#i just wanted to draw something real quick to take a break from *gestures vaguely to something*

[goldensunset]

blacks out and kairi kingdom hearts appears in front of me hi kairi

[breakyeol]

— WHAT HE LOST

So you got dumped. It sucks, but hey, at least you’ve got your best friends who always seem know exactly what to do to help make you feel better.

┗ Pairing: Chanyeol x Reader x Baekhyun

Genre: friends to lovers au, angst, fluff, smut

Words: 12.8k (I wish I was kidding)

Rating: 18+

Warnings: strong language, drinking, mentions of toxic relationships, mentions of cheating, explicit sexual content ; dom(?)baekhyun, switch sub!chanyeol, switch!reader, their roles ended up being very blurred, you’re the bologna in a chanbaek sandwich, threesome, very mild dirty talk, teasing, oral (f. & m. receiving), gentle throat fucking, hair pulling, multiple orgasms, squirting, yeol just wants to be a good boy but baek just wants to break the headboard

A/N; the poll I did for this fanfic was so fun!!! I seriously love interacted with you guys and receiving your feedback! I definitely think it’s something I’d like to do again in the future! I hope you guys enjoy the results! PS, I low key suck at writing endings sorry loves. 

It’s half past two when you show up in front of their door, clothes soaked and heavy from the rain you hadn’t bothered to shield yourself from, heart bruised and aching from the ruthless beat down it had been forced to endure. It’s been a really long night.

Chanyeol is the one to finally open the door, face flushed and swollen, pink lips dry and pouted, dark hair unruly and disheveled with a ridiculous cowlick you would find incredibly amusing if not for the crushing weight of the night’s previous events still weighing heavily on your chest.

“Y/n?” He rasps, blinking hard twice, as if he hadn’t recognized you at first. You wouldn’t hold it against him, you probably look like a drowned rat in your current state.

A shaky grin pulls at your lips, though it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Hey, Yeol.”

His brows furrow and he swipes a large hand down the length of his face. “What time is it? What– what are you doing here?” There’s no malice in the question, only drowsy confusion as he tries to put the puzzle pieces together in his sleep hazed mind.

Instead of answering, you tip your chin forward and ask one of your own. “Mind if I come in? It feels like my fingers are about to fall off.”

All of a sudden his eyes pop open real wide and he gasps, as if just then realizing that you were standing outside his door in the freezing night air, drenched to the bone. He immediately ushers you inside, appearing genuinely distraught. “Jesus, you’re soaked. Did you walk here or something?”

Combing your wet hair out of your face, you offer a blunt nod of confirmation. “Yup.”

His jaw drops and he splutters in disbelief. “You walked here? In the pouring rain? Are you insane?! It’s the middle of the night! Something terrible could have happened to you! And you’re not even wearing a coat!” He gestures wildly at your waterlogged t-shirt and jeans, all drowsiness gone from his eyes.

“I’m fine, Chanyeol.” You sigh, moving past him and into the warmth of his apartment.

“Y/n, that really wasn’t smart. You should’ve called me.” He insists in that disapproving tone that reminds you of a parent scolding a petulant child.

You turn to him with raised brows, the vague outline of amusement tinging your words, “Would you have woken up?”

“You should’ve called until I did,” he shoots back without missing a beat, following close on your heel as you make your way into the living room and fall onto the couch with a soft grunt, “or you could’ve tried Baekhyun. Or literally done anything other than walk all the way here in the middle of the night in the pouring rain.”

He’s right, of course. It was dangerous walking alone at night, no matter how tough you think you are, bad things can happen to anyone. But the danger of walking the streets at night hadn’t been so much as a second thought when you left. There were far more prominent concerns plaguing your mind.

“Yeah, well.”

A beat of silence passes, and you feel the shift in Chanyeol’s gaze. You don’t dare to look over as he sinks into the space on the couch beside you, though all you really want is to lean into the comforting warmth of his body.

“Hey... are you alright?”

A painful lump forms in your throat at the question. “I—” you wince as your voice cracks, words falling dead on the tip of your tongue. Fuck. Why was it so hard to say?

“Y/n?”

The way he says your name nearly shatters the dam, and you just barely manage to pull yourself together enough to avoid turning into a sobbing mess on his couch. Snagging your lower lip roughly between your teeth, you offer a weak hum that pitches strangely in your throat– which most definitely does not go unnoticed by the boy who knows you too well for your own good.

Chanyeol’s concerned eyes sweep over your expression, those damn eyes that can see right through any mask you attempt to wear, before he speaks again in a voice so soft you could feel the steely grip around your heart ease. “Let me get you something dry to wear. Then we can make some hot cocoa and you can tell me what happened, okay?”

The idea of being dry and warm again was more than appealing enough for you to force the corners of your lips upward and manage a light nod of agreement. “Yeah.”

He shoots you a sweet smile, reaching over with a large hand to affectionately ruffle your wet hair and pushing himself off of the couch before you can retaliate. “I’ll be right back. Don’t move, I don’t need you and all your drippiness flooding the apartment. I’m pretty sure you’ve already ruined our new couch.” He teases lightheartedly, that familiar bubbling laughter erupting from his lips as you swing your middle finger up at him.

You feel yourself deflate somewhat when he vanishes into his bedroom, leaving you alone once more. It was unusually quiet. Though understandable given the time, you aren’t used to the silence of the apartment and find yourself craving Chanyeol’s booming voice and Baekhyun’s obnoxious teasing. Without them, there’s nothing to distract your scrambled mind, and you can’t stop it from lingering on the frustration and sense of betrayal that torments your heart. Squeezing your eyes shut, you sink into the plush cushions, a soft groan escaping your tensed lips.

This. Sucks.

Luckily, you aren’t alone long enough to dwell on it too deeply.

Your head snaps up at the sound of a door thudding shut, a murmur of gratitude on the tip of your tongue, but you are surprised to see a very much still half asleep Baekhyun come stumbling into the living room, donning a pair of plaid pajama pants and a tight white t-shirt that hugs the gentle swells of his chest. His eyes are barely open as he all but throws himself onto the couch, immediately curling up into your side. You only chuckle, nuzzling your nose into his cinnamon scented hair and petting down his unruly bed head as it tickles your chin.

“You’re wet.” Is the first thing he murmurs into the silence, voice thick and hoarse in his throat. You can’t suppress the shiver that ripples down the length of your spine as his warm breath washes over your icy skin, the sharp contrast in temperature startling to your senses.

“I didn’t notice.” You hum, resting your cheek against the top of his head.

“And cold.” He grumbles additionally, arms coiling tightly around the curve of your waist and tugging you flush against him. The heat of his body is more than welcome, and you’re happy to allow him to cuddle into you. It’s easy to find comfort in his familiar embrace.

“Chanyeol is getting me something else to wear.”

His head tips back at that, and you have to draw away to keep your noses from colliding. Hooded eyes drag slowly over your face, warm and searching. You swallow nervously under the intensity of his scrutinizing gaze and quickly turn away, hoping he hadn’t seen the tell tale signs of your internal turmoil. But it seems both of your best friends are more observant than you give them credit for.

You jolt in surprise as he suddenly grips your chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing you to face him again. The unexpected proximity has warmth rushing into your cheeks, and you clear your throat, eyes looking anywhere but his face. Nonetheless he still manages to read you like the pages of a children’s book.

“You’ve been crying.”

Instinctively, you try to put some distance between you and him, swatting his hand away and plastering an unconvincing scowl across your face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His lips part, and you brace yourself, knowing by the look on his face alone that he’s going to push the matter.

“Ah, Baekhyun, you’re awake.” You let out a breath of relief as Chanyeol steps out of his room, a set of black sweats and a towel draped over his arm. Perfect timing. Baekhyun nearly topples over as you jump up from the couch, quickly making your way over to where the younger boy stands. “Y/n, I got y—”

“Thanks, I’ll go change.” You rush out, cutting him off abruptly as you pull the clothes from his arms. You manage a quick smile of gratitude before you’re hurrying past him and into the bathroom, slamming the door more harshly than you intended behind you.

Very subtle, y/n.

“Fuck.” You hiss through clenched teeth, silently cursing yourself out.

Moving towards the sink, you stare at your disheveled reflection in the mirror with a weak grimace. You knew you looked like a mess but damn. You really look like you’ve been put through the wringer tonight. Which, of course, you kind of had been, but still.

It takes longer than you anticipated to wriggle yourself out of your wet clothes, nearly falling on your ass more times than you care to admit out loud in your numerous attempts to peel off your jeans. But in the end, it was more than worth it to feel the soft, warm fabric of Chanyeol’s oversized clothes against your skin. The faded scent of his aftershave eases the tension in your shoulders, but you can’t fight the buzz of nerves that come to life in your stomach as you step back out the door.

The rich, sweet scent of hot chocolate is the first thing to greet you upon your return. Noting the emptiness of the living room, you come to the quick conclusion that they’re both most likely in the kitchen. On quiet feet, you shuffle over to the entrance, peeking your head around the wall. They’re facing away from you, leaning against the island and exchanging whispered words, voices just low enough that you can’t make out what they’re saying. Though, there’s little doubt in your mind that you’re the subject of their heated conversation.

Deciding to make your presence known, you clear your throat and step onto the cool tile. Two heads whip in your direction, startled. The looks on either of their faces makes you think of two children being caught doing something they definitely should not be. Exactly... what had they been talking about? 

Chanyeol is the first to move, plucking up the mug from the countertop and making his way over to you. “Extra marshmallows and extra whipped cream with a pinch of cinnamon,” he says, a soft smile on his lips and a warm blush on his cheeks, “just how you like it.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, grateful for the warmth of the smooth white ceramic against your palms. “Thanks, yeol.”

“Let’s sit!” Baekhyun exclaims before you can even take a sip, hands finding your shoulders and steering you back towards the couch. You’re too focused on not spilling the contents of your cup to make any sort of objection.

It’s only when squeezed between their two bodies on their slightly too small couch, their concerned but curious eyes burning into the sides of your face, that you begin to wonder if it was the wisest idea to come here. But then remember just how badly you were craving a good hug and sigh, knowing if anyone was gonna give you one, it’d be one of these two dopey boys.

It’s obvious neither of them are going to speak first, probably not wanting to push you incase you weren’t ready to talk about it yet (though, the intensity of their stares were doing just that), so you decide to take the initiative before the awkward tension can get even more unbearable.

“We broke up.”

You bring the mug to your lips, taking a tentative sip of your gradually cooling hot chocolate as you allow them to absorb the new information.

“Well, shit.” Baekhyun coughs. Chanyeol reaches behind you to smack the back of his head, hissing something about being insensitive but you’re already more than aware of how they feel about your boyfriend— ex-boyfriend.

Since you first started talking to him, neither of the boys were his biggest fan. To their credit, they tried their best to be supportive, but it was hard to miss the dampening of the mood whenever you brought him up and the glares they’d shoot in his direction when they thought you weren’t paying attention. You called them out on their passive aggressive behavior on a number of occasions, and they were always quick to defend themselves with the claim of getting ‘bad vibes’.

Looking back, you probably should’ve given their suspicions some deeper consideration.

But you had just liked him so much. It was hard for you to see past the handsome, charming exterior to what really laid beneath. Gilded boys had always been your weakness, always enchanting you with the prettiest of lies only to shatter you with their ugly truths.

You should have known better.

“Are you alright?”

You shrug, sucking your lower lip into your mouth with a heavy exhale from your nose. “I’m fine, really. I’m just... embarrassed, I guess.”

Baekhyun blinks at you in confusion. “Embarrassed? Why are you embarrassed? He should be the embarrassed one for losing someone as amazing as you.”

“I’m embarrassed because—” you wince, bracing yourself for the response that you just know you’re about to receive, “because he dumped me.”

“What?!” Chanyeol erupts, nearly making you spill your hot cocoa from the sheer explosiveness of his reaction, “you let that literal piece of walking human trash—!”

“Chanyeol.”

At Baekhyun’s sharp interruption, the emotional younger immediately slumps, guilt painting his face as he looks at you with remorseful eyes. “I’m sorry.”

You only smile, squeezing his hand in reassurance.

“So,” Baekhyun begins cautiously, “what happened?”

No point beating around the bush now. “We were hanging out at his place. I found a pair of underwear that weren’t mine in his bedroom. Confronted him. He called me a clingy bitch and told me to get the fuck out and never come back.” You say this as nonchalantly as you can manage, but your hold on the cup tightens substantially and an unmistakable thickness rises in your throat. You curse yourself silently for feeling like shit over a guy who obviously couldn’t be bothered to give even half a shit about you.

“He cheated on you?” Chanyeol leaps up from the couch, eyes wide and furious. If you were to look close enough, you were almost certain you’d see fire burning within them.

“That fucker.” Baekhyun all but snarls, hands balling into tight fists. “What’s his address?”

“Baekhyun—” you sigh, leaning forward to set your hot chocolate down on the coffee table.

“No, I’m dead serious, what’s his address?” He pins you with a look that tells you he is very much not messing around. They were being ridiculous, angry over things they couldn’t change. It was pointless and harmful to dwell on things that had already happened. You’d much rather pick yourself up and move on than allow yourself to keep hurting over a stupid boy.

Of course, that’s easier said than done. And your best friends are not the types to just let things go. Not when the people they care about are wronged.

Chanyeol seems to be off in his own little world, ranting furiously to himself while cracking his knuckles in a way that is probably meant to be intimidating (though, to you, the giant puppy is anything but). “There’s no way I’m letting a piece of shit like him get away with this. God, I knew he was a scumbag the moment I laid eyes in him. I should’ve—”

“Guys, please.” Your voice cracks when you finally intervene, and that’s all it takes for their immediate anger to fizzle out.

The tension in their shoulders melts, their features softening drastically as they spot the glistening of tears in your eyes despite your feeble attempts to blink them away. In an instant, they’re cuddling back up against you, murmuring soft apologies and pleading for you not to cry over someone like him. But the dam is already broken, and salty tears are swelling up in your eyes and spilling down your cheeks before you can stop them.

Everything you’d been holding back comes bubbling violently towards the surface. Sobs wrack your chest, and you cling onto the hands of either boy as they watch you helplessly.

Chanyeol, the big softie that he is, has to bite his lip to keep the tears threatening to swell in his own eyes at bay. He’s never been good at holding himself together when he sees you hurting. He feels everything with his entire being, his empathy for his friends and the people he cares about on another level. But that big, stupid heart of his is one of the many reasons you adore him.

Baekhyun, on the other hand, is not the most suave when it comes to comforting people. Most of the time he’ll try to crack jokes and make light of the situation, but he knew better than to break out his usual antics when you were in such a state. So he held his tongue, opting to wrap his hand around yours in hopes of comforting you in even the slightest.

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” You groan once your sobs subside into sniffles and you feel the warm flush of embarrassment filtering into your cheeks at your own outburst. You really hated crying in front of people. So it wasn’t too often that your friends, or anybody for that matter, saw such a raw display from you. “It’s just so frustrating and humiliating, you know?”

There’s a moment of silence as you wipe the tears from your face with the hand not held in a death grip by Baekhyun. It’s the nice kind of silence though, the kind you don’t have to fill and don’t really want to, encasing the three of you in a little bubble of comfort. Of course, with these two, you can’t expect it to last long.

“If I ever see him again,” Chanyeol huffs, dropping his chin onto your shoulder, “it’s on sight.”

You laugh at that, the sound hoarse and nasally and just plain awful, but genuine nonetheless. Raising a hand, you comb it through his soft black locks in a show of gratitude.

“Baek?” You turn to him with a sniffle. He hums softly in acknowledgement, tracing comforting circles against the top of your hand. “Do you have anything to drink?”

“What? Is my hot cocoa not good enough for you?” He teases light-heartedly and you chuckle, shaking your head.

“It’s delicious. But I was thinking of something… a little stronger.”

A mischievous grin upturns the corners of his lips as he realizes what you’re suggesting. “I’ve got just what you need.”

“You know what, FUCK MEN. They’re all stupid. Who needs ‘em? Not me.”

“Yeah men are assholes!” Baekhyun agrees loudly, thrusting his empty shot glass in the air, before pausing and reconsidering his words. “Wait, I’m a man.”

“You and Yeol are the only exceptions.” You reassure, slapping your hand down on his shoulder. He grins widely at that, satisfied. “But every other man— they can all suck my dick,” you continue your tirade, swinging your hands around animatedly, “they’re all liars and cheats and idiots and I’ve had enough of they’re bullshit to last three lifetimes.”

Chanyeol giggles softly from where he’s situated on the floor between your legs which are draped lazily over either of his broad shoulders, his head resting on your thigh, obviously amused by your tipsy antics.

The first shot went down hard, more bitter than your resentment for your piece of shit ex-boyfriend. The second soothed the ache in your chest and allowed for the tension in your muscles to gradually ebb away. And the third? Well, you opted to take your time sipping on that one, not wanting to completely lose yourself in the intoxicating buzz.

You were never the biggest drinker, but sometimes a few shots of something a little stronger than beer helps take the edge off. Right now seems as good a time as any for some liquid courage.

“You wanna know the worst part?”

However, one of the biggest reasons you erred on the side of caution around alcohol was because you had a tendency to spill things that didn’t necessarily need to be exposed. Especially not to your tipsy best friends at three in the morning when emotions ran high and couldn’t be easily stifled.

“What?” Baekhyun leans closer, eyes wide and burning with curiosity at the sudden somberness of your voice. Chanyeol tilts his head back at the shift in tone, looking up at you through dark lashes.

“In the three years we were together,” the two boys strain their ears as your voice drops into a careful whisper, as if someone other than them was around to hear the secret you hadn’t dared to share with a single soul up until this point, “he only ate me out once.”

For a moment, you think the disbelief that flashes across their faces is because you’ve brought up something of a sexual nature. But that thought is quickly squashed.

“Once? In three years? Is he insane?!”

“Shows what kind of man he really is.” Baekhyun scoffs, clicking his tongue. “Did you go down on him?”

You nod in reluctant confirmation, still sober enough to feel the slightest pinch of shame at your admission.

“That’s not how it works! Sex is about give and take, balance,” Chanyeol enunciates the word carefully, and you can’t help the upward twitch of your lips at the seriousness of his expression and the passion behind his words, “You can’t just receive without giving anything back!”

“He said he didn’t like it. And he only did it that one time because we fought on my birthday two years ago and he felt bad.” You explain, pouting heavily as you recall all the times he refused to go down on you.

Baekhyun blanches, jaw dropping. “You haven’t been eaten out in two years? Oh, baby...” you can feel the empathy rolling off of them in thick waves as they allow the new information to really sink in.

“I know, I know! Please don’t make me think about it anymore.” You whine distraughtly, rubbing your hands roughly down your face as frustration and annoyance bubble up inside of you. “I’m already pent up enough as is. That selfish bastard— he couldn’t even make up for it with his stupid dick either. He was all talk when it came to things like that. He only ever cared about getting himself off. It didn’t matter if I felt good as long as he could get his dick wet. What bullshit! Do you even know how many orgasms I had to fake?!”

Everything you’d kept inside comes exploding out of you in a rush of fiery passion, refusing to remain bottled up for even a moment longer. But of course, the moment it’s out and unable to be taken back, you regret saying anything about it at all. Red hot embarrassment floods your senses and you sink in on yourself, slapping a hand over your offending lips.

Damnit. You really shouldn’t have taken that third shot.

“Fuck. I’m sorry. That was— I shouldn’t have—” you attempt to backtrack, mouth twisted into a grimace.

There’s an exchange of glances that you don’t see, too wrapped up in your own humiliation to notice.

Then, a gentle hand slides over your thigh and you jolt in surprise, head snapping up to find a very serious Baekhyun looking back at you. You’d never seen this kind of expression on his face before. It was different then his usual playful grin or teasing smirk. Darker, somehow... dangerous. Like he was looking right through you and seeing everything you’d kept so carefully bottled up inside. It incites within you a vulnerability you had long forgotten.

“When was the last time you came?”

The question catches you off guard, to say the very least.

“Shit, i-it’s not like I keep track.” You laugh weakly, trying not to focus on the warmth seeping into your lower belly or the proximity of their bodies. But then his fingers are feathering over the curve of your knee and your heart is picking up speed and you’re left wondering at which point this conversation took such a turn.

Between your legs, Chanyeol shifts and your gaze snap down just in time to see him turn to face you fully, something dark and unfamiliar stirring within those big brown eyes. On instinct, you try to close your legs, but the sheer largeness of his body nestled comfortably between them prevents you from doing anything of the sort.

There’s no ignoring the rush of heat that ignites in your core, the closeness too much for your body to process all at once, only fueled by the long neglected desire for some kind of release.

And the fact that all he needed to do was get just a little bit closer—

But those are most definitely not the types of thoughts you should be having about your best friends. No matter how attractive they are. No matter how good Baekhyun’s pretty hand feels, slowly edging it’s way higher and higher up your thigh. No matter how cute the look on Chanyeol’s face is, a searing blush turning his full cheeks a fiery shade of red that easily consumes the entirety of his handsome face.

Fuck. Why was he looking at you like that?

“Y/n…”

Oh god. Why did your name have to sound like that coming from his lips?

Baekhyun’s fingers find your chin, gently coaxing your attention away from the man kneeling before you and back onto him. Your breathing has become shallow and fast, the insufficient amount of oxygen making you feel somewhat lightheaded. But the sensation is not a wholly unwelcome one. Not when his own smooth, liquor stained breath is like ambrosia on your tongue— heavy and rich and dangerously tempting.

“That piece of shit couldn’t make you feel good, could he?”

“No.” You swallow around the word, willing your treacherous eyes away from the entrancing curve of his pink mouth.

“No…” he repeats softly, tracing his thumb lightly over the flesh of your lower lip, “but I can— we can.” He lowers his gaze, tempting yours to follow as he ticks a brow at the younger boy. “… can’t we, Chanyeol?”

“Yes.” Chanyeol breathes without a moment’s hesitation, nuzzling his nose against the inside of your knee, warm fingertips teasing the cool skin of your ankles before he’s quickly amending, “if it’s what you want.”

Baekhyun’s lips feather over the shell of your burning ear and you feel consumed.

“Do you want it?”

“This is crazy.” It’s a deliberate avoidance of the question and you both know it.

He cocks his head, the corner of his lip curling into a teasing little grin that makes you feel like he can read your mind. “Is it?”

Yes. The word is on the tip of your tongue. But you would be a dirty, filthy liar if you said it had never crossed your mind.

The thought of you and them.

Usually one... sometimes both.

But those had just been fleeting fantasies when nothing else could satiate the unrelenting heat in your belly, shameful fantasies that, for the most part, you kept locked up tight in the furthest corner of your mind and only let out at the darkest hour of the night, when the midnight winds carried away the trembling breaths of their names, a whispered secret shared only between you and the moon. Only then would you dare to bask in their phantom caresses, allow your mind to conjure up images of their faces, twisted in beautiful bliss.

It was a dangerous game you played, but god, it felt too good to be wrong.

Or maybe that was just you trying to rationalize getting off to the thought of your best friends.

After a few moments of you grappling for the right words, Baekhyun tentatively intervenes with the thick, tension-filled silence that had encased the space around you. “It’s okay if you don’t want to. No pressure from us, sweetheart. I understand two at once can be a bit... intimidating.”

Though he started out in a tone that suggested reassurance and understanding, that last phrase, donning an underlying pitch of provocation, gives you pause.

“Are you suggesting you don’t think I could handle the two of you?” There’s a low scoff to your words, a spark of competitiveness that only Byun Baekhyun himself could draw out of you igniting in your stomach.

He smiles at you innocently, walking two fingers up the length of your thigh. “Not at all.” Something about the glint in his eye tells you that that is exactly what he was suggesting.

A light pout touches your lips and you lower your gaze to the man on the floor. “Chanyeol?”

You don’t need to elaborate for him to understand what you’re asking, that familiar boyish grin curling across his face as he props his chin on top of your knee.

“I think you could handle me just fine.”

A shiver ricochets down your spine at the divine way the words drip from his lips, thick and honey like, sensual in their suggestive nature. You hold his burning stare for a few moments longer than you probably should have, feeling yourself slowly being devoured by the dark, ravenous hunger that swirls within it. This was a fire you were not accustomed to seeing ablaze in Chanyeol. You were used to the fire of his competitiveness, the searing flame of his imperishable passion.

But this— this was something new all together.

If you were to touch him, you wonder if you would be able to feel the savage heat of it against your fingertips.

At your sides, your hands itch to find out. But a gentle tug at the string of your- er, Chanyeol’s sweatpants pulls your mind away from that specific thought. You can’t help the shaky gasp that catches in your throat at the sight of Baekhyun’s hands hovering dangerously close to your heat. You can only watch, melting into a puddle of pure need as he twirls the string nonchalantly around his beautiful fingers, slipping his two middle digits into one of the loops and proceeding to curl them in a way that made your mind jump to highly inappropriate possibilities.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

His teeth graze the shell of your ear and the wetness forming between your thighs increases tenfold as the smooth tenor of his voice thrums through your skull.

“I’d love for you to prove me wrong.”

You’re not sure who leaned in first. But the next thing you know, your lips are on his. There’s no time to dwell on the fact that you’re kissing your best friend, your mind rapidly growing hazy from the unexpected intensity. There’s a certain viciousness in his ministrations, a brutality to his lust that he breathes into your lungs and sends blazing through your veins. It’s like nothing you’ve ever experienced before.

You can’t help the surprised moan that escapes you when he takes your tongue between his lips and sucks, a low content hum reverberating through his chest before he releases you with a lewd ‘pop’.

“Fuck,” he groans languidly, “You taste like chocolate, baby.”

Calloused hands are curling around your jaw before you can fully recuperate, drawing your attention away from Baekhyun just in time to see Chanyeol’s rapidly approaching face. His dark eyes are hooded and wanting, the faintest of pouts residing on his red-bitten mouth as he breathes in an almost whining tone, “I wanna taste.”

You can think of no reason to object.

His lips slip over yours with a gentleness that is almost staggering. Despite his impatience, there’s an underlying hesitance to his motions, an uncertainty that gives you the feeling that… he’s waiting for you to take the lead. And you do such with fervor.

Raising a hand, you slip gentle fingers up the length of his throat and give an experimental squeeze, not hard enough to do anything other than apply a bit of pressure, but just enough to get your message across.

I’m in charge.

The delighted moan he produces in response makes your lips curl devilishly.

But you’re not given the opportunity to relish in the hot rush of power long, a second pair of lips attaching to your throat making you waver. A hot tongue laves over your collarbone, followed by the sharp pressure of teeth and your jaw goes slack.

Did Baekhyun just bite you?

And… why didn’t you hate it?

Chanyeol takes your open mouth as an invitation, smoothly tilting his head and deepening the kiss. Fuck. He tastes like cinnamon and liquor, a combination you had no idea could be so addictive.

Mind dazed and sufficiently distracted, you don’t notice the hand slipping beneath the fabric of your sweats until a shock of pleasure bolts up your spine. You gasp, breaking the kiss as your eyes drop in order to see which of the two boys is the culprit. Baekhyun lets out a low groan, feathering gentle touches over the soaking fabric of your underwear.

“You’re so fucking wet, baby.” He growls dangerously in your ear. “We’ve barely even started. Are you already that excited?”

You shudder involuntarily, only managing a hoarse moan when he grinds the heel of his palm against your clit. He chuckles tauntingly, as if you’ve just proved his point, but you can’t find it in yourself to be embarrassed with the way his skilled fingers are stroking your clothed heat.

The heaviness of Chanyeol’s gaze boring into you, devouring every detail of your blissed expression, only serves in making the sensations all the more intense. You attempt to grind yourself down into Baekhyun’s touch, seeking more friction, only to whimper in dismay as he withdraws completely, leaving you cold, unsatisfied, and aching for more.

“Baekhyun—”

“Take them off.” The abruptness of the command has your breath catching in your throat and a telling warmth fluttering through your core. You weren’t accustomed to hearing Baekhyun’s voice like this, so different from his usually light hearted teasing and playful jibes that it throws you for a moment. He cocks a brow amid your stunned silence, licking over the seam of his lip. “What? You need help?”

Snapping yourself out of it, you swing your gaze over to Chanyeol, offering him a cheeky, lopsided grin. “Can’t say I’d mind it.”

“I’m happy to lend a hand.” He hums, shooting you a playful wink that has a wide smile breaking across your face. He makes quick work of your borrowed sweats, easily tugging the loose fabric down the length of your legs and casting it aside carelessly. You watch the way his eyes flit greedily over the expense of your bare thighs, relishing the low, strained groan that flutters from his gaping lips when his attention fixes on the thin, black, lacy material that separates him from your soaking pussy.

“Those, too,” you instruct softly, sinking your teeth into the inside of your cheek. He swallows, and goes to reach for them, only to draw back abruptly when you swat his hands away with a sound of disapproval, “uh-uh. Do it with your teeth.”

Chanyeol’s breath hitches, a severe blush rushing into his cheeks.

Beside you, Baekhyun grins wildly. “That’s my girl.”

You smirk to yourself at the praise, but don’t remove your eyes from Chanyeol’s for a single moment, absolutely loving the pretty shade of red his handsome face has taken on.

Slowly, he dips his head, not daring to break your gaze as he latches his teeth onto the thin black lace on your underwear and begins to drag them down the length of your legs. Goosebumps erupt across your skin, soothed by the press of his hot palms as they trail his descent down your thighs, over the curves of your knees, down your calves, until you are left bare and exposed before them.

Fuck. That was so hot.

“Cute, isn’t he?” Baekhyun hums playfully against your jaw, like the whisper of the devil in your ear. You let out a trembling breath as the younger boy presses a gentle kiss to the inside of your knee, nodding with an airy sigh of ‘ so cute’. Baekhyun nips at the juncture of your throat, and you can only watch with bated breath as he reaches a hand between your thigh, dragging his long middle finger through your folds, teasing at your entrance. “Want your sweet Chanyeollie to eat your pretty cunt, baby? Hm? Want him to make you feel good?”

Your chest rises rapidly, fast, shallow breaths swirling into your lungs. His filthy words curl beneath your nose, thrumming in your ears, intoxicating and disorienting in their deadly temptation. Desperation tugs at every nerve in your body and your hips buck and roll, chasing his caress. Want pools, dark and heavy, in Chanyeol’s hooded eyes as he watches his friend’s teasing ministrations. He licks his lips, full and pink and glistening in the low light of their apartment and you feel yourself clench around nothing.

“Fuck yes.” The words are nothing less than a growl in the back of your throat, a sound you never thought yourself capable of producing.

Baekhyun suddenly reaches forward, weaving his fingers through Chanyeol’s thick hair and tugging him forward. The younger gives no resistance, bracing his hands on your lower thighs as he allows himself to be guided to you. His lips part, tongue peeking out, and your anticipation skyrockets. But then he stops just short, and all you’re left with is the faint caress of his warm breath to soothe the insatiable ache between your hips. You almost whimper.

Chanyeol’s nostrils flare, eyes sharpening in annoyance as he shoots a glare up in Baekhyun’s direction. He only grins and arches a brow. “What? You’re not gonna ask for it first? Where are your manners, Yeol?” He gasps mockingly, eyes twinkling with mirth.

You don’t expect Chanyeol to give in at first, not with how competitive he could be and especially not with Baekhyun acting so damn condescending. But then he does, and you forget how to breathe.

“Please, y/n,” he pants hotly against your skin, “I wanna taste you so bad. I wanna make you feel good, baby. Let me make you feel good. Please. Fuck, please.” A low, needy groan trembles in the back of his throat, clinging to that last ravenous plea. He snags his lower lip between his teeth and you feel yourself throb. The man looks down right sinful, Baekhyun still clutching onto his inky locks, forcing a slight strain in his neck as he looks up at you with those damn eyes that make your stomach churn and your mind spin.

God, he’s so beautiful.

Overwhelmed with the need to touch him, you nudge Baekhyun’s hand out of the way and replace it with your own, immediately loving the feeling of Chanyeol’s soft hair sliding between your fingers. His eyes flutter under the gentleness of your grip, lips parting as he breathes a delicate sigh, gazing up at you expectantly.

“Come here, Yeolie.”

He’s more than happy to comply.

The first stroke of his tongue sends sparks of electricity shooting through your entire body, a silent gasp shaping your lips. He looks up at you through dark lashes, encouraged and invigorated by your responsiveness to him, licking eagerly at your cunt. Soft moans flutter through his chest, and you shiver at the faint vibrations that are sent pulsing through you.

“Fuck, Chan,” you hiss, rocking your hips forward when he laves over your clit. The friction makes your skin tremble, a dangerous heat rising beneath it. If you knew he was this good with his mouth, you would have jumped his bones a whole lot sooner.

Another moan builds in your chest, but it’s abruptly stifled when Baekhyun tangles a hand into your hair and pulls you into a kiss that doesn’t fail to knock the air out of your lungs. Having both of their mouths on you makes your head spin and you can’t decide which to focus on. You’ve never been with more than one person at the time and it’s slightly overwhelming to suddenly have two men— two gorgeous men at that, both eager and willing to give you more pleasure than you’ve ever experienced.

Warm fingers suddenly slip beneath the thick fabric of your sweatshirt, and you shiver as they glide over your skin, light and teasing in advance towards your chest. A tremor wracks your spine when he pinches a nipple, squeezing his digits around the shape of your breast. Your back arches unconsciously, and you feel him smirk. Distracted, you don’t feel the burn of Chanyeol’s impatient glare until his teeth sink into the soft flesh of your inner thigh.

Yelping in shock, you snap your gaze back down to the younger boy, disbelief coloring your features. He has the audacity to smirk at you, cocking a brow in a manner that has a mixture of annoyance and arousal flaring up in your gut. Any glimmer of smug accomplishment is quickly washed from his face when your hand shoots down and roughly grips the hair on the back of his head, yanking him upwards until your nose to nose.

“Watch your teeth, Yeolie.” You murmur darkly.

“Or what?” The corner of your mouth twitches at his gutsy response.

“Or I’ll make sure to edge you until you cry.”

His eyes widen at the threat and he swallows thickly. From your peripheral, you see the crotch of his grey sweatpants rise.

“Oh? But it looks like you’d like that.” A deep crimson flush rushes into his ears and tinges the tips of his ears and he lowers his eyes, unable to hold your mirthful gaze any longer. “I guess I’ll just have to think of a better punishment.”

“I’m sorry,” his voice comes out airy and desperate, the natural rasp making the knot in your stomach tighten, “I promise I’ll be good.”

“Will you?”

“Yes.” You search his blown pupils for any sign of dishonesty, but find only sincerity and intoxicating lust. Satisfied, you release your tight grip on his hair in favor of gently stroking your knuckles over his blushing cheek.

“Then be a good boy and show me what this pretty mouth,” you trace your thumb gently over the soft, pink flesh of his lower lip, “can really do.”

