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netherfeildren · 1 year ago

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FABLE OF THE DOG : 3. Little Freak

Series Masterlist; Chapter: 1, Chapter: 2,

Pairing: Joel Miller x FMC

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: Cowboy/Heiress AU; Discussions of Grief; Daddy Issues; Parental Neglect; Angst and Fluff; Older Man/Younger Woman; Jealousy; Possessive Behavior; Brat Taming; Extremely Bossy Old Man; Rough Sex; Size Difference; Spanking; DD/lg Dynamics; Dom/Sub Undertones; Forced Orgasm; Dirty Talk (like really forreal); Small Boobie Rep; Biting; Over Stimulation;

A/N: really sticking my finger in the father wound and wiggling it around in this one :))))))

Word Count: 10.3K

Read on AO3

3. Little Freak

You pull your sticky fingers from the damp bed of your underwear, the not enough little orgasm you’d been able to rub out still pulsing hot and cold through your cunt.

Horrible man—you’ve never wanted anyone or anything as badly as you want him to need you. And no, not a wanting sort of thing, not a wanting sort of desire—that’s not what you’d demand from him. It’s specific, this thing: it’s that you want him to have no choice in the matter, you want him to be forced, to see no other recourse but you because that’s just how necessary you feel to him.

You want there to be no thought, no compunction in him—only you.

Even more, because lies are worth nothing here in your own mind in your cold bed—

—You want him to love you.

The way your father never did. The way no man ever has, not really.

Face buried in the dark for a moment, you groan softly before sliding belly first off the silk bedding onto your knees, pushing yourself up off the floor unsteadily. You toe your boots off and then step tiptoe on the end of each sock to pull them from your feet. It’d not been a lie—you’re not drunk, limiting yourself to only one tonight, and no liquor, because you knew you needed to be able to focus on the taste of his tongue when you inevitably got your hooks in him, hoping, knowing he’d take your bait and follow, but now, it’s a wholly different sort of buzz zinging through you.

All him. All man. All Joel.

He’d been flavored of smoked whiskey and mint, a hint of tobacco, and you wish you could’ve been more faithful in your pursuit of enjoying the chewing of the leaves he always has, you’d tried for years but couldn’t bear the texture, the green gnashed between your teeth, earthen and organic. It’s not for you, your tastes veering to something hotter and sweeter. But you’ve always wanted to be just like him anyway, and every endeavor at a connection, no matter how small, had always seemed like a valiant one.

Stupid birthdays. Disgusting leaves of mint. Dead fathers and daughters and all the different ways we hurt each other.

Stumbling coltish and uncoordinated, newly birthed down the staircase, you push your way out the back door. He’ll have gone to bed now, you know they’re going up the mountain early tomorrow morning to check on one of the herds, but you’re desperate for one more second of him, being spit out of the house of your dead parents, hunting for the last hint of his presence riding on the fresh air off the Tetons and all this land that’s all yours now.

You veer left then right, a zigzagging dance across the green lawn until you’re far enough away from the house it’s like you can pretend to ignore the ghosts you’re readying to exorcize. One knee hits the ground hard and stinging, limbs loose and strengthless, you feel the stab of a little rock against the curve of round bone beneath easily broken skin, catching yourself on a palm, another too hard scrape and then you’re rolling over into the grass, settling on your back to look up at the stars.

There are so many, an infinite number of lights winking like watchful eyes back at you, and you wonder at the sort of childhood that lends itself to laying in the grass like this beside a parent that loves you and wants you and carves space in their life for a child they'd forced into the world. It should be some sort of crime, you think, immediate execution sort of barbarity, to have a child and not love it the way it demands.

Back of your hands open at your sides, palms to the watching sky, you close your eyes and imagine what it’d be like to have the hand of a father holding it, one that would want you—not a mother because what is she in reality to you but an imagination figure you can’t even truly conjure up? That much of a stranger is what she is—such an alien thing you can’t even bother to dream her.

