#gonna add the AW tag just for the spiral door

[div-divington]

Doorways to Other Places

[woozisnoots]

Hello alex! Maybe I'm to early for having a emergency request but I haven't really going anywhere outside my house beside buy groceries and I haven't socialize properly in months (maybe there is a bunch of people can relate). It's stressing and make me mentally exhausted for months 😭😭😭 can I request something like joshua fluff or wonwoo fluff that can comfort us? And I get it if you can't do it since I think I'm to early for asking. Anyway hope you have a nice day ❣️

no ofc it’s not too early! pls, i want to do this for you guys 🥺💓 these are meant to be small so i ended up doing both. i hope you enjoy and if you ever need someone to talk to, my inbox and dms are always open!

𝙨𝙥𝙚𝙣𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙦𝙪𝙖𝙧𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙚 𝙩𝙤𝙜𝙚𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧!

° pairing: joshua x reader, wonwoo x reader ° genre: fluff! ° word count: 1214 ° warnings: none! ° tagging: @jaeyoonurl bc she has a thing for j*shua hong

masterlist!

— joshua

in the scenario that you and joshua are living together in a small apartment complex, he does the slightest bit to annoy you whether it be intentional or not

like he’ll either make you stay in bed with him  longer than usual so you’d be late to a zoom class / meeting

or he’d purposefully flick you behind the ear while you’re cooking which causes you to accidentally pour more than just a pinch of salt on your eggs 

since josh owns that little projector that has slides of all the different constellations, he would turn it on right before you guys go to sleep as you lay next to each other on the bed and just stare at the stars from your ceiling

he loves making jewelry to pass the time while you guys watch netflix together. and wants nothing more than receiving an accessory that you made yourself

“joshua hong, please!” you fling your arms up to reach for the object now in joshua’s hands, much to your avail. “it’s literally so ugly. i beg you, please don’t wear it!” the little jump you add doing nothing but exhaust your energy. 

you knew it was bad idea, you should have trusted your gut the minute joshua left to get the groceries. forty-five minutes was just not enough time for you to possibly make a small thank you gift for you boyfriend. a token to say, ‘this is what three years has gotten us.’

“but you gave it to me!” joshua refutes back. you let your guard down, breathing rapidly in order to catch your breath from the unnecessary movement of having to keep up with him. he, on the other hand, took this as an opportunity to run, sprint away from your wrath and make a clean line for the bathroom before shutting the door to securely lock it in place. 

joshua hears your wallowed out screams coming from the other side and softly chuckles under his breath, wondering when you’ll ever get used to his childish antics at times. he safely unravels his hands to reveal the tiny object. and he can’t help but smile wide, ear to ear, and think, ‘so that’s why i felt something pointy.’ 

you’ve given up at this point. by now, he’s probably already seen your gift and for all you know, everything is doomed. your hand laid flat on top of the door, deciding whether to shrivel in front of him now or wait until he confronts you first. yet, he’s able to make that decision for you as he abruptly opens the door causing you to fall forward straight into his arms. 

“why, hello gorgeous,” you watch from underneath him, the corner of his lip rising up to form a cheeky smirk. you squint your eyes menacing at the thought that he could possibly be wearing the horrid gift you made. tilting your head to the side, you open one eye to catch a glimpse of green hanging from joshua’s left ear. he turns his head just slighty so you could get a better look. “you’ve really out done yourself, if i had anything to say about it. though i have to say, i didn’t think you’d go for the cute food aesthetic. i thought you hated avocados.”

blood immediately rushes towards your cheeks and hide your face from joshua’s vision but he was too quick. using his brute strength, he pulls your weight so you’re standing in front of the mirror, back facing him. your mind spirals as you feel joshua tuck strands of your hair behind your ear. “awe lookie, i knew you’d be wearing the other one,” he says before deliverying a small peck to your cheek, leaving you a scrambled mess. “what a perfect anniversary gift.”

— wonwoo

spending time with wonwoo during quarantine would be rather quiet and simple, but that doesn’t mean your time spent together is boring

having little to nothing to do all day makes you realize how much renovations you guys can do around your home

your morning conversations over breakfast would be about different home décor that you found on amazon and you would end up having such a fun time talking about it because you guys turn them into little debates over if the items are actually necessary 

that being said, wonwoo would be so willing to buy anything that would fill your guys’ boredom. and yes, that would include getting two separate desks, possibly four computer screens, two headsets, two light up keyboards for the heck of it, and of course: two very comfortable gamer chairs

no, he would not let you win at any games for freebies — you gotta earn that shit

out of all the days of the week, nothing was ever reserved for sundays. truly, every day was a free day — lounging around, doing chores, testing new cooking hacks to see if they actually worked. but sundays especially were just extra... boring. the very end of the week with absurd nothing to do. which has led you to spend this sunday morning in front of your dual computer screens with your boyfriend joining you on the other side of the desk.

“damn it!” you exclaim, lightly slamming the keys on your keyboard due to this endless frustration boiling inside of you since you’ve started playing. “how do i keep losing... it’s club penguin for fucks sake!”

your hands collect your face with pure dread and exhaustion, wondering how your supreme logic failed you during card jitsu. you hear a hearty chuckle coming from wonwoo sitting across from you. “the cards are just in my favor, sweetheart.”  he eyes you as he takes the warm cup of coffee to his lips to take a sip. “how about, best two out of three to see who has to make breakfast?” the huskiness of his voice growing deeper with each word, leaving you in trace for just a moment. 

you ponder at the bet, looking back between the screen showcasing your pink penguin and your beautiful barefaced boyfriend, ultimately coming to a decision. “what about. i watch you wipe out your penguin foes for the next few rounds and then we can make breakfast together,” you suggest instead, your mind thinking far beyond your apparently lousy deck of cards. 

“fine by me,” wonwoo shrugged, adjusting himself comfortably to his seat. you silently admire him from where you are, noticing how notably meticulous he was being when he’s focused. wonwoo’s eyes captures yours but gives you a puzzled look. “are you not gonna come over here?” he quietly asks. 

the simple question makes your head drop, feeling embarrassed as you try hard not to show him how flustered he made you. regardless, your legs move without you having to think it over. and instead of sitting on the small space that he left for you on his chair, you move his arm aside to face him before straddling your legs and sitting on his lap. 

wonwoo, completely unfazed, takes his free arm not holding his mouse and tugs you in closer to his chest so you can lay your head on his shoulder. for the remainder of your morning, your eyes slowly start to droop to the sound of penguin screams and victory. 

[easily-infatuated23]

Undercover- Part Three (Healer!Draco Malfoy x Reader)

Prologue, Part One, Part Two , Part Three, Part Four, Part Five

a/n: ok i kinda love where this is going and i’ve decided that the Reader is a spy lol comment if you would like to be added on the tag list for this series! also sorry if this is a cliff hanger 

pairing: Healer! Draco x Spy! (?) Reader

word count: 2.1k

warning: mentions of trauma and death

summary: During her stay at Malfoy Manor, Reader finds some evidence that will help figure out who had been ordering the killings of muggle-born witches and wizards but will Draco trust her?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This assignment had really taken a strange turn. Not only had I been imbedded with Death Eaters, but I had been stabbed and was now hiding in Malfoy Manor. Draco was much kinder and happier than the last time I saw him. Of course, I had heard the stories of this newer and better Draco, but witnessing it first hand was something else. No matter how many times I told him I had to leave to keep him safe, he would just assure me that the protective charms he placed around the house would keep us safe. I remained on edge. After all, safety is a matter of perspective. I had a feeling part of the reason he was against me leaving was not just for my safety, but I suspected he was glad to have the company. It truly was a large house. A large and empty house for just one person. With his father in Azkaban and his mother taking a much needed vacation abroad, he was the most alone he had probably ever been…physically that is. After my slip up in revealing the name of the organization after me, I tried to speak about the subject as little as I could. All I wanted was to be relieved of the burden I was carrying but, I knew if I did, Draco Malfoy would surely be killed. So, I continued to bear the burden of knowledge as Draco began healing me again.

Draco had lead me to his kitchen and motioned for me to hop up on to the counter. He had attempted to assist me but I was stubborn and struggled through the process myself. He opened his medical bag and pulled out a needle and suture thread. He rolled up his sleeves as he went to wipe some disinfectant on my side before turning to thread the needle “How did you figure out who I was?” I asked my Healer on the second day of my stay. “Well, the appearance change was pretty hard to see through but once those Death Eaters said your name at St. Mungo’s I remembered you”. “Remembered me?” I questioned. “I don’t think we spoke once while at Hogwarts and I have been off the grid pretty much since I finished there. Ouch! That hurts.” I said, wincing as he tended to my side. “Stop fussing, it’s only a few stitches. And if you hadn’t apparated I wouldn’t have to give you stitches you know” he replied, slightly laughing at my inability to stand the pain, especially after I had refused to let him use a pain relieving potion on me. I was worried I’d say something I would regret later. Whether I was worried about spilling something about my assignment or something else was still up for debate.

“You are avoiding my question” I said matter-a-factly. He sighed. “You knew me back then, I always noticed the pretty girls” he said with a slight blush. “That’s just a cop out answer, I don’t believe you” I replied, not making eye contact so that he couldn’t see the slight smile on my face. He shrugged his shoulders and stood up. “Believe what you’d like”.

He walked over to the sink and washed his hands. I jumped off the counter. “Fucking hell” I muttered. He laughed again. “You should take it easy for at least two weeks” he said. I groaned but then, remembered something. My heart sank a little as I remembered where I was and the history of this house. “Hey look I am gonna ask you a question that’s gonna make you really uncomfortable so I apologize in advance. And, please know I am only asking because I feel like I have to.” He turned to face me, a worried look washed over his face. “Do you have a record of all You-Know-Who’s followers? There were rumors about a book. I know he used this place as a headquarters during the second war and I am desperate for any lead on…..well a lead” I said, holding in my reasons. He grimaced slightly. “Unfortunately for me, yes but I guess that’s fortunate for you” he replied harshly. I felt guilty for bringing up the awful things in his past like this but I truly felt I had no choice. And besides, if this caused him to feel some apprehension towards me that might be beneficial in stopping his relentless questions.

He walked past me and began down a long hallway. I followed close behind him. He took a sharp left turn and continued down a spiral staircase that seemed as if it went on for ages. As he lead me down, neither of us spoke a word. When we finally reached the bottom, it felt like an entirely different place. This couldn’t possibly be the basement of the surprisingly homey manor I had just been inside. Could it? As we exited the staircase, we stood facing a large green door. The green paint on the door was faded, as if the door was centuries old but there was a large golden key hole shining on the front, underneath an equally shining golden door knob. The two looked as if they’d been installed recently.

“Mother and I tried to destroy it but nothing we did worked. There is some serious dark magic in this book. We locked it down here to make sure it wouldn’t fall into the wrong hands.” He turned towards me, his face only inches from mine. If he hadn’t done this in such a menacing way, I might have swooned a little but now was not the right time for that. “I hope I am not putting it in the wrong hands now” he said. I shook my head. It had just occurred to me, there was a possibility that he didn’t believe my story. I knew it was true and the thugs after me were good evidence in my favor, but it all could have been a plant. Thats why he was asking so many questions. Maybe I would have to tell him after all. He turned back around to face the door. He reached into his shirt and pulled out a small golden key on a string. Had he been wearing the necklace the whole time? I wondered why I hadn’t noticed. He took off the necklace and put the key into the hole. He took a deep breath and unlocked the door.

Once the door opened he stepped aside, allowing me to look inside the small room that had been revealed. The inside was dark and gave off a feeling of uncertainty and slight panic. There were only two things residing in the small room; a podium and a large black leather bound book. I started to walk in when Draco put his arm across the entrance and stopped me. “Prepare yourself. Once you go in and open it, you will never feel the same again. The book can have an effect almost like a Dementor” he said. “What exactly is the book?” I asked. “The Binding of the Death Eaters” he said with a shiver. “Before someone could receive the Dark Mark and be fully inducted as a Death Eater, they would have to sign their name. It binds your fate to the Dark Lord” he said. The way he stared at the book could only be described as a raging and powerful fury. I knew that Draco Malfoy had been a Death Eater but I had no idea that even after the Dark Lord had been killed, he still had so much power of Draco’s life. “I am really sorry” I began. “I know that sorry means nothing especially since I have forced you to come down here but I truly am. I’m also sorry that you never got to chose not to sign.” He looked at me. The fury was still spinning in his eyes but with every moment it lessened. He said nothing but simply nodded. I entered the room and, with a deep breath, opened the book. I titled my head to one side and turned to Draco. “It’s blank” I said. He looked almost relieved. “The names are only revealed to someone who has the Dark Mark” he said. “So you were testing me and my story” I said. He nodded. He then turned side ways and gestured with his left arm for me to exit the room. “This might freak you out so you might want to leave now” I said, pulling my wand from my jacket pocket. “Obscure Appareat Vestigium” I whispered, pointing my wand at my left forearm. The black skull appeared on my arm and a snake slithered out of its mouth. Draco stepped back with a horrified expression on his face. “It’s not a real Dark Mark and it’s not permanent” I said quickly. “The task force I’m apart of developed this charm for undercover work”. Draco looked me in the eyes, turned, and hurried up the staircase.

Now I’d done it. Just as he was going to fully trust me, I broke his trust. The look he gave me made me feel sick. Just another horrified face to add to the growing list that haunted my nightmares. I sighed deeply then turned my attention back to the book. I flipped through the pages. I saw plenty of names I recognized, all ex-Death Eaters who had wound up in Azkaban or served lighter sentences and some were names of people who were killed in the Battle of Hogwarts. I even saw Draco’s name. His signature was much shakier than most of the other names. He had been so young. The more I looked I realized something was missing. I started to realize an option that I had never considered. It made the sick feeling in my stomach lurch again but before I could fully register the awful feeling, I saw a name I recognized. This was a name I had never seen associated in this way with the Dark Lord. Suddenly, things started to make more sense. My heart was practically beating out of my chest.

I jumped out of the room and shut the door. Draco had left the key hanging on the door knob which I grasped and used to lock the door. That book had just become very important evidence in a trial no one knew was beginning. I spoke the Dark Mark removing incantation and raced back up the spiral stair case. When I got to the top I was out of breath. I turned right and made my way back into the kitchen. Draco was sitting at the kitchen table. He looked dazed and upset. “I can give you an explanation now” I said breathlessly, tossing him the key. He looked up at me suddenly, just barely catching the key. I had clearly startled him. “I know who is behind the Dark Saints and right now you may be the only chance there is that this will all stop.” He stood up. “What are you talking about? Stop what? You being chased?” He was clearly frustrated. “You have every right to be frustrated with me and I promise I will explain everything but first I need to get one more piece of information.” I said. “And what’s that?” he retorted, crossing his arms. “Do you know where I can get the last…let’s say year of Daily Prophet obituary sections?” He looked at me, clearly feeling very puzzled. “I mean…” he started, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. “I guess they did start offering a digital option two years ago-” “Perfect!” I said, cutting him off. I raced back up the stairs to his bedroom where I remembered seeing a computer. “Wait! What are you doing?” he called after me.