The moment he’s released from your entrancing gaze, his mouth is on you again, eating you out with a fervor you’ve never before experienced. Your hips buck against him, your head tipping back as you let out rasping groans.

“Fuck, Yeol. That’s it, baby. Good boy.” He moans against you as spill praise after praise, lapping hungrily at your soaking pussy.

“That was so fucking sexy.” Baekhyun growls roughly, kissing you hard once before he’s pulling away to speak again. “Watching you boss him around, take control like that…” his voice drawls into a low groan, “really does something to me.”

“Yeah?” You ask shakily, mind whirling as Chanyeol buries his tongue inside of you. Baekhyun grins, humming lightly in confirmation. “Maybe you should let me boss you around, too.”

“Not a chance.” He chuckles. “Maybe next time. But tonight…” your mouth falls open in a silent gasp as he wraps a hand around your throat, squeezing ever so gently, “your mine, sweetheart.”

Next time. He said next time.

There’s going to be a next time.

The amount of joy you receive from those two simple words borders on irrational.

“I— oh fuck!” You can only cry out in bliss as Chanyeol wraps his lips around your clit, sucking roughly. Your hips jerk and grind, moving on their own accord as he draws you closer and closer to your high. God, you’re so close you can taste it. Your trembling hands find purchase in his hair once more, desperate to hold onto something as the coil in your stomach grows tighter and tighter, threatening to snap at any moment.

“You gonna cum all over Yeolie’s tongue, baby? You gonna cum for us?” Baekhyun coos encouragingly against your jaw, and you can only whimper and nod frantically, unable to speak when Chanyeol sinks a long finger into your wet cunt, fucking you skillfully with his digit while he focuses his mouth on abusing your throbbing clit until your reduced to little more than a trembling, whimpering mess on their living room couch.

“Yes— oh god, yes.”

When the coil snaps, it snaps hard. You can only manage a strangled whimper when it crashes over you. How long had it been since you last come on something other than your own hand? Weeks? Months? You can’t recall. But honestly how much does it really matter when your best friend’s face is nestled snug between your thighs?

The muscles of your legs seize and tremble beneath the force of your release, only held open by Chanyeol’s strong hands. He is unrelenting even as you come undone around him, tongue rolling over your clit, finger curling against your walls as his heady, hooded eyes devour you. You only manage to get him to detach him from you when you give a weak tug at his hair, the post-orgasm sensitivity proving too much for your body to handle.

“F– fuck.” You shiver, panting as tendrils of residual pleasure lick at your senses, the cold phantom of his tongue making you clench around nothing but empty air is pathetic greed. “Fuck, come here.”

Chanyeol is quick to rise onto his knees, obedient as ever, letting out a soft gasp of surprise as you cup his face and draw him into a heated kiss. He melts into you, large hands finding purchase on your thighs (which are still shaking) and caressing them soothingly.

“Thank you,” you breathe against his mouth, “thank you. Thank you.”

You feel him smiling as you continue to express your gratitude in gentle words spoken between deep, passionate kisses and it’s not long before his smile turns into something wide and toothy and uncontainable and he’s bursting into a fit of giggles as you resort to peppering the rest of his face in playful kisses.

“Easy now, sweetheart. Save the aftercare for when we’re  done, yeah?” Baekhyun’s lilting hum draws your attention, and you look at him with wide eyes.

“We’re not done?”

His brows jump, that familiar lopsided smirk offsetting his pretty lips. “Are you kidding me? We’ve got two years worth of orgasms to make up for. We’re nowhere near finished.” A shiver of excitement ricochets down your spine at the promise laced into his words, and you have to bite your lip to keep a wide grin at bay.

Suddenly, Baekhyun rises from the couch and it’s with immense effort that you refrain from staring directly at the prominent bulge straining against the thin fabric of his plaid pajama pants. Swallowing thickly, you look up at him as he extends a hand. “Come on. The bedroom is  much more comfortable to get your brains fucked out in. Speaking from experience.” You scoff at the sleazy smirk he shoots you, but slide your hand into his nonetheless.

The moment you’re on your feet, your knees buckle and you nearly topple. Luckily for you, Chanyeol has remarkable reflexes (when it counts) and catches you by the waist, pulling you flush against his chest.

“Shit, Yeol. You really did a number on her.” Baekhyun remarks teasingly. A feverish blush rises up your neck and you shoot him a glare.

“Shut up.”

He bites the corner of his lip, gives you a heated once over that leaves your skin burning and trembling, before spinning on his heels sauntering in the direction of his bedroom door. He stops in the frame for a brief moment and shoots you a sultry wink from over his shoulder. “Come make me.”

Fuck.

Chanyeol let’s out a yelp of surprise as you lace your fingers through his and tug him hurriedly in the direction of his roommate’s bedroom. The very second that you’re through the door, lips connect with yours, stealing the very air from your lungs and obliterating any last remaining bit of your sanity. Hands seize your half naked body, eagerly exploring the expanse of your feverish skin. They tug at the hindering fabric of your sweatshirt, until all at once it is being pulled over your head and cast off carelessly somewhere in the darkness. You don’t even shiver, the heat of their bodies surrounding you and warding off the cool air.

Chanyeol takes the opportunity to slide a hand beneath your chin and tilt your head back so that it rests on his shoulder, the tip of his tongue flicking over your lips until they part, welcoming him in. Reaching back, you grab hold of his hips, tugging them forward and guiding them in a slow grinding motion against your ass. He moans hotly at the frictions, kiss turning sloppy as pleasure rushes through him.

You’re distinctly aware of the pressure of Baekhyun’s own mouth beginning a slow descent, starting from your jaw, gliding down the length of your throat, pausing to lick and suck at your sensitive nipples, kissing with a staggering tenderness over your belly. Then you hear his knees hit the floor. All at once, his tongue flattens against your clit, and you have to break away from Chanyeol as your body jolts violently in response. There’s still lingering sensitivity from your first orgasm, amplifying the pleasure tenfold.

And god, it’s so good.

“F– fuck, Baek—” your voice breaks off into a trembling whimper, hips bucking as he sinks a finger into your heat. Followed shortly thereafter by a second. Then a third. The stretch has you keening, leaning the full weight of your body against Chanyeol’s sturdy chest. He’s the only thing keeping you upright at the moment. Had you been left to your own devices, you would have already collapsed.

“Gotta make sure you’re ready for us, baby.” Baekhyun hums with a lightness entirely unfitting for the current situation, nipping at the inside of your thigh. He supplies you with a slow, calculated thrust, biting his lip harshly as he watches your glistening arousal coat his digits. “Fucking hell, your soaking.”

You whimper shakily, head tipping back as Chanyeol nips and sucks at the juncture of your throat, his large hands gliding over the shape of your body as if he intends to commit it to memory— caressing every curve, fondling every edge, touching you, worshipping you with a reverence that pours into your very soul. You’ve never been touched like this before. Most men just think they have a right to you the second your clothes are off (some even before that). There’s no respect, no appreciation, nothing but dirty lust.

But this— this is different. It’s a feeling you can’t quite put into words. The way he’s touching you, like you’re a precious work of art, it makes you feel good. It makes you feel… beautiful. Something you rarely, if ever, felt when you were with your ex.

Baekhyun swirls his tongue around your clit and simultaneously curls his fingers, successfully stroking that long neglected bundle of nerves inside of you. The sensations it sets off inside of you are intense and overwhelming, and within seconds you’re coming for a second time. This orgasm comes completely unexpectedly and without any real warning outside of the breakneck explosion of pleasure that has stars scattering across your vision.

“Baek—!” you can only manage a broken yelp of his name as your body convulses above him, wracked and disoriented by the sudden, explosive burst of ecstasy. Now your shivering, trembling and gasping violently, but not from the cold. He watches in wonder as you unravel, clenching so tightly around his fingers that he can only begin to imagine what you’ll feel like coming around his cock. Shit, he can’t wait to be inside of you. He’s throbbing at the mere thought of it.

Chanyeol’s no better off, barely holding himself back from rutting against you like some kind of animal. But he wants to impress you, show you he has some semblance of self control even when it feels like he might burst in his pants at any given moment. He wants to be good for you. So for now, he can only watch with bated breath, painfully hard in his sweats, as your face contorts into an expression of pure bliss. God, you look so beautiful like this he almost can’t stand it. How could anyone let someone like you go?

“Holy f-fuck.” You whimper, attempting to catch your breath as your high begins to fade. Baekhyun has plastered a cocky grin across his face by the time you look down at him, though his eyes still sparkle with something indecipherable.

“That was a good one.” He says, carefully retracting his fingers from your heat as Chanyeol hums in agreement, nuzzling his nose behind your ear comfortingly when you shudder and whine at the emptiness. “We’re gonna break her at this rate.” 

“Not a chance,” you interject firmly, albeit somewhat breathlessly, “I’m a lot tougher than you think.” It’s the truth, but the quiver in your voice begs to differ. 

“So you can handle another one?” Baekhyun asks, rising to his full height. 

You hold his fiery gaze. “I can handle anything you give me.” 

Something in his eyes darkens. “Careful, sweetheart. You have… no idea the kind of filthy, depraved things I want to do to you.” His voice drops an octave, and, despite having already come twice (twice as many times as you were used to), your greedy cunt still throbs with need. 

Boldly, you extend a hand, caressing over his clothed length, and feel a surge of pride when he inhales sharply, hard gaze faltering. 

Leaning forward, you feather your lips over his, teasing. It’s a dangerous game you're playing, you know that. But you’re enjoying it far too much to stop now.

“Show me.”

Those two little words are all it takes to break Byun Baekhyun. 

“Bed. Now.” 

Perhaps you’re just a little too eager to comply, barely biting back a grin of excitement as you turn tail and scramble to his king sized bed. 

The disheveled sheets welcome you into their embrace, still warm in the spot Baekhyun had occupied prior your unannounced visit. They smell of him, you notice, the coconut of his shampoo, the milk & honey of his body wash, the soft vanilla of his perfume. You recognize the latter as the bottle he “borrowed” from you a few months back and had yet to return. Not that you really mind. You secretly like the fact that he smells like you. 

Chanyeol is first to round the side of the bed, ridding himself of his clothes along the way. Shirt first, then pants, and you can’t help but giggle as he hops clumsily out of his boxers, nearly bumping into the nightstand before he falls gracelessly onto the mattress beside you, offering up a sheepish grin. 

“Sexy, aren’t I?” Sarcasm bleeds through his tone, embarrassment hot on his cheeks, though it’s quickly soothed as you draw him into a gentle kiss. 

“Excruciatingly.” You enunciate teasingly, nipping at the tip of his nose. 

The bed dips around your ankles, and you peer down to see a very primal looking Baekhyun crawling towards you, like a predator honing in on his prey. The carnal hunger pooling in his hooded eyes hits you straight in the chest, and for a moment you forget how to breathe. 

Slotting himself between your hips, you could easily make out every inch of his length resting against your stomach, hot and hard and throbbing. You don’t think you’ve ever wanted anyone inside of you this badly. His head lowers to your throat and he sets your skin ablaze with open mouthed kisses. Chanyeol makes sure the opposite side of your neck isn’t neglected long, feeling the erratic pulsing of your carotid artery beneath the slow strokes of his tongue. Your head falls back into the pillows, a sigh fluttering from your lips as you’re bathed in their affections. 

Baekhyun slips a hand beneath your knee, hooking it over his hip. Your lungs tremble with excitement when he slides his tip slowly through your wet folds. 

“I’m gonna fuck you until you see stars.” 

“I already have,” you smirk lazily in response, snagging the corner of your lip between your teeth, “Twice.” 

He doesn’t seem discouraged, curving a hand around the shape of your jaw and feathering his mouth over yours as his eyes glint with something sinful and electrifying. “Then I’m gonna show you the goddamn galaxy.” 

There’s no time to respond before his hips are rolling forward, filling you to the hilt with one smooth stroke. A breathless gasp trembles from his throat, “fuck.” 

“Does she feel good?” The question that escapes Chanyeol is weak and needy, strained and rough, coming from somewhere deep in his chest. He almost sounds like he’s struggling, battling with himself internally as he watches his best friend’s cock disappear inside of our cunt with a lewd squelch. The searing heat of his gaze makes you whine in pathetic desperation, no longer unable to form coherent words to express your desire. 

“Fucking Christ, Yeol. She’s so tight a-and wet— ah, fucking perfect.” Baekhyun’s shoulders arch, a tremor rippling down his spine as your walls constrict around him, squeezing so tightly he almost loses himself then and there. But he manages to hold back, bracing a hand on your hip as he pushes himself up right. 

“Baek, please.” 

There’s no need for elaboration. He knows exactly what you’re asking for. And hell, he’s more than happy to provide. 

The first thrust of his hips has your back arching off of the mattress, mouth opening in silent bliss. The pace he sets is punishing, fast and deep and rough. His blunt nails dig harshly into the flesh of your hips, but you relish in it, pain and pleasure coming together to create the perfect cocktail. The lingering sensitivity from your two previous orgasms only serves to heighten the ecstasy that you're experiencing. And with Chanyeol pressed against your side, large, calloused hands and gentle lips making sure each and every inch of you is receiving attention, it doesn’t take long at all before you feel that coil in your stomach tightening. 

“I’m not gonna last.” You moan weakly, clinging to Chanyeol like he’s your one and only lifeline. 

“Fuck, come on, beautiful. Be a good girl and come on my cock.” Baekhyun growls, snapping his hips roughly into yours. You cry out desperately when Chanyeol trails a hand down your body, circling a careful finger around your clit. 

“Oh god, please. Please, Yeol. Harder. Baek— fuck, please.” You’re on the verge of tears, muscles shuddering violently as the white hot pleasure pulses through your veins. 

“Who are you begging, sweetheart?” Baekhyun grins down at you devilishly, licking at his teeth as his eyes glow with something dangerous and powerful. Your stomach whirls, and you nearly headbutt Chanyeol when your body lurches, entirely overwhelmed. It’s so much— too much— but, somehow, not enough. 

Your legs squeeze around Baekhyun’s hips, heels pressing into the swells of his ass, urging him deeper as you implore him wordlessly for more. You want everything, however selfish that may sound. You want it all. Every last piece of him. 

This time around, you’re more than grateful that he can read you so well. 

Simultaneously, the two boys fiercen their ministrations: Baekhyun, fucking himself into you so hard that the headboard is slamming into the wall; Chanyeol, applying enough pressure to your sensitive clit that your sanity nearly flies out the window. Within seconds, entangled in the staggering heat of their bodies, you come undone. 

Damn. Baekhyun wasn’t kidding about showing you the galaxy. 

Never in your life have you experienced an orgasm like this. One that tears through your very being like a raging tsunami. You feel it rippling through every cell, igniting every nerve ending in fiery ecstasy. 

Baekhyun is barely able to hold himself together as you unravel beneath him, his entire body trembling and sweating with the effort of fighting back his own high, which is threatening to break over him at any given second. The mere sight of you is almost enough to do him in, but he wants to make sure to ride you through yours before he allows himself even a taste of his own. Harder said than done when you look so good and feel ever better, clenching and pulsing around him and god he’s about to lose his fucking mind. 

He’s panting and groaning, rolling his hips deeply into yours, keeping himself teetering dangerously on that edge. But it’s you, your voice whimpering his name, your fluttering, teary eyes barely able to keep themselves open looking up at him, that finally breaks him. He bucks into you sharply, hips spluttering, body shaking as he spills himself. It’s sudden and it’s messy and it’s the most goddamn beautiful thing you’ve ever witnessed. 

The moment he’s finished, he collapses on top of you, completely out of breath and red in the face; thoroughly fucked out. But that doesn’t stop him from bathing you in whispered praises. 

“You’re so amazing. You did so well. You’re so beautiful.” 

His words warm your heart, which is just barely beginning to return to a more natural rhythm. They lick the wounds from the nights previous events, soothe the ache that was long forgotten in the thralls of your best friends’ soothing touch. 

Baekhyun pulls out of you carefully, and you have to physically stop yourself from pouting at the emptiness and loss of the weight and warmth of his body as he rolls off of you, flopping onto the mattress at your side with a huff of hazy laughter. 

“Holy shit,” he murmurs, a dopey smile plastered across his face as he tosses an arm over his eyes, “that was amazing.”

“So fucking amazing.” You emphasize, trying uselessly to catch your breath.

It’s only when you feel something nudging at your opposite hip that you're able to refocus your bleary mind on the unfinished task. You turn, finding the adorable scrunched face of Chanyeol, cheeks red, eyes wanting. 

The younger boy chews on his lower lip, swallowing a groan. He’s trying his best not to come off as too desperate, but you see right through him. You see how hard he is, veins thick and throbbing beneath the angry red skin, his flushed tip weeping with precum. Honestly, you’re surprised he hasn’t touched himself yet. It looks like it hurts. 

Licking your lips, you can’t help but to wonder what he might taste like, how he’d feel against your tongue, the kinds of sounds he’d make when his body was overwhelmed with pleasure. You bet he’s loud when he comes. Fuck, that deep, raspy voice would sound so good moaning your name. 

… perhaps you are feeling just a little greedy. 

“Yeol,” he snaps to attention at the wispy call of his name, inhaling sharply when your fingers graze his thigh, “come here.” 

He blinks in confusion, not understanding what you want him to do. Recognizing the lost puppy dog look, you chuckle before elaborating in far more blunt terms to avoid further misunderstanding; 

“I want you to fuck my mouth.” 

If he were to open his eyes any wider, you were certain they’d fall straight out of his head. “I– I can’t– you just—” he stutters clumsily, shaking his head, but you can feel his body practically trembling in excitement at the implication of your words.

“Please. You’ve been so good for me. I wanna make you feel good, too, baby.” You coo, tugging at his knee once more before leaning up to graze your lips over the shell of his flushed ear. “Let me make you feel good, Yeolie.” 

He shivers violently, a strangled moan breaking from his swollen mouth, and you smirk to yourself, knowing you’ve got him. He seems nervous as he pushes himself up and crawls to kneel next to your head before hesitating, blinking as he tries to figure the right way to position himself. 

He’s cute when he’s concentrating. 

“Like this—” you chime in. Chanyeol gasps and flushes a deep red when you guide him forward until his knees are on either side of your head, his hard length swinging proudly above your nose. 

Reaching up, you take his large hands in yours, interlacing your fingers. “If I tap on the back of your hand—” you demonstrate, “it means stop, okay? You have to stop immediately when I do that because I won’t be able to speak.” 

He nods, expression serious, “I understand. I’ll stop if you tap on my hand.” 

“Good,” you pause, a gentle smile upturning the corners of your mouth, “I trust you.” 

His breath hitches. “Thank you.” 

Instead of responding, you tip your chin up and trace your tongue over the underside of his cock. His hips stutter forward, a surprised moan escaping him at the unexpected contact. 

“Stop teasing and feed her your cock, Chanyeol. Can’t you see how bad she wants it?” Baekhyun chuckles mockingly, sliding a lithe hand around your jaw and squeezing, forcing your mouth open even wider. Chanyeol looks down at you through blown pupils, chest heaving, lust practically radiating from his every pore. But it’s only when you offer a nod of reassurance and a look that you hope gives of even the faintest of glimpses into your immense desire for this, for him, does he finally move. 

With a tenderness only Park Chanyeol could possess in a position such as this, he guides himself between your awaiting lips. You moan unabashedly as the bittersweet taste of him hits your tongue, tipping your chin up to make more of him in. A shuddering moan pulses from his chest, pitched and broken on red bitten lips. The sound is somehow even more beautiful than you imagined. 

Languidly, you swirl your tongue around his weeping tip, eliciting a strained whisper of your name as the grip he has on your hands tightens substantially. He offers a slow, shallow thrust, his head dropping forward as his length slides deeper into the warm cavern of your mouth. The pressure of your tongue against the underside of his cock and the heavy reverberations of your soft, encouraging moans invigorate him to set a careful rhythm, hips stroking gently forward. 

Your knuckles dig into the messy sheets as he pivots his weight forward, and you quickly relax your jaw when you feel him inching closer to your throat with every thrust. Chanyeol is even more considerate than you thought he’d be, pulling out far enough between steady strokes that you can swallow lungfuls of oxygen before sliding smoothly back in, deeper and deeper each time. Tears pool in the corners of your eyes, mouth straining in order to accommodate his impressive girth. But hell, it’s worth it. Totally worth it.

His breathing became harsh and labored, filling his lungs with sharp, ragged inhales that shudder through the deep cavity of his chest. “F– fuck, y/n,” he groans hoarsely, head dipping as his eyes squeeze shut, “your mouth is— s- so good.” 

Your core tightens around nothing at the rasping whimper, the faint caress of his warm breath rousing goosebumps across the damp skin of your belly. The subconscious clenching of your thighs is wholly unintentional, but it does not go unnoticed. 

Chanyeol lets out a choked gasp as a hand slides into his hair, his upper body suddenly forced downwards. 

“Come on, Yeolie,” Baekhyun coos tauntingly in his ear, “you were the one going on and on about balance. So why don’t you provide some… ‘give and take’, wasn’t it?” 

“Yeah,” he barely whispers, but you still feel a rush of hot breath over your core and moan throatily around his cock. He tenses and shudders in response to the delicious rush of vibrations, tightening his grip on your hands as Baekhyun guides him lower. 

Honestly, you aren’t sure at first if you have another one in you. Three orgasms in one night was unimaginable before tonight. Four seemed simply unrealistic. Your poor pussy is still pulsing and trembling from the last. But the moment Chanyeol flicks his tongue over your clit, the most delicate of kitten licks, you know that you do. 

This time though, it’s like molten metal boiling in the pit of your stomach, a wholly unfamiliar sensation. Each press of his lips and roll of his tongue fans the fire blazing through your veins. You try your best to keep up, hollowing your cheeks and swirling your tongue, but it’s difficult when it feels like your brain is short circuiting. The pleasure is fiercer, more intense, rolling over you in thick, devastating waves. You’re reduced to little more a moaning, writhing mess beneath him, barely able to keep yourself from choking on his cock. 

Chanyeol’s hips buck frantically as your throat constricts, his own ministrations getting rougher and sloppier the closer he gets. You feel his teeth against your clit, then two long fingers slipping through your slicks folds and fucking themselves into your pussy. Baekhyun can only groan hotly at how easily you take his digits, squeezing his opposite hand around the base of his hard dick. 

“I’m gonna come,” Chanyeol whimpers hurriedly, “oh fuck I’m gonna come.” 

Suddenly, his hips pulse and your bottom lip make contact with the flat of his pelvis. It takes every ounce of control you have over your body to push back your gag reflex, but the way he trembles and breaks above you is undoubtedly worth the strain. A jumbled mess of words tumble from his lips as he comes, though only your name and a select few curses are intelligible between the deep, violent moans that burst from his chest. 

Tears fall from the corners of your eyes as he fucks himself into your mouth, motions stuttered and sloppy. But you swallow around him eagerly as he fills your throat with his release, which only serves in prolonging his orgasm until he’s shivering and whining and hell— each sound, each tremble has the coil in your stomach squeezing tighter and tighter. 

All the while, Baekhyun’s fingers are loyally exploring your silken walls until he once again discovers that small bundle of nerves that make your head spin. Combined with Chanyeol moaning and growling against your clit— you're a dead woman. 

This final orgasm is the equivalent of having a bucket of ice water dumped over your head. Every hair on your body jumps to stand at attention, oxygen suddenly igniting into flames in your lungs. You scream around Chanyeol’s cock, back bowing off the mattress, eyes rolling to the back of your skull. It’s so intense you honestly feel like you might pass out. But it’s so good, too good —fuck, it’s the best you’ve ever had!— and you want to relish in every mind numbing moment. 

All at once, Chanyeol is gone from between your lips and you gasp, a rush of cool air like a glass of ice water in the torrid desert flooding into your lungs and soothing the angry blaze. 

“Holy shit.” 

You’re too gone in the high to make out who the strained whisper had come from, or to notice the sudden substantial amount of wetness painting the insides of your thighs and seeping into the sheets below. Your brain feels thoroughly scrambled, effectively stupefied by the prodigious pleasure and you can do nothing but bask in it. 

“Have you ever done that before?” It takes you a few extra seconds to realize that the question is directed at you. 

“Hmm?” You hum blearily, not bothering to try and lift your head. 

“Squirting,” Baekhyun clarifies, voice thick with wonder, “have you ever done that before?” 

“Squirting? No, I’ve never—” your head snaps up, eyes bulging, “I squirted?!” 

If the excessive arousal currently coating (and dripping from) Chanyeol’s astonished face and the unusually large wet spot staining the sheets is anything to go by, the answer is a clear yes. 

Panic strikes your chest. “Oh my god. Oh my god, I- I am so—”

“Don’t apologize! Don’t you dare apologize.” Baekhyun abruptly cuts you off, splaying a hand over your belly. “That has to be the most— amazing thing I have ever seen. No girl has ever squirted on me before. I’m honestly honored.” 

“Baekhyun, please.” You whine, pulling a pillow over your feverish face and snapping your legs shut. 

“I’m serious!” He yelps indignantly, tugging the pillow away from you and tossing it to the side despite your noisy complaints. Two strong hands find either of your thighs and pry them apart in spite of your stubborn resistance, revealing the slippery mess you made on the sheets below. 

Heat rushes up your neck as Chanyeol falls into position between them like it’s the most natural thing in the entire world and begins licking at your wet skin. The muscles of your thighs shake and tighten uncontrollably under the intimate ministrations, the post orgasm sensitivity extending beyond your core and into each of your limbs. 

“Chan,” you whimper remorsefully, clenching your fingers in the duvet, “I can’t. I can’t.” 

He smiles against your skin, licks turning into gentle kisses that make your heart flutter and melt in ways it definitely should not in response to your best friend’s big, sweet eyes. Then again— this entire situation is remarkably unconventional in regards to a typical friendship. Not that you’re complaining because really, how could you? Four orgasms? In one night? Unheard of. A part of you wonders if they were actually just trying to kill you. 

While Chanyeol bathes you in his limitless affection, Baekhyun vanishes from your side and into the attached bathroom, returning only moments later with a towel saturated with hot water. You hum gratefully as he carefully scrubs away the sheen of sweat and sticky arousal clinging to your skin. And he’s considerate, too? Unbelievable. Un-fucking-believable.

“You guys are going to ruin all other men for me, fucking hell.” You huff out a hoarse chuckle. Chanyeol suddenly flops down beside you, nuzzling his face into the juncture of your shoulder. 

“Who needs other men when you have us?” He rebukes, large hand finding yours and intertwining your fingers. 

You can honestly find no reason to disagree. 

“Guys,” Baekhyun chimes once finished scrubbing you down, “let’s move to Chanyeol’s room. I need to throw these sheets in the washer before they get crusty. Made that mistake once. Never again.” 

“I would totally do that but I’m pretty sure my legs are numb.” 

“Ain’t no thang, pretty lady. I’ve got you.” Chanyeol chirps gallantly, slipping his arms beneath your legs and back. Before you can make any kind of protest, you’re being swooped off the bed and pressed into a warm chest. Shrieks of laughter peel from your lips as the gentle giant spins, and you throw your arms around his neck just for extra precaution. 

“Yeolie,” Baekhyun whines mockingly, stomping his foot childishly as he plasters an exaggerated pout across his face, “you never pick me up and twirl me around like a pretty princess.” 

“Sorry, sweetheart,” you tease, extending a leg and pressing your toes against his chest, “only room for one pretty princess in this apartment.” 

“Oh, okay. I see how it is.” He scoffs as he stumbles back and falls dramatically back onto the mattress, hand splayed over his heart like you had somehow managed to wound him. 

“Speaking of washing,” Chanyeol chirps, glancing down at you, “How does a warm bath sound?” 

“Like heaven.” You groan. “Baek, feel free to join us after you're done doing your laundry.” You shoot him a mirthful grin as Chanyeol pivots and carries you out of the room that bears the musky, filthy scent of sex. 

“Wait you’re just gonna— but I—“ Baekhyun wavers, looking between your retreating figures and his stupid dirty sheets before letting out a groan of frustration and scurrying after you. “Fuck it. I’m coming, I’m coming!” 

“Is your bathtub big enough to fit three people?” You question, gaze landing on Baekhyun’s cute ass as he jogs ahead. 

Chanyeol shrugs, humming thoughtfully. “We can squeeze.” 

You smile, leaning your head on his shoulder. 

“We can definitely squeeze.”

[fukurodanni]

love for the rich and emotionally stunted: a comprehensive guide

ch. 2/7 -- prev. -- next. pairing: jumin han x f!reader warnings: n/a series summary: in the months following the incident with his father's most recent paramour, glam choi, the corporate heir of C&R finds himself discovering exactly what it is that makes a person in love so blind. ao3 link

note: sticking a read more right at the beginning. u kno how it is. thank you for sticking around i'll try my best to keep updates within a week or so!

(weeks prior.)

Jumin Han has entered the chatroom.

Jumin Han

She talked to me today.

ZEN

??

Who?

707

She??

There’s a she?!

Jumin Han

Oh.

I must have neglected to mention it.

ZEN

????

Last time there was a “she”...

Jumin Han

… No.

There’s a woman at my office.

Jaehee Kang

Does she work for you?

Jumin Han

Yes

707

That took an awfully long time for you to type lolol

Are you sure~~

Jumin Han

Yes. She wears a lanyard.

Jaehee Kang

Do you not know her name??

Jumin Han

I should think it would seem impolite after… all that.

Jaehee Kang

???

ZEN

?????

All that WHAT?

Jumin Han

I only caught a glimpse of her lanyard. I don’t know.

ZEN

Dodged my question… T_T

Jaehee Kang

Is this that woman you see in the mornings?

Jumin Han

How did you ....

ZEN

?!?!

707

Is our Jumin finally getting some?!

I’m so proud. Haha T_T

Jumin Han

Getting some… what?

Jaehee Kang

I can look into her.

For research purposes. Of course^^

Jumin Han

;;;

I only just started seeing her this month.

At the door. Seeing her at the door.

707

Seeing her OTL

Maybe she’s your future lover come to save you^^

Jumin Han

I doubt that.

ZEN

Yeah lolol

I doubt it too

And right after the Choi thing?? No way.

707

T_T

Ur right

There’s no way...

-

“Do you play video games, Mr Han?”

That’s a new one. “Where would I find the time?” He asks, thinking of Yoosung. “It’s a useless hobby.”

“That was a quick answer,” you reply. “Who hurt you?”

Jumin raises a brow, inquisitive. “No one.”

“Okay,” you say, the beginnings of a grin playing on your lips. “Who ruined video games for you?”

He thinks of the dark smudges under Yoosung’s eyes, the awful typos and the messages at 3am. It’s only a little funny. The door closes behind them. “No one in particular.”

“You’re smiling, Mr Han. Just a little.” You smile too at this, tilting your head in that curious way of yours. When you reach the lobby and then your separate ways, Jumin spares a glance at you.

He wants to say something more, something lodged very deep in his throat that comes out dry breath. He’s never been too good at small-talk, not with colleagues, not with business outside of work. He wants to be, just a little.

He’s not quite sure how that came to be.

-

It’s beyond embarrassing the way he comes up to you in the cafeteria. “You work here,” he says, a very belated realization.

You blink a few times, as if processing. “Yes,” you say slowly. “I have a lanyard.” You wave the offending item around and Jumin finally, finally catches a glimpse of your name.

“I see,” Jumin says, because that’s all he really can say. “Work hard.”

He consults his phone right away, willing the heat from his face and opening the messenger app. It goes as well as expected when he mentions it so vaguely-- Hyun rags on him for his lack of conversational skills and Yoosung drops a line or two about his own miserable love life. In any case, Assistant Kang’s information on you had only reached him earlier today and in a way he’s still coping. It had been baffling to say the least, finally having everything in front of him rather than scattered in the bits and pieces of your dialogue.

You work, technically, in the same position Assistant Kang does. Only in the fashion department, of which Jumin had strategically ignored after Echo Girl and the Chois. It really isn’t his fault he hadn’t noticed you-- not since before this month when you began arriving so consistently.

“Something on your mind?” Assistant Kang asks, looking up from where she’s shuffling through a stack of papers. It isn’t unusual for her to break the silence with a quip-- she’s always been good at easing into a mode of conversation that takes the edge off. As a good assistant and employee should, of course. Jumin wonders if he should relay this to her.

“Nothing,” he says instead, because surely she already knows. “Is it polite to bring gifts for someone you’re sure you will be seeing every morning?”

She raises a thin brow. “Who-- that woman at the fashion department?”

Jumin deigns not to answer right away, looking down at the state of his nails and the tick of his wristwatch. “Surely there must be some etiquette about that.”

-

Jaehee Kang

Buy her coffee.

ZEN

Get her a promotion lol

707

A new car!!!

Yoosung★

Maybr a nicce pen

??

-

“Any favorite TV shows?” You ask one morning. “Personally, I’m fond of office romances.”

Jumin lags for a moment, waiting to catch up. It isn’t an unusual occurrence. “Is that an innuendo?”

You smile, a little flushed-looking, and wave a hand. “Nope. Not at all.” When you look at the second coffee in his hand, though, it seems you need a second to catch up yourself. You’d mentioned offhandedly how you take your coffee the day before, and today something had stopped him at the threshold of the coffee shop he stops at every morning. Funny how things work like that.

“This is for you,” he says determinedly, and you smile a little but there’s still an edge.

“You dodged my question.” You state simply. Jumin does not know what to say.

He thinks about it for a moment, really thinks about it. The only thing that really comes to mind are the Sunday morning programs, and he doesn’t really know them off the top of his head. Maybe the morning news. “No TV shows. Next question.”

“Okay then,” you say, “Any pet peeves?”

Jumin smiles a little. It isn’t really conscious, but he’s finally figured out a way to respond and he just hopes it takes well. “Women who stop me at the door in the morning.”

“Oh,” you say, taking a sip of your coffee. You hum appreciatively. He feels strangely, indirectly accomplished. “Shame. Mine’s men who give me three word responses when I ask them things.”

He scoffs, although it isn’t as hard as it usually comes out. “I answered that in a sentence.” He says, very assuredly. When he looks back at you there’s a softer smile at your lips, rounded at the corners and not quite so mischievous as he’s seen it look before. It looks fond.

“I know,” you reply. He feels a little warmer now, turning the corner where you two part ways. You offer him a two-fingered salute, a “See you in the morning!” and a final turn.

And then you’re gone.

