#i mean it lasts 3 days and comes outta nowhere and might not fit her original character | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

redhawtriot · 4 years

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Baby Boom (Bakugou x Reader)

Sooo... I think It’s the size of my tag list that was fucking this chapter up so much! Every time I have more than my previous chapter had, this chapter deletes itself from my page/drafts! I’ve contacted Tumblr about it, but don’t cross ur finger’s on that one lol. I am sorry if you weren't able to make the list!

(If you beta read for me you could read the chapters up to an entire day ahead of every else tho! If ur interested in that, just inbox me!)

HnM

Tip Jar ☕- Not expected but always appreciated💞

Month 1, Month 2 , Month 3,

--Month 4--

‘SLAM!’

The front door crashed shut like ammunition through cannon fire. The sharp bang clapped and echoed throughout the small, otherwise quiet living space, and soon, three roommates filed out of their respective rooms. One by one, they inched out to get a glimpse of the oncoming storm: Hurricane Katsuki.

Denki warily removed his gaming headpiece as Bakugou whipped past his bedroom door, “Oh hey, Bakugou! You sure disappeared outta nowhere. We coulda used the backup in squads! Where’d ya go, man!?”

The others listened carefully for the explosive blond’s answer, but got nothing short of an insult in return,

“None of your business, you damn idiots. GO DIE ALREADY!” and with that, Hurricane Katsuki simply slammed the door shut-- somehow even louder than before.

Kaminari, who had gotten the brunt of the explosion, was left wide eyed,

“Woah…”

Sero gave a low whistle as he shook his head at Bakugou’s shut door, “Looks like a wild Teenage Bakugou has entered the chat.”

Denki gave an abrupt, slightly uncomfortable chuckle at the remark, but soon gulped, giving his roommates a concerned gaze, “So… should we…” he trailed off.

Kirishima fervently nodded, stepping fully out into the hallway, “I’ll go check on him, guys.” He flexed before making his way to Bakugou’s room—a nervous habit he had picked up somewhere along the line to reassure himself before he dived headfirst into rough situations.

He looked back to his other two roommates one last time and threw a pleading glance as if to say “Wish me all of the luck” before giving a few slight knocks to the rage-secreting room, “Bakugou,” he called out, “You okay, buddy? I know that there is something up. There’s no point in hiding it…we can talk?”

No answer.

Kirishima gave a long sigh, “Well, when you finally want to talk about it, you know where to find me...”

The other roommates sighed as well before both retreating to their rooms and shutting their doors. Kiri turned to make his way back to his room as well, but only made it a few feet before Bakugou’s door sharply yanked open a few inches.

“Where are those other idiots?” Bakugou’s eyes were redder than their usual vermilion as he glared out from the cracked doorway. Kirishima gave a thick blink in surprise. Had he… had he been crying?

“They back in their rooms?” Bakugou said very lowly. His voice had an extra hint of raspiness weighing it down, Kirishima noticed.

“Y-Yeah.” Eijirou quickly replied, startled by the unseemly sight of his best friend, “They’re prolly back on the game by now.” Bakugou did not say another word as he threw his door open a few more inches and marched deeper into his room to stiffly throw himself on the edge of his bed. Kirishima cautiously followed him-- this was as good of an invitation as any in ‘Bakugou language.’

Bakugou sat, glaring seriously at the floor in front of him, as if it offended him, and his leg bounced nervously. The red head uncomfortably cleared his throat. ‘Holy shit, what the hell is going on…?’ Kirishima had never seen him do that before, “You.. uh.. you wanna talk about it, buddy?”

No answer.

Kirishima waited a few beats before releasing another sigh and shutting the door behind him so that he could make his way to the bed. He sat down next to his best friend and simply sat deep in the silence with him. The two waited for what seemed like hours before someone finally spoke up,

“I got a girl pregnant,” Bakugou said very flatly, still glaring at the floor and bouncing his leg.

Kirshima had to stifle the choke that erupted out of his throat as his own saliva sneaked into his larynx, “Ack! Achkaka!” His natural bodily functions were completely forgotten as his brain tried to compute the sudden and drastic information that was just thrown at him.

Bakugou?? Pregnant? He never thought he would hear the words in the same room, let alone the same sentence! The guy hardly ever did anything but work, work out and come home to play video games. He didn’t converse with people. He didn’t get girls pregnant. Girls didn’t even look at him!

In his coughing fit, Kirishima’s speech was also forgone, “I-I- uh.. man that.. wow I…” he tripped and tumbled over his words. He was dreaming. He had to be. Well, either that or he had wandered into some strange episode of the Twilight Zone or something.

Bakugou’s glare at the floor intensified, “I thought she might not be so bad… but I didn’t want to be with her like this,” Kirishima’s eyes widened at the underlying tone of hurt buried under his friend's words, and then they widened even further once he realized what he just said.

Had Bakugou fallen for someone for the first time?? And then his eyes widened the furthest as things finally began to click within his confused mind.

He sucked into a sharp gasp, “You mean that model!?”

Bakugou simply scoffed, finally relieving his glare form the ground and focusing his hot gaze on Kirishima, “Yeah, turns out she’s actually a fucking bitch.”

Kirishima’s jaw dropped, “BAKUGOU! That’s the mother of your child! You shouldn’t—”

“She didn’t remember the night at all. I was just another fuck toy for her,” Bakugou stood up and clenched his fists over and over again as if they itched to be slammed against something—tears welling up in his red-hot eyes, “Now tell me if the roles were reversed, how shitty it’d be then, huh?” Kirishima immediately shut his mouth from speaking up anymore as he allowed his friend to release his feelings. It wasn’t often that Bakugou built up enough to let things out this way.

Bakugou scoffed again as he began pacing the room, but Kirishima swore that it had the hint of a cry layered within it somewhere, “they might not even be mine since she likes that ‘fuck toy shit’ so much. That night meant nothing to her…” he threw his arm against the wall, effectively tearing a hole into it

Kirishima jumped a bit from the action as his mind briefly wandered to the security deposit on their lease. He pushed these thoughts away as Bakugou stiffly returned to the bed, his leg bouncing even more fervently than before.

Kirishima simply watched for a moment to allow his friend to simmer down before he spoke up very softly, “But you think it is yours though…”

Bakugou’s eyes snapped up to Kirishima’s, whose eyebrows were furrowed deeply into each other as he stared back.

In all his years of knowing Katsuki Bakugou, Kirishima would have never described his best friend with anything even resembling ‘gullible.’ His gut feeling and instinct were as sharp as ever and hardly ever wrong,

“Must be for a reason then…” he tried to look past the tears that filled up within his best friends eyes but they still left his heart feeling a little heavier than usual, “If you think it’s yours then I’ll have your back no matter what buddy. You’re not alone in this.”

“They.”

“What…” Kirishima eyebrows folded toward the center of his expression.

“She’s having fucking twins.”

“Holy Sh…” Kirishima quickly swallowed his words as he took in the forlorn expression plastered onto his friend’s face. There was no room for him to be shocked right now. He had to be Bakuous ‘rock’ so to speak, “I-I mean congratulations!”

Meanwhile you found yourself studying the woman in the reflection of your mirror. Your eyes trailed every detail of her swollen, red eyes. Then to her hair that was fuller than you had remembered—the beauty of bottled color maybe? You danced over the way that loose strands stuck to the slimy mess of tears and mucosa that had accumulated on your cheeks.

Nasty.

A sharp chuckle came out of you, spittle following not too shortly after, but as it reached your ears it resembled more of a cry.

Okay, that’s enough self loathing for one lifetime.

And with that, you moved away from the mirror; however, as you did so, your sight basically smacked the open cabinet of liquor bottles that you were eyeing earlier.

Okay…. Maybe not quite enough self loathing. Your mouth began watering at the delectable sight. It was a desert after a delicious four course meal. There was always room for more…

With a shake of your head, you brought your hand up to smack these thoughts out of your mind. What was wrong with you? You had been a lot of things in life, but were you really so low to bring yourself to effectively murdering your own children?

That’s what would happen if you drank, right?

You loudly groaned as more tears slipped from your eyes. You really didn’t know shit when it came to this pregnancy thing.

Your mind briefly wondered to Baby Notes Vol 1. You should probably take the time to actually read through it a little. Skimming it wouldn’t kill you.

Physically.

The sudden pounding at your door snapped you almost immediately out of your thoughts.

“Y/N?? Y/N, it’s me!”

With a final pathetic sigh you found yourself gathering up all the alcohol from the cabinets that you could into your arms and placing them in the bathtub before jotting over to the door.

As soon as you opened it Deku barged in and gripped you softly, “I came as soon as you called! What’s up, what's wrong?! Are you okay??” His eyes frantically danced around your wet eyes and red sockets before he allowed them to roam all over you, checking for injury.

He wouldn’t ever think that Kacchan was the type of guy to put his hands on you, especially with how much he’s grown since high school, but the nagging voice in the back of Izuku’s mind fervently reminded him of all of the bruises and burns and numberless emotional scars he accumulated with he was quirkless from his childhood friend.

And here was a woman he deeply cared about-- quirkless—having to spend time alone with said childhood friend.

“What’s wrong??” Izuku found himself repeating as his hands mindlessly wiped the fluid from your cheeks. As soon as he committed the action, however, his face ran completely red and he quickly released you from his grip, so that he could get a grip of himself.

You didn’t notice his slip up, and if you did you sure as hell didn’t care at the moment. There were more pressing matters at hand. Two to be exact, “Twins,” you simply said to him as tears began flowing down your cheeks more furiously.

“Huh? Oh… Oh.” Izuku’s eyes went wide as your words sunk in. As soon as he threw you an obviously apologetic glance you threw yourself into his chest and sobbed throwing him a bit off guard as he barely caught you in his arms.

Izuku’s eyes nervously roamed around your home as if he were searching for the right thing to say to you, but as he made contact with an open pantry in your kitchen, his jaw dropped-- your alcohol pantry.

It was far less full than it had been the last time that he visited, “Y/N… What’s with the… have you been drinking?” he pulled you away from his chest and looked seriously into your eyes.

The sight honestly kind of scared you a little—like a 15-year-old being caught with their first beer-- that is, until you remembered that you were innocent as fuck, “No,” you gave a slight chuckle through your tears at the sudden surge of intimidation, “I need your help getting rid of it.”

You walked away from Izuku for a moment, leaving him confused and a bit wary of where this was going, until you returned with a hammer—leaving him even more concerned,

You were aiming for bad ass Harley Quinn vibes, but you were sure that with a dried trail of tears on your cheeks and the force smile splitting your face you came across like more of a psycho ass Harley Quinn. Furthermore, the look on Deku’s face screamed that you were correct (also it screamed ‘GET THIS GIRL IN A STRAIGHT JACKET!’).

“What are you gonna do with THAT?” Izuku squealed.

“I need to get my favorite bottles out of the house. Stat. and you're gonna help me.” At your words, Deku gave a gigantic sigh of relief, but still kept his eyes glued on the hammer in your hands. You noticed and shrugged a bit, “Smashing things is also really cathartic. I am sure you of all people can agree with that.”

“Heh… Yeah. But are you sure this is okay? I mean, I don't want to raise your blood pressure or anything because--”

“Deku. Less talk, more smash,” you threw a towel in your tub to make clean up a little easier, and so you didn't knock a chunk of tile on your bathtub. You gave Deku one last glance. He was still looking very uncertain, but you threw him a short smile before bringing the hammer down onto a bottle of tequila. The bottle instantly shattered, sending bits of glass throughout your tub. You looked up to give Deku an excited glance, and surprisingly, he returned one right back.

“See? Not so bad!”

But you spoke too soon as the scent kicked you in the fucking nose. It was too far to turn back now. You choked down your nausea and handed Deku the Hammer, “You go ahead and get started. I’ll go get another weapon-- I mean… tool,” you corrected yourself after he sent you a terrified stare.

As you made your way back to the after grabbing your second weapon-- I mean tool a sudden thought crossed your mind. Without hesitation, you pulled your phone out and dialed in,

“Hello?”

“Yes. How may I help you today?” Dr. Yamakawa sounded from the other line.

“It’s Y/N…Y/N L/N…” you trailed off, hoping that you wouldn't have to say the ‘p word’ or anything relating to it.

His old ass better take the hint. To your dismay, his old ass did not take the hint, and a long pause of awkward silence filled the air.

You pursed your lips together in annoyance, “Mama Bakugou,” you clarified through gritted teeth, still dancing around the fact that you were a maternity patient of his.

“Ohhhhh!” He exclaimed, causing your face to fall into an expression of disappointment as he continued, “What can I do for you, Mama Bakugou?!”

This mf. You internally ground and fought the urge to facepalm, “Well. I need you to write a doctors note for me.”

“For…?”

“Work?”

“For your pregnancy? Dear, why don’t you just take maternity leave for that?”

“No.” In the moment you shook your head even knowing that he couldn't see you, “I need a few weeks more before I can tell my job about this… situation. I’m a model. They own me through a contract and I didn't exactly add two roommates to the lease on my body...”

There was a pause on the other line, causing your heart to lurch a bit, but things soon went back to normal when he finally spoke up, “I’ll see what I can do. I’ll email you something.”

You gave one final thanks (and an internal ‘yessss’) before making your way back to the bathroom, “Hey Deku, sorry it took me so long I was just--” you froze at the sight in front of you. The shirt that Izuku wore was completely drenched in liquid and your tub had a gigantic hole on the side.

Your lips fumbled over themselves as you gawked at the spectacle. Deku could only send you a nervous laugh,

“Uh, hahaaa… Can we be done now? This… this burns,” he rapidly blinked the liquid from his eyes as he glances back down to the lot of broken bottles in your tub before throwing your one more pleading glance.

You choked down a laugh, causing it to flee from you in the form of a snort, “Someone had some pent up aggression, huh?”

In response, his face delved into a deep shade of red, “I.. uh..” he had no idea how to answer you when you looked at him like that-- your lips curved into a stunning smirk of a smile. Izuku promptly cleared his throat, “C-can I take a shower?”

“Obviously not that one-- you're totally fixing that by the way Mr. Big Shot Hero,” with a laugh you swiftly made your way to him and carefully grabbed the hammer from his grasp, looking up to see his face dive even deeper into crismon. You flashed a smile at the display. He really was adorable as hell.

You took in his face bit by bit-- his soft, blushed skin, his freckles cheeks, his round eyes. As you digested his expression you swore you could see an entire forest within his stare. Suddenly your heart pinged.

“Uh, Y/N,” Izuku interrupted your thoughts, causing your heart to throb for a different reason as you suddenly realized the proximity of the two of you. You stepped back so fast that your head spun. At least, you hoped that was why your head was spinning,

“You can use my shower.” you said very abruptly as you turned away from him,gesturing him to follow you to your bedroom.

Your bedroom. Your hear throbbed once more. Deep down, you hoped that you were about to have a heart attack or something; however, something within you told you that that probably was not the case. You swallowed hard.

What the fuck was happening?

‘KNOCK kNOCK KNOCK’

The next morning you found yourself stirring awake to a loud succession of banging. Your eyes fluttered open for a moment only before they snapped back shut. The magnet drawing them together and you closer to sleep was much stronger than whatever noise was trying to wake you up, “Mhmfmfm…” you muttered as you rolled over on the couch and pulled the blanket over your head.

Izuku, however, was not one to ignore such an obvious noise and he found himself trudging off of the other sofa he slept on to answer whoever was banging on the door.

‘KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!’

“Coming!” the green haired man tiredly called out as he launched himself toward the front door and swung it open.

The astounded face on the other side of the entrance soon mirrored his own.

“Kacchan!” Izuku exclaimed.

Bakugou’s shocked expression very quickly contorted into one of pure rage, “What the hell is going on here?!” He screamed causing you to jolt awake as you threw the blanket over your head. You found yourself fumbling up as Bakugou continued to scream pointed to Deku, “The fuck is he here for??”

You made your way over to the two men- one seemingly terrified, and the other obviously enraged. As your head began lifting from the daze of sleep, you crossed your arms and glared at Bakugou, “He spent the night helping me with something,” you shook your head, trying to free yourself from the oncoming headache, “Hey, better question: why are you here?”

Bakugou seemed to swallow his own tongue as his jaw clenched shut, “I wanted to… uh…” he glared at the ground as he tried to find his next words. Shit. why was this so fucking hard? He should have never listened to that Shitty Hair and come over here. Bakugou scoffed to himself before redirecting his stern gaze back toward you, “Come with me.”

You could only blink.

What kind of caveman talk…You tilted your head as you fleetingly threw a confused glance toward Deku, who only shrugged in response.

Bakugou quickly grew tired of yours and Dekus silent conversation, “You wanna hang out or not??” he growled before throwing another heated finger toward Deku, “And he can’t come.”

“I was just heading out anyways. It’s no big deal really!” Izuku defensively threw his hands up as if to show Bakugou that he was no threat at all. He went to gather a few of his belongings from the sofa he slept on before throwing Bakugou one more gaze-- this one a lot more astute.

A majority of Midoriya’s mind told him that there was nothing to worry about at all, but there was still a small section of him that couldn't shake the memories of how Bakugou treated him as a quirkless child. Izuku knew that he would never hurt you! But… just in case…

“You take care of her Kacchan,” the tone came off pleadingly but the look in his eyes was a bit stern. You had never seen this portion of Deku before and it almost instantly caused your chest to thud, harshly reminding you of last night’s sensations. Shit.

“Don't tell me what the fuck to do, Deku. Those are my kids in there. Not yours. You just remember that,” Bakugou scoffed, causing Izuku’s expression to falter ever so slightly before he fixed it again.

Your jaw dropped at the sheer bluntness of his statement, “Kacchan, what the f--”

“I guess you’re right, Kacchan,” Izuku began, “Sorry if I crossed a boundary,” he smiled at Bakugou-- who only huffed in return-- and quickly turned to you, making the tightness in your chest worse, “Bye, Y/N!” Izuku smiled, almost too innocently, considering the raging war in your gut at the moment.

You smiled back-- a feeble attempt at masking the inner turmoil ravaging your insides. “Peace, bb,” you gave him a weak hug before gesturing him out of your home. You threw him one final smile before shutting the door. You instantly whipped your head back around the the blonde brat behind you, “What. The. Fuck!?”

“I already told you. I want to hang out.”

“Are you fucking allergic to texting or some shit??” you yelled, “You just waltz in like you own the damn place and demand me to ‘Ohhh ahhh wo-man! come with me, wo-man’,” you renacthed his prehistoric behavior.

Bakugou felt his muscles tighten in response to your taunting. Your loud nature, mixed with the confrontational behavior was reminding him way too much of his own mother. He swore on his life that he would never end up with a woman like her and yet, here he was standing in front of her fucking carbon copy. The thought made him sick as he groaned in frustration,

“Shitty hair was fucking wrong!” Bakugou spat, causing your eyebrows to furrow in confusion as he continued, “The last thing I want to do is hang out with a bitching hag like you!!”

Your jaw dropped, “Excuse me??” You have heard pretty much every other insult in the book hurdled at you, but ‘hag’ was never one of them. You laughed, “I wasn’t a hag when you fucked me all night, huh?!”

“Yeah? I don't know what was wrong with me then. You are way different when I am not pumped full of alcohol, apparently.”

Your laughter immediately ceased, “Whatever. you came up to me and confessed your love like a raging SIMP, and now all of a sudden I’m a bitch?

“Fuck! Well, I got to know you past a pretty, stupid, fucking face!”

You blinked in shock. The unfamiliar feeling of your heart sinking into the pit of your stomach overwhelmed you as hurt surrounded your face. Practically your entire life, being beautiful has been a mask of sorts for your overwhelming failures. Still, here this man was-- practically a stranger-- seeing past your facade, looking directly into the steaming pile of shit that you truly were. Your eyes suddenly became warm as tears filled them,

“Then why the fuck are you even here, asshole?? TO PISS ME OFF?” you shouted, throwing your hands by your side and clenching them so tightly that your nails dug into your skin.

“BECAUSE I WANTED TO KNOW ALL OF YOU!” he screamed back. The shocking words fled out from under his harsh tone and stunned you as your brain processed them. You felt your fist unfurl a bit as he continued, “I wanted to know you. Good and bad. Bitchy and not. You're carrying my children… I want to know them,” he finished, almost defeated. This tell of emotion was obviously the last thing he wanted to be doing, you could tell.

Still, it meant a lot for some reason that he felt that he could do this with you “Oh,” you breath out, unable to articulate much else.

“Oh?!” he angrily repeated. Bakugou felt his face shrivel in disgust. He just poured out his being to you once more for you to trample on it like a fucking gymnast mat. However, as Bakugou formed his mouth to say something else, you halted him,

“Go… have a seat,” you gestured to the couch, blinking the accumulating liquid in your eyes away. The blond could only shoot a lone eyebrow up in response, causing you to sigh in exasperation, “Well, Are you just gonna stand there looking like that, or what?” he gave you one final scoff before making his way to one of your couches and seating himself comfortably, propping one of his feet on your coffee table as he glared at the non functioning television.

