about the mission—about having Elain as his partner. Azriel could count on one hand the missions for which he’d had a partner. It wasn’t just his line of work that made him wary of trusting another person. He’d been a solitary creature his whole life. Hadn’t shared a space since his time in Special Ops, before Rhysand had plucked him out of the military ranks a decade ago.

Despite the anxiety urging him to do so, there was no reason for Azriel to push his body any further tonight. Their equipment wasn’t going anywhere, and even if it was set up, they hadn’t even determined an initial target.

He started tossing decorative pillows from the couch to the floor, but stopped when he felt Elain watching him. He turned to face her where she lingered on the stairs, brows wrinkled curiously.

“Don’t want to scratch a cornea on the beaded ones,” he explained. The one in his hands now looked promising—larger than the average throw pillow, covered in a soft suede.

“You’re not sleeping on the couch,” she said plainly. Azriel blinked at her, wondering if maybe she was messing with him like she had in the car, calling him baby and asking if he was into roleplay.

“We have a lot to worry about already,” she continued. Perfectly serious. “We can’t waste any of our energy on making sure the couch never looks like a bed, just in case people drop by and see it.”

Azriel could argue that people fought or fell asleep watching Sports Center all the time. But Elain was the expert and his spine knew he wasn’t twenty-two anymore, so he helped her fix the pillows and followed her upstairs.

The owner’s suite, situated at the end of the hallway, was decorated in the same earthy palette as the living room. Mostly neutral with rich woods, offset with more vibrant rugs and pillows of terracotta and evergreen. This was the room closest to being completely unpacked, except for the mound of boxes in the walk-in. The amount of clothes was concerning, more than Azriel had in his own closet. How long did the brass think this was going to take? There were half a dozen boxes just for him—suits and ties, jeans, athleticwear, a coat for every season, and finally, pajamas. He pulled the matching set out of the box, eying the baby blue and white striped fabric with disdain. After another moment of deliberation, he changed into only the pants.

Azriel finished getting ready for bed long before Elain, giving him time to situate himself on the side of the bed closest to the window, as close to the edge as he could manage without looking insane. He sat against the headboard, ankles crossed, staring at the communications device in his lap. So far, he’d only typed one sentence of his report, making a note about their visitors, and the small insight into the dynamic between Galkin and his wife.

What more was there to say? The neighbors smile too much and we can’t decide if we should get a French press or regular coffee maker tomorrow.

The thought of Amren reading an update like that almost had Azriel smiling to himself. He tried to recall any other details about the Forth’s visit, but the most pervasive memory was that of Elain’s hand on his knee, her thumb idly smoothing over the material of his pants, the touch warm and grounding. Azriel couldn’t quite remember the last time somebody had reached for him so casually and he had actually let them—much less been even marginally comforted by the gesture.

It shouldn’t matter. Not flinching away from her affections had served the mission. There was no use in thinking about why it was different, or what it might be like next time. Azriel had encountered plenty of beautiful women, even sought them out on occasion, at galas and buildings he didn’t belong in. Dousing suspicion with indulgent smiles and pouring honeyed words in their ears so they might fill his with secrets. It was a tactic he only used in moments of desperation, when subtlety was just as paramount as information itself, and there was no way of accessing someone’s computer or filing cabinets undetected. He needed to find that level of clarity now—let his body go through the motions and his mind focus on the mission.

He was sending his report when Elain stepped out of the bathroom.

Like him, she was dressed in pale blue. He wasn’t sure if the matching was intentional, because the color was where the similarities ended. Instead of pinstripes, Elain wore a silky nightgown trimmed with delicate white lace. Her thick hair had been loosely swirled into a bun on the top of her head, drawing even more attention to her exposed shoulders and the graceful lines of her collarbones. If Azriel had been able to draw air into his lungs, he might have laughed out loud.

One of her hands came up to fiddle with a thin strap, but it was as if she’d snapped her fingers in front of his face. The small, anxious movement dragging Azriel back to himself. Fuck, how long had he been looking?

He watched the ceiling fan spin while Elain darted across the room and into bed, only turning his head when he heard the rustle of the covers as she pulled them over her legs. The warmth in her cheeks had spread, splotching her throat and chest, in stark contrast with the cool blue fabric it disappeared into. Azriel’s eyes found the fan again, every muscle in his body as taut as the silence between them. Until Elain finally said, “Do you think we have time to stop at Target tomorrow?”

Azriel wondered if despite the mountain of clothing stacked in the closet, this was all Elain could find for pajamas. Summer still clung to the air, damp and stifling, but it wouldn’t be long before the wind chased away the humidity and started to bite. Surely whoever was responsible for selecting Elain’s wardrobe should have thought of that. Or at least of him, right now.  

“Sure,” he agreed, praying with everything he had that Elain would dismiss the strain in his voice as exhaustion. “Whatever you need.”

[gendervapor14]

~ temptation, torment, and tangerines ~

♥ story sample and details below the cut ♥

Sora kept her jaw shut because she was positive no matter what she said, Bell-mère would find a way to use it against her. Instead, she reached into her pockets for her keys. Groped at a half-empty box of cigarettes and a lighter in the right pocket. A folded-up page of one of Rosinante’s stupid boardroom doodles in the other. 

But no keys. Because she wasn’t expecting to go to her office at midnight, and she probably left them on the fucking dresser.

“Don’t tell me.”

Sora lowered her head. Pinched her cigarette between her thumb and index finger. Ran her tongue over her molars. There were boardroom halls around, but she was positive they were all locked by now. Custodians had already swept by and cleaned them for the morning meetings. Tsuru’s office was up another floor, probably open. But that meant having this conversation in front of Tsuru. It’d be a power move if Bell-mère wouldn’t prattle off a list of Sora’s less-than-typical authority measures, and sink her career for good. 