-

The next time the conversation lingers long past the lobby it’s because you’ve coaxed him into talking about Elizabeth III. There’s a point where you’ve reached the elevator and he’s talking to you about her care routine and the minutiae of what it takes to keep her fur so soft and pristine (much of it is her own work and her natural beauty-- of course) and he’s only barely aware of how long he’s been going on, but he pauses to look at you. He doesn’t know what he’s expecting, between Jaehee’s hesitancy and Luciel’s rabid praise and Hyun’s outright disgust--

But there’s something about the way you’re looking at him when he’s finished, curiouser and half-curved into a smile. And he’s been on the receiving end of that before-- his father’s lovers, interviewers and subordinates-- but none of them have ever seemed so affectionate.

He’s seen the same look before when it’s Jaehee with a new photocard, the way Yoosung danced around Rika. It’s the glint in Luciel’s glasses when he gets to working and it’s something, something.

You look like you’ve seen something beautiful.

Which is understandable to him, really, having just shown you pictures of his Elizabeth III. What he understands less is the way you’re looking at him and not the open phone, caught up in a silence that seems way too heavy for a conversation about his cat. Even when the elevator dings it’s with some trepidation that you leave first, a memory, a discovery pulled taut between you two.

“I hope I get to meet her sometime,” you say.

Jumin nods, wordless. The delight on your face at such a simple gesture fixates itself in the forefront of his mind until he returns home to Elizabeth, flickering like hell and unbidden and unexpected but not exactly unwelcome. It’s just as confusing to him as it sounds on paper.

-

Somehow Jaehee gets to you first.

For all the time he’s spent working with Jaehee, working around her and in her general proximity, he doesn’t actually know what time she gets into the building. She seems like an inevitability, something constant and fixed and always there.

So when he holds the door open for two women, Jumin is feeling like he had seen something he wasn’t supposed to. Especially since the two of you seem to be chatting so jovially, shaking her hand with both of yours when you go to part.

There’s another something clogging his throat, a cloying want and a halfhearted desire to draw that same laugh from you, that same open brightness. He hasn’t let himself feel so much about one person-- one particular and fixed point in his life. Jumin feels like he’s chasing-- some feeling, some unnamed ball of fire-- a meteor, blazing and brilliant and too much to be real.

It’s too much to be compared to anything else, not when Sarah Choi was an unlit match next to what a beaming bonfire you are. Suddenly Jumin feels more tightly wound than he usually does.

And really, truly, it feels like a lot to handle, so he turns on his heel after silently handing you the coffee and begins to march. It feels like karmic debt for not having experienced these things as a schoolboy, and then only once as an adult. He doesn’t even know if the one time counted.

“Mr Han--” you say, and it happens at the same time he holds his breath to turn again. Just to look, to see if you appeared as off kilter as he felt. Maybe the world had rotated wrong today.

You stop there in your tracks and he really does believe for a moment that the world has gone astray-- because then it would explain the way air isn’t getting to his lungs right. He inhales just to make sure and before any other dialogue comes from your lips he asks, “Walk with me?”

You both take the elevator then.

-

Jaehee Kang

She’s a very nice woman.

Yoosung★

Huh?

707

U met her?!?!!

Tell me everything

-

It makes your mornings longer, the introduction of the elevator route. He isn’t sure how it became mutual agreement and routine, the same way the cup of coffee steams in your hands and the way you ask after Elizabeth III. The way the door gets held open.

Jumin isn’t sure how many mornings go by, how many of them are spent dreading the chime of the elevator, but one of them brings a much quieter you. And you’re usually such a whirlwind of life, pulling him toward and towards you-- he’d be lying to himself more than usual if he said he wasn’t worried.

You look like you’re steeling yourself too, and you’ve never done that-- there isn’t a thing you’ve said to him that was measured or prepared. You’re kind of like an overexcited puppy, and he’s never been too fond of dogs.

He feels something slide out of place, something like a realization that’s far grander than he knows, hovering at the tip of his tongue. He doesn’t know what it is yet, not really. He’s barely out of his head, ready to ask if you’re alright--

And you cut him off. Like you did that first morning, knocking the breath from his lungs and everything else out of place. Jumin likes things neat and tidy, likes things where they should be, where he’s used to seeing them. You aren’t too good for him, he thinks.

Then you ask, “Would you want to go out sometime?” And he has no reference materials and no forewarning and no prepared response. The odds are against him.

So against all odds and every simmering nerve in his body he says, “Yes.”

tags: @vandysgf @mrs-han

[marshmallow-phd]

Gravity

Genre: Angst, Unrequited Love

Pairing: Junmyeon x Reader

A/N: This was basically just a therapy write. 

**

What is worth? It is neither tangible nor seeable. It doesn’t have a body or a shell. Yet, the endless chase to catch it, to hold it captive, is a never ending disease that eats away at the brain and tears apart the heart. It’s only descriptor is feeling. A judgement. Something either is or isn’t. When it's an object in question, the call for worth is passive, innocent. It’s wanted or it's not. The deterioration comes into play when the worth is applied to a person. 

Kim Junmyeon was worth the world. 

With a smile that could chase away a storm and a heart too good and pure for the human populace, he was truly worth more than the world. He was worth more than you deserved. 

Not only was his face kind, but it was handsome. Beautiful, even. Candid photos were museum worthy masterpieces. There was a gentleness, a softness to his eyes and cheeks that contradicted the sharpness of his jaw and the strength of his body. His laugh was infectious and his mind as vast and deep as the ocean. The sum of his whole was worth so much. 

But you were not worthy of such a person. You weren’t as stunning as a sunset over the mountains or as extraordinary as a new discovery. You were simply… you. Staring from afar, admiring but never touching. 

You wished you could be worthy. You wished you could be special enough - good enough to be with him. Pretty enough would be something decent to settle for. But you were invisible. A person on the sidelines. Out of the spotlight. You were an admirer - not one to be admired. 

“You’re doing it again.”

You blinked, your attention torn away from the spot where Junmyeon was standing, laughing and chatting with a few of his seniors. Kyungsoo, who sat to your left at the small table in the entertainment building’s cafe, didn’t even look up from the script he was currently reviewing. He’d only been given it the day before and was still considering if he wanted the part that was being offered to him. 

Your gaze dropped to the opened yet untouched notebook lying in front of you on the somewhat sticky surface. Someone must have spilled their syprup-y coffee and didn’t do the best job at cleaning it up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Without moving his head, Kyungsoo looked at you over the rim of his glasses. Even though you were sure you were nothing more than a blur to his eyes at the moment, he could always see right through you. “If you keep staring at him like that, you’re going to give yourself away.”

The ultimate nightmare. The humiliation of being found out. The sweet but awkward rejection that you knew would follow. With his laugh still ringing in your ears, you forced yourself to tune Junmyeon out. 

Pushing his glasses up his nose with his middle finger, Kyungsoo straightened and closed the script. “We can go somewhere else, if that would help.”

You wanted to argue no. That you weren’t a coward. That you weren’t going to run and hide simply because you looked at him like he was the night sky while you were stuck on the ground. You used to have better control of yourself. You used to be able to hide it better. But lately, it had only gotten worse. 

And you were a coward. 

“Yeah. Maybe one of the practice rooms is empty.”

“There’s usually one.”

After gathering up your things, you followed Kyungsoo out of the cafe, stealing a final glance. Junmyeon didn’t so much as twitch in your direction. It wouldn’t have been surprising if he hadn’t even realized that you were there in the cafe for the past half hour. 

Kyungsoo settled into one corner of the worn navy blue couch while you squeezed into the other. Not speaking a word, he went back to reading the script. That was a nicety of your friendship. Comfortable silence was more than readily available when needed. He didn’t push or give unasked for advice. He was an ear to listen and a presence to take in when you didn’t want to be alone. 

You stared down at the notebook in your lap where your next story ideas were supposed to be filling the pages. But nothing was coming out. Not even the vague pictures you’d had earlier this morning. The only things being called to the paper were the sentences held in the invisible tears you refused to shed. Words of wishes and frustrations swirled around inside the tiny droplets, every letter as heavy as lead. Your cruel mind kept echoing at you the conversation that had constricted the air in your lungs. 

Two days ago, you’d accidentally overheard a drama staff worker jokingly say that Junmyeon and his current co-star seemed awfully close, more than merely friends. Stomach lurching, you ran to the nearest bathroom. Nothing came out but almost fifteen minutes of deliberate breathing had gone by before you emerged again. Kyungsoo was quick to dismiss the comment after barely three words from you. The effect, however, still lingered. 

Despite the history of your intrusive thoughts, you wanted to believe that you could be good enough. That you were worthy of being beside someone like Junmyeon. His co-costar was stunning, even in real life. Someone who didn’t need photoshop to draw out gasps of awe and astonishment. Someone you most certainly couldn’t compete with in any race. 

You weren’t asking for much. Just to be able to hold his hand, your fingers interlaced between his own. The fantasy you allowed yourself to indulge in at times wasn’t a grand gesture or a modern fairytale. You wanted simplicity. The smaller moments that could mean so much. Mundane, to some eyes. 

Warm sun rays leaked through the closed blinds over the living room windows. A clock on the wall ticked away the meaningless minutes. Sometimes soft music hummed in the background, sometimes there was nothing but silence. Junmyeon would lay across the length of the couch with you wrapped around his side. His fingers would absentmindedly caress your shoulder or arm. In his other hand was a book, held open by his thumb and pinky. Your own hand drifted through his hair while he read aloud. 

The two of you had dozens of endless conversations about books. About the ones you loved and the ones you hated. About deeper meanings and the reflections of life. His love of literature - from the celebrated classics to the obscure unknown - had been what initially drew you in. Everything else was what made you stay.

A muscle in your hand cramped. The peaceful scene faded from your eyes. The page was now filled with barely legible, ink-smeared words. You’d written the entire scenario out, along with your heart, without even realizing it. 

In a panic, you ripped the paper from its spiral hold, crumpled it up, and tossed it to the trash can across the room. It missed. 

“I doubt whatever you wrote was that bad,” Kyungsoo murmured. He read the final few lines of the script and closed it. 

“It wasn’t,” you admitted bitterly. “But I shouldn’t have written it.” You described the scene to him while your eyes stayed trained on the loose thread twirling between your fingers. 

He sighed. “You’re never going to tell him, are you?”

“I can’t.”

“You can. You’re just stopping yourself.”

You scoffed. “Why would I deliberately set myself up like that? Break me the rest of the way?”

Kyungsoo stared at you, long and hard, his expression blank to those who couldn’t read the tell-tale signs that his thoughts were in overdrive. “You’re really hurting, aren’t you?”

You sniffed, though no tears were yet forcing their way to the surface. “Most days.”

“Then walk away.”

“I can’t.” Your voice broke - just like your heart. The world blurred when you shook your head. “I can’t… simplify it. But-- It’s like I was this stupid lump of rock drifting aimlessly through space, content with my life. Then suddenly, I came across this brilliant star that shined so brightly and… we collided. And now I’m stuck in his orbit. But he just keeps on spinning while my whole world had changed completely. He’s… my gravity. I don’t know anything else anymore.”

“Maybe it’s time to find your own orbit.”

Afraid it might crack again, your voice was barely a whisper. “I don’t know how.”

The door creaked open and your heart leapt. Junmyeon stuck his head inside. Had he overheard everything?

“There you are! I turned away for a second and suddenly you two weren’t in the cafe anymore.”

He’d… He’d seen you? In the cafe?

“It was too loud,” Kyungsoo lied, covering up for you like he always did. 

“It’s always too loud for you,” Junmyeon teased. Then his face morphed into that leader-esque expression. “We need to head to rehearsal. You’re welcome to join us,” he nodded to you.

“No, that’s okay,” you said quickly in response. “I have a writer’s meeting.” No, you didn’t, but space felt like the right choice at the moment. You tried not to focus on the lack of disappointment coming from the direction of the door. 

“Maybe next time.” Junmyeon slapped the side of the door. “Let’s go, Soo.”

You were actually the first one on your feet, muttering goodbyes to both of them and then walking down the hall perhaps a little too fast. 

You didn’t allow your mind to think the whole way home. Every action was done in automatic mode. Only the minimal amount of awareness was used. But when the apartment door clicked behind you, when the near darkness wrapped you up, when the silence crept in and the empty couch mocked you… you broke. 

Knees buckling from under you, the cold hard floor came closer and you didn’t leave that spot just inside the room as the tears and sobs crashed out in waves. 

This was what you hated the most. The breakdowns that came with no excuse. They were built up by your own mind, by your intrusive thoughts. You tortured yourself with what you could never have. The attacks were random and it was only recently that you had learned to hold them in long enough until you were safe within your own walls. One time, you hadn’t made it. Kyungsoo had been there to pat your shoulder. 

Kyungsoo. He was right. 

That clarity was coming through as the tears dried and your breathing evened out again. You needed space. You needed to separate yourself from what wasn’t good for you and not see him. Not even have the temptation to. 

This was going to hurt like hell. 

**

The office somehow looked smaller with the bare walls. Since the day you moved in, you tried to liven it up, give it character, make it reflect the interests you loved. How were you supposed to write if this place felt like a stifling corporate desert, dry of any creativity?

Not that you ever actually wrote in this twelve by eight space. This place had been reserved for meetings and other usually boring necessities. You didn’t know the next time a budget meeting or an email check would be conducted here. You could be back in a few months and move back in as if you never left. Or someone else could take over. Only time would tell. 

The box that currently had your attention was nearly full. You’d have to come back for the rest. There wasn’t much left, anyway. You took another look around to see if there was anything else you could do at the moment. The monitors were black, the tower underneath - so much smaller than the one you’d had as a kid - was powered off, and the chair that was aligned just so to your favored adjustments was pushed into the gray desk. Saying goodbye to this place really did hurt. 

But you needed to do this. 

And yet, you felt like you were drowning, being dragged deeper into the black water. Your lungs were screaming for relief. 

“You’re really leaving?”

Your shoulders stiffened. At first, you didn’t look up at him. You weren’t sure what to say to him. Being here… it was the last place you expected him to be today. Kyungsoo would have told him, but you wouldn’t have waited around for him to appear. 

“Hi, Junmyeon.” You folded up the top of the box, overlapping the pieces so it would stay shut in transport. 

“I thought you liked it here?”

“I love it,” you confessed. “But I- I need to go home for a little while.”

“Are you homesick?”

“Something like that.” Definitely some version of sick. 

He nodded. “Will you be gone long?” His eyes drifted over the holes in the walls leftover from the frames that used to hang in front of them. 

“I don’t know.” You shifted your weight from one foot to the other. This was…. You should go. Pushing your fingers under the box, you started to lift it to take it home. 

“Do you have to go?”

The question stalled you. Confused, the box went back down on the desk. “Why are you here, Junmyeon?”

He shrugged, though it didn’t shake off the stiffness in his shoulders. His hands were stuffed in his pockets, his arms all the way to his wrists covered up by the sleeves of his shirt. Lately he had been rolling them up. You wondered what had changed today. “You’re our friend.”

Friend. 

Friend. Friend. Friend. 

The word rang over and over like a declaration of war. Our friend. 

The smart thing to do would have been to nod, say goodbye, and leave. But - instead - you opened your mouth. 

“I will always be your friend.”

That didn't make him smile like you would have thought. “So, then why do you have to leave?”

You rubbed your eyebrow, fighting within yourself. You lost. 

“Have you ever had a friend so head over heels for someone that won’t even look at them twice? But they don’t care? Because as long as the person they’re looking at is happy, then they’re happy. Even if your friend is completely miserable in the process. Because they no longer care about their own self. They just keep looking at the other person, doing anything that entails that they’re still happy.” You swallowed thickly to try and keep your voice steady. By your sides, your hands were trembling at this roundabout confession. “And you want to shake them. You want to tell them to get out. Because as long as they stick around, they won’t look at one else. No one else exists. Well, this is me. Getting out.”

The frown on Junmyeon’s face deepened as he let your words sink in. “Who is it? Will you tell me?”

No. Because this was enough of an admittance. Because it was time to find your own sense of gravity. 

So, without a word, you picked up the box and left the office. 

Waiting for you when you came back was the scene you had written in the practice room that day, flattened out but still wrinkled as it laid on the desk. 

[yandere-daydreams]

requests are open!!! what about a soft yandere fairy with a darling that accidentally wanders into their forest and won't let them leave? thank u sm!

I’ve never been able to resist a classic Yandere!Fae who can’t seem to understand why their lovely little Darling won’t give them a name and volunteer their free will without a struggle. It’s nice to be soft for a change, too, if only for the dialogue.

Title: Creation and Control.

TW: Imprisonment and Mind-Control.

~

You chose not to dance, tonight.

It wasn’t because you had anything better to do. The fae could hunt, they could harvest and maintain their make-shift homes and do whatever they wished once the sun slipped low in the sky, but as a human, a guest who’d been forced to overstay their welcome, you could only choose between joining one of the swirling, ever-growing circles or not doing so. For whatever reason, you’d picked the latter, taking a seat on a fallen tree-trunk and watching as strangers without names laughed and smiled and sobbed, some of them unfamiliar, and others prisoners like yourself, unable to leave because of magic or fate or in your case, a golden elixir you hadn’t known better than to drink. A goblet of it sat at your feet, now, but you didn’t pay it any mind. If only for the sake of protecting your pride.

Despite this, your attention dropped to the grail as a familiar figure started to approach, heavy footsteps muffled by the soft glass of the clearing. You didn’t have to greet him or be greeted in return, not when there was only one person who dared to speak to you.  Who bothered to speak to you, really. It wasn’t like a conversation with someone else’s personal pet would draw much interest, not from a group that had already seen so many of your kind come and go.

You only looked up when a long, lean hand came to rest on your shoulder, pressing down for a moment before you gave in, tilting your head back and letting your eyes meet the swirls of green and gold just beginning to pry into you. Durin, although that was more of a title than a name. The warden to your prison of trees and mushrooms and enchanting, unnerving smiles.

He spoke first. He always did. You were an object to be addressed, here, rather than one expected to speak out of turn. “My dear,” He started, already sliding a thin wooden comb in your waiting hand. “Indulge me and I promise, you won’t be pestered again until sunrise.”

You didn’t need further instruction. You pulled your legs onto the trunk and Durin lowered himself into the space they’d once occupied, soon sitting outstretched in front of you. It was a mind-numbing activity, braiding a head of long, pale hair into whatever dizzying pattern its owner requested, but you had plenty of practice, both from the task you were currently performing and the less patient stallions you used to care for on your family’s farm. You wondered if anyone took up to responsibility, now that you weren’t there to carry it out. You wondered if anyone even noticed you were gone. “It’s not difficult,” You mumbled, running your comb through a series of non-existent knots. “You could learn to do this yourself, if you wanted to. It’d be faster than coming to me.”

“I could, hypothetically, but I’m afraid we monsters don’t share your talents.” He paused, letting out a pleased hum as your blunt nails scraped idly against his scalp. “Hunting braids, perhaps, but nothing so…” He trailed off, rolling two fingers in a vague, arbitrary gesture. “Nothing so pointless. The Gods blessed us with many things, but alas, no one thought to add ‘creation’ to that list.”

Your response was delayed. You’d heard of their curse before, in tales of the suffering that was said to accompany any slight endeavor into turning one thing into another, but you’d never quite believed it. You supposed it was fitting, though. Durin didn’t seem like the kind of refined soul who would dwell in the sparsely decorated cave he called a home for any reason less than necessity. “I hardly think brushing your own hair would incur divine wrath.”

“If you can break one rule, you’re bound to break the rest. I wouldn’t be reduced to a pile of smoldering ash, but I doubt the consequences would be pleasant,” He explained, twisting to his side just enough to see you without disturbing the three tangled trails you were desperately trying to guide to an agreeable meeting point. “Are you trying to say you don’t enjoy my company, love?”

You didn’t answer him. With a particularly harsh tug to the strand you were holding, you forced him to wince, freeing you from his gaze with minimal effort. “And that’s why I’m here?” You asked, the words more a declaration of grudging recognition than a real question. “To braid your hair and tend to your every need, because you’re so tragically unable to?”

At that, he seemed to take offense, leaning back and into your lap, spoiling your progress as carelessly as he’d demanded it. You could see his face, like this, an expression of defined lines and pointed ears and traits that weren’t quite not uncanny. You might’ve said there was a hint of a collar bone beneath his loose tunic, but there could be no hints, not with Durin. He was the romantic interpretation of a man, something that got so close to being a perfect replica, but whose creator was too fond of embellishments to truly design something real. You could accept that you’d once thought of him as human, but you couldn’t forgive yourself for holding onto that belief for so long. Others in his entourage their otherness more obvious, decorating themselves with horns and hooves and whatever they liked, and while Durin was less apparent, he made no attempt to hide his wrongness. His grin, suddenly full of pointed, predatory teeth, was enough to prove that.

“You’re here because I want you to be.” He never looked away, never blinked, and abruptly, it occurred to you that he might not have to. “You’re here because I saw a young, vulnerable human wandering through my territory, following the calls of members of my court, and I decided to take pity on what should’ve been the main course of our next feast. And, because I’ve come to care for you despite your doubt, you will remain here. Allowing you to dote on me is just another privilege I’m kind enough to provide.”

It wasn’t the first time you’d had this conversation. It wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last, and you knew that. As well as you knew the color of the sky and the time of day, you knew that. You knew it, and yet, you found yourself frowning, stiffening, gritting your teeth as you resisted the urge to shove him away. “If you were kind, you would let me go. You know I don’t want to be here.”

His smile wavered, then dropped. “I don’t think I like your tone.”

“I don’t think I like being a hostage.” You didn’t try to stop yourself, pushing him off of your lap and fleeing from your informal, ruined haven. You had to force yourself to breathe, to inahle and exhale and make yourself calm down, but even that did little to calm your temper, only making you feel more like a child attempting to express their discontent. “You trapped me here. You took me someplace I don’t wish to be, and now, I can’t leave. How is that kind? How are you guiltless--”

“(Y/n).”

It was a silent command. You could feel it, something vile forcing its way into your veins and solidifying, rendering you speechless and paralyzed as Durin shook his head, letting out a ragged sigh before he bothered to raise a hand, gesturing for you to come to him. You didn’t have a choice, your movements rigid and your thoughts barely your own, but your body was quick to obey him, to stumble its way to its captor and fall into his lap the moment he expressed his desire for you to do so. His control faded as his arms wrapped around you, but Durin didn’t act to reinstate it, only reaching behind him and pushing something small and solid into your palm.

The comb. Sleek and wooden and so, so awful. You were tempted to cry, if only in frustration.

But, you didn’t try to resist.

Instead, you choked down your complaints and began working where you left off, attempting to ignore the contented, toothy smile now pressing into your skin.

[systematicfailure]

Counting Days

Paring: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: You never had a reason to count days when you thought you still had all the time in the world.

Warnings: Angst, mentions of death, grief

Word Count: 1.3k

A/N: Wager a listen to Choke by OneRepublic while reading. Anyways, hope y'all enjoy.

You learn to start counting days once she’s gone.

The first few come and go in shock, the piece of you that refuses to believe the truth of it all, makes a second plate of breakfast in the morning and the several that follow. She was going to come back, you were sure of it. You just have to be patient.

Day thirteen is different from the ones before.

Time is precious and grief is suffocating, you finally realize - you feel foolish for never noticing. A more forgiving part of you rationalizes that there was no way of knowing how little of it you had but then the grief sets in, all encompassing - it latches onto your limbs, pulling you further away from the light she so easily brought you. This wasn’t how it was supposed to end. The heroes won but if that was the case, then why did it feel like you just lost everything?

Your life turns into a series of maybes and what ifs. You recognize that you’re bargaining, trying so desperately to replay that day to find something to change or tweak, another path that leads her back to you. It hurts more than you care to admit but the record keeps spinning, and in between one alteration and another, you fall asleep in a bed that is now only yours.

You dream of her.

There’s a glimmer in her eyes and you hate that even in your dreams, you compare it to the dull, unseeing emeralds in the haunting dying embers of night. The image is fleeting as she turns slightly, rays of sunlight peeking through half open blinds, illuminating her features. A familiar smirk lays across her face, hands moving up to dust the bangs from her forehead.

“Staring is rather rude, you know?” She teases, a light chuckle touching the tip of her tongue.

“I just don’t want to forget.” Natasha quirks an eyebrow at your response. Shaking her head, she follows the movement of your frantic irises, a question rising in the way her mouth crinkles at the corners. You ignore it, standing up from the bed before closing the short distance to her. Nose tucking into her neck, you breathe in the underlying scent of cherry blossoms and tangerines. You know it's just a dream, know deep in your bones it’s not real but as your head cranes back, her eyes of worry tracing each inch of you, you let yourself believe, even for a moment, that when you wake up she’ll still be there.

She isn’t.

When you wake it’s unbearably dark. Your motions are sluggish as you stumble out of the confining sheets and down the elevator to the front entrance of the compound. A scream gains traction in your vocal chords, fighting its way past your lips as you throw your scorching body against the wet pavement outside. How many times were you going to do this? How many times were you going to lose her? How many more days? When was enough, enough? The second the thought surfaces, you feel selfish. The answer would always be the same.

As many times as it took. You freely put the shackles on because there ceases to be a day that exists where she’s not worth every last bit of this agony that swallows you whole.

You carefully right your position, drawing your aching chest into your knees and you remember her.

Dawn is on the horizon when you finally shuffle your weight off the ground. Shivering, you keep your eyes to the floor as you enter the kitchen. What remains of the Avengers linger at your reappearance but do not pose a question when you make two cups of coffee instead of one. They know it’s a habit you’re not quite ready to break yet. Vaguely, your head tilts their way as you exit. You don’t have enough left in you to do anything more.

When you reach your bedroom door, you falter. It’s still partially open from your earlier haste to get away and everything comes crashing down once again. Both ceramic mugs tumble to the concrete when you catch sight of the worn, brown leather jacket. It’s all too much and wholly not enough, rolled into one. You can’t take it anymore. Ghosts are chasing and nipping at your heels; the smell of her lingers in hallways and rooms, random items of clothing hanging in closets and lying atop of chairs, memories bombarding at every turn.

You need to leave, at least for a little while -- not forever but long enough.

A snarky fragment of your consciousness mocks you when you bring a box of her things, lamenting the irony of taking memories you’re trying to leave behind. You huff out loud in response, continuing to put it with the rest of your stuff anyways before shutting the trunk. The rest of the team waits patiently to bid their goodbyes. After over an hour, there’s only Clint left. You eye each other patiently, sizing the other up before identical, miserable grins stretch into place.

“Take care of yourself, yeah?” You say because you really, truthfully mean it. You don’t blame him, not anymore at least but you know a significant portion of himself always will. He gives you a barely perceptible nod, pain licking his eyes in a faint mist. Without hesitation, your arms wrap his shoulders, pulling him close. He seizes at the motion before returning the gesture ten-fold, the strength of it crushing the breath in your diaphragm.

“I’m so sorry.” He whispers brokenly into your hair, fingers gripping your sides. Your body tightens around him in a squeeze as a response before you ease away from him. Tears gather and collect in his eyelashes, falling briefly but he’s quick to swipe them dry. A sigh escapes you then, long and drawn out as the backs of your cornea’s burn at the weight of all you both had lost. “As am I, Clint.”

When the compound fades from your rearview mirror, you finally loosen the captive hold you have on your sobs. They come out silent at first but it’s not long before you’re choking on each exhale, chest rattling with the force it takes to regain a semblance of oxygen in your caving lungs.

You think you might never be okay again and it terrifies you.

At first, roaming the world does help ease the ever persistent ache you feel. The days blur and melt together. You never stay in one place more than a week, the constant need to run as far as your legs can take you keeps the thoughts at bay. You avoid Ohio, taking a ship to Ireland instead. Eventually, you find yourself in Italy, in a small rural town with more hills than people but there’s a familiar voice in the back of your mind, prodding you to realize that you’re doing something wrong and you hate yourself for not figuring it out sooner.

You don’t remember when it happened but somewhere between leaving and now, you stopped counting. It’s a betrayal you had no idea you were capable of, it feels like forgetting and the last thing you want to do is forget her.

You force yourself to stop running and the ache you welcome back resembles coming home.

Finally, you visit Ohio. It's gut wrenching and painful but worth it in the end when you find them, her family. They tell you stories you won’t dare forget. You come to the conclusion that people are liars, grief does not lessen or fade, it just becomes more manageable to bear. Your soul is still hollow, ghosts don’t stop nipping at your heels but when you see her in your dreams, you tell her you’ll find her again, in another life, and you’ll get the happy ending you both deserve.

You don’t go back to New York.

You plant saplings in the fields of Ohio, by a house made for two, that you nurture with aging hands and you watch them flourish into breathtaking creatures of nature. Their limbs and branches stretched towards one another, forever intertwined.

You learn to love counting days, especially when it leads you back to her.

[tonesplash]

In The Drawer (18+)

Could I request something? If you want to write my request, that is! I would love some more Jacob content because smeyer did him so dirty. My request: Jacob reacting to his shy lady love telling him that she wants him to restrain her during sex, with her being kind of embarrassed about it. Aaa, if this makes you uncomfy or you don’t want to write it, pls yeet this ask into the sun. I love you either way!

pairing: Jacob Black x Reader

warnings: swearing, and mild smut

(a/n): have fun yall

You'd met while out on a summer La Push trip with some of your school friends, Jacob spotting you from a few hundred yards down the beach and managing to score your phone number between your nervous rants and stutters.

Somehow, that first approach, with you sweaty from the sun and fully exposed in your swimsuit, seemed way less daunting than now. Even now, fully aware of the whole werewolf situation and his endless devotion and unwavering compulsion to do anything you needed him to, didn't make asking this any easier.

He absolutely knows something is up; you can feel his gaze burning into the side of your cheek while you fail to avoid it subtly, your entire face glowing since the thought first entered your mind the night before when he'd briefly held both of your wrists in one beefy hand in between fits of passion.

Lucky for you, today was a busy one on the res'. There was some big powwow coming up, so all hands were on deck, filling every room of Emily's house and spilling out into the front yard.

Jacob still manages to catch your eye in the hustle and bustle for a brief moment with a clear unspoken promise that whatever was on your mind was going to be out in the open by the end of the night.

You stay after to help clean up for as long as possible before even Emily nearly chases you out the door for some alone time with Sam. You guess you can't blame her.

When you get in the house, Jacob is waiting for you in the living room, having almost paced the rug to threads. You trade a bit of your trepidation for remorse. You hadn't meant to make him anxious too.

"Hey, Jake." You awkwardly try to break the tension as you leave your shoes by the door.

"(Y/n) where the hell have you been? Do you know how worried I was, especially with how squirrely you've been all day?" Jacob's temper strains his voice a bit, but you can see the concern smoldering in his dark eyes. He steps closer to bring you in for a hug, and you move to reciprocate, but he only holds you for a moment before pulling back, his hands coming up to cradle your arms.

"I didn't... hurt you or anything, did I?" His eyes soften as he holds you steadily. You are quick to shake your head to quell his worries.

"No, no, of course not."

"Well then, what is it?" Jacob draws his hands to cup your cheeks and forces you to look at him. "You haven't acted this weird since the time Seth caught us-"

"I know what Seth caught us doing! Don't remind me!" Your hands come up to frame his, and you close your eyes as if bracing for impact.

"Can we just... talk about this in the bedroom?" You open your eyes to test his reaction, only to find him grinning down at you.

"Oooh, okay, so you wanna get saucy? You could've just said so hon-" You clap one of your hands over his mouth before he can mortify you any more.

"Please start walking before I have to kill you."

You follow Jacob into your shared bedroom. He plops his full weight on the edge of the bed while you remain standing, shifting your weight anxiously.

"What could you possibly be thinking about that's got you this riled up?"

"Just... before I say anything. You have to promise me you won't laugh."

"This has got to be good." Jacob leans back on his palms and observes you.

"I'm serious, Jake!" You pout for a moment before steeling yourself and crossing your arms. "Werewolf swear me."

This time he can't hold in his laugh. "You can't say werewolf swear and expect me not to at least chuckle."

"Did Paul lie to me again?" This night could not be any more embarrassing for you.

"Yup. That's not even a real thing. And if it were, which it isn't, it wouldn't even apply to you."

"Please, Jakey." Saying it out loud physically hurts, but the nickname immediately schools his face, and he sits up to take this seriously.

"What's going on with you? You know you can tell me." He gently takes your hands and brings them close to his chest, and the warmth of him grounds you enough to get the words out. You fiddle with this collar for a second while you carefully consider what you're going to say.

"I want you to....tiemeup." You rush the last part out, hoping that he'll catch your drift.

"What? I didn't catch that like, at all."

"I want you, to...y'know." You make vaguely suggestive gestures with your hands.

"I already do that. Like, a lot." He's still not getting it. And he isn't going to unless you nut up and say it out loud. You cover your face for a moment before he pulls them away, and you can't tell if he's messing with you again.

"I WANT YOU TO TIE ME UP AND FUCK ME! GOD!"

The immediate silence is somehow deafening. He releases your wrists, and you may live with your hands seared to your face forever with how hot your face is right now, you just know it. Your palms and your cheeks have become one, and your face will never see the sun again.

"Y/n."

Archaeologists may finally get a glimpse of who you once were years and years from now, when your flesh rots into nothing and the delicate bones of your phalanges blow off in the wind. But until then, your mortification will remain.

"Y/n, babe, it's okay." You turn your back to face him as if that will make him forget what you just said.

"No, it's not. I want to crawl into a hole and die."

"Hey, hey, hey! We don't want any of that." Jacob makes you face him and pries your hands away from your face with a ridiculous ease.

"There's my girl." He releases of your arms to pull you in by your waist, and he's smiling at you. Why is he smiling at you like you hung the stars when you just confessed to being a sex fiend.

"I thought you were gonna say something actually crazy, like that you were gonna stab me but like, sensually."

Your giggle is muffled into his shoulder.

"Not that I'd be totally opposed to it but, it's still a pretty big jump-"

You're full-on cackling now, and he laughs with you, pulling you to his chest and rolling back onto the bed until you're breathless and beneath him.

"Would you really let me do that?" Jacob isn't looking directly at you, but the stretch of your jaw as he caresses it. "Tie you up and have my way with you?" he chuckles a bit as he says it, but you can tell by the hardness pressing into your front that he isn't joking.

...

You couldn't say how or when you found yourself like this, wrists tied and held together behind you while your werewolf boyfriend railed you from behind.

You can do nothing but moan brokenly into the drool-soaked pillow below you, and Jacob isn't faring much better. You can hear his shaky pants and grunts with the effort and dizzying pleasure of your tight cunt.

His skin is dripping with exertion, making him almost glow in the low light of your bedside lamp, and you can't seem to look away. He's breathtaking in every way.

When he catches your dreamy one-eyed stare, he bows further over your back, still thrusting, still holding your bound wrists steady, his voice is a honeyed growl as he continues poinding into you, "This what you wanted, huh?"

It feels like you're being split apart; like with him inside like this, there is no room for your lungs to expand and words to come out. You must have let out some pathetic noise because he barks a short laugh against your temple before kissing it and burying his face in your hair.