“Welcome, I guess. I am sure you’ll have no issue making yourself comfortable,” you deadpanned, eyeing his propped up legs, “I’ll go make us some… tea?” you suggested , but no answer came from him, “Tea it is.”

You rolled your eyes before trudging away. You always loved green tea, but for some reason the smell had been killing you lately, so you opted for peppermint tea instead. It was inferior by, far, but it matched the inferior, pathetic life that you had adopted recently.

Jeez. How much self deprecation can you fit into one week? Would this have any effect on the babies? If so, they’d probably come out singing RnB or some shit in the maternity ward. They’d have already stressed dyed hair and an entire Tumblr dedicated to sad aesthetics before they reached their first birthday, for god's sake.

You vehemently shook your head to once again get rid of the oncoming headache that snuck in with these disgusting thoughts, “So Kacchan!” you called out as you walked back to the living room, “What do you wanna know?”

“Don’t call me that,” he simply barked.

“What?”

“Don’t call me that name. I fucking hate it.”

You snorted and took a seat next to his glaring figure. You tried not to notice how he shifted further away from you as you sat down, “I am sure Deku disliked being called worthless his whole life too,” you smirked up at him, “I bet he fucking hated it.”

The atmosphere seemed to once more shift into a much heavier tone after your statement and the room fell quiet for a few beats. Bakugou’s small glare morphed into a much more forced one. It was as if he was trying to use the glare to hide another feeling, you noticed.

Finally, he spoke, “How much do you know.”

You tilted your head into another shrug, “Enough to know that you probably hate the fact that I am quirkless.”

His face contorted into one of pure disgust as the glareful mask he wore faded away like yesterday’s lunch. “I don’t give a fuck,” he argued, but the look you sent him showed no sign of believing it. Bakugou’s disgust deepened, but he made sure to control it enough to where you didn't know that it was directed towards himself.

“Oh really? Let’s see if you can keep that same energy when one of your kids pops out without that flashy quirk of yours,” Of course his face fell, just as you suspected it would. Just like it had for multiple other men you had told.

Most men’s pride utterly shrivels into dust as soon as the pretty girl in front of them-- the one that they fantasize about having a dream life with-- ends up telling them that they are quirkless. As soon as the words fall out of your mouth, the men's dreamy gaze effectively shatters alongside their hopes and dreams concerning you.

Nobody wants to pass weakness onto their children.

“You know what? I think I’ll go first,” you snapped him out of the uncomfortable, uncharacteristic silence, and he gave you an irritated, questioning glance, “You wanted to play 20 questions with me, or whatever. No limitations, okay? And I have the first question for you,” you explained before sending him a challenging gaze, “How could someone so full of hate truly aspire to be a hero?”

You expected him to blow up at you-- to scream, and yell and argue that you were wrong.

Yet.

The slightly apologetic, yet stern look on his face threw you for an absolute loop, “I wanted to win.” he simply answered. Somehow his matter of a factness was worse for you than any furious defensive scenario you had conjured in your mind, but as you went to open your mouth with a roll of your eyes, he halted you,

“That was when I was younger, “ he sharply clarified, “I wanted to win more than anything. To be better than everyone else—and that hasn’t changed but there's more to it now. I have to protect the people I care about—like my idiot roommates—I want to make sure we all come home safe by the end of the night.”

Once again he had thrown you off with a surprisingly normal non-caveman response, “That was actually…”

“My turn,” Bakugou abruptly cut you off, “How many men the you fuck this past few months?”

Your jaw dropped.

And back to Neanderthal you mother fucking guess! “Are you fucking kiddin—”

“You said no limitations,” he gruffly stated.

You bit your tongue and shot him a glare that could match his own before giving a sharp sigh, “Four during the last year. You were the last and the only one during the month I… conceived,” you swallowed as the word left a bitter taste in your mouth, “My turn. What about you?”

“What.”

“How many women the past year?”

“Why the hell does it matter?” Bakugou argued. Your eyes shot down to his body as it shifted around even further from you. From his body language you could tell that his answer was sure to be outrageously high.

He was an extremely attractive guy after all. Those rippling arms were nothing to fuck around with. His red hot eyes could melt steel beams with a passing glance. The chisel of his permanently hardened expression could slice through even the most secured of panties.

Yes. and there was no denying that he was a sex god in his own right.

It also didn't help that his temperament sucked, so you doubted he had had many long term relationships. He had all of the ingredients of a man whore stirring within him.

“I’m just curious,” you shrugged.

Bakugou threw his glare away from you for a moment as he contemplated on whether or not to answer your stupid question. He had his own questions to ask you still so he guessed that he didn't really have a choice if he wanted his answers,“...One.”

Your jaw dropped, “Seriously?” as his face fell into a furious shade of red you were smacked with a sudden realization,

“Kacchan, did you... lose your virginity to m...?” He glared even further away from you, but you could still see his ears falling even deeper into red-- effectively giving you your answer, “Oh my…” he trailed off. No wonder he was so fucking head over heels for you! Through your discomfort a horribly timed joke flew past your lips,

“You knocked her up on the first try huh? You’ve got some super swimmers,” you half laughed, but Bakugou obviously didn't find anything funny about it as he snarled angrily as you,

“Shut up!” he barked, throwing a pillow at you, “My turn. What’s up with you and that shitty Deku?”

The pillow hit you, but it was really his question that had smacked you in the face. Your chest thudded, and you prayed to whoever was listening that he couldn't see the racing of your heart, “He’s just a friend! A really good friend to me. Probably my first actual friend ever,” you said this as a joke, but obviously forgot who you were talking to.

“You didn’t make any in high school?” Bakugou’s face twisted up disbelievingly.

“Never went. Couldn’t afford the tuition...” now it was you who was uncomfortably shifting from him.

“Your parents didn’t help you out?”

“Slow down there, buckaroo,” you laughed, but his face remained as stern as ever as you continued, “That’s like three questions In a row for you. My turn.”

Luckily he caught the hint and didn't press upon the subject any further.

Through the night, you found out a lot of things about him. He was actually younger than you by a few years at twenty years old. His parents were both fashion designers (probably the biggest fucking shock to you considering his choice of black shirts and flannels) and that he was working on making his own hero agency since he had already climbed up the ranks in Japan.

Your game, however, was cut short by the growling of your stomach.

Bakugou almost immediately stood up, surprising you as he walked to your kitchen. Well, you did say ‘make yourself at home’ but this was a little upfront wasn't it? He soon yelled to you from the kitchen as you sat in shock still, “What do you have to eat in this shit hole?!”

Shit hole? You glance around at the decorations and clean atmosphere that you pride yourself on. That jerk. Your house was not a shit hole! “You can eat shit if you want. I’m not hungry.”

“The hell are you talking about? I just heard your stomach growling.”

You shrugged, “Just indigestion. I get a lot of stomach issues with these things inside of me,” the sudden clanging of pots and pan in your kitchen startled you, “What the hell are you doing??” you called out before marching to your kitchen.

You found him rummaging through your cabinets, stopping momentarily to judgmentally eye your still plentiful liquor cabinet for a moment before moving on, “You can starve yourself all you fucking want, but you're not fucking starving my kids.”

Your breath hitched in your throat at his accusation, “I’m not starving.”

“You think I’m fucking blind?”

“I have to stay in shape for work. Just like you I am sure,” you walked up to him and grabbed a bicep for demonstration, but he quickly threw your hand away from him as his face fell into a bout of shock. He quickly regained himself,

“Whatever,” he grunted before swinging open your refrigerator.

“What are y—Hey!” you yelped as he began haphazardly throwing food onto one of your counters.

“Is all you have in here rabbit food? Jesus fucking Christ,” he ignored your cries and began throwing certain items together and heating up a pot of water.

You couldn't help but blink at the display. He seemed pretty natural in the kitchen and that in itself was unnatural considering his caveman persona, “You... cook?” you felt uneasy.

“You don’t?”

Honestly, your diet consisted of salads and ramen since you were 15, so cooking wasn't a necessity. You reluctantly shook your head at him.

He looked completely disappointed and disgusted with you but, hey, what else is new? Bakugou scoffed, “Well you’re gonna have to learn how now. Pay attention.”

You rolled your eyes at him. If you wanted fucking Gordon Ramsey bitching you around in the kitchen you would have clicked on that stupid ad that always popped up on your Youtube. Then again, Bakugou was more of a Guy Fieri with that spiky hair of his.

Whatever.

You guessed learning how to cook one meal wouldn't be too terrible,

“What are you stirring the water for if you didn’t put anything in it yet?”

“It helps it heat up faster, idiot.”

“Do you actually throw the noodles on the wall to see if they’re finished?”

Bakugou threw you a frown, “If you’re a fucking dumbass,” he said, moving you aside as he began stirring a saucer filled with vegetables. He completely disregarded your yelp as he moved you as a parade of thoughts bombarded his mind.

He would have to come over more and keep you and his kids fed if you truly didn’t know how to cook. He scoffed and his stirring hand more slightly more erratically with frustration. What kind of grown woman didn't know how to cook pasta?

His thoughts were halted by a loud squelch that sounded through the air. He immediately threw his gaze up to the wall in front of his face and his expression fell at the sight. He growled, snapping his gaze back toward you by the pot of pasta, “WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?!” his furious glare danced between you and the wet noodle that stuck to the wall.

“I wanted to see if it would actually stick! Don’t get your balls in a twist, it was one noodle!”

“So damn wasteful,” Bakugou ground his teeth as he frustratedly scrapped the starchy pasta off of your wall. He opened his mouth to tell you just this, but immediately snapped it back shut as he felt something being thrown at his head, “that better not be what I think it is…” he snarled through his teeth as he eyed food dangling from one of the spines of his hair.

“Don’t worry, Kacchan. It’s not a worm,” you laughed, but your giddiness was soon cut off as a hot noodle was thrown back in your direction. You could only blink as it stuck itself on your nose.

“Hmph,” the corners of Bakugou’s lips slowly curled into a smirk, “It’s a good look on you, noodle face,” You laughed but once again was cut off. The brief sound of his laugh coinciding with your own shocked you.

His smile slowly died down as he caught wind of you gawking at him. He cleared his throat, “Are you done being a child? I’m ready to enjoy my good ass cooking.”

However, you didn't answer him as you once again found a smile creeping onto your face. He rolled his eyes and began making himself a plate of food, but he quickly grew tired of you smiling at him like some bimbo,

“What?!” He snapped, “You want another noodle to the face.”

You shook your head as you shuffled past him to serve yourself a plate, “No.. just you have a nice laugh.”

He scoffed, “That all you're eating?” he completely disregarded your comment but you decided to let it die too,

“I don’t see you with any food on your plate,” you shrugged, “I’d be more worried about yourself if I were you,” you winked at him before setting down at the table.

The night went pretty well after that. So well, in fact, that the two of you decided to have “parental meetings” every few days so that Bakugou could teach you how to cook. You ended up learning how to make 10 more dishes within the next three weeks.

Bakugou and you didn't exactly become close, but there were far less screaming matches than there had been in your first few meetings. You still didn't know him very well, but he wasn't necessarily a stranger anymore.

It was… nice.

The next check up came very quickly because of your lack of employment and your dates-- err um… “parental meetings” with Bakugou.

“Your twins should be about the size of avocados now! We’ll check again with a routine ultrasound. We do have the DNA tests in for you all so I’ll just go and run for those real quick.. well walk briskly. You don’t do an awful lot of running at my age.”

“I don’t do an awful lot of running now,” you joked, and Bakugou sent you a stern glare that screamed, ‘don’t encourage him.’ you shrugged as the doctor walked out of the room.

It was silent for what seemed like forever. You and Bakugou still weren't very good at sparking conversations, but eventually he spoke up as you laid back on the exam table, “You're really fucking showing now.”

You brows instantly came together, high fiving each other in your state of being roasted, “Thanks...” you deadpanned.

The look on your face sent a wave of hurt through the blond’s heart.

What the hell. It was like he felt your hurt. For the first time in a long time, Bakugou actually regretted his choice of words. He glared at the ground as he attempted to change the subject, “You’ve been eating, right?”

“How else Would I be sitting here, looking fat and talking to you, Kacchan.”

“I told you don’t call me that,” he paused, as if he were really considering his next statement, “Call me Katsuki,” he finally dragged out.

You rolled your eyes, “Okay, Kacchan.”

Just as Bakugou open his mouth the no doubt scream at you, Dr. Yamakawa entered the room,

“Mama Bakugou! We have some really good news. Everything seems fine with the twins according to the DNA testing. One is a little small right now, but it’s completely normal for there to be a dominant twin so to speak. No genetic abnormalities or health concerns,” you saw Bakgou visibly stiffen at this before relaxing as the doctor continued, “’Cept for you.”

You shook your head, blinking heavily as if you’d just been punched in the brow, “Me?”

“You do have a concerning BMI—you tend to lean a little towards underweight. I understand you are in the profession of modeling correct,” he said very, curtly, “You need to add more calories to your daily intake. You wont need to ‘eat for three” as they say, but you do need to put on some substantial pounds or you will risk a premature birth..”

You had no fucking idea what to say to that. ‘Nice?’ ‘Cool beans.’ ‘fucking just give me the mother of the year award already!’ You felt your chest tighten and suddenly you realized you hadn't been breathing. You sucked in abruptly, causing the doctor to take a step towards you,

“You're looking a little flushed there, Mama Bakugou.”

“Well how else is she supposed to respond when you tell her like that, old man?!” Bakugou snapped, causing both you and the doctor to gawk at him.

“Kacchan! What the fuck don’t talk to him like that, jerk!”

Bakugou scoffed, throwing his glare, much more pouty this time-- to the jar of cotton balls on the counter of the office.

“It wouldn't help either of you to sugar coat this, son,” the doctor sighed, “You have made it this far along in her pregnancy. Miscarriage is substantially less likely but if you want to give these babies a better chance, I’d suggest higher caloric intake.”

Needless to say, Bakugou did not leave the doctor's office that day a very pleasant man. He would angrily stalk ahead of you a for a few moments before pausing and grumbling about how ‘fucking slow’ you were as you caught up before the cycle would start all over again. You could only take this for so long, however,

“What!?” you yelled suddenly as the grumbling phase of his cycle began once more, “Will you stop fucking brooding already and speak your mind—”

He instantly snapped his face towards your own to stare into your eyes. You fumbled back a bit as the intense vermilion bore into you. You opened your mouth to speak but his serious expression exclaimed something before yours could,

“I wanna move in with you.”

You paused. You couldn't have fucking heard that right.

He… wants to...

“What…?” you mouthed.

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queen-of-deans-booty · 4 years

Text

Hammer of the Gods: Final Part

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 1,531

Warnings: typical supernatural violence, language, angst, blood, you know the usual

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. Any and all comments on these are appreciated. I really want to hear what you guys think about this one!

Feedback is the glue that holds my writing together.

Tags at the bottom

“Show's over,” you say when you enter the ballroom. “Sword's a fake, and Gabriel’s still kicking. I hate to break it to you, sister, but you've been tricked.”

Kali doesn’t say anything, but she has a hopeful look in her eyes. She still has feelings for Gabriel, that much you can see.

“What now?” Sam asks.

“Now, all we have to do is—”

The lights flicker in the Grand Ballroom, and you cut yourself off and look at the lights.

“What's happening?” Baldur asks.

“It’s him,” Sam nods.

“How do you know?” Kali wonders.

“Does it matter? Shazzam us outta here, would ya?” Dean says.

“We can’t,” Baldur sighs.

“Of course you can't,” Lucifer says from the double doors. He doesn’t look the same since you last saw him. Whatever his vessel is doing to him, it’s not good. There are red sores all over his face as if his vessel is breaking down. It’s like whoever he’s possessing isn’t fit to handle such a powerful creature. “You didn't say, ‘mother, may I?’. Sam, Dean, Y/N, good to see you again.”

“Baldur, don't,” Kali says when she sees her partner size up Lucifer.

“You think you own the planet? What gives you the right?” he sasses.

He stalks towards Lucifer to confront him, but the archangel just shoves his bare hand through his chest and out the other side.

“No one gives us the right, we take it,” he says and rips his hand out, killing the Norse God instantly.

Lucifer tosses Baldur to the side like he’s nothing, and that pisses Kali off. Both of her arms erupt in flames, and you and the brothers do the smart thing and hide behind an overturned table for cover. This is a fight for the grownups, and it’s best if you stay out of the way. She throws flame after flame at Lucifer, but no matter how much fire gets on the archangel, it doesn’t damage his vessel any more than it already is.

She stalks to him angrily, but before she can get in another shot, he hits her with an uppercut to the chin, sending her flying through the air.

“You okay?” Sam whispers to you and his brother.

“Not really. Better late then never, huh?” Gabriel answers from besides you. Where the hell did he come from? Did he finally come to his senses and join the fight against his brother? He takes out a DVD from his jacket and shoves it into your chest gently. “Guard this with your life.”

“Okay,” you whisper.

You use your magic to conceal the DVD before shoving it in your jacket.

He doesn’t explain what it is, and he gets up to deal with his older brother. He shoves his hand out and sends Lucifer flying through the double doors and into the hallway. Gabriel has his archangel blade in his hand with determination. Well, you think it’s an archangel blade. You’re not really sure anymore.

“Lucy, I'm home,” he chuckles. Lucifer stomps over to him, but Gabriel raises the blade higher, which stops the other angel in his tracks. “Not this time.” He reaches behind him and helps Kali to her feet. Now that you know it’s safe, you and the Winchesters reveal yourself. “Guys! Get her outta here!”

Deciding not to question him, Sam and Dean take Kali and guide her to the doors so she can escape the hotel. You’re not that far behind, and you refuse to back down from Lucifer’s hard gaze.

“Over a girl. Gabriel, really? I mean I knew you were slumming, but I hope you didn't catch anything,” Lucifer says right as you leave.

You’re not staying for the rest of that conversation. There is no more trouble for you as you leave the hotel, and you three rush to the car with Kali trailing behind.

“I'm not getting in that thing.”

“Just get in the car, princess,” Dean rolls his eyes.

You open the door for her, and once she’s inside, you squeeze in next to her. The brothers get in, and Dean wastes no time leaving the hotel grounds. Kali has the vials containing your blood, so as long as you’re with her, you can leave. Once she destroys them, you’re free from her spell.

ALL PERFORMERS IN THIS FILM ARE OVER THE AGE OF 18, HAVE CONSENTED TO BEING PHOTOGRAPHED, AND HAVE PROVIDED PROOF OF AGE. 18 U.S.C. SECTION 2257

Whatever film Gabriel gave you, you thought watching it was a good idea. He hasn’t come back from his little play date with his brother, so you figured something bad might have happened to him. It’s the next day, and you’re watching the DVD with the brothers on Sam’s laptop in the middle of nowhere.

“Dear Diary, being a high-powered business president is super-fun. But so exhausting. Sometimes, I just need to relax. I need Casa Erotica,” a female says sexily.

Is this really a porn video? There is a knock on the door, and the woman dressed in very little clothing gets off the bed excitedly.

“Room Service!” a man says from behind the door.

Wait, you know that voice…

“Come in!” the woman says with a smile.

“Gabriel wanted you to guard this with your life?” Sam asks you.

“Hey, don’t look at me. I figured it was worth something. Now, I’m not so sure,” you shudder and continue to watch the DVD.

The door to the hotel room opens, and Gabriel walks in wearing a mustache and a service waiter’s outfit.

“I've got the kielbasa you ordered,” he says to the woman.

“Ooh, Polish?”

“Hunagrian,” he smirks and throws the dish on the mantle.

The screen goes black, and all you hear is the sound of Gabriel kissing the woman.

“Okay, if this continues, I’m burning your laptop,” you groan.

“I might let you,” Sam clears his throat.

The screen goes from being black to showing Gabriel and the woman making out on the bed. He’s feeling her up and down sensually, and the woman is moaning.

“What the fuck is going on?” you demand to know.

Gabriel stops kissing the woman, turns to face the camera, takes off his mustache, and breaks the fourth wall of the film.

“Sam, Dean, Y/N. You're probably wondering what the hell is going on. Well, if you're watching this, I'm dead. Oh please! Stop sobbing, it's embarrassing for all of us. Without me, you've got zero shot at killing Lucifer. Sorry, but you can trap him.

“The cage you sprung Lucifer from? It's still down there. Maybe, just maybe, you can shove his ass back in. Not that it'll be easy. You gotta get the cage open and trick my bro back into it. And uh, oh yeah, avoid Michael and the God Squad. But hey, details, right?

“Wait for it, here's the big secret that Lucifer himself doesn't even know—the key to the cage? It's out there. Actually it's keys, plural. Four keys, well, four rings from the Horsemen. You get 'em all, you got the cage. Can't say I'm betting on you boys and Y/N. But, uh, hey! I've been wrong before. And Y/N, you were right. I was afraid to stand up to my brother, but not anymore. So this is me, standing up.”

Gabriel stands off the bed only to lay back down, but on top of the woman.

“And this is me lying down.”

He grabs the woman and starts the process of getting down and dirty. This is proving to be too much for you to see, so you slam Sam’s laptop down with force and shudder.

“That is something I don’t need to see,” you shrug.