“We have two options.” She decided, straightening her shoulders and meeting Bell-mère’s dubious eye. “We could call this off until tomorrow morning.”

“Or…?”

The cigarette rested between her teeth again. She needed a support system. A feeble attempt. “I think we should call it off until tomorrow morning.”

Bell-mère leaned in. “I’ve got drills tomorrow morning. Unless you’re telling me it’s okay to skip them…?”

Sora didn’t have the mental fortitude to recall Bell-mère’s schedule. Chances were, she was bluffing. She wanted that other option. Just talk. Just talk. Just talk. “Well, then my only other suggestion is taking this to my room, because this isn’t an appropriate conversation to hold in a hallway.”

Bell-mère lit up like a goddamn bonfire. “That so, Commodore? Gonna teach me another lesson…?” She cut the distance between them, tracing a finger under Sora’s jaw. Sora did her best to remain stone-cold and professional. “Filed my nails for ya.”

“You are, unbelievable.”

“Yeah, funny enough, you’re not the only one who’s said that.”

it's everyone's favorite former marine! uh. yeah, rosinante's in this story too, yes, fine. but bell-mere doesn't get nearly enough love!!

in my journey to bring her justice, i've started writing a myriad of stories about her. so first, i bring you this E-rated, bell-mere x fem OC, 4 chaptered little thing. focuses on bell-mere and her time in the navy, and takes place in the 01746 universe, but i think it can be read and enjoyed standalone! i've got some corabelle in the works as well, so keep your eyes peeled!

before i continue, i will reiterate: this piece is rated E, so minors, please do not interact.

title: temptation, torment, and tangerines rating: E category: F/F, F/M content warnings: none! status: complete!, 4 chapters, 23,522 words relationships: bell-mere/original character, rosinante/original character (only at the very tail end of chapter 4) rosinante & oc, bell-mere & rosinante characters: original character (sora), bell-mere, donquixote rosinante, tsuru additional tags: canon plausible, enemies to lovers, but uh it's more enemies to lovers to friends, sexual tension, angst and hurt/comfort, feminist themes, misandry, sora needs therapy, bell-mere does her best, okay here come the porn tags lmao, smut, shower sex, masturbation in shower, wow there's a tag for that, vaginal fingering, inappropriate use of devil fruit powers, rough sex, oral sex, vaginal fisting, gags, wow these two have fun huh, undertones of sorazon throughout the fic, but main pairing is bell-mere and sora, no infidelity this is pre-sorazon, exhibitionism, light masochism, some humor, conflict of interests, moral dilemmas, hate sex, arguing, size difference, referenced domestic abuse, referenced human trafficking summary: “I’m not, we’re not doing anything. I’ll let you go, for now, but you need to get serious. If I hear of any other misdemeanors after this conversation, I will report you.” Bell-mère sauntered towards the door with her hands out in an exaggerated shrug. “You owe me a tangerine, by the way.” Sora scoffed and folded her arms. “You’re supposed to salute your superiors upon entry and exiting.” “I’ll salute ya as soon as I respect ya, toots.”

~ takes place in the 01746 universe, but can be read standalone ~

special thanks to @gali-la for beta reading this demon!! <3

until next time o7

[cozy-the-overlord]

😭 🎁 :3c

Thank you kitty friend <3

😭 angst or sad WIP snippet

This snippet isn't actively angsty or sad, but it's from a WIP that is overall angsty and sad (I just don't have a ton of the angsty/sad bits written yet lol)

“You’re no magician doctor.”

Loki didn’t skip a beat. “You’re right. I’m a magician prince.”

Sigyn stood with a huff. At this rate, listening to Sylas’ monotonous prattle seemed far preferable than having to tolerate another moment in this charlatan’s presence. But before she could return to her table, Loki grabbed ahold of her wrist, grinning. “Just a moment, now, darling– ”

She glared. “Let me go!”

“As you wish.” He loosened his grip, managing to press a soft kiss to her knuckles before she was able to yank her hand away. “But I do wish you’d do me the honor of finishing your drink with me – I so enjoy your company,”

Sigyn scowled. “You may think you have everyone here fooled, but I know what you are,” she hissed. “I know your kind. You’re nothing but a slimy, backwater fraud hoping to line your pockets with the wealth of those too stupid to know better.”

Her slimy, backwater fraud couldn’t have been more unbothered. Eyes sparkling, he took another sip of his drink. “Takes one to know one, sweetheart.”

🎁name a published gift fic someone has given you that you love and can't recommend enough (be sure to tag the author. Or if you don't have an AO3 or haven't been gifted a fic, what kind of fic would you like to be gifted?)

I haven't received any gift fics, although JodiMarie2910 on AO3 made an absolutely incredible fanfic trailer for my fic Dances and Daggers, which I totally recommend checking out if you liked that story :D

[merryfortune]

Legend & Lore: the Deep Sea

AN: Posting this now seems like a good idea :3c

AN: Inspired by artworks by @insanitytragedy [specifically this one]

Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh! Vrains

Ship: Yusaku/Aoi

Warnings: Character Death, Madness, Dark Themes, Canon Divergent

Word Count: 3832

Synopsis:  Nowadays, they say that you can’t have legends and lore without a little bit of blood and gore.

In which the mysterious hacker pursues the mysterious siren that inhbits the patches of corrupted game data known as the deep seas.

  Game lore states there are monsters in the winds; in the harrowing winds of the Speed Duel. Yusaku knows. He’s reached into the depths of the unknown and pulled one out and tamed it.

  Legend, however, states there are sentient, living creatures in the pockets of patched up and ruined data known as as the “deep seas”. Not quite AIs, definitely not players looking to stir up trouble either. True, living creatures with thoughts and actions that are not predetermined by a real person using an avatar nor predetermined by a computer doing its best to handle the output.