When I entered his room I grabbed a piece of paper and a pen. I sat down at the computer and began furiously scanning through the obituary pages. He entered the room moments after me and stood over my shoulder, curiously watching my frantic scribbles. Once I had finished I slumped back in the chair for a moment. I hadn’t noticed when I started crying but once I did, the tears flowed at a hotter temperature and more quickly down my cheeks than they ever had before. I finally turned to face him. “There’s at least twenty of them” I said, trying to hold my voice steady. “What does that mean?” Draco asked. He understood that I meant twenty people had died but he wanted to know how that was important in my explanation. I slowly stood only to suddenly become so dizzy my balance faltered. “Y/N? Are you ok you’ve gone very pale”. I started to nod but then shook my head then everything went black.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

taglist!:

@pointlesscoconut @bi-andready-tocry

[capricornus-rex]

A Shadow of What You Used to Be (8)

Chapter 8: Ensnared | Cal Kestis x Irele Skywalker

Summary: There is another! Years after young Anakin Skywalker departed Tatooine, his mother Shmi delivers a second child—this time, a daughter. Whilst the circumstance of the girl’s birth remains unexplained, Irele Skywalker has yet to choose the true path between those laid out for her.

Tags: Fem! OC, Irele Skywalker, Force-sensitive! OC, Anakin’s Younger Sister, Skywalker! OC, Darth Vader’s Secret Apprentice, Long-lost Sibling

A/N: Hi guys, I’m happy that you’re enjoying the story so far! But I have to let you know that I’ll be in a quick pause from publishing chapters for a while because I have to drop off my laptop in the shop again to have my new SSD put in (because I don’t know how to do it myself). They said it might take five working days, but that will still depend on my place in line. So this might be the last chapter for now, but I hope I get this baby back soon!

Requesting to be tagged: @heavenly1927​

Also in AO3

Chapters: Prelude – 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 – 6 | Previous: Part 7 | Next: Part 9 | Masterlist

9 of ?

“Hey, Irele, I got a job for us!” the Twi’lek boy, Frelik, panted as he supported himself on the arch of their door, as if he came sprinting from the town to their house in the salt flats.

“For who? Where? When!?” Irele bombarded back, and luckily Frelik answered all questions.

Irele looked over his shoulder, he had reached her house using the sand skimmer that all five of them worked together on. She told them to wait, hurried back inside, jumping to the floor from the first landing of the stairs to the rotunda and sprinted to her bedroom. She was all over the place—flashing from one side of the room to the other, swiping her pack with her tools and her scarf lying in different spots.

“I’m going out!” she announced in a voice loud enough for Owen and Beru to hear, wherever they were, and there was no time for either husband or wife to respond. They just heard the door whiz open and then shut.

Another wrangling job with her friends. It was a normal day, but it was something she enjoyed.

They’ve traveled about ten miles east of Mos Espa. The skimmer did its job, it resembles perhaps a smaller rendition of the complementary hovercraft that comes with a sail barge. Through his binoculars, Frelik spotted a cluster of brown speckles in the sand—a Bantha herd, he had found. Their quarry.

“Drello, full speed ahead!” cried out the tan-skinned Twi’lek to the human male. The boy cranked the lever of the motor and they pulled forward.

They stopped their skimmer in a safe distance, atop a small hill that overlooks the Banthas gathered around a watering hole—a rare sight in this planet. After peering through the lens, Frelik handed the binoculars to no one in particular, Irele took it out of his hands.

“Those aren’t domesticated, alright,” she panned slightly to her right. “We can slide our way down there. We’ll have enough cover so they won’t be startled by us.”

Before they got themselves on the move, Irele scanned the area for any signs of Tusken Raiders. It was not uncommon to have a run-in with Tuskens who were also trying to wrangle up mounts for their numbers; should that happen, the most logical—and only—move is to try your luck for another herd. A group of adult Tuskens versus a small band of children are in no good odds whatsoever.

“We’re clear. We’re the only ones here,” she reassured then returned the binoculars to Frelik. They sprinted back to the skimmer to retrieve their sleds and boards.

“I’m gonna ruin your win streak today, Irele!” prided Drello.

She clapped back after pulling her goggles down and smirked, “We’ll see about that!”

The children ran to the edge of the slope, the Twi’lek siblings shared a sled, Heeda—the other human female besides Irele—had her own sled that can only fit her. Golden blonde and sandy brown tinted the girl’s hair, and a bright-eyed face that proves her to be the youngest of the group, being only a year behind Irele.

A trail of sand plumed as they zipped down. It was a collective skill for them to resist squealing and cheering in delight as they slide down a two- to three-mile long sand slide. Irele and Drello surfed with a quiet confidence in the middle of this friendly competition between the two of them; sweving and leaving snake-trails along the sand, as one overtook the other.

Show off! Said each teenager in their heads, referring to the other.

Only a few meters remain before the group lands on flat grounds. They hopped out of their rides and hurried behind the rocks.

“I thought you were gonna beat my streak, Drello?” jeered Irele.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever!” the boy chide, and the girl snickered under her breath.

Another cautionary look through the lens before they approach the herd and then they scrambled to their positions. For every job they took together, there was always a harmony amongst them, a testament to their three to four years of friendship forged by their odd job life.

As always, Irele was in charge of the actual wrangling—along with Drello and Frelik. The two other girls’ jobs were to tranquilize the animals should any of them escape or refuse to be mounted.

The three vaulted over the rocks, leaving Heeda and Venee—Frelik’s sister—behind. Producing ropes out of their packs as they prowled quietly in the Banthas’ blind spots. Given the beast’s width, the children are practically invisible if they stay directly behind them. They became slower when they crept slower, the ropes primed into a lasso. In all their years in practice of this dangerous trade, they’ve mastered how to cleanly hoop the rope around the Bantha’s thick, spiraling horns.

A solid tug indicated that their ropes have rung around the base of the horns, they jumped onto the giants’ backs. Drello’s Bantha bucked its massive head, attempting to wriggle the rope off. Unfortunately, the boy had caught perhaps a more aggressive one than the rest of the herd; and to add insult to injury, his ropes have tangled around his leg and a few strands of the Bantha’s fur caught along with it.

“Drello, hold on!”

“Irele!” Drello yelped. “HELP!”

“Stay still!”

Seeing the trouble from their post, Heeda and Venee primed their dart guns.

“Wait for my signal, Heeda,” Venee warned. Fives seconds when they saw a clear shot, “Now!”

Two darts charged with a strong dosage of tranquilizer pierced their way through the Bantha’s curtain of fur and thick hide. The girth of the needle was thick enough to penetrate the animal’s skin. Drello’s Bantha seemed to have slowed down and the boy finally won some control over the beast.

“Troublemaker, are ya?! I’ll sell you to the first butcher I see in town!” grumbled a vexed Drello.

“Aw come on, don’t be like that!”

“What? He was the one who tried to buck me off while my leg’s caught in the rope,”

“Maybe he doesn’t like you,” Frelik suggested jokingly and the rest of the children giggled in agreement.

For the Banthas who didn’t put up much of a fight and were tamer, Irele suggested strapping their skimmer to the beasts.

“Since they got ropes around their horns anyway, we can just tie the other end on the winch!” she suggested, and everyone loved the fun idea.

There were no objections from her friends. In fact, they were all in on it! Heeda and Venee wanted to the ride bareback on the Bantha while the other three would sit in the skimmer. All five teenagers giggled in excitement and delight as their idea is about to be put into play, until Irele’s smile vanished, she flinched when she felt a needle prick the back of her shoulder.

“This is PG-957, target has been found and marked.” a sinister, muffled voice spoke through his comlink gauntlet.

No one noticed the tiny dart that had landed in her shoulder, but she easily swatted it off like it was some kind of debris. Little did she know that the tiny bullet that hit her packed such a punch. In her easterly side, she saw two distant figures calling out to her. The first figure waved a piece of cloth to get her attention, the second cupped their mouth with their hands to amplify their voice.

Irele!! Come quick!

“Hey, Irele, what’s wrong?” Frelik asked as he noticed his friend has suddenly gotten quiet.

“Smoke?” she muttered under her breath.

She squinted her eyes, sheltered her head with her scarf and confirmed that a pillar of smoke was in the distance as the Banthas pulled their skimmer.

“Do you see that?” she asked to no one in particular.

“See what?”

“That! That column of smoke over there!”

Frelik and Drello exchanged confused glances, and then back to Irele who had her back turned to them.

She squinted again, the two figures appeared to have gotten closer to where they are, and she could hear their voices.

IRELE, HURRY, IT’S YOUR FAMILY!!

“My home!” she bursts.

“Whoa, hey, Irele, where are you going!?” Drello tried to stop her by grabbing her sleeve but she slipped away.

Irele literally jumped out of a moving skimmer, taking her things with her as well.

“Irele, hey! Come back!” Heeda screeched.

“Where is she going!?” Venee exclaimed.

“There’s nothing over there!” Frelik insisted to his friend as he—along with his companions—watched her sprint into the distant nothingness.

Irele sprinted as fast as she could, those two figures materialized into a pair of older human males. Her friends literally lost her in the desert just when they were about to make their way back to Mos Espa, where they client awaits.

“I can’t see her anymore! Frelik, can you!?”

The Twi’lek growled in frustration, “No, she went straight into the storm!”

“Is she crazy!?” his sister protested.

“We have to go after her!” Heedra insisted.

“We’re not equipped for a sandstorm, Heeda, we can’t turn around. We have to get back to town and get shelter!” Drello argued.

They have no choice. They continued in their original path but they wordlessly promised that they’d come back for her.

Irele followed the direction of the smoke, knowing that it’s coming from the homestead. The adrenaline made her forget the aching of her legs, exhausted from running. She cared not if her friends didn’t believe her, her vision narrowed to the direction of her house. She didn’t even notice that the two males she followed were out of her sight.

The tower of black smoke got bigger as she closed the distance further. At the top of her parched lungs, she cried out for her family.

“OWEN!! BERU!!” she screeched.

She caught sight of her homestead in flames—or so she thinks—the dirty white dome of her house was charred black, a gaping hole put into the front door, the machines in their rotunda had been blown up, and tattered rags scattered across the front of the house.

“No…” she gasped. “NO!! OWEN! BERU! WHERE ARE YOU!?”

She repeated these three names, but an answer did not come.

Irele… a voice called to her.

“Owen!?”

Irele… do not fight it. It instructed her. It was a deep, ominous voice, and after the last word, a sharp robotic breath followed.

She recognizes that voice anywhere. She’s heard it in her nightmares, during the nights where she cannot sleep.

“No… No… Bring them back!” she cried.

She did not know it was an illusion. The sniper who had planted the needle into her flesh had followed the girl aimlessly going into an incoming sandstorm.

Poor Irele spun around in a panic, thinking that she was standing in the premises of her home, when in fact that she was standing in the first few inches of the storm. It was all a blur in her eyes, but she persisted looking for her family. The sniper, a trooper with a unique black armor, watched the poor girl spin until she got dizzy and weak.

Meanwhile, Darth Vader remained unmoving in his meditation chamber, dead center in the black, cold floor. He could hear Irele’s cries, her screaming of Owen and Beru’s names, and he could feel the hot, prickling wind that swats her face. The leather of his gloves squeaked as he tightened his already-closed fists.

Irele…

“No…” she exhaled one last time. “Bring them… back…”

“Target incapacitated. Requesting transport.” The trooper reported and was answered by an incoming transport craft to retrieve the trooper and a knocked out Irele.

–

The storm had eventually died down, but the teenagers’ anxiety did not.

Once they’ve gotten rid of the Banthas, they instantly hopped back on their skimmer and retraced their steps to the location where they lost Irele.

The sandstorm had erased her tracks, but they followed the direction where she aimlessly ran to.

Frelik heavily relied on his binoculars to find any sign of Irele. They had gotten far enough from the path they took when the Banthas pulled their skimmer. Drello may not be the most skilled wrangler, but he was a good tracker.

“We were here when she started talking funny, saying that she sees smoke when there’s nothing at all,” Drello pointed out the subtle indents of their skimmer and the Banthas’ hooves. He then angled his body to his easterly side, mimicking Irele’s position before she ran off. “And then she ran off there.”

“It’s strange,” Frelik added. “I heard her say the word ‘Home’ before she ran… but her house is in that direction.”

“Maybe the heat got to her?” Heeda theorized.

Frelik shook his head, “We didn’t even stay out that long, Heeda.”

“Come on, talking will take us nowhere!” Venee grunted. “Drello, what can you take from here?”

“We go to that direction,”

The skimmer hovered in a steady, leisurely pace; they were careful not to miss anything. The wind picked up as they got farther, a minor aftermath of the sandstorm in the middle of its calm; on his right, Frelik spotted something fluttering in the distance.

“Look! Drello turn us over there,”

Drello went straight ahead for that fluttering brown shape in the wind. Heeda picked it up and they all gathered around it.

“This is Irele’s scarf,” Venee mumbled pessimistically

“Then she must be close!” Heeda’s hopefulness contrasted the Twi’lek girl’s mood.

With only her lost scarf as a clue, it took the group all day trying to find her. The sunset beckoned them to stop. It never crossed their mind that they have to tell this to Owen and Beru, and they were scrambling over on what to tell them, how to say and explain it all, and that they’ll witness firsthand the wrath of Owen Lars—as well as his grief.

Reluctant, they drove their skimmer to the Lars homestead, with only a piece of Irele to bring home to her family. Up to now, not one of them have decided who will speak to Owen—neither do they have the courage to walk up to the front door.

They agreed that they go together, however, they hesitate to come an inch closer.

Eventually, Owen appeared out of the door.

“Oh, good thing you kids are back before dark.”

Silence from the children. Drello clutched onto Irele’s scarf so hard that it creased.

Owen’s eyes shifted left to right, counting in his mind, and it hit him.

“Where’s Irele?”

The teenagers flinched—shoulders flinched, sweaty fists clenched tighter, and knees were knocking.

Owen repeated the question until he spotted the scarf crumpled up into a ball.

“That’s Irele’s,” he pointed weakly at it. “Where is she!?”

“We… We’re sorry, but we lost her…”

“Lost her? Lost her!? Lost her how?!”

The raising of Owen’s voice attracted Beru—carrying Luke—to go outside. She finds Irele’s group being confronted by her husband.

“Owen, what’s going on here?”

“Irele didn’t come with them.”

“What?!” Beru gasped, her brown eyes widened.

Venee stepped forward, “We were on our way back, honest! But she started acting strange. She looked distraught about your house, she said she spotted smoke coming from here but…”

“What smoke? We were perfectly fine here all day!” Owen interrupted.

The Twi’lek girl continued, alternately looking to her friends. They vouched her every word with nervous yet truthful nods.

“That’s the thing, sir. What’s worse is… she ran into an incoming sandstorm. That’s when we lost her.”

Heeda stepped in Venee’s side, “It’s true what Venee said. We tried to look for her when the storm passed, honest! We just didn’t want to stay until dark because of the Tuskens.”