Drawing your knees up, you press your bare heels into the earth and the wet placket of your panties is ice cold and sticking uncomfortably now, breeze against it. You shouldn't be thinking about this shit, but you think you might cry anyway, sucking in too fast breaths, forcing them out in attemptedly slow little puffs through your nose. A wave of sudden grief, then a plateau, the nauseating up and down of it all. You should be thinking about him, about your victory tonight, about making him so angry he can’t help himself, about what’ll come next—his skin. But that’s the thing about him, Joel, isn’t it? Always has been—the incongruous, make-no-sense feelings he’s always pulled out of you since you’d first set eyes on him, fourteen years old and tender and so alone you didn’t even know there was another way to be but abandoned.

A laugh then—huffing and sardonic and again, incongruous, because now you really are crying. Tears leaking back, hot and fat to pool in your ears and salt the earth beneath you—unloading your grief into the grass as if God were beside you. Nothing will grow here again because of you if you’re not careful, and that’s the next worry—

If he never needs you the way you’re demanding of him, you won’t be able to stay here.

You won't be able to live here and love him and not have him, and you could force him, perhaps, in your own ways. But you’ve done so much of that your whole life—forcing unloving men to look at you and take you into their arms when they’d never really wanted to give you the thing you’d always wanted most.

The tender truth: it would be so much better if Joel decided to need you because he wants to, because he can’t fathom another way than just that.

And you don’t think you’ll ever be able to live with anything else besides such.

Another forced out laugh again—just to feel the feeling of it, go through the motion, mountain air a roundabout gust in your lungs, then to your left: “What’re you laughing at, weirdo?”

Ellie, long and loping and beautiful, come to your rescue. She throws herself down onto the ground beside you and doesn’t even have to ask a thing about it when she places her rough hand in your soft one.

Working girl, mover of mountains, changer of lives.

Ellie has always known how to know you, and it has always been an incredible comfort.

The two of you lay there for a few quiet moments. Friendship as an entity has always been a strange thing to you who have never understood love in a non-transactional way. But the thing that Ellie has always given you, it has always been an incredibly straightforward sort of understanding, simple—that of one abandoned child to another, perhaps.

“Are you drunk?”

“Why’s everyone always fucking asking me that?” Said with another laugh but of the real sort this time, despite the bite in your voice.

“You’re a hazard. What can I say?”

Undeniable. “Oh, shut up.” You dig your nails into the back of her hand, trying to scratch her but probably ruining your manicure instead, she squeezes your knuckles in sideways, hurting you way more than you could manage her. A yelp, and you say, “You know what I’m excited for?”

“What’s that?”

“Skijoring.”

“Fuck no, dude. I almost died last time.”

You snicker, “Yeah, that was the fun part for me.”

Elbow to the ribs, and, “Asshole,” she laughs. And then you’re quiet again together, still gripped by the hands, and it’s the sort of comfortable only two girls who’ve been together since they were truly girls can be.

“You see Cassiopeia?” She points her finger way north.

“Do you think I should stay?” You see it, and easily, and you know if you were somewhere not here, it wouldn’t be so simply found. Maybe that’s a good thing.

“Yes.”

“I don’t know if I can.”

“Because of Joel.” It isn’t a question. You’ve never said it with words to her, but she’s always known.

You hum instead of answering, can’t say it out loud anyway just yet. “So you finally asked her.” Dina, she knows what you mean.

And Ellie hums now in turn too. The both of you are so fucked up. Can’t say a thing out loud.

“And?”

“It’s fine.”

“Just fine?”

“Good.”

“Just good?”

Ellie groans loud and long, baying goat, and you tell her so, which gets another knock to the ribs. “Turn around and don’t look at me so I can tell you.”

You roll over towards the mountains and feel her face the house where she doesn’t see ghosts like you do.

“But you’re not allowed to say anything—just say okay. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“I think—well, you know…,” she gruffs, voice dipping low and dropping off before she can say the words out loud again also. Everything’s a secret code here, even the stuff that shouldn’t be.

“You think?”

“You’re such a fucker. I know.”

You hum again but the good and happy sort, pressing your lips together to keep the misty eyed smile at bay. “Okay,” you say back just as low and just as gruff.