  Legends that are unreliable. Friend of a friend. Quibbles over the massive chat log that get lost in between the hundreds of thousands of conversations between no one. And everyone. Yusaku doesn’t pay much heed to baseless rumour. To what amounts to creepypasta. He doesn’t need to.

  Game. Set. Match.

  Yusaku logs out and pulls himself out of hiding spot with a sigh. He’s sweaty and frustrated. He had come too close in that last Duel to losing. Every game is life or death and he’s already lost too much; he’s got so much he can win back.

  Kusanagi greets him with a sparkle in his eye. Impressed. Yusaku sits down next to him and is impressed. He hands him a bottle of water; it’s lukewarm in Yusaku’s hand.

  ‘Well done, Playmaker.’

  ‘I almost lost.’

  ‘But you didn’t. And you should be thankful.’

  ‘…I am.’

  Kusanagi swivelled in his chair and chucked his thumb over his shoulder to indicate the monitor. Yusaku showed little interest but acknowledged that Kusanagi wanted to bring something up.

  ‘You and I both know that artificial intelligence is somehow muddled up in this whole Knights of Hanoi business. But you and I also know that independent artificial intelligenc isn’t… fully functional. Yet. However,’ Kusanagi paused and Yusaku glared, sceptical, ‘I have reason to believe it will be soon. During that Duel, I picked up… unusual patterns. Someone – or, more specifically, something – managed to get past my barrier. Before the Duel, that zone was empty. No one came in, no one left. But something was there. And it ws moving erratically. I think you have a fan, Playmaker.’

  Yusaku slumped over the desk. He tapped his cheek.

  ‘Doubt it.’

  ‘Clear your schedule, tomorrow, you’re logging in and we’re going to go deep sea fishing. Let’s see if we can find ourselves a piece of artificial intelligence.’

  Yusaku straightened up and yawned. He flexed his hands. ‘Well, we better route the parts of data most susceptible to deteriorating and becoming part of the so-called deep sea system. If we’re lucky, since it’s only been a few minutes since I logged out, we might be able to get a trace on my “fan” but we shouldn’t get our hopes up. It could have just been… a bug.’

  ‘I dunno, Yusaku. I think we’re going to get lucky.’

  The two spent a good portion of the evening making preparations for their deep sea fishing, as Kusanagi had called it. Unfortunately, mere hours later, an unforeseen disruption to their exploration had occurred. Said disruption came in the arrogant, inhuman form of a popular charisma duelist known as “Ignis”.

 Ignis was the Vrains persona of an as of yet unknown person; presumably male but there were rumours of Ignis belonging to a female Duelist. Given Ignis’ avatar, it was hard to tell if Ignis was supposed to be male presenting to begin with. There was little in the way of either clothing and anatomy, instead some cartoonish-looking character with inky black skin and a purple web pattern and bulbous head. Despite being of small stature, Ignis carried quite the large demeanour and prescence on the Vrains.

  Ignis has been vying for the top spot of number one Charisma Duelist for a while now: cocky, arrogant, but puts on a great show. He and GO had been at odds for ages but now Yusaku – no, Playmaker – is the number one duelist in Vrains and Ignis is aggressively eying that title. He’s issued challenge after challenge but today, Playmaker finally accepted for this was no fight for popularity. No, there are larger forces at play.

  Ignis had been instated, albeit temporarily, as a Knight of Hanoi.

  It was a dirty fight. Trick after trick, deception and traps abound but Playmaker pulled through. For himself. For the crowd. It was a riveting duel but a selfish one. Flashy, spectacular, and full of twists: a conversation, of sorts, wherein it was two people greedily yelling at each other but tactfully disguising it as fair play and civility.

  But Playmaker pulled through, at the last second, after a destiny draw and sealed Ignis’ fate in a loss. The evil planted in him dissipated and his card, token of the Knight of Hanoi’s affection for him, banished. It was all well and good but Speed Duels are always a matter of life and death.

  Ignis made one mistake and it almost cost him his life.

  He was making rude remark after rude remark. Yes, he had enjoyed the duel but he didn’t enjoy the loss. That was the kind of person Ignis was. As such, he was passing off his dissatisfaction in cuss words and taunts. Playmaker couldn’t have cared less. He was about to make his temporary escape.

  He turned his back on Ignis but in the corner of his eye, he saw Ignis slip. Such a mistake would likely kill his corporeal form especially from this height. They were above the city and a vicious wind was raking the space between them and the virtual cement; cracked and turned to something akin to water.

  There was a single moment that felt like an eternity. Ignis’ eyes widened as he fell back and his arms outspread by his side. His mouth gaped and he blinked. Like, he didn’t quite believe what was happening. Fortunately, Playmaker could believe that the foolish duelist had fallen off his D-Board.

  Ignis hissed before he screamed. Playmaker whipped back around and instinct took his mind before logic could. Before Kusanagi could.

  Playmaker grabbed Ignis and yanked him back, they traded places in peril. Then Ignis rolled over and blew a raspberry at Playmaker. Playmaker braced himself for the worst and snuck a glance over his shoulder.

  ‘No one beats Ignis-sama and gets away with it.’ he taunted.

  Ignis floated in the digital space. He happily hung out like he was on a gently swinging hammock. Meanwhile, Playmaker was plummeting. He could feel the rush for real. His heart pounded in his chest.

  Yusaku closed his eyes and accepted that, for the first time in years, Vrains will have claimed another casualty. Finally, the mysterious hacker’s identity would come to light. He just wished that he could have reclaimed his past first. He has no doubt in his mind that Ignis would have no qualms over his death.

  Playmaker, no, Yusaku slips into the unknown.