“We’re sorry,” Frelik said sadly and with a misplaced guilt. “But this is what we can only find of her.”

Drello unfurled the scarf and held it in both hands, presenting it to Irele’s brother. The young boy stepped forward to hand it over to the man who was hesitant to take it from his hands. Unable to accept that this was a rhyme to the fate of his late stepmother.

“No…” Owen’s rage melted into grief and distress. His heart wrenched. “Oh no…”

“Owen…”

Luke tugged the collar of Beru’s jacket and quietly asked, “Aunt Beru, where’s Irele?”

Unable to grasp how Irele’s friends had lost her, neither can Beru explain it to her nephew-in-law.

“Irele’s… Irele won’t be home for a while, dear.”

“Why?”

At a loss, Beru gave up looking for answers, there were no right ones after all.

“I don’t know, darling, I don’t know…”

As soon as Irele’s scarf came to Owen’s hands, he did not care anymore who would see him break down to tears. His knees melted, his back arched as he embraced a remnant of his dear sister—his remaining closest kin next to Luke—as he was fueled by the burning determination to find her.

Even if it meant he will have to repeat his father’s steps in finding Shmi all those years ago, then he would do the same for Irele. But for this night, the dunes heard his sobs and buried them underneath each and every grain of sand.

The next few days seemed desperate and hopeless. Owen had called up every men who were willing to come with him in search of Irele, her friends joined in as well. By the day, their numbers thinned out—majority giving up on the search as they could not find any other relevant leads except the scarf and the girl’s last known position.

“Give it a rest, Owen! The girl’s probably lost, or worse, fallen into a Sarlacc pit while in a heatstroke daze.”

“DON’T YOU DARE SAY THAT ABOUT MY SISTER!” Owen swung with a finger pointed at the man who claimed such an assumption.

Knowing that this was not worth his time and energy anymore, the scout gave up and turned tail. Owen originally rounded up at least fifty men scattered across the outskirts of the major towns, even as far as the Dune Sea; though little by little, they all gave up on the search as well as Owen himself. Some with a heart apologized and wished him luck in finding the teenage girl.

“Oh, Irele…” Owen huffed, exhausted. “Where are you…?”

He was forced to stop the search just a few hours before sunset. He sent her friends home earlier. Upon returning to the house, he watched as Beru quickly walked out of the kitchen with a hopeful face—only for that hopefulness to fade away when she saw that her husband arrived alone.

She awkwardly dismissed herself and returned to the kitchen. Leaving Luke playing with a toy cruiser and shuttle on the table. Owen sat across him, the boy continued playing and reentered the little world he’s created with his ships, accompanied by little scaled figurines carved out of painted wood.

And from that day forward, something in Owen changed. In the following years, he would have grown old and sterner especially towards the remaining youngest family member—his nephew. Never mind if Luke would resent Owen’s ways in disciplining him or keeping him grounded, if it meant keeping him safe and preventing the same fate to happen to the boy, then he would do it.

He cannot afford to lose another part of his family.

[sapphiretsuki]

Surprise! Gift Time!

This is something I wrote while sitting next to the intended receiver. I took incredible joy in answering her questions about what I was writing with a smug “None of your business” when it was in fact very much her business. I’m kinda proud of this beast. I got a little out of control with the word count but whatevers clever right? So, without further ado, @channiesmixtape​ , this is a gift for you. I’m SO proud of the leaps and bounds you make with your writing every day and with your undying belief that I’m some sort of incredible writer. It means so much to me. (Please don’t hate me if I didn’t do your baby justice, I TIRED!) It’s untitled as of this very second, because I’m just not witty enough at this hour, but I’ll add one later when the inspiration returns.

Pairing: Bang Chan x Y/N (neighbors, enemies to lovers)

Word count: 6511 (I swear I didn’t mean to!)

Smut, masturbation, oral (m/f), unprotected sex, talk of condoms, wine, comedy, sass. If I forgot anything particularly bothersome, lemme know and I’ll fix it. Cr. to google for the lovely pic also.

It had been such a bad day all you wanted to do was go home and curl up with some wine and pet your cat and not emerge from your comfort cocoon for days if you could help it. Your boss was a total thunder cunt. People apparently lacked any form of common sense. Basic decency was no where to be found from anyone at all today. You missed a package because the tracking info was incorrect, so now you were going to have to squeeze that into your Monday somehow. Great. Thank fuck it was Friday.

You unlocked the door to your apartment and chucked the keys in the general direction of the kitchen as you were slipping your black pumps off. Your cat, Whispurr, was doing his daily dance around your ankles now that you were home and could tend to his kingly nature. Oh you loved that little butthole. Even though he threw up on the floor and started your days spiral into the land of what in the actual fuck when you stepped in it. He was still basically all you had and asshole or not he was there for you in his weird catty way. "Hey buddy, I'll get you some food in just a sec. Lemme just slip out of these terrible hose and I'll be right back." You leaned down and gave him a little scratch under his chin for good measure before nodding and heading to your room.

Once in your room you wasted no time at all peeling the awful pantyhose from your legs. Somebody had decided that full on business attire was a must today for the outings to meet with clientele and so you were forced to leave the comfort of your pants and blazer for something 'more feminine' as your boss had put it. She had absolutely no idea and it killed you every time she opened her mouth. The amount of time you spent covering for her and cleaning up behind her with clients all day since she'd decided to leave the office and 'tag along' to 'express her thanks' was exhausting. In the midst of peeling off the hose you decided that a nice scalding shower would be the start of your fix-it list for the evening. You finished undressing and threw a robe on before tiptoeing back to the kitchen.

Cat and then clean. That was absolutely the correct order, because your cat would most certainly do something heinous in retaliation if you neglected to feed him in a timely manner. You're sure his level of sass would put actual royalty to shame. He showed up on your balcony one night a few years ago as a drowned puff that you were both unsure how he got there or if he was going to make it. A few vet visits and some paycheck to paycheck living for a bit and here he was. A permanent resident. The freeloading roommate as it were. You put his food in his bowl and added a little extra something just because. You had a feeling he was gonna need some buttering up to be your cuddle buddy while you downed wine and watched terrible Netflix.

You traipsed down the hallway and made your way into the bathroom, neglecting to grab anything to change into since you figured the robe was more than enough for a session on the couch with the remote and a glass. You cranked the shower to scalding and decided you were going to unwind in the tub after you scrubbed off. Bless the water heaters in your complex, you paid enough for the damn utilities, that knob also got turned to hot and you tossed in a bomb and some dry flower stuff your friend swore by. It smelled good and thats really all your tired body cared about in that moment. After stepping into the shower and relishing in the heat meant to melt the skin off lesser mortals, you lathered up your loofah and scrubbed like there was a fire in the building and you needed to get out. The same speed was applied to your hair, which left you free and clear to melt into the tub and not move until the water was cold if you chose.

Feeling moderately better than you did when you walked in the door, you decided music was an excellent companion for a good soak and set about cranking the volume on your phone and hitting the shuffle button before laying it on the counter. The tenor voice of the man singing that began pouring out of the phone speaker immediately had you feeling the pangs of need and you squeezed your legs together as you pursed your lips in thought. It had been quite some time since you'd had a casual lay. Partly because your last friend with benefits turned into some sort of possessive psycho and partly because your newish neighbor was insufferable and somehow always managed to ruin your recent date situations. You were convinced the universe had conspired against you and the root of it was your stupid and ridiculously hot neighbor, Christopher. He hated when you called him that and it served him right.

Resigning yourself to the fact that you were just going to have to be your own relief tonight, you sunk into the tub and let the silky water wash over your tired and needy body. One song melted into another and you couldn't resist the urge to reach down and take care of your sudden desire. You knew if you let it be you'd just be miserable later and the whole mission this evening was following the theme of fix it. Not one to be anything less than straightforward, you began to slip your fingers into your doubly slick folds and stroked a little before you felt entirely too impatient to drag the process out. You hooked your fingers into your warm channel and began to stroke and scissor your fingers while your thumb pressed firm circles on your clit. You hoped the music and sloshing sounds from the water were enough to cover the sounds of what it was you were doing since the walls weren't the greatest in the bathroom area in terms of thickness. Shared plumbing and all that. You were so close to completion, right on the precipice of sweet release when you heard a loud crash in your apartment the general direction of your living room.

You quickly wrap a towel around your body and then make your way as swiftly to the front of your apartment as wet feet would allow. You skipped flipping lights on in favor of the element of surprise. Heart just about thumping out of your chest, you round the corner and turn on a single light, but don't see anything apparently out of place. It dawns on you at that moment that you are still essentially dripping wet and flew to the scene of some nonexistent crime practically naked. What if someone had been standing there waiting? You heart rate spikes at the thought and you felt anxious again. So much for your relaxing bath. Deciding you'd investigate the cause of the sound more closely after you felt more secure, you turned to make your way back down the hallway to put some clothes on, there was no way you were just going to be lounging in only a robe after that ordeal. The idea crossed your mind that perhaps you should double check the lock on the door at the very least, and ever the indecisive individual, you turn again and head towards the door instead. As you near the door you hear something and stop dead in your tracks. It sounded like feet on the concrete and now your heart was ratcheting it's way into your throat.

Completely convinced now that someone had in fact been in your house, you began to hatch a wild plan. With a burst of courage that was probably completely unfounded, you grabbed a vase off the console table nearby and in a rush flung the door open with a shout. "Who the fuck are you and what were you doing in my home?!" You screeched as you made to throw the potentially deadly item at the perpetrator. Much to your dismay, you hadn't remembered your current state of mostly undress and as you went to throw the vase your towel decided it had had enough and fell. What happened next could only be something from a terrible comedy and as you attempted to snatch at the only barrier between you and semi public indecency you somehow got tangled up and not only failed to throw the vase you ended up on the floor sans towel and with your bare ass exposed to whoever was standing there, glass all around you.

"Woah sweetheart, woah!" You'd know that accent anywhere. Of all the people that could have been on the other side of your door, why him? Why the man that in equal measures infuriated you and was the star of many restless nights and wet dreams. Anger was at the forefront and as you scrambled to retrieve your cover you spat at him "Christopher you have less than five seconds to explain yourself, and for fucks sake quit gawking at me! What in the hell are you doing here? Were you in my apartment?"

"Slow down little lady, I was not in your apartment." He said while waving his hands in front of himself to signal that he wasn't a threat. Those same hands that you found your eyes fixated on on more than one occasion, including now. Shaking the thought away you asked "Then what the hell are you doing? And don't try to tell me you weren't outside my door, I heard you pacing." He had the decency to look a little sheepish at that, and while you secured the towel around yourself he said "Your lights were all off but I heard a loud crash and worried that something happened here." It made sense, but you were still angry. And embarrassed. Not only had he seen you completely naked,  he looked completely unbothered while you were still contemplating his long fingers and stupid beautiful face and body and damn it you were staring again. Of course he showed up in a pair of grey sweats that left you sweating yourself. And was he shirtless? Could this day get any worse? You just wanted to get to that bottle of wine and curl up into a ball and hope that the earth opened up and swallowed you whole. Shaking off the stupor once again you remembered your second problem, namely the glass that was now all around you from your valiant attempt at thief catching. You were going to have to ask for his help up.

Gritting your teeth you prepared yourself for the inevitable smug look you knew he was going to sport when you opened your mouth to ask him for something. "Christopher, would you mind helping me up, I'm kind of, uh, stuck here."  You knew it was coming, but nothing could ever prepare you for the damn dimple. Stupid attractive man. "Now sweetheart," he drawled, "Is that really any way to ask someone for help? And I believe I've told you many times to call me Chan."  Fine if he was going to be stubborn, you could also be stubborn. You looked up to him standing in your doorway and in the most saccharine voice you could muster, you cocked your head to the side and said "Channie, I really need help up. Can you help me please?" He audibly gulped and you counted that as two wins because finally the bastard was showing something other than a ridiculous level of cocky charm, and now he should have no qualms with helping you.

He took too long to move and you figured he was plotting again, so being the headstrong brat that you were you started to move yourself. As you were about to plant your palm on the ground next to you he suddenly snatched your arm with  warning, " That's dangerous, just let me help you foolish woman." It was your turn to flounder as the feeling of his palm wrapped around your slim arm felt like fire and suddenly there were no more smart comebacks because you felt breathless. In one swift motion he pulled you to your feet and and then swept you literally off your feet. He had you in a firemans hold and began to make his way into your apartment, carefully dodging the shards of glass. Was your heart going to catch a break tonight? What was with this turn of events. He must have noticed your shiver because he picked up the pace and set you down gently on the other side of the disaster zone. "Go put some clothes on you must be freezing, I'll sweep this up. Where do you keep your broom?"

You wanted to protest. You really wanted him far away because you were on fire and didn't think you could even begin to have a normal interaction in your current state without being a complete mess. Breathless is how you felt, and the only saving grace is that he thought you were cold, not terribly turned on. Hell, you were still trying to process the feel of being pressed against that body almost nude yourself. Instead fuckery appeared and logical words came out. Well you weren't stuttering at least. "It's in the kitchen in the closet. I really appreciate your help, I was going to have a glass of wine to take the edge off my bad day, would you like one also? As uh, thanks for your help?" You sounded meek and you wanted to kick yourself. All of the adrenaline was gone and you were left with a weird mixture of relief and panic for a completely different reason now. He must have misunderstood because all he said with his back to you, already on a mission to help you again, was "Y/N. Go put some clothes on." You must have sounded weak to him when you said okay because he turned and his features softened. "I'll still be here when you come out, it's okay now, you're safe."

You didn't feel safe though as you padded back to your room in search of clothes. You felt rattled and hot.Your own body was set to betray you. Did the air conditioner break or something? It was just your neighbor helping you out. Your gorgeous neighbor. With a voice that should have been relegated to hotlines. Neighbors were friendly, right? What were you expecting anyways, it's not like you guys were the nicest to each other regularly. That's right, he himself must revel in your pain since he constantly was the source of dates ending on your doorstep and never amounting to more. His timing was something else. You realized you'd been standing in the middle of your room for too long and moved to put clothes on. Digging through your drawers you grabbed a super lacy pair of panties along with some shorts and a large t-shirt. You weren't trying to impress anyone, but underwear should always be beautiful was your policy. there was nothing wrong with a little self indulgence.

Perhaps you could call it a new beginning of sorts with him tonight. The extension of an olive branch in the form of a friendly glass of wine should aid that. Yes, friendly. You needed to pull yourself together and get your head out of the gutter. It didn't matter how wet he made your panties since there was very obviously no way that was ever gonna go anywhere. Shaking all thoughts of risque situations away, you took a towel to your hair and gave it a quick rub down before grabbing your brush from the vanity and tackling your tangles. Feeling a little less hot and a little bit more brave you made your way back down the hallway toward the kitchen to assess the damage and test your newfound bravery with the man who starred in a lot of your fantasies. You weren't going there. Nope. Nuh-uh. Olive branches. That's what you would focus on.