Maybe the afterglow would be a better time to bring up the cuffs in the drawer.

[winterscaptain]

three’s company.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader

a/n: and here we are! the final installment of the ajf 100 arc. this takes place right after mosley lane in season five, and from here on i promise we’ll see some happier days :) i can’t thank you all enough for coming on this adventure with me, as hard and fraught as it was. 

an ajf fic arc that happily stands on its own! (the pieces stand alright on their own as well, for the most part!) one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine | ten | eleven

words: 1.6k warnings: none!

summary: “let us not burden our remembrances with a heaviness that's gone.” - william shakespeare, the tempest

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | requests closed!

“You’d never believe it, Hales. The sass on your kid these days is unreal.” A laugh leaves you as you lean forward, resting your elbows on your knees. “He pulled one right out of your book the other day with Aaron when he told him it was time to come in out of the snow...” 

It’s just one of those Saturdays where you needed to talk to her. Not for any particular reason, but just knowing that if this was any other timeline, the two of you would sit out in the breakfast nook in the big house, watching the snow fall and the sun set as the February evening wore on. 

There’s a crunch of snow under day-off boots behind you, but you ignore him and continue talking, just as you would if she were here. 

“We miss you. I think the weirdest thing so far was skipping your Christmas present. Had it all wrapped and everything and then I remembered you wouldn’t be there.” You look up, taking a little breath. “Had a good cry about that one.” 

“It is getting better though, all things considered…” You trail off, not sure what to say. Sharing silence with a headstone is a little less companionable than the alternative. 

It wasn’t a lie, though. The grief didn’t overwhelm you now like it did those first weeks. It sometimes clocked you at the oddest of times, drawing a few tears (or more than a few) or a little smile. 

Sometimes, both. 

You huff a little laugh to yourself. “We had a really good case outcome last week. Found three kids who’d been missing, got them all back to their parents. It was just one of those that reminded us why we do it, you know?”

Aaron sits beside you without a word. 

“And you’d be proud of Aaron, Haley. He’s saddling the rest of us with the paperwork and going home early, most nights. It’s kind of impressive. Though, I know it’ll wear off and he’ll be back on his bullshit soon enough.” 

There’s a snort from beside you, and you finally acknowledge him. 

“Tell me it isn’t true and I’ll take it back,” you say, looking over at him.

He shrugs. “Can’t. But then again, you’d never lie to Haley and you’d never lie to the dead, so we’re two for two, there.”

You smile at him for a moment, gesturing vaguely to the headstone. “We were just catching up.”

“Of course. I thought it would be one of those days.”

“Where’s the kiddo?” You look over your shoulder, halfway expecting Jack to be playing somewhere in the snow. 

“Helping Jess with dinner.” He addresses Haley’s headstone. “Hear that, Hales? Your son is helping with dinner, now.”

You both pause, acknowledging the laughter you know you’d get if she were here. 

Looking over at him, you wryly note, “Yeah, see, Jack might be helping with dinner, but you still aren’t. What’s your excuse?”

“I have been sent to bring you to the apartment for dinner by request of my son and my sister.”

You tut at him with a little smile “Nice to see Jess has been promoted.”

He rolls his eyes. 

+++

The first time the entire team gathers at Dave’s after the New Year is a refreshing return to something that feels halfway normal.

You’ve got Henry in your lap so JJ can actually eat something. He’s messing around with one of the rubik’s-cube-like toys Spencer got him for Christmas. To everyone’s delight, the novelty of them has yet to wear off and they’ve saved the entire Jareau-La Montagne household a couple of meltdowns. 

“How’s he holding up?” JJ asks between bites.

You glance over at Hotch, on the floor with one leg outstretched and the other tucked underneath him. Jack’s holding his attention, explaining some advanced maneuver with his army men. “He’s doing alright. Better every day, I think, but there will always be bad days.” 

She hums. “And Jack?”

You shrug, catching Henry’s toy before it can fall from your lap. “He’s still adjusting, of course, but Jess is doing a great job at keeping up with his routines.” 

“Actually, that’s really all kids need at Jack’s age, other than socialization and physical affection,” Spencer says. “The retention of a consistent routine is key to development after the toddler stages of childhood.” 

You toss a grin over your shoulder. “Thanks, Spence.” 

He shrugs. “It’s just true.” 

JJ huffs a laugh and puts her napkin on the table. You pass Henry back to her, and he’s more than happy to tuck back against her chest. 

Dave, a kitchen towel thrown over his shoulder, takes your plate. You follow him back into the kitchen, turning the water on and starting on the silverware while he tackles the glasses. 

“Everything okay?” He asks. 

Your brow furrows. “Yeah. Why?”

He glances over his shoulder. “Just not used to seeing you so far from Aaron, is all. Fifty feet is quite a far distance for a shadow to cover, don’t you think?” 

With an eye roll: “Give me a break, Rossi.”

He raises his soapy hands as if to surrender, but you know he’s not even close to done. “I’m just sayin.’” He relents after a moment. “There’s only so much the rest of us can do for him.” 

“What do you mean?” You direct your question at the dishes, remaining studiously focused on your task. 

Unlike you, he pauses, turning square to face you. “For a pair of profilers...You know what? It’s not worth it.”

+++

Aaron stamps the snow off his boots and hangs his coat and scarf on the hook by the door, fresh from an afternoon of errands and paperwork at the office. 

Belatedly, he realizes he missed the fort in the living room when he first came through the door. The couch cushions and dining chairs have all been arranged in an elaborate configuration, supporting the duvet stolen from Aaron’s bed and a fair few flat sheets from the hall closet. All the linens are secured with carefully knotted neckties, or pinned together with some spare clothespins you found God-knows-where.  

Creeping forward, he picks up the corner of what he imagines is a door flap by design. 

In the dark of the fort, he finds you and Jack curled together on your sides around the portable DVD player. Jack’s out like a light - his little hand pressed against his cheek where it rests on your arm. You’re awake, waiting for him. 

Aaron finds your eyes. You smile a little and keep your voice at a whisper. “He’s only been sleeping about twenty minutes or so. He wore himself out playing architect, so I figured a quick nap wouldn’t keep him up too late.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Aaron assures you in a whisper with an equally small smile. “I’m just glad he had fun today.” 

“Yeah.” You arc an arm over Jack’s shoulders and brush at the feathered hair on his forehead. Returning your gaze to Aaron, you playfully (and quietly) ask, “Want to join us for another movie, or are you too old for stuff like this?”

He shakes his head, a real, genuine smile on his face. It’s the first one you’ve seen in a while and it warms you beyond measure. 

When he stoops inside, he rests his head on your calf and his hand on his son. You gingerly stretch for another DVD, and Aaron takes over the logistics after you hand it over - replacing the disk, lowering the volume, and starting the next movie. 

In the quiet darkness, you think of Haley. A few tears slip out of the corners of your eyes, landing between your temple and your arm. You don’t dare move for fear of waking Jack, but it’s as if Aaron can read your mind. He lifts his head just so, finding your lashes inexplicably wet in the light from the screen. 

Your eyes flicker down to his and your close-lipped smile is shaky. 

His eyes narrow. What’s wrong? 

Nothing. You shake your head just a little. I just miss her. 

You watch the inside of his lip pinch between his teeth as his mouth presses into a thin line. 

A trembling breath leaves you as you refocus on the screen, your fingers playing with the hem of Jack’s sleeve as he sleeps. 

Aaron watches you for a moment. He thinks perhaps you are the only person alive who understood what was between him and Haley - the love, the tiffs, the history. Somehow, you managed to see right through them, right through him, right through her, to the heart of it. 

He’s sure you love his son like your own. He remembers the desperate way you held his son when you found him in that trunk. It was that day - when he saw the panic flash across your face when you realized you hadn’t seen Jack, hadn’t found him - he realized that you’d kill, risk life and limb, drop everything, for Jack. 

That day tested you as well. If you thought too long about it, you could still taste the metallic tang of anger in the back of your mouth when you thought about Foyet getting his hands on Jack. It was that overwhelming flood of emotion that brought you to the same conclusion. 

Now, the secure weight of Jack in your arms lulls you into a kind of bone-deep peace. 

You let your eyes close, falling into the sheer comfort of the moment. After a few minutes, Aaron follows suit.

+++

tagging: @arganfics @quillvine @stxrryspencer @agenthotchner @hurricanejjareau @ughitsbaby @rousethemouse @criminalsmarts @shrimpyblog @genevievedarcygranger @ssaic-jareau @good-heavens-chris-evans @davidrossi-ismydad @angelsbabey @writefasttalkevenfaster @venusbarnes @hotchsflower @ogmilkis @marvels-agents100 @hotchslatte @risenfox @mrs-dr-reid @captain-christopher-pike @dwellingsofrosie @pan-pride-12 @sunshine-em @word-scribbless @jdougl-love @sageellsworth05 @dreila03 @forgottenword @aaronhotchnerr @ssa-morgan @buckybau @sana-li @tegggeeee @abschaffer2 @ssacandice-ray @ellyhotchner @lotties-journey-abroad @mrs-joel-pimentel-23-25 @laneygthememequeen @violentvulgarvolatile  @mooneylupinblack @ssareidbby @violet-amxthyst @bwbatta @roses-and-grasses @lcvischmitt @capricorngf @missdowntonabbey @averyhotchner @mandylove1000 @cevanswhre @qvid-pro-qvo @jeor @spencers-hoodrat @infinity1321 @zizzlekwum @popped-weasels @evee87 @nuvoleincielo @this-broken-band-girl @reidtomestyles @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @winqhster @spencerelds @the-falling-in-the-danger @nattylite49 @crazyshannonigans @softbibxtch @iconicc

[openheartthot]

Whipped

Pairings: Ethan Ramsey x f!MC (Camille Prescott), Ethan Ramsey x Harper Emery (friendship)

Word Count: 1,687

Warnings: None :)

Summary: Harper attends Camille’s baby shower and realizes that Ethan is well and truly whipped. 

Just a li’l something sweet to celebrate the fact that we finally know that OH is coming back...even if it isn’t until September 🙃

***

“Harper, welcome.” Ethan steps aside to allow his colleague and former girlfriend to enter the apartment. Harper offers him a professionally-wrapped gift with an enormous pink bow on it. She shifts her purse on her shoulder as she walks in, feeling somewhat out-of-place. 

“Thank you for the invitation.” Harper says. “I wasn’t sure I would be invited, to be honest.” She casts a glance around the flat as she steps inside. 

It’s a completely different space than she remembers from back when she and Ethan used to date. While it’s the same building, the minimalist decor has been replaced with bright throw pillows and clusters of knick-knacks and picture frames-- not to mention the cheerful welcome mat at the door where there’d used to be only a utilitarian black doormat. 

“Of course you’re invited, we’re colleagues and old friends.” Ethan responds. “Besides, Camille and her friends all look up to you. She personally asked me to make sure you were on the guest list.” Ethan adds. He smiles at Harper, and she notes that he looks not only happier, but younger, too. Just being around that young resident of his always seems to rejuvenate him in a dozen different ways.

Harper allows herself a pleased smile. “Oh, did she? That was nice of her.” She glances around the apartment as Ethan leads her further inside towards the rest of the guests. 

She hesitates slightly as they enter the living room. Thanks to the open floor plan, Harper can see there are maybe two or three dozen people filtering around the large space. She recognizes quite a few residents from Edenbrook, although the crowd is studded with unfamiliar faces. 

Harper’s gaze travels around the room, pausing on Camille, where she stands by the dining table, which is serving as the craft center for the baby shower activities. Ethan’s wife is like a ray of sunshine, wearing a yellow sundress and holding up a hand-decorated bib made by one of her friends. Ethan follows Harper’s eyes around the room.

“Can I get you some punch? Dr. Trinh made it.” he offers, as if sensing Harper’s discomfort. 

“Quite the role reversal, Ramsey.” Harper says dryly, and he chuckles, leading the way to the kitchen. 

Usually it’s Ethan who needs his hand held at social functions. Harper has covered for him at conventions and galas more times than she can count. She’s glad he knows her well enough to understand that socializing with her subordinates at her ex-boyfriend’s new wife’s baby shower is a little out of her wheelhouse, no matter how unflappable she usually is. 

Ethan pours them each a glass of pink punch that tastes of strawberry. They lapse into a comfortable silence as they sip the admittedly delicious drink. “Dr. Trinh made this?” Harper asks, pleasantly surprised. She can’t say she knows much about the tiny resident besides the fact that she can occasionally be found crying in supply closets. 

“She made pretty much everything.” Ethan grunts, gesturing vaguely at the desserts and appetizers spread out on the kitchen island. “I think Dr. Varma and that arrogant scalpel jockey helped out by opening the cheese puffs.” 

The thought of the residents swarming around the infamous Ethan Ramsey’s kitchen makes Harper laugh. “I have to say, Ethan, it’s good to see you like this. Happy, I mean. I never expected you to be married or have children, but it suits you.” 

“I am happy.” Ethan agrees. He swirls his glass of punch. “Wishing this was scotch, maybe, but happy seems...appropriate.” He leans on the counter casually, and although he clearly thinks he’s being surreptitious, it’s obvious he’s only doing it to get a better view of Camille. “And you? How have you been?” 

Harper can hear the real question that he’s asking. “I’m single-- but I’m content.” she assures him, quickly. “Being at the top of my field is hard enough without managing a relationship on top of it.” Harper knows it sounds like a line, but it’s the truth. She’s dated plenty, but she’s at her most relaxed when she’s not in a relationship. 

She and Ethan seemed perfectly suited to one another on paper, but neither one of them had delusions about the longevity of their relationship. Now that Ethan is happily settled down, Harper can see that she’s perfectly fine on her own. It feels good to finally be around Ethan as friends, without having to worry about where they stand with one another.

“You’re right about that.” Ethan says, drawing Harper back to the conversation. “I’ve been toying with the idea of taking some time off after the baby comes. So Camille can get back to work on her own timetable, and we can spend some time together as a family. It’s not like we need to worry about income.” Ethan says wryly, casting a glance around the high ceilings and breathtaking views of his apartment. Despite the homey revamp of the interior, it’s still the same luxury real estate. 

Harper blinks, taken aback. “You’d become a stay-at-home father? You’re more whipped than I thought.” Harper lets out a shocked laugh, and Ethan glances at her, his brow furrowing. 

“I am certainly not whipped, Harper.” But even as the words come out, his gaze slides away from Harper and back over to where Camille admires a tiny pair of crocheted scrubs, cradling her stomach with one hand. A smile quirks his lips, and once again, he seems to have forgotten Harper altogether. 

“If you aren’t whipped, then why have you been staring at her throughout our entire conversation?” Harper asks, arching an eyebrow. She isn’t upset at him, in fact it’s kind of adorable to see The Ethan Ramsey gazing longingly at Camille from across the room. 

“She’s my wife. I’m just trying to make sure she has a good time at her baby shower.” Ethan says with an indignant scowl. “I suppose that makes me some sort of spineless worm in your eyes.” 

Then Camille appears behind him, resting one of her dainty hands on his arm. “Who’s a spineless worm?” she asks with a smile, and all of Ethan’s agitation visibly fades away. He gives her a dopey smile and covers her hand with his own. 

“Dr. Emery, thanks so much for coming!” Camille says in greeting as she notices Harper, oblivious to the knowing look that Harper shoots Ethan. She offers Harper a wide smile, and it’s becoming quite obvious to Harper why Camille and Ethan are so good for each other. Between the blonde’s sunny disposition and Ethan’s brooding cynicism, they balance each other out perfectly. 

“It’s my pleasure, and congratulations on your little one.” Harper says, nodding at Camille’s stomach. “If you’ll excuse me, I see Naveen over by the scrapbooking station. I think I’ll go say hello.” 

***

As soon as Harper has turned away, Ethan loops one arm around Camille’s waist, pulling her as close to him as her baby bump will allow. He presses one palm firmly against her back and uses his other hand to tilt her chin up and press a quick kiss to her lips. 

“Hey, you.” Camille says lovingly as she pulls away. “Are you having fun?” 

“I’ll confess I am having more fun now that you’re here.” he says, tenderly stroking her cheek. “I’m glad you made your way to the kitchen.” 

“I’m mostly here for the food.” Camille says in a mock whisper. “The lunch you made me was total garbage. You can’t call something risotto if it uses cauliflower instead of rice.” 

“Pardon me for wanting my wife and child to live a long healthy life.” Ethan grumbles, though his lips are threatening to betray him by twitching into a smile. 

“Whatever, at least Sienna has my back.” Camille reaches over and plucks a pink-frosted cupcake off a nearby platter. She holds it up to Ethan. “Want to share?” 

Ethan rolls his eyes as he stares at the sugary treat. “I still hate frosting, Rookie. No matter how many times you try to force me to ingest it.” 

“Well, your daughter loves it.” Camille says, scooping some frosting onto her finger and licking it off. Ethan shifts his hands to rest on the curve of her stomach, and this time he can’t stop the smile from breaking through. It broadens as he feels a fluttering kick against his palm. 

“I can tell,” he says. Camille raises the cupcake again, but instead of taking a bite, she playfully scoops up some more frosting with her index finger and smears it on Ethan’s cheek. 

If someone had told him two years ago that he’d be married to a resident, expecting a child with her, and laughing while she spread pink buttercream on his face, he would’ve thought they were out of their mind. But here he is, and he couldn’t be happier. 

He brushes a lock of blonde hair out of Camille’s face and smiles down at her. As usual, when Ethan looks at her, everything else in the room fades away. He forgets about the apartment full of their friends and family, and all that exists is him and her, and their unborn daughter in between them. 

Camille smiles back mischievously at him, and pushes herself onto her tiptoes to kiss away the frosting on his cheek. Her lips linger, trailing down to his jaw and letting her tongue swipe teasingly along his skin. 

Ethan’s breath hitches in his throat. “Camille,” he says warningly, tightening his hold on her body. “I will send everyone home right now.” He leans over to whisper his words, finishing his sentence with a sharp nip to her ear. He smirks at her sharp gasp and the way her hands fist in his sweater. 

Then she shakes her head and wiggles out of his arms with a bright laugh. “Not so fast, Ethan. You haven’t even decorated a bib yet.” 

Ethan groans, but lets her take his hand and lead him across the apartment towards the craft table. “Only for you, love.” 

Yeah, Ethan Ramsey is totally whipped, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

***

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[jenovahh]

Wild Greens Choke Tended Gardens -  Ch. 1 - Calendula (Marigold)

“A’yana!”

Blue eyes twinkle, searching for whoever wanted their attention.

The woman they belong to turns in a rush, her plentiful skirts swaying with the movement.

A’yana Salvia smiled warmly as the Leveilleur twins ran up to her, Alisaie nearly crashing into the older woman. A’yana bubbles with laughter as she slows the girl’s momentum in her arms, encasing her in an affectionate hug. “Well, that’s quite the greeting. Are you more eager than I to be out in the field?”

At first glance, anyone would wonder whether A’yana was trying to be as provocative as possible while somehow maintaining her modesty. Her skirts reached well to the ground, covering her sandaled feet, layered with a string of potions in case of emergency along with decorative feathers and trinkets. Her top was more scandalous, nothing but strips of fabric, artfully bound together to show her cleavage while maintaining her decency.

Her skin was a deep amber, so rich and brown that she seemed to glow whenever she stepped into the sunlight. White tattoos trailed down her arms and back twirling and curving in intricate patterns. With two, large, fluffy ears poking from curly, amethyst hair, A’yana looked like any other Miqo’te, but many underestimated her power.

Stolen from her crib at birth, A’yana has only ever known the teachings of a village of women, much like her. A village of witches, masters of the arcane and magic so old and powerful that they hid themselves in the bowels of the Gridanian forest. It was these witches that had sensed A’yana was born, erasing her existence from her parents’ mind and disappearing into the night to raise her.

The tattoos on her skin had been there since her birth, heralding her as a manifestation of the trees, the leaves, of life itself. Blessed by the spirits and Hydaelyn Herself, she was both respected and feared. Respected for using her powers for good, feared for the possibility she could turn on them and no one alive could stop her.

She had been more than helpful to the cause, even if her tendency to dive into things head first without thinking had landed her in trouble more often than not. Despite that she had made more friends than enemies, and what enemies she had knew she was a force to be reckoned with.

The young Elezen finally peels off of her, giving an exasperated groan. “I cannot deny I am a tad...antsy,”

“Is that what we call it?” Alphinaud can’t help but tease, flinching slightly as Alisaie turns to shoot him a quick glare.

“Now, now, be nice you two.” A’yana giggles, rubbing her head affectionately against the top of Alisaie’s head. “Goodness. I know it will be a few years yet, but I loathe to think of a time where I cannot nuzzle the tops of your snowy heads.” With a mischievous grin of her own, A’yana gives Alisaie a light nudge. “Or when you running headlong into me won’t result in you colliding with my bosom.” she sighs dramatically, breaking out into a full laugh as both twins go red in the face for different reasons.

“We’ll see how you like being teased when I am taller than you! Shall I play with your ears?” Alisaie huffs, clearly embarrassed. It was one thing for her twin to poke fun at her, but to have the woman she had come to view as the older sister she never had never failed to leave her flustered.

“Come now, I jest.” A’yana chuckles giving one last pat on her head. “Surely you did not run because you were excited to see me. Is there news?” A’yana asks, threading her hand with Alisaie’s as they walked through Rhalgr’s Reach. She offers her hand to Alphinaud who sputters for a moment but quietly accepts it, ears reddening as she flashes him a comforting smile.

While A’yana was aware that many would say that the twins were too old for such coddling, she could not help herself. Having no real siblings of her own, A’yana doted on them constantly, always asking if they were hungry, or needed a potion of hers for even something as small as a stomach ache. There was no hiding even outside the Scions that she spoiled them, and despite their best efforts to hide it, they loved every second of her attention.

“Well, on the grounds that you’ve finished your tasks of speaking with the recruits and such for Conrad,” Alphinaud begins, giving an encouraging smile, “he is actually ready to speak with us.”

“Ah, I would hope so after all the running around we’ve had to do.” A’yana sighs, to which even Alphinaud can’t help but laugh.

“While I’m aware that speaking with the masses is not as thrilling as fighting gods, I appreciate you going along with it nonetheless.” Alphinaud thanks, giving her hand a squeeze.

“Only because I have you two kids to look out for.” A’yana snickers, giving Alphinaud’s hair a ruffle, much to his dismay, the teenager leaping away from her teasing. “I’ll meet you over at the tent. Pray tell Conrad I’ll be there shortly.” Watching him nod, her eyes follow him as he walks the path back to the tent where M’naago and Conrad await them. Turning to Alisaie, she gives her hand a squeeze. “And you?”

Shrugging, Alisaie returns her gesture. “I think I will go check up on Y’shtola and Krile, and see how they are faring. I would end up saying the wrong thing I fear if I went with my brother.” Tilting her head, Alisaie gives her a scrutinous look. “Though you seem noticeably...excited today. Is all well?”

A’yana is not surprised, given how much time she spends in the twins' presence. Of course they would pick up on even the smallest cues on her moods. “Well...I’m not particularly familiar with how Elezen find their soulmates,”

Alisaie’s eyes widen before she can even finish the sentence, mouth flying open, “You mean your soulmate is---hrrmph!” she mumbles as A’yana slaps a hand over her mouth, pulling the young girl into what looks like a friendly embrace from afar.

“Quiet!” A’yana hisses, though it lacks any real bite. Alisaie licks at her palm and A’yana takes it off reflexively, releasing Alisaie with a pout.

“Why be quiet? This should be something to celebrate!” Alisaie whispers, at least being considerate to her feelings and keeping her voice down.

“I know, I know, but we’re in the middle of a full blown war, Alisaie. I want to be able to...you know. Have a chance to be courted without fear of some primal coming down on our heads.” A’yana mumbles, somewhat bashfully. For as strong as A’yana was, she was unfortunately (at least to her) a hopeless romantic.

“Oh, you big sap.” Trust her little sister to make fun of her for it. “Well how can you tell? I heard most Miqo’te born in Ul’Dah find theirs by being able to see color when they meet. Does that mean you can’t tell Alphinaud and I dress in different colors? If we swapped clothes--”

“I can see plenty well, thank you.” A’yana grumbles, giving her a playful smack on the head. “If you don’t mind, I’ve kept your brother waiting long enough. Off you go.” A’yana shoos, complete with a limp wristed wave of her hand. Alisaie sticks her tongue out at her, and A’yana is glad to see it. They should enjoy what years of childhood they had left, even if they were teenagers.

Trekking to the tent across the way, she offers a few more cordial waves as she passes by the soldiers stationed in the reach, her tranquil aura a soothing balm to all as she passes by. As she goes to meet with the others, she can’t help but daydream what her soulmate could possibly look like.

Are they tall? Short? Would they be a refined, Ishgardian, Elezen man or a brusque, Highlander woman? Would they be a match made in heaven from the start, or would they have to learn to love each other despite their faults? Though she has waited for her soulmate like anyone else, A’yana still experienced attraction. She knew she liked women, liked men, like those who did not conform to either. She wanted to love her soulmate no matter how they presented themself, and prayed they thought the same for her.

She always imagined her soulmate would be tall, someone who would want to protect her even if she did not need it. Someone who made her feel like an average woman despite her trekking across Eorzea as the Warrior of Light. She hoped they liked her cooking. The Scions all think it’s too spicy, except for Tataru, bless her heart.

A’yana envied other races and cultures that had more certain ways of knowing for sure when or where they’d meet their soulmate. Finding your soulmate varied from methods as vague as sharing your soulmate’s hair color, to as specific as having a specially crafted chronometer that would countdown to the time you would meet.

A’yana got stuck with the vague end of the spectrum, only able to sense when her soulmate drew near.

She had thought it wanderlust at first; a desire to leave her village behind once she had hit the appropriate age to do so. It was to her surprise that she would be discovered to be the Warrior of Light, beginning her trek across Eorzea to save it from certain doom. She had gravitated to Gridania immediately, feeling a strange tingling in her chest that would always call her back.

It is only after they crossed Baelsar’s wall had she realized that was no normal feeling.

She kept it to herself for a while, but with each passing day as she worked to bolster the Ala Mhigan resistance with Raubahn and Pipin, she could feel her soulmate drawing closer. She knew they were close, just not how close. Oh, how the wait was killing her.

One look at Y’shtola and Krile tells A’yana that as usual, Alisaie can’t keep her mouth shut. The two give her knowing, but hopeful looks. Alphinaud asks ever so politely on whether she is willing to try and storm the Castellum with Pipin, because she’s already done so much for the cause and he’d rather not presume. Ruffling his hair again, A’yana laughs that while she appreciates it, he needn’t ask. If there is a just cause to fight for, she will be there.

While this cause is just as bloody as the Dragonsong War so far, A’yana feels no less afraid to see it through. She does not enjoy killing, abhors it really, and will do what she can to spare a life, even those of an enemy unless they force her hand. Thankfully with her powers, restraining the enemy is not hard work, allowing for the capture of soldiers with minimal bloodshed.

It is better than sitting around running her apothecary, waiting for customers to stop by.

Fighting primals is much more exciting.

There are no eikons to slay yet though, Gyr Abania proving strangely tame compared to the struggles she endured during her time in Coerthas fighting the Heavensward led by Thordan. Where there was once the threat of dragons around every corner, able to fly and raze her to the ground if she let them, the only risk so far is an imperial ambush, which when next to her, was hardly a threat at all.

A’yana knew she was powerful and she tried to not let it get to her head.

Tried.

The trek back to Castrum Oriens is quiet and peaceful, the imperials most likely quaking in their boots from their last defeat by her hand. To the average person she appeared to be no more than a healer, thinking her an easy target as she balanced her astrolabe above her palm. And with skirts restricting her movement, many would think she would be incapable of hand to hand combat.

That didn’t mean she couldn’t dodge, though.

Bolstered by her own abilities, her offensive spells even as she healed were more than enough to weaken an enemy and render them unable to even lift a blade against her. And even if someone did manage to get close enough, she had worked hard to master the art of dodging a sword while in her skirts, having a few scars from some close calls.

A’yana makes conversation with M’naago until they reach the Castrum, where Raubahn and Pipin each give her a friendly welcome before getting down to business. A’yana’s attention drifts in and out of the conversation, ears flicking to and fro the only indication whether she’s actively listening or not. Thankfully M’naago is the only other Miqo’te present to recognize the behavior for what it is, and seems confident in her abilities to not comment on it. One doesn’t necessarily need the full scope of the plan when your friends usually chuck you at a primal.

Besides, she can’t help it; she feels her soulmate drifting ever closer. Could they be an Ala Mhigan? She’s never felt the buzz so strongly before, even when she had first noticed the feeling when she became an adult. If her soul mate was Ala Mhigan, she would’ve felt them this close years ago...right?

“You seem on edge.” Alisaie comments again, as they prepare to meet Pipin outside Castellum Velodnya. “Is your soulmate getting closer?”

Unable to hide her grin, A’yana nods, not wanting to burst with excitement when such a serious mission looms ahead. If scoping out the Castellum went well, perhaps she could spend the night searching for her soulmate. Surely if they are this close, they must be searching for her too? “Right now, I just wanna focus on our mission,” A’yana sighs, flexing her fingers anxiously. “I have yet to consult the stars about tonight...I’ve never consulted them about my soulmate actually. I’ve always wanted it to be a surprise.”

Alisaie gives her a teasing look at that. “Who would’ve thought the Warrior of Light would be such a huge romantic?” She sighs, complete with a dramatic roll of her eyes.

“Oh, be quiet you.” A’yana laughs, giving Alisaie a scathing look. “Don’t think I’ve not noticed you fiddling with that locket you think you keep tucked away. I believe Sharlayans often find their soulmates by a personal trinket that glows when their soulmate is near, right?”

A’yana can’t help but laugh louder as Alisaie turns as red as her gear, going on about how A’yana must’ve been spying on her. It takes Alphinaud calming both of them down (but not without getting in a few jokes of his own) to say they’re ready to head toward the Castellum.

Making sure her cards are ready and her astrolabe functional, A’yana begins to ease into her more serious persona. A’yana didn’t want to put up false pretenses when it came to her role as the Warrior of Light, but found that people took her seriously the sterner she looked. Around the Scions she didn’t mind joking and laughing, showing a side that precious few got to see. But when it came time to do battle, you would think she had not smiled in days.

With her feline hearing and the twins own sensitivity to sound due to their Elezen heritage combined, it’s nigh impossible for anyone to sneak up on them. A’yana follows close behind Pipin and the twins, careful to make sure her skirts don’t get snagged in the brush as they make their way through the forest and out to the more desert-like terrain. A’yana can’t help but be a little nervous as they creep closer to the cliffs’ edge, taking extra steps so that tripping on her skirts doesn’t spell in a long fall into the chasm below.

Winds tickle her skin, the buzzing in her chest almost turning into a light hum. It makes it hard to focus.

“...is exactly as expected. I will notify father.” Pipin’s voice drifts into her ears.

Alphinaud puts a hand on her arm, eyes silently asking if she’s all right. Thankful for his concern, A’yana nods, doing her best to push the humming feeling to the back of her mind. Whenever she did meet her soulmate, she was going to tell them they had awful timing.

“...fire! Where did it come from?” Pipin whispers harshly, turning this way and that. Panicked and feeling stupid for not paying attention, A’yana jumps to her feet, scanning the area for cannonfire she didn’t even hear. The humming is hard to push from her mind.

“Is that---” Alisaie’s voice drifts in and out as A’yana finally manages to turn to where Alisaie is facing. “Oh gods, it’s Rhalgr’s Reach!”

Doing her damndest to focus, A’yana gathers up her skirts and begins to move, before either of the twins or Pipin can say anything. “A’yana, it’s no use-- I think someone’s jamming our communications!” Alphinaud yells. Thankfully the pair are used to A’yana’s tendency to run head first into danger without thinking, quick on her heels.

“You don’t think...could this be part of a coordinated attack?” Alisaie ponders, the two of them heading North so they can cross the river and make it back as fast as possible.

Having caught up, Pipin chimes in, “It’s too early to draw conclusions. We must abort the assault and return to the Reach at once!”

Not that that wasn’t her plan anyway, A’yana trudges through the river, silently cursing that she is at such a disadvantage. Her abilities relied so strongly on a presence of plant life; and in the arid climate that Gyr Abania had, she immediately felt the loss. Whatever it was waiting for her at the Reach, they better hope--

The humming--

It almost feels like a full blown thrumming now.

She’s getting closer to Rhalgr’s which means…

Which means...!

“We have to hurry!” She cries, ignoring the discomfort of soggy sandals and damp skirts as she pulls herself from the river, continuing her run to Rhalgr’s Reach.

My soulmate...are they there? Are they hurt? She wonders, trying her best to not despair, but she can’t help but worry. Not when with every step she takes the thrumming gets more insistent until it is all she can feel, her very being feeling as if it knows her soulmate is near. She can hear the twins hurried breaths behind her, her feline eyes easily pick up on a few approaching forms in the distance.

“Krile!” A’yana calls, willing her feet to move faster. The Lalafellin woman’s eyes are downcast, only glancing up at the sound of her name being called. Her grim look only pushes A’yana forward, not even stopping to talk and hear what she has to say.

“Alisaie! Go after A’yana!” She hears Alphinaud call, as he and Pipin stay behind for a moment to talk to Krile. Alisaie is hot on her tail without even needing to be told, keeping stride with the older woman as they prepare to throw themselves into the fray.

“We have to save as many as possible!” Alisaie calls, drawing her rapier, having it at the ready. “Heal who you can. I will watch your back until the others arrive!”

Proud of her sister for thinking so fast on her feet, for knowing what she wants without even having to voice it, A’yana pulls her astrolabe from her back, the cards fanning around the globe in a flourish. Imperials meet them at the gate, A’yana able to feel the stars giving her strength as she pulls a Lady of Crowns from her globe. Channeling the energy to Alisaie, she watches as the young woman’s eyes light up, letting loose her battle cry as she takes the imperials on.

She fights off one imperial, making quick work of them and gets to calling upon her magic to cast a quick healing spell on a nearby recruit. Thankful that they’ve only sustained flesh wounds that won’t drain their life force, A’yana begins to put more of her focus into getting them a bit healthier. Only a few minutes pass before she can hear Krile and the others catch up. “Go on ahead!” Krile demands, already heading for the next of the wounded. “They need your help!”

Nodding, A’yana once again balances her astrolabe in her hand, having palmed a few cards to keep at the ready as she takes stock of who will be moving with her. Her heart is pounding; her soulmate is close, and she prays that because she still feels this thrumming, it also means they’re still alive.

“Y’shtola!” Alphinaud cries, seeing the Miqo’te woman on the ground. A’yana’s own heart stops as she spies Lyse tied up on the ground next to the unconscious woman.