  It’s not like a dive into a pool. It’s more like slipping into a recuperating sleep. Unfeeling but welcoming. His body goes numb but he’s not dead. He’s not dying.

  But that makes it sound too serene. Phasing through the protected realm of vrains into the deep sea is far from peaceful. He’s just experiencing a terrible dissonance between what is happening and what he’s feeling. He actively recognises that nothing is real. He can’t feel anything in his fingers because, technically, they’re not real; not to mention gloved too but some part of his brain refuses to accept that so, his fictional clothes become heavy with fictional water. His eyes sting and he’s gulping down water in lieu of air, not on purpose of course but nevertheless, his lungs are filling with imaginary sea water.

  His eyes flutter shut. He feels infinity at his fingertips. Infinity feels strangely like electricity. Tingling and gradually getting hotter. Yusaku sinks further into the unknown depths of zeroes and ones; of bubbles and seaweed. There was a grave pressure on his chest and he could hear his bones creak and bow beneath it; not snapping, yet, for there was nothing actually pressing upon them. He truly feels like he was at the bottom of the ocean; if the bottom of the ocean was a fault in a highly complex video game data.

  No one’s ever clipped through into the deep sea. The deep sea is highly protected and strongly guarded. It was thought to be impossible to clip through, and yet he had. Playmaker had phased through the other side of where the internet was thought to be impossible to touch. No one expects him to return alive.

  Nor does Playmaker. Nor does Yusaku.

  However, there is one. An unprecedented “one” in this cold, watery sea of “zeroes”.

  A giggle. A light chortle with something deviant lurking beneath its innocence. It sounds almost like the chimes of bells. Yusaku opens his eyes and everything is glitching. He thinks. He’s not certain. It could be his eyes playing tricks on him. It could be the game playing tricks on his eyes. But then, he sees her.

  And she’s beautiful.

  Or, at least, her avatar is.

  She comes closer and Playmaker sighs. He grimly accepts his fate. She comes closer still and clasps her hands either side of his face. She’s curious. She can’t be felt. Her fingers clip through part of her face and her tail twists and sashays to keep them both afloat. The loose, fluttery white fabrics of her outfit are battered by the inertia.

  She feels around the data of Playmaker’s persona and learns of him. She smiles to herself and decides that she will try and save him. After all, this is not their first meeting. It would appear the final hour was upon them: the hour in which Playmaker, no, her beloved Fujiki Yusaku would deliver upon his promise.

  So, she saves him so he would have the opportunity to return the favour like she always dreamed he would.

  She removes her fingers from his face and he falls in love with hers. It’s like a fairy tale for the modern age: superficial and nonsensical whilst maintaining the long honoured traditions of disturbance and cruelty. She is careful to not breach the sensitive data keeping Playmaker’s avatar in tact so she can remain strong enough to pull him through. Unlike him, the data that comprises her is far more flexible. No barrier can keep her out or in. He’s a lot more difficult and cumbersome but, nevertheless, she succeeds in bringing him to the surface.

  Kusanagi, meanwhile in the real world, succeeds in keeping Yusaku alive and breathing. Safe.

  She decides that she doesn’t want to leave the water. She remains by his side though. She idly watches as Playmaker spasms. She watches his back arch as he slams himself down, trying to rid himself of the imgarinary water in his imaginary lungs. He grunts and moans. She giggles. She thinks its funny. Cute even.

  Playmaker comes to and doesn’t log out. He’s hazy and aching. He’s definitely dying now that he can make sense of what he’s trying to process. He turns his head and she catches his eyes. He is quickly ensnared by her unearthly appearance. She’s too solid. She’s too real. She’s not real.

  But she’s beautiful. Large eyes and a button nose. She’s busty but it’s hard to tell with all her jewelery slung around her neck and how the fabrics she’s wrapped up in flutter. She looks as though she has wings. She looks as though she might have had wings once. There is a sense that she is ripped up and broken despite seeming as perfect as a porcelain doll.

  ‘Who are you?’ Playmaker asked; his hands shaking by his side as he tries to make sense of her. Of himself. Of his surroundings.

  ‘Blue Angel.’

  Again, she laughs.

  ‘Are you a duelist?’

  ‘Not yet. I’m still putting together a deck. It’s very difficult, you know when you have to steal the data.’

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘A siren.’

  Yusaku glares at her. There’s all sorts of weirdos on the internet but Blue Angel doesn’t strike him as one. He examines her avatar. Blue. Lots of it. Blue hair, blue eyes a blue tie around her neck. She basically blends in the water. She’s vaguely angelic too with her fluttering fins at her lower back where human-like skin turned to azure scales. Yusaku couldn’t help but be reminded of the old adage: the more beautiful and colourful, the more venomous.

  Blue Angel huffs. Sick of Yusaku’s scepticism.

  ‘Fine. I’m a rogue AI.’

  ‘And here I thought I would find you.’

  ‘I’ve wanted to meet you for a while, Playmaker. You and I… we’re alike.’

  ‘We are?’

  ‘Well, if we’re ever found by the wrong people, we are doomed to be deleted, correct?’

  ‘…Correct.’

  ‘See? Plenty in common already…’

  Playmaker got to his feet. He craned over his shoulder. He need to escape. He needed to go to the hospital.

  ‘Promise you’ll come and play again.’

  ‘I make no promises. Especially not ones I don’t know if I can keep.’

  Blue Angel became mournful.

  ‘I’ll wait. Forever.’

  She slunk into the water and her eyes became luminous. Her lips move beneath the water and bubbles and ripples shatter the stillness of it. It also caused disruptions to the water’s rendering. It spreads and breaks: unnatural waves.

  ‘Bye, bye.’