You quietly approached the kitchen granting yourself one tiny moment to enjoy the view of Chan's back muscles as you saw him putting the broom back in the closet. He really should put a shirt on. "So, whats the damage?" You called out to get his attention. He spun on his heel and looked you up and down. You could swear you saw something in his eyes, but refusing to play into any delusions, you pressed onward, "everything okay in here? You didn't happen to see what the mysterious crash was all about did you?" He rubbed the back of his neck and dammit his abs, and that delicious v that trailed down into those wretched sweats he was wearing, and were you drooling? What the fuck. You quickly rubbed your mouth with the back of your hand and hoped he hadn't noticed. "Well a bit of bad news, sugar, your cat, quite charming little guy by the way, or maybe thats just his drunk showing?" He scratched his chin and made a face that reminded you of that stupid thinking emoji and you bit back a smile. "Well, your cat appears to have acquired a taste for the red, bit of a lush it seems. He either knocked your bottle down or it fell. Either way, he's been in the booze." Your eyes darted to where he was pointing and sure enough there was your little asshole sitting in the middle of the kitchen licking the purple off his white tipped paws. He had bits of purple around his mouth and was he swaying? "WHISPURR!" you shouted and the little jerk just gave you a look like he couldn't be bothered.

Totally frustrated now, you threw your arms in the air and let out a sound of pure exasperation. Chan must have found it funny because he let out a little chuckle before you shot him a glare that could freeze fire. "It is absolutely NOT funny. This day has been one bad thing on top of another and now my damn cat is even in on it. I was really looking forward to that damn glass of wine" You felt like you were genuinely on the verge of tears and Chan started to approach you. He put his hands on your shoulders and said, "Hey, hey. It'll be okay. I have an idea. While its probably not as nice as what your cat had a taste for, my little sister left a few bottles of wine over at my place the last time she was fighting with her boyfriend and took it upon herself to come crash there. How about I go grab one or two and we can watch something and you can forget all about your day?" You felt drained and could do nothing but nod. His body in proximity to yours was doing things to your sanity. Part of you thought this was a bad idea and you should just thank him and send him on his way, but there was another part of you that was excited at the prospect of spending some time with him without animosity involved. Hopefully the bastard put a shirt on before he came back.

You told him you'd just leave the door unlocked if he was going to be quick and set about making some popcorn. You were gonna coat it in butter and too bad if he didn't like it. If this night was going to be full of bad decisions the least you were going to allow yourself were the extra calories. You grabbed two glasses and the bowl of popcorn and set off for the living room to set up the streaming services while you awaited his return. After you got everything powered on you went to the linen closet to toss some fluffy blankets at the couches. As you made it back to the living room he had reappeared with a bottle in each hand. Much to your dismay he still lacked a shirt and now you began to wonder if you were going to be able to focus on whatever you decided to watch at all. Whatever, it's not like you were taking a test on the content. He had a bottle of red, and a bottle of white, so you took the white off his hands and headed to the kitchen. You threw the bottle in the fridge and grabbed the corkscrew before making your way back to the living room. You expertly popped the cork on the bottle and then turned to him and asked, "So any preference to what we watch? I realize I know very little about your likes." He seemed to get a kick out of that but answered anyway "Can we watch something action? I've kinda had a long day and don't want to fall asleep. Bonus points if it includes Chris Hemsworth, he's my mancrush." He threw a wink at you and that smile that made that cursed dimple pop and now you found yourself on autopilot and typing the franchise name into the search bar. Did he realize how dangerous his behavior was?

"Okay sit wherever, I threw tons of cushions and blankets and junk around, make yourself comfortable." He nodded and made to sit on the couch you were hoping he'd avoid. Like hell you were going to sit anywhere other than front and center though so your stubborn popped out again and as nonchalantly as you could, you plopped down next to him and covered your legs with one of the throw blankets you had laying around. Scooting your ass to the edge of the couch you leaned towards the coffee table and poured a glass for each of you. You turned to hand one to him and could have sworn he was staring at your ass. You disregarded the thought and raised your glass his direction to toast. "Thank you for all your help this evening." He raised his glass to meet yours and added on "It was really not a problem sugar." The way the word sugar rolled off his tongue. Sugah. You gulped and raised your cup. Clinking glasses you both took a swig and you snatched the remote up to hit play.

As the movie rolled you found yourself sneaking glances every so often, even though you swore that you were going to leave well enough alone. Maybe it was the wine finally letting the tension leave your body, but you didn't feel as on edge as you had and maybe thats where the bravery was coming from. Your best friend often told you you didn't think things through. You hadn't been paying attention to the movie and a loud blast made you jump and suddenly his attention was on you. Busted. "Baby girl, am I really so interesting? You've been looking at me an awful lot." And there was that smug look you were so accustomed to again. This man was so infuriating. It was your own fault though. As usual you couldn't leave well enough alone and found yourself in the spotlight. Self preservation attempted to kick in and you scoffed. "You're insane. Don't think so highly of yourself, I just wanted to make sure you weren't actually falling asleep since you said you were tired," you attempted feigning ignorance. "Well yeah, lets say I'm a little crazy. Sugar the fault is all your own though. I'm trying my very best to be a gentleman here and you're doing everything in your power to make that impossible."

Movie long forgotten you let your emotions get the better of you and out came the word vomit. "Look, I'm well aware that you hate me, but you don't get to come in here and be rude. I'm trying to patch whatever this THIS is between us," you say as you swing your hands between the two of you to convey the things words are failing to express. You continue, "Don't think that just because you're stupidly attractive with your stupid dimples and your stupid abs and your stupidly sexy voice that you can just oomf-" Suddenly his mouth was on yours swallowing the words you  were endlessly spewing and you froze as he wrapped his muscular arms around you body and pulled you closer. You gasped as you realized his mouth was actually on yours and he used the opportunity to deepen the kiss. Throwing all caution to the wind and keeping true to your typical do first ask later nature, you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him back with all the passion you could muster. Long held frustrations coming out, you explored his mouth like it was an oasis in the desert and you were a weary traveller seeking respite.

Breathing heavily you broke away from the kiss in need of oxygen and searched his face for any sign of regret. Instead you were smacked with such a look of lust that the air in the room felt heavy again and before you could screw it up by opening your mouth you decided to put it to better use. You climbed on top of him straddling his lap and kissed him again. This time he froze, but undeterred you felt around for his arm without breaking the kiss and raised his hand to your chest. You felt relief when he squeezed your breast and he gasped. "You're not wearing a bra," he panted out. "Of course you're not wearing a bra. Are you literally trying to kill me Y/N? I already told you I was trying to be a gentleman, and look at what you're doing to me. Baby girl I'm not going to be able to stop if this goes any further." You were suddenly aware of just how rock hard he was as he shifted in discomfort and his cock grazed your clit though the layers of clothes between you. "So don't." you said, "Don't stop Chan. Show me just what I'm supposedly doing to you." He growled and flipped you off his lap and was on top of you in an instant caging you in between those gorgeous arms of his. He leaned in and his hot breath on your ear made your already ruined underwear feel like a dam about to burst. He whispered in your ear, "Baby girl, I'm gonna fuck you until you can't walk tomorrow, but you're far too dressed for that right now." He nipped at you ear before moving to take your shirt off.

You were in awe of his rippling abs as he pulled himself upright when your face reappeared from the inside of the gigantic shirt. Brushing his bangs out of his face he leaned down and began pressing open mouthed kisses from you hipbone up your stomach and to the valley between your breasts. He enclosed his lips around one of your nipples, sucking fiercely, and began to rub the other between his thumb and forefinger. You felt your nipples tighten to the point that it was almost painful and began to squirm with need. He reached down and stilled you with a hand on your hip, "Ah ah, we'll get there sugar, but I' gonna take my sweet time. I'm supposed to be showing you right? Where's the fun if it's over too fast?" He hooked his fingers in the waistband of your tiny shorts and in one swift motion slid them down your legs. Taking a moment to appreciate you in nothing but a pair of sinfully sexy panties you could swear he growled again as he roughly pulled the crotch of them aside and slid those illegal fingers of his through the incredibly wet folds hidden within. "Look at how wet you are. What exactly has you so drenched Y/N? Hmmm?" He made to wipe his fingers off on his sweats but you snatched his wrist and brought the digits to your mouth. Slowly swirling your tongue around them, the taste of yourself foreign, you watched his eyes widen and his incredible smile appeared again. He peeled the panties off you and took another moment to appreciate your fully nude body. You suddenly felt exposed since he still had clothes on and you were completely naked. "It's not fair if I'm the only one naked Chan," you pouted.

He let out a lighthearted laugh and stood up to take his pants off. He was smirking at you when he looked your direction, you must have been staring but the anticipation was killing you at this point and you didn't care. "You still have too much on." you stated matter-of-factly. His boxer briefs were barely containing the tent and you were pretty sure you could see a wet spot on the front of them. He gave a shrug and went to remove them and his cock sprang free of the confines. Okay now you were definitely salivating. Was it okay to call a cock pretty? His was beautiful and you found yourself wanting to devour it whole. You're sure he picked up on your increased desire but you were completely uninhibited and shameless now and the words were out before you could think twice. "Can I taste you?" He moved to stand in front of you and you sat up greedy and impatient. You wrapped your hand around the base of it and took a moment to appreciate the large vein running up the underside. It reminded you of the veins in his hands and arms and you licked your lips before wrapping your mouth around the head and sucking down the length of it. You could see his hands clench into fists as you began to bob your head up and down and hollow your cheeks as you swallowed around the girth of him. There was drool running down your chin and he was so big you couldn't take all of him so you gripped what you couldn't and stroked in time with the motion of your head. You could hear him panting and feel the twitching and pulsing as you picked up the pace. He pulled away and your lips left his cock with a pop. "As fantastic as your mouth feels wrapped around my cock, I have some other things in mind babe, I wanna cum buried inside that sweet pussy of yours"

You clamped your legs together tighter as the thought of his dick confined inside you had you feeling like you were a faucet. You were sure there was a large puddle on your couch you were going to have to deal with later but you couldn't be bothered to care just yet. Standing, you grabbed his hand and proceeded to move down the hallway towards your room. Once you cleared the doorway you spun on your heel and on tiptoe pressed your mouth and body to his. You were in need of friction and figured the best way to facilitate that would be to ruffle his feathers a little. "Christopher, I thought you were going to fuck me until I couldn't walk. I'm not a very patient woman." Before you could run your mouth anymore he marched you backwards towards your bed and when the back of your knees hit the mattress he lightly shoved you and you fell backward. The fluffy comforter cushioned your fall and he was there immediately sucking bruises into your neck, his hands wildly exploring your body. He began to stroke your folds and inserted one finger and then another easily due to the overwhelming amount of fluids you were producing. He hooked his fingers and brushed that spongy spot inside that made you tremble. As he continued his assault on your neck and pussy you could feel the burning tension begin to build up in your abdomen and knew you were finally, finally close to cumming. The walls of your pussy were clamping around the rhythmic thrusts of his fingers and he also knew you were close. He abruptly pulled his fingers out and the sense of emptiness and you moaning in frustration. "Please oh my god, I'm so close, please please." you whined.

He dropped to his knees and wrenched your legs wide apart and before you could question anything at all mis mouth was on your clit and your first instinct was to clamp your legs around his head. He kept your legs spread wide and continued fucking you with his mouth. He flattened his tongue and licked a few long stripes up your pussy "I'm going to let go of your legs, I need you to be a good girl and not thrash okay?" You were so desperate for release you would have agreed to anything. "I'm not hearing yes sugar, can you do that for me?" You mustered up your voice and choked out, "Y-yes Channie," and that was all it took. He wrapped his lips around your clit and began sucking on it again while simultaneously ramming his fingers back in your dripping channel. The tension was back and you were trembling from trying to keep your legs spread. Your orgasm washed over you in waves of white hot pleasure and you came all over his tongue and fingers. He worked you through it and when the overstimulation became too much you couldn't stay splayed out any longer and let your legs fall. He pulled back with a smirk and pressed a kiss to your temple before kissing you on the mouth. You really thought you could learn to love the taste of yourself if it came from a mind blowing orgasm like that every time.

"Do you have any condoms baby girl? I'd hate to have to go next door." he asked. Your head lolled to the side, still drunk off your post orgasm high and you said, "In the drawer beside the bed, theres a brand new box. I uh, haven't gotten to use any of them. I'm also clean and on the pill." He smirked at this and you were more alert than a moment ago as you wondered what that look was about. "I know," he said cockily. "I've seen how many dates left you wanting. Pathetic excuses and all that. I've also heard you take care of yourself in the bathroom Y/N. If you've wanted me for as long as you've been using me to get off, all you had to do was say so."

You were suddenly very aware of what had been going on and didn't know whether to feel angry or embarrassed or to just take what you were finally being gifted. You decided all three were appropriate. "You little shit! You sabotaged my dates on purpose! I knew your timing every. single. time. was just too coincidental! And so what if I used you to get off?! I can throw your words back at you, if you've wanted me for that damn long how come you never said anything?" He looked like he hadn't expected your outburst, but it was going to take more than a mind blowing orgasm to make you stupid enough to not address the elephant that was now sitting in the room. "You're you. That's what. You're so funny and attractive and sassy. So sassy. It's not like you've ever given me any reason to think you actually liked me. I finally figured you out a little better tonight though, your rough exterior is definitely hiding something incredibly sweet. You don't have to be embarrassed, or hide yourself from me. I'd already fallen your your stubborn ass a long time ago."

You couldn't believe what you were hearing. How was this even possible? You were both idiots. Total fools. "You stupid man." You said and he looked like you'd kicked him. "No, no, you're not stupid. We're stupid," you sighed, "if we both weren't so stupid we could have been not dancing around each other a long time ago." He looked up again and had this stupidly endearing and hopeful look on his face. You decided to show him mercy and squash the awkward situation "If you don't get over here and keep your promise to fuck me until I can't stand, I might have to reconsider my stance on this." You smirked at him now and the look of challenge on your face had him covering you again in an instant. He kissed you deeply before lining his cock up with you entrance and dragging it through your pussy lips before he entered your slick heat. The feeling of being so full after so long left you breathless, but also oddly complete. He rocked into your core slowly at first and then picked up the pace as your moans became louder. The sounds of skin slapping against skin and moans echoed throughout the room and you could feel another orgasm building. "Feels so good Chan, mmmm right there," you breathed out as he shifted and this new angle had him brushing against your g-spot with every pass. He reached down to rub circles on your clit and you completely fell apart around his dick as you moaned his name. His strokes becoming sloppy with his own impending release his hips stuttered to a stop as your pussy milked him for every drop of cum he had and he painted your insides.

Breathing heavily you admired the strength he demonstrated in not collapsing on you and as you felt him soften and slip out you suggested you guys maybe get cleaned up a little. "Mmm I don't think I wanna" he said as he nuzzled into your neck affectionately. He was impossible, and adorable, and apparently maybe yours now. "Let's at least lay in the bed the right way then, yeah?" He appeared to think about that for a moment before he stood up and pulled you to your feet. He turned down the comforter and climbed into the bed and with his dimples on full display pat the spot next to him beckoning you to join him. You shook your head and laughed but climbed in beside him. He wrapped the blanket around you both before proceeding to wrap himself around you like a koala. You can take the man out of the land, but not the land out of the man you supposed. True to his word before the night was over you were thoroughly tended to. Several times. When morning came and you truly couldn't walk very well, he brought you breakfast in bed. It was definitely the perfect turn around for the travesty that yesterday was and you were looking forward to not hating your neighbor anymore.