“S’why I think you should stay,” she adds. “If I can find happy here, so can you.”

“I’ve never been able to before.”

“But you’re different now.”

“Am I?”

“Yeah—can see it, you know. And this place is different now too—will be different.”

“I was afraid to come back for such a long time. It seemed like the worst thing in the world.”

She’s quiet for a long moment, before she says: “You’re not supposed to be afraid of your father.” A very obvious thing—or at least it should be.

You feel her turn to look at the back of your neck, and you peer over your shoulder at her and when your eyes meet, she looks so sad, like she’s so sorry for you but without the pity, and you do understand what it is she’s saying despite never having had that fearless experience.

“Aren’t you?” A shrug of your shoulder and a helpless laugh but also maybe with real humor accompanying it. Because yes, you’re not supposed to be. You always were anyway. It’s funny in an impossible to understand way.

A beat and then, “Can I say something fucked up?”

“Yeah.”

“He isn’t here for you to be afraid of anymore.”

Funniest of all, you’re the most sad about this. And what you don’t say to her, perhaps for shame or that child’s feeling of having done something wrong but not necessarily understanding what that wrong is—sometimes it’s inevitable, missing the monster.

“Maybe you needed him to die.” Yeah, fucked up. You’d already thought the same thing and were chock full of guilt for it. “Maybe it was like—like I don’t know. It was never going to be the way it should have between you, but now you can remember him, fuck, I don’t know—different. Not that you wanted him to die, but now the reality of him isn’t here for you to see, so you can just remember it all however you like or not.”

“So I should lie to myself?”

“Why not? There are worse things you could do. There are worse things you do do.”

You snort. “Is this what your method is?”

“Yeah. Like—like sometimes, when I’m so happy I can’t believe it’s me feeling it because she makes me that happy, Dina,” she says her name with love, “I pretend nothing from before was ever the way it was, and it’s only here and now and me and Dina and the ranch and there was no shitty, abandoning father and no dead mom and no nothing and only Joel is my dad and it’s all always been okay.”

Joel.

At the center of everyone’s happy dream, why is it always him?

“Okay,” you whisper. “I’ll try it.” She reaches behind her back then, pawing at your hip until you give her your hand again, and you were wrong. She’s changed too. She can say things now. She’s always had those too perceptive eyes and that too big heart, and she’s changed now in a way that makes her not afraid to let it out and use these things anymore.

You tell this changed Ellie now: “You know that like— that like… I don’t know how to say it. When a person’s life seems like it should be perfect, and you have everything. Everything should be good, right—but it’s just not. Your parents should be kind, they should be loving. They should be attentive and give a shit what happens to you, and it probably seems that way to the whole rest of the world except for the people that have to witness the humiliation behind closed doors, but it’s really just not, and then they probably look at me and wonder how my life could be anything but rose colored, and it all just seems a little silly and empty. Doesn’t it?”

“Nah—don’t know. My life was always shit before I came here and found Joel and Dina and all of them and you. And I'd seen enough to recognize what you were and how it was. Nothing ever looked rose colored to me—just looked like more shit.” You laugh again out loud now and for real, squeezing more tears out over your hot cheeks when she joins you in the sad hilarity as well.

When her voice is finally steady from the belly laughs again, she says, “It’s a grief pyramid, we’re all just going around hurting each other in the name of our ghosts and call it an excuse, an offering to their memory and act like it’s okay. But it’s fucked up. That’s why I decided to stop. I stopped pushing her away, I told her—well, you know. I told her.”

“Say it, loser.” You bump your butt into hers.

“Not to you—leave me alone.”

Say it, say it, say it, you sing.

“I love her, fuck off.” And a little clog of emotion sticks wetly in your throat.

That’s the real question, honestly: How do you make someone love you? How do you make yourself into someone people can love?