  Playmaker logs out once she leaves. Blue Angel gave him a bad feeling. It was deep and torrid. Visceral. It revived an unknown emotion in him: one he had long forgotten. One that he couldn’t explain. Especially not in a state like this. But he could connect it to his voided past. He just didn’t know how.

  Yusaku skipped school for the next few days to recover. He wasn’t the same after his accident; after his encounter with the siren AI known as Blue Angel.

  When he was in good enough shape to think clearly, his first matter of business was to dissect the Vrains for Blue Angel from the safety of his monitor. Not from the inside of Vrains. He hacked through every strain of data and information he could find with Kusanagi in tow. The information that they reaped in return was not what they expected.

  They found old player records belonging to a Zaizen Aoi. She had been Blue Angel before her account was forcibly deleted. The avatar Aoi used, parts of it, had become the rogue AI calling itself Blue Angel: the face, mostly. The AI had transformed the avatar from a winged human to a mermaid. Little wonder: wings would be useless submerged in the depths of the fictitious ocean.

  ‘Do you think we can believe her?’ Yusaku asked as he folded his arms.

  He wanted to believe. He wanted to meet her again.

  ‘We have no login or log-out records for the Blue Angel you encountered. The commandeered avatar is almost definitely its own entity. A simple stalk of Zaizen Aoi’s internet history show that she hasn’t logged into Vrains since her account was forcibly deleted. I have reason to believe that she hasn’t been in a duel since.’ Kusanagi replied with a shrug.

  ‘We have to keep her safe.’

  ‘Zaizen or Angel?’ Kusanagi raised an eyebrw.

  Yusaku shuddered.

  Kusanagi sighed then diplomatically stated: ‘We need to find out if there are other rogue AIs.’

  ‘Blue Angel takes first priority.’

  Kusanagi glanced at Yusaku. His eyes had been taken over by an obsession that twisted them a darker hue of green; or maybe, it was just the light from the monitor slightly discolouring them. Kusanagi hummed. He folded his arms.

  ‘A little obsessed, aren’t you?’

  ‘She’s an improbable existence. She’s fascinating.’ Yusaku admitted. ‘Scientifically speaking.’

  He hastily added that after he had come to a complete stop in his dialogue.

  ‘Mmhm.’ Kusanagi nodded. He sighed. ‘Well, assuming all the deep seas are connected then we’ve already narrowed it down. We can rule out downtown Vrains as well. Too many people know she’s been there so she’s likely avoiding it like plague.’

  ‘But there’s still thousands of digital kilometres that she could be spanning. And we don’t know the full extent of her abilities, she could have the ability to leave the Vrains and enter other internet accesses.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s likely given that her entire existence hinges on Vrains. I don’t believe she would be able to sustain form outside of Vrains.’

  ‘Do you think she can be captured?’

  ‘Captured how?’

  ‘Do you think we could download her to a duel disc? Like the other AIs? Presumably, she has cannibalised one of those and from that, she cannibalised Zaizen’s Blue Angel and likely gained sentience along the way.’

  ‘You want to take the mermaid’s freedom?’ Kusanagi asked. Genuine concern filtered into his voice and it scared Yusaku to his core.

  He hadn’t expected defiance from Kusanagi. Questioning from Kusanagi. He put his hand over his heart and bunched the fabric separating them in his hand. He couldn’t really feel it. His sensory understanding was still numb at best. At this point, he wasn’t expecting for it to return to the way it was before his accident. At least he could feel the movement of his heart though: a slow and steady pulse. It reminded him that he was real. Lately, that simple little fact was slipping form him mind. Frequently too.

  He took a breath and closed his eyes. ‘Yes.’ He decided at long last.

  ‘…Interesting.’

  Kusanagi didn’t further interrogate Yusaku from there but Yusaku’s feelings on the matter were as transparent as glass. His intentions quietly reflected.

  But to Yusaku?

  He could barely decipher the bits and pieces of emotion he felt. He felt tinkered with and now, whenever he moved he could hear the rattle of something having been broken but couldn’t place it. On top of that, because he was still functioning, he couldn’t decide if he was broken at all. Instead, he was just rattling. Something had come loose.

  Yusaku swallowed. A desire as deep as the depths of the sea filled him. He refused to name it but he was apparent. Love, lust, obsession: Blue Angel. He took a breath and for a split second, he was drowning again. He widened his eyes and willed himself to remember he wasn’t online. He was Fujiki Yusaku. He wasn’t Playmaker. This was the real world, not Vrains. He swallowed again as his breath hitched his throat and a sweat broke out on his brow and dripped down his side. He clutched harder onto his shirt.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Kusanagi asked, panicking as he got his feet.

 His hands moved rapidly before Yusaku’s eyes but he could barely see them. They were blurry and Kusanagi was quickly moving out of focus as well. Yusaku shook himself. Took a breath. He willed himself to remain in a conscious, healthy state of mind but he was muddled nonetheless.

  ‘No. Yes. Just let me find her. I have to find her.’

  He heard that laugh again. Light, airy, twinkling like the chime of silver bells. That was Blue Angel’s laugh. He could hear her perfectly. Clear as day. Somehow, it calmed him down. The tension stringing along his shoulder in tight threads relaxed. Kusanagi relaxed too upon seeing Yusaku’s grip on himself lighten.

  ‘Are you okay?’

  Kusanagi sounded like Yusaku had water in his ears. He was vague and murky. Yusaku blinked then stared. And stared. But he could barely see a thing.

  He resolved to find her. He had to find her.

  Yusaku got up and grabbed his Duel Disc. He stormed off and he was unknowingly playing right into Blue Angel’s plans for him. He slams the door behind him and enters the virtual slipstream where he was likely to abandon the air – the winds – forever.