[fnaficsfordays]

Long Days Are Better Spent Together

AO3 Link

Word Count: 2074

No warnings!

----------

Michael dropped the duffel bag onto the floor with a resounding thump, the items inside clattering. With a groan, he tossed off his cap, the stiff felt material landing next to a large glass terrarium. Eyes trailing over the creature inside, his irritation drifted away, face perking up into a light smile at the sight of the shell inside.

“Hey, Bonbon.” He muttered with a tired sigh, reaching a hand in and stroking the smooth spiral about the size of his fist. There was no response, but calm slowly began to wash over him as he retracted his fingers. “Not feelin’ active today either, huh?”

A quiet series of crackling clicks further down the hall turned Michael’s attention away, regaining his pace through the rest of the house. As he approached the kitchen, floor hardening into tiles beneath his feet, a light hum began to float through the air, soft and cautious. It was as if they were afraid of extending their vocal chords to anyone beyond themself- but the thought only made a prickle of warmth come to his chest.

He turned the corner, smile widening at the person standing in front of the stove, fiddling with the heat knobs and placing down a large pan. The slight frown of concentration was clear on their face, spikes of blond hair standing upright on their head. Their eyes stayed fixed on the marble countertop even as he neared, steps barely audible over their humming.

At the last possible second, Michael brushed a hand over the tips of their hair, watching them stiffen. Their gaze snapped towards him, panic flaring up for a split second before dissipating with a sharp exhale. A snicker escaped him as they rolled their eyes, stifling a curse.

“Fucking- I tell you not to sneak up on me.” Scott pinched the bridge of his nose, despite his glare falling short. His smirk only grew as he stood next to him, glancing at the ingredients on the table.

“Sure you do. What’s cooking?” Their shoulders brushed, hand drifting back up to his hair. “Or have you not decided yet?”

“...No.”

“Give it time, something’ll show up.” He shrugged. “It’s not like I’m too hungry yet anyways. Less the others are.”

“They’ll be hungry by the time this is done. It’s nearing dusk.” Scott bit his lip, barely seeming to notice his fingers running through the light tufts. “And no, we’re not doing takeout again. Vincent gets sick of chinese way too easily.”

“Wasn’t suggesting it, calm down.” He chuckled. Leaning in closer, Michael pressed his lips against his cheek for a split second, pulling away with a glimmer in his eyes. “Could ask Jeremy if he’s willing to help, he always sees ideas online.”

“And they always need ingredients we don’t have.” He murmured. But he could see the faint dusting of pink across his face, coloring his tan skin.

“I’m sure he’ll have something. Just go on, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind. As long as Vince doesn’t tag along as well, the kitchen’ll stay intact.”

That got a smile at the corner of his mouth. “Believe me, I think we all know that too well.”

“It never happened again!” The sudden call carried through another hallway, indignant yet sparkling with amusement. A different giggle, soft and shy, followed it.

“Doesn’t mean we still don’t have a broken cabinet now!” Scott yelled back, rolling his eyes with a huff. “Christ.”

“I’ll go ask them what they want. Take a second or two.” Michael let his arm fall back down to his side, warmth still prickling inside as he walked towards the rest of the house. He pushed open a door, eyebrows raising as he glanced inside. "And you know that that's not entirely true."

"It was the only time it left lasting damage! Sue me." Vincent threw up his hands from where he lay on the bed, silver eyes gleaming. "It's not like it wasn't a natural course of action, anyways."

"Barely."

"The point still stands."

Another giggle alerted him to the other person in the room, their head nested in the crook of his neck, curly hair flat against the pillow. Their arm was hugging him tightly, smile wide on their cheeks. "It was only a natural course of action because you got startled by the oven timer and dropped the knife."

"Hey! Could've been one of us instead of the countertop. I call it lucky." He threw his signature grin, pulling Jeremy closer. "Tables can't feel pain."

"I'm sure the table's glad to hear how little you appreciate its dutiful existence."

“Hush it.” He tossed a pillow at him, which he caught easily. “How was the shift?”

“Surprisingly menial. They only moved from the stage twice.” Michael sat down next to them on the bed, sinking down into the sheets with a sigh. “Mainly just had to deal with Foxy being twitchy, but not much.”

“How lovely it is to have just a single deranged furry animatronic chasing your boyfriend instead of several.” Vincent snorted.

“‘Chase’ would imply that I moved at all from the office.” He flicked his ear with a smirk. “And Jere, Scott’s starting dinner right now if you feel like giving suggestions.”

“Already?” He perked up from the mattress. “Ooh, did he have anything already planned?”

“If he did then I wouldn’t have told you.”

“Yeah, yeah… Oh! I could go ahead and show him the pasta bake I found!” Jeremy was already standing up, gaze glittering as he walked towards the doorway. “All it needs is some tomatoes, spinach, chicken…”

“Well, hopefully that one works out for once.” Vincent stared fondly after him, grin fading into something more relaxed. “One of these days we’ve gotta surprise him by getting all the ingredients for one of the super complicated ones.”

“Bold of you to assume Scott hasn’t thought of that already.” Michael leaned gladly into his caressing hand. “He definitely feels guilty that he’s only been able to do a few. Just you wait.”

“Jeremy can make anyone feel guilty. Don’t you say that you can resist.”

“Never did.”

-----

“You’re sure that’s all the things we need.”

He crossed his arms up at him, dark brown eyes in a pouting glare. “I just checked the fridge! That’s it, and we have it all right here. Cheese, mayo, chicken, spinach, tomatoes, sauce, and dried pasta. They’re even the same shape!”

Scott hefted a sigh, feeling his face lift into a smile. “I guess for once we can make it.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying this entire time.” He whined, swinging the refrigerator door shut. “Come on. It’s gonna take a little while.”

“Starting by boiling water?”

“You get water. I’m going to start frying the chicken.” Jeremy took out salt and pepper as well, letting the pantry swing shut with a foot. His fingers slid around neatly and nimbly, the seasonings speckling the meat. The fading sunlight fell across the cutting board, rays slicing on and around his arm as he worked, lips parted in a light concentration. “Make sure to add some salt to it too.”

He blinked, realizing the empty pot was still in his hands. Face flushing, Scott moved to fill it up, water pouring from the faucet.

Though he was more often than not in the kitchen for the others, he’d never felt completely comfortable with it. Never made anything completely from scratch, definitely, unless pancakes counted- but there wasn’t anything complex to that. Watching Jeremy’s swift movements in the orange glow from the window always got him too distracted on the rare occasions that they had everything necessary for a recipe- if either of the others were here right now, they’d have called it out without a second chance.

Scott suddenly stiffened as he began to pour in the salt, other hand freezing on the heat knob. Jeremy had leaned his head against his shoulder, still watching the chicken as it began to brown. He swallowed, forcing his hands to pick up the wooden spoon and start stirring. Neither moved at all.

Interesting, he thought that being in so many relationships was supposed to make him better at not getting embarrassed.

“Water’s boiling.” His voice gently interrupted his thoughts.

“Ah.” He reached across the stove, scooping up the box. The pale yellow noodles began to pour into the water, dropping in with the slightest noise. But as he continued to stir, his mind drifted off again.

The feeling of his soft mess of hair leaving Scott’s shoulder brought him back again. Now he was cutting up the chicken and tomatoes, the metal blade flashing silver with each slice. “Pasta should be cooked by now, I think.”

“It looks like it.” He drained away the boiling water, blinking at the steam that rose up in the sink. Before he could do anything, another set of fingers were wounding around the handles for him, prying the curled pasta away and sliding them out into a glass dish.

Scott didn’t fight it, only watching Jeremy mix everything together. He flowed so smoothly on his own, wooden spoon folding around the streaks of white and red. It all swirled into a creamy sauce, coating around the individual pieces. At last, he put it in the oven, pushing the door shut as the timer started to beep quietly.

With a satisfied smile, Jeremy stood back, tasting the leftover sauce still coating the spoon. “Tastes as good as it looks.”

“Well, I don’t doubt it.”

“Wanna try?”

“I… sure-?”

Before Scott could say anything else, he set down the spoon, suddenly facing him fully. His chin tilted up just a tad, eyes closing as he leaned closer-

And his lips pressed against his own.

He pulled away only a moment later, letting out a small giggle at his stunned face. “So, how’s it taste?”

His mouth was dry, swallowing roughly at his glowing expression. “I-I…” A shaky breath. “G-Good. It… It was good.”

His small fingers wrapped around his arm, head nuzzling into his shoulder. “You smell like coconut.”

“T-Tried a different shampoo.” Why did they always make it so hard to stop stuttering? “...You still smell like vanilla.”

“Mhm, I’m glad. Which smells sweeter?”

“Whichever one you’re using.”

“Aw.” He pressed against him more, skin warm. “I would’ve liked to say the other way around, but I guess we’ll never know.”

Before he could respond with another flustered retort, the oven timer suddenly rang out. Jeremy stepped away, opening up the oven and sliding the baking dish out. “Looks delicious. Come on, let’s go get the others.”

“I- Wait, we’re bringing it with us-?”

“‘Course we are. Come on!”

With a resigned sigh, Scott picked up the dish, the warm stream wafting through the air. Jeremy was nearly skipping as walking towards the hallway, smile still wide. Just as they reached the room, it faded into a slight smirk, leaning into the doorway. “Really?”

“I just got home, give me a break.” Michael barely lifted his head up from where he lay on the bed, arms wrapped around Vincent. His eyes were still half shut. “M’ tired.”

“Well, dinner’s ready, so better scoot over.” Jeremy slipped underneath the sheets as well, curling up besides Michael. “You’re warm.”

“So are you.” Vincent ruffled his hair. His gaze flicked up towards where Scott was still standing, eyebrows raising. “Get over here and love us.”

“...I’m carrying a baking dish full of pasta.”

“Your point?”

“It’s unhygienic.”

“Oh, come on, just set it down. We can eat right here.” Michael waved him over, starting to sit up on the mattress. “Not moving from this bed anyways.”

Rolling his eyes, he cleared away a relatively flat area, carefully placing it down. “Happy?”

“Almost.” Before he could move away, Vincent reached out a hand, fingers suddenly grasping around his tie and tugging him down. With an undignified yelp, he crashed onto the bed with them, barely aware of their laughter.

“Well, it’s not the first time we’ve gotten you into bed by the tie-”

“Shut it.” Scott flushed, crossing his arms. “Did we even bring utensils?”

“Right here.” Jeremy held up a couple of forks, grinning as he passed them out. “Come on. You love us.”

“You haven’t moved out yet.” Michael added, with a chuckle.

“Hmph… Maybe just a little.” But as he began to dig in, the warmth spread from his cheeks into his chest. Or maybe a lot.

[clansayeed]

Bound by Circumstance ― Chapter 3: Of Monsters and Men

PAIRING: Nik Ryder x trans*M!MC (Taylor Hunter) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Circumstance ⥽

Taylor Hunter (MC) has made it good for himself in New Orleans; turns out moving to a new city fresh out of college to reinvent yourself isn’t as hard as people make it out to be. Things only start to get confusing when he finds himself the target of a malevolent wraith. Good thing someone’s looking out for him though — because without Nighthunter Nik Ryder as his bodyguard he definitely won’t survive long in the twisting darkness of the supernatural underworld he’s tripped into.

Bound by Circumstance and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the book Nightbound and the rest of the Bloodbound series. Find out more [HERE].

Note: Circumstance only loosely follows the events and plotline of Nightbound, and features a separate antagonist, different character motivations, and further worldbuilding.

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Circumstance/series tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

Taylor meets his new bodyguard, debates casual necromancy, and learns the truth behind his hallucinations. All while a fae makes him cream soda.

[READ IT ON AO3]

Taylor doesn’t remember waking up — one second he’s asleep and the next he just isn’t.

Despite the things he’s seen (not really seen, but thought he’s seen) he’s not a fan of these kinds of wakings. Would rather emerge slowly as if from a cocoon. With enough time between breaths and heartbeats to let the dreams that plagued him fade away into fuzzy oblivion — forgotten despite all efforts to bring them back to recent memory.

He prefers it because when he wakes all at once there’s no helping remembering his dreams.

And all of that — the cemetery, Vera’s gloves, Kristin’s tears, the moon and moldy flowers — definitely isn’t something he wants to linger on.

“Are you gonna freak out now? Because these walls ain’t soundproofed.”

The voice resists its accent; clips sounds the Louisiana slang wants to let hang. He’s never heard it before but doesn’t need to.

It does the trick. Reminds Taylor how easily the world of dreams can blend with reality.

He takes in his surroundings with eyes still shut. The scratchy pilling on the cushions underneath, the stale air that’s made his shirt stick sweaty to his body, the repetitive squeak of a portable fan that should have retired a lifetime ago.

If he keeps his eyes shut will it all go away? Can it really be that easy?

Of course it isn’t. He knows it, the stranger knows it… but still a guy can dream.

“I know you’re awake, kid,” the stranger continues, “sleepin’ people don’t breathe like that.”

Taylor’s nose scrunches. “Don’t watch me breathe.”

“Then don’t breathe weird.”

The fact I‘m not hyperventilating right now is a fucking miracle, Taylor wants to say back — doesn’t in favor of inhaling so hard his nostrils burn before letting it out in a whistle on his dry lips.

Instead he snaps his eyes open and stares at the bald patches of peeling paint on the popcorn ceiling.

Something shifts behind him; the squeak of leather on pleather.

“You’re handlin’ this awful well.”

No, he’s really not. “I’m not unfamiliar with waking up on strange couches.”

“Is that so?”

Taylor doesn’t like the way the voice drops into a suggestive purr. It’s enough to get him to sit up on his elbows and try to shake the fog from his head. The familiar words, “how much did I drink last night?” are on the tip of his tongue but without the pounding headache there to accompany them they just don’t feel right.

A hand appears out of the corner of his eye. He watches scarred knuckles on tanned skin flex silvery as a nondescript flask is placed on one of the coffee table’s few bare spots.

“Here — this’ll help. Trust me.”

Taylor takes it. Can smell the familiar simmering honey and spice of whiskey. But he isn’t even tempted — screws the cap back on and sets it pack with a little too much purpose.

The stranger gives a ‘huh’ of surprise. “You sure? It’s not top shelf, but —”

“I’m gonna say this once;” as he does Taylor sits up and digs his knuckles into his eyes to quell the dizzy rush, “don’t ever offer me alcohol again. Please.”

As bright and inconsistent colors flash before his sight there’s silence.

Then, “fair enough,” and takes back the flask.

He can’t immediately tell if the stranger is just prone to dramatics or if the positioning of the lamp-sans-shade is purposefully there to shroud his rescuer (or kidnapper) in all the shadows the apartment can offer.