“It’s a grief pyramid,” she repeats. “You have to choose to stop adding to it.” And she’s quiet again for a long time, and you can’t fathom how it is one stops building onto something they’d been born into. You think on it so long the feel of her palm clutching yours starts losing itself to sleep in the grass and the breeze comes off the mountains like a blanket over the two girls who’d become women before them until she says again, “Anyway, that’s usually the case. Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid.”

“Joel?”

“Yeah?”

“Whatcha doin’?”

“Nothin’.”

“Nope. You’re definitely doing something.” He angles the phone away from her prying eyes, trying to shield his shame with the palm of his hand.

“Mind your own damn business, kid.”

“Is that an Instagram account?” Ellie howls like a banshee, Tommy coming up behind him to reach over his shoulder to try and rip the phone out of his hand. He holds it out of his reach.

It’s just that he couldn’t help himself. He’d heard the boys all talking about it on the ride back down after their long day of work—your Instagram page—as if he knew what the fuck that was. He’d had to search it up on the internet when he’d gotten a moment alone in the bunk, cracking open a beer, muscles exhausted from the hard ride and having to haul a heifer out of a bramble she’d gotten herself caught in, he’d realized it was a thing young people put photographs and such on, a social media thing. But when he’d gone to search your name, it’d told him he’d needed to make an account of his own. Growling in frustration, he’d slowly made his way through the process, too big fingers punching at the too tiny keys of the stupid phone you’d forced on him.

“Can you shut up and just show me how to work this thing. And stop your goddamn howling—Dina’s gonna think she’s dating a hyena not a girl.” She slides into the seat next to him, taking the phone from his grip to finish setting up the account and type in your name, a deck of pictures loading up for him to hunt through like a vandal. Photographs of you in all sorts of different places, draped in fine clothes and jewels and your fucking perfect ass right there for everyone to see.

Oh my God.

“How many people can see this shit?” He asks Ellie, angling the phone back towards her.

“You’re so nosey, man,” she chastises. “Thirty-seven thousand followers.” And a long, impressed whistle from Tommy who he’s going to punch in the face after he’s done with this.

He swallows hard. “What’s that mean?”

“That thirty-seven thousand people are following her and looking at her pictures, Joel,” his brother says. “Man, how fuckin’ old are you?”

“Yeah, you’re not that old, Joel. Come on.”

“Go away now. I’m busy,” he tells the both of them, going back to doom scrolling through your pictures. One’s of you in barely any clothes at all, an itty bitty orange bikini, hands on your ass and sand where his tongue should be.

Joel feels insane again.

“Pervert.”

“Joel… I don’t mean to alarm you, but I think there’s steam comin’ out of your ears, man.”

“Fuck off.”

Blessedly, they leave him to suffer in peace after a while, and thank Christ for that because eventually, the ex-boyfriend shows up in the scroll of pictures too. There for everyone to see in posts dated several weeks back—even one of the two of you kissing, you on his lap, fuck that. Good looking, shiny-boy sort. Joel’s left eye twitches at the sight of the sort of man he has never been, could never be for you, someone of your caliber.

The memory of your cunt grinding against him last night flashes through his mind and his cock throbs once and hungry. He stretches his long legs out in front of him, adjusting in the suddenly too tight seat of his jeans.

A clusterfuck is what it is—this sudden melding of the memory of the girl-child you used to be, the one that up until only recently lived in his mind, good and golden, and the woman you are now. With both figures meeting together with all the characteristics he’d always admired in you, your kind heart, your honesty, your generosity. You’ve turned out to be an exceptional woman, and it’s difficult to let the distant perception from before meet the lust he feels for you now and grapple with it without feeling sick to his stomach about it all.

It’s all an inevitability though, anyway. He knows this just from the rewind memory play of last night, the taste of your mouth and the little sounds you'd made for him, because of him, the way your hips had rolled over his lap desperately seeking.

You’re ending up on his cock one way or another—inevitable.

He’s never claimed to be a good and honorable man—never played the part of one either. He’s not about to start now.

Clicking on the picture of your sun bronzed ass in the tiny bikini again, he imagines himself biting and eating it, shifting his legs restlessly, taking another long pull of his beer. Tapping twice on the image, he tries to zoom in to the apex of your thighs—he’s going to hell, he’s so fucked up, doesn’t matter—when a little heart appears in the center of the image. He clicks it again and the heart appears once more, refusing to zoom into what he wants to see up close. Fucking piece of shit phone and fucking Instagram—frustrated and hard and pissed off at the fact he’s yet to see you all day, he locks the phone, slamming it face down on the kitchen table, and downs the rest of the can.

If he doesn’t get a hold of himself soon he’s going to burst, gut all twisted up into a hot knot of coal. Sick with jealousy and anger and lust, aggressive, the taste of your sweetness ringing in his ears and the sound of your moans on his tongue—his head is not on straight and he better get it fixed quick or all this pent up frustration is going to come out with teeth to take a chunk of flesh out of you.

Groaning loudly, he lets his head fall back, thumbs digging into the sockets of his eyes until he sees stars and not the sight of your slick swollen mouth made that way by himself. He wonders if you slept well last night, if you thought of him, if you’d made yourself come the way he’d ran home to the little foreman’s cabin Kelly had given him years ago, to do himself. Jumping in the shower to jack his leaking cock to the image of what it would’ve been like if he’d been brave enough to pull that flimsy little tease of a thong to the side, let his cock out and force it inside of you, make you take it until you were crying and coming so hard you’d never think to even look at another man again, much less kiss him.

He should’ve hit that fucker harder. He should’ve kissed you longer.

He needs to force you to take all of those goddamn half naked pictures down. No one should get to look at you like that except for him, and he doesn’t give a fuck how insane he sounds.

Outside, he can hear the cowboys hooting and hollering at something, egging each other on louder and louder, the scuffle of them shoving each other and horsing around. He sighs once and long, too tired to deal with their shit right now. All he needs is an evening of peace to get his head on straight and relax and will his boner down for a few hours. He’s acting like a goddamn randy teenager, walking around hard and aching half the day.

Heaving himself out of the chair, back hurts, he grabs another beer before he’s pushing the bunk door open to the sight of half the team huddled together and peering around the corner of the bunk towards the house.

“The hell’s got y’all clucking like a bunch of hens?” He asks, coming around them to stop dead in his tracks when he lays eyes on what it is that’s got them all worked up.

That same ass he’d just been trying to zoom in on, right there in the flesh for the whole ranch to ogle at. Stretched out on one of the sun loungers from the deck, dragged out into the center of the lawn with a little table set up next to you. You’d even gotten someone to scrounge up a huge umbrella, a misting fan spinning lazily, spitting a damp sheen of water every few minutes, a drink and a speaker playing some girly song, whole goddamn set up for all of these fuckers to stand here and take an eyeful of your perfect ass.

Joel tries to take deep breaths, counting back from ten in his head—fails. He’s going to be calm and cool and collected—not. He isn’t going to lose his temper—sure.

Fuck that.

He’s going to spank your ass so hard you can’t sit for a week.

“If you all don’t find something to do in the next thirty seconds,” he growls at them all through clenched teeth, “I swear I’ll have you slingin’ shit for a month.” The can in his grip pops loudly between his fingers.

They all take one peek at the look on his face and scatter like chicken shit until it’s only Ellie left smirking beside him.

“Take this,” he shoves the can at her and starts towards you.

“Bro—” He ignores her. Hey! She calls after him, voice demanding now, stopping him in his tracks before he can go get exactly what he’s been denying himself from the moment you kissed him two nights ago.

Giving him that look she gets when she needs to remind him she knows exactly who he is and that he can’t ever hide it from her, she chews on her cheek for a second before she says, and he doesn’t mistake it, it’s a warning: “She’s a real peach. You know that. Pretty and soft and sweet, but easily hurt. Needs gentle handling, even when she wants to pretend otherwise.”

It pisses him off. Bad. “You think I don’t fuckin’ know that? I understand her—” thumb to chest. Because he did—does. Because he thinks that he really always has. It’s undeniable that he has what you have, what Ellie has. Even what Oswald Kelly himself had had and what he’d seen in Joel when he’d decided to save the life of a no good man in a no good spot with a no good future in front of him—that sadness, that lost doggedness about you all that makes you so like one another, even despite your immeasurable differences.

The two of them look at each other for another long moment, and Ellie knows, Ellie always understands. With a roll of her eyes she spins on her heel, muttering to herself, slugging back Joel’s discarded beer.

Slowly, he rounds back towards you, afraid as if he were looking down the barrel of a gun, just as dramatic, as well. Objectively, he knows you’re doing this on purpose, to piss him off and rile him up and get a blow out reaction out of him. He tries to remind himself of it as he marches towards you, and if he were smarter or less inclined to take your bait, he’d take a beat to finish that count to ten reversal in his head and calm the fuck down before he gets to you—but honestly, he just doesn’t feel like it.

All he sees instead is the baby pink barely there string bikini you’ve got on, the slope of your back gleaming in the sun, slicked in something shiny, the damp from the mister, the lush curve of your ass and the shine of your hair resting face down on your folded arms.

You’re all sunkissed everywhere, and he’d really rather just give you what you want already.

“Get up,” he growls down at you.

One eye winks open, peering up at him before you press up on your elbows to take in the sight of him scowling down at you, and he can’t help it when his eyes flit down to the sight of your breasts cupped precariously in the tiny bikini, skin all sun flushed red against the soft baby pink fabric. You look like you’re made of sugar and sweet fruit and like you’ve come here specifically to ruin him and his whole life and all his self control.

Hmm? You smile up at him wide and teasing. Oh, he’s feeding right into your shit, and you piss him off so badly.

He’s never been this hard in his entire life, he’s even made dizzy with it.

The little wisps of hair at your temples are sweat soaked and curling, looking silky soft. A thousand little details about you and your body—the white of your smile and the flushed heat of your cheeks, sun burnished bridge of your nose starting to freckle—that he can’t help but notice.

Get. Up, he grits through clenched teeth. No one in the whole world deserves to see you like this, looking so beautiful, especially not him. Shading your eyes with the palm of your hand, you scrunch your nose up at him, and he’s got half a mind to bark at you to not do that when he’s around or he’s really gonna lose it. Your smile beams brighter.

“What’s wrong, Joel? Havin’ a rough day?”

“I swear to Christ, if you don’t get your ass up and in the house right this minute, I’m going to put you over my knee right here in front of your whole ranch to witness, little girl.”

You smile up at him again and a muscle at the corner of his jaw flutters madly, he’s about to crack a fucking molar. “Hmm, I don’t think so.” And you flop back down again so that the soft of your ass jiggles slightly, arching your back just a little so that he’s growling once, right before he’s gripping you by the elbow and pulling you upwards against his chest and dragging you all bare and slippery limbed to your feet. You smell like coconuts and sweet sweat and saliva pools heavy beneath his tongue.

“If you wanna act like a brat, I’m gonna treat you like one. You get me?” He yanks you towards the house screeching like a banshee, let go of me, you fucking psycho, you howl. A too little fist swings towards his face, and he catches it in his palm, squeezing tight and feeling your thumb tucked inside your fist.

“Stop that—you’re gonna hurt yourself.” More squawking and howling, skinny wrist slipping from his grip to take another swing at him. “Don’t even know how to throw a goddamn punch—Jesus fucking Christ. Don’t tuck your thumb.” He hauls you up higher against himself, getting a better grip around your waist so he can carry you bodily up the steps of the deck.

You jam your heels into his shins, and he huffs and puffs, trying to keep his hold on you. I’m gonna kick your ass, you screech again, scratching and pinching at his forearms.

Joel is too old and too goodman tired for this.

“No, you’re not. And if you think I’m gonna let the whole goddamn ranch and all the boys stare at your bare ass all day, you’ve got another thing comin’ for you.”

“Well, I’ve gotta show it to someone, don’t I?” You sass back, trying to elbow him in the throat while you’re at it. Blood boiling, catching you by the small joint, he pulls your arm bent behind your back, other forearm banding against your stomach so that his hand is splayed at your hip, feeling the satin soft skin, slippery in your suncream.

And sure, he might be too old or too tired for this, but his cock is still hard as anything at the feel of you all against him like this.

Pushing the door open with his hip, he shoves you inside. The late afternoon sun paints the cool interior in shades of gold and beaming white; everything is beautiful and pristine as always, and yet tinged with the red of his temper and lust. His temples beat in tune with his too fast, pumping heart.

“Where’s Dina?” He’s still got you caught in his grip. He does not plan to let go.

“Let me go, you mother ffff—” He gives you one hard shake, hearing your teeth click and rattle. Little doll caught in his grip. He can do anything to you—and you won’t be able to stop him.

“Where is she?” He asks again, and something in his voice must snap you alert because you settle for a brief second, a little shiver skipping down the length of your spine that he follows to your full ass. He tugs you back, barely moving and slow, just that little bit further into himself so that the lush curve presses against the hard length of his cock—and there it is, the little knowing gasp, finally understanding what it is you’ve gotten yourself into.

“She—” Your belly is suddenly so hot and tight, heartbeat starting up behind your navel. Suddenly knowing what it is this is about to be, and yet now finally confronted with the reality of it for the first time, you can’t even begin to imagine what it’ll be like. “She—I don’t know. She went into town, I— I think,” you stutter, brain short-circuiting, desperate to feel that hardness again. “Waiting for Ellie—they’ve got plans there tonight.” His entire hand is wrapped around your forearm pressed against the small of your back, long, thick fingers overlapping against each other, and you roll up on your tiptoes, trying to arch your back further into him.

He grunts once, exasperated, and then shoves you forward again, rough enough you’re stumbling over your own two feet, full on aggressive panting bull at your back.

That’s good, he says so low you barely catch it before he’s pushing you up against the wall by the front door, cheek smushed against the silk printed wallpaper.

Your mother decorated this room years ago, melding the masculine taste of your father and her love for European decor. The walls, wrapped in hand painted English wallpaper on the top half, and paneled at the bottom with a mahogany so fine it gleams an amber golden glow when the afternoon sun shines in through the windows just so.

Everything beautiful; still, even after all this time.

He holds you there for a long moment, his breathing quick and shallow, bellows of hot air at the nape of your neck, disturbing the escaped hair from your claw clip curling there.

“Joel?” You ask once, voice wavering just a little bit because he suddenly feels so large and imposing behind you that something like trepidation beats behind the soft of your kneecaps. You know he worked all day, and his big body is a steaming blaze of heat, waves rolling off of him to burn the naked length of your back and limbs.

He pulls your arm trapped between his forearm and your stomach to the small of your back to join the other, holding you there in a lock pinned against the wall, reaching up slowly to let your hair down, long and swinging. You listen to the clatter of your clip against the hardwood floor, and then he’s circling the side of your neck, the tiny beating pulse held in the cup of his palm so that it feels as if it’s reverberating back into your head, a staccato rhythm, and echoing all through your body. A chiming bell, ringing and ringing and ringing, telling you that it’s time now. His hand smooths down the slope of your throat to your shoulder, and you listen to the rumbling half humming moan he lets out at the feel of your sweat sticky skin, then down the flat wing of your scapula, thumb nail scraping against the edge of your jutting bone for the way he’s got your arms trapped behind you.

You let out a high pitched whine, almost a scream, another puff of sound in the assimilation of his name, pleading now, rolling up onto your tiptoes again to push your ass back against the hard of his cock. Everything is so, so sensitive.

Quit, he snaps once and mean. Ordering. In a tone that says he’s in charge, and finally.

It’s such a relief.

You whine again, higher, needier, like you’ve never felt before, and there’s a nauseating thrum of electrified butterflies in your tummy, sticky sweet and cloying for attention. Joel, please, again and the wings beat faster. You’re sure he’ll enjoy the sound of your begging, it’s just something you know. Tiptoes straining higher so that the soles of your feet ache, he smooths that work roughened palm down the slope of your spine, thumb against your vertebrae