  Playmaker finds her easily enough. She was waiting for him. She watches him with her big, glittering blue eyes and beckons him to the pool where she waits. It’s a puddle in the virtual sidewalk. It’s quiet here. Almost abandoned. It’s almost like someone put a block on the area so only select people could visit.

  Blue Angel begins to sing. She sings a heavenly song that bubbles up from the depths of her throat. She doesn’t speak like she’s speaking through a microphone. That’s one thing that makes her distinct from the players. The players have a crackle of static electricity when they breathe. She doesn’t breathe.

  So, it’s to little eerie wonder as to why Yusaku becomes so entranced by her song. It pulls him in like the moon pulls in the tide. She’s haunting. Lovely. Indescribable. He thinks he’s in love.

  She’s lonely, you know?

  It’s awfully dark and dreary at the bottom of the ocean. She wants – needs – some company down there. Someone who understands how difficult it is to hide when they are everything the other – the commoners – desire in a celebrity. Someone who understands what it is like to hunt and be hunted; to always be teetering on the edge of life and death. Someone who understands what it’s like to phase through life and death. One and zero. And he was the only one to have ever done that. Now. And when he was smaller; younger.

  Finally, they can be together. Forever. Like Yusaku promised her when she was just… Blue. The tame AI. Like she had desired when Yusaku was just that: Yusaku, not Playmaker. He was a chosen child from the experiment. The one that went horribly, horribly wrong all those years ago. Of course, no one remembers. Why should they?

   Yusaku slips. He’s the one who makes the fatal mistake now. He’s too entranced by Blue Angel and her charm to care. He has no one looking out for him from the corner of their eye. So, he slips. He phases through the zeroes and ones once more except this time, he doesn’t emerge as a survivor.

  He sinks. Down and down. In a listless spiral and Blue Angel playfully joins him. She most certainly thinks it’s a game. She batters at him as his hands reach out. A slow regret poisons him. Perhaps, he shouldn’t have trusted the silver song of a siren. She’s not real. But then again, he’s not real either. Not anymore anyway as he sinks further into the deep sea where is transformed into Playmaker for the last time.

  Together… forever. Just like she always wanted. Like he thought he wanted in those tragic days of unreality.

  And now, it’s not just a siren you can find at the bottom of the deep seas but a ghoul: waterlogged and once human… if you believe the stories. The ones fools type out in the group chat: to everyone and no one.

  Nowadays, they say that you can’t have legends and lore without a little bit of blood and gore.

[thithesandofferings]

:::300 SUBSCRIBER ONE SHOT:::

::TITLE:: I like you like this 

::PAIRING:: Sephiroth x Reader 

::SYNOPSIS:: We’re blowing Seph under his desk. Thats it. 

::TAGS:: 18+ MDNI. Oral M!Recieving. Dirty Talk.  Throat fucking. Sephiroth appreciating us as he should. GN!Reader 

::AUTHORS NOTE:: I cant believe yall like my writing enough to follow me. Nasties. Let me give you everything and more. 

Maybe surprising Sephiroth at his job wasnt the best idea. In guise of bringing him lunch in something rather revealing, you thought that it would cheer him up. You know that sometimes, Sephiroth forgets to eat when he's busy and you havent seen him in awhile.

What you weren't accounting for was the look of unchecked hunger he gave you while you prattled on about what you put in the soup today. He's barely listening. He's just watching. Seeing you lean over and with soft lips and fragrant skin. Times like this made you wonder if you actually had any self preservation.

Personally, you think this is your best idea yet.

"Keep your mouth on me and dont move."  With an inappropriately innocent kiss on the forehead, he pushes you slightly between his thighs and underneath his desk. Hissing as you immediately started to  mouthed his pants.

That very moment he realized, you’d planned all of this.   

God does he love you. 

"Get comfortable" Theres a itchiness in your throat that makes you wiggle a little. Feel your thighs already clenching at the timbre and the spark of evil in his green gaze.

"You'll be there for awhile"

You've lost time a long while ago. Jaw aching from misuse, knees burned into the carpet as you hold unto his waist as he thrusts evenly into your throat.

Sephiroth just wants to be selfish with you. He hasnt seen you in months and you walk in all pretty and wanting to take care of him- well what is he supposed to do. He only stops when someone comes in to give him a report or something, he cant really remember, not when your throat tightens in fear of getting caught. A few times, he’s had to muffle a groan with a cough. But as soon as they leave, his hands are back in your hair and hes directing you up and down his cock.

"Love feeling you clenching around my cock"

"Hm. So warm and tight in this throat"

“You’re doing so well, keep going”

"No" He whispered. Tightening his fist around your hair "You dont get to come- Not when you've teased me. I want to use you a little longer"

Its obscene. The wet gurgling noises your throat makes while you're under his hand. His pants are completely soaked just from the amount of pre and saliva youre drooling down his length, making it easy for him to hear the slick sounds and push you down just a little faster on his dick. He fucks into your gasping mouth until his legs shake and his cock is raw from milking himself with youre tight throat, it almost hurts how with how much he's spurting into you. You hum in encouragement, always so earnest, and he cant take it. Pulling you back only to watch you struggle to swallow another round of his come, making sure to stick out your tongue to show that nothing was left behind, has him absolutely twitching again.

Tear stained eyes look up at him and he cant really help when he sticks his thumb in your mouth, pleased as punch when your mouth early wraps around the digits. Nails digging into his thighs.  Begging silently.

And now that just wont do.

"Why are you so quiet hm?" Sephiroth grabs your jaw to open your mouth and pull at your tongue, earning a moan you wont admit to later.

"Want me to fill you up again? Give you a reason to be quiet?"

So maybe you should visit more often.

Keke~

[incorrect-koh-posts]

After the anon who talked about the early years of the KoH fandom, I wanted to add my thoughts if that's okay!