But it’s definitely him: the guy from the dive bar. Where his memory ends his eyes pick up the slack and fill in the sharp face like a puzzle. Dark eyes — almost black — and evidence of a five o-clock shadow. A little bit of a greying sheen to the hairs at his temples. And a strange scar like an inverted triangle brushed flippantly from left temple to eyebrow to the top of his cheekbone.

So he’s the quintessential ‘rugged, grizzled, don’t-play-by-the-rules’ type. Which, in Taylor’s opinion, just makes the worn leather trench coat overkill.

And his very presence makes things very very complicated.

Makes his head incite a full-on civil war between the things he knows and the things he’s seen — not to speak of the independent faction trying to resist both.

The man grabs something small off of the stand beside him and a glass of water — takes one of Taylor’s hands off of his jeans and pushes it into his palm in a very non-negotiable style.

“At least take this. That headache looks real fierce. Won’t work as fast as the booze, though.”

Oh, he knows. But he’s glad for something to help no matter how little and washes down the aspirin tablet with the entire water glass.

Judging by the awkward silence that follows neither Taylor nor the man know how to actually… begin. Because there needs to be a beginning — maybe not right now but there was earlier and if he thinks about it too much, if he lets his imagination run wild and spiral, he’ll start to panic.

Last time he checked panic wouldn’t bring Kristin back from the dead.

Kristin. Oh god. He needs to find her body.

“Can I…?” He raises the glass. The stranger slaps his knees and hauls himself up with possibly too-much dramatic effort and takes it to refill. “Thanks.”

“Sure.”

It’s a small apartment with only as many walls as needed. Ideally Taylor would prefer a room between him and the man to make his escape (which will be the exact opposite of stealthy) a little bit easier, but…

He waits until the leather-clad back is turned before slowly starting to stand. Not one step and the fucking floor creaks underfoot.

Shit. “Uh — can I get some ice?” Taylor asks; louder than necessary to cover it up.

The man (probably) rolls his eyes. “Want a straw while I’m at it? Maybe a little pink umbrella?”

“I’d prefer yellow.”

“I bet you would.”

Taylor waits, poised like a viper, and strikes when the ice maker on the fridge door begins to rumble to life. Dashes as fast as he can — though it isn’t until he moves more than an inch that he realizes just how sore everything is — to what looks like every closed front door he’s ever seen.

Aaaand it’s locked.

There’s a deep rich laughter behind him as Taylor yanks on the brass handle; twists the lock this way and that in his growing panic and previously undiscovered claustrophobia.

When he looks back the man is behind him, glass in hand — with ice, too.

“Stop laughing!” Taylor’s voice cracks — makes him wince.

With a shake of his head the man approaches. Taylor tenses for some sort of assault but instead watches dumbly while his personal space is invaded. Damn this guy is tall.

“Stop being so funny.”

“What kind of fucking sicko locks an apartment from the outside?!”

Bemusement falls into a slight frown. He flinches, feels the stranger reach around…

The door unlocks with a click.

“Dunno, but I’ll let you know when I meet one.”

Not a second into looking up and up into the man’s face does Taylor push him back. Keeps his back pressed against the door and blindly searches for the knob but forces distance between them.

It doesn’t take a psychic to know he’s wary. The stranger sighs and scratches the back of his head.

“Listen — I ain’t holdin’ you hostage, or anything. You’re free to go.” But before Taylor can even twist his wrist he adds; “Not that I’d really wanna run the risk of facing Casper’s Cannibal Cousin again but that’s just me. You seem like a strong, capable guy. Lemme know how it goes.”

Fuck.

Taylor gives him a wary eye. “Are we — I mean… am I actually safe here?”

“With the wards on this place you’d have a hard time being stung by a really pissed-off mosquito.”

“Not funny.”

“Who’s laughing?”

Somehow they end up back in the same positions they were a minute earlier; Taylor’s fingers wet and numb from the glass and the other, well, he couldn’t look more like a middle-aged drunk if he tried; especially now with the coat off and thrown over the back of his chair.

“Do you have a name?” Taylor tries — and fails — not to let it get to him when he gets only a nod. “Wanna share?”

“Just call me Ryder.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“It’s not your name.”

“Yes it is.”

“It’s dumb.”

“You’re dumb.”

A tense and silent stand-off follows. This is why he doesn’t spend much one-on-one time with cis-men, not that Taylor would say that out loud.

Finally ‘Ryder’ relents; “My first name’s Nik. Nobody calls me Nik — they just call me Ryder. That means you’ll call me Ryder, too.”

Well he won’t, but that’s beside the point. “And where are we? Are we still in New Orleans?”

The question catches Ryder by surprise.

“‘Course we are. Just a couple’a blocks over from Bourbon.”

“Oh, good.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

He tries not to feel peeled back into layers by the scrutiny of Ryder’s gaze but with eyes like that it’s kind of impossible. Makes him freeze up — words forgotten.

“Is that really all you wanna ask?”

His face flushes hot. “No, of course not.”

“Then ask.”

“Ask what?”

“You know what.”

“No I don’t,” again his voice cracks — makes him focus on the wet spot the glass leaves on his jeans rather than the look on Ryder’s face, “like — I really don’t. Because… because my head is telling me to ask ‘what happened’ but when I think about it I automatically default back to the fact that nothing about it makes sense — nothing about it could have been real.”

Ryder takes too long to respond.

“Just because it doesn’t make sense doesn’t mean it wasn’t real, Taylor.”

And doesn’t that just fire off a spark in his brain. Makes him turn and slam the glass down and give Ryder the hardest, worst, and most rueful look he can.

“Fine — you want me to ask questions? We’ll start with — with that. How d’you know my name?”

The man shrugs. “Because I’m being paid to.”

“You’re being…” —oh the headache— “so you were stalking me in the bar?”

“No.”

“Uh, you just admitted it.”

“Uh, no I didn’t.” Taylor must’ve hit a nerve judging by the tick in Ryder’s scarred brow. “Strange as it may seem — and we really ain’t short on strange with all this — I wasn’t hired until after I left the Touristy Unicorn.”

That doesn’t help. “Hired for what?”

“For protection detail; bodyguard stuff. For you, kid.”

Does he look like his brain is short-circuiting, because that’s definitely how he feels. And in his silence Ryder takes the opportunity to keep talking without being harassed. “I wouldn’t’ve taken it on a normal day but, shit, you ain’t normal. Not even taking into account that you saw me in my booth —”

“— No shit I saw you. You were just sitting there.”

Ryder shakes his head. “Sure was but I was glamoured up to the nines. Nothing under a century or without some heavy magical aid should have been able to see me.”

Taylor disregards his crazy talk — he has proof. “My friend saw you first.”

“Who, the tipsy co-ed?” he barks a laugh, “Nah, she was more focused on the two mashing mouths to my side. Was too hard to enjoy my drink with the sound of sloppy spit-swappin’ for me to forget.

“She may have been seeing the world a little liquored-up but she definitely didn’t know I was there. But you? You looked right at me; saw right through my glamour and with no small amount of effort judgin’ by how sick you looked after.”

His headache. And wasn’t that what had started all of… of whatever this was? His headache and wanting to go home, getting lost with no signal, and then…

There’s no resisting the permafrost that blankets over his bones. When Taylor looks at Ryder he doesn’t see him; just sees the outline of him and that awful haunting thing in his mind’s eye.

Ryder continues; “You can turn the paranoia down a notch. I was content to mind my own business until I got a call on a damn payphone nearby.”

“A… payphone?”

“Well they don’t ring on their own. And in this town if someone in the know crosses by a phone ringin’ on its lonesome then that means its for them.” He sniffs; brushes something off like it’s no big deal and Taylor’s the fool for not just knowing. “Picked it up and there it was in my head: your face, your name, and the message. That’s how you know there’s something heavy hangin’ in the air… the kind of spellwork that can dig into your head without a trace.”

Magic. Spellwork. This is too fucking nuts.

Still, he has to ask. “What was the message?”

“‘Protect him.’”

How foreboding and creepy that is — well he’ll deal with that later. Because up until shit went down he didn’t need protecting. Had done a fair job of protecting himself all his life. But how can you protect yourself from things you don’t know about?

“What was it?” When there’s no quirky quip Taylor knows he’s starting to ask the right things. “What was that thing in the cemetery?”

“I…”

“Come on, Mister Answers. Where’d your answers go?”

“Hey, now you just —”

“What was it?”

“I don’t know!” Ryder growls through gritted teeth. It’s the first time his posturing slips — shoulders slumped and instinctively seeking comfort in the contents of the flask. ��I don’t… I don’t know. I’ve seen a lot of crazy shit; the dead, undead, the undead-dead. But I’ve never seen anything even remotely close to whatever the hell that was.”

Some bodyguard, he wants to say — doesn’t. Strange as it is Taylor finds himself comforted by the fact that he’s not the only one completely ignorant.

Not that it lasts long. Because when his brain finally puts everything together — shadows and skeletal killers and spellwork and the fact that the thing he’s been thinking was a flagpole leaning against the wall has a bright crystal atop it and is most likely something ridiculous like a wizard’s staff — it shuts off.

At least he’s got his answers.

Ryder knocks back the rest of the flask and tucks it between the cushions in his chair. Leans forward elbows-on-knees and studies Taylor’s face.

“I’ve been waitin’ for you to ask me what happened before you keeled over,” he says finally, “but now I’m not so sure you wanna know.”

“I do,” he answers on autopilot.

“You sure?”

He’s sure.

The story Taylor expects goes something like…

“I drew a circle around the creature, sated from its kill. Using the blood of my ancestors and sacred herbs I’ve been cultivating for this exact moment, I conjured magical holy fire and banished the demon back to the depths of Hell.”

But that’s not what he gets.

“I thought I had a shot when you went into hiding — you know how damn hard it is to chase something chasin’ somethin’ else through that shit? — but lost it again. Finally found you at the entryway and used the thing’s distraction to get a few arrows lodged in its, uh, well I think it was its back.

“Thing is those were holy light arrows I used. Blessed by every priest in every religion you’ve heard of and some you ain’t. I’ve used those things to take down malformed conjurings, hundred year-old revenants, the works. But it was about as effective as throwing a rock at its head.”

“I’m guessing that’s a bad thing.”

“You’d be guessin’ correctly.”

Taylor runs his hands over his face. Shoves down the thickness that wants to consume his lungs and keep him there; solid, immobile.

“Okay, okay —” talking more to himself than Ryder, “— okay. This is good. Crazy, but good.”

The look he’s given really shouldn’t be a surprise. “Did I break ya?”

“No — I mean, maybe, but not with that — no you… actually you saved me. So I’m grateful for that. Thank you.”

Ryder snorts. “Finally…”

“But you didn’t save Kristin. So I’m going to push down every… every problem I have with everything you said and pretend with all this crazy that conjurings and holy arrows and whatever-the-fuck-else is real —”

“It is. But, kid —”

“— And you’re gonna help me find some voodoo or hoo-doo or whatever kind of spell you can that’ll bring her back.”

The fact that Ryder doesn’t look the least bit remorseful is an issue he’ll deal with later — though that plate is starting to get a little crowded. But if the universe seems intent on throwing him into this fucking insanity with no warning or even a tutorial mode then he’s going to meet it head-on and screw the rest.

He leans forward and starts rifling through the leather-bound books, tomes, and sheets of paper scattered on the coffee table. “So what here can help us? Do we need a lock of hair, or a personal item, or —”

“She ain’t dead, kid.”

Taylor nods but doesn’t really register what he hears. “Got it. Dead meaning, what, her soul hasn’t crossed over yet? Is she still on the, uh, the mortal plane or something?” He looks around wildly; lifts up his feet like he’ll find her hiding there in miniature.

“Shit — is she here with us? Can you see her? Kristin? Krissy?”

“Whoa — okay, yep, you’ve cracked.”

Then Ryder’s hands are on his shoulders and oh hell no. His body reacts before the brain can catch up and he’s pushing Ryder away — giving himself breathing space.

“Don’t touch me.”

Much like the flask it’s an issue Ryder doesn’t push. Holds his hands up and gives a curt nod but that doesn’t make him look any less concerned. Now he’ll start to argue with the man, because technically it’s his fault Kristin died in the first place.

“There’s gotta be something —”

“To get you to chill out and listen to me? Yeah I doubt it.”

“— No. To help us contact her.”

“Could try a phone.”

Taylor snaps. “This isn’t a joke! I don’t know this crazy stuff like you do. So stop making jokes and — and help me!”

“Christ,” Ryder rubs his head — leans forward but doesn’t make a move to put his hands on Taylor again, “if you’d listen you’d not sound so damn stupid! She’s not dead, Taylor. The thing didn’t kill her.”

No, no… he saw…

“I won’t say it didn’t get close but she wasn’t the target. I don’t know if that limits it’s powers or… or hell, maybe it was feeling merciful or malicious. But your friend ain’t dead. — In a bad way… but not dead.”

It’s not even in the realm of good news — what did that mean, ‘in a bad way’ — but it’s the best news he’s heard yet so yeah he fucking runs with it. Leaps to his feet and doesn’t even bother trying to misdirect Ryder this time because not only is the door unlocked but he’s going to see Kristin alive.

And, really, with the zeal in which he was ready to pursue some form of necromancy to bring her back he’s kind of disappointed in how surprised Ryder sounds behind him.

“Kid — where d’you think you’re goin’ exactly?”

Still walking to the door, only backwards now. “Where do you think? Is she at the hospital, which one? Come on — take me there.”

“Well that ain’t happening but regardless how about we stay up here instead?”

“How about we don’t?”

“Kid —”

“First I need you to stop calling me that. Second I’ll grab a cab if I need to. Thanks, Nik—Ryder—whatever for saving me but I need to go see her.”

Ryder doesn’t stop him from slamming the apartment door behind him and finding his way out. That must mean he’s not entirely devoted to this bodyguard job, right? If that’s even really the case. Not like he has any proof.

It’s probably guilt at not saving her in time, rationalizes Taylor as he looks around the crowded hallway only to spot a winding, iron-wrought staircase almost hidden in the corner.

That makes the most sense. He feels guilty and there was nothing he could have even done in the first place.

Though, finding out where Ryder gets those hallelujah arrows might help.

He’s at the bottom of the steps when he remembers Vera had his phone last — is halfway through entertaining the idea of going back up to ask Ryder if he could borrow his when he takes in the ground level.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

It’s still dark outside but dawn has to be on the approach — last call having already been there, done that.

The bar is small and he can only think of it as oaken. Wood floors on wooden-panel walls with a wooden bartop in the corner decorated in carvings so small and detailed they could only have been done by hand. Even the booths are wooden on the outside with what look like rich mossy-green velvet lining.

But the place doesn’t smell like a woodshop — not how one would expect what has to be a quarter of the population of Louisiana’s deforestation, has to be — rather a forest. Like all the wood is still growing and alive. Pine needles and sap and mulchy earth digging into his bare toes and proving life continues to live underfoot.