“Horsemen, huh? Well we got War's, and we nicked Famine's, which means that's two down. Collect all four seems like a piece of cake.”

“Wait, when did you get War’s?” you ask.

You know you’ve asked him this before, but a lot has happened since then, and you’re fuzzy on the incident since you weren't with them.

“Oh, right, you weren't there. Where were you while we were trying to fight for something that actually mattered?”

“Oh, so saving a whole town from killing each other doesn’t matter? Ellen and Jo don’t fucking matter?” you yell.

“Well, I know they do,” he glares.

“Enough! Seriously, you guys, you need to stop this,” Sam interrupts.

He grabs his laptop off the top of the car and tucks it underneath his arm.

“I’m not the one who needs to stop. It’s him that needs to grow the fuck up and start acting like a mature fucking adult,” you sneer.

“Oh bite me,” he hisses.

“Stop! Both of you, get in the car! All we need are the rings from Death and Pestilence. Let’s focus on getting them instead of each other, okay?”

“Fine by me!” you yell and get into the car.

You slam the door a little harder than necessary, and the brothers get inside a few seconds after you. Sam is getting sick and tired of this fighting. He wants it to end, but he doesn’t see it ending well.

Neither do you and Dean.

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artificialqueens · 5 years

Text

Washed in the Tide of Her Breathing 3/4 (Branjie)--athena2

A/N: Chapter 3 is here! Thank you so much to everyone who commented, it means so much to me to read your feedback! I would love it if you could leave some on this chapter! Thank you so much to Writ for betaing and helping me with this, you’re just the best.

*I do want to add that the discussions of death and mental illness are a bit more intense in this chapter, so be cautious*

—

She was right.

It’s the first thought that pops into Brooke’s head as Vanessa looks up at her fearfully.

She was right.

“You’re a siren,” Brooke repeats, calm as a still sea, somewhat vindicated, because all the signs she’d noticed had been real, not just her imagination. How Vanessa survived the journey here mostly unscathed, bruises vanishing in less than a day. How Vanessa was ready to cart her off to a hospital over a cold, because sirens were immune to illness and Vanessa, especially if she had been one for a long time, wouldn’t be used to seeing it. How Vanessa knew obscure siren queens from centuries-old tales.

But, strangely, having it confirmed isn’t as satisfying as she thought it would be. Maybe because it feels wrong somehow. The legends of sirens–always vindictive and cruel–don’t match the person Brooke has come to know, who took care of her when she was sick and threw extra bread out for the birds. Or maybe Brooke just doesn’t care, likes Vanessa so much that not even being a siren can turn her away.

“Yes,” Vanessa says. “But I…I didn’t want to be, Brooke.”

“What do you mean?”

Vanessa sighs. “It’s kind of a long story.”

Brooke shrugs. “I heard lighthouses are good places for stories.”

It brings a small smile to Vanessa’s face, the fear leaving her eyes and replaced with hope. No matter what happens, it makes Brooke feel so good, so warm inside, that she can make Vanessa smile.

“Can we sit by the fire?” Vanessa asks, Brooke’s stomach somersaulting when she hears her offer from a few nights ago flipped right back at her.

“Of course.”

They resume their positions, knees touching, eyes roaming each other’s faces, the promise of a story making the fire glow brighter.

Vanessa bites her lip and takes a deep breath.

“It’s okay,” Brooke soothes. “You can tell me anything, I promise.”

Vanessa nods, staring into the fire with a look so smoldering it could reduce the flame to ash.

“My parents died when I was 12,” she begins. “Some aunt I was related to moved us to the city a few months later. I was kinda glad to leave home. Just too many memories there, you know?”

Brooke nods. She inhales memories and sea salt with every breath here.

“I was out across the cape one day, on this little isle. I think it was eight years ago now. I was 16. I didn’t…I didn’t know about them.”

“The sirens,” Brooke guesses.

“Yeah. They sang to me. It was the most beautiful thing I ever heard. They told me they could bring my parents back. All I had to do was swim out to them, and I’d have my parents again.”

Vanessa sighs, eyes watering, and Brooke’s eyes fill too, despite her confusion. If Vanessa is here, that means she survived the sirens. But no one ever survived. She leans in closer, eager for Vanessa to continue.

“I knew it wasn’t right somehow, but I couldn’t stop listening, couldn’t fight it. I believed every word they sang to me. I swam out to them, and the waves were huge, and the water was spinning, but I got there. I didn’t drown, and I thought I would have my parents. But they trapped me instead.” She shakes her head bitterly. “I was 16. I should’ve known better.”

“Vanessa,” Brooke breathes, taking her hand on instinct, rubbing her thumb in circles to soothe her. “You couldn’t have fought their power, it’s not your fault.”

“I know.” she sniffles, and Brooke carefully wipes her tears away, keeping her touch as gentle as possible. “They said I had to stay with them, or they would kill me.”

“I’m so sorry,” Brooke says softly. She can’t imagine what Vanessa’s been through, trapped on a cove full of evil sirens and forced to live with them for years, when she was hardly more than a kid. She wishes she could do more than wipe Vanessa’s tears, wishes she could take all the pain away entirely so Vanessa never had to suffer again.

Vanessa smiles suddenly. “Here’s where things get a little weird,” she says.

“I can handle weird,” Brooke promises.

Vanessa inches closer, her hip against Brooke’s. Brooke decides to take the chance and wraps her arm around Vanessa, pulling her close and keeping her safe. Vanessa nestles deeper into the hollow of Brooke’s flannel-covered shoulder. It’s a perfect fit, as if the same waves that carried Vanessa to the lighthouse are carrying them to each other.

“I saw you before,” Vanessa says. “Six years ago. I was on the rocks by myself, and I saw you on a boat.”

Six years ago, Brooke thinks. She remembers sailing six years ago, because it was the last time she took the boat out. She always loved sailing, loved the wind in her hair and preparing the sails and tying the knots, but she stopped going after her grandfather died. It had been Dr. Ganache’s idea to take the boat out a year after he passed, thinking it might help her. But it just made Brooke sad, so sad she covered the boat up that day and let dust coat it like moss.

Vanessa takes another breath. “So, the siren queen gives you the power to see people’s desires to lure them in. But when I looked at you, all I could sense was how badly your heart was hurting. It made me hurt, that’s how strong it was. And I made myself go back inside the cove, because I couldn’t hurt you more than you were. I just couldn’t.”

Brooke contemplates how close she had been to being pulled under the tide. If the sirens had promised her family back, Brooke would have jumped in head first even if she knew better. She understands the same desperation Vanessa felt, the sense that you had to listen, had to swim to them. But Vanessa had saved her. Vanessa had been able to resist using her almighty power to keep Brooke safe, even though she didn’t know her.

“We couldn’t leave the island, but I’m a troublemaker, so I found a way around the rules,” Vanessa giggles proudly. “I went out just far enough so a fisherman could catch me in his net. He roughed me up a little, but I jumped over the side. I was free.”

“But how did you get here?” Brooke asks, trying to piece it all together, her anger over the man hurting Vanessa, making her bruise, fading in favor of awe. Vanessa had survived the sirens and outsmarted them. Legends should be told about her.

“I knew there was a little town across the cape, I just didn’t know where. So I just swam in the freaking rain, stuck in that damn net, and then this bright-ass light shows up outta nowhere. I thought the Lord was coming for me, let me tell you.”

Brooke snorts with laughter, her fear and anger replaced with pure joy, joy at having Vanessa here, at her having survived.

“So I followed the light,” Vanessa continues. “And where do I end up but in your damn lighthouse.” She turns to Brooke with an affectionate smile. “Took me a while to realize it was you, but I did it.”

“Guess I wasn’t memorable enough.” Brooke teases.

“Oh, you were. I remember seeing them arms of yours across the cove.” Vanessa reaches her hand over to grip Brooke’s bicep. Brooke’s arm tingles, her whole face burning like lava.

“I wasn’t gonna tell you. Figured I’d just stay till the rain stopped and leave, even though I don’t have anything to go home to. But you were so nice, taking care of me and shit, and you didn’t want anythin’ back, and I just…I wanted you to know,” Vanessa finishes, wrapping her arm around Brooke’s back.

“I’m glad you told me,” Brooke says. Vanessa must really trust her to share this, and it makes Brooke feel special, cared for, that Vanessa wants her to know.

“Me too. I guess I knew you’d understand.”

“So, do you still have your…magic? Powers? Whatever the term is?” Brooke asks.

Vanessa shakes her head. “We lose them a little bit at a time when we leave the island. I can’t read people’s desires anymore, or lure them in. My healing powers are working, but they’ll fade in a bit. But I’m happy with it. It’s like I’m me again. I like just being me.”

“I like you being you too,” Brooke blurts out. Her heart nearly skips into her throat at the admission, but there’s relief in having it out there, in letting Vanessa know, though the words aren’t all she wants to say.

She wants to tell Vanessa that being herself is enough, that she doesn’t need magic, because she is magic. The way she makes Brooke’s heart stir and warms the room even during a cold rain is just proof of how special Vanessa is all on her own, and she’s glad Vanessa is comfortable in her skin again. Brooke would never ask Vanessa to be anything other than herself, and she wants to tell her, but the moment passes like a sunstorm.

“I’d like to hear you sing sometime,” Brooke says instead.

“Trust me, you don’t.”

“A siren who can’t sing?” Brooke giggles.

“My momma used to say I sound like a bullfrog!” Vanessa exclaims. It’s the first time she’s actually mentioned her mom, and Brooke knows it’s a product of this new trust between them, a trust that can’t be broken.

“She sounds funny,” Brooke ventures.

“She was.” Vanessa smiles. “She could always cheer you up, you know? I really miss her sometimes.”

Brooke tilts her head to rest against Vanessa’s, breathing in the scent of her own apple shampoo that smells better in Vanessa’s wavy hair.

“It’s okay to miss them,” Brooke says quietly. It’s one of the main things she’s learned in therapy, that there’s no shame in missing someone or feeling sad. You just couldn’t let it consume you, and Brooke has worked hard in overcoming that, in not letting the sadness eat her up alive.

“You were young when your parents died,” Vanessa says. It’s not a question.

“Yeah. I–” Brooke cuts herself off. “Sorry, I don’t want to make the conversation about me.”

“Hey. Hey. None of that,” Vanessa says firmly. “We talkin’, okay? You can talk about yourself.”

Brooke steels herself, digging for the words her mind desperately wants to hold on to.

“I–I know it wasn’t, but sometimes I feel like it’s my fault they died,” Brooke confesses, unburying the words and casting them out to sea.

“What do you mean it was your fault?” Vanessa asks softly. “I’m sure that’s not true.”

Brooke remembers the thud of the police officer’s boots, how her teacher’s hand went over her mouth when the officer mentioned an accident, the words circling over and over in Brooke’s mind.

An accident meant it was no one’s fault, but Brooke wanted it to be someone’s fault. She wanted someone to blame for taking her parents from her.

And eventually, she decided there was no one to blame but herself.

“I wanted a dog for my birthday,” Brooke begins, eyes gazing into the flames. “I begged and begged for weeks. On my birthday, they took the day off work and went into the city, and I knew they were going to get my dog.” She swallows hard. “They got in a car accident, because I made them leave the cape for my present. If I…if I asked for something else, the accident would have never happened. They wouldn’t have died.”

“Oh, Brooke. It wasn’t your fault. You listen to me. It wasn’t your fault.” Vanessa pulls her into a hug and Brooke lets herself be calmed by the arms wrapped around her. Dr. Ganache has told Brooke it’s not her fault countless times in the past seven years, but there’s something about hearing it from Vanessa that makes it really sink in.

“I know it wasn’t my fault, I know it. But sometimes my brain won’t listen.”

“Your brain’s a lying hoe,” Vanessa says, and Brooke dissolves into a fit of laughter. “I’m serious!” Vanessa says around her own laughs, tightening her hold on Brooke. “It’s not your fault.” She pauses. “And Brooke?”

“Yeah?”

“I know it’s hard sometimes, but your heart’s doing a lot better than it was on that boat.”

“I thought you didn’t have your powers anymore,” Brooke says thickly, Vanessa’s words proving that she’s okay, that she really is better. That all her work in therapy has helped, that the heart that once felt made of broken glass has reformed and firmed up, capable of feeling again.

“I don’t need them to know that.”

Vanessa slips her hand into Brooke’s, and slips herself permanently into Brooke’s heart.

They stay wrapped up together as the fire dies out. Brooke doesn’t want to move, wants Vanessa’s hand in hers forever, wants their bodies to always have a home with each other. She wants Vanessa to stay, but how can she ask? What could she even say that wouldn’t sound desperate?

“Vanessa, I…” but she looks down and sees Vanessa’s head drooping, clearly seconds from sleep if not there already.

Brooke would sing a lullaby or an old sailing song, but she can’t trust her voice to work when this is one of her last moments with Vanessa, the first and last time she’ll hold her like this, the last time she’ll feel both their heartbeats. Instead, she hums the lullaby from Pan’s Labyrinth, carrying Vanessa to bed and tucking her in after she drifts off.

—

Brooke paces her room, mind moving too fast to stay in bed and try to sleep A light mist floats around outside her window, as wild and scattered as her thoughts.

She has until tomorrow morning to tell Vanessa she likes her and wants her to stay. Brooke has crammed as much as she could into one week, but there’s so much more she wants to do with Vanessa. She wants to take her out sailing and catch fresh fish that they’d cook for dinner. She wants to save their movie ticket stubs and take pictures of Vanessa that she could set as her lock screen and look at whenever she wants. She wants to have a bonfire down on the shore and stuff themselves with s'mores until they can’t eat another bite. She wants holidays and birthdays with Vanessa, and all the ordinary days too.

She wants Vanessa to stay.

But can she really do this? She’s been okay with a week of companionship, but can Brooke handle more than that? Can she get used to living with someone again, when it’s been one cup of coffee, one plate on the table, one person, for seven years?

She’s never committed to anyone, just a few dates in college. Her independence was always important, always something she enjoyed more than the dates, so she knew a relationship wasn’t right for her. But then her bad months had come, and Brooke didn’t enjoy anything anymore.

Her focus for the longest time was on getting healthy again. Getting back into doing everyday tasks. Trying to find things she enjoyed again, trying to find the part of herself she lost to the cloud of anxiety and depression.

Then her grandfather died, and basic things once again took all her focus and energy. She just wanted to make sure she ate and showered and took her medication every day, that she got enough sleep and exercise. She wasn’t going to add dating to the list, especially when she had lost everyone she loved, everyone she was ever close to. She didn’t need more pain, didn’t need to get close to someone she would inevitably lose.

She grew accustomed to solitude the way you grow accustomed to darkness, until you no longer remembered what light is.

She’s been talking with Dr. Ganache about putting herself out there again, but she doesn’t know how. Making small talk and letting herself be vulnerable and trying to find someone she wants to spend time with is hard, especially when half the town thinks you’re a crazy lighthouse keeper, and that independence and solitude she used to enjoy have been holding her prisoner longer than she realized.

In theory, she’s wanted someone here, someone to see every day and let in her life. Someone to make breakfast for and watch movies with and talk to and hold while she slept. Someone who would love her, and someone she could love in return, who she would let see all the worried and sad parts of her as well as the happy ones.

But it’s only ever been in theory.

She never thought it would happen, and now someone is right in front of her, and somehow, after all these years of wanting someone, she’s not ready, like how you’re not ready for cold water after sitting in the sun. It’s almost like her whole life has been spent in the warmth of a solitude she couldn’t escape, a solitude that has stewed to a heat so high the cold shock of companionship might kill her no matter how much she wants it.

But she wants it. She wants it so badly. She wants to get to know Vanessa more, discover all the tiny things about her she hasn’t had time to learn yet, moving as fast or as slow as they both agree on.

It’s a risk, and Brooke doesn’t take risks, doesn’t leave the cape, because three people she loved left it and never came back. Hell, she doesn’t even leave the lighthouse much, except for her routine Main Street trips and daily walks on the beach because Dr. Ganache recommended Brooke get fresh air and exercise as much as she can.

It’s not just a risk, of laying her heart out when she’s kept it safe for so long, but it’s also losing some of her control. In the lighthouse, Brooke is always in control. She helps ships get through the treacherous sea, the waves curling around the boat like tentacles, to find their way home. Can she give up control to someone else, get used to another person’s needs? Can she trust Vanessa to get her back home if she strays away?

Can she take her heart out of its tower and give it to Vanessa?

Vanessa had said she didn’t have anything to go back to. Did that mean she would be happy staying here? Would she be okay with Brooke creating a home for her here? That’s all Brooke wants. She wants this to be a home for both of them, for Vanessa’s feet to know the lighthouse tower like hers, for two kitchen chairs to always be filled, for new memories to be made, memories that wouldn’t disrespect the old ones but that would only build on their joy.

She wants her safe space to be Vanessa’s safe space too. And tomorrow morning, she’s going to tell her.

Somehow, soothed by the sounds of the ocean that she could always hear, Brooke falls asleep.

—

She sees her parents first.

It’s a perfect summer day, Brooke on a sailboat and her parents in a small motorboat.

They look comforting and solid, golden heroes, like all parents look, until you get older and realize they’re just people.

They smile and wave to her as the boat vanishes across the sea, leaving Cape Charles forever.

Another boat pulls up, this one carrying her grandfather. He’s in his keeper coat with the matching cap, and all Brooke wants is to hug him, breathe in his scent one last time, but he’s too far and her boat won’t move.

“Trim your sails, Brookie,” he says.

It’s a sailing phrase about moving your sails to take advantage of a change in wind conditions.

“But there’s no wind,” she tells him.

“But it’s coming. And you’ll be ready,” he says confidently. One last smile, and he’s gone too.

Brooke’s heart nearly stops as Vanessa pulls up in a boat. Brooke can’t let her sail away, can’t let her leave the cape.

She lost everyone she ever loved once they left the cape.

“Vanessa!” she screams. “Please don’t go! Vanessa, please,” she begs.

But the boat speeds away, and Brooke’s sailboat splits down the middle, revealing the enormous ocean below, pitch-black and deeper than can ever be known, its darkness waiting to swallow her up.

“Vanessa!” she keeps screaming, thrashing around, but she’s already below the cold water, and she’ll never see Vanessa again–

“Hey, hey, shh. It’s just a dream. You’re okay.”

Brooke shoots up in bed and gasps for air. Her heart is beating so fast she thinks it might break through her chest. She can’t see clearly, the room dark and blurry, like she’s still underwater, sinking with nothing to hold onto.

“You’re okay, I got you. Just breathe.”

For just a second, she thinks the voice is her grandfather’s, coming to soothe her after a nightmare about monsters under the bed.

She does her best to follow the soft voice’s instructions, but her panicked breaths only bring in drops of air, like trying to breathe through a straw.

“You’re here with me. Everything’s okay.”

She’s here with Vanessa, because that’s who the voice belongs to. Vanessa steps closer and grabs one of Brooke’s trembling hands, the other smoothing her hair as she continues to whisper that it’s okay. Brooke focuses on Vanessa’s touch, her warm hands steadying Brooke’s shakes, reminding her that she’s in a solid bed, not an unstable ocean, that Vanessa is with her too.

Brooke takes two deep breaths, counting in her head, heart slowly returning to its normal pace. Vanessa’s fingers curled around hers dull the buzzing in her mind, making everything calm again. Things swerve into focus, the tiny sailboat replica and worn copy of Charlotte’s Web illuminated by the lamp on her bedside table. Henry is somehow still asleep at the foot of her bed, a comforting ball of fluff.

She’s home. She’s safe.

Another breath washes out the last bit of panic, and all she’s left with is a sweat-damp shirt and embarrassment over waking Vanessa because she had a bad dream like a little kid.

“I-I’m okay. Thank you,” Brooke says hoarsely, throat still scratchy from her screams for Vanessa. She peeks at her clock, and the reading 3:53 AM blinks back at her. “I’m sorry I woke you up.”

She reaches for the stuffed dolphin from Vanessa, which landed across the bed, and holds it tightly in her free hand, breathing in the scent of arcade popcorn, hearing Vanessa whoop with joy when she won on the first try.

“I was up anyway. Can’t really sleep,” Vanessa says. “And don’t you be feeling bad. Everyone has bad dreams sometimes. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Brooke just nods, still in awe of how Vanessa always knows what she’s thinking, how she always has the right words to make things better. She’s really going to miss that.

Brooke sighs. It’s 4AM. She should try to get a few more hours of sleep, but she knows if she closes her eyes all she’s going to see is Vanessa sailing away while Brooke reaches for her, getting only handfuls of water that slip through her fingers. Sleep isn’t an option.

Vanessa also seems reluctant to go back to sleep, given that she’s still stroking Brooke’s hair, still holding her hand, still searching her face to make sure she’s okay.

Brooke remembers the promise she made before she fell asleep, wondering if the nightmare has given her a chance to do something about it, a chance to let Vanessa know how she feels.

Trim your sails, Brookie.

What is this sudden chance but a change in the wind?

“Hey, uh, you know what I do sometimes when I can’t sleep?” Brooke asks.

“What?”

Brooke smiles. “Just follow me.”