I can definetly say that this fandom didn't die, or is tiny that much. After writing my own story and seeing many other successful ones in AO3, people who read for specifically Baldwin has gone up quite a lot.

Considering my story had 1941 hits yesterday night and now has 2085... I guess, me being the only one who still writes for the fandom- or one of the few ones- also affects...

Anyways, it's good to see people do what they enjoy and I'm glad we're all gathered here like the history nerds we are!

Yeah, you've got a good point there. I'd still say the fandom is a tiny one since we've got under 100 fics on AO3 and about 180 on FFnet, most of which are unfinished and very old. In between about 2016 and 2019, I would even go as far as to say the fandom was mostly dead; the way I see it, it only started to rise again in popularity with the pandemic.

But yes, you are right: The Baldwin stories tend to be hugely popular regardless of length and / or quality. Anything else, however - and believe me, I am speaking from experience here, since I am one of the other writers who still write fic for KoH (currently doing a rewrite of my story) - might as well prepare to dwindle into a sad, unremarked grave because there simply is zero interest in things other than Baldwin.

I do realise my view is probably a bit warped here since I am clown enough to write fic for a character who isn't Baldwin and can count myself lucky if I get so much as one comment per chapter. But I thought I might offer my perspective on things as well. So yeah, while I am absolutely happy for the authors whose fics are doing well and for the fandom gaining more popularity, it often saddens me that there is so little variety. Like, don't pelt me with stones now, but personally I just don't find Baldwin so terribly interesting that I'd want to read nothing but stuff about him - I would be over the moon to one day have a look at the fandom tag on AO3 and see a new fic about one of my faves. Well, who am I kidding. That's probably never going to happen.

Anyway, it's genuinely great to hear your fic is doing well and you are having a good time writing it. I'll be sure to have a look one of these days - since I am always prattling on about fanfic-related things on here, I might as well spread some love and support for our pen-wielding warriors on AO3. History nerds, unite! 💙

[hoebaring]

Just The Two Of Us (1) | Kim Taehyung

In which two ambiverts who are conscientious, resourceful, firm, and slightly egoistic happen to realise, discover, and explore the possibility of being in love. It’s a dream-like almost magical romance focusing on what I love to call “the butterfly inducing effect”. So, get comfy, grab a tub of ice cream, maybe get a few tissues and be prepared to experience romance like no other and fall in love.

I fell in love with you, I don’t know why, I don’t know how, I just did.

Tags/Warnings :- An Office Au, Ceo!Taehyung, Secretary!Y/N A fairytale in an office. Cheesy. Highly Romantic. TaehyungxReader.

Written by Author L

Cross posted on Wattpad

Word count :- 520 Words

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The Curious Conversation

Once upon a time,

Err no, scratch that,

How about, "There once was..."

Ughh no!

"Yes, but how do we tell him that?!"

Well, someone or rather two specific people are quite impatient right now so let's just begin!

"I have no idea! How am I supposed to convince him without sounding like an overly cliché and possessive mother?"

"You are asking me that?"

"Arghh! We have to convince him! Somehow!"

There stood Mr and Mrs Kim in Mr Kim's study, arguing, and contemplating about how they would elucidate to Taehyung, their son, about a particularly complicated topic. Unbeknownst to them, was Taehyung, standing behind the large and ajar doors of the study, quietly listening to their quarrel. He definitely didn't intend to eavesdrop, as he only came to give a few files to his father. But surely, listening to your parents bicker about something so secretive is quite curious.

"But we have absolutely no right to force him into this!" Mrs Kim exclaimed.

"Exactly! But we must persuade him as soon as possible, since it is related to the company. Besides, Seokjin's wedding will be held soon." Mr Kim replied.

"Which is why we have got to handle it properly, explain why he must do it, and passively convince him. Afterall it is also his wed-"

"Oh Taehyung! Come on in! Were you waiting for long?" Mr Kim interrupted his wife's incessant prattle as soon as he noticed his son.

"Umm no dad, not long." Taehyung said, slightly embarrassed for getting caught. He quickly walked into the study and noticed that his father was sitting on his chair and his mother was standing midway in the room, indicating that she was most probably pacing around while talking earlier.

"So what brings you here at this hour Taehyung?" Mr Kim asked and tried to make the atmosphere a little less awkward.

Taehyung then, passed two brown files to his father, and stood there with hands in his pyjama pockets.

"The list of the guests and other important details of Seokjin hyung's wedding are in the top file, and you have to sign some papers in the bottom file. I've separated them out for you."

"Ah! Thank you, Taehyung-ah" Mr Kim said and smiled.

"When is Jungkook arriving tomorrow?" Mrs Kim asked.

"Oh, he would be here by tomorrow evening. He'll meet me directly in the office and go to his hotel room later."

"Alright then, it's getting quite late now, let us get some sleep. Good night, Taehyung" Mrs Kim said as she walked towards Taehyung and gave him a quick hug.

"Good night, Taehyung-ah." Mr Kim got up from his chair and headed towards the doors.

"You guys are meeting up after quite a while, have some fun!" Mrs Kim said enthusiastically to Taehyung as she followed her husband out of the study.

"I will. Good night mom and dad." Taehyung mumbled, as he too, got out of the study and thought of his friend whom he'd be meeting after a year. 

❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥

[itslocsdiggs]

On Your Worst Behavior

~1k+

Author’s Note: On AO3 there was a fic called The Ladies Love a Man Who’s Good with Kids. This is the remix. I love that [CompulsiveBowlers] used Rafa’s daughter’s name from a fic I previously wrote. Then one day it disappeared. So I decided to write a version inspired :) This fic brings the petty! I hope that you love it. The largest slice of triple decker fluffy and cute with petty syrup drizzle. Okay time to read, love you byeeee :)

T/W: if you see any let me know. Black! reader, but everyone is welcome!