Though when he wiggles his toes Taylor is almost surprised to discover he’s got his shoes on.

The place is empty save for two patrons and a lanky young man behind the counter.

One man, hulking in stature no doubt even if he’s bent over the table before him, scribbles diligently in a notebook with a glass of something bright at his side. Must have one of those cheesy lite-cubes within because he could swear the drink is pulsing color.

The other is a woman mostly obscured by the bar and her ombre violet sheen of hair. She’s gotta be decorated for Mardi Gras though the bone-white hand she twirls a lock of hair around would be more suited for a Día de Muertos party.

She notices him first — offers a flawless grin of black lipstick and white teeth before she learns forward and whispers something to the bartender.

He rounds on a practically choreographed flourish of his heel. Beams wide and unabashed as though he’s greeting an old friend and not a complete stranger.

“Taylor, my mortal! Good to see you again. You look famished. Are you famished? You look famished. I should get you something. Are you a vodka-type or a gin-type? You know what — I’ll fix a couple options up. Variety is the spice of life!”

Before Taylor can even process the English language enough to turn him down the bartender disappears in a shock of his albino-white hair. Leaves him staring at the silvery fabric of the partition.

“Garrus is a hoot, isn’t he?” asks the goth girl — she waves over a hand and pats a stool beside her in invitation. “Come, come! I wanna see what he whips up and you will too.”

He casts a longing look to what has to be the front door of the place — the only thing that isn’t wood, as he notes the iron decor with irony. But can’t even step in that direction before she clears her throat in a way that says she won’t take no for an answer.

So… he sits? He sits.

“I’m surprised Ryder didn’t come down with you. Or did you let him drink himself asleep?”

Taylor shakes his head. “No, he’s… he let me go.”

“Huh, funky.” She taps long dark nails against her cheek and stares at him with wonder. Underneath the strange combination of lights she looks even more pale than he thought — almost translucent. It must be her makeup that makes it look like her veins run black under her skin.

There’s a throbbing in his temples so Taylor looks away out of habit.

“You should call your friend back.”

“Why? It’ll be a good show — and even if it’s not your fancy you’ll still get free booze out of it.”

“Well I don’t drink.”

“Drink what, vodka, gin? I knew I called you for a tequila man.”

“No,” and headache aside he looks grim into her purple color-contacts, “like at all. I’m sober.”

Just as the girl’s expression falls into embarrassed horror the curtain brushes back as if by a gust of wind. The bartender Garrus barrels forward with an actual cauldron in his arms and every nook and twiggy-armed cranny filled with various corked bottles and vials.

“Not for lo~ong!” he sing-songs. Drops his things carelessly on the bar surface and starts picking through them intently. “Now I could have sworn I had more cane root than this, but maybe if I sub in —”

Taylor goes to speak but the gaunt hand on his arm stops him short.

“Garrus, he’s sober.”

“I know, Ivy my love, I heard. Honestly what was Ryder thinking trying to unload all this on the poor man without even offering him a drink?”

Ivy gives a sigh of honestly and precariously balances on thick-sole heels to reach over and grab Garrus’ next glassy victim out of reach.

“H-Hey,” he practically whines, “that’s not in the spirit of things!”

“Listen to me,” and Taylor’s grateful she’s going through all the trouble but can’t not laugh when she sandwiches her friend’s face in both hands, “sweetheart — he is sober; dry, straight-laced, whatever you want to call it — go for it. But this human no drinkey.”

If that’s what it would have taken for Taylor to get the man to stop he isn’t entirely sure he’d have had the guts to do it.

As it is Garrus looks like he’s taking it personally before their eyes meet and his face goes flushed pink all the way to the tips of his rather pointy ears.

“Oh.”

Ivy resumes her seat cheerily. “My work here is done.”

“S-Sorry,” Taylor tries to offer, “I’ll take a coke if you’re really, uh, insistent.”

Garrus is interrupted before he can answer. And by a voice that rings startlingly familiar, too.

“Why not whip up one of those old cream colas for him, Garrus? You were just talking about how much you missed making them.”

It’s enough to put the pep back in his leather-booted step. Has Garrus clapping in delight and pointing between them to the only occupied booth with a wink.

“Darling, you’re a genius!”

Garrus gathers up his cauldron and brews; dashes back behind the curtain. Taylor meanwhile whirls around on the stool cushion to the vaguely recognizable face previously ducked in concentration.

Krum — that was his name, right? The more-mountain-than-man he had bumped into heading home from rehearsal earlier that day.

Who gave Taylor the early triggers of a panic attack in how his skin seemed to turn to a literal mountain under the company lights.

Who pushes up an almost comically tiny pair of spectacles and gazes back at Taylor with similar vague recognition.

“Understudy-boy?” He pulls off his glasses and wipes the lenses with the hem of his sweater — as if he’s the one hallucinating things and not the other way around. “Well I’ll be, it’s you!”

Ivy joins the conversation while sipping her margarita through a stirring straw. “You know this guy, Krom?”

“K-Krum.” corrects Taylor.

“Well actually,” says the man in question sheepishly as he slides out of his seat and comes to join them, “it is Krom. It’s a family name, too, and I’m very proud of it. But mortals never hear it right and I just sort of stopped correcting them.”

Ivy croons. “You gotta get thicker skin you big lug.”

When Krom tries to take the stool next to him, though, Taylor flinches back violently. Practically falls off his seat in his haste to get back. His ‘little throbbing’ is a full-on migraine now; the lights too bright and the smells too weird and he has to back up and steady himself on the nearest support column to keep from vomiting all over the nice shiny floors.

Like most concerned samaritans Ivy and Krom are on him in an instant. Their voices blurring together with the ringing in his ears; “Honey are you okay? — what happened — oh no did I hurt him — go get Ryder!”

“NO!”

He’s startled when he realizes it’s him yelling — not them. Blinks through teary eyes to look into the expressions of two ordinary people warped and twisted by his traitorous mind.

Ivy’s makeup looks melded to her face — like if she catches the light a certain way he’ll see her skeleton and the lines above are the tension of her muscles. And Krom is still a literal mountain man but in high-granite definition; he swears he even hears stone grind with every movement.

“Oh god…” he wails and covers his eyes. Scratches at them like maybe he can claw off the tears instead of just wiping them away.

In the bright darkness there’s muttered, muffled noises. Footsteps echoing on wood, then metal.

Then the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He knows there’s a hand hovering just above the surface of him.

“The more you go on fightin’ it, kid, the more it’ll hurt.”

He doesn’t have to open his eyes to imagine the look on Ryder’s face.

Words seem impossible but he finally manages to grit it out. “I won’t.”

“Won’t what?”

“I won’t give in. I’m sober. I’m sober!”

He manages two good smacks to his skull before Ryder snatches his wrist ironclad. “Hey—Hey! Stop that!”

“I’m sober fuck’s sakes! This should have stopped! I’m sober and I’m not. crazy!”

They struggle over his hand but Ryder’s strength beats out Taylor’s fright and panic. Just lets it hang limp in midair in the calloused grip.

“You were up there with me fully ready to take on some high-level necromancy bullshit and this is what sets you off?”

“You were gonna let him do what?!”

“Relax, Iv’, relax,” Ryder sighs, “I wasn’t gonna let him do it. But still he believed. You did believe, didn’t you?”

Did he? He doesn’t know. Can’t even tell if he’s still awake right now or if this is all some awful feverish nightmare he can only hope to never have again with the help of his sponsor.

Ryder tries again. Closer, this time — almost a whisper.

“Didn’t you?”

“I —” the whole bar hangs on his every word, “— I think so.”

“So believe me now when I say this: you aren’t crazy. Weird I guess, and maybe a bit gutsy. But not crazy.”

It isn’t much. But it’s enough for him to pry his eyes open and look at the man above him through the tears.

“You don’t get it. I… they look like…”

“Like what?”

He shudders the words out; “Like monsters.”

“HA!”

The cackle — or shriek — is so loud and so close it startles both of them out of their closeness; out of the intimacy of his admission. Makes them both look at where Ivy sits cross-legged on the floor with them sucking on a lollipop.

“Well I should sure hope so,” she teases, “because my glamour looks like a cheap imitation of the real thing! That’s what I get for skimping with B-O-G-O spell goods.”

Glamour. He knows that word. And Ryder knows he knows too judging by the wry little smile he gets. “Yeah, them too.”

“But —”

“Glamours are for all kinds’a things, kid. Here, c’mon up ya get,” with both hands Ryder helps him stand, “that particular one of mine was for secrecy. Most common ones you’ll run into though are harmless little shifts — ways to make the not-so-human look a little bit more that way.”

There’s a gasp and all eyes fall on Krom, now fully stone. His hairline replaced by filed-off pointed edges and skin rippling with crystalline sediment.

“You can see through glamours?” He asks, mortified.

Ivy’s black lips peel back with her grin. “Wicked.”

Garrus appears from around the bar with interest. Still pale but there’s no denying the actual point and tilt of his ears or the way his skin seems to almost shimmer. His eyes pale but reflective like bright diamonds.

“I wondered what set off my wards when Ryder here dragged you in. Seeing through glamours is some high-level magic. What’ve you charmed?” He looks Taylor over with interest.

“What have I… what?”

Ryder answers for him. “Already did my due diligence, guys. He’s not wearing anything charmed — he is charmed. Can see through the veil au natural.”

“Wicked.” repeats Ivy.

“Guess you’re my not-so-mortal, huh?”

Krom shakes his head with hands clasped together. “No wonder you were so frightened at the company. I’m so sorry, Taylor. I had no idea.”

Taylor swallows but manages a smile. “It’s… it’s okay. Not your fault, right?”

And the more he looks at them — really looks instead of seeing passing glimpses and resisting their existence — the less everything hurts. The ringing in his ears fades and like a drum at the end of a song his head abruptly clears. Along with the clouds that seem to hang invisible over his head every time he has one of his hallucinations.

But they aren’t hallucinations. They’re real.

It’s all real.

There’s a hesitation before Ryder lightly touches his shoulder. Taylor doesn’t flinch away — in fact a little human (maybe?) warmth is kinda comforting.

“You good?”

“Y-Yeah, I think so,” he inhales shakily, “I just can’t believe it’s all… I mean that it’s not in my head. It’s real. Everything I’ve seen is… is real.”

But everything means everything. Makes his heart settle down somewhere in the region his stomach ought to be occupying.

Makes him look Ryder head-on.

“So why does it want me dead?”

[ilovemygaydad]

No One [part 1]

from the friends in dark places au

pairing: toxic roman/oc

summary: someone from school makes an insensitive joke that sends Roman spiraling into some old memories of past trauma

WARNINGS: (none of the sexual elements are explicit, merely mentioned and implied) non-consentual sex, sexual assault, date rape drugs, drug usage, implied underage sex, blackmail (in the form of cp), transphobia, transphobic slurs, forced coming out, misgendering, food mentions, rebellious behavior, insensitive comments, crying, physical assault, PTSD, and possibly something else

tag list: @hufflepuffgirl01 @cocobearthe4th @cas-is-a-hunter @band-be-boss-blog @theunoriginaldaisy

a/n: jsyk, it’s totally okay to ask for a modified chapter if you need it or if i need to add tags! i get it, and it’s no problem for me to quick edit a chapter or whatever :) also, feel free to send requests or questions that you have!

a/n 2: hey so this story is super dark and shitty, so please read with caution! i’m happy to summarize for anyone who needs it!!!

first of main plot - companions

consider buying me a coffee (please)

-

October 19, 2016

Roman shut the door to the practice room silently. He knew each nook of the choir room, including which doors were particularly loud. His back hit the door with a soft thud, and his tears softly dropped onto the carpeted floor. He slid to the ground and let out a choked sob.

Luke. Luke knew that what he said was terrible and awful.

“You could pat Roman Patrick on the head, and he’d accuse you of sexual assault.”

“Ro? Mrs. Taylor told me that you’re in here… Are you okay?” Patton’s muffled voice asked from the other side of the door.

“I’m fantastic, Patton! I just needed a few minutes of quiet before I tried to traverse the parking lot to grab my costume from Hannah’s car.” Roman tried to insert as much of his normal flare into his speech, but he knew that it fell flat.

“Roman, let me in.”

The crying teen begrudgingly stood up and flung the door open. A worried Patton stood opposite him, and Roman was well aware that his puffy eyes and wet cheeks did nothing but make his friend more upset. He sighed, gesturing for Patton to come inside.

After the door was closed, Patton spoke up again; his voice was very quiet. “Was it Luke?”

“Yeah,” Roman admitted.

“What did he say?”

“‘You could pat Roman Patrick on the head, and he’d accuse you of sexual assault.’”

Patton paced the small room. “That douchebag! Are you fucking kidding me? He can try to ruin my life, sure, but making fun of your abuse in front of you when he knows how easily it triggers you is just too far!”

“Patton, it’s fine—“

“No, it isn’t!” Pat cried, throwing his arms out in fury. “It’s terrible! He knows what happened to you, and he is in no place to be talking about falsely accused sexual assault!”

“It’s in the past…”

---

June, 2014

Roman quietly slid through his cabin’s window into the quiet night. He normally wasn’t one for this level of rule-breaking, but he was in love! He’d do almost anything for Ethan, and that meant a lot.

Two of his fingers were kept over the head of his flashlight as he made his way to the pier, only allowing a small sliver of light to shine out so that he could avoid twigs. Roman was so excited to have found someone who liked him back that he didn’t care about the consequences. He was going to be a freshman, after all, so it would make sense to begin to have relationships, right? Ethan was kind, caring, and funny—everything Roman wanted in a guy.

“Roman! Oh, good. I thought you weren’t going to show up,” Ethan whispered, a smile creeping on his face.

“Of course I’m here! What do you think of me? I’d never leave you hanging, dearest.” Roman gave Ethan a deep kiss. When they pulled apart, Ethan held up a finger to signify for Roman to wait, bringing a tiny thermos from behind his back.

“Salted caramel hot chocolate. I know how much you said you like caramel.” He passed it over, untwisting the lid as he moved. Roman took a huge sip, the cold of outside already sleeping through his pajama pants and shirt.

Ro coughed at the intense salty flavor. “Jeez, E, that’s really fucking salty. Good thing I’m really cold, or this would completely go to waste.”

Ethan smiled brightly, though Roman couldn’t quite place the emotion he got from it. They chatted for about twenty minutes before Roman began to sway on his feet. He was so tired and dizzy. He blinked a few times, shaking his head to try to collect himself.

“I, uh… I think… I think I’m gonna…” Roman mumbled, trying to get the slurred words he was thinking out of his mouth. He couldn’t seem to control his movements, and not a second later, he felt the hard ground hit his side. The last thing that Roman saw was Ethan’s evil smile as he drifted off to sleep.

---

Roman woke up with a foggy mind. What had happened last night? He remembered going to meet Ethan and drinking hot chocolate and then… Nothing. He couldn’t remember a single thing that’d happened.

The teen blinked a few times, trying to make some sense of his surroundings. They were bright, that much was obvious, and he was still wearing his binder. Someone stepped up to him, gently placing a hand on his arm. He flinched back from the touch. He didn’t know why, but he didn’t want anyone touching him.