“Not so fast!”

A’yana barely dodges a swipe of a blade, her skirts dancing around her as she quickly casts a Malefic at the offending enemy. More of the Skulls begin to surround her, snickering to themselves, thinking they have her cornered. Though there may be little plant life around, she knows she won’t even have to waste a fraction of her energy taking down a few mercenaries. A’yana’s eyes narrow as a young woman, hardly older than nineteen summers comes to the front, smirking as if victory is assured.

“Well, well. A rescue party, is it?” The woman grins, twirling her blade. “We’ll see about that!”

At the first step she makes A’yana easily dodges her, balancing her astrolabe in one hand while taking hold of her skirts in the other. Her pupils dilate, letting in more light on this already dark and tragic night. She dodges another swipe and hears the woman growl in frustration, making another blind charge at her. A’yana evades her once again, losing herself to the pull of combat, the humming of her soulmate’s proximity forgotten as she manages to put enough distance between her and the newcomer to cast a Malefic that sends her stumbling.

“Gah! Who in the seven hells are you?!” She snarls, her grip on her sword tightening.

“I would ask the same of you, but I remember you now...Fordola rem Lupis.” A’yana murmurs, twirling her astrolabe in hand. She’s fully dipped into the role of the Warrior now, eyes hard as steel, unforgiving in their gaze as she stares down the cause of this tragedy. “I unfortunately lack the means to restrain you properly...which prompts me to request you stand down. I rather there be no more bloodshed, even from the enemy.”

A’yana keeps her focus on Fordola, ensuring she makes no sudden movements as Alphinaud takes out one of the soldiers. “Alphinaud! I need your help!” Krile beckons, falling to her knees as she sets about healing Y’shtola and the other fallen soldiers.

Fordola makes to move toward them but A’yana is faster, casting a Malefic with just enough power to weaken her further and deter her from any foolish moves. Fordola grits her teeth, eyes burning hotly as she stares her down. “My lord, the prisoners!” She calls.

My lord? A’yana wonders, until she hears the shift of heavy armor, and the awareness of the humming returns tenfold.

“See to your men, Pilus.”

Fordola draws her sword, turning to the sound, giving the Garlean salute to whoever comes this way. Following her gaze, A’yana takes one look.

And she knows.

The armor is obviously fitting of not just a high ranking officer, but royalty. She can see strands of golden, blond hair trail from beneath the monsterish helm. She had heard stories and rumors, intel about the Garlean prince, but nothing could have prepared her for how intense his presence was--

Or the fact that he was her soulmate.

It can’t be, A’yana trembles, even as her soul sings at being so close to her soulmate. She can feel all the signs of love she had envied for so long. Her knees are weak, her heart’s beating out of time. She only has eyes for the twisted creature before her, the Prince of Garleans…

Zenos yae Galvus.

“Uh-- as you command, my lord.” Fordola stutters, rounding up what remaining soldiers she has and retreating as ordered.

A’yana is stock still even as Pipin comes up beside her, her throat locked up. She wants to say so much, but her mouth will not open. Her tongue is dry.

It can’t be.

Zenos turns to her, mood indiscernible from beneath his helm. One arm rests upon the odd sheathe that is fastened to his hip, carrying a familiar sort of confidence she recognizes in herself. A surety in your power.

The knowledge of your greatness.

“Your friends were a disappointment. But you…” The prince drawls, tilting his head slightly. “You will entertain me, will you not?”

A’yana can’t even swallow as he moves to face her, drawing a sword from his revolver.

It can’t be.

Alisaie brings up the rear at last as A’yana’s instinct is screaming at her to run away. To tell her friends to run for cover while she holds him off. But it is too late. The stage is already set.

“If we kill him, here and now, we can end this!” Alisaie roars, already launching herself at Zenos.

“As one!” Pipin cries, joining Alisaie in her attack.

“Wait-- no!” A’yana yells, finally finding her voice. Habit finally kicks in, fear an undercurrent to her movements as she begins to draw cards, ready to aid her friends where possible. He’s...powerful. I’ve never felt such strength…!

A’yana watches panicked as Zenos fights them off, expending little effort. It almost feels like looking in a mirror, watching the ease at which he dispatches her friends.

Is this what she looked like to everyone else?

“I have no need for this rabble.” Zenos sighs, unleashing an attack that sends the two flying.

“Alisaie! Pipin!” A’yana calls, having barely withstood the attack herself. Was that...magic? The prince is a full blooded Garlean-- how? Quickly glancing, she hears Pipin mumble something over the roaring in her ears as Alisaie lets loose a slew of curses, allowing her to take a breather. They’re both alive, thank the Twelve.

“Hm. You yet stand.” Zenos hums, once again drawing A’yana’s attention as well as her ire. At least now with her friends out of the fight she has to worry about no one save herself. “Mayhap you have potential.”

“Oh, I have more than potential,” A’yana hisses, beginning to draw cards. She can hear him chuckle, even from under the helm, illusionary swords appearing around her. Growling, she makes quick work of dodging their blasts while keeping her eyes focused on him.

Her soulmate.

Her eyes burn with unshed tears at how unfair this was.

For every blast she dodges, he’s quick on his feet, chasing her, hunting her, leaving her little room to even begin to cast. She’s unaccustomed to being on the run and she feels like he can sense it, can see how wide her eyes are from being on the losing side for once. She can hear the smirk from under his helm. “Better. Yet lacking nevertheless…”

Incensed, A’yana dodges his swords once again, edging herself near the water. It will take a good chunk of her energy, but if it means wiping that smirk off his face even if she can’t see it, she’ll do what it takes.

She watches him still for but a moment as her tattoos faintly glow, the water gurgling behind her. Balancing her astrolabe, she casts a Malefic with the intention of distracting him, grinning as he moves to dodge her magic. “I’ve got you!” she roars, veins shooting from the depths of the small river, launching themselves directly at Zenos.

He easily slashes at one set, but was clearly not expecting another set of vines to come up behind him, latching onto his sword arm. Regaining her confidence, A’yana cinches the vines as tight as she can around his wrist, frowning as the pressure does nothing to his armor. As a prince it would make sense he is only afforded the highest quality metal available.

Changing tactics she tries to wrench his hand behind him, but he’s far too strong for her vines to pull without snapping. She could strengthen them with magic, but she’s already using so much already since she is not touching any plants physically and relying on her own energy. She doesn’t want to use her reserves; what if she needs to make a run for it?

Would her own soulmate kill her?

Could he not tell they were soulmates?

Was she broken?

Her choice is taken away from her as Zenos gives a decisive slice of his blade through the vines, humming to himself. “An ability to control plant matter...though not without great cost to yourself.” While his tone hints that he’s somewhat intrigued, it still maintains a bit of boredom. “Come then.”

Before she can react he dashes for her, blade drawn. A’yana winces as she’s barely able to dodge in time, crying out at her blade cuts a decent gash in her side. Down, but not out, A’yana taps into her reserves by clasping his sword, using a burst of magic to snap the blade in half. As he withdraws, she falls to the ground, whimpering as she casts a small healing spell to at least stop the bleeding.

She feels him gaze down at her, feels his disdain and disappointment. Her heart still burns at his closeness, even as he draws another sword from his revolver. She glares up at him then, resolve burning bright in her eyes, even as she kneels before him. Instinct claws its way up to where she bares her fangs, her eyes become slits, and somehow that gives him pause.

All is silent save for the rolling of thunder.

“Pathetic.” He sighs, sheathing his sword once again and stalking away. A’yana watches him go, watches Fordola and her men follow behind him.

“A’yana!” Alisaie is at her side in an instant, trying to put on her best brave face. “We need to get you seen to,”

“I’m fine, Alisaie, I’ve slowed the bleeding.” Normally she’d have more than enough energy to stop it entirely. But not this time.

Not after being defeated so wholly.

A’yana was no prodigy; she had to work to her level of skill like anyone else. She was only bolstered by the fact she was a wellspring of power, and had a natural aptitude for magic and the arcane. She had long faded scars to show she trained like anyone else.

Only now, had her luck run out.

She was used to coasting on her talent, her hard work. That wasn't to say any of her battles up until this point had been easy, oh no-- taking down Nidhogg had been an arduous battle from start to finish. Even with van Baelsar she had been younger, greener, mostly sailing by on sheer adrenaline and pure luck. Overwhelming her enemies with how much raw, untamed power she held.

And now...she feels embarrassed. The infallible, unshakable Warrior of Light…

Thrown around like a doll by the prince of Garleans.

Even still, nothing made her more ashamed than the fact that he was her soulmate.

She couldn’t understand it. Comprehend it. She couldn’t deny she felt a little impatient. Not all races met their soulmates when they were young, but it was not unheard of for some soulmates to find one another even before their teenage years. She could not help the doubts that plagued her that by nearly twenty-five summers, she hadn’t felt as much of a tug. Something had to be wrong with her.

It is why she could not contain her excitement when after so long, she felt something.

It is why her heart is so heavy as Alphinaud and Krile rush over to her to help heal her enough to move.

Raubahn arrives soon after, devastated as he looks upon the Reach. He scoops her up effortlessly, balancing her in one arm as he rushes her to the infirmary, only adding to her shame.

“You’ve done well.” Raubahn assures her, hushed words only for the two of them to hear. Even though it is only for her ears, she can’t help but beat herself up for failing everyone so horribly.

She can’t tell anyone.

What would the others think of her, knowing that when they needed her most, she couldn’t fight her soulmate? That her soulmate was the very person they are aiming to defeat?

Even as she lies in bed and the chirugeons tend to her, Krile and Alphinaud having exhausted their energy just to save Y’shtola, she stares the ceiling and wonders--

What will she do?

She can’t kill her soulmate.

She already abhorred the thought of killing, but she could sense he was not a man who would allow himself to be captured. He would accept nothing less than total defeat.

Night falls over the Reach and she lies wide awake, thoughts bouncing off the walls like a child who has had too much toffee. She is restless at the same time she is tired, wanting action, wanting to do anything, wanting to prove herself--

“...Yana?”

A’yana gasps, heart nearly leaping up her throat as Alisaie’s head peeks through the privacy curtain around her bed. “Alisaie. I’m sorry. I was...lost in thought.” She moves to sit up but her gash is still healing. She’s yet to recover the strength needed to heal her wounds further, and her strongest potions were given to help Y’shtola and many others instead.

“You’re not overthinking your battle are you?” Alisaie questions, quietly reaching for a small stool to sit at her side. A’yana guiltily looks away, prompting the young girl to frown. “Yana,” Alisaie begins and A’yana can’t help but sigh. Alisaie only dropped her prefix when she was ready to chew her out.

“At least think about it from my perspective, Alisaie,” A’yana breathes, unable to even roll over and face her. “I’ve...never experienced a defeat such as that. In a way I suppose I am humbled, but I...I was also scared.”

They are both silent, Alisaie seeming to mull over her words. “Your soulmate…” Alisaie begins, causing A’yana to tense immediately. Thankfully it is still too dark to catch such minute movements. “Were they...did you sense them? Was it distracting you? They’re not…”

“No, they’re not dead.” A’yana cuts off, slinging an arm over her eyes, not wanting to show Alisaie her tears. She had to be strong for her. She had to be unshakable, an inspiration--

“Then where are they?” Alisaie presses, unable to see how A’yana’s fist clenches, how as much as she doesn’t want to, tears fall from her tired eyes.

“They’re not here. They left.” She lies. “I’m guessing they saw the explosions, heard the cannon fire from Rhalgr’s. And...I suppose that they don’t have a way to sense I’m near.” A’yana curses as she begins to sniffle, as sobs begin to wrack her body. She would never show this chip in her armor to anyone else.

“Yana…” Alisaie murmurs, reaching to hug her as best as she can with A’yana still lying down. The Miqo’te takes it, needing the comfort. She’s not surprised that Alisaie lets her think that she’s this immovable force, that she is not without flaws and fears. She knew Alisaie did not think any less of her for having weak points like anyone else.

But in her mind, nothing could make up for the fact that her soulmate was the enemy they were trying to defeat, and she just may not have the power to stop him.

[moonlit-jeno]

love sick (m.)

Chapter 4- Jaemin

pairing: nct dream ‘00 line + reader

chapter warnings: smut, masturbation

words: 2.2k

summary:

“Me? What about you? You’re the one sleeping with her, for fuck’s sake.”

“I’m not sleeping with her! We’re just- sharing a bed.”

notes: this chapter is kinda filler but i also needed to fully set up the dynamics so

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You’re laying on the couch when Jaemin walks into the living room and he instantly tries to soften his movements so that he doesn’t wake you. A closer look shows him that you’re awake and staring blankly at the ceiling. He looks closer.

“Y/N?” You jolt and turn towards him with wide eyes, relaxing when you see that it’s just him. “You okay? Jaemin hates how cute you look when you sit up, sleepily stretching your arms over your head and arching your back to stretch your stiff joints. He averts his gaze when your shirt rides up above your belly button, thighs on full display thanks to your tiny, tiny shorts. “Yeah. I was boarding up the windows earlier, but I got tired. Wanted to take a little break.” “Why were you boarding up the windows?” He asks, furrowing his eyebrows as he looks from you to the half-covered window. A quick scan of the room reveals that it’s the last one not covered. “The windows are glass and pretty easily shattered. If the stories you’ve told me are true, then I didn’t want to take any chances.” You explain. Jaemin shudders as the image of the man smashing his head into the windshield pops up in his mind.

He nods, scratching the back of his head. “That’s actually really smart. I can’t believe we didn’t think of this earlier.” You smile, playing with the hem of your shirt, and his heart flutters as he realizes that the compliment made you shy.

“Yeah, well. I didn’t really believe you earlier, so.” You trail off, and Jaemin doesn’t push it. He feels relieved because it means that you trust them now, but a part of him wishes you didn’t have to.

It’s silent for a moment before Jaemin clears his throat. “Tell you what. You help me make breakfast, I’ll help you board up the windows. Deal?”

You grin. “Deal.”

Jaemin wouldn’t exactly call you useless in the kitchen. You’re not a professional by any means, but you look cute with an apron on and your nose scrunched up in concentration. He watches you struggle for a moment, laughing quietly to himself, before stepping in. 

“Here, hold it like this.” Jaemin places his hand over yours, rearranging the spatula in your hold. “And you’re just going to flip it like this…”  He grabs the pan to tilt it back as he scoops the utensil underneath the pancakes, flipping it perfectly. 

“Like this?” He lets go but doesn’t step away, enjoying the warmth radiating off of your skin and the scent of your shampoo. You manage to fold the pancake in half, batter splattering everywhere. Some of it lands on your cheek. You pout at him.

“Not quite.” Jaemin can’t hold back his giggle.

You whine in frustration. “It’s hard!”

“It’s the effort that counts.” He comforts you, carefully sliding the spatula out of your grip to save the remains. You do get very good at spooning the batter into the pan, he’ll give you that. 

The two of you stand back to admire your (Jaemin’s) hard work, leaning against the counter and gazing at the mound of pancakes. 

“Good work!” You high five him with both hands, lacing them together for a quick squeeze. Jaemin can’t help the way his heart squeezes as well. 

“Close your eyes.” Jaemin directs you. There’s still batter on your face and he brushes it off with a gentle touch, swiping his thumb against your cheek and above your eyebrow. There’s nothing on your mouth but he uses this as an excuse to run his thumb along your plush bottom lip anyways. “All clean.”

You open your eyes and Jaemin realizes that the space between you two is much smaller than he thought. His thumb is still pressed against your lips but before he can draw it away, you’re parting your lips and letting your tongue flick out, taking the digit into your mouth gently. He swears his heart stops beating and his dick kicks as he watches you suck at the tip of his thumb. It takes all of his willpower to not imagine you in another situation, on your knees with something else in your mouth.

He draws his thumb away but his eyes stay locked on your lips and he realizes how soft they look. With your back pressed up against the counter, all he would have to do is lean down a little bit, maybe lift you up against it… “Oh, the lord heard my prayers! God is real!” Donghyuck’s loud cry snaps Jaemin out of his daze and he turns to glare at the other boy.

“What are you on about now?” You giggle and slip away from him, grabbing plates from the cabinet.

Donghyuck rolls his eyes as if it should be obvious. “My stomach was growling and now there is food. I am obviously God’s favorite angel.” “Angel?” Jeno questions, entering the kitchen and immediately ripping a pancake in half to shove in his mouth. “Is it opposite day?” Donghyuck glowers, about to retort, but Jeno shoves the other half of the pancake into his open mouth. Hyuck makes a demonic screeching noise, followed by a moan of approval. “Those are really good.” “Thanks, you’re an idiot.” Jaemin rolls his eyes, then notices that he was the first one to say that. “Where’s Renjun?”

Jeno waves his hand, his pancake flopping around as he gestures vaguely. “Greenhouse.” You take the pancake out of Jeno’s hand with raised eyebrows, setting it down on a plate before handing it back to him. “I’ll go grab him.”

Jaemin watches you leave before sitting down, ripping into the pancakes. He notices Jeno’s eyes trailing after you as well. He quirks an eyebrow. 

“So what’s up with you and y/n?” Donghyuck asks, head tilted to the side. It takes Jaemin a moment to realize that he’s not talking to Jeno.

“Huh? Me and y/n?” Jeno and Donghyuck both nod. “Yeah man, you’re looking at her with hearts in your eyes.” Jeno confirms, leaning forward in his seat. “You’re totally whipped.” Donghyuck nods. “You were about three seconds from kissing her earlier.”

“Me?” It’s the only word that Jaemin can muster, looking between the two boys. He points at Jeno. “What about you? You’re the one sleeping with her, for fuck’s sake.”

“I’m not sleeping with her!” Jeno defends, grip tightening on his plate. “We’re just- sharing a bed.” 

Jaemin raises his eyebrows as he corrects him. “Cuddling, Jen. You’re cuddling.”

“Fine, we’re cuddling.” Jeno rolls his eyes. “So what? Physical affection is good for you, Jaem. It’s healthy.”

“Do you like her?” The question slips out before Jaemin can stop himself, and he winces at how jealous he sounds. Hyuck watches them with wide eyes, ripping up pieces of pancake and shoving them in his mouth like popcorn. 

Jeno doesn’t answer, swallowing thickly. His mouth open, closes, opens again. “I-” You walk in, Renjun in tow, and Jeno immediately shuts up. The sweet sound of your laugh fills the kitchen as you and Renjun talk, though you falter a bit at the tension in the room. “Everything okay?” “Peachy.” Jaemin says, staring hard at Jeno. Jeno doesn’t respond besides offering you a tight smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

Hyuck changes the topic quickly, and the mood shifts back to normal. Renjun talks a lot about how you have such a ‘diverse variety of plants’ in the greenhouse and Hyuck calls him a nerd. Renjun pretends to hit him with his chair. You laugh so hard that tears stream down your face, the sight bringing a smile to Jaemin’s face. He risks a glance at Jeno. The guy won’t meet his eyes.

“Oh, I almost forgot!” You say suddenly, pausing as four pairs of eyes snap to you. “I think we should board up the windows for extra protection. I started doing it earlier, but I got tired.” A soft laugh leaves you. 

“I’ll do it.” Jeno says almost immediately, sitting straight in his seat. Jaemin frowns, hating the weirdness between him and his best friend. They’ve fought before, sure, but over a girl? Never.

Jeno’s eyes shift to Jaemin’s, an almost challenging look in his eyes. Jaemin’s jaw grits but he holds his hands up in defeat. Jeno smirks.

Renjun shoots them a weird look but doesn’t say anything, turning to you instead. “That’s a good idea, but what about the greenhouse? It’s almost entirely glass, I don’t really think it’s practical to board it up.” 

You shake your head. “We should just do the house. It’s where we’re spending the most amount of time and besides, I doubt anything’s going to happen in the greenhouse.” “Okay, that’s reasonable. Also, I think we should all help out.” Renjun says, glancing around the table. “We should take turns, though. Jaemin and y/n first, Jeno, Hyuck, and I second.” Jeno looks ready to protest, frowning at Renjun’s idea. “Why can’t we all just do it together?” 

“It’s going to get too crowded and turn unproductive. Besides, they cooked. We need to clean.” Hyuck looks disgusted at the idea of physical labor. “I’ll be there for emotional support.” He decides, fanning himself with one hand. Renjun glares at him. Hyuck glares back.

“I’m going to go start. Jaem, are you done eating?” Jaemin has a bad feeling in his gut and he glances once at Jeno, feeling his stomach turn at the cold look in his eyes. He nods.

“Yeah, I’m done. Let’s go.” 

The two of you alternate who has to do the hammering and you chatter away about anything and everything that comes to your mind. Jaemin loves how excited you are when you talk, how your face lights up and your hands start to move with your words. It defrosts the bad feeling fogging his mind and he’s laughing and smiling along with you after no time at all. Maybe he almost hits his hand instead of the nail with the hammer because he’s distracted by you. No one needs to know.

He finds himself agreeing with you about everything, nodding along with a smile because your just make everything sound so good. The light streaming in through the windows makes you look almost ethereal, bathing you in golden rays. Jaemin’s sad that they have to board the windows up, but he drinks in as much of you as he can, burning the image of how beautiful you look like this into his brain. You’re saying something about how he would look good with dyed hair now, and Jaemin’s never wanted to dye his hair before, but now he can’t fathom why not.

“Really? What color do you think?” Jaemin runs his hand through his hair and you squint at him, head cocked to the side. “Pink.” You finally decide, nodding with satisfaction.

“Pink?” You nod. “Pink it is, then. Too bad we can’t actually dye it.”

You sigh. “Maybe soon.”

Renjun, Jeno, and Donghyuck come to swap with them after a while, and you groan in relief. “FInally. This is the most exercise I’ve ever done.” You head off to shower while Jaemin waits, lost in his own mind. He likes you, obviously, and it’s obvious that Jeno does too. But he’s not prepared to lose his best friend over you, isn’t sure that he would ever forgive himself if he let that happen. Could he even be happy watching you and Jeno together? He lets out a groan, falling back against the mattress. They didn’t even get into a proper argument, for fucks’ sake.

The opening of the door startles him, but nothing shocks him more than the sight of yo with just a towel wrapped tightly around your body. “Sorry, I forgot to bring clothes in with me. I’m done though, you can go ahead.”

Jaemin swallows thickly, tries to get his mind to start working again. “Okay,” he finally manages. It doesn’t sound too strained.

“I saved you some hot water, by the way. Thank God we still have that, right?” You laugh, and Jaemin forces himself to laugh as well, finally tearing his gaze off of your figure.

“Yeah, thank God.”

He isn’t proud of how hard he gets in the shower, images of you playing in his mind like a loop. And he isn’t proud about how quick he is to give in, wrapping his hand around his cock and jerking himself almost desperately, his free hand planted against the wall for balance. A deep groan leaves him and he turns his head to muffle his sounds into his bicep.

Guilt eats at him but he can’t stop himself from replaying the scene in the kitchen earlier, imagining what would have happened if you hadn’t been interrupted. He thinks of lifting you up on the counter, of getting to feel your lips against his own. Maybe he dips down a little lower, leaves pretty little bruises against your skin before finally getting to taste you, finally getting to draw those pretty sounds out of you. You probably taste delicious, Jaemin thinks, moaning at the thought. He’s sure he would get addicted if given the opportunity.

He thinks of his cock in your mouth, of you looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes as you choke on him, as you let him fist his hand in your hair to guide you along him. But most of all, he thinks about fucking you. Of how you would cry out his name as he pushed into you, slow and deep. How tight you would be, how fucking wet he would get you. And he’s sure you would feel divine around him, your legs wrapped tightly around his waist, your nails digging into his back as you beg, plead for him to fuck you just like that, please, don’t stop-

Jaemin bites into his bicep to muffle his moan as he comes, his mind blank of everything except for you. And as he stands there panting, watching his mess slide down the shower drain, he can’t help but feel an incredible heaviness in his gut, sick as he thinks of you and Jeno. He closes his eyes and lets the water pour down against his face, not moving until Donghyuck starts to pound against the door.

[justthehiddleswrites]

Destiny Has Other Plans | Loki x OFC (Alexis Randall) | Chapter 4

Pairing: Loki x OFC

MASTERLIST IS HERE

Summary: When Loki goes to ask his father for permission to marry, he is shocked to discover his destiny has already been made for him.  He is already betrothed to Sjofn, the daughter of the King of Vanaheim.  An arranged marriage to bring the two kingdoms closer together and strengthen the bond.  Never mind that Sjofn and Loki can’t stand each other.  

After The Battle of New York, Loki is sent to live at Avengers Tower as punishment for his misdeeds.  But it doesn’t mean he has to like it.   A year later, he has adjusted to life on Midgard but has avoided any romantic or emotional entanglements, still bitter over his lost love.  Dr. Alexis Randall is skilled at helping others fix their relationships as a couple therapist, but can’t help her own love life.  A chance encounter with Loki in a dive bar has life altering consequences for both of them.  Now, Alexis and Loki must figure out a way to co-habit without killing each other in the process, plus navigating impending parenthood and other roadblocks along the way.

This Chapter:   Tony’s attempt at matchmaking goes awry. Alexis meets the man that goes bump in the vents and makes some poor decisions.

Warnings: Arranged Marriage, Forced Marriage, Pregnancy, Unplanned Pregnancy, Smut, Angst,  Semi-Public Sex, Mentions of law enforcement, Oral Sex, Cursing, Vaginal Sex

Taglists are Open, please let me know if you wish to be added.

-

Alexis tugged at her dress. Even though she was still early in the pregnancy, her clothes were already fitting differently. She could see the beginnings of a bump in the mirror. Loki’s clothes fit him like a glove. Like a perfectly tailored, bespoke “look at me I am so fucking handsome” glove, Alexis groused to herself, tugging again at the neckline.

“Do you always fidget so much?” Loki questioned as they walked towards the entrance of the restaurant Tony made reservations at for them.

“No. None of my clothes aren’t fitting right. My bump is starting to show.”

“Have JARVIS order you some new ones.” Loki commented back. He held the door open for her. He didn’t think the dress was fitting Alexis poorly. Quite the contrary, as the low neckline highlighted her breasts in a manner Loki found rather stimulating. He particularly enjoyed the tiny stomach bump developing on her.

“Two, under the name Stark.” Loki wrapped his arm around Alexis’s waist as the bartender smiled at them from across the entrance. His grip tightened as a spark of jealousy hit him.

The maitre’d nodded and led them to a cozy table off to the side, and thankfully for Loki, out of the eyeline of the bar.

The server came by and asked for drink orders.

“Scotch neat.”

Alexis’s face dropped. “Just water, please.” A glass of wine sounded tempting right now.

The server nodded and moved away, but Loki grabbed his arm. “On second thought, water and Diet Coke for me.”

The server changed the order and stepped away. Alexis squirmed in her seat. “You didn’t need to do that on my account. I’m an adult and so are you. You can drink if you want.”

The server returned with the drinks and left to give them more time with the menus. Loki pushed the Diet Coke in front of Alexis. “A peace offering. If you can try, so can I.”

Alexis took a long draw of the soda and hummed. “Thank you, Loki.”

“My pleasure.” The server returned, ready to take their order.

“What would you recommend?” she asked.

“The tuna tartare is popular.” The server gestured to the menu. Loki coughed and raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t like anything raw.” Alexis lied. Sushi was one of her favorites. “Anything else?”

She settled on a seasonal risotto while Loki ordered a steak, medium rare. Once the server left, the two of them carried on a polite conversation until their bread service and entrees arrived. Alexis noticed as she ate, a blonde woman sneaking glances at their table.

“Loki, do you know her?”

He turned around to glance and shrugged his shoulders. “She looks vaguely familiar, but I can’t recall. I’ve met many people in my last year here.”

“LOKI!” The woman was now at their table. Alexis wasn’t entirely sure what was preventing the woman’s boobs from slipping out of her dress.

Loki narrowed his eyes. “Hello, um…”

“Ashlyn! You silly.” She slapped Loki’s shoulder. “You would think a god would have a better memory?”

“You would, wouldn’t you?” Alexis leaned forward on her hands, mocking Ashlyn.

Ashlyn turned to Loki, oblivious to Alexis, although Loki glared at her across the table. “I am so sorry, Ashlyn. I shall endeavor to do better.” He flashed her a smile.

“I can’t believe you never called me after our last date, and now I find you here out with another woman!”

“Oh, we aren’t dating!” Loki and Alexis responded simultaneously.

“She’s a friend.” Loki added.

“From work.” Alexis chimed in.

“Well then,” Ashlyn reached across and grabbed a spare cocktail napkin, she scribbled on it, leaning over the table to ensure Loki receive an eyeful of her ample cleavage. “Call me sometime.” Ashlyn tucked the napkin into Loki’s shirt pocket before walking off.

Alexis’s gaze followed Ashlyn until the blonde sat back down at her table.

“I’m surprised you didn’t drag her into the bathroom right in front of me.” Alexis sniped.

Loki scowled at her. “I am not that crass. And if I recall, you pulled me into that bathroom.”

Alexis sneered as she pushed her half eaten risotto away, no longer hungry. Loki frowned. “You need to eat.”

“My stomach doesn’t feel so good. I’m not feeling well.” Sure as shit, she wasn’t feeling well. She realized they weren’t beholden’d to each other and hell she even gave him permission to date. But Alexis never imagined it would sting this much.

“Then we should return home at once.” Loki signaled for the check, oblivious to the true reasons for Alexis’s upset stomach.

Tony was waiting for them in the common room, clearly wanting all the juicy gossip. Loki wrapped his arm around Alexis as they walked through.

“Look at the two of you!” Tony called out, scaring the shit out of Alexis.

“Does everyone around here just lurk in corners?” She clasped her hand on her chest.

“Not now, Stark. Alexis isn’t feeling well.” Loki snapped, not stopping.

Tony shuffled to follow them, cutting them off at the hallway entrance. “Just answer one question, was there a love connection?”

“Oh, there definitely was.” Alexis grumbled. Tony did a little fist pump. “Loki snagged a date with Ashlyn, the real life blow-up doll.”

“I beg your pardon?” Loki’s head at her and he removed his arm.

“Come on! She practically shoved her tits in your face, Loki. With me sitting there.”

“I’m going to bed.” Tony muttered and hightailed it out of the line of fire.

“You said you didn’t care.” Loki countered.

“And I don’t!” Alexis moaned, lying to herself and to Loki. She was getting a headache. “I don’t.” She took a deep breath. “I just don’t need it happening right in front of me, okay?”

Loki shoved his hands in his pants pockets. “Apologies. I hadn’t considered…”

“Spare the apologies, Loki.” She moved away from him. “I’m going to bed.” She walked away at a brisk pace.

When Loki got there, he peeked into her room, but she was already under the covers, eyes closed.

-

Loki avoided Alexis for the next week. They exchanged little more than pleasantries in the morning and evening. Alexis spent more of her evenings in her office on the 5th floor rather in the apartment with Loki. She didn’t go anywhere. Loki insisted it wasn’t safe, now that she was showing. The walls were closing in and Alexis was going stir crazy.

One evening, Alexis was lying on the couch watching TV when Loki came out of his room dressed in a black suit.

“Going on your date?” Her tone sharp and words pointed. “Give Blow Up Barbie my best.”

“You said you didn’t want to know. But yes, I am meeting Ashlynn tonight.” He tightened his tie. He didn’t really want to go, but Ashlynn didn’t stop calling until he gave a firm date.

“I don’t. Just curious whether to make an entire pot of coffee in the morning or not? Should I expect you home tonight?”

“I wouldn’t bother.” Loki adjusted his cufflinks. “Enjoy your show.”

“Use protection!” She yelled after him.

Loki smiled as he shut the door behind him. Alexis tried to focus on her show, but couldn’t. She couldn’t pinpoint why this date bothered her so much. Alexis harbored no romantic feelings for Loki. She barely got through a conversation without insulting him.

“Fuck it.” She grabbed her phone. “And fuck him.”

“Hannah? Yeah. Can you come pick me up at Avengers Tower?”

“Warden letting you out on good behavior?” Hannah giggled. She enjoyed joking about Alexis being held captive.

“More like a prison break.”

“Did you want to grab dinner or something?”

“How about dancing? Somewhere loud and slightly crazy.” Alexis stood and went to her closet, selecting a skintight electric blue dress. It would highlight her newfound curves.

“Are you sure? What about Loki?” Hannah questioned.

“When the cat’s away… He is out. On a date. Get me back here before morning and he will never know.”

“Devious. I’m in.”

“Twenty minutes, Hannah. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

She dressed and fixed her hair before slipping on a pair of high heels. A quick glance down the hallway and Alexis slinked towards the elevator.

“Loki takes the service elevator when he skulks out at night.” Clint stepped out of the shadows. “I see he didn’t share his trade secrets with you.”

Alexis jumped a bit but regained her composure. “Jesus Christ. Between you and Tony… I’m not skulking. Just meeting a friend.”

“Fancy dress for a friend.”

“Nosy question for a man who crawls through the vents.” Alexis narrowed her eyes at Clint.

“Just an observation. Have a good evening.” Clint nodded and disappeared into the shadows of the night.

Hannah was waiting outside when she made her way outside.

“I worried you got caught.”

“Just a bird in the vents distracting me. Have faith in me. Now… let’s party.”

Hannah hooked her arm with Alexis and they took off down the sidewalk.

-

Loki’s mind wandered as Ashlynn droned on about her number of Instagram followers. Social media did not interest Loki. Not even a bit. He remembered why he “forgot” to call Ashlyn back the first time. While she may be nice to look at, it was all style and no substance. Blow Up Barbie was an apt name, Loki mused. He chuckled at Alexis’s joke as he replayed it in his mind.

“What so funny, Loki?” Ashlyn questioned as they walked out of the restaurant.

“What?” He turned to her in shock. “Oh, just something someone told me earlier.” He brushed it off.

“A joke?” Ashlyn perked up. She hopped and her boobs bounced in a way boobs shouldn’t. Loki had said little that night. “Tell me.”

“You won’t enjoy it.” Loki deflected. “It is rather offensive.” He smiled again, thinking about many of Alexis’s off-color jokes. He often found it hard to not laugh.

“Fine.” Ashlyn pouted. “Let’s go back to my place.” She tugged him in the opposite direction of the Tower.

Loki sighed. “I think I should head home.” He feigned a yawn. “I am tired and I have an early meeting tomorrow.”

Ashlyn frowned at him. “On a Sunday?”

Loki coughed. “An Avenger never has a day off.” He was failing at ending this date. Loki wondered if Alexis would still be up.

“Really, because you always said—” Ashlyn’s comment interrupted by Loki’s cell phone.

He frowned when he saw Alexis’s number on the screen. He answered the call.

“I told you not to wait—” He snapped into the phone, even though moments ago he was ready to call it a night.

“It’s Alexis’s friend, Hannah. You don’t know me, but—”

“What happened? Where are you? Where’s Alexis?” Loki snapped. Ashlyn leaned in to listen to the conversation. Loki turned his back to her.

“We’re at the police station. Can you come bail her out?”

Loki paled. “Give me the address.”

[inspirationdivine]

End of the Line || Kaden, Agatha, Ariana, Chloe, Kelly, Todd

Timing: Current Parties: @chasseurdeloup, @letsbenditlikebennett @detective-keen @itsyaboytodd Summary: Pain.  Warnings: Significant discussion of domestic abuse, emotional abuse, drug manipulation (leanan-sidhe kiss), vomit

There was no waiting anymore. No avoiding the inevitable. When Kaden mentioned that Lydia should be leaving town, Ariana knew this was the only chance they had to get the humans she’d taken hostage out of there. How many humans Lydia currently had living in her basement was unknown, but they needed to be out. They needed to get their life back. She hadn’t been able to do it for Ace, but she could help these people. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she had the worry she felt for Athena shoved away. She was capable and she had people on her side helping her against Lydia. She would be okay. She had to keep telling herself as much. Being on separate sides of this mission did little to squash her worries, but this was bigger than that. These people needed them, so she’d step up and went over everything Athena told her about fae promises in her head over and over. She’d only seen Agatha once before, so she turned to Kaden and asked, “You’re sure she’ll be out?” 

 Kaden had been grazed with a fucking bullet earlier tonight. He shouldn’t even be out here but he couldn’t sit back and let this lie. Not when he had a shot at actually making this right. For once. “Positive,” he told her. What he failed to mention was why he knew that. What he’d failed to do. What it might have cost. This was his mistake. He should have waited for the fucking plan. He took a deep breath, steeled himself, readied himself to push past the pain. It wasn’t like it was anything new. “Keen was a last ditch effort. She’s banking on her promises,” he assured them. Not to mention the ones he bound her to himself. Part of him hoped she’d be there waiting and she’d see him again and feel a fraction of the pain she caused others over the years, selfish as that hope was. Reality set in. This wasn’t about him. Or even Lydia. This was about protecting humanity, always came down to that. He peaked around at the entrance to the house in question. The garden was trashed, glass everywhere, the windows were either gone or covered with tarp. Regan’s work if he ever saw it. “It looks like security’s gone. Maybe.” He shut his eyes a moment, tried to listen harder, make sure. “I can’t tell one way or another. We should be careful,” he said, looking back at both Ari and Keen before reaching down to unholster his gun. Better safe than sorry. 

 Agatha stood beside the pair. Staring into the void, she recalled what had happened over at Kaden’s flat. She still couldn’t make any sense of what had happened to her, but if what she had understood was real, as nonsensical as it seemed, then there were people being kept inside Lydia’s house, against their will, just like she had shot Kaden against her own. The mention of her name managed to draw her out of this day dreaming. She gave her co-worker a glance, worried, and feeling as if she would never forgive herself for what she’d done. She had shot an innocent, and it felt like the right thing to do. How. How. All she wanted now was to get in there, and make sure that Lydia would not harm anyone ever again. But first, they had to get her captives out. Kaden seemed sure of himself when he claimed that she was not here, and wouldn’t be here in a while, still Agatha worried of what would happen if the woman came home early. She had put on her bullet vest, and prepared herself for what she understood would not be a piece of cake. Following after Kaden, she glanced at the kid with a frown of disapproval. Perhaps Ariana was capable, but what was she doing here? This was going to be intense, dangerous perhaps, and she did not want to babysit while she was working.  

 Somehow even though Lydia wasn’t home, the house seemed daunting. Ariana wasn’t sure she was ready to see the conditions Sammy lived in. Where he had spent his final days before Lydia had done the unspeakable. She bit back the wave of emotion that threatened to spill over. She could be sad later. Right now, the other people in Lydia’s home still needed their help. There was only one way to go from here. She closed her eyes momentarily and concentrated on what she could hear and smell in the home. There were only a few people in there, tops, and they smelled vaguely familiar. Outside the door, it was still too difficult to tell. “I don’t think security is here. There are a few people from what I can smell.” She had no idea what Agatha knew about all of this, but it was too serious a situation for her to mince her words and not communicate clearly with Kaden. Let the detective think she was weird for all she cared. She turned to Kaden and asked, “You up for breaking down the door with me?” She waited a moment for confirmation before charging the door. A few sturdy slams and it busted open revealing the lavish mansion that Lydia called home. Something about it sent a chill through her. It was nicely decorated and there was art there, but knowing where the art likely came from only served to make her stomach turn. She took a few sniffs and pointed, “We should start upstairs, I think.” 

 Couldn’t smell them? Kaden’s face scrunched a moment, trying to push away any discomfort trying to burrow its way inside him. He wasn’t exactly used to working with a werewolf. Funny enough. Still, he trusted Ariana. He had to remember that. Still, he paused and shut his eyes a second, listening for any heart beats. He heard his, Agatha’s was pounding, and so was Ariana’s. He didn’t hear anyone immediately nearby. Didn’t mean there wasn’t anyone inside; even combined their senses were only so good. “Breaking down the door?” He didn’t see any reason why not to. It’s not like the house was in good condition right now. Maybe they’d get lucky and the previous banshee destruction would work in their favor. With a quick nod, he turned and threw himself into the door right alongside her. Putain. He forgot how much he still hurt, how recent his fight was. His face contorted and he took a deep inhale before slamming into the door with her a second time. Shit. He was going to regret that. Hell, he already regretted that, cradling his arm in his hand a moment as he winced. At least the door broke down relatively easily. No doubt Lydia wasn’t here considering how simple that was. That and the fact that there were no security guards waiting for them on the other side. The house was strangely normal. He wasn’t sure what he expected, honestly. Something darker, maybe? Danker. More like the prison and torture chamber that it was. He waited and listened some more. There were traces of something, but it was hard to pinpoint. “Sure, might as well.” It was a big place, it would take a while to comb through. His hand still gripped his knife as they climbed the stairs, shoes occasionally crunching on shards of glass. There were plenty of doors. Even with the destruction, the house was bright, clean and almost inviting. It sent a chill down his spine, knowing what he did. “Should we split up? Or stick together? This place is big.” 

 The ache of Lydia’s absence was beginning to sting in Chloe’s chest. She worked quietly, occasionally tapping a rhythm against the table to test how the words of her lyrics would flow. Todd and Kelly had calmed down enough, although she couldn’t help but occasionally glance over at them whenever they were in the same room. Lydia had left them with lots of carefully prepared meals in the kitchen, as she always did when she planned to spend some time in fairy rings. It was better when she didn’t come back for a few days, even when it hurt. Chloe was jarred out of her reverie when the door downstairs banged and clattered. She glanced at Todd, in the music room with her, but Kelly was elsewhere. Swallowing, she gestured for him to hide, walking silently over to the door of their room and turning the lock. You won’t ever let any guest of mine know you’re here. She retreated a little further back, remembering the red eyes of the last man who had broken into this hellscape sanctuary. She looked around cautiously, but Lydia’s upstairs office was the only place she could creep to with another lock on it, so she backed into it, locked that door too, and sank down against the wall, cradling her knees against her chest as the promise gnawed at her skin. 

 Kelly panicked, the moment she heard people smashing through the door. She looked around wildly, before scuttling into the one place Lydia didn’t take most of her guests - her bedroom. It was only once she was in there that Kelly realised that Lydia had several guests she did bring in here. Oh god, could she maybe hide in the bathroom? With a squeak, Kelly locked herself in Lydia’s bathroom, and clambered into the warm towel cabinet, pulling it closed behind her. 

 The days that had turned into weeks since Todd first found himself trapped in Lydia’s home, they’d passed by in a daze of confusion, longing, and pain. Pain, because he didn’t understand what Chloe and Kelly tried to tell him. He couldn’t make sense of the words that bound him to this place, didn’t understand any of it. Magic? It was magic? But, magic wasn’t supposed to do things like this, right? He had been in the sound studio when he’d first heard the door being knocked down, the impact shaking the otherwise still house. And, for an instant, he’d wanted to scream. But, the sound died in his throat, the promise that bound him to Lydia searing his vocal cords shut with a sharp lance of pain. Clutching his throat, Todd felt his body move, seemingly on its own, looking for a place to hide. Because that was one of the many promises he’d made-- he would hide, he would stay out of sight, and he would remain quiet. Rising from his chair, Todd locked the door of the room, the pain easing slightly as he did so. He tip-toed across the floor before squeezing himself in the gap between the wall and the desk. His hands pressed against his face, teeth biting into his fingers to keep from shouting. He had to keep quiet. He had to obey.

 There was something eerie about Lydia’s home even though she knew the woman wasn’t home. Maybe it was because she knew all too well what happened here, but on the surface, it looked like just an ordinary home. Like Lydia was just an ordinary albeit wealthy person. The art that hung on the walls was a bit pretentious, but homey in its own way. How someplace could look so welcoming and yet be so dark was a lot to digest. Ariana knew better than to get too caught up in any of the small things lying around. Getting these people out alive was their priority here today. She closed her eyes and focused on the smells around her. There were two that smelled familiar, but one pulled at the heels of her feet. “Wait,” she said as she reoriented herself to follow what she was smelling when realization hit, “That bitch.” There was venom in her voice as she could smell Todd. That was why he had been taking time to work on projects and not perform. She felt her fists ball up at her side as she stomped forward toward an office. “Someone’s this way. I-- Kaden, I know who it is.” It only pushed her forward further only to push right into a locked door. “Fuck,” she grumbled as she grabbed a bobby pin out of her hair. “Don’t worry, I got this one,” she told Kaden and Agatha. She pressed her ear against the door and fiddled with the pin until she heard the click of a lock. She let out the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and softly said, “Todd? I know you’re in here, it’s okay, we’re not guests.” She hoped that statement somewhat helped work around Lydia’s promises. 

 Please just go away, please just go away, Todd thought to himself as his body continued to contort in pain, filling his bones. What had he done wrong? He was hiding, he was doing what he should, he was doing what Lydia wanted-- as he tried to figure it out, the doorknob rattled and he heard a voice. A… familiar voice. Megan? No, her name was Ariana, wasn’t it? No, no, no, no, no, please, he wanted to say. But, he still had his hand pressed firmly against his mouth, trying not to make a sound. If he kept quiet, if he kept quiet, the pain would stop, wouldn’t it? When she said his name, when she specified they weren’t guests, the awful feeling lessened and he let out a breath. “Y-you can’t be here. You shouldn’t be here. Sh--” His throat closed as he tried to say Lydia’s name, the promise that had originally gotten him into this mess reminding him of its presence. Gasping, he shook his head. “No, no, no, no.”

 Kaden’s mouth pulled into a thin line as Ari went off by herself. Something about this house, he didn’t like the idea of leaving her behind. What if Lydia had added layers of words binding the humans since Sammy was killed? What if there was something horrible waiting for them in each of these rooms? No, there wasn’t time for that. He didn’t think. And either way, he had to trust Ariana could handle herself. She’d proven that much. “Okay. I, uh… Left it is,” he said with a shrug and went towards the door across the way. He tried the knob and it opened easily enough. It almost unsettled him more to know he was entering somewhere that wasn’t off limits. He gulped back the uneasiness that had settled in since stepping through the threshold of this place and walked into the room. “Woah.” The words left his lips without a second thought. The room was huge. Possibly bigger than his apartment. And this was just the master bedroom? 

 Kaden shook off the awe. This was nothing to be jealous of. And it wasn’t why they were here. He wandered in, quietly and carefully. There weren’t any signs of movement, not yet. He couldn’t hear any new heartbeats just yet but he kept moving through the room. It felt like a home. Normal, almost. Queasiness dropped into his stomach. Still, he found his feet moving towards the dresser in the corner, practically drawn there by something, like there was a string pulling him along. There were pictures of smiling faces, Lydia with what had to be friends and family. She looked so normal, so much like any other human. His eyes drifted down to the bones sitting on the dresser, arranged lovingly even if in the corner. His fingers ran over them, feeling the smooth, cold surface. Banshee gifts if he ever saw them. Were they from Deirdre? Regan? Maybe both. He clenched his jaw against the tears pricking at his eyes. This was too complicated. It couldn’t be. This couldn’t be about Regan or even Lydia. He shut his eyes and concentrated, pushed past the barriers he put up around his senses and listened. A new set of thudding pounded in his ear. He tried to the right, quieter, then the left, louder and louder as he went. “Hello?” he said tepidly, opening his eyes as he walked slowly towards what looked like the bathroom. “I’m not here to hurt you. And I already know you’re here so it’s not breaking any promises to answer.” He didn’t know if that was true, but it didn’t hurt to try. He tried the knob. Locked. “I won’t hurt you. At least-- I’m not a friend of Lydia’s. Please. Let me in.” He tried the handle again. Nothing. He waited for a response, anything. If nothing changed in a few seconds, Kaden had no issues wrenching the handle open himself. 

 Kelly pressed her hand over her mouth, trying to suffocate her whimpers and hummingbird fast breathing. She heard Lydia’s bedroom door open, and imagined some creeping, monstrous shadow of a creature creeping through the room, like the Mindflayer in Stranger Things. Hello, it called, and the image in her head shifted. It was something bipedal, its limbs distorted and a voice like an angel only to disguise a maw full of teeth. Lydia wanted her to stay hidden. She whimpered as the closet door whimpered, the promise burning her lungs. She was going to stay quiet. She would be good. 

 As the two others decided to stick together, Agatha chose to go the other way. Just like them, she climbed up the stairs, but when they turned left, she went to the right. Alone now, she had gotten her weapon out, ready to fight back should she be there, somewhere, waiting to get them one by one. She arrived in one of the most spacious living room she had ever seen. She moved around grazing the walls, checking on every door. Some of them were closed, while others were not. Although, upon inspection, she had found, aside from a large amount of beds in one room, not found anything shocking. She noticed that there was not a single computer in sight, nor was there a phone, or anything that could have facilitated communication with the outside world. Will there was an obvious and expected lack here, there were none as far as the bookshelves were concerned. She couldn’t help but gaze for a short moment at the book spines, wondering what those were about. Her eyes were drawn toward some of the names. “The Eyes to the sky?” Her brows furrowed as she picked up one of the books that bore Lydia’s name. Wait, she was that Lydia Griffin? Under her breath, the detective muttered one particularly surprised what the fuck as a photograph of the woman on the other side confirmed it. “Well now you gotta tell me what face cream you use,” she commented, dropping the book back on its shelf. Now perhaps was a good time to see what all these doors were hiding. One of them was a recording studio, kicking the second door open, she did not expect to get so lucky on her second try. In there, hiding in a corner, there was someone. Remembering what the other two had said, she put her hands up and calmly, she explained: “I’m not a guest, I’m... “ Well the badge certainly helped get her point through. Damn, this room was busy, she thought to herself, for a split second turning her attention toward the rest of the office. “It’s going to be okay, I’m just going to talk with you, alright? As a not guest.” 

 Police officer. Chloe stared at the badge, trembling. Hives were beginning to raise along her skin as the blonde woman stared at her. No one ever came up here, not without Lydia. Remmy hadn’t come in here in the months they’d been here. It was only ever business associates. But she’d heard the wood of the oak door splinter downstairs. The door in front of her had been kicked open. Something had changed. Something was changing. As a not guest. The emphasis was weird, strangely knowing. Chloe felt a horrible ache in her chest. If there were police here, Lydia wouldn’t come back. She’d never knowingly betray herself. Chloe had known for years that Chloe needed Lydia more than Lydia needed Chloe. That was the way her brand of intoxication worked. Fuck. “Why are you here?” She asked hoarsely, pushing herself onto her feet, pressing herself against the back wall as hard as she could. “Who are you?”

 Seeing Todd’s pained expression sent a fresh wave of rage through her body. While it stood she didn’t have it in her to deal the final blow, Ariana could only hope Luce and Athena made it painful for all she’d done to these poor people. Her heart sank realizing she hadn’t even known Todd would be here. She should have been a better friend, reached out and checked in on him more. She’d been so caught up in her own shit, that Lydia managed to get yet another one of her friends. “Hey, shhh,” she assured him as she reached out a hand for him, “It’s going to be okay. I should be here, you’re not doing anything wrong.” It was hard to gauge what his promises were, but he was in pain and she could only hope Lydia would be dead sooner rather than later. “I’m going to make sure you’re safe, I promise.” She looked to him with pleading eyes using a word she had promised herself to never use again, but she planned on delivering. There wasn’t another option. She refused to let Lydia take another friend from her. “Lydia’s not here. I’m not a guest, friend, or company-- Well, I’m your friend but-- Please come out, Todd. The pain should fade soon, but don’t push too hard.” 

 As Ariana came into view, a wave of relief rushed over Todd as he saw a friendly, familiar face. Well, friendly wasn’t quite how he’d describe how she looked at him. Worried, more like. Really, really worried. And, he was too. As she kept talking, he could feel the sharp edges of the promise start to dull, the pain lessening. She wasn’t a guest, she wasn’t a friend of Lydia’s. There was wiggle room with the magic, like the silence between notes of music. And that was what he could use to-- Swallowing, he didn’t dare let himself think about that, knowing full well what the promise would do to him. “How are you here?” He managed to say, his hands shaking with fear and dread as he stared at his friend with wild eyes. “I-- I’m trying. I’m trying.” He repeated as he managed to pull himself from the corner he’d shoved himself into. Ariana wasn’t a friend of Lydia’s, she wasn’t a guest, this wasn’t covered by the promise, which meant it was okay. The mental gymnastics of the magic were hard, but they were all that allowed him to stand upright and take a shaky step forward. “Kelly. And Chloe. They’re here too.”

 Shit. There was no response. Kaden knocked again just to see. Alright, guess there was no other choice. He yanked the door knob and forced it open, breaking the handle and pushed the door open. Shit, the bathroom was huge, too. He peaked around the corner and saw the huge jacuzzi tub and vanity. Right. He approached and… no one there. He looked in the actual bathroom. Nothing there. Not in the shower, either. “I know this is probably terrifying but I’m not going to hurt you. I pr--” Shit. That word. That stupid fucking word. Whoever was here had heard enough of that word. “I know you’re probably bound a million different ways but I’m going to help. I’m… I’m with the WCPD.” Kaden wasn’t sure if that was going to help or make things worse. There was only one place left to look, though. One door. He opened up the door to the linen closet and saw a terrified, shaking girl. Shit. Shit. His heart shattered and he wanted nothing more than to haul her out of there and make a break for it out of this fucking house. Instead, he took a deep breath and held up his hands in surrender. “See, not going to hurt you. Can you speak to me? Are you able?”

 Kelly screamed as light flooded into her cupboard, jerking back so ferociously she banged her head against a warm pipe, and tried to pull a towel over herself to hide. The promise was broken, it was already too late, Every muscle felt like she’d pulled it without warming up, but she still tried to hide. “I don’t know. Please- please go away!” Kelly scrambled forward, reaching for the cupboard door, and tried to pull it shut to hide her back in the dark.

 She had to be careful about what she would tell that woman. Since Agatha did not fully understand the extent of the manipulation, she felt like she was a tightrope walker, 30 feet above the ground. Her hands still up, she lowered them to place the gun back in its holster. At least that woman allowed herself to speak with the detective, she realized, relief making her shoulders loosen down just a little. This was good news, although it did not look like she saw Agatha as her savior, or like she wanted to leave the place. While having never encountered this in the past, it reminded her of those articles she read on Stockholm’s syndrome. All she hoped was that this was not bad to the point of attacking the people who were here to save her. 

She did not move closer to the other woman immediately. That woman was terrified, and nothing good would come from forcing her out of the room. This was Agatha’s ultimate resort, and one she did not intend to use. Lowering her voice, her tone was a bit calmer, soothing like a caress.  “Do you mind if I have a look around?” She asked. An excuse to get closer, as well as an excuse to talk to her. “I’m Agatha, it’s nice meeting you,” she pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, doing her best to appear as friendly and welcoming. Slowly, she moved toward the desk. Each and every drawer and cabinet was closed. Great. Her eyebrows raised and she glanced at the woman. “Do you know how I can open it? I really don’t want to damage anything,” everything in here was evidence, and she was sorry in advance for ruining the room for forensics. “Do you think you could help me perhaps?” Agatha had had a promise in her head for just a few hours, and it had been hell, she could not imagine how that woman felt, and she wondered for how long she had been there. 

 “You’ll get us in more trouble,” Chloe replied, still hard against the wall. She didn’t match Agatha’s gentle demeanour, but mouthed the name back at herself. Agatha. Agatha, the cop, rummaging through Lydia’s home. Something prickled in Chloe’s chest. “I don’t think I should help you. She’s coming back. She’ll come back. You can’t- She would want me to stop you.” But Lydia had never said anything about a police officer rummaging through her things. “Under the books. Nineteen forty nine.” There was a keypad. Chloe looked away, her insides churning. Just as quickly, she added, “We chose to be here. We want to be here. She’s going to come back, you know, and that- that’s good.” Two sides, always struggling. Lydia was going to be so upset when she came home to all this damage. The other two didn’t know better yet, but Chloe- Chloe watched Agatha and felt a tiny match in the darkness of her despair. She couldn’t think like that. “It really would be best if you just left, or talked to Lydia when she’s back. It’s not what you think, whatever you think it is.”

 Something akin to relief washed over Ariana as he stepped out from his hiding space. Working within the bounds of everything Lydia made them promise wasn’t easy, but she so desperately wanted to get them out of here alive. It wasn’t a guarantee, but hopefully once Lydia was dead some of these promises would be released. She knew better than to ride on that though. She did her best to hide the nervous energy that was pulsing through her. Unlike her, he didn’t have the advantage of supernatural hearing and probably couldn’t even tell that her heart was practically racing. How she was here was a loaded question and there was hardly enough time to explain. “It’s a long story. Lydia had another one of my friends hostage before, I got help. She won’t be keeping you or anyone else like this anymore.” Her eyes nearly dared to plead with him, but she kept herself confident. Todd needed to believe her. He needed to think he wasn’t breaking any promises to find that small space between them. He needed to believe he could go back to his normal life. The certain brightness and enthusiasm he had possessed before seemed so diminished now and it only served to further her hatred for Lydia. Then he said the name Kelly and she felt herself turn queasy. Not her too. That absolute bitch. “Kelly? Singer who is about my age- she- what?” It had only been a few weeks since she last watched her open mic night. How had she forgotten to check back in? “Okay, okay. I didn’t come here alone. We’ll help Kelly and Chloe, too. We just have to find the others.” 

 He could walk, he could follow her, Todd thought to himself, willing himself to take step after step behind Ariana. It hurt, all of this hurt. It would just be so much easier to stay here. He could hide himself away, tuck himself back in the corner and wait for Lydia to return. It would be better than this pain, wouldn’t it? Swallowing, he stared at Ariana as she talked to him. She knew someone else who’d been here? Someone else who’d been trapped in this house? “I-- Okay. Okay. Chloe, she, she was here with me before, but I don’t know where she went now. Maybe the office? But I want to,” His body contorting in on itself as he let out a wince of pain as he forced himself not to think about leaving, not even dare to hope for it. “I’ll follow you.” He said shakily, the words just enough of a loophole for the magical pain to stop clawing at him. Would this work? Would any of it work? He just wanted to be free.

 Shit. She hit her head and Kaden’s first instinct was to reach out and help her, apply pressure, check the wound. But he had a feeling that would only make this worse, cause more pain than he already was. “Sorry, I’m--” Putain, how could he help? He had to-- “What did you promise? We’ll-- Is it that I can’t see you? I’ll shut my eyes or, or-- If you have to hide, we’ll-- put a towel over you and you’re hidden. Right? I-- Just please. Please, I’m going to help. I just want to get you out of here.” He put his hand out for her to take, wedging himself between her and the door, wishing it was enough. She looked so young and so broken already. And he didn’t know what to do. But he had to try. “I know it hurts. It’ll be over, soon. Please. Let me help.”

 Kelly just shrank even more deeply into herself. “No, no! You’re lying!” Some part of her knew, deep down, that Josh wouldn’t want her to be like this. Her brother would want her to reach out and take his hand. She knew, god, she knew that leaving was the right choice. Everyone had explained so much, but it still didn’t seem real. Was it really wrong to want the stability and warmth that Lydia offered? As long as she did the right thing, it would be okay. It would be awesome, the music she’d already written in the last couple weeks would more than catch the attention of a crowd bigger than the local bar.  But she didn’t know this man, and if she did the wrong thing… well, Chloe’s scars told a story of their own, didn’t they? “I’m being good. Please go away.”

 Agatha, her heart heavy in her chest, looked Chloe in the eyes and with all the assertiveness she could muster, assured her that Lydia was not coming back. Never.  She made sure not to promise anything, but rather spoke just as calmly, explaining everything she was doing as she moved across the office. 1949. Agatha repeated the number in her head and searching through the books, found a concealed safe. The code provided opened it, and within it, Agatha found what she was looking for. “Thank you,” she gave her a warm smile and sat down at the desk, opening the cabinets one by one. “Do you have any free will left?” She glanced up from the drawer she inspected, once again searching for a hint of anything in the other woman’s eyes. “I do not think anything. I find evidence, and then I draw conclusions,” and what she was seeing was not comforting. In a box, within the drawer, she found a stack of identity papers, some expired, some dating back to a few decades ago. All of those belonged to different faces, and Agatha had to take a deep breath to stop her head from spinning. What the fuck had happened here. Who the fuck was Lydia? Well, at least now she knew who the other woman was. “Chloe, you’re Chloe,” she had a small sigh of relief and a sunny smile for her. “It’s good to meet you Chloe.”

 Agatha’s words hit Chloe like a waterfall, crushing her. She didn’t believe it, not at first, but the whiplash sting of Lydia’s biggest rejection hit her right in the chest. She wouldn’t have. She couldn’t have. Chloe hadn’t always behaved, but Lydia wouldn’t lie about going to a fairy ring, would she? Why wouldn’t she- Chloe covered her mouth and stifled an unwelcome sob, determined not to fall apart here, not under the force of toxins she had no control over. That didn’t make it any less real now, her brain could not separate the ache as clearly as it could the intent. “How do you know?” She breathed, scratching at the hives on her neck as Agatha began digging through Lydia’s desk. Finally, she summoned the courage to step away from the wall, staring at the box Agatha pulled out. “That’s a loaded question. I’m still me. It’s- it’s not like I’m just a puppet.” The instinct to protect Lydia even now left an acrid taste in Chloe’s mouth. As Agatha opened the box, her mouth ran dry. Right on the top was Todd’s and Kelly’s drivers licenses, but as Agatha began to sort through, there were more faces than Chloe could begin to recognise. Some, she did. One was a very young Anneliese, who had been taken seven years before her death, barely twenty at the time. Sammy, who looked almost the same, except there was a sparkle in his features in the dull photobooth photograph that she hadn’t seen in his real smile for months. Owen, too, and then there she was. Four years ago. The face there was almost unrecognisable. Agatha smiled warmly, and Chloe could barely force a half smile on her lips. “I guess I’ll find out if it’s good to meet you, Agatha.” There were voices coming from beyond, catching her attention. “Who else is here? More police?”

 The pain so clearly etched on Todd’s face only furthered her desire to see Lydia dead. Well, perhaps not actually see her, but at least know she was stopped. Everything in Ariana wanted to grab him and just run out of here. She couldn’t be that reckless though. A broken promise could do more harm than good and she had to get him out of here. Everything about Todd had always been so genuine and sweet from the moment she’d met him. He was the absolute last person who deserved to be trapped here. She should have noticed something sooner. She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and assured, “You don’t have to say anything else. I know it hurts. Kaden and Agatha will find the others.” She couldn’t shake the sick feeling in her stomach as she wondered if Kelly was her Kelly. If her decision to not trade her to Lydia to free Sammy or break her promise had been all for nothing. She put on a brave face anyway. Todd needed to believe in her right now even if she didn’t quite believe in herself. He agreed to follow her so she led him out of the room, not daring to leave his side. 

 Ariana took her time with him and listened for the others until they walked by a room with an open door. Curiosity compelled her to peek inside and she felt her breath hitch in her throat. “I-- we need to go in here first.” The room had a decent stock of pottery along the shelves and she knew they had to be Sammy’s. Her fingers ran along some of the vases as if touching the same clay he once touched would connect her to him again somehow. Her hand stopped on one that had some motifs of the moon decorating it and a sad smile crossed her face. Sammy had to have made it. Without thinking about whether she should, she grabbed it off the shelf and looked back to Todd with strengthened resolve. “Okay, let’s get to the others. Are you-- How are you feeling? We can go slow, just tell me if it hurts too much and we can stop. Figure out a way around it.” 

 Todd trailed behind Ariana in mute silence, because if he did not talk, he couldn’t lie. He just focused on putting one foot in front of the other, keeping pace with the girl. If he didn’t think about what he was doing, he couldn’t break his promise. If he could just keep his mind clear and just let it happen, the nightmare would end, right? He would be free. Shoulders hunched over, he thought about all the things he would do when he got back. He’d call his parents. Call his siblings. Let them know how much he missed them. Tell them he was sorry for not talking to them more, for not listening to them. He’d call Winston and Ricky and tell them that he hadn’t wanted to lose them. He’d tell them that he hadn’t wanted to cut them off. He’d tell them the truth, that magic was real and that he wanted nothing to do with it anymore. He just wanted to be free. When Ariana turned to look at him, he realized she’d asked him something. Rubbing his arms nervously, he nodded, “I’m… It’s okay. It’s okay right now.” He said. It wasn’t true. He’d been thinking of what would come after all this, and with the thinking, the pain had returned. “We should-- do this. It’s gonna be okay, it’s gonna be okay.”

 “I’m not. I know it must-- But I’m not lying. Please. Let me help.” Kaden’s hand stayed there, outstretched and untaken. He knew this wasn’t going to be easy, but he hadn’t prepared for this. Not in the slightest. He was used to dealing with tough scenarios between police and hunting work, sure, but there was a reason he preferred animal control to standard jobs. Dealing with people was hard. Especially when they were going against their best interests so painfully. He knew he must look like a monster, coming in and dragging her out of what was, unfortunately, her home. He couldn’t even imagine how he appeared to her, his face beaten and worn, half of him bandaged and certainly worse for wear. “I’m sorry,” he said before he reached in and pulled her out of the closet, trying to sling her across his back in a fireman's carry. Kaden winced, the pain of everything that came before settling into his bones as he did. It didn’t matter. He pushed it away, he could hurt later. For now, he was sure she was going to resist and fight him tooth and nail. He was going to get her out of here. She could thank him later. “I’m sorry. She’s not coming back. We have to get you out of here.”

 Kelly screamed, her voice hoarse from all the singing she’d already been doing the past few hours. She tried to grab the inside of the cupboard, but no matter how hard she pulled it didn’t even slow him down. Terrified of him and terrified of breaking the promise, she trashed her legs and squirmed, but he wasn’t letting go. “Stop it! Let me GO!” She screamed. “YOU’RE HURTING ME! TODD! CHLOE! HELP!”

 “That’s my job, dear,” she had a hint of confidence in a smile as she glanced at Chloe, one that matched the light in her eyes. Knowing things was something Agatha had always done quite well, and she did not care for those who called her a Know it all. As if it were an insult. Better a know it all, than a know nothing at all, she had always told herself. Still the look on Chloe’s face took its toll on the police woman’s morale, and she approached Chloe carefully, putting her hands on her arms, and looking her in the eyes. Truth was, the detective was not feeling too great herself. She had just shot a coworker, found out that some people could make you do things, put you in some sort of trance, and now, she had to deal with a case that was getting more horrific the more she found out things. And yet, she kept her chin up, no matter how heavy her heart felt in her chest, no matter how much she wanted to cry and scream as she remembered how scared and helpless she had been back at Kaden’s. She kept her chin up, and she looked at Chloe with a look on her face that said everything is going to be okay, you’re under good care. With Chloe by her side, she had looked at the different IDs and would have kept doing so, had it not been for the screaming. “I’m with another police officer, and a …” She frowned. “Someone who’s great at finding missing people,” well that covered it. “Let’s go have a look, alright? Stay behind me,” she closed the drawer, locked it and took the keys with her as she went out of the office.

 “That not an answer,” Chloe replied, squaring her jaw, as if she could make herself immune to Agatha’s gentle demeanor. She didn’t- couldn’t believe it. Lydia had made herself the center of their universes, the sun and stars set at her beck and call. It wasn’t that Chloe missed her, it was that a world without her was impossible to imagine. It was impossible not to want to sob about the pain they’d caused Lydia just by being caught. Chloe was about to ask more about the police officer and the person find her when Kelly began to scream. “Wh-” As soon as they were through the door, when Chloe saw Kelly being hauled around, she didn’t stay behind Agatha at all, running over to Kelly. She almost lost her balance at the last second, staggering slightly as she got close to Todd. It wasn’t a fae promise to Lydia that propelled her forward, but a promise to herself. It had admittedly been about not letting the two kids absorb any of Lydia’s wrath if she could avoid it, but considering Kelly was currently slung over a stranger’s shoulders- she swallowed, grabbing a pencil from a nearby table, as if it could serve against any kind of weapon. “Please… please put her down! You’re hurting her, she doesn’t understand!” Chloe’s head whipped around, looking at Todd, and the girl standing next to him, away, and then blinked. It couldn’t be. Sammy wasn’t that good of a sketch artist.   

 Okay was such a relative term for Todd to use here when it stood that absolutely none of this was okay. He never should have been here. Ariana should have noticed he was gone. Should have checked in on Kelly more. “Good, just keep pushing forward. Everything is going to be okay,” she assured while placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. Was it to steady herself or reassure him? She couldn’t really tell anymore. The vase Sammy made was clutched tightly in her other arm though she nearly dropped it when she heard a scream echo through the hallway. It confirmed it was in fact her Kelly. The very Kelly she decided to keep away from all of this and yet here she was anyway. Fucking bitch. She hoped Athena got a nice stab in for her though immediately chided herself for that thought. “Don’t worry, Todd, she’s just scared. I know all of this is hard and scary, but I’m going to make sure everyone gets out of this, okay?” She desperately hoped she could live up to that statement. They quickly approached Kaden who had Kelly slung over his shoulder. She raced up to comfort Kelly and let her know a familiar face was here. “Hey,” she said softly, getting a good look in Kelly’s eyes, “It’s okay, it’s me, Ari. This is Kaden, he’s not going to hurt you. We’re going to get you out of here, alright? You’re not safe here.” 

 Even though Todd was doing his best to keep himself together, it felt like his brain was going to explode as he tried to keep himself calm. And then, he heard Kelly screaming, heard her yelling, heard her begging for his help. Then a man, who was carrying her. Terrified, Todd felt the pull of the magic begin to curl in the back of his throat, choking him until he reminded himself that they weren’t friends, that they weren’t guests, they weren’t invited. Which didn’t count, it didn’t count, this was a loophole. Even so, he’d heard the fear in Kelly’s voice. He hoped that Ariana was right, that he wouldn’t hurt them. But, what choice did he have? He knew he couldn’t stay here, even though every inch of his body wanted to curl up and hide and wait for Lydia to return. He had to do this. The very thought sent another sharp wave of pain stabbing through his side and Todd staggered a bit, leaning against the wall. “We… We’re not safe here.” He repeated, because it was true and it wasn’t bound in magic. “Hurry. Hurry.” He urged the others. This nightmare, this hell? He just wanted it to end.

 Chloe looked from Agatha to their other rescuers, to Todd, his face scrunched in concentration. Her stomach churned, her insides turned inside out at the thought of how disappointed Lydia would be, at the promises that she was so close to breaking with every breath. “We’re not going anywhere special, okay? We’re going to go look at the Magritte. If you lied to me-” Chloe turned to Agatha, her voice trembling, “If you lied, you could be killing us. But, we’re not doing anything special right now this second. We’re just going to get some inspiration from the Magritte painting. Without Lydia around- Without Lydia around we can just get some second hand inspiration from one of her ancestors.” The painting downstairs, near the front door. She looked back at the blue haired girl, and thought about the glaze Sammy had ordered in just that shade of blue. Could it be?

 Kaden was used to screams in his ears. And she wasn’t even a banshee. Not that it stopped her from trying to rival them, that was for sure. He winced under the weight of her kicking and thrashing against his back. If he clenched his jaw, maybe he wouldn’t feel the pain shooting through his arm, maybe he could just ignore it. As he entered into the foyer, he saw Ari and Keen along with two others. They must be the other hostages. His brow furrowed as the woman begged him to put Kelly down. Guilt seeped deeper into him as he did as he was told, placing her down gently as he could and taking a step back. “Sorry, I-- I’m-- She wouldn’t leave the closet and I didn’t know what else to--” Before he could apologize any further, he felt the pain flashing through his arm again and rubbed the wound. “I’m not trying to hurt you. I--” As Ari said his name, it occurred to him that he never introduced himself, either. Why the fuck was he even here? He certainly wasn’t fucking helping, was he? “That’s right. I’m Kaden. Officer Langley. And this is Detective Keen. And we’re--” His face scrunched up in confusion again when Chloe explained even further. “Just…. here to… admire the, uh, the art.” Was that right? Was that what she was suggesting? There must have been layers upon layers of word binding and fae magic at work. And certainly she’d know how to work around it better than him. “So let’s all head downstairs and make sure we get a good look.” He held out his hand and gestured for them to go ahead of him. He’d make sure they made it down the stairs one way or another. As much as he didn’t want to have to carry on as he had been. 

 Kelly almost bolted the second she was set down, and would have if Ariana hadn’t been right there, alongside Todd. “I don’t understand. Ariana? Are you here too? Did she get you too?” She looked from Ariana to Todd to Chloe, who was slowly lowering her pencil. She looked at Todd, then Chloe, her face wrinkling. “I-... I don’t want to go. We should be staying here, for Lydia.” She looked at Kaden Langley, who was apparently a police officer, which meant… which meant… “Just… Just looking at the art, right. Um, okay.” She agreed, and cautiously walked down the stairs, to look at the Magritte. 

 Shit. She rushed after Chloe, and stopped in the foyer, where the rest of them were. So there were two other hostages then. At least two, she corrected herself, observing what was going on. She almost said something about Kaden’s way of handling the issue, but decided against it. Agatha refused to demolish his authority in a situation as unstable as this one, even if she did not like this. “Well now she’s out of the closet,” this was not intended as a joke, and she kept her upper lip stiff. “Alright, yes. We were going to go downstairs to look at the Magritte,” wait they had a Magritte in here? What the fuck. Her face remained neutral, but the cogs in her heads were starting to hurt, as it seemed that she was hopping from surprise to surprise in this house. As one of the people in the room mentioned that Lydia could come back, she looked over at Chloe and shook her head, to remind her that no, Lydia was gone. Apparently the person Kaden had been carrying was not ready for that, and it was probably best to persuade her out of here through other means. She approached her coworker and, her eyebrow raised, she commented: “this is even worse than we imagined, isn’t it?”

 Magritte? Who was that? Todd wasn’t sure what they were talking about; hadn’t Ariana told him they were going to get-- A fresh spike of pain had him leaning heavily against the hallway, grasping at his side. No, no, no, no. No, they were just going to see Magritte or whatever and they were… he was being good. He was listening, he was keeping his promise. He wasn’t disobeying. He was here, he was here, he was here. “Uh huh. Uh huh.” He nodded, trying to keep his mind as clear of this as he could. But, it was getting harder and harder to not think of the circumstances when he realized that the two not-guests Ariana had were police officers. “Let’s go look at the art.” He nodded in agreement.

 The inclination to run was evident on Kelly’s face and she couldn’t ignore the guilt churning in her stomach. Ariana should have figured out a way to warn her, she did know she was perfect prey for Lydia. She reached out to give her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “It’s me,” she said softly, “She didn’t get me. I figured out what was going on here.” The other woman had to be Chloe. Sammy had mentioned her and she had hoped she’d still be here. That she hadn’t been too late. There was something akin to relief running through her, but they weren’t out of the clear just yet. She nodded, “Chloe’s right. We should all get some inspiration from Magritte.” Whoever the hell that was. It hardly mattered if it helped them out of here. It was only a matter of time before Lydia was dead if she wasn’t already. Kelly didn’t seem ready to face that news so they’d focus on one thing at a time. 

 Magritte was a painter Lydia liked to show off several times a year, because his bizarre art style was often popular, even in the less expensive and famous pieces that she owned. Had owned, if she had abandoned it all here. Chloe paused the group in front of the painting, her hand curled in a tight fist to distract from the pain of thinking about this. “She’s not coming back,” Chloe said softly to the other two, taking Kelly’s hand in her own. Sickeningly, it reminded her of how Lydia comforted them from time to time, so she dropped that hand just as quickly. “It’s going to hurt more the longer we wait.” Chloe had been here too long. Her bones felt stiff, her body weary. She couldn’t frighten them off, especially Kelly, who was struggling to understand so much. “You’re going to have to break a promise. These-” Chloe looked at Kaden, who Lydia had once described as the most monstrous french creature in town, with frightening strength, and then to Ariana, who was a werewolf, that Sammy had waxed lyrical about. “These people can help, but it’s going to hurt, okay? But you’re going to go first, both of you, and it’s going to be -ah,” Chloe curled in on herself as the promise against lies pulled a stitch in her side. “We’ll figure it out. She’s not coming back, leaving isn’t disappointing her.”

 “And it’s not over yet,” Kaden said quietly to Keen. He lingered behind in the foyer, let everyone go down ahead of him, hand hovering by his pistol, just in case. He knew there was no one else here, but something about this place made him worry that anything could jump out at them at any time. That it couldn’t be as simple as walking right out the front door. When they got down there by what he assumed was the Magritte, he turned the door handle and pushed. It was nearly silent, and yet the sound of the door swinging open on its hinges echoed around them. He took a step past the threshold of the house like it was simple. For him, it was. “She’s right,” he said after Chloe spoke. “This isn’t going to be easy. Even if Lydia’s gone and never coming back.” There was no guarantee this would work, that the promises wouldn’t hold post death. As far as he knew, they did. That’s what the fae all said, at least. Words were more powerful than mortality. “Is there, uh, any more inspiration outside? On the grounds, maybe?” he asked tentatively, trying to catch Chloe’s eye for some confirmation that he was on the right track. There wasn’t much left in the garden that wasn’t destroyed, not now. But that wasn’t the point. “Kelly? Are you okay to find out? Maybe take a look?” he asked, shifting his focus to her and tentatively holding out his hand. 

 The moment of truth was upon them. They were coming up on the door and this was where things would get difficult. Ariana took in a deep breath to keep herself steady as she spoke. “That could work, I know the promises are varied,” she said in a hushed tone mostly meant for Kaden and Agatha to hear. She stood closer to Agatha, but she hoped Kaden’s handy dandy hunter hearing would come into play here. “She usually makes them promise not to leave her home. Not to make any sounds when guests are present, they can’t even sneeze. She’ll turn anything they say that she can into a promise. I’m not sure what our work around should be.” 

 Agatha still didn’t understand how this worked, it was most likely hypnosis, but there was a way to go around those, as she’d found out earlier, as she shot Kaden without causing too much harm to him. As Ariana mentioned Lydia’s home, the detective had a small, and yet malicious smile. There might have been a way for them all to get out of here, and no one getting hurt, she thought to herself. She felt her heart lifting in her chest as she took a deep breath. “This is not her home anymore,” she glanced at Ariana, then at her coworker and added. “She left, and this is a crime scene. This place is now under custody of the police department,” her smile brightened and she gave Chloe a look full of hope, nodding at her.

 Kelly stared at Kaden’s hand, as he offered it, and took it cautiously. She was pretty sure it didn’t work like that, and one look at Chloe’s face suggested it wasn’t very convincing. But Ariana… Ariana just knew, apparently, she knew things about Lydia that Kelly hadn’t until it was way too late. Finally, she looked to Agatha. “It’s- A crime scene? But, I want.” Chloe swallowed. “She left. It’s not her home. I- okay.” She turned back to Kaden, grit her teeth, and tried to move. Her joints locked up, freezing her in the doorway.  “Help,” she breathed, her muscles beginning to burn as if she’d run a marathon rather than just walked down the stairs. Everything in her strained to stay inside the house, to drop his hand, to return to their bedroom and curl away from the world. It felt like it was breaking a promise, it felt wrong, even if this wasn’t Lydia’s home. She didn’t even know if her hesitation was psychological or the promise itself. It was embarrassing, all these people watching her. But suddenly her muscles moved and Kaden pulled and she had to put her foot down just so she wouldn’t fall on her face, and… she was outside. Kelly stared up at Kaden with the biggest look of confusion, then back through the door. “I’m… okay? I’m okay!”

 This all sounded way too easy. Kaden wasn’t sure if they could just walk out the door and be perfectly okay. Would Keen’s idea even work? He held his breath and waited, watching Kelly take tepid steps towards the door. It felt like she stood there forever. Maybe she couldn’t do it on her own. And when she asked for help, it was clear that she couldn’t. Help. He was trying, but he didn’t know if he was doing the right thing. That didn’t stop him from trying. He reached out and pulled her across the threshold. He braced himself for her to collapse into pain or try to run back, something, anything. “You’re okay?” he repeated. The tension held in his chest dissipated as relief started to wash over him. One down. This would work. They’d be okay. They could save them. “You’re going to be okay,” he assured her with a smile before looking back to see who was next. 

 A tiny ball dissolved in Chloe’s chest as Kelly’s eyes lit up properly in the outside floodlights. Kelly looked from the door to Kaden and the outside again. It would start to ache soon enough, she knew. Not the promise, perhaps, but biochemical need to be with Lydia. Chloe just didn’t point that out. She also didn’t point out that Kelly and Todd only had a couple dozen promises between them, far fewer things to trip over than Chloe’s hundreds of promises. She looked at Agatha briefly, and tried to match that smile with one of her own. Maybe Lydia being gone meant Lydia being dead. Chloe swallowed, and tried to smile even more brightly for Todd. “You next, tough guy.” She gave him a quick hug, just in case she didn’t make it to the other side with them. 

 Thankfully, Agatha seemed to say the right thing and with a little push, Kelly was over the threshold. Ariana felt like she could breathe a little easier. This could work. They were going to get everyone out of here. She wasn’t going to fail all of them the same way she failed Sammy. She just needed to keep herself steady and confident to give the other two the push they needed to get out of here. They were relying on her so she did her best to hide her shock. “You’re okay,” she said with a soft smile before turning to Todd. Chloe had given him a quick hug and she stood beside him. Ariana placed a hand on his shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “You got this, we’re almost there,” she explained and offered up her hand if he wanted to take it. 

 Listening intently to the others, Todd tried to reassure himself that they were right. This wasn’t Lydia’s home anymore, it wasn’t hers. It was a crime scene. And he’d be able to leave a crime scene, right? She didn’t live here, it wasn’t her property, it wasn’t hers anymore. She didn’t own this place and she didn’t own him. He watched, with bated breath, as Kelly stepped over the threshold and out into the yard. And, for a long moment, all eyes were glued on her. But, if the punishment was going to come, wouldn’t it have happened already? A rush of relief washed over him as Kelly celebrated. Swallowing, he nodded at the others around him. “I got this,” He mumbled, cheek pressed against Chloe’s head as she hugged her tightly. “I got this. We’re getting out of here. We’re getting out of here.” He said and looked at Ariana with a nod. 

 Todd took a deep breath, steadying himself. This wasn’t her home, it was a crime scene. It was a crime scene. Those were the words he kept repeating to himself as he leaped forward, forcing himself to push through the pain that threatened to bring him to his knees. It wasn’t hers, he wasn’t hers. He was going to be free, just like Kelly and then Chloe would join them and they’d all be free. He’d be able to tell his parents how sorry he was, he’d apologize to Winston, he’d tell them everything about what had happened, he’d make it up to Ariana for having to rescue him from this. He’d do so much, once he was free. And, as he staggered upright in the front yard, he looked around with wide eyes.

 But that’s not how Fae promises work.

 Excruciating pain stabbed through his chest, starting in his heart and exploding outwards. It felt like someone had injected liquid metal into his body, boiling hot, and burning him from the inside out. A choking scream escaped his lips as Todd’s knees buckled underneath him, unable to keep him upright. He collapsed onto his stomach, body shaking with tremors as his hands reached up to grip his skull. His head felt as though it was imploding, like someone had stuck his brain in a vacuum, like it was going to collapse in on itself. His fingers clawed at his chest, his forehead, scraping at the flesh in an attempt to relieve the pain. He scrabbled against the earth, screaming, weeping, bleeding as he tried to crawl back to the house. But, he’d broken his promise.

 With a shuddering gasp, Todd’s eyes rolled to the back of his head. A final violent tremor ran through his body and then, the DJ was no more.

 “You totally got this,” Ariana assured as he prepared himself to step outside of Lydia’s home. Kelly making it over the threshold had given her confidence that Todd would be okay. That he’d leave here and she could tell Winston they’d need to look after him from here on out. She’d be a better friend. She’d check in on him more and make sure no more vile women like Lydia went near him ever again. If she hadn’t completely erased the word from her vocabulary, she would have promised him as much. She stood just outside the doorway now, ready to give him a hand if needed. There was a momentary proud look on her face as he began to step out of the house that was quickly replaced with one of horror.

 “No,” Ariana whispered to herself, “No.” She quickly knelt down to try and hold Todd up, but the way he was clawing at his own chest made it impossible to do so. The pain on his face and in his screams was enough to make her feel sick. She reached out unsure of what to do. “Todd, no, breathe.” Come on, just breathe. Please don’t. “You’re over, it’s over, you’ll-” Her voice was strained and her hands felt useless trying to find a way to keep him upright. There had to be something she could do, but she was paralyzed by trying to find the answer, hands still extended hoping he’d reach for them and find a way to steady himself. Grip to her through the pain, she could take it. What she couldn’t take was what happened instead. 

 Defeat was evident in the way her features contorted on her face. Ariana dropped down to the ground beside Todd, hoping against all better judgment that this wasn’t it. That he just needed to be carried out of here. Her ears felt as if they were about to pop with the pressure that was building up as she bit back tears. Still, she listened for any sign of a heartbeat, but there was none to be found. Shaky hands reached down to feel for Todd’s pulse even though she knew better. She knew she failed Todd just like she had failed Sammy. “I’m so sorry,” she breathed out soft enough that no one with ordinary hearing would be able to hear. She was frozen in place, staring down at the damage as if she could will it to change. Will Todd to move again, to stand up and say this was all some sort of joke. She wanted to move, wanted to remember that Kelly and Chloe still needed her, but she couldn’t find it in her to stand back up. They were better off with Kaden and Agatha anyhow. All she seemed to do is make this whole thing worse. 

 Kelly watched Todd with wide eyes as Todd stepped over the door, her own smile cautiously watching him. For a second, when his foot touched the pavement, he was fine, and Kelly was about to be ready to celebrate with him when he contorted. She jumped back as he screamed, her hand flying over her mouth as he clutched at his head. “Do something!” She cried out, but stood frozen on the ground as Todd collapsed to the ground. “Do something!” He tried to crawl back, but it was too late. He shook, once, twice, as Kelly leant against 

Kaden and wept, but the silence after his last scream was so much worse. Watching Ariana, Kelly found the courage to move forward too, cracking her knees against the pavement as she knelt over him. “TODD!” Kelly shook his shoulders, and then did the only thing she could think of, a move half remembered from a training video she’d watched years ago.  Pounding on his chest, Kelly begged him to come back, or anything. 

 For all the misery in Kelly’s scream, the sound Chloe made was even more wretched. She choked and gagged after trying to scream herself, silent tears spilling down her face. “Don’t ever scream again,” Lydia had once told her, and Chloe had promised without hesitation, Sammy’s blood still soaking her clothes. Her tongue swelled up as if stung by a bee. Chloe clutched her chest until the coughing subsided, but when she looked up, Todd was already dead. “No,” Chloe breathed, sagging against the wall. Surrender was so much easier. “No, no.” She could clean it up. She could fix the door and sweep up the glass and make everything fine, so Lydia wouldn’t be upset. Todd wouldn’t have to bear the weight of Lydia’s wrath if Chloe was- She swallowed. Todd was dead. It was too late.

 Kaden stood and watched as Todd started to walk forward. He knew he shouldn’t be as hopeful as he felt, and yet, he was sure this would work. Up until the kid collapsed. Part of him wanted to reach out, but Ari was already there, so he held Kelly back instead for the moment. The last thing they needed was for her to go back into that place. And Ari had it. Didn’t she? He would be-- But he wasn’t fine. He seized and Kelly and Chloe screamed. Kaden wasn’t sure what he did because the world seemed to stop and stand still. His grip on Kelly fell and all he could do was watch as she and Ari tried to bring Todd back to life. The sounds finally hit his ears and the world was turning again. He didn’t need to feel his pulse, he saw Ari check it and he could hear that his heart was no longer beating. There was no more hope left for Todd. He thought about pulling Kelly away, Ari, too. But he thought better of it. There was nothing more he could do there and they were okay as they could be. But Chloe. What was going to happen to Chloe? His pulse spiked as he looked over at her. “Hey,” he said trying to catch her attention from the other side of the doorway. “Chloe, I know-- Don’t give up. Not yet. Don’t--” He wasn’t sure he was any help. His eyes darted to Agatha, hoping she might have an answer. Forcing Chloe out of the house seemed so much more dangerous now. But she couldn’t stay, could she? Putain. What did they do?

 All she could do was watch, watch Todd drop to the ground, Kelly beg, Chloe turn back to the state she found her in back in the office. She’d never been one to stand and watch as things happened before her, and yet, here she was completely speechless as she tried to make sense of what had happened here. Elation had given room to death and despair much too soon. If her heart once again felt heavy in her chest, she put it aside, refusing this desperate situation to take control of them all. If Kelly had managed to get out, then maybe Chloe would be fine, or maybe Agatha would regret this. Sourly. Gathering all the softness that she could muster, the detective squatted down, sitting just a little lower than Chloe, and with hope in her eyes, she looked straight into Chloe’s and reached for her hands, slowly. She would have usually gone straight to the other side of the door, see if she could do anything to help save Todd, but there was something inevitable, almost prophetic about the way he had died. Brutal, ruthless, with no chance of survival. Yet, Agatha believed. She looked at Chloe as someone who believed, and when she spoke, if it felt like walking on a line high above the ground, she made sure not to look down. “We’re going to try. You and I, we’re going to try, because we know she’s gone for good, and I know there’s a lot for you out there, so much more than in here. Think of all the places you’ll go, and see. The beauty,” there was a quiver in her voice the more she spoke, but she did not break. “Let’s try, please.”

 “I gave up years ago,” Chloe snapped at Kaden, instantly regretting her words as Kelly whimpered. She rubbed her face, trying to get the tears against her face. She pulled a face that she hoped looked like an apology to Kaden, but her gaze slid back to Todd, dead on the floor. Like Sammy, trying to escape in his own way. Sammy had meant to come back, but it hadn’t made any difference. Chloe had cleaned his brain off the wall because of it, and she had thought then that she was proud of him having tried to escape. Maybe a quick death was better than what Anneliese had had in the end. Taking Agatha’s hand, she stood up shakily. Every atom in her wanted to split itself into two: the part that needed to stay, and the part that had seen Lydia for the viper she had been from the start. She didn’t listen to Agatha’s pretty words. Pretty words held lies and half truths. Everyone was looking at Todd’s dead body, and wondering how hers would survive if his hadn’t. They all used different words, which to fae made all the difference, but Chloe could barely remember what words she’d used before this. Hell, a single tense could kill her or save her. She just… couldn’t say that. She couldn’t tell them that she’d resigned herself to dying in this dragon’s lair years ago. She couldn’t extinguish the hopes on her rescuers’ faces before trying.

  “Look away,” Chloe said to Kelly, and didn’t even try until Kelly had. She took a deep breath, nearly throwing up with the effort of pushing her muscles over the edge. It was like trying to get through tar. Maybe it wasn’t worth the fight at all. She could live here comfortably until her natural death, which was what Lydia would want. She could avoid the pain of breaking this promise. She grit her teeth. Life in a gilded cage was still caged. Then, like an elastic band snapping, she was over the threshold and felt nothing trying to pull her back in. Chloe inhaled the chilly, winter air, and thought maybe she should have grabbed a coat before all this. Then lightning tore through her mind, blood spilled on her face from her nose, and Chloe went the same way Todd had, right to the ground. 

 Everything around her kept moving, but Ariana remained frozen for a moment, staring at Todd’s lifeless body. If she stared at it long enough, maybe it would distort back to how it was supposed to be. Kelly and Chloe’s screams barely even registered in her ears until Kelly was beside her beating on Todd’s chest. Kelly. She’d wanted so badly for her to never know this kind of pain, so much so she put herself through more just to avoid it, but it had all been for not. Hadn’t they lost enough? Seeing Kelly’s panic awoke something in her and she took a shaky breath. She could be strong for right now. She could be strong for Kelly who needed someone to be strong for her. Kaden and Agatha were already with Chloe. After her failed attempt with Todd, it only seemed right to leave that to them. This, she could do. She placed her hand gently on Kelly’s shoulder and softly said, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, but he’s gone. We need to keep moving and help Chloe now, okay?” 

 “Well I haven’t,” Kaden replied, not combatively but with no room to argue. He knew hope hurt like hell. He didn’t know how long she’d been there or how she got there, but he could only imagine that trying to hold onto any spark of hope in the situation she found herself in would have torn her apart. He was getting used to holding onto hope for someone else, carrying it for them when they couldn’t bear to conceive of it. He’d do it for her now if he could. And thankfully, so would Keen. He was grateful she was there, keeping them level and together, standing beside Chloe. He nodded and waited on the other side of the door, just in case anything went wrong. Now that there was no doubt just how possible that was. 

 He watched her closely, monitored each step she took. He saw the struggle on her face, but there was a brief pause where she looked like she was just fine, like she would face the same fate as Kelly. And then the blood poured from her nose. “No. No, no,” he started and she tumbled down towards the ground. Kaden lunged out for her, catching her before she toppled to the ground, stumbling down to his knees as he did. “Chloe! Chloe, no,” he shouted, giving her one shake to try and revive her. She couldn't die. She couldn’t. They were going to fix this, they were supposed to save them. Losing Todd was horrible enough this-- “Chloe, please, don’t--” He could feel his own breaths get shallow and then remembered to check her pulse. Her heart had slowed, but it was still beating. “I think she’s alive. She should be--” Please wake up, please. These people deserved so much better and Lydia didn’t deserve a single victory, even in death. 

 For a short moment, Agatha had wondered whether Chloe would step over that threshold or not. Perhaps she should have, she thought to herself. No, no, absolutely not. A life spent in this house was not a life, and the detective was both proud and full of sorrow as she reflected on Chloe’s last action. No, this could not be her last. No, no, no, no. The detective repeated the word under her breath, exiting the house last to rush to Chloe’s side. “I’m calling an ambulance,” she declared, glancing at everyone around her as she dialled the number. She would call for backup next, but for now they had to save Chloe while they still could. “Put her on her side,” she commanded, standing up and walking aside to speak to the 

Operator. 

 “No,” Kelly said, tear tracks on her face. She looked over to Ariana. “No, I can’t- I don’t understand. I don’t understand what happened. He- he was fine. Chloe- Chloe, don’t!” She stared at Chloe before nodding and squeezing her eyes shut. She whimpered as she heard Kaden yell, her eyes flashing open to look at Ari. It wasn’t until Agatha said she was calling an ambulance that she dared look back okay. “Is it over?”

 There were warm arms around her. A chilly breeze tickled her cheeks. Grey winter light streamed through her eyelids. There was more pain than Chloe had felt in months, but there was more than that too. She blinked open her eyes, and tried to sit up. That- that was a bad idea. “I think- I think I’m going to stay down here,” Chloe murmured. She squinted up at the three of them, Agatha walking away with her phone, Kaden holding her and Ariana holding Kelly. That blue hair... “You’re the one who tried to save Sammy, aren’t you?” She asked Ariana softly, her voice croaking. Her eyes drifted back over to Todd, his eyes shuttered. No one home. She moved just enough to take his hand. There was so much pain. There was also something else. 

 Ariana couldn’t refrain from outwardly cringing when she saw the struggle Chloe went through upon exiting the home. Prison. Whatever someone would call it. This couldn't be happening. Lydia couldn’t be having this much of a victory. Not in death. Her stomach turned as she was unable to take her eyes off the scene in front of her. A comforting hand remained on Kelly’s shoulder though at some point she had to wonder which one of them she was even supporting. The blur of sounds around her stopped mattering as she remained hyperfocused on the sound of Chloe’s heartbeat that wasn’t quitting. She was still there. Still fighting. Hope wasn’t lost yet though the fear of it being crushed yet again was far from gone. An ambulance was on the way and Kaden was supporting Chloe, keeping her on her side. The storm had died down and she calmly said, “It’s over.” As much as it could be over. She knew better than to believe they wouldn’t be living with the scars long after this. “You’re free,” she assured Kelly as she still stared at Chloe. Her voice sounded strained, but Sammy’s name rang out in her mind. She nodded slowly and said, “I-- That’s me. I’m sorry I didn’t. But you’re getting out of here and she’ll never do this to anyone again.” She knew Athena would make sure of that. Everything still felt like hell and she could hear the sirens approaching in the distance, but it was over. This was finally over.  

 Kaden tried to get Chloe on her side before she pulled herself up. “Hey, wait, don’t--” Thankfully she figured it out before he had to pull her back down. He nodded at Keen as she went over to call 911. “We have to call in the death,” he added. It was meant to be nothing more than matter of fact, procedure. It hit him harder than he expected. They were supposed to save them. All of them. He wasn’t even sure if Chloe would remain okay. If she had broken free from all of the promises. But she was here. And breathing. And out of that prison of a house. He looked up at it, most of the windows broken or covered. It was shattered, just like the illusion of who Lydia was. Forever. He wanted to burn the place down, be rid of it and her once and for all. But they needed the evidence still left there. They’d make sure that no trace left of Lydia Griffin would be praised or lauded ever again. And make sure that Kelly and Chloe got justice they deserved, some compensation or retribution for this. And that meant leaving that awful place intact. “It’s over,” he repeated. “You’re safe,” he said, looking from Kelly back to Chloe. He hoped that was finally true. 

Returning to Chloe’s side, Agatha assured her that an ambulance would come soon, and that she would be taken good care of. Her eyes then drifted toward Kaden’s arm, then to him. A silent nod answering his demand, the detective once again stepped away from the rest of the group, this time calling the morgue. She looked away, the group fussing around Chloe, responding mechanically to the operator's injunctions on the other end of the line. A tear came to burn her cheek, then another. With an audible sniff, she turned her back to the others, and walked away a little further. Behind his back, she heard Kaden repeat: You're safe, and although she was often optimistic this time, the idea that this nightmare was over did not seem to satisfy. Not that she thought all was well that ended well, but because it was hard to believe until Chloe got out of the woods.

[silveryinkystar]

Some deleted scenes from my latest atla fic!

#1: In which Zuko adopts a dragon, and Mai really should be used to this by now

Just when she thinks he can’t surprise her anymore, Zuko goes and does something that proves her wrong. Like bringing home a baby dragon.

“I’m going to call you Druk,” he coos at the little coiled lump in his hands. “You’re lucky I’m here, otherwise Sokka might have called you something like Firebreather or Noodle.”

Mai has been introduced to Zuko’s turtleducks both before and after his banishment. Sokka’s not the only one who would be tempted to name a dragon Noodle.

“When Ty Lee said you wanted some time away,” Mai says conversationally, “I don’t think this is what she meant.”

He starts badly at her voice, but when he spins around to face her, he’s beaming widely. Spirits, he could light up the entire Fire Nation with that smile. “Mai! I thought you were coming back next week.”

“I got bored,” she repeats, smirking. “I missed Ty Lee, and gave my parents the slip when they said they were taking a detour. Seems like I wasn’t the only one who ran away. You’ve been up to a lot, hm?”

He chuckles. “Kind of,” he admits, and his expression turns serious. “The palace was getting to me, so I needed a break. I wasn’t intending on bringing Druk back, but I don’t mind.”

“Do the turtleducks like him?” she asks dryly.

“They love him. It’s weird, they’ve never actually seen a dragon before.”

“And you have? Before… Druk, I mean.”

He flushes, opens his mouth to speak, and closes it again.

“Zuko, that’s a yes or no question.”

“It’s… confidential?” he squeaks, flicking his gaze to the tiny hatchling winding around his hand, weaving around the limb before lying across Zuko’s shoulders like a very short scarf. It’s adorable.

She exhales. “When it stops being confidential,” she allows, “let me know before the others? And by that I mean the Fire Nation officials. I’m going ahead and assuming the Avatar and your other friends know.”

“Aang knows, but the others don’t,” Zuko corrects. “Of course I’ll tell you the whole story first.”

“Good.” She walks up to her best friend and embraces him tightly. He stiffens momentarily but hugs her back, careful not to dislodge Druk. “I didn’t just miss Ty Lee, you know.”

She can feel his smile against her shoulder. “I know. I missed you too, Mai.” He pulls away and holds her at an arm’s length. There’s a wicked smile on his face that’s somehow also completely devoid of malice. Not that she could ever see malice on him. “But you mostly missed Ty Lee.”

“One more word and you’ll find a knife on your royal person,” she warns.

#2: In which Sokka takes Zuko into the towns outside the Caldera to show him how much the place has changed

“You know what I think?”

Zuko hums and looks over from a scroll to his friend, who’s lounging on the bed with a map held above his head.

“I think the council members are jealous,” Sokka says.

Zuko raises his eyebrow. “What of?”

“Huh?”

“What would they be jealous of?”

“Oh,” Sokka exclaims, blinking in surprise. “They only have a few supporters among the nobility. Mostly in Caldera City. The people love you and your reforms, and your latest repeal of Sozin’s marriage laws won you even more favours among them.”

“There were more dissenters,” Zuko says with a frown. “I thought it was massively unpopular, even if it was the right thing to do.”

Sokka turns over and waves a hand vaguely at him, grinning like a fool. “See, that’s what I mean. You don’t care about popularity. You saw the marriage laws and knew that you couldn’t put boundaries on love, so you changed the rules. You found out why the war was wrong, and you ended it. Not without help, of course, but you did it all. You care about your people, and they know it.”

Zuko doesn’t know what to say to this, so he resorts to throwing a cushion at his friends face for having him confront feelings. His indignant yelp is a sound that leaves him chuckling for a good minute, so he lets it slide.

But the matter isn’t done yet, at least according to Sokka. On the last day of his visit, Zuko finds that there are no meetings scheduled for the day. He thinks he’ll spend some time in the gardens with his friend, like old times, but Sokka seems to have other plans.

“You guys have fun,” Suki says with a kiss to Sokka’s cheek and a clap on Zuko’s shoulder. “I’ll catch you later.”

Sokka pulls Suki into a proper kiss on the lips before he calls out a quick goodbye and drags Zuko out of the palace.

“Have you been to the towns and villages before?” Sokka asks as they make their way down the slope of the inactive volcano housing the capital city.

“Not nearly as much as I’d like,” Zuko admits. “I’ve been around the capital and Ember Island, but there wasn’t any reason for me to go down to the rest of the Fire Nation.” By reasons, he trusts Sokka understands that he means Ozai had strict rules to stay within the city limits.

“Huh. That’s not great.”

“I went to one of the towns once with my cousin, though,” he adds, expecting the familiar pang in his heart at the mention of Lu Ten before it hits him.

“He’s one of the good ones?” Sokka guesses.

Zuko smiles sadly. “He was like an older brother to me. You know, he was the one to tell Mom and Uncle that I was good with swords?”

“No way.”

“Ozai knew that I was leaving for a change in instructors,” Zuko continues, “but he never really cared either way at the time. He only really became a problem when Uncle and Lu Ten left to fight.”

“Ah.” Sokka rests a hand on his shoulder and squeezes lightly, and Zuko knows to draw comfort from the gesture. He misses Lu Ten dearly, but the sting of loss is numbed, now. He can think of his antics with his cousin during his early childhood without the accompanying sorrow threatening to overwhelm him.

They’re at the base of the volcano now, so Zuko slips up his hood. His hair is free of its topknot and falls over his scar so that he can blend with the crowd unremarkably. There’s no sign that he might be discovered, though, and no repercussions even if he is (except perhaps from his guards, but Ming won’t really mind once she understands why).

The first thing he notices are the sounds. There’s laughter, chatter, and the occasional yelling interspersed with off-key music. He’s already taken aback by how different it is from when Lu Ten helped him sneak out one night when his parents were away with Azula.

“I…”

Sokka smiles and loops an arm around his shoulders. “You haven’t seen anything yet, buddy. You’re going to love this.”

The wind blowing around them is cool enough to be uncomfortable, so Zuko tugs up his collar and raises his internal temperature to compensate. Sokka seems to be unaffected by the chill, which is only to be expected considering his friend spent most of his life in harsh southern winters. They stop every few paces to look at what the roadside stalls were selling, and more than once Sokka actively considers the merits and demerits of buying something they sell before deciding against them, moving forward, and darting back only to walk away again.

The fifth time this happens, Zuko finds a permanent solution in the fire-dancers performing in the streets. It’s his turn now to haul his friend over to them, and Sokka is all too willing to oblige as Zuko watches the performers exaggerate their movements with graceful bending.

“You know, this was pretty cool in the Fire Days Festival too – spirits, are you okay?”

From how distressed Sokka suddenly looks upon seeing his face, he automatically reaches up to touch the scar only to find his cheeks wet. He hadn’t even realised he was crying, but he scrambled for an explanation to keep the other boy from panicking.

“I used to watch the fire-dancers with my mother every year when we went to Ember Island,” he says, swiping at his eyes. “I always wanted to learn their bending style, it’s much more flowy than any other form of firebending. And… it’s been a while since the Fire Nation was this happy outside of festivals. And, well, Ember Island.”

Sokka nods slowly, but he doesn’t look any more placated.

“I guess it never really felt real to me,” Zuko mumbles, ducking his head as his eyes start to burn and glaze over once more. “I’m always stuck at meetings or fighting the council to pass a reform that would help my people, but…”

There’s a lump in his throat that stops him from speaking further, but Sokka leads him away from the crowd gently and finishes it for him.

“You never saw how your decisions impacted your people.”

Zuko manages a strangled chuckle. “They’re happy,” he whispers.

Sokka holds him an arm’s length away, hands firm on his shoulders. “That’s what I wanted to show you,” he says. “They’re healing, and they’re happy. I know most of the people you see are the ones who benefitted from the war, but when we were making our way to the capital before the eclipse, we noticed that it had left its mark on the Fire Nation too.”

Zuko nods, thinking about how he’d received news of an important weapons factory suddenly stopping production because of some problem with the river it was located on. He’d investigated it further and had declined to deliver that information to Ozai once he heard how badly the nearby town had fared.

“We’re the ones who instigated the war,” Zuko says, slumping against the wall of some building. “There were so few people who didn’t suffer for it.”

Sokka slides down next to him wordlessly. It’s not self-deprecating for him to say this – it’s the truth, and Zuko’s doing his best to make up for his ancestors’ terrible choices. They weren’t mistakes, not when each tragedy piled up on top of each other with the sickening, deliberate motive painting them red with blood.

He’s going to help the world heal, and if that starts by healing the Fire Nation? Well, that’s all for the better.

[unstoppableforcce]

waves crash. ships don’t. ( 9 )

The Mandalorian x reader

previous part - epilogue - masterlist (for waves crash)

oh! it seems I figured out something angsty and soft for the conclusion. stayed tuned for a sweet epilogue.

The second his foot hit the sand; a strike of lightning hit down. It didn’t matter, besides the flash of light, he barely noticed.

Sand at his feet kicked up with every step, stars did he hate sand. He knew he’d find it engrained in the soles of his boots, the fabric of his undersuit, every crack and crevice and all he was doing was treading through it. It was okay, he reminded himself with a holding stare on your form as he approached, it was okay.

He faltered in his step only when you looked up to see him and flinch for your weapon.

He slowed about ten yards from you, beginning to sink into the sand which dampened as fast as he was with the rain picking up, holding his arms out in a brief show of hesitant surrender until you relaxed.

Except you didn’t.

Not for several seconds as you watched him carefully.

“I don’t need help.” Was all you could think to say, the only reasonable conclusion you could draw from his approach.

He knew you well, and even if he didn’t, hovering around for the past few days watching you work, he didn’t need to be told you didn’t need any help. It broke his heart slightly more to know you thought he didn’t already know that about you.

It was a pain he had to push through. He was riding a wave of confidence from somewhere, a burst he had never had before, and he had no choice but to use it while he had it. He wasn’t losing you, not again.

As soon as your hand fell from your holstered knife, he took several strides until he was closer, careful with every step, sinking deeper and deeper and the grainy sand turned almost to mud with the pelting rain.

“You shouldn’t be out here.” The warning came out as you easily slipped back to work, grabbing a fish and swiping over it with a stare of examination before tossing it along.

His silence got your attention back. You had no choice as your heart pulled your stare to him, your stare of careful examination taking a long hard look at his form when the neck strike of lightning hit with the storm behind you over the ocean and his beskar helmet reflected it back to your eyes, each intricate detail of the light showing for the quick second over his visor.

The rest of his form was stripped of his armor, left back in the house you assumed. He was only beginning to stand on his own, the extra weight would only keep him down. But without it…

He wasn’t a small man. But without the armor, he looked smaller, he looked softer, he looked as you always remembered him. He looked real. Not some dutiful bounty hunter with only a sense of purpose when it came to work and nothing else, ruthless by reputation. That wasn’t the man you remembered so fondly even as your brain wished you didn’t.

You remember his passing moments, moments when you swore you could see him smiling through the solid steel, moments when he lingered his hand for a second longer on yours when passing a pack of ammunition, the small moments.

You remembered the pain he caused you when he left right after that, washing any warmth you got from the past away with the cold and constant break between who you were and what you were now.

The rain stuck his new tunic to his form no matter how hard the wind persisted in blowing it away.

He shouldn’t be out in it; he was still recovering.

“You shouldn’t be out here,” you repeated, gesturing back to the house before bending over again, “You’ll tear a stitch, you’ll freeze-”

“Come with me.”

You furrowed your dripping brow, wiping over your face as you looked to him where he stood still spare his heaving breaths. If you didn’t have as tuned an ear as you did for his voice, you weren’t sure you’d have been able to make it out of the sounds of the ragged water behind you or the blabbering of the jungle behind him.

But you did hear him. You didn’t need him to repeat, you heard each and every syllable and froze, fish still in one hand, not having been dropped to the pack yet, just floundering in your hand.

“What?” The words came from your lips only because you weren’t capable of any others. You heard him. Each of the three words was still echoing in your head.

“When the Crest is fixed, come with me.”

You didn’t have a response that time, not even a stutter, every word fell dry and dead in your throat. Three simple words that said more than he had ever said in his entire life, certainly his entire life with you.

Essentially saying that he wanted exactly that, a life with you.

Dropping the fish was all you could manage when your hands went nearly numb, not from the cold. Your lip began to tremble as you took a step away, not from the cold.

The storm continued to rage, a particularly abusive gust blowing all your damp hair from your face and nearly pushing you over because of your slowly weakening knees. You took another step back just to stay stable, he took another step to you, just to stay close.

“I wanted to stay.”

He didn’t know how to say what he wanted to, it came out in separate sentences of vague ambition and want. It was all he could manage when he watched you so entirely overwhelmed with what you were feeling. You weren’t cold this time. You weren’t stoic. Your face remained calm and collected but he caught every turn of your lips, every extra blink, every bend of your brow.

He caught each and every emotion as it coursed through you and all he wanted to say that he was feeling something similar, but he lacked the vocabulary. He lacked the ability to even breathe when he looked at you, he wasn’t too sure he wouldn’t collapse right there in front of you again, his ribs even screamed as he thought of it.

But he was too deep now. He needed you to know. He couldn’t turn back. He’d bear any storm if it meant you knew what he was feeling. If you knew what he wanted to tell you that day on the desert beach way back when, when you smiled and splashed him with water.

You were the only person he knew.  

That was the only thing close to the language he had to describe it.

He just didn’t have the tongue, the heart, the lungs… he didn’t have the physical strength to speak it to you as you stood, continuously doused in rain in front of him.

“I wanted you to stay.” How you maintain his stare, you still aren’t really sure, but something within you refused to let go. It was like there was a voice in the back of your head warning you that if you looked away, he’d be gone again.

Usually, the voice existed to remind you of everything wrong you had ever done, that was if the screams of your memories didn’t drown it out first.

“I wanted you to stay-” it caught in your throat as you tried to repeat it, so you swallowed it and kept your stare, hoping he understood.

He took a step closer to answer.

“I trusted you and you left me-” you finally fought out, a brief second of a seething anger slipping through your calm façade, one deep breath in, one out, but you didn’t calm as he expected. “I thought you knew what I did, I thought you saw what I became, I thought I lost my use to you-”

“I don’t want you because you’re useful-”

“I’m not useful. Not anymore.” You interrupted with a scoff. You didn’t mean to. He was being so open, so much more vulnerable than either of you had ever been, you didn’t want to shut him down.

Shaking your head, a curse in your native tongue slipping out beneath your breath, something he wasn’t sure he’d understand even if it was audible over the storm. “I haven’t shot in years, I haven’t fought- I’m not useful anymore, I’m broken, and you can’t fix me, that was why you left-”

“You’re not broken-”

“I-”

“I was wrong to leave. I thought I was broken, not you. I didn’t want to be a burden on you. But now…”

He didn’t have the words. He searched through every basic word he knew, every word or phrase in Mando’a, every word he knew in your tongue, or any of the few others that he knew. None of them felt right, none of them conveyed the weight he had felt on his chest for years thinking you were here and better off without him only to now know the two of you were anything but.

There was no argument. There was nothing he could say to excuse that. He made a mistake. He did this.

He couldn’t fix it.

You waited for words on his lips that just couldn’t come. He didn’t have the capacity for them.

But he wanted to. When he looked at you… he wanted to.

You broke the stare and turned back to the waves shattering against the shore behind you with a ragged echo, not unlike the thundering in your chest. The lightning struck the horizon, not moving closer or further, the storm was right where it wanted to be, right where it would stay as it raged on.

“You’re the only person I know.”

He didn’t know how the words escaped him without his lips moving, how he heard them over the storm even though he didn’t speak them. He didn’t understand until you turned back, the simple sentiment falling off your lips, off your perfect bottom lip, scar and all.

Taking one final step closer, he needed you to know just how hard his heart was beating, he needed you to know it felt like it was only beating for you.

As the water dripped from his helmet, your hand caught it before it reached his chest as you accepted his gentle touch and allowed your calloused, scarred, and bloodied hand to be pulled to his chest, to lay against the thinner fabric of his undershirt, to feel his chest beat up and down just as you had when he collapsed.

You let him take your disgusting hands because you knew his bore a similar filth.

The lives you had both taken, the tallies along your rifle, the bounties he brought back frozen in carbonite.

“I can’t stay.” He spoke carefully, holding your hand with his gloved one over his heart. “The child, he’s a foundling, I have to…” He shook his head, “Come with me.”

“I haven’t fired my rifle since I came here.” You said as the only way you could get the words, I’m no longer useful to you, out of your mouth without them searing your tongue too badly.

He knew. He understood the second he saw your stare fall back to the mud-like sand coating both of your boots, splashing up with every heavy droplet that rained from the sky.

“I don’t need you to be useful.” He said just as hesitantly, hoping you heard, I just need you, slip through his modulator.

You wanted to pull back, but you couldn’t, you were caught in his pull, no matter how heavy your heart weighed, you couldn’t escape. You could only hold your stare on his visor, follow the drips of water as they raced each other down the immaculate metal.

All of it sat right on the tip of your tongue, everything you wanted him to know, everything you hoped he already did know.

That you were only ever able to sleep aboard the Crest. That for years, you could never fall asleep in the presence of another person because there was no one you trusted. But aboard the Razor Crest, with him piloting to whatever planet, for whatever job, it was the only real sleep you ever got.

That the day he found you in that cantina and you started a fight to escape him, you didn’t do it off first instinct. It was the first time that you almost didn’t flinch. You saw him, and the first thought through your head wasn’t to run like it was with everyone else, it was that you’d give anything to have him squeeze into the booth next to you and just be there.

That he was the only person you knew, and you didn’t even know his name or face.

You didn’t wear the helmet or swear to a creed, but you were just as isolated over the course of your career, just as isolated as he was. It was what snipers did just as Mandalorians did it seemed.

He had been the only person you ever wanted to see again after a job. There were crews you ran with on and off, some for longer than others, some for longer than you should have, but there was never any safety to them. You weren’t a member, you were an asset, you didn’t get the family or the protection, you just got a paycheck and the ability to flee whenever you wanted.

There were other people. People you’d been with, friends you’d laughed with, mercenaries you worked with, but there was no one you trusted. No one you ever knew besides him.

Not because you knew his name or his face. You didn’t. But you knew him.

You knew he hated sand. You knew that he loved you.

“Come with me.” He repeated, holding onto you with a tighter grip.

He had spent two years without you. He wasn’t doing that again, not if he didn’t have to. He was done punishing himself for something so long gone. He was done keeping himself from you out of some sense of protecting you.

He squeezed tighter.

He wasn’t leaving you again.

You gave a small nod of your head. You weren’t leaving him again either.

If the storm raged on, you didn’t notice. If it was another crack of lightning that illuminated his helmet, you didn’t connect it. If the rain still streamed down your face, you just ignored it.

The waves crashed. You didn’t notice

.-> my ko-fi

-> tags

@im-the-nerdiest-of-them-a11 @bva14 @steve-thotgers @bonkybaaarnes @persephonehemingway @scintilla-morningstar r @sarcasm-n-insomnia @jellyfishpoptart @tedpicklez @morgannope @vaultingphilosophy @fan-g0rl @theladyofmanyfandomsofficial @ginger-swag-rapunzel  @afootnoteinyourhappiness @sinon36

[graveyarddirtseries]

Graveyard Dirt & Salt

Chapter 6

Not wanting to touch her without permission, knowing how his mother was with men and how big he was and how scary he could be, the Lieutenant sat beside her awkwardly for a moment, before settling his hand on his knee, palm open, facing the vaulted ceiling above their heads. It was an offering for her if she needed it and she took it after a moment, squeezing with a small, strong hand.

The backroom of the Catholic church was lit only by the flickering light of a couple small candles.

In the glow the Lieutenant watched as Benny preened in front of a full length mirror, he felt like his face was drawn in a grim, tight mask, but in the reflection seen over his shoulder, all he saw was a tired, middle aged marine who could use a good shower and a shave.

The shadows cast by the light hooded his eyes in darkness, making him appear like a spectre, some boogin from out of a Gothic novel.

The thing about mirrors he never cared for, was how honest they were. They held no dogs in the fight when it came to showing a man everything. You'd see time and life on your own face, wrinkles and worries and everything the sun kissed in a mirror. And from his own experience, after his mama died, the Lieutenant knew that the mirror also reflected emotion.

It was before a mirror that his Mamere had told him that his mama was gone. Thirteen years old, holding his toothbrush in his hand, staring at the old woman over his shoulder. He thought time would heal his mama, that everything bad that had happened to her would fade with time.

In his youth, being as foolish as all children were, Lafayette Vancoughnett IV, named after his Papere and not the man who had raped him into his mama's womb, thought that his mama would come back someday. That they would be together.

As he aged in the mirror, any reflection he looked into, the face he saw was of a man who came to realize that he didn't look much like his mama. The face that looked back at him, he theorized, must have been the same face that had taken his mama into those dark woods, held her down, and forced reality on her.

As time became lines etched on his face, Lafayette came understand that this face of his was why his mama could never really look at him. That if he had maybe stopped forcing his Papere to bring him to the hospital where his mama was, that maybe she wouldn't have to relive that night in the woods over and over and over again.

The mirrors and reflections of his face had always brought back into his mind how utterly he loathed himself, because he loathed the man who had driven his mama into a grave at the age of only twenty-nine.

His face wasn't his own, because his face belonged to a monster.

And maybe if he hadn't lived, if maybe sweet Louise, his mama, would still be alive. And she'd be married, with a whole bunch of children who didn't haunt her the way this only son of hers did.

If Lafayette had known then, what he knew now, he would have run off, left Louise to her happy home, to the parents who did their best to love her and the bastard offspring of the crime committed against her.

He would have done everything to make it right.

But he was a boy and he never knew entirely why his mama couldn't look at him, why she was in a hospital.

In those days girls like her, girls like his mama, they didn't stay home on medication to balance the serotonin in them. In those days the best you could do for a girl who tried three times to kill herself, to end the misery she was in, was to put her away. Surround her with padded rooms and locked doors and nurses.

He would have burned his face off, if only to spare Louise the terror he had unknowingly brought upon her every time he visited her. All he wanted in his greedy youth was a hug or a smile or for her to even notice him. He would bring her report cards and drawings and little things he found that he wanted to share with his mother, and the only thing he ever brought her that lingered with Louise were bad memories of a broken night, leaves in her hair, bruising and dried tears on her face.

No silly turkey's made of the cut out outline of his hand could ever smooth over what that man did to a fifteen year old girl.

So, no, he kept clear of mirrors when he could, because he didn't care for the reminder. The face of the monster he wore it haunted him as much as it haunted his mama.

“You still with me, Cajun?”

Snapped from his thoughts, the marine whipped his head up to meet Benny's gaze in the reflection. “Yeah.”

Benny narrowed his sharp eyes at him, but thankfully kept quiet, instead, turning around with his arms out.

“How do I look?”

“You look good,” he finally managed to say. Hoping the words might break the spell of the haunted figure in the mirror. “Like a real priest.”

“Think priests look good, Cajun?” Benny teased, pulling a little at the dog collar at his throat.

Opening his mouth to give the fancy man a smart assed response, the Lieutenant was distracted by Benny suddenly whipping his head to the right to peer at the open doorway where Mena stood like a pocket-sized ghost, her face haunted in the flickering of the candles.

She stood in her pink pyjamas with the pretty little white polka dots and her short, almost black hair ruffled from sleep, or rather perhaps, sleeplessness.

“What's the meaning of this?” She asked in a tremulous tone, bleating like a lost sheep on the open plains.

Benny spoke first, slowly and unsure, halfway between teasing and mocking, “fashion show?”

“Lieutenant?” She asked, turning to him.

“Paon thinks he's gonna try lighting out on his own.” He said helpfully. “Thinks it's best if he heads out alone to try to find these men. And I think he's right. You all need me here and that kid isn't ready to get into a fight.”

“Very well,” she said, holding up a hand, fingers spread, gesturing vaguely at Benny, “but why the blasphemy?” That tiny hand then went to touch her chest, just at the base of her throat.

“Devil worship,” Benny retorted quickly, grinning wickedly. “At an orgy.”

“Benny,” the Lieutenant said firmly, it was both to begin his sentence and a warning, “thinks it might make the men less inclined to just kill him if he hides behind the cloth.”

“And Annie?”

“I'll be back for her,” Benny said, suddenly serious.

“And here I thought you were beginning to like us, Mr. Malone,” Mena teased a little.

Reaching out, Benny tugged at the lapel on Mena's pyjama top, before his hand danced up and he tweaked her chin. “If you're going to miss me that much, at least be waiting with a kiss when I get back, huh?” He teased.

Mena slapped his hand away with a quick as a snake swat, before saying, “your flirtations have never and will never work on me, Mr. Malone. Now, if you're going to be parading around like a fool in a dog collar, at least do it right. You want to lose the vestments and wear something simple. A full length cassock might be best for a long distance recognition, but we can layer it and once you're in, you can take it off for better movement.” She said, moving towards the closet.

“What are you doing up so late, anyways?” The Lieutenant asked.

“I came to light a candle for Sister Mary Patrick, I couldn't sleep and thought I'd say another prayer for her.” Mena replied curtly. The subject of the nun off limits in just her tone. As she pulled out a few things from the closet, she said, “I really wish you two wouldn't leave me out of things like this.”

“Well, it's...not a sexist thing,” Benny said. “It’s a nun kind of ruins the party thing.”

“You make the fancy man uncomfortable,” the Lieutenant said with a smirk.

“Being in the presence of raw sexuality can do that to a man, I'm told,” Mena sighed.

There was a beat where the Lieutenant thought he hadn't really heard what he'd heard, where even Benny cast a furrowed, confused look at the Cajun.

Setting the black garments down on the table with a frustrated sigh, Mena said, “I...I haven't been sleeping and that was...a slip of the tongue.”

“No,” Benny argued lightly. “You said what you said and you can't unsay it. Abbess,” he exclaimed, “do you have a dirty sense of humour?”

“I'm exhausted and you boys drive me a little...batty.”

Gasping, Benny gripped his chest in much the same place Mena had clutched her own breast earlier. “Language, Abbess!”

Mena gave him a stern, displeased look and said, “here, put these on. They'll be cooler in the Georgian heat and better to blend in later.”

Sitting in the front pew of the church, waiting for Benny to dress, the Lieutenant watched as Mena finished up her prayer for Sister Mary Patrick, before moving to sit in the pew beside him. The light she had lit for the poor nun flickering in the dark like a lightning bug all a glow.

“La misère semble toujours vous suivre.” He murmured sadly.

“Beg your pardon?” Mena asked.

The Lieutenant shook his head a little. “Just something my mama used to say to me.”

“What does it mean?”

Almost hypnotized by the flickering candle, the Lieutenant was quiet for a moment, contemplating getting up and pacing. He didn't do well with just sitting, not when there was so much that needed doing.

“Lieutenant?” Mena asked.

“Misery seems to always follow you. La misère semble toujours vous suivre, Lafayette, she'd say.” He replied, still watching the flame.

“That's hardly a kind thing to say to a boy,” Mena argued gently.

“Mais, she wasn't wrong,” he returned, easing back in the pew to settle in more comfortably. Seems whichever way he wriggled his ass, the hard wood wasn't going to offer comfort. It seemed a perfect metaphor to how he felt about religion in general, he supposed.

Beside him Mena was quiet, prim and pretty as she always was, sitting like a queen on the pew, not a wriggle or a squirm to her posture on the hard wood under her derriere.

“The first person I saw torn apart by the uggies was from above. We were being sent in to a hospital towards the end, when things got out of hand and as the 'copter set down, I watched a young nurse run out towards us in the parking lot and they set upon her like a pack of wolves. They don't eat them, the dead, they just...have this abnormal anger to them, this hatred of the living. Or maybe they aren't dead and just hate those who aren't infected, aren't claimed by whatever it is that's got a hold on them.” He glanced over at the nun, her face stoic, eyes on the flickering light. “Lord, I never saw anything like that. I was startled, afraid, I don't feel fear like normal people, I never have. Things that should scare me only drive me to wonder, to curiosity. But I was scared then. I was helpless for the first time in my life, I felt like my own body wouldn't move, wouldn't act. You get to used to it. To them. You wander around outside these walls long enough and you see them as an annoyance, another bump in the road. But they were people, they are people, I suppose. Something preyed on them and they fell.”

“You said infection,” Mena asked.

He nodded.

“Do you...are they not dead then?”

“I don't know. Everyone who knows what this is is buried underground in their bunkers, holed up until this all blows over. I'm just a marine, Missy, I'm not a scientist or a politician. I'm muscle and metal.”

Glancing over, he spied a sort of furrow to her brow and knew immediately what it was.

“Don't worry,” he said, trying to soothe her, “you haven't been killing anyone who would object. If they aren't dead, they aren't ever going to come back to us the way they were. It's either you're killing abominations or mercy killing the dying.”

“Still not much of a consolation.”

“Hey,” he said firmly. “You saw how they took to Sister Mary Patrick. They would do that to any of us. Killing them is just like clearing your world of misery.”

“That could be said by either side of this fight, Lieutenant.”

“Sure,” he agreed. “But only one of these sides can talk and rationalize.”

Emerging from the sacristy, Benny stepped up to the pulpit. He looked like a priest and that was at least a little comforting to the Lieutenant. Maybe his plan wasn't so bad.

“Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” Benny said from behind the pulpit.

“Did you really study the bible this afternoon, Mr. Malone?” Mena asked. “I'm rather impressed.” Standing up, she approached him. “When I saw you with the bible in the shadows of the church, I thought maybe you were just being mocking.”

Benny grinned. “Maybe I was. Or maybe I was pulling shit out of my ass and flinging it to see what stuck. Hey, check this out,” he went on, running a hand through his hair, settling it back into less of a loose finger brushing and more into a tamped down, alter-boy style. “Huh? Priestly.”

“Are you sure about this, paon?” The Lieutenant asked one last time, feeling like he needed to ask it.

Benny nodded. “Yeah. Jesus, don't start crying or I'm going to start crying. Fuck.”

“Language in the church, please?” Mena asked, sounded like she was hanging by a string on patience with the man.

For a brief moment, in the dark of the night, lit only by the flickering candle of Sister Mary Patrick's memory, the three of them milled about, Benny rubbing the bottom of his expensive ankle boot over the red carpeting by the pulpit, Mena sitting perched like a pretty sparrow on the pew beside the Lieutenant who was gazing at the candle.

“Welp,” Benny finally said. “I'm going head off.”

Mena stood up suddenly, almost panicked. “I don't like this. No. You're not going. We can think of something else, something better.”

“It's really cute that you're already in love with me,” Benny said with a grin. “But, babe, I can take care of myself. I promise.”

“No offence, Mr. Malone, but by the looks of your suit and your shoes and that fifty dollar grin, I'd say you have-”

“JSOC,” Benny said suddenly. He said it so simply that for a moment the Lieutenant didn't register his words, before the marine was suddenly intrigued.

“What?” He asked asked.

Benny scowled. “Fuck it, society's fucked anyways. I was...tasked with doing things for the military.”

“What things?” Mena demanded.

“Intel,” the Lieutenant supplied for him. “He was with Delta Force, JSOC.”

“No,” Benny said. “It wasn't just intel you dumb fucking marine. It's...I can handle my fucking self, alright? Both of you need to just...calm your asses down. I promise you that I will be just fine.”

“You're a man of a many hats,” the Lieutenant said.

“I look good in them,” Benny replied. “Just keep that fucking kid alive, alright? I'll be back in contact with both of you. And don't pray for me,” he pointed firmly at Mena, “that's a defeatist fucking attitude.”

“I didn't say I was going to,” she returned archly.

“Rough, that's rough,” Benny returned. “Alright, I'm out of here. Don't get anymore nuns killed, marine.”

The Lieutenant winced like he'd been slapped. “Just don't get yourself killed. We need the intel you're getting us.”

“Aw, want a kiss goodbye, angel face?” Benny asked him.

The Lieutenant scoffed. “You get us some good fucking dirt on these men and I'll kiss you right on the mouth when you come back.”

“I'm holding you to that,” Benny returned, walking backwards down the aisle towards the font and the door. “Abbess? You and me,” he made a suggestive gesture as he continued to walk backwards in the near dark. “Huh? It's gonna happen. We'll have a threeway in the fucking bell tower. Think about it!”

“Don't think I haven't already,” Mena replied with a small, almost wicked gleam in her eyes.

Tripping a little by the font, Benny chuckled, catching himself, before turning and leaving.

In the silence of Benny's absence, the Lieutenant grinned a little at the nun beside him.

“What?” She demanded demurely as she turned back to face the front of the church.

“Nothing,”he replied.

“That man should get as good as he gives,” she said, shrugging her shoulders like a hen ruffling her feathers.

“You have a real dirty streak to you, Abbess,” he murmured, staring straight ahead.

It only took a moment, before a small, sad grin appeared on her face. “I used to,” she admitted. “I'm beginning to think the two of you bring out the worst in me.”

“Or maybe the best?” He suggested.

“Hmm.”

“Can I ask you something, Missy?” The Lieutenant asked.

“Hmm?”

“Can you really fight or do I need to force you to take lessons with the others tomorrow?” He asked. “I need to know everyone will be able to defend themselves the next time we get trouble.”

“I can handle myself,” Mena said. “I don't like the idea of fighting, but if it comes to it, I can handle myself just fine.”

“I don't mean to pry,” he went on. “But I'm going to need some credentials to back that claim up. I just...I don't want you to be the conscientious objector here and now.”

Mena was quiet for a minute, before gathering herself with a soft inhale. “When I was thirteen I ran away from home and lived on the streets of Atlanta for five years before the church took me in.”

Regretting asking, but a little more comforted by the information, the Lieutenant nodded. “Alright.”

“You're not going to ask any follow up questions?” Mena inquired with a small smirk.

“It's none of my business.”

“I'm not ashamed of it,” Mena replied. “We all do what we need to in order to survive.”

“I get it.”

“Anyways, I was freelance, if you could call it that. So if a man refused to pay, you'd better have a strong grip and get a good tip,” she went on. “Because there wasn't any pimp to come along and convince them to pay up.”

“Fair enough.” After a moment, he added. “I'm sorry you had to run away from home.”

“There are people out there worse off than me. I was lucky in that I used to go to the convent shelter in Atlanta, not this convent, it was another that would feed the homeless there and give them clothing and whatever they needed. I wasn't addicted to any drugs, I barely drank, though I did more than I should because...well, what else do you do when you're in that situation. But they recommended I join the church as a novitiate, it was Sister Mary Patrick who gave me my first instructions. She came here to this convent when I did and we have always been close.”

The Lieutenant didn't know what to say, so he remained silent. It wasn't his place to say anything.

“So, yes, Lieutenant, I can fight.”

He nodded.

“And no one will judge me, but God,” she added firmly.

“I won't judge you,” he said.

“If that day ever comes for us.” She added grimly.

“Go ahead, if you need,” he said. “I'm secular, so I won't judge.”

Mena opened her mouth as though to say something, but stopped suddenly, inhaling, almost as though she was stubbornly refusing to cry.

Not wanting to touch her without permission, knowing how his mother was with men and how big he was and how scary he could be, the Lieutenant sat beside her awkwardly for a moment, before settling his hand on his knee, palm open, facing the vaulted ceiling above their heads. It was an offering for her if she needed it and she took it after a moment, squeezing with a small, strong hand.

Wrapping his long fingers around her hand, he held it gently, warmly.

“I'm sorry,” she said again.

“You don't have to apologize,” he replied. “I imagine it would shake anyone to the core to have to be in this sort of situation. Civilians aren’t used to facing very real and dangerous threats, they aren’t prepared mentally for all the ugly parts that come with a disaster like this.”

She nodded. “It certainly makes you rethink a lot of things.”

“I'm not religious by any means, not really, but...well, how is your...you know? Your faith?” He winced as though faith was a dirty word.

“Honestly? I don’t know. I suppose I’m waiting for a sign.”

“A sign?” He asked.

“From God. What do we do now? I just don’t know.”

“Ooh,” he teased. “maybe his sign is the dead rising?”

Inhaling once more, Mena calmed herself, her hand still in his. “I am grateful for you, Lieutenant.” She said. “If you weren't here, if Mr. Malone wasn't here, I think it could have been worse for us last night. I have a hard time showing gratitude, and it's my weakness, I will work on it.”

“You don't have to be grateful,” the Lieutenant said. “You just trust me a little, yeah? I want this convent to flourish and be safe.”

“I think a lot of things need to change, don't they?” She asked.

He nodded.

“Maybe we'll turn completely secular,” she teased.

“You're joking, but...it'd make my job easier.”

“Your job?”

“Getting some nuns to kill some bad men.”

Mena laughed. “I don't know about that. But maybe we can make some room in the cloister for you and the others.”

“I don't know,” he teased, “that close to nuns, might make a man wish for the cold embrace of the Georgian backwoods.”

She clucked her tongue at him with a small grin.

In the dim church they sat for a good long while in silence, before the Lieutenant glanced at the woman beside him.

“You ever hear of 'telling the bees'?”

“Not that I'm aware of, what is it?”

“Used to be when someone in a house died, you'd go outside and down to the beehive and you'd tell the bees that they died. It was a sign of respect to the hardest workers on the farm.”

“What happened if you didn't tell the bees?”

The Lieutenant shrugged. “I dunno. They'd fly off, I guess? Or die? Or stop giving honey?”

“That sounds absolutely Pagan,” Mena replied finally.

He grinned. “Now I'm not proposing we dance around naked at the equinox or anything.”

“No reason to ruin a good time on my account,” Mena teased.

Chuckling, the Lieutenant squirmed again in the pew.

“Are you uncomfortable, Lieutenant?”

“No,” he lied.

She smiled. “They're not the friendliest seats, are they?”

“Ah, it's...churches make me a little nervous and I have to say this Catholic church is a little intimidating.”

“Is it the icons or the crucifix?”

“Well, Jesus dying on that cross doesn't give this place a...warm welcoming feel.”

“It's a stark reminder, but...I never cared much for him on the cross like that. I always thought we should remember Jesus as the man who fed the poor, healed the lepers, tolerated the downtrodden with grace and kindness. But then again, I'm just one nun with progressive ideas.”

“Is that why you're here? I recall you saying that this is where the diocese sent the troublemakers.”

Mena smiled. “I never thought of it like that, but perhaps. I know in my younger years I was very vocal about moving beyond the old ways of doing things in the church and mostly in the convent. I thought nuns were far, far removed from everything. I wanted us to get out into the world and be there for people who needed us. Homeless shelters, soup kitchens, they're wonderful, but we could be doing more. Building homes for the impoverished, protesting for civil liberties. Supporting a woman's body and woman's right to choose, it would prevent so much heartache and hardship, but...I'm not supposed to believe in things like abortion or birth control. The Catholic church doesn't believe in any of that, but...I mean a few years ago we didn't support homosexuality, but things were beginning to change and I thought we could push change. But...too many old men set in their ways in charge of too much, with too little desire to listen or even care.”

“I didn't know I was among Catholic rebels here,” the Lieutenant teased.

Mena smiled. “I suppose I was too worldly and I've seen too much to feel the way the church wanted me to. It was easier to shove me away, cloister me, cloister most of these nuns, here at a convent with little to no contact with the outside world, only going out to the farmer's market to sell goods to keep our lights on.”

“Mais,” the Lieutenant exhaled. “The world's gone to seed now, good time as any to forge a new one the way you want.”

“Do you want to know the most controversial idea I had before they sent me here?”

“What was it?”

“I thought priests and nuns should be allowed to marry.”

The Lieutenant faked a gasp. “Blasphemy!”

“As it was, I think – though they would never say it – I think priests and nuns believed that in order to be closer to God they had to rise above the people, but...isn't it logical to think that being closer to God is being among His creation? Experiencing it? All of it? Love and heartache and loss and birth?”

“I wouldn't know, I sort of gave up on God a while back. I think people should do what makes them happy as long as it doesn't hurt anyone else.”

“You're not what I'd imagine a military man would be. Especially a Lieutenant.”

He shrugged. “If you know what a military man looks like, I'd like to know. Wouldn't want to let people down at first sight.”

She laughed softly. “I guess...I was thinking the short, boxy haircut and maybe a ramrod straight spine.”

Reminded subtly to straighten his spine, the Lieutenant sat up in the pew and grinned. “Well, it's a start,” he replied at her look. “I suppose we're both bucking societal expectations of our roles. The progressive nun and the slouchy marine.”

“Hmm, I think I might say a quick prayer for Mr. Malone, then head to bed.”

“I thought he didn’t want you to,” the Lieutenant asked with a grin.

“I know,” she said firmly, the devil dancing in her eyes.

He nodded, releasing her hand. “I'll let you do that in peace then. I'm gonna hop on the wall before bed.”

“Do you think,” she stopped him at the aisle with her soft voice. “Do you think Mr. Malone will be okay out there alone?”

“The man survived this long in a fancy suit with a handgun and a small child, I think he knows what he's doing.”

She nodded. “That's good. I quite like him.”

The Lieutenant smirked. “Me too.”

“Goodnight, Lieutenant.”

“Goodnight, Missy.”