—

“It’s so pretty up here at night,” Vanessa says, looking out the lighthouse tower windows into the dark sea, twinkling with reflections of starlight.

Brooke finishes arranging the blankets and pillows at the base of the light and stands next to Vanessa, filled with the same delight of taking in the view together, feeling like the only people in the universe, with all this beauty existing just for them.

“It is,” Brooke agrees. “Will you sit with me?”

She and Vanessa nestle close together, melting into the fleece blanket Brooke wraps around both their shoulders.

“I would come up here at night sometimes when I couldn’t sleep, or I felt scared. I would look at the water, and the stars, and I wasn’t so scared anymore. It’s like–”

“Like you aren’t alone,” Vanessa finishes.

“Yeah. Like things aren’t so scary when the world is so beautiful.” No one has understood Brooke like this since her grandfather. Her and Vanessa just get each other, like their minds are on the same wavelengths.

She twirls around a piece of rope, trying to pull her words from its fibers.

“What’s with the rope? You didn’t bring me up here to murder me, did you?” Vanessa asks, but there’s a smile on her face and a laugh in her question.

“No murder, I promise.” Brooke smiles. “The rope thing is from my grandpa. I worried a lot when I was a kid, so he taught me how to tie knots and would give me a piece of rope when I got really nervous. It helped me calm down a little.”

She didn’t know it then, but the constant worrying was one of the early signs of her anxiety, a mild, warning wave lapping at her feet. She would worry over tests in school, over dance, over being away from home too long, struggling to breathe in the school bathroom. When college started, she’d sleep half the day and still be exhausted, no amount of rest easing the deep ache in her muscles, the way everything irritated her and ate up her focus. And by the time she realized she was standing in the middle of a hurricane, it was too late.

“Do you still get nervous a lot?” Vanessa asks.

“Not as much. It was really bad for a while. But I was able to get help, and it’s a lot better now.”

She had to take a leave of absence when her physically fit, 21-year-old body suddenly didn’t have the energy to lift a pen, even for classes she once enjoyed. Half her mind screamed that she would be a failure if she didn’t do the million things she had to do, and the other half said she shouldn’t bother doing them because she was already a failure anyway. The weight of it all buried her under her covers, body too heavy to lift out of bed.

When it hit that point, her grandfather encouraged her to see a doctor, leading to the referral to Dr. Ganache, whose therapy and prescribed medications slowly, slowly, helped Brooke feel alive again, like poison had been leached out of her.

“I’m really glad you got help,” Vanessa says.

“Me too. It was my grandfather, really. He always took care of me.”

Vanessa is quiet for a few seconds. “Is it okay for me to ask if it was sudden?” Vanessa says, and Brooke knows what she means. She trusts Vanessa enough to talk about it, knows that it’s not lessening his importance to her by sharing it with Vanessa.

“It’s okay. And it was. He had a heart attack on a train going to the city. No warning signs or anything. And by the time I got there…he was gone.”

She remembers how it didn’t seem real, everything hazy as she moved through the hospital. How his hands, rough from years of rope-tying yet gentle enough to braid her hair and teach her to ride a bike, were unmoving. How he would never move again, this man who captained ships and commanded the room with his stories. How he would never hug her again.

The tears are streaming down her face now. Brooke hasn’t cried like this in a while, but it feels good, like a release, like the tears are washing some of the sadness away. She lets Vanessa hold her, whispering soothing words in her ear and rubbing her back as she cries.

He died four months after her first therapy appointment, a cruel trick of the universe that right when she started getting better and feeling like herself again, the only person she cared about, the only person she had left, was taken from her, just like that.

Brooke is often torn about whether it being so sudden was better or worse. She’s grateful he didn’t pass of any long illness where he would have suffered. But it was so sudden, so out of the blue, that there was no chance to prepare for it or tell him the things she was sure he knew but that she would have wanted to tell him anyway. He was gone mere hours after she’d said goodbye to him, thinking it was for the day and not forever.

One of the worst things was that she never got to thank him for treating her like a normal person after her parents died, making her life fun and loving and normal and always being there for her after she lost the two most important people in her life. She never got to thank him for driving her to appointments and making sure she took all her meds, running her a bath when she didn’t have the energy to stand for a shower, being nice to her even when she snapped at him. She never got to thank him for not giving up on her, even when she had given up on herself.

“I just never got to tell him, you know?” Brooke asks through her tears. “I never got to thank him or tell him how much I loved him.”

“He knew, Brooke. I’m sure he did. And he loved you too.”

Brooke rests her head on Vanessa’s chest, Vanessa moving her hand to stroke Brooke’s hip, gently breathing in time with each other as Brooke’s tears slow. Vanessa’s heart is steady and comforting beneath Brooke’s ear, and she’s ready.

She can do it. If Vanessa doesn’t like her, she’ll survive it. She’s survived worse, survived the bad months where anxiety and depression filled her lungs, sunk into her bones, and dragged her down into the deep, making a home for her there.

She’s not letting another person go without telling them how she feels.

“Vanessa, I need to tell you something.”

“What is it?”

Brooke sits herself up and meets Vanessa’s eyes, the brown open and inviting.

“The nightmare I had was about you–about losing you. And it made me realize how much I care about you. How much I like you.” Her cheeks flare up, but she pushes on. “I really, really like you. And if you’re okay with it, I’d love for you to stay here with me. But only if you’re okay with it, and I understand if you don’t–”

“I like you too,” Vanessa says, tears welling up in her eyes. “When I woke up and saw you, I thought you were an angel. You ain’t proved me wrong yet. I love this town, and this lighthouse, and you, and I…of course I’ll stay with you!”

Brooke bites her lip, and then she turns to Vanessa and kisses her, their lips meeting softly. Vanessa cups Brooke’s cheek, her touch warm and soothing, carrying with it each day of the past week, the tiny ways their love has grown.

Brooke’s had a few kisses before, but nothing like this. Her fingers are tingling, her face under Vanessa’s palm so warm she might combust. She lets her hands roam across Vanessa’s back, pulling her closer until their chests touch and their hearts are so close they might really be in each other’s ribs. Vanessa’s touches make Brooke feel alive in a way she hasn’t in years, the world glowing and opening up and flooding with possibility.

She sees a future for her and Vanessa, of dinner and sailing and more kisses, of curling around each other in bed and drinking coffee in the diner and getting lost in the bookstore and sharing popcorn at the movies. Of watching ships come and go, their love as steady and powerful as the tides carrying ships.

Brooke pulls away from the kiss, and they curl up on the blankets, watching the stars and talking about all the things they can do together.

And they’re still intertwined together, the lighthouse keeper and the siren, when the sun rises.

#rpdr fanfiction #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #branjie #lesbian au #lighthouse au #hurt/comfort #angst #fluff #washed in the tide of her breathing #athena2 #tw discussion of death #tw depression & anxiety #concrit welcome #submission

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abra-ka-dammit · 5 years

Text

AU That Should Never Happen Pt. 3

:-)))

(pre-warning for some horny scenes, but that’s just par for the course in this AU)

[Part 1] [Part 2]

“And who might this be?”

The Grand Warlock was strewn lazily across his gilded stone throne, one leg hanging off the side and kicking back and forth idly as he eyed his surprise guests.

General Catfeetz grinned wide, his sharp white teeth shining from behind dark lips.

“I’ll tell ya who it is,” he said, pride obvious in his voice. “This here’s the Steelknuckle boy.”

“Oh?” Gremix’s brows rose and he flipped himself upright, landing softly on his feet and striding down the steps to take a closer look at the prize.

This “Steelknuckle boy” was, at best, pathetic. The son of a trade princess? No way. Short but beefy, one would think the guy tough; but there he stood, sobbing loudly, hardly coming off as an adult with tears and snot streaming down his face. Gremix grabbed the collar of his shirt and tugged it down to reveal the characteristic Steelknuckle family flower tattoo emblazoned on his chest. Yep, he was the real deal. Somehow.

“How did you get him?” Gremix asked in fascination.

“Scouts caught him tryin’ to steal a boat, probably meanin’ t’ escape th’ harbor.” Catfeetz snickered. “Easy catch, too. This guy’s a joke. Didn’t even fight back.”

“Hm,” Gremix muttered, scooping the prisoner’s chin with his fingertips to lean his face up to his own. “Identify yourself.”

With a loud, disgusting sniffle, the crybaby choked out “Zubert, sir.”

Gremix smiled ever so slightly. Not often they came in pre-respectful.

“He should be a good bargaining chip for taking down Zippa. If I remember anything about that bitch, it’s that she only has one family member, and it’s this bozo.”

“Seriously?” Catfeetz scoffed. “She should’a had another after this loser popped outta her cooch. Li’l “Zubert” here ain’t fit to lead a cartel; can’t even escape from an island in the dead ‘a night, shit.”

“Please,” Zubert muttered, giving another sniff and peering with frightened, watery eyes between the two overlords, “I don’t have any money, Ma cut me off. There’s no point to keepin’ me.”

“Money?” Gremix barked a laugh, Catfeetz in turn grinning his nefarious grin. “Please; I melted down all the gold I owned to gild my palace.” He raised his arms, gesturing to the room around them, where not only his throne but all the pillars and even the stairs had intricate golden designs decorating the stone. “Money means nothing to us anymore.”

“Who needs money when ya rule th’ world, eh?” Catfeetz said with a chuckle. “Nah, we don’t want yer momma’s dough, kid, we want her dead.”

“Wh-what?!” Zubert’s eyes widened. “Don’t kill my mom! There’s gotta be—I mean, can’t ya jus’ negotiate, or, or…” He swallowed hard, the tears welling up again in an instant.

Gremix rolled his eyes. “What’re we doin’ with him for now?” Gremix asked.

Catfeetz tugged the ropes that bound Zubert’s hands in front of him, leading him closer to the warlock. “Don’t ask me, Boss figured I should give ‘im to you. You got a much less, uh,” Catfeetz squinted one lichlight eye in thought, “open floorplan at your base.”

“I see.” Gremix considered Zubert for a moment. What was he supposed to do with the bawling young man? There was plenty of dungeon space, of course, but if he wanted to use Zubert to negotiate with Madame Steelknuckle, he’d need to stay in decent condition—at first, at least. More could come if she refused to cooperate; but for now…

“Drixzy,” Gremix said flatly. “Come to me.”

The fel-infused rogue was nowhere to be seen in the throne room, but within moments the fast clicking of boots echoed from one of the stone halls and she entered.

“Yes, Master,” Drixzy said, stopping at Gremix’s side and kneeling into a bow. He patted her gently on the blonde head and Catfeetz gave a sharp whistle.

“Well how’d you train her t’ do that? You psychic now too?”

“Hardly,” Gremix laughed, motioning for Drixzy to stand, which she immediately obeyed. Gremix took her hand in one of his own, lifting it to display the golden cuffs that decorated her wrists. “I’ve been working on some fun toys, however.”

Catfeetz gave a vaguely impressed nod. “You’re weird as fuck, brother,” he said. “But whatever floats yer boat. Now take this idiot so I can get back t’ important stuff.”

Gremix turned his head ever so slightly, peering at his faithful servant. “I have a pet for you, my Drixzy.”

Drixzy’s light brows could be seen rising just above the cloth tied over her fel-glow eyes. “For me?” she asked.

“Yup,” Gremix said, Catfeetz handing the confused woman the rope that bound Zubert. She rolled the rope around in her hands, face tilting as she looked at the young man through the unnatural sight granted by her Master. He seemed pretty cute for a guy that had all sorts of gross fluids running down his face.

Gremix raised a hand, placing it gently on one of Zubert’s cheeks—Zubert flinched, but stayed in place, squeezing his eyes shut in fear of whatever the hell was going on. But to his surprise, the hand was warm and inviting… perhaps almost supernaturally so. His body relaxed, his mind emptying of all those worries that had plagued it merely moments before, a warm bliss expanding through his body from his cheek. The longer it stayed there the more unfocused he became, until he felt almost as entranced as he would during a really good fuck. There was a snap in the back of his mind and his focus returned, Zubert finding suddenly that he had been so lost in pleasure he’d almost forgotten where he was. Gremix’s hand had lowered, which he determined to be the cause of the abrupt end to that bizarrely wonderful feeling.

“Wh… what?” he asked, blinking slowly. He wasn’t sure what was going on anymore; but at the same time, he did. The faces around his blurred and came back into focus repeatedly until finally settling into normalcy and he focused on something concrete—Drixzy. She was staring straight at him, Gremix having already left to return to his throne and the general already out the great stone doors. Or, he thought she might have been staring, but surely she couldn’t see him from under that blindfold.

“Take good care of Zubert, child,” Gremix said. A sly smirk sneaked onto his lips as fel-tinged magenta eyes watched the silent exchange. “He’s yours; do as you wish with him in your idle hours. But keep him in okay condition for me, alright?”

“Yes, Master,” Drixzy said, giving a curt nod. “I am ever grateful for your gifts.”

Zubert could do nothing more than blink in puzzlement, his mind still trying to reconnect the dots that all fell apart the moment Gremix touched him. The rope around his wrists tugged him forward and still in a minor daze, he plodded along behind Drixzy as she led him away.

Gremix watched them leave, then casually flipped himself around to lay upon his lavish throne once again. Maybe this will be good for Drixzy, he thought. She’d gotten so moody since his own little “pet” had shown up, after all. Maybe having a little boytoy of her own would keep her quiet, considering how little interest he found in “playing with” her these days. Oh, forget the smooth curves and soft skin—all he could think about was the dark path of tummy hair leading down to the unmentionables of the ex-rebel Rusco; who since leaving, permanently collared, had not shown hide nor hair around the palace. But Gremix knew he’d be back. He bobbed his foot up and down once more, humming a tune to himself as he stared up at high ceilings, lost in pleasantly distracted thought.

Drixzy had brought Zubert to her quarters, but she puzzled over what exactly to do with him. Gremix had never left her a charge, after all. Zubert quietly peered around the room. It had stone walls like the rest of the palace, lit by torches that displayed floating, glowing green crystals instead of fire, a soft blue carpet on the marble floor and an impressively large, luxurious looking bed draped over with sheer canopy… but very little sign of character. There were no wall decorations, no furniture aside from the bed and a dark wooden wardrobe, no knick-knacks, nothing. Was she just a really boring person? Oh, no, it was probably because she was blind, right? Zubert shrugged, turning his attention to his captor.

“Uh, Miss…. Miss Drixzy?” he asked quietly.

Drixzy glanced at him, frowning.

“What?” she snapped.

Zubert flinched at the cold, careless tone of her voice, swallowing.

“Uh, I won’t…. I promise I won’t try nothin’, I swear; so could you untie me?” He raised his bound hands in front of him to emphasize. “My shoulders are crampin’ somethin’ awful an’ I’d love t’ get a good stretch in.”

Drixzy considered him with distrust. “I’m not an idiot,” she hissed. “Now be silent. I need t’ think.”

Zubert wilted a little. “But I—okay…” he muttered. He looked around again but finding no furniture had magically appeared since last time, he just flopped down onto the ground, folding his legs and staring down at his lap miserably.

Drixzy paced the room, her demonic hoof-design heels not issuing their characteristic clicking steps in the downy carpet of the room, leaving the two in an eerie silence as she thought.

What was Gremix expecting her to do? Was this some sort of test? Or was he really just letting her have a person? But why? She was naught but a servant herself, surely she didn’t deserve such a thing. There had to be something else…

A sniffle interrupted her thoughts, Zubert still suffering mild sinus drainage from his earlier cry. She sighed in annoyance.

“Alright,” she said, conceding and striding over to him as she pulled a large dagger from her hip. Zubert perked instantly, holding up his hands with grateful eagerness so she could saw through the rope. As the bindings fell to the ground, he stretched his arms out to his sides with a huge sigh of relief.

“Thanks, Miss Drixzy!” Zubert said with a big smile, continuing to sit. She watched him, but he just… sat there, smiling like a doofus.

“If you so much as raise a hand to me—” she started, but she was cut off quickly by a startled “goodness, no!”

She cocked her head questioningly.

“I’m sorry, that was rude a’ me t’ interrupt, but I swear I wouldn’t ever hurt you, miss. I mean, I know I’m like, a prisoner a’ war or whatever right now, an’ most people would try an’ get away, but, uh…” He chewed his lip a little bit before continuing. “Ma kicked me out, so I wasn’t livin’ nowhere anyways. I don’t got anywhere to run away to, so I think I oughta jus’ comply an’ make it easier for both of us. You don’t gotta worry about me pullin’ nothin’, I’ll jus’ do whatever you tell me to, an’ get to sleep under a roof again.”

Drixzy’s face screwed up in befuddlement. “What? You’re just… acceptin’ your capture?”

“Yup, pretty much,” Zubert said. “If I try ‘an run for it, I’ll definitely get attacked an’ maybe even killed, but if I listen t’ you, I don’t, right? I’m not the best thinker, but even I can see what my best option here is.”

Drixzy nodded slowly, re-sheathing her knife. “Yes. But I don’t trust you, nevertheless.”

“Fair,” Zubert said almost understandingly. “You jus’ met me, after all. But I’ll show you, I’ll be a real good, uh…” he squinted. “D-did that warlock guy say pet?”

Drixzy pursed her lips. “That warlock guy is my master—and by extension, yours as well—The Grand Warlock Gremix Rivensoul, and you will address him with proper respect.”

Zubert hunkered down a little in shame. “Oh, sorry. But th’ question remains… what exactly am I?”

Drixzy let the question bump around in her head for a while. What was he, indeed?

“We’ll see what you prove yourself to be,” Drixzy decided. “It’ll be up to yourself to determine how you are treated, so act mindfully.”

Zubert nodded enthusiastically. “I’ll do my very best!” he said with a big, stupid smile. Why did he keep smiling? It was almost annoying Drixzy; yet at the same time, there was something about the dopey face and big kind eyes that she couldn’t help but find kind of cute.

“Can I ask you some stuff?” Zubert inquired. “T’ get used t’ the way things are here an’ whatever.”

Drixzy sighed. She had nothing to do right now anyways; the family was between ambushes and waiting on something she wasn’t told of (upper management info only, after all). “Fine,” she said, crawling onto her bed until she could plop backwards into the lush pillows. “Ask what you will.”

“Cool!” Zubert chimed. “So firs’ thing’s firs’… uh, can you…. see?”

“Yes, and no,” Drixzy said. “I can see normally, but blindfolded I hold a special form of sight much more intricate than what your own eyes will show you; yet it also conceals some things from me that you can see.” She shrugged slightly. “It’s hard to explain, but for all intents and purposes, just keep in mind I am watchin’ you.”

“Oh!” Zubert exclaimed. “That’s pretty cool. So what do I look like under there?”

Drixzy scoffed. “If you aren’t gonna ask relevant questions, then just keep yer mouth shut.”

Zubert wilted a little again. “I’m sorry, I was jus’ curious.” He pondered a moment. “So what was, uh—” he squinted, trying to find the right words—"what th’ heck happened t’ me out there? Th’ Grand Warlock guy touched my face an’ I got real dizzy an’ weird feelin’.”

“That was a gift,” Drixzy said, her voice softening as though the words were a happy sigh. “The Master’s Blessing is the promise of sheer bliss as reward for obedience. All who follow him melt at his tender touch.” Drixzy’s voice wandered off dreamily, the goblin seeming to zone out for a second. Coming back to herself, she continued, “when you do good, he rewards you with more. If you do poorly…” Drixzy frowned. “Well, just don’t anger the Grand Warlock and you’ll never need to find out the rest of that sentence.”

Zubert gave a curt nod. “Noted,” he said. He thought for another moment, then posed his next question. “Who’s that guy that brought me here?”

“General Catfeetz leads the military side of the family,” Drixzy said, crossing her legs comfortably. It was strange, but she was finding herself enjoying talking to Zubert—she couldn’t remember the last time she just had a conversation with someone that wasn’t instructions, commands or other work issues.

Zubert stifled a laugh but a pfffft escaped his lips anyways. “C-catfeetz? That’s the dude’s name? Really?”

Drixzy scowled. “He’s no laughing matter.” Her face dropped once more into a stern serious look. “General Catfeetz is powerful, ruthless, and cruel. He leads through fear—his soldiers know that dyin’ in battle is a merciful end compared to what he’ll do to them if they fail or betray him.”

“Yikes,” Zubert muttered. “Okay. He was pretty buff so I didn’t wanna mess with him anyways, but that’s probably good to know.”

Drixzy breathed a laugh, then tilting her head back such that she would be looking at him down her nose, she said “come up here,” patting the bed beside her with one leisurely hand.

Zubert’s ears flicked upwards, the tips noticeably reddening along with his cheeks. “Oh! Uh. Are you sure? I mean, that’s your bed and—”

“NOW.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Zubert leapt to his feet, almost falling over in his haste before scrambling over and onto the bed. Crawling over, he warily laid beside her–not because he was scared, but rather, uncertain of her boundaries.

“Do you have any more questions?” she asked him.

“Lots!” he said with another dumb smile. And those… cute dumb… biceps. A thought crept into the back of her mind. Did Gremix hand over this tiny beefcake to preoccupy her? She wasn’t sure if she should be hurt or happy for the gesture if that were so; sure, maybe he was trying to make her feel better about his own lack of attention, but shoving another man at her to do it for him? She rolled onto her side, leaning her head into a hand to look at the guy as he went on with another question about the palace. There was something so nice about just talking, though—she would worry about that all later.

To Drixzy’s surprise, the young Steelknuckle heir did in fact stick to his word. She left him untied in her bedroom for hours at a time and when she would return, he was sitting there waiting patiently for her. Sure, she’d left a guard at the door just in case, but it became clear in short time there was no need. For some reason, Zubert was genuinely just going along with it all. She was baffled, having seen so much resistance against Gremix’s rule from those who were brought in since the uprising. But here was this guy, brought in against his will, just cheerily doing as she said without batting an eyelash over it.

Oh, and she told him to do things. Before long, he was following her around the palace to do her bidding at a whim—lift this, move that, and for the love of the Light, please take off your shirt first. Over time she chose to decorate him: clasping a sparkling gemmed leather collar tight around his throat, combing his hair up however she liked, painting his nails, and dressing him in tight pants and minimal other clothing. Slowly but surely, she became accustomed to the idea… he was hers. Her pet. Her toy. Hers to do with whatever she pleased. And she wanted to do some things, admittedly. But a thought nagged at her.

She was Gremix’s.

And so it came, an awkward conversation she was about two convincing words away from not going through with:

“May I have sex with him?”

Gremix stared blankly at the blindfolded blonde from behind the war table, where maps and notes and other miscellaneous papers were spread out and pinned with meticulous planning.

“What?” Gremix asked. “What do you think I gave him to ya for?”

Drixzy’s shoulders rose in embarrassment, her ears pinning. “O-oh!” she said quietly. “It’s just that, Master, my body is yours, an’…”

Gremix strode around the table, approaching her and laying his hands on her cheeks, drawing her face close to his own, his touch enough to make her hitch a breath.

“You are, and always will be mine,” he agreed in a low voice. “And since you are mine, you are mine to treat; and the Steelknuckle boy is your treat. I care not what you do with him. Sleep with him or hang him upside-down from the ceiling with a burning candle shoved in his ass for 12 hours, it don’t matter to me.”

Drixzy swallowed, giving a tiny nod.

“After it all, you will still be mine,” Gremix said, dropping his hands to her waist and moving his face in closer until their cheeks brushed together and he could speak directly into her ear in a near-whisper that sent a shiver down her spine, “because I do it better.”

Drixzy gave a nervous laugh—the closeness had her heating up in an almost pavlovian response to his physical attention. Oh, why Zubert? Why Zubert when her master was here, so warm, so gentle, so full of that delicious power that seeped in through her skin and made her sigh in pleasure and press her body into his. Gentle kisses on her neck were enough to drive her crazy normally, but oh, when he put his Fel into it… She simply wanted to dissolve into him where they stood.

“Master,” she said breathily, “please…”

A quiet chuckle in her ear denied her request, and Gremix backed away, to her massive disappointment. She felt so hot and her heart was pounding, and she wanted him so badly—but he shook his head.

“I’m very busy, silly girl. You’re hot an’ bothered now, ain’tcha? Go use it on your little pet. I bet he’ll appreciate it.” He gave her a smile that almost seemed kind, and in that moment, she thought of the doofusy grin of the foolish loyal man set away in her boudoir, no doubt cheerily awaiting her return. She gave a quick nod.

“Thank you, Master,” she said quietly, and left him to his planning.

Probably needless to say, Zubert had no complaint when the woman returned, her calm steps devolving into a near sprint when she had the door closed behind her, then becoming a leap that resulted in her tackling him onto the mattress. He only blinked up at her and gave one of those stupid, cute smiles of his. Damn that smile! She would be rid of it, by pressing her mouth to his.

And oh, what a kiss—at least, for Zubert. There was that feeling again. That dizzy, almost orgasmic fuzziness that Gremix’s touch had caused. There was no need to convince the more-than-willing young man, but had he been resistant before, he surely would have caved in to her desires as the wave of pure, unadulterated, unnatural bliss came over him.

She pulled her face away only barely, and without bothering to catch her breath as his eyes dazedly cracked open, she panted out a simple command:

“Fuck me.”

“H’okay.”

Didn’t need to tell him twice.

And so things continued; Drixzy freely indulging herself for satisfaction from the frustration that Gremix’s continued general absence caused, with whom she decided to call her “attendant”. After all, he did attend to her every need, there seemed no better term. Zubert liked it better than “slave”, anyways.

But it wasn’t just his servitude, sexual or otherwise, that kept her interest. For some reason, he liked to just talk. And it continued to seem so strange to her, just talking, about anything. Zubert talked to her about ships, about Steelknuckle isles in their heyday, about the ocean and fish and food he liked and something funny his friend said once… She herself kept quieter, content to just listen to him and interject when he asked her something. She would openly answer most things about the family but wouldn’t speak of her past. He’d only brought it up once, but her sharp, instant demand that he never inquire again ended that line of curiosity right quick.

Months passed by as such. Zubert became a palace-wide spectacle: guards would snicker at his slutty outfits as he passed by, plodding along behind Drixzy as she went about her daily business. Others whispered rumors of who he might be or where he came from—perhaps simply a hapless commoner Drixzy found attractive? A relative of one of the generals? One such rumor that wasn’t held by many as true said he was in fact the heir to an entire cartel. Nobody asked, however. After all, nobody dared talk to Drixzy about anything besides work.

“New batch of prisoners, here!”

Catfeetz’s lieutenant arrived with a posse of guards to the castle, a string of captured rebels in tow to be offered up to Gremix’s forces. As per the usual routine, they were brought to a dungeon and stripped to their underthings, chains around their necks hooked to the stone floor ahead of them, keeping them kneeling uncomfortably as a pair of shackles attached to their wrist from another short chain behind them kept them forced upright. It was a pretty typical bunch of rebels, some jeering and spitting when their gags and blindfolds were removed, the others solemn and quiet. One by one, Gremix offered his “Blessing”, and they either accepted it or were killed. Drixzy stood by—and as she did, so did Zubert—much to his horror, as he watched those who rejected the Grand Warlock quickly offed by a skilled slice of Drixzy’s poisoned blades across their throats. Luckily, it seemed the more common answer to “do you want to die or live in heavenly bliss serving me” tended to lean to the latter, but the blood oozing over the stone floors from the first who’d denied the gift was enough to make him feel ill.

The Grand Warlock was halfway through the set of rebels when the next one he approached was a rather tall, fluffy-white-haired goblin who was sobbing hopelessly into his gag, hiccupping and rocking himself back and forth the little amount the chains would allow. Gremix rolled his eyes, and removing the gag and blindfold from this one, was met with what was probably the most terrified face he’d ever encountered during a conversion.

The goblin didn’t jeer or spit; in fact, he said nothing, only making a tiny throat squeak as he tried uselessly to liquify into the floor and away from the green glow that pulsed within the warlock’s pupils.

“Don’t be afraid,” Gremix started, gently, as usual, but he didn’t get very far before the captive broke into full bawling again. He gave an agitated sigh, standing and patting dust off the robe at his knees.

“This one’s defective,” he said, waving a hand at the crying mess to signal Drixzy to end him as he stepped over to the next goblin.

Drixzy drew her blade and started towards the young man, who was all but balled up now. But she only made it one loud-clicking step before she felt a tug—a hand on her arm. She looked back to see Zubert with a panicked expression. He didn’t know what he wanted to say, and even if he did he didn’t think he could get words out without puking at the moment anyways, so he just shook his head over and over, beseeching her with pleading eyes.

Gremix, noticing the uncharacteristic hesitation, looked back at the two with a scowl. “What’s keepin’ ya? Get to it, Drixzy." Drixzy glanced at Gremix briefly before inspecting Zubert’s desperate head-shaking once more.

“Yes, Master,” she said, brushing Zubert’s hand from her arm, the musclebound servant wilting in hopelessness as she left his side to do the deed.

The crying captive lifted his head only slightly to see his oncoming killer, and for just a moment, his eyes met what would have been Drixzy’s, were they uncovered—but the moment was the same regardless. The tearstains streaking his cheeks, face and eyes red and puffy, afraid… Drixzy suddenly understood why Zubert wanted to stop her. He was just another Zubert.

“Master,” Drixzy said, tentatively. “I’m sorry if I am oversteppin’, but…”

Gremix’s eyes narrowed as he eyed her with suspicion.

“May I have this one?”

The suspicious look fell to make way for one of surprise instead.

“What?” Gremix peered down at the chained goblin, who was still apparently attempting to burrow into his own being, head once more tucked down into his chest. Gremix made a disgusted face at the wretch before letting his gaze return to Drixzy. “You… want that pathetic thing?”

Drixzy fidgeted with her dagger. “Do you… remember when your Rusco was here?”

Gremix remained silent, so she continued; “He was defiant, but you didn’t have me kill him, because you looked at him and saw something you liked, right?”

The sobbing continued, but tear and terror-filled eyes were once again barely peering up at the people openly discussing his fate. His gaze wandered the room, where it then met that of a person the bound goblin hadn’t noticed before—Zubert stood back in the shadows, wringing his hands anxiously and giving the guy a forced hopeful smile before he burrowed into himself again.

“So you’re saying you see somethin’ in this trash heap that you like?”

Drixzy’s mind buzzed as she flipped through every explanation she could think of, trying to find the one that was truest.

“I have a thing for beta males,” she decided on, pointing behind herself with a thumb directed at Zubert—the comment said so flatly that Gremix couldn’t help but bark a laugh in return.

“Fine, fine.” Gremix said, shaking his head in bemusement. “You’re not getting another until one of these ones die, though, got it?”

“Yes, Master,” Drixzy said, glancing back at Zubert who had perked up significantly, and was now eagerly bouncing in wait for her word.

“Take him to my room,” she said to Zubert. “Chain him and return to me here.”

Zubert stood up straight, puffing out his chest and giving a firm salute. “Yes, ma’am!” he said, then hopping over to the person whose life he had just saved to unlock the chains.

“Wh-what?!” came the first words from the mouth of the crying but otherwise until now silent prisoner.

“Gag him,” Gremix said with an apathetic wave of his hand, and Zubert paused, picking up the cloth that had been dropped to the floor and re-tying it around the head of a now somewhat struggling goblin.

It took some doing, but he got it on, trying to reassure the frightened goblin that he would be safe and shouldn’t worry… but panic set in, and the captive was having none of it anymore, now desperately pulling against the chains he had no chance of escaping from. Zubert held the chain key tightly, giving an uncertain glance to the others.

“Oh, for the love a’…” Gremix sighed. “Hold him still.”

Zubert nodded, obediently moving behind and holding firmly the shoulders of the soon-to-be “blessed” man. Wide eyes watched in abject horror as hands rose to his face—he tried to jerk his head away but a strong grip from behind turned it back to the Grand Warlock and his warm hands cupped sharp cheeks.

The prisoner choked some sort of noise from behind the gag as green flames burst from the hands on his face, squeezing his eyes shut just to reopen them in confusion a moment later when he felt no burning.

Zubert watched in fascination—he’d never seen the Blessing from a third-party perspective, only having experienced it himself. The flickering flames looked terrifying, but no sound of pain came from the unwitting convert; of course not. After all, it didn’t hurt when it happened to him, either.

“It’s alright, see?” Zubert said quietly, a slight flick of ear the only indication he had been heard.

The flames seemed to be sucked into the held skull, a bright green erupting from behind tear-filled eyes as the convert stiffened—muscles in his shoulders and back twitched feverishly, but it was as though he could not move. The flames gone, Gremix lowered his hands, and the guy slumped forward into himself once again; but this time from sudden wooziness. Heavy, deep breaths came from him like convulsions and with one last horrified glance up, the Fel glow faded from his eyes. A calm seemed to come over him, the shaky anxiety and fear all but nullified.

“I don’t like blessing unwillin’ parties,” Gremix said, rising once more. “You will repay me for havin’ t’ do that later.”

“Yes, Master,” Drixzy said. “Anything, any time. I thank you for allowin’ me this gift.” Her attention turned to Zubert.

“Take him now. And be back quickly,” she said, “you will need to remove the bodies of these insolent rebels when Master finishes the conversion.”

Zubert swallowed hard, not entirely enthusiastic about that specific task, but ever faithful, he unlocked the chains and led the dazed and confused stumbling beanpole of a goblin out of the chamber.

It was quite a while before Zubert returned to Drixzy's room again. When he did, however, he came with a tall glass of water in one hand and a crumbly buttered biscuit in the other.

“Hey!” he chimed as he closed the door behind him with one stubby leg's foot.

Chained to the stone wall in the corner of the room, pressing himself as far into the joint of two walls as he possibly could, the goblin Drixzy had spared eyed him warily.

“Don’t worry,” Zubert said, approaching slowly such as not to startle him. “I’m not gonna hurt you or take you away anywhere. This is where you’ll be staying now.”

The bound goblin shook his head indignantly. Zubert shrugged.

“I mean, you don’t have much choice, y’know? If ya just behave an' listen to Drixzy and the Grand Warlock's every command, you’ll be perfectly fine, like me! Drixzy might even unchain you if you prove you won’t pull any tricks.”

The other man did not look convinced, but Zubert, a few feet away, placed the water and biscuit onto the soft carpet and raised his hands slowly in front of himself.

“Look, don’t kick me or nothin', okay? I’m gonna ungag you, Drixzy said I could. I also snuck you some water an' food, an' it’s the cold water I’m not supposed t' take, too. Figured it might be nice after havin' that thing in your mouth so long.”

A wary nod signaled that Zubert could come closer, though there was still a untrustful stiffening of his shoulders in preparation for some sort of trick… but the cloth loosened and Zubert pulled it away like he said he would, then backed up a few steps and gave him a goofy smile.

Zubert looked him over—the guy was scrawny, and not entirely impressive sitting there in threadbare boxers, but Zubert had to admit he had a thing for tall, lithe people. But more importantly, this dude clearly couldn’t feed himself, arms bound behind his body, so Zubert concluded he had to assist. Well, that was his job, according to Drixzy, right? Helper.

It was a clumsy event, Zubert tilting the glass to a very dry, desperate and eager mouth, such that between the two of their efforts a notable amount of water ran down his chin and onto the carpet; but with a relieved sigh and smacking of finally moistened lips, it was obvious that he’d had enough to satisfy, at least.

Zubert sat beside him, taking the biscuit and breaking off a piece to offer up. The captive sighed, but opened his mouth such that the crumbly bread could be popped into it.

“I’m Zubert, by the way,” Zubert said. “Zubert Steelknuckle.”

Swallowing, his companion simply said “Stix.”

“Nice t' meetcha, Stix!” Zubert said, breaking off another bite-size piece of biscuit. “We’re roommates now, so I hope you’ll stop lookin' so scared of me soon.”

“I don’t wanna stay here,” muttered Stix. “I don’t know where I am, I don’t know what’s going on, I don’t know who any of these people are n' I wanna get outta here!”

He looked the muscley and… tightly panted goblin over pleadingly.

“Y’ have the key, don't'cher? Let me outta here, c’mon.”

Zubert frowned. “No, Drixzy has it. And even if I did, I’m not allowed t' let you leave. If you try to run, I’m just gonna have to escort you back.”

Stix made an agitated sound, opening his mouth for another bite of biscuit, which he chewed in thought for a silent moment.

“Sho then, yer jusht one of ‘em, choo,” he decided, food still in mouth.

“No,” Zubert said with a chuckle. “I’m being held for ransom!” He paused, the cheeky smile on his face slowly dropping until he sort of just looked distressed. “Y’know, t' get my ma out of hidin', so they can kill her.”

Stix balked. “Why do they wanna kill yer mum? And who are they?” He really did seem genuinely confused about everything going on.

Zubert scrutinized the tone of Stix's voice, brows lowering in concern. “You mean, you have no idea about th' Gutshot Takeover?”

“Th’ what? No!” Stix looked appalled.

“Where the heck have you been?”

Stix nodded upwards. “Zeppelin. In fact, I was riding one jus' yesterday for a delivery, and then…” He scowled. “We we’re just passing by th' harbor when a ton of flyin' machines showed up outta nowhere and shot us down!” The goblin's ears lowered slowly. “I… I don’t even know if anyone else…”

Zubert perked; oh no, was Stix about to cry again?

“Hey, hey! Don’t worry. They uh, they like taking prisoners more than jus' killin' folks, cuz they make them join the troops, an' then there’s more of 'em.”

Stix looked horrified. “That doesn’t make me feel any better,” he groaned.

“Oh. Sorry.”

Silence befell them for a few minutes as Zubert fed Stix the rest of the biscuit. As he finished the last bite, licking crumbs from his lips, Stix decided to speak again.

“So, er… explain this whole takeover thing?”

“Oh, sure,” Zubert said, sitting and leaning back against the wall nearby Stix. “I don’t know all the details from their side, but, uh… I guess there was this mafia my ma was makin' deals with, an' they got a little weird an' started talkin' about takin' over Bilgewater's whole thing. Ma cut ties with 'em cuz she thought they were bonkers! But she was a big financial investor, so I think they got mad at her.” He scratched at the side of his face with a ponderous look. “Guess they were serious about takin' over, cuz the Grand Warlock and General Catfeetz are somehow ridiculously powerful, an' all the Bilgewater guys started following 'em because they were toutin' that they would slay Gallywix an' make things better for goblins everywhere. But then it just twisted more 'til they straight up decided they were jus' gonna take over th' whole world, an' now everything’s a big, scary mess. They’ve taken basically all of Azshara, killed Gallywix, an’ I’ve heard some of the followers say there’s a big plan coming to fruition soon.”

Stix looked as though the blood had completely drained from his face. “What the fuck?” he said under his breath.

Zubert shrugged. “I dunno, man, but I didn’t get too bum a deal outta it, so I’m jus' mindin' my own business here, y’know?”

Stix looked pensive for a moment, squinting down at the soft blue carpeting beneath him. “So… if I stay here, I’ll be safe?”

“Yeah!” Zubert said. “Miss Drixzy’s real good to me, an' I know she’ll treat you just as nice. Just you wait.”

Stix nodded, then gave a sigh and sunk into the corner.

“My shoulders hurt,” he grumbled.

Zubert tilted his head, peering at Stix. “Want me t' give 'em a rub?”

“No.” The reply was instant, and Zubert got the feeling Stix wanted minimal contact, so he shrugged it off.

“When's she get in?”

“Miss Drixzy?” Zubert pursed his lips in thought. “Heck, I don’t know. I haven’t seen a clock in so long, I don’t even know what month it is anymore. She don’t have a regular schedule though anyways. Jus’ kinda shows up when she shows up.”

“Oh.”

Silence fell once more, and Stix zoned out, staring at nothing on the ground, probably lost in thought. Zubert figured so, anyways. He certainly didn’t seem to want to talk though, so Zubert just sat there with him quietly.

“You. Up.”

Zubert snapped awake suddenly, blearily blinking and looking around as he lifted a head that had drooped to one side as he unintentionally dozed off. As he came to, he realized the speaker had been Drixzy, and he scrambled to his feet.

“Yes, ma’a—”

He didn’t get to finish his word, as warm lips pressed into his own. He didn’t mind, though, his eyes closing as he happily reciprocated the surprise. Drixzy pulled away and, as though only now remembering the guy, turned her head to Stix, who was staring wide-eyed at the two in what could only be described as pure confusion.

Zubert gestured to Stix with one hand, stepping back to introduce the two.

“Miss Drixzy, this is Stix. He’s a’right.”

“Stix.” Drixzy stared quietly for several moments before Stix leaned closer to Zubert and whispered, “Can she see us?”

“Oh, yeah,” Zubert said.

“How?!”

“Um… magic?”

Stix scowled at the unsatisfactory explanation, peering nervously back at the demonic woman. He couldn’t see half her face, but the tight, thin purple leather of the odd but sexy leotard she wore accentuated all the right things. Maybe this wouldn’t be all that bad.

Drixzy, seeming to have satisfied her staring, once more faced Zubert.

“Unbind his arms.”

“Yes ma’am!” Zubert said, approaching Stix, who cautiously scooched around to face his back to Zubert. The knot took a moment, but soon enough Stix’s sore arms were released, and he pulled them around to his front to rub the ache from his shoulders.

“Th’nks” he muttered, backing into the corner again and glowering his distrust.

“I expect Zubert has caught you up with your current situation?”

Stix glanced to Zubert, who only smiled. Looking back at Drixzy, he gave a single nod.

“Good. Now, I ask if you plan t’ be compliant. You will live well cared-for, and The Master’s blessing will bring you joy. If you choose not to comply, then I will revoke my decision to spare you.”

Stix frowned, giving no answer for several moments.

“Stix,” Zubert said in a gentle, hushed voice, “please answer Miss Drixzy.”

A dirty look was tossed his way, but with a deep breath, Stix finally answered.

“I guess so.”

Drixzy’s stern face gave way to just the faintest hint of a smile. “Prove so and I will let you roam the room freely as Zubert does.”

Stix sighed, leaning his head back to stare at the ceiling, where eerie shadows were cast by the fel-light gems that lit the room. He watched with fascination as one of the shadows seemed to flicker and shift a little despite the still nature of the light. His brows creased, and he decided not to look there anymore.

Drixzy, in a contradictory motion, elegantly flopped onto her soft bed, giving a gentle sigh as she sank into it. Zubert glanced between her and Stix, unsure who he should be near at the time. That was answered for him soon enough, as one of Drixzy’s arms rose and gave a come-hither finger wave.

Zubert shuffled over, crawling up into the bed with her, where she rolled onto her belly and said into the blankets “massage.” Like a good doggie, Zubert obeyed, shifting over to straddle her lower back to get a good angle to start working her shoulders with firm, strong hands.

There wasn’t much else to do but watch, so that’s what Stix did. Watched. Watched as Zubert kneaded at the back of a sexy woman, the cut muscles in his bulky arms flexing noticeably with each movement. Stix was pretty sure this was how one of the smut books he’d read started.

Zubert scooted back a little on top of Drixzy as he moved down to work on her upper back, then eventually moved a little further to work on the mid-back… By then he was straddling her butt, and Stix squinted as he noticed Zubert’s crotch moved against it as he rubbed her. Now he wasn’t “pretty” sure; Stix was 100% sure he’d read this one.

Pleased little “mmm”s escaped Drixzy here and there as Zubert worked, and she squirmed beneath him ever so slightly—Zubert flinched, trying to choke a gasp as a soft, barely-clad behind pressed against his accidental excitement. The woman’s head turned away from the face-smothering position she’d been resting in, and a sly smile could be seen on her lips.

“Pleasure me.”

Stix balked; these two were seriously about to do it in front of him? He glanced around frantically. Was this weird? Should he look away and pretend nothing was happening? Should he watch?

Zubert gave a nervous chuckle. “Uh, y-yes ma’am, but, it’s just…”

Drixzy’s brows furrowed. “What?”

Zubert glanced behind to Stix, who looked startled at the sudden attention.

“I mean, someone’s here.”

Drixzy scoffed. “Then pull around the curtains, you baby.”

“That’s not…” Zubert took a deep breath. “Yeah, alright.”

Stix cleared his throat, mumbling a half-hearted “I mean, it’s, uhm, it’s fine.”

Zubert’s ears perked, one brow lowering in consternation. The gears in his head took a moment, but finally he barked a single laugh, turning back to Drixzy.

“Never mind,” Zubert said, fingers trailing up her back to the small zipper tag at the top of the neck of her leotard.

Stix swallowed. Yup. Zubert was just gonna let him watch. He wasn’t sure if he was excited or mortified, but all things considered, it was hardly torture to watch two very attractive people have sex. Just like the books; except instead of words, it was—he choked on a bit of spit as Zubert tugged down his pants. But… he supposed now the tiny goblin had to have something going on to compensate in some way for his unimpressive stature, and that was it.

The act was certainly something. Drixzy, despite being “bottom”, stayed entirely in control, guiding Zubert’s every action. He was fast to catch on any time she changed what she wanted; Stix, trying to ignore other feelings, thought about how strangely in-tune they were with each other. Did they just have good sexual chemistry?

By the time it was over, Stix was hugging his legs as tightly to himself as possible; his hot, red face nestled into his own knees.

Breathing heavily, the very much naked Drixzy—well, naked but for the blindfold and the golden cuffs on her wrists which glowed faintly with fel runes—sat up and turned her attention to the man in the corner, who swallowed hard, his eyes very much unable to meet her unseen gaze, as they were lost on so many other things.

She ran a hand down the front of her body, tilting her head to the side, curtains of long blonde hair cascading down off her shoulders.

Stix couldn’t say a damn thing. A pathetic sort of squeaking whimper was all he managed, burrowing his head further into his knees, though he simply couldn’t tear his eyes away from her.

Zubert, who had flopped down and not moved even a little bit since they finished up, finally shifted around, pushing himself up onto his elbows to peer over at Stix as well.

“Good show, buddy?” Zubert gave a cheeky grin.

Stix’s hands finally rose to cover his burning face and he curled into himself like a dead shrimp.

“If you behave yourself,” Drixzy said, leaning back into her pillows with her arms folded behind her head, “perhaps I will let you have some fun as well someday.”

A hopeless breathed laugh came from the center of the Stix-ball. “A’right,” his muffled voice could be heard saying. “A’right, a’right. This can’t be real. This is a weird wet dream. Wake up. Wake up.”

Zubert pouted. “You ain’t dreamin’, Stix. Well…” He glanced to Drixzy with a sideward smirk, “…not yet.”

A slight smile crept onto Drixzy’s lips. “Oh, you little ham,” she muttered.

Zubert winked at her, and Stix pulled his head out from the depths of his body to give them both a disbelieving look.

“This is ridiculous.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Zubert said with a content sigh.

Something told Stix that wasn’t true.

Well, he had sort of been wrong. Not entirely, but he became more relaxed over time, though internally terrified still; something about Zubert’s ever-present smiling mug perhaps? Or maybe he was just coming to terms and accepting his fate. Drixzy began to dress him about as strangely as Zubert, and was slowly but surely chipping away at his defensive shell with coos of adoration and compliments. He wasn’t comfortable around her, but she was always a looming figure in this caged life he couldn’t avoid.

He stayed silent, mostly. Zubert would press him for conversation, but more often than not was harshly denied. Sure, he may have been settling in, but he wasn’t gonna be happy about it. He would barely let either Zubert or Drixzy touch him willingly, either—Drixzy would lay a farewell kiss on his angular cheek every time she left for an extended period of time, which required a gentle but firm Zubert to hold him still as he tried to squirm away from it. There was always something about those kisses. They were so, so warm. And for several moments after she pulled away, he would think, maybe this isn’t all so bad. And that thought horrified him more than anything.

The chains stayed. He was too twitchy—Drixzy was hesitant to trust him. Not because she was worried he’d get away, obviously; they’d find him before he even escaped the palace, and that would only be a death sentence. But as he had at least complied as much as to not attempt to claw Zubert’s eyes out when he approached with food and drink, Drixzy decided to offer him a modicum of freedom, via a classic combination of ankle shackle, chain, and an immensely heavy metal ball that couldn’t have been anything as simple as iron or steel. Zubert, shocking nobody, was able to lift the ball without too much struggle, but much as he tugged, Stix couldn’t make it so much as budge, only managing to cut up his ankle trying to pull away from it when the others weren’t around.

This new form of bondage was at least better than before—he was now allowed to be led around the palace by Zubert, who would tote the ball so they could sit in the gardens for fresh air, or to the mess hall where they’d try to haggle the actual good food away from Gremix’s followers, who generally just regarded the two with befuddlement before ignoring them.

One garden trip resulted in, to Zubert’s surprise, the lanky goblin whipping out a half-empty pack of cigarettes and a lighter, which he seemed very excited about.

“Where’d ya get that?” Zubert asked.

Stix wiggled his fingers as he said “cafeteria,” his other hand already popping a cig between his lips.

“You stole it?”

“Duh.”

Zubert looked displeased, but he said nothing more, deciding he would keep quiet about the contraband to Drixzy. At the very least, Stix seemed more relaxed as he smoked than Zubert had seen him in all the time he’d been there.

How long was that now? Weeks? Months?

Zubert’s eyes rose to the sky above the towering garden walls: grey and smoggy as the harbor always was. He had no idea what the date or time was, every day blurring into the next and becoming one conglomerate concept. With a twinge of concern, he realized that he had almost forgotten he hadn’t always been there, there were times before the palace; the memories of which were faint and fading. Steelknuckle Casino, the isles, his mom… Large ears lowered, and his brows knit. Zubert wasn’t often very critical of his current living situation, but sometimes, a creeping realization like that would sneak up and…

“You, uh, ready t’ go back in, ‘r what?”

Zubert seemed to snap out of a daze, blinking over at the floofy-haired thief, who was snubbing the last nub of his cigarette out against the delicate marble seat of the bench they sat on.

“Huh? Oh, yeah.” Zubert hesitated for a second, squinting one eye. What… what had he just been thinking about, again?

Zubert slipped off the bench, and grabbing the chain just above the ball, hefted it up and they headed back inside.

How much time had it been?

Stix stared at the bottom of the bed’s canopy in the dark. He didn’t like it, but what choice did he have when Drixzy wanted him to sleep in the bed? Zubert would haul his ball onto it, the short chain not giving way for escape to the floor.

How much time had it been?

Drixzy rolled over in her sleep, a soft arm coming down atop Stix’s chest and he hitched a breath—but it was nothing, as usual. His eyes dropped to her arm. Slowly, carefully, he pulled one of his own from under the blankets, hovering it just over her green skin in a hesitant moment before gently laying his fingertips upon it. She didn’t react, so he let his palm slide down onto her arm as well; yellow eyes watched her through the dark to be sure she didn’t wake. But then, he stopped.

He had meant to carefully lift and move her arm away, but as his hand rested there, a warming calm came over him and he opted to just leave it resting there. What an odd feeling. What a nice feeling.

His eyelids began to droop, sleep overtaking him.

How much time had it been?

Who cared?

“So what color are your eyes, Miss Drixzy?”

Zubert lay on his belly, his feet kicking back and forth behind him, face perched in two hands as he leaned onto his elbows.

Stix was there, too, his ball and chain keeping him stuck on the bed with them. But he was starting to think he didn’t mind it so much anymore. He’d started talking a bit more, and though he was still uncomfortable with touch, he was much more willing to be within a handful of inches of both Drixzy and Zubert.

“Green,” Stix said. “You can see it through her mask, can’t’cha?”

Drixzy chuckled softly, petting a hand through Zubert’s hair as she relaxed. “You’re right, they are green, now.”

Zubert pursed his lips.

“What color were they before?”

Drixzy frowned. “Before what?”

“You said “now”, didn’t you?”

Drixzy was silent for a few rough moments.

“I don’t… recall.”

“Bet’cha they’re still that color, but just glowy, right?” Stix offered. “Like th’ Grand Dickhead’s, his’re pink but th’ green shit comes from inside, yeah?”

“Oh yeah!” exclaimed Zubert. “We could jus’ look an’ tell you!”

Stix sat up in interest. He had no idea how long he’d been there anymore, but in all that time, he’d always wondered what was beneath the blindfold—and Zubert did too.

“You can’t,” Drixzy said, defensively. “I mustn’t show my eyes to anyone but The Master.”

Stix scoffed. “How’s he gonna know?”

“Yeah, jus’ for a second! It can’t hurt, right?”

Drixzy’s hand paused its petting motion. Admittedly, she had been desperately curious to see what the two boys looked like in the real world; what she saw through the blindfold was vague, forms and shadows of depth, the concept of facial expressions, but not true to life. She chewed her bottom lip for a second.

“Fine, but just for a moment,” she said quietly, sitting up and raising her hands to the back of her head.

Zubert and Stix leaned in, eagerly awaiting the answer to their burning question.

Untied, the strip of dark cloth fell to Drixzy’s lap, and long-lashed eyes slowly opened.

“Holy fuck,” Stix yelped, backing away quickly.

“What?” Drixzy asked, glancing between the two of them. Her eyes were adjusting to the light she so rarely saw, but they tried to take in her people-pets’ forms anyways.

“Your eyes,” Zubert said, his tone low and serious, “they’re so bright with the Fel that I can’t tell.”

Drixzy rubbed at her eyes, blinking away the stars. “Really?” Finally, her eyes focused and landed on Zubert. Oh. He had such a cute baby face… but then from the neck down, was hot. She had not seen that disconnect before. Charming. Her gaze turned to Stix, who swallowed and leaned away as much as he could without falling over. Stix, unlike Zubert, was skinny, tall, and seemed, in a way, slightly worn out; like an old letter from a friend, or a well-loved paperback.

“Your hair is white,” Drixzy stated.

“Y-yeah,” Stix said.

“I could never tell,” she said softly. “I can’t figure out colors very well with this—”

A loud bang interrupted her, and she froze in terror. She was facing the opposite direction, but she was more than aware that that sound was the door being slammed open. Two guards with sharp polearms entered, followed by none other than the Grand Warlock, who walked in calmly, hands folded behind his back.

She had never felt so afraid in her life. The dread was almost tangible; her breath seemed caught in her chest, as though she were choking on the very air. Zubert and Stix could feel it too.

They done fucked up.

“What, exactly, do you think you’re doing, my dear Drixzy?” came Gremix’s voice from behind her back.

Zubert looked frantically between the glowing-eyed woman and the eerily collected warlock, interjecting; “W-I mean, I convinced her t’ take it off! Please don’t be mad at her, it’s my fault.”

“What’re y’ doing, idiot?” Stix hissed under his breath. “You’re gonna get yerself killed!”

“Silence, both of you.”

Zubert’s ears drooped; the command had come from Drixzy.

“Come here,” Gremix said flatly.

Drixzy, swallowing a lump in her throat formed of sheer fear, obliged. Gradually, she backed up to the edge of the bed closer to the door, only turning to face her master as her feet found the floor.

She’d only met his gaze for a split second when she gasped in sudden, sharp pain, stumbling back a step and shooting a hand to her cheek—which was now red and stinging from an unexpected backhand.

“Hey!” Zubert shouted, making a move as though meaning to go defend Drixzy, but Stix grabbed his shoulder and tugged him back.

Tears welled in Drixzy’s eyes and she regarded Gremix fearfully. Despite literally having just slapped her, the warlock seemed just as cool as the moment before, his stern expressionless gaze locked on her.

“I’m sorry, Master,” she said quietly, her voice barely a squeak.

“You certainly are.” Gremix looked over his shoulder, nodding a head to one of the guards. “Take the slaves.”

Drixzy’s ears whipped upwards. “What? Why—they didn’t do anythin’, Master, please!” Despite her objections, the guards headed deeper into the room, seizing Zubert and Stix; the latter trying to make some sort of resistant effort, but Zubert, as ever, allowing himself to be directed without a fight.

“You will put that blindfold back on immediately and wait here for my decision about what happens next,” Gremix said, glancing aside to the guards as they escorted the two young men away. “You will not leave this room; d’you understand me?”

Drixzy wrung the cloth in her hands for a second, but gave a slight nod, and lifted it to her face to tie on once again.

“Do make sure to actually obey my instructions this time,” Gremix concluded with a note of venom as he turned on his heel and strode out after the guards.

Drixzy watched as more guards outside saluted him, then closing her door and, assumedly, guarding it.

Her knees seemed to give out, and she sat on the edge of her bed, trembling.

What had she done?

They stood still, eyes lowered. They didn’t look but they could tell he was staring them down. The warlock’s gaze felt like needles on their skin; Stix, for the first time in quite a while, had begun to shiver.

“It’ll be okay,” Zubert said. “We’ll be okay, don’t worry.”

“Is that what you think?” Gremix asked from where he lounged upon his throne. The guards held the two goblins before him at the bottom of the lordly steps for his consideration, and he’d been picking his brain for the best way to go about his intentions.

Zubert swallowed, not responding. A shaky breath shuddered from beside him. Every instinct told Zubert to pat Stix’s shoulder, or hug him, or anything… but Stix probably wouldn’t have wanted it, anyways.

Gremix observed the two for a few moments, deep in thought. Then, fel-tinged magenta eyes flicked to Zubert.

“Steelknuckle.”

Zubert flinched, but raised his eyes to meet the warlock’s gaze.

“Punch him.”

Both Zubert and Stix looked taken aback.

“Stix? W-why?”

“Jus’ do it. Hard as you can. Straight in the face.”

Stix whimpered, a fearful look tossed Zubert’s way. Zubert shook his head incredulously.

“I can’t punch him… he didn’t do nothin’ to me.”

“Are you defying me?” Gremix asked, one brow raised.

“Uh…” A chill ran down Zubert’s back. “No, no of course not, but, it’s jus’…”

Gremix gave a disappointed click of his tongue.

“And here I thought Drixzy would have done a better job on you.” He slumped back in his throne, stroking his jawline in thought.

“Ah!” Gremix sat up straight suddenly, snapping his fingers before pointing at the guard holding Stix’s ball. “I’ve got jus’ the thing. Why don’t we playtest that lovely new whip I was given last week?”

“Excellent choice, master,” the guard said.

“I will retrieve it for you, Master,” piped up a follower who was coincidentally walking down a hall to the side of the throne room.

“Thank you, child,” Gremix said with a head nod towards the follower, who saluted and jogged off in the direction from which they had originally came.

Stix looked like he might faint.

Zubert raised his eyes, giving Gremix a pleading look. “D-don’t hurt him…! Please.”

Gremix simply stared at him, blinking slowly.

Zubert’s eyes welled with tears. “Please! I—I told him he’d be safe! I told him he’d be okay if he stayed here!” Zubert swallowed back a desperate sob. “Please, he didn’t do anything.”

Stix peered aside at the pleading goblin.

“Don’t… don’t make me a liar.” The tears, having no room left to well, began running down the soft curves of Zubert’s cheeks.

“How odd,” Gremix said. “His face is leaking.” His gaze drifted to the guard holding Zubert. “He should see the doctor to get that looked at, I think.”

“I couldn’t agree more, Master,” said the guard. “I will deliver him.”

Zubert’s brows knit in confusion. “Huh? Doctor?” He got no explanation, however, and was tugged away down a hallway, glancing back at Stix as he turned the corner—their eyes met for just a moment, and Zubert could only feel his stomach sink to his feet. He looked… betrayed.

“No, please,” Zubert sobbed one last time, but the guard jerked him forward and he disappeared from sight.

“Here it is, Master,” said the follower from before, now toting what could only be described as several strands of rusty barbed wire braided together on one end to form a crude steel whip.

“Ah, lovely,” Gremix said with a pleased smile. “Guard, will you do the honors, please?”

“Of course, Master,” the guard behind Stix said. He placed down the heavy ball, stepping away to take the “whip” from the other follower, who then giddily approached Gremix, bowed, and received a gentle brush of his hand on their cheek; a blissful sigh was the last thing from them before they returned to whatever business they had been tending to before.

There was no forewarning, and no words for the feeling, Stix yelping loudly as the steel wires lashed across his back unexpectedly. Fabric and flesh tore, and his eyes overflowed with tears of pain as he tried to gasp his breath back. Suddenly dizzy from the shock, he fell forward to his hands and knees, shaking and huddling into himself. Hateful eyes rose to see the Grand Warlock lounging upon his seat, looking nothing more than bored.

“Why?!” Stix whined. “What’d I do t’ deserve this!?”

“Oh, silly boy: nothing, I’m sure. I’m punishing you…” Gremix said, leaning his cheek into a hand, elbow propped onto the arm of his golden chair, “…but the punishment is not for you.”

Stix’s ears pinned, but he had no time to parse that as the wires struck his back once more, cutting and gouging at already tender, bleeding flesh and causing him to cry out in pain.

Gremix smirked. “Let’s do twenty, shall we?”

“Yes, Master.”

Somewhere deep within the mazes of stone hallways that led underground, Zubert trudged along with his guard. It was creepy enough in the dank, empty halls, but even worse, he kept hearing an eerie screeching sound echoing from somewhere distantly behind.

It seemed they’d walked forever. There was no way Zubert was going to remember the route back… though a nagging voice in the back of his head said that might not be a concern soon. Finally, the guard stopped him, creaking open a heavy metal door plastered with warning and hazard signs, revealing a large room full of whirring medical equipment, steel tables with long sheets of tissue paper spread over them, and…

“Oh, a doctor. I got it.” Zubert said.

“Well, they don’t call me that much anymore,” came a smooth voice from the corner. “No respect, these lot.”

Zubert whipped his head around to identify the speaker. Behind a cluttered desk sat a goblin man with long, fiery red hair pulled back into a ponytail. He was chewing on something and leaning back in his chair with his feet on the desk, clearly comfortable in this odd, chemical-smelling, machine-riddled room.

“What’s this, then?” asked the supposed doctor.

“Test subject.”

The doctor’s brows rose, and his eyes shone excitedly. He kicked off from his desk, chair rolling back enough for him to hop to his feet.

“Can I—?!”

“Non-fatal only.”

The doctor’s cheery face dropped into a disappointed scowl.

“Fine… but I’m never gonna get anywhere on Serum K if you guys don’t give me some expendables!”

“Yeah, yeah,” groaned the guard, shoving Zubert forward into the room. “I’ll let the Master know your concerns.”

The doctor crinkled his nose. “Yeah, sure ya will.”

The guard gave a final wave and a sarcastic “have fun!” as he left, sealing the door behind him.

The doctor turned and gave the tied-up Zubert a strange smile.

“How d’you feel about needles, little man?”

Drixzy hadn’t moved an inch from where she sat. Hours had passed, but she felt frozen. What was going to happen to her? She had spent so long following Gremix faithfully, catering to his every demand for years, and in one foolish moment had thrown that all away. What was she thinking? Why would she do something so stupid?! She rubbed at her temples, mind racing. It was Zubert and Stix—something about them. She was becoming weak for them, forgetting her place… and theirs.

Drixzy gasped, startled from her thoughts as her bedroom door opened once again. A guard’s head popped in.

“The Master calls you. He wishes you to clean up an unsightly mess in the throne room.”

Drixzy, puzzled, stood from her bed to follow the guard out. A mess? Was he making her do chores as punishment?

As soon as she crossed into sight of the throne room, she found herself wishing that true.

She cried out in despair, running into the room with loud, fast CLICK CLICK CLICKs of her boots on the stone. Reaching the center below the throneward stairs, she fell to her knees, hands shaky and unsure of what to do to what she found there… an unsightly mess, indeed. Stix was unconscious, his shirt shred to pieces and his back all but mutilated and losing him significant amounts of blood. She turned her head to the throne to see Gremix seated there, staring down at her, expressionless and cold.

“Master--!”

He raised a hand, flicking his wrist to toss something down at her. Drixzy caught it skillfully, whatever it was, and she brought it close to herself to see it. Small, green, and lightly glowing, it appeared to be a minor healthstone.

“Embed that into his back, an’ clean him up; you might have a chance to keep him alive yet, my pet.”

Drixzy swallowed back tears, brushing one hand’s fingers through bloodstained hair—hair she now knew was white. And this is what he got for her knowing.

“Oh, Stix, I’m so sorry,” she muttered into his ear as she stooped down to lift his limp body. Plenty of guards and other followers were around, and they watched her quietly, some whispering to one another, but not a one offering to help as she hurriedly part-carried, part-dragged the significantly taller, bloodied goblin away.

His eyes didn’t open right away when his consciousness returned to him. Stix pondered in the darkness of his mind if he was dead. Was he in the afterlife? The afterlife felt like a very comfy bed. But slowly his senses returned to him, and he could make out quiet noises. Little subtle sounds that signaled that another person was around. Well, he certainly couldn’t be dead, then; his happiest afterlife, he thought, would be free from dealing with other people ever again. He was already not keen on most people, and recent events were really only setting the roots of that feeling even deeper.

Recent events?

His eyes finally cracked open, just to see nothing but darkness. Wait, was he dead? He lifted his head—no, he just had his face in a pillow, after all. Damn.

He regretted the movement instantly.

“Nnngh--!!” Stix groaned as he winced, plummeting his face back into soft feathery pillows.

“Don’t move!” came a concerned voice from somewhere nearby. Drixzy’s voice.

He only groaned again.

“You’re injured, just lay still and rest,” she said. Her voice was soft, delicate… sad.

He didn’t want to feel bad for her—he was the one who suffered for her! And yet, the tone of her voice seemed to tug at his heart. What annoying, confusing, conflicting feelings he’d had since entering this palace.

“Stix,” Drixzy said, walking over to the side of the bed where he laid, “do you know where Zubert is?”

Stix thought about it. His memories of what happened before he passed out were fuzzy… what was that word again? It had seemed such an odd thing that Gremix said. Oh--

“Doc’r,” came his pillow-muffled response.

Drixzy stumbled backwards as though she had been shoved by the invisible force of his voice.

“D-doctor?!”

“M’hmm.”

“Stay here!” Drixzy said, turning to make a dash out her door, but she paused. “I mean, you probably can’t go anywhere right now if you’d wanted to, but…” Oh, what was she saying? She was in a rush!

The clacking of her boots as she sprinted down halls and around corners echoed throughout the lower chambers. One might have thought that cacophonous sound would be enough for people to keep an eye open, but Drixzy still nearly mowed someone over in her rush. She didn’t stop to apologize. Did she ever stop to apologize? She didn’t remember being polite to followers ever. Why wasn’t she polite to them?

The warning-adorned door smashed open with a loud BANG!, Drixzy immediately yelling, “BAZLEE! WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM!?”

The doctor, this Bazlee, blinked at her, apparently having been in the middle of an experiment; syringe in hand, surgical mask over nose and mouth, and someone green and struggling bound to the metal table before him. Her heart sank. It wasn’t Zubert.

“Hello to you too, Drixzy. Why yes, I’ve been lovely, thanks for asking!”

“Where is he?”

Bazlee looked puzzled. “Whom?”

“Zubert!” Drixzy shouted, fear straining her voice. “He’s—he’s short, an’ has black hair, an’ tattoos, an’ really sexy arms!”

From somewhere deeper in the room came a weak chuckle. Her ears perked and she dashed towards the sound.

She went around a large, humming machine of some sort to find Zubert sprawled out on a stained bedroll on the floor.

“You really think my arms are sexy?” he asked. His voice was but a scratchy wisp of strained breath, his face pale and eyelids drooping.

Drixzy knelt beside him, placing a hand on his cheek. He was cold as ice. She swallowed hard, ears pinning.

“Are you in pain? Can you move?” she asked.

Zubert took a bit to respond, seeming to have to gather the energy to over time.

“Badly. Can’t move.” He gave a weak smile. “I’m sorry, Miss Drixzy. I failed you.”

“No, no, of course you didn’t, don’t say that,” she murmured, cupping his cheeks in her hands.

“He ain’t gonna die, you can chill. Probably, at least. …Maybe.”

Drixzy turned, scrutinizing Bazlee, who had snuck up behind her at some point.

“How do I help him?”

The doctor pursed his lips to one side, giving an exaggerated “hmmmmmmmm…”

“Bazlee! This is no time for your crap!” Drixzy snapped.

He snickered and shrugged.

“I dunno, honestly. Warm him up? I design the poisons, not the antidotes.”

Drixzy huffed. She scooped her arms under Zubert’s back and tried to lift, but with a groan of strained effort, she realized that while the bottom half of Zubert was within her limits, his upper body bulk was far too heavy for her to heft all the way back to her bedroom.

Zubert gave another weak chuckle. “Sorry…”

“Stop apologizing,” Drixzy said, rubbing her hands down her face. What was she going to do?

She scanned her surroundings, seeking anything that could give her an idea—and her eyes landed on Bazlee, who was no longer paying attention to her, instead pulling bloodied rubber gloves from his hands to dispose of.

“Bazlee,” Drixzy started, her voice softer than it had been any time she’d addressed him before, “please, will you help me?”

The doctor eyed her.

“Please—we used to be friends!”

This puzzled the red-haired man, whose brows lowered in concern. “What? When?”

Drixzy paused. When? She could have sworn… her head pounded as she tried to dig up where that thought had come from.

“I… I don’t know.”

Bazlee gave her an incredulous look, but shrugged it off.

“I guess. That useless idiot they just gave me died before I could get anythin’ done, so I could take a break…”

Stix had dozed off, pain wearing him down into sleep again and again, but a clattering awoke him. The sound of the door opening, and what sounded like squeaky wheels…

“Thank you,” Drixzy said, taking one of Bazlee’s hands in her own with a grateful squeeze after they had moved Zubert from the wheeled stretcher they transported him with to the bed.

“Yeah, well,” Bazlee mumbled, pulling his hand away from hers and shaking it off like she’d gotten water or cooties on it. “Next time one of your dudes ends up in my lab, I’m not doin’ this again. Jus’ for the record.”

“You will never see them in there again.”

Bazlee laughed, and taking the stretcher, wheeled it out of the room. A few moments after he closed the door, fast wheel-squeaking could be heard from the halls, along with a “YEEEEAHHHHH!”—then very soon a “WAIT, NO—” and a crashing sound.

Drixzy pursed her lips—she had no time to go attend to the doofus doctor who she could only assume just tried to ride his stretcher down the halls.

“J’fnd’m?” came a muffled voice from pillowed face.

“Yeah,” Drixzy said. “I found him.” She placed a hand tenderly on Zubert’s chest. His breathing was slow and weak.

She tried piling blankets upon blankets upon blankets over him, but nothing she did seemed to warm him, and it seemed the color was completely draining from his body—she’d never seen a green so white. She searched her mind desperately, staring down at her hands. Useless hands! They couldn’t even save her… pets? No, they weren’t pets to her. An ache in her chest denied that term, and she longed for something else. Her eyes drifted from palms to the golden cuffs around her wrists. The fel runes on them flickered and glowed, seeming to move and shift around the surface. She hadn’t quite figured out what these were, but she knew that Gremix had created them, and somehow had been summoning her through them—not by sound, but a strange feeling that emanated from them and crept into her mind when he called her name. Perhaps there was more to the shackles than that. Maybe it was a two-way thing.

“Master,” she whispered. “Please… let me save them.” Zubert watched her, pretty sure he was dying and thus slipping away from reality because Drixzy was definitely talking to her own hands.

Nothing happened—until something did. The runes’ glows shone brighter in a burst of sudden green energy, then faded, the color turning into a vapor that dissipated in the air. What did that mean? What kind of help was that?

But then she felt it. A tug in the back of her mind—like when Gremix called for her, but ever so slightly different. This feeling was not saying “come here.” Instead, it simply said “kiss”.

She was too desperate to question, so she leaned in, and laid a kiss upon Zubert's cold, pallid lips. It was then she understood.

A warmth came from her hands, rising up her arms and into her body. It was the touch of her Master—but not being given to her. It was siphoning through her, and as it rose to her head, she heard a gentle inhale from the near-frozen goblin.

Stix, curious of the quiet shuffling, turned his head just enough that he could peek over with one yellow eye. What he saw, he couldn’t quite explain. Well, he could explain the part that was Drixzy smooching Zubert like she tended to, but the fel glow overflowing from beneath her blindfold and bursting in waves from her wristbands was another thing. The lights seemed to materialize into a green fog, which then drifted around Zubert, where it seemed to then be sucked into him. Miraculously, color was rapidly reappearing in his skin, starting with a golden red in the cheeks and ears signifying not just life but that he was quite enjoying what slowly but surely became a much deeper kiss. Regaining his ability to move, Zubert sat up—hands met faces, silent pleased noises escaped them, and the fel clouds continued until finally Drixzy pulled away. Zubert, half lidded eyes making him seem entranced, tried to lean to follow her, but Drixzy put her hand on his face and for a few seconds they just sat like that. With a twitch of an ear, Zubert seemed to find himself again, though looking confused, and Drixzy lowered her hand.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

Zubert looked down at his hands, turning them around, then moved his arms around a bit. “Yeah! I’m kinda achey, but way better now!” He gave her a perplexed look. “What did you do?”

“I d'no, but I don’t like it,” came a muffled voice to the side.

Drixzy frowned. “Stix, let me heal you too.”

“Hell no!” Stix said, wincing as the slight chest movement only served to reopen barely-scabbed gashes, gushing hot blood into the bandages wrapped over practically his entire torso. “Keep that demon stuff away from me.”

“You’re bleeding profusely and in so much pain, though,” Drixzy said, voice low and concerned.

“Don’t care.”

Drixzy sighed. “I’m sorry. This is all my fault, I failed to take proper care of you both but just ended up hurting you.”

“That’s not true!” argued Zubert.

“Yeah,” Stix agreed, brows lowering into a look of disgust. “You didn’t hurt us, that monster out there on his shiny chair did!”

“Do not speak that way of The Master,” Drixzy said disapprovingly.

“Seriously? How c’n yer stand up for that guy?! Don’t y’ see he’s terrible?” Stix asked indignantly.

“He isn’t,” Drixzy disagreed, slipping off the bed and walking around it to Stix's side. “You don’t know him like I do. You don’t know how he is when we’re alone.”

Stix blinked in disbelief. “Are you even hearin' yerself?”

“Stix,” chided Zubert. “Jus’ stop.”

“No! This is insane, this—nnh!”

He had started to try to push himself up, forgetting until too late that every single movement stung like a razor down his back.

He felt hands on his face, which gently turned his head in the opposite direction, towards Drixzy.

“Don’t,” Stix said. “C-c’mon…”

“It really works, Stix, I feel way better now,” Zubert said, trying to offer some reassurance.

“I’m only helping,” Drixzy insisted.

“I don’t want yer help.”

Drixzy scowled.

“Well, I don’t care what you want. You’re mine, and I’ll do as I will.”

Stix couldn’t exactly back away or fight her off, so he just squeezed his eyes shut as she leaned in, twisting to meet his pillow bound face, and pressed her soft lips onto his.

She hadn’t kissed his lips even once; Stix figured she just had Zubert for that kind of stuff. He certainly didn’t think she’d kiss him, and he certainly didn’t think he would have enjoyed it so much. There was a strange warmth that seemed to seep from her lips, tapping into his own body. His mind became vague; were they using tongue? It was as though his consciousness had left his body to float in a liminal space. It was a painless place, an anxiety-free place. So nice. So heavenly.

He blinked, suddenly finding himself once more in his broken body, strewn across Drixzy’s bed. He felt dazed, yet renewed. Shakily, he pushed himself up to sitting, and Zubert gave an excited applause.

Stix still looked worse for the wear, having lost significant amounts of blood, but as shown by Zubert carefully peeling bloody bandages off the skinny goblin, the horrendous mutilated flesh had closed up quite a bit, thick scabbing holding the cuts closed as though it’d had several days to heal already. Stix shuddered as the cold hit his now-bare torso, then hissed sharply through his teeth—“fuck, it still hurts.”

“Still as much?” Zubert asked concernedly.

Stix considered himself carefully before answering.

“Nah. Less, but it still hurts.”

Drixzy peered down at her bracers, but the runes had died down to their usual faint flickering glow. “I don’t think I can do any more. I’m sorry.”

Stix grumbled, but Zubert, much more enthusiastic about not feeling like he was freezing to death, chimed in with a “you’ve done plenty! More than we could have asked for.”

Drixzy gave him a weak smile, and the door creaked open behind her. She glanced over to see a guard simply holding it open. For a moment she was puzzled, but then she realized why he was there as the back of her mind prickled: come here.

She peered at her boys, both better but tired.

“I’m being called for. Try to get more rest, you two.”

Zubert nodded, Stix giving no acknowledgement of her even having spoken.

Drixzy turned and strode out the door. The call wasn’t coming from the throne room this time. She could sense his power even from afar. He was in his chambers.

With a deep breath, she started down the halls.

She entered slowly, warily. The dim, fel-lit room was same as it always was: cold, slightly spooky, and containing the one thing she was truly afraid of…

Gremix.

“You called for me, Master?”

“Yes,” he answered from where he lay, casually leaned against the strikingly carved and engraved headboard of his luxurious bed, arms crossed behind his head. As usual, he wore a delicate, fancy robe, which spread from his crossed legs like a fish tail.

“Join me.” He pulled his arms from behind to pat the mattress beside him. “You’ll be sleeping with me tonight.”

Her heart skipped a beat—it’d been so long since Gremix had let her sleep with him. She wanted to be excited, but a pit in her stomach warned her that Gremix was probably still very displeased with her. Cautiously, she came forth, hefting herself into the soft bedding and crawling over to lay beside her master. An uncertain hand lifted towards his chest, but she hesitated to touch him.

“It’s fine, dear,” he said with a smile that didn’t look quite genuine.

She laid her hand softly on his chest, scooting in close to him and nuzzling into his shoulder.

“I’m so sorry, Master,” she nearly whispered. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“Bygones, bygones,” Gremix said, combing clawed fingers through her nearly-white blonde locks. “What’s up with you lately, huh? Of everyone, I never would have thought you would disobey my direct command.”

She burrowed further into his shoulder in shame.

“I’ve been feelin’ so strange,” Drixzy said. “I keep getting confused. I told Bazlee we used to be friends”—Gremix’s brows furrowed immediately—”but that can’t be true… I don’t remember that, nor did he. I don’t know why I said it.”

“I see,” Gremix said, no note of concern in his tone despite the betrayal of a distressed face. “That’s very silly of you. You never met Bazlee until the Palace.”

“I know… but for a moment, I was so sure.” She frowned and shifted back to look entreatingly at the warlock. “What’s wrong with me, Master? I feel like I’m losing grip on myself.”

Gremix pursed his lips, scrutinizing the woman’s face a moment. Reaching up slowly, he lifted her blindfold up and off her head. She opened her eyes, and as usual, they glowed with unholy intensity.

“Don’t worry, my dear,” Gremix said, a soft tone to his voice that Drixzy hadn’t heard in so long. “I am going to fix you.”

“Thank you, Boss.”

Gremix froze, and the abrupt stiffening of his muscles indicated to Drixzy that something she said was wrong. Her eyes widened, and her hand shot to her mouth, covering it in confused horror.

“Wh… why did I…”

Gremix's ears pinned, slight movements in his jaw a sign of clenched teeth.

“Never. Call me that. Again,” he said, some sort of powerfully serious frustration seeming to bubble inside of him.

“I-I'm sorry, Master—oh!”

Drixzy found herself suddenly flipped onto her back, the warlock hovering above her on his hands and knees. She couldn’t remember the last time Gremix had looked so upset. Or had he ever looked upset?

“Master,” Drixzy started softly, swallowing a lump in her throat, “how… long have we been here?”

The Grand Warlock’s hand slid up the front of her body and he leaned in to her ear, his warm breath giving her goosebumps.

“Always.”

Zubert and Stix had waited a while for her, but Drixzy did not return that night, and they fell asleep sprawled out in the spaciousness of the bed. When they awoke, she still had not returned. It wasn’t until a while after the door guard brought them dinner that the blindfolded young woman came back.

There was something about the way she was walking—hips swaying, each heeled bootstep like a step down the catwalk. Her lips were tight and straight, her posture immaculate. Expressionless.

“Welcome back, Mi—” started Zubert, practically a dog wagging its tail at its owner’s return.

“Silence.”

Zubert paused. Her voice was flat, cold. He glanced aside at Stix, who returned his troubled look.

“On the floor, pets. Where you belong.”

Both guys seemed to wilt a little, scooching themselves off the comfy linens in disappointment. What happened? Drixzy seemed to have completely changed overnight. Zubert thought it felt familiar… Like how she was when he first arrived.

“Drixzy—”

“I said silence.” Drixzy sneered at them, her voice carrying a malice that chilled them to their cores. “I have failed my Master by being too soft on you both. You will learn your places, or else be destroyed.”

Stix paled. Killed, sure; but “destroyed” sounded—somehow—worse.

“Do you understand me?”

Stix and Zubert both nodded fervently.

A smile crept onto her lips, but not the soft, tender smiles from before. It seemed, in a way, sinister. As though merely watching them fear her was a pleasant joke. A horrible realization crept up on both of the guys.

She was smiling just like him.

#my stupid shit writing #au that should never happen #gremix #drixzy #zubert #bazlee #stixit #catfeetz

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artificialqueens · 7 years

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Say You Won’t Let Go Part 5 (Biadore) - Fucking Awful

A/N: No fan fare, no excuses. Just an apologetic author who finally got her hands on a computer.

For those joining this party now – here’s the link to the first installments:

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4

Welcome to the post-All Stars landslide, kids. Let’s cry together.

Say you won’t let go.

October 2015. Danny was locked in the guestroom of his mom’s house in Azusa, writing. He had only a few days left of recording in the studio, so he needed to focus on finishing up the last few songs of the new album before he ran out of time and money.

The album – he and the producers decided it would be called After Party – was coming along really well. His team was pleased that it had plenty of upbeat and synth-y tracks that they hoped might get him into radio play, and Danny was already storyboarding the lead single music video.

And as for those moodier, melancholy tracks Danny was hoping to write earlier in the summer – those came in spades after “The Incident.”

Danny used “The Incident” as mental shorthand for Roy’s housewarming party; calling it something neutral took away its power over him…and kept him from having to decide whether it was his own breakup or Roy’s hookup that upset him the most. As soon as he got home that night, he wrote the lyrics for “I Can’t Love You” on the first takeout napkin he could find. He spent the next few days perfecting the melody to fit his words – the opposite of his usual work pattern – and had the track laid down within the week. “I.C.U.” came next, after waking up in a cold sweat from a dream where he was chasing some kind of glowing light in a sea of darkness. He got that one done just a few weeks later.

Then he broke for All Stars. Literally, broke. Danny didn’t last 3 days back at Drag Race, but that was going to be common knowledge eventually. He went in as a confident artist healing from a breakup and the less-than-year-old death of his father, and he came out a shaken chiona with fresh wounds where all his Band-Aids had been.

Luckily this gave him yet another treasure trove of sadness and disappointment, from which he pulled out two more real gut-wrenchers like “Save Your Breath.” Danny wanted some really dark stuff on this album, and Life sure as hell gave him something to write about. Music was therapy, just as it always had been.

Music also gave Danny an excuse to hide. That was why he was holed up in Azusa, going nowhere but the studio and the house, because he was working on the album – definitely not because he didn’t know how to deal with his friends after The Incident and his All Stars freak out. Danny hadn’t seen anyone but Bonnie and her boyfriend in weeks, and he’d only spoken to Chris over the phone.

Isolation agreed with him. He working on the chorus of one of his bubblier tracks when his phone vibrated. In the zone and unwilling to be distracted, he ignored it. But, much like that crazy bitch from Fatal Attraction, the iPhone would not be ignored, Dan. Periodic vibes became constant buzzing, moving from short text alerts to the long drone of disregarded calls. After a sold 20 minutes of all out iPhone assault, he couldn’t take it anymore.

“Jesus Christ, what the fuck?!” Danny yelled into his phone, picking it up without checking the caller. “Is the Goddamn universe ending?” He had been off in his own creative world, and resented whoever was pulling him back into the real one.

After a long second of silence, a hoarse but recognizable voice spoke. “See, where was this type of anger and hate 2 years ago? Damn, you could’ve at least given me some real competition with that shit.”

Danny froze. Roy.

“Uh, I…Wha…I…” Danny stuttered, hard. He didn’t have a comeback, partially because he was coming down from his moment of rage and partially because he was so surprised to hear that voice.

“That’s more like it. Confused and adorable. How’s my pussyfart doing? Why haven’t you called me? How have you been?“

Confused was right. Why is Roy calling? Danny told him he’d be gone for 10 weeks to do All Stars, but it had barely been 5.

And Roy sounded weird. There was this thing he did with his voice when he was straining to be nice - it got quiet and soft, like he was speaking to a baby bird, and it sounded almost an octave higher. Normally it made Danny laugh, because it sounded so ridiculous in comparison to Roy’s normal voice and reminded him that Roy never understood how warm and comforting he could be without even trying. But in this moment it was unsettling, because he didn’t know why Roy was speaking to him like that.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to yell. You just surprised me, why are you calling me ri – ” Danny realized it all at once. His fucking mom called Roy and told him what happened at All Stars, that was the only possible explanation. Confusion turned into anger and embarrassment. “Did my fucking mother call you and tell you about All Stars? Oh my God, I am not a child anymore. Jesus Christ, she called you and told you I – ”

“Whoa there, calm your tits kid. She didn’t tell me anything more than you’re back home in Azusa a little earlier than expected, and that she’s worried about you holing yourself up in the studio.”

Danny had set the phone down and was rubbing his face. “Fuuuuuck.”

After a few seconds of silence and a deep breath, he picked the phone back up. “Oh my fucking God, I’m sorry she called you. I am so mort - no, I am fine. I am so totally fine. I don’t know what the hell the woman formerly known as my mother was thinking, but seriously everything is ok. Great. It’s fucking spectacular.”

Danny knew the sarcasm in his voice wasn’t thick enough to cover up how exactly not-at-all-ok he actually was, but he thought he could trust Roy enough to just drop it until he chose to elaborate. He was right.

“Clearly, you sound so balanced and even-keeled right now.” Roy was returning the thick sarcasm in kind. “Look, your mama loves you and knows I’m the only motherfucker around here who can pull you outta whatever fucked up funk you’ve gotten yourself into after being sent home.”

Danny tried to interrupt. Sent home? He must be confused. “No, Roy I -”

But Roy cut him off at the pass. “Just shush and listen to your elders for a second. Cocooning yourself off in your own little sorrow…cocoon, fuck I can’t think of another word…anyway that isn’t going to do you any good. Let’s get out and do something, I’m coming to pick you up in an hour or however long it takes me to drive from Hollywood to ass-fuck Azusa. Just do what I say and for the love of God take a shower before you’re back out in public.”

And with a click, the call ended.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Roy didn’t know how he went home. He thought he got kicked off early and that’s why he was sad. Not because he pussied out within 48 hours and left after crying to Michelle and RuPaul on national television. Not because he couldn’t handle harsh criticism from That’s So Raven. Not because he was so emotionally shattered over other events and wasn’t able to focus on a stupid TV competition. And not because he was too scared to fail so he quit instead.

All things I will now have the pleasure of explaining to Bianca fucking Del Rio. To say Danny wasn’t looking forward to that part was about the understatement of his lifetime. But at least I get to see Roy. And that thought made it all ok again.

So Danny sighed, stood up, and shuffled upstairs to shower - shouting and cursing at Bonnie with every other step, and smiling in between.

…

Roy showed about an hour later, around 4 in the afternoon. He came to the door and hugged Bonnie - Bonnie the traitor, as a still slightly angry Danny thought of her - before grabbing Danny out from behind her and pulling him into a hug.

The hug seemed to defy all rules of space and time. It was bone-crushing at the same time as it was soft and warm. It gave Danny goosebumps and made his chest tense up, but it also sent waves of relaxation down his spine and made his head buzz like it was full of fireflies. It went on forever, but was over way too soon.

“Hey kiddo, how ya doin?” Roy said quietly to Danny as he slowly disengaged from the embrace, gently stroking Danny up and down his back while he did so.

Danny let silence hang, and then it hung for too long. When he realized the pause was getting dramatic, he nearly screeched his next words.

“Better now that mommy called a clown to cheer me up.” He was trying desperately to make a joke. The situation was becoming far to sincere and intimate and confusing for his brain to process, and he was just trying to find an eject button. “What, no balloons or giant shoes? I at least expected a piñata.”

“Oh god, you know I hate when you do that fucking chola voice.” Roy rolled his eyes, the spell of the moment broken. “C'mon you little brat, let’s go.” He bounded down the steps of the house and headed for his car.

“Careful, grandpa, you’ll break a hip! I don’t think Obamacare covers clown-related injuries on anyone over sixty!” Danny yelled after him, gathering the rest of his things from behind the door and trying to shoot a glance at his mom that simultaneously said Thank you and I hate you so much right now.

Roy was already in the car and backing out of the driveway when Danny turned around. “If you aren’t in this car in 30 seconds I’m leaving Delano. You better run - run like you’re chasin’ some of Detox’s trade.”

Danny sauntered slowly over to the car, swaying his hips just a little when he noticed Roy focusing a lot of attention on his body. He held his middle finger up all the while.

…

Roy drove Danny all the way back into LA. They spent the over-an-hour-long car ride catching up on all their quick-and-easy stuff: families, gigs, albums and tours, who of their friends had hooked up with who. It only veered into uncomfortable territory once - when Roy brought up the Handsome Blonde Man who haunted Danny’s dreams. Apparently he was named Tom and also now Roy’s boyfriend. Danny changed subjects as soon as the familiar aching feeling in his chest made his stomach hurt, sharply pivoting to talk about some ridiculous fight he and Chris had over Miley Cyrus. He made sure to fully dodge the other conversation bullet - All Stars - for the full drive.

They ended up at a record store in Silver Lake. Two stories of floor-to-ceiling vinyl, used and new, from beat up old soul 45’s to limited edition Bowie box sets to brand new Chance the Rapper albums.

“Do you actually come here?” Danny asked quizzically as he dug excitedly through a bin marked “Hole.” In all the years he’d known Roy, he’d never known him to be into vintage records. Clothes definitely, books maybe - but Danny had never seen so much as a framed album cover in Roy’s apartment.

Roy was a few rows over, casually flipping through the Musicals section. “Of course, I’m here all the time. It’s not that far from my house, and they have a really, uh, great selection, and there’s good coffee nearby, and over there they’ve got books…”

Danny scoffed. “You’re such a bad liar.” Roy had just done all of his lying “tells” - rambling in a weird cadence, going into unnecessary detail, and not making eye contact.

“What?” Roy kept his eyes on the Rogers and Hammerstein. “I am not, you don’t know everything about me, Daniel. I could be here every fucking week buying records for my…” He trailed off.

“For what? Tell me what you play these on, Mr. DJ.” Danny put a hand on his hip and stared challengingly at Roy.

This was fun, he loved catching Roy in a mistake. Their natural relationship dynamic always made him feel like he was at a disadvantage - as if Roy was smart and he was dumb, Roy was successful and he was a fuck up - so Danny seized on any opportunity to reassure him that they were equal. Especially since he knew he was about to tip his own scales back towards ‘fuck up’ whenever Roy decided to finally ask about All Stars.

“My record player, it’s a…um…it’s…oh fuck it.” Roy stopped pretending to look at through the showtunes stacks and rolled his eyes at Danny. “No, I’ve literally never been here before. I asked Raja for a good place to go for music today and this is what I got. Not bad though, huh?”

Danny was surprised by how quickly Roy gave up. Usually there was at least some kind of fun back-and-forth fighting over who was right, or trying to cover up what they didn’t know, or just full on teasing.

“Why? You always listen to everything on those ugly ass Beats headphones anyway, what would you want with a record?”

There were only a few seconds of awkward silence, but Danny would’ve sworn it was a solid minute.

“I wanted to bring you somewhere to take your mind of things, and I know you love record stores.” Roy looked at Danny with that same sincerity from the hug on the front porch. “I figured you could use the distraction.”

And once again, it made Danny’s heart beat wild. Not because Roy was looking at him with genuine care and compassion. No, of course not.

And not because Roy was willing to sacrifice his very limited time off to do something he knew only Danny would enjoy, and that wasn’t something people did normal friends.

Nope, definitely not. It was certainly because Danny was just afraid to tell him about All Stars, that he wasn’t kicked off but instead made the decision to walk away…

“Oh.” That was all Danny could muster.

They spent about 45 more minutes wandering the shop before the owner came out from behind the poster-littered cash wrap and told them both he’d be closing down for the night. Danny bought a new Lana Del Rey album and a beat-up bootleg of a Nine Inch Nails concert from the late 90’s. He was surprised when Roy followed behind to buy a book on Stevie Nicks’ impact on fashion - leave it to him to find a book about clothes in a warehouse full of music.

Danny was starving, and it was far enough past sunset that he didn’t feel like a senior citizen for suggesting dinner. Roy knew of a good Mexican place with strong margaritas a few doors down, and they headed over.

Two hours later, tacos were came and went, margaritas were inhaled like water, shots were knocked back at machine-gun pace, and Danny had officially exhausted all his small talk options. Oh, and also he was drunk. As fuck. In sum, officially out of ways to avoid talking about the elefante in the room.

“So Daniel Noriega.” Roy was slurring his words just a bit, but he was at least two notches less drunk than Danny.

It’s that fucking New Orleans thing, Danny thought to himself. Roy is like a fucking steel tank. He may as well be sober.

(He wasn’t.)

“It’s time to ‘fess up. What’d you wear to piss off Michelle so much that she shoved her fist up Ru’s ass and made him send you home?” Even when tipsy Roy knew how to be hateful. Shit, maybe even more so when he’d been drinking.

“Well, you cunt, it was actually that dress youuuuu -” Danny waved another shot of tequila under Roy’s nose as he gestured towards him “- gave me for the show. Did you and your precious new boyfriend just want to sabotage me?”

Roy grabbed the dangling shot from Danny’s hand and slammed it back. “No way, not possible. That dress was fucking beautiful, it was black and sexy and it sparkled, bitch.” Roy tried unsuccessfully to tongue pop, a sure sign he was getting more drunk by the second; only drunk Roy dug unironically into the Laganja-isms.

“Yeah, well, Michelle thought otherwise. She told me I had hogbody again.”

“What? That shady whore, I swear I -” Roy tried to interject but Danny talked over him, cutting off whatever tirade against Michelle he was about to launch.

“But it didn’t matter, it wasn’t about the dress. Not really, at least. It was about me. How I didn’t care. How I didn’t try, I don’t try, I never try.”

As he spoke, Danny began to feel an unfamiliar emotion in this story: anger. When he’d recounted it to Bonnie, and every time he’d gone through it in his own head, he’d only ever felt embarrassed and sad. But now he felt a fire in his stomach - no doubt fueled by tequila, but still.

“Who the fuck did she think she was, talking to me like that? I’m the fan-fucking-favorite of all time. Of any Drag Race season. EVER. And she thinks she can tell me I don’t care and I don’t try? And that goddamn Raven…”

Danny steamrolled over Roy whenever he tried to respond or ask a question. “Raven was there?”

There was no derailing him, though. The floodgates had been opened, and the weeks of anger Danny had been repressing now flooded out like blood through the halls of The Shining hotel.

“Michelle just made it ok for Raven Simon - Simone - Salmon - ugh, however you say her name. She fucking tore me to shreds for no fucking reason. What has she done since her Disney Channel show like a million years ago? Talk about a joke, someone who doesn’t do anything. Where the hell does she come off saying I’m a bad singer or that I’m fat or that I’m lazy and untalented…”

“She said what now?”

Danny was basically talking to himself at this point. “Screw both of them. They’re idiot fucking people with idiot fucking opinions.” He knew he didn’t mean it all - he loved Michelle like a father - but he just needed to say it.

“Well that’s a constructive, adult response to the situation.”

“Whatever, I’m glad I quit. I’m better than all that anyway.” Danny said it so confidently he almost believed himself.

The moment of drunk, anger-high reassurance was gone as soon as it came.

“You did what?” Roy looked at Danny in disbelief.

Danny was so surprised by Roy’s surprise - and so drunk from the tequila - that he didn’t think to sugar coat anything.

“I quit. They were cunts to me on the first day, so on the second day I quit.”

Uncomfortable silence crashed the party once again. Roy was just staring at him, his eyes slightly squinting and his focus darting around. It was like he was trying to compute whatever Danny had just said, and it went on unbearably long.

“I stood up for myself, Roy.” He couldn’t take the quiet stare, so he broke eye contact and directed his words at the empty shot glass he was idly spinning. Danny knew this made him look like a nervous little boy.

“It was the only thing I could’ve done. If you’d been there, you’d have told me to do the same thing.”

Roy’s expression didn’t change, but he looked away now, too. His eyes searched for the waiter, who he waved at aggressively. “Hi, excuse me. Hello!”

“Roy, I know I should’ve told –”

But Roy wasn’t listening. The waiter had arrived. “Can we get the check please? Actually, just take my card.” He fumbled for his wallet, yanked out his Amex, and threw it on the table. “Faster you bring that back, the bigger the tip.”

He then proceeded to pull out his phone and start dialing, continuing to ignore all Danny’s attempts to speak. It was freaky when Roy got like this, slipped into tunnel vision and disregarded everything around him. Danny knew it was his way of keeping his emotions in check. A Roy this focused was a Roy trying to keep cool.

“Look, I –”

“Justin? Hey, sorry if I woke you up.” Roy ignored Danny and spoke to the voice on the other end of the call. “No, no I’m fine. I need a favor - can you come get my car from El Coyote and drive it home? I’m here with Danny and I’m too drunk to drive. I figured if you’re not out you could…Ok great, thanks. It’s in the valet, I’ll tell them you’re coming. We’re jumping in an Uber. You’re the best, Thunderfuck.”

The waiter came back and Roy signed for the bill. True to his word, he left a 50% tip.

“Come on, Danny. We’re leaving.” Roy acknowledged his presence for the first time in maybe 10 minutes, but still wouldn’t make eye contact. “Uber is outside, I can’t take you home so you’ll stay at my place. Tell Bonnie.”

“Um, I’m not a child going to a sleepover.” Given the childishly defiant way in which he was speaking, and the childishly ashamed way he’d just been sitting, Danny recognized his own deep hypocrisy. “You don’t get to order me around and –”

Roy stood up from the table and finally looked at Danny. “I don’t want to fight with you right now. Can we please just go?”

The exasperation in Roy’s voice was apparent, and it caught him off guard. Frustration, condescension, even anger - those would’ve made sense. But somehow he just looked sad and tired.

“Okay, sure.” Roy walked towards the exit, and Danny stood to follow.

…

The silent car ride gave Danny just enough time to spiral. Both he and Roy were staring out their windows, probably making the Uber driver think they had just gotten into a huge fight. Danny almost wished they had - at least Roy would be talking to him if they were fighting, and yelling at each other must be better than not speaking at all.

Instead, the absence of words led him down a rabbit hole of thought. Roy has never been this quiet, not with me. Is he that angry? Did I let him down that badly? He must’ve known I couldn’t get far without him, that I’d disappoint him in the end. Him, my mom, my fucking fans…

It was a particularly dark rabbit hole, and one he’d become deeply acquainted with since he left All Stars. He knew every nook of self-doubt, every cranny of anger, every pothole of depression. By the time the car pulled up to Roy’s place, Danny was approaching the final circle of his own personal hell.

Roy had been in his own head enough that he didn’t notice. Danny trailed behind him from the car to the elevator to the hallway, tears welling up all the while.

Inside the apartment, Roy threw his keys on the table and walked straight towards his kitchen. He wasn’t watching Danny as he poured two giant glasses of water, but he began talking immediately.

“I’m trying to think of what to say here, Danny, but I’m just at a fucking loss. You left? You fucking left?” He still wasn’t yelling, but there was a tinge of annoyance in his tone that wasn’t there before.

“You’re so special, so talented and amazing. You couldn’t just believe that enough to tough it out and win? You know you would’ve won if you had just –”

The speech was cut off by Danny’s own sob. One heave, two heaves, and then a waterfall of breathes, apologies and shudders tumbling out while he leaned on the door for support. The combination of too much tequila, chased with a mixer of his own and Roy’s disappointment, was too much for Danny to handle.

That caught Roy’s attention; he dropped his Brita and nearly jumped over the kitchen counter, sliding his hands around Danny’s waist just as he was about to collapse under the weight of his own crying.

“Oh, hey. Babe, shh.” Roy guided them over to the couch. “I didn’t mean to make you…I just don’t understand what happened. Help me understand what happened.” He was trying to talk to Danny, who was too busy trying to catch a deep breath between hiccuping and not inhaling tears.

“I - I’m so sorry - I let you down - and I’m - such a - shit - to everybody - I -” Danny got out 15 words before another wave of sobs. He and Roy had settled into a somewhat comfortable position on the couch - Roy seated, Danny resting his head on his left pec and soaking his shirt in the same spot. He took a few minutes to gather some words.

The steady beating of Roy’s heart under the weight of his head, matched with Roy’s in-rhythm stroking of his hair, eventually calmed him enough to speak again.

“Roy, I know I made a mistake. What they said, it just -”

“What did they say to you? Dan, you have to tell me.” Roy was trying to sound calm, but in a sharp tone that Danny could tell was holding back anger.

“I can’t, and you’ll see it eventually anyway. You’re going to think it’s so stupid, I just couldn’t take their shit after everything that happened this summer. I walked in there and I was ready to fall apart from the beginning. I had just had my fucking heart ripped out of my chest, and - ”

“Oh, babe. I thought you were okay with the breakup? You told us you were fine after he -”

Danny scoffed. That’s not what I meant, idiot. Obviously I mean you.

“No, I - it wasn’t that. I guess not. I just, I couldn’t handle knowing that I was going to end up disappointing everyone.” Danny could feel the tequila making him real ramble-y and real honest, but he couldn’t stop himself.

“The way Ru and Michelle were looking at me on that stage, like I had fallen from a pedestal or something. And Michelle, when we talked it was just, like, pity. I don’t know, it just like broke my brain to see how I failed them.” He paused to wipe his runny nose.

“And thinking about how I would let down my mom and my fans and you - I mean, letting down other people is one thing but when you know you can’t live up to the expectations of the person you’re in lo -”

Even in his most hammered of hammered states, Danny would’ve cut himself off before he finished saying the words “in love with.” But before he could self-censor, he was silenced by the violent change in Roy’s heartbeat. Just as he began the phrase, the pounding on the warm chest beneath him went from the rhythm of soft jazz to the thump of an Afrojack track.

“What?”

Danny didn’t respond, he didn’t know what to say. He was mesmerized by the heartbeat, afraid to speak in case the words he wanted to desperately to hide would come spilling out. This was not the time for this conversation - not while Roy had a boyfriend, while Danny was lying in his arms blubbering like a baby, while they were both drunk, while he wouldn’t get the response he so desperately wanted.

But Roy wouldn’t abide the silence. “Dan, what were you going to -” Roy’s voice cracked, something it never did. And for some reason that made Danny cry all over again, all the way to sleep.

As he drifted off, tears rolling down his face, he would’ve sworn he felt some falling on the top of his head like rain drops.

He would’ve been right - they were Roy’s.

…

Danny woke up around 4:30. He was still nestled up in Roy, but they’d fallen into a more laying down than sitting up situation. The right side of his face was damp, as was the bit of Roy’s chest he’d taken up as a pillow for the last five hours. He was safely wrapped in Roy’s arms, one of which wrapped around his waist while the other laid atop the long black hair he’d been stroking.

Danny gave himself just a few deep breaths to enjoy the moment - the warmth, the safety, the peace - before his eyes snapped open and his head began to throb. It throbbed from salty shots and margaritas, from embarrassment, and from the memory that Roy had a fucking boyfriend.

Knowing Roy was a heavy sleeper, Danny slowly slipped himself out of the dare-he-call-it-spooning position and stood up from the couch. He saw Roy adjust slightly at the loss of an extra body, also losing the dopey smile that was plastered on his sleeping face.

Watching this, Danny’s stomach started to turn - and not just the normal hangover nausea. He was getting the same stomach pangs he felt when his dad passed, the same ones he felt when he lost Season 6 - a pain he’d come to associate with losing something he didn’t have in the first place.

Danny knew he had to get out of the apartment. He grabbed his phone - still in his pocket and alive, thank God - and called for an Uber. He knocked back both the glasses of water left on the counter before scribbling a note on Roy’s whiteboard:

Sorry I had to leave, needed to get home for mom stuff. Don’t tell anyone what we talked about or you owe me the contract violation money, bitch. Love you x 10000.

Danny spent the hour long ride back to Azusa writing out the lyrics to “4 a.m.”

#adore delano #bianca del rio #biadore #say you won't let go #fucking awful #rpdr fanfiction #submission #sywlg #canon compliant

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