Tags: @iknowthekoolaidflavor @ramp-it-up @einfachniemand @royallyprincesslilly @ryjo-92 @lizzzaaaaaaaaaaa @a-hopeless-fan @honeysucklechocolatedrippin @imatyoursurrvicesurr @braidedchallah (let me know if you wanna be tagged!)

When you got to the resort, you knew you'd need a relaxing massage or some peace and quiet🤫. You were on your way to a Disney World adventure to celebrate your son Daron who was turning three. You and your husband spent most of the morning and the night before packing suitcases and making sure both of your little ones had their plush animals. The morning went smoothly except for one little mishap with your independent daughter Lydia getting tangled in her shirt.

Somehow you got the kids in their shoes and in their car seats on schedule. A miracle really. Except you couldn't have your morning tea. It sat abandoned on the marble countertop. Rafael did a last sweep through the house for anything you might need then locked the doors. He had left it behind because he knew you wouldn't finish it before you arrived at the security checkpoint.

As Rafa drove to the airport, you watched for your babies in the rearview mirror. Lydia was napping as usual and Daron was mischievously quiet. You thought Lydia's nap wouldn't last long.

Arriving to the airport terminal, you put down your purse, and Rafa set Lydia down to continue sleeping on a bench. Sweet littleDaron wriggled out of your grasp, and started waddling around. He looked out the large windows and told everyone he was a "big boy."

Rafa laughed and picked him up kissing his forehead. He whispered, "big boys sit and watch YouTube. And have some juice." He reached into his backpack, and came up empty handed. Then he turned with a frown, and mouthed at you. No snacks?

You checked your bag, and mirrored his look, "guess not."

Daron was so into the brightly colored characters that he forgot about his father's promise. Lydia, who had resumed her nap squirmed and snuggled into her father's lap. You took that as a sign.

"Honey, I'm gonna take a walk." Standing up you grabbed your purse and made a mental note of where your family sat.

He took your hand and rubbed it. "Rest first, I've got it." He maneuvered the small girl until she was laying down comfortably. Then he stood up.

You sighed and stretched before sitting back down with your kids, covering up with your sweater and taking a little nap. Rafa walked away towards a kiosk. He returned in record time with his hands full with bags of snacks, hot beverages for two, and a woman's lingering gaze.

"Do you need anything else?" you heard her say. Then you blinked to clear your vision when you realized she was holding one of the bags. You sat there covered by your sweater watching what she planned to do.

"There you go, sugar," she fluttered her lashes and grazed his back.

“Are these your little siblings?”

Rafa smiled and took the bag from her. She stayed and incessantly prattled on, not so subtly trying to figure out if he was single. He was just trying to feed his kids. You watched the drama unfold. Rafa unwrapped Lydia's bagel while the woman had the nerve to prepare the juice boxes. She patted your son on the head. 

Under his breath, he muttered, “Damn, lady keep it moving.”

Rafa quickly retrieved the boxes from her hands and cursed under his breath. It was far too early for this. He silently willed you to wake up from your nap. Your husband had no idea that you were watching the whole exchange.

Rafa exhaled softly and coolly replied, "We're good now. Make sure you don't miss your flight."

She scoffed playfully, "I have plenty of time. Just want to make sure you're settled. I don't want you to be all alone with these lovely kiddos." 

Her voice was sickeningly ignorant and you wanted to gag. You tugged the woven fabric of your sweatshirt between your teeth to keep yourself from laughing. You poked your head out and waved at her. Then you rested the palm of your hand against his hip, bunching the hem of his red t-shirt between your fingers and flashing a sparkling gemstone against your coffee brown skin.

"Oh, I didn't know you had help."

You rolled your eyes. The woman's eyes narrowed, staring daggers as she backed away until you couldn't see anymore than her fluttering lashes. Her pink neon sneakers squeaked as she tried to leave quietly. She turned around with an unfortunate look on her face to see you kiss him full and he spun you around to face the views beyond the tarmac, and brought his arms tight around your waist. He leaned in and whispered in your ear, “hey, hey, take it easy. She’s no threat to you, love.”

You looked up at him with innocent eyes, saw that she was still watching, and raised your voice a little. “I don’t know what you mean. Can’t I kiss my husband indecently in a public place?”

Rafa grinned at you, but remained oblivious as he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Sure,” he countered and stepped back. When you sat down, he handed you a hot cup of tea. Beaming up at him, you savored the smell.

Rafael finally sat down and put his arm around you. Looking up you saw the woman walking back down the corridor. You snuggled in to his arm, awake now, eyes bright with laughter, "What did you mean by don't miss your flight? She's not going to Disney?"

You did a sidesweep on the blond next to you, waiting for his answer,  and checking him out for the first time that day. Rafa appreciated your gaze. He looked a little tired, but bright and ready for the trip in a red t-shirt, track pants, and sneakers. In a grey hoodie, he was also cozy. 

"No, he exhaled, “her girlfriends sent her over to shoot her shot. The only kiosk open was all the way at Gate 27."

You remembered seeing Gate 27 listed for somewhere in Mexico. You smiled wryly staring at the bright LED sign for Gate 5. She would have to be on her worst behavior.

You laughed for the first time since the encounter.

"She comes all the way to gate five to find a happy family, not her new fling." Rafa grinned wide.

 Daron climbed onto your lap and you held him close, kissing his head. "One last question, you let her follow you the way down here?"

"Hah! I let her pay too- And that means she just lost a grip on airport food. And I got more to spend on you and the kids.”

Tilting the coffee cup in cheers you quipped, "That'll teach her to go after someone else's man."

Rafa laughed and downed the rest of his coffee.