“Hey, sweetheart, I’m sorry. It’s Nurse Elizabeth. A few campers found you by the pier drugged to hell in just boxers and a t-shirt, and from the looks of the campsite, I think you were sexually assaulted last night,” said the young woman in front of him, frowning deeply.

Roman wanted to throw up. Ethan had used him. Someone he thought he could trust. Someone he loved. And Ethan probably knew his secret, too. Oh, god.

“Hey! It’ll be okay. Just get some rest. You can answer questions later.” Elizabeth made her way to the door of the infirmary, turning at the door. “Someone’s been waiting to see you since the news got out. Would you like me to let him in?” Roman nodded half-heartedly. He heard a person greet the nurse before heading over. Ro didn’t look up to see who it was, preferring to pick at his fingernails instead.

A rough hand clasped at his face and ripped his gaze up. A muffled scream escaped Roman’s mouth as he locked eyes with Ethan, who had intense fire in his eyes. “You’d better not tell a soul that it was me, or your little secret will be let out, tranny whore!” Roman fought against Ethan’s grasp, but he was still too weak from being drugged. “I hope I’ve made myself clear. If I hear a word about this little exchange, either, I have some pretty outing evidence to show the camp. You’re my bitch now, Patrick.”

Ethan tore his hand away from Roman’s face and stormed out of the infirmary, leaving a panicked Roman in the bed. Oh no. This was worse than he’d thought. He had two options: he could tell everything to Elizabeth and subsequently be outed as trans to everyone in the camp, or he could do whatever Ethan said and keep his gender identity a secret. Neither was good. Roman shoved his face into the thin pillow and cried himself back to sleep. Maybe he could wake up from this nightmare.

---

January, 2008

Roman toyed with his hands a few times before stepping courageously into his parents’ office. He could do this. He swung his ponytail over his shoulder and adjusted his cargo shorts and T-shirt.

His mom was the first to notice his appearance. “Oh, Rosie! What happened to your dress?”

“She’s just changed, honey. She probably didn’t want to wear it anymore,” his father said, typing away at his computer.

“I wanted to talk to you and Mom about something important, Daddy. I… I, uh… Never mind, it’s stupid.” Roman turned back and started out of the office, but his mom stopped him mid-step.

“Rosalina, you can tell us anything; you know that. What’s wrong, honey?” Mrs. Patrick clicked her laptop closed and prompted her husband to do the same. Slowly, Roman turned to them; the sound of his sneakers squeaking on the wood floor was the only noise for a few moments.

“I’m a boy!” Roman blurted out. “I don’t want you to call me a girl anymore. I want to be called Roman, not Rosalina or Rosie. And more importantly,” Roman pulled a pair of kitchen shears from one of his many pockets and raised them, hacking his entire ponytail off and letting it fall to the floor. “I don’t want to look like a girl anymore. I am a prince, not a princess.”

His parents sat with astonished looks on their faces. Oh, Roman had messed up. He had taken his dramatics too far for once. His parents were going to be angry at him, and he’d never be called what he was. He’d be Rosalina forever.

“Alright, Roman. Welcome to the family.” His mother smiled brightly at him. There was no malice in her eyes, nor in his father’s.

“You know, Ro, I’ve always wanted a son. And you’re strong; you’ll be so good in the boy’s gymnastics league.” Mr. Patrick stood and scooped his son into his arms, hugging him tightly.

Thus, Roman Patrick had been born.

---

Roman had been so excited to go in to school on Monday to tell everyone that he was a boy and that his name was Roman. He was practically bouncing out of his seatbelt on the ride there. He ran into the school, barely saying goodbye to his mom, and skidded into his second grade classroom.

“Good morning, Rosie! How are you doing?” Mrs. Zander, the second grade teacher, greeted warmly.

“Actually, my name is Roman now, and I’m a boy!” Roman sat in his normal seat, but taped a piece of paper with “Roman” drawn on it in red crayon over his “Rosie” nameplate. Mrs. Zander looked at him, confused, but nodded. She went to her phone and made a few calls, looking quite serious, before going to everything in the room with “Rosie” on it and replacing them with a “Roman” label.

Students began to file in, many commenting on Ro’s new short haircut, to which he’d always respond, “I’m Roman now ‘cause I’m a boy!”

They looked at him as if he’d grown another head, but moved on without further comment. With each child, Roman’s enthusiasm lessened until he finally just gave up. Mrs. Zander made an announcement about Roman, and the kids just laughed. They got scolded, sure, but that didn’t actually stop them.

“Look at Rosie just wanting to get closer to the boys!”

“Rosie you can’t just decide to be a boy! You’re always gonna be a girl!”

“I don’t want to be friends with you anymore, Rosie. You’re a liar!”

The harmful comments continued for weeks. Finally, Roman couldn’t handle any more, and he begged his parents to take him out of school. Within a few days, they’d transferred him into an elementary school an hour away and moved into a temporary apartment nearby.

Roman walked into his new school nervously, taking his time to get to his new locker. It was nearly five minutes before he finally entered his new classroom.

“You’re new here, aren’t you?” a student asked. He wore a black polo and thick-rimmed glasses. It was the textbook nerd look.

“Um, yeah. I’m Roman,” he replied. Then, as if to clarify, he said, “I’m a boy.”

“Alright. My name is Logan, and I am also a boy. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” And then Logan walked off.

(Roman totally had a crush on the nerdy second grader, but he wouldn’t realize it for a long, long time.)

The rest of the day went by smoothly. Correct name and pronoun usage by everyone and new friends left and right. It was amazing! He didn’t get the opportunity to talk to Logan any more that day, and little did he know that he’d become too intimidated by the cute boy to talk to him, but he was still grateful for his first “friend.”

---

Summer, 2014

Roman spent two more months bending to Ethan’s every whim to protect his skin. It didn’t feel much like protection, though. He was disgusted with himself, but he couldn’t go through the rejection and hatred that followed telling people that he’s transgender.

Slowly, he withdrew from most of his camp friends. It started with not allowing them to touch him, and then simply not talking to them. Each time Ethan’s fingers found their way across Roman’s bare skin, he felt like throwing up.

It’s better this way, he told himself.

It wasn’t.

No one found out. No one ever knew. No one felt the pain.

No one except Roman.

part 2

[somethingjustsouthofbrilliance]

I Got You (Tony/Rhodey secret service AU) Chapter 8

Rhodey and Pepper talk :)

Links to chapter 1, chapter 7

Tagging  @jamesrhodey  @supernaturalyloki @chanderefk @aimeeroot21 @markedplaces @mostly-marvel-stuffs @matre-dee @le-ephemere @lo-anlurui @savedbyholmes @kimmycup @typicalcampbell @natty-ts70 @damnhiatus @pubzie @giulisetta @goose-danvers  @donttellanyoneitsmebabe @bookwermthings @tonystark5ever @giulisetta @polygamoussquamous

Anyone else wants to be added on the tag?

Chapter 8

 He shifts awkwardly under Pepper’s steely glare, drops his hands from Stark’s arms, moving to stand from his less than comfortable crouch.  

 “Why do I feel like I’m about to be court-martialed here?” he tries, his forced smile turning sour at the unimpressed quirk of the perfectly manicured eyebrow he gets in response.

 Potts straightens her shoulders, cants her head to the side, spearing him with a look of a scientist examining a bug pinned to a microscope slide.

 “The doors of the September Foundation are open to anyone who comes to us seeking a safe place to stay,” she says finally with the tone of someone reading information off an advertisement brochure.  Her lips thin momentarily, blue eyes growing hard. “But I would very much like to know what the President of the United States was doing fishtailing onto our property in a shot-up car with my best friend unconscious in the driver’s seat.”

 There’s an acidic undercurrent of blame in her words, and James bristles at it.  “Look,” he begins, fighting to keep irritation out of his voice, “I’m sorry Stark got hurt, I really am, but–”

 “Tony,” she cuts in, an open challenge in the steel-blue eyes, and he blinks in confusion, the unexpected interruption making him stumble over his next words, losing his stride.

 “Tony,” he nods his acknowledgment after a moment of awkward silence as he tries to gather his thoughts once more.  “I don’t like it when people get hurt on my behalf, Ms. Potts, but Sta-… Tony knew the risks of the job when he signed up for it, and–”

 “The thing is, Mr. President,” Potts interrupts again, and the smile she gives him is just a tad too sharp to be genuine, “Tony quit that particular job ten years ago and, as far as I know, he never had the desire to go back.  There is no love lost between him and Washington.”  

 “Oh, believe me,” James scoffs, remembering their first meeting, “I got that message from him loud and clear.”

 She hums in agreement. “So why the sudden change of heart?”

 James thinks back to the hospital, to the haunted look in Stark’s eyes, to the cold fury seething under the man’s words….  “It became personal,” he murmurs, his hands itching to curl into fists.  Because it isn’t just personal for Stark – it’s personal for him, too.  Happy was… is a friend.  And with the insanity that’s been the last two days, he hasn’t really had time to process the fact that he had nearly lost him.

 He cuts a quick glance to Potts, who watches him with patient expectation.  Closes his eyes briefly, heaves out a heavy sigh.   “I’ve been getting these threats for the past … month or so.  Standard stuff.  Someone taking issue with my attempts to push a gun control bill through.” He shakes his head, letting out a bitter huff of disappointment.  He’s so tired of this, so, so fucking tired.  “My Chief of Staff and my Head of Security became concerned that the threats were escalating, so they suggested I hire a specialist.”

 “Tony.”

 James nods, staring blindly at the floorboards.  “He refused. Quite adamantly, too,” he adds, recalling the way Stark strutted out of his office like a goddamn royalty while his security detail lay writhing on the floor. Smiles, amused, at Potts’s quiet, knowing, “I can imagine.”  

 Then the smile falls. “A couple weeks later someone put a bomb in my limo and my Head of Security got caught in the blast and…”

 “Happy?”

 James looks up at the gasped out name, frowns at the now decidedly pale woman before him, at her wide-eyed stare, dark with undisguised worry. “You know him?”

 Potts blinks her gaze away, her hands twisting the edge of the blanket.  Nods toward the nearby end table.  “You could say that.”

 He turns to look where she’s pointing and his heart sinks as his eyes land on a simple 5x7 picture frame that holds a slightly faded photo of three teens in high school graduation gowns: tousled hair, bright smiles, arms thrown around each other with careless intimacy of close friends.  He recognizes them all, despite the passage of some twenty-odd years: Tony Stark with those big doe eyes and baby cheeks and an unruly mop of brown hair falling messily over his forehead, Happy – skinny and tall and curly-haired, eyes sparkling with amusement he rarely sees in his always serious security chief, and Pepper Potts – the adorable freckle-nosed redhead in the middle with her arms slung playfully around both boys’ shoulders and her head resting against Stark’s.

 Shit.

 “I’m sorry,” he repeats, contrite.  “If… if it’s any consolation, he’s alive.  Was alive last I checked.”

 She huffs, bitter, reaches out to place her hand on top of Stark’s.  “You are a dangerous man to associate with, Mr. President,” she remarks, her voice forcedly even.  “At the rate you’re going, you might cause me to run out of friends.”

 James ducks his head again, runs a weary hand over his face.  “At the rate I’m going, I may not be president for much longer,” he jokes darkly. Because he has to be realistic here, has to understand the odds.  The people that have been sent to kill him are professionals – ruthless and wholly unbothered by collateral damage.  They’ve tracked him down, followed him across state lines and they won’t stop just because that tracker is now disabled.  Not until they finish their job, no matter what it takes.  

 He can feel Potts staring at him again, her questioning gaze burning holes in the side of his face.  “The people that are after you… is there a chance they can track you down here?”

 “Probably,” he hedges, thinking of the smashed Bulgari lying somewhere on i-70.  Shrugs, defeated.  “Yes.” And it isn’t fair, he thinks.  Not to these people, whose lives he had so unceremoniously interrupted.  He can’t have any more collateral on his conscience.  No way.  He’s gonna take the car, drive back to Washington, call Coulson.  Put an end to all this nonsense once and for all.

 “You don’t have to leave, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

 The simple pronouncement snaps him out of the frantic spiral of his thoughts and he looks up, startled. Frowns when he finds no more anger, no judgment in the calm, clear gaze that meets his.  

 “Has Tony told you anything about the September Foundation, Mr. President?”

 “James, please,” he waves her off.  “I think we’re way past formalities at this point.  And no, uh, he hasn’t.  He just said to find Pepper… you, that is, and…” He hesitates, adds with a wince, “He was barely conscious at the time.  I still can’t believe he managed to drive that far.”

 She smiles tightly at the awed note that slipped unbidden into his voice.  “Tony’s good at that – exceeding people’s expectations of him,” she says, her expression momentarily turning wistful, fond.  “This place,” she waves her free arm at their surroundings, “it’s Tony’s brainchild.  His atonement, he calls it,” she adds with a rueful twist of her lips. “He wanted to create a safe place for those who couldn’t protect themselves: victims of abuse and violence, people who had nowhere to go, people who needed a second chance.  Every person you’ll meet here – Tony took them out of a bad situation and brought them here, gave them a home.  A safe home.”

 “All the more reason for me to leave,” he nods, determined now.  “I’m putting all of your lives in danger simply by being here.  Tony wouldn’t want–”

 “Tony is the one who brought you here,” she reminds him, unflappable.  “If he chose to take you under his protection, the least I can do is honor that choice.” She shrugs, nonchalant.  “It is his house, after all.”    

 “Miss Potts…”

 “Pepper.”

 “Pepper,” he concedes with a sigh, feeling more and more like he needs to sit down before his legs give out on him completely.  He can’t remember the last time he felt this wrung out – both physically and emotionally. “Two people, two good people already got hurt because of me.  I can’t ask you all to risk your lives like that.”

 “You let us worry about that,” she brushes off his concern.  Then stands, leaning over to place a quick kiss on Stark’s brow.  “I’ll go help set up a room for you.  One of the boys will be by to get you when we’re done.  There’s a bathroom down the hall, if you want to freshen up.  You’ll find towels and supplies in the closet inside.”

 She moves to walk out, her hand already on the door handle, when he stops her – one of the many questions that have been swarming around in his mind spilling forth.

 “Atonement for what?”

 “Excuse me?” She half-turns back toward him, her brow furrowed in confusion.

 “You said earlier that this house, the Foundation, is Tony’s atonement.  What is he atoning for?”

 She hesitates, her eyes narrowed in thought as she assesses him silently, wondering, perhaps, if James deserves the right to hear whatever she has to say next.  “His mother was murdered by her abuser,” she discloses finally, her voice too-too careful, as if she’s still testing him, waiting to see what his reaction would be.  “Tony thinks it’s his fault that he couldn’t save her.” Her eyes glaze over momentarily – a memory that makes her lips twitch into an ugly, bitter grimace of a smile. “He was twelve years old,” she adds dully and walks out, leaving James to blink after her numbly, his legs folding despite himself as he sinks heavily onto the edge of the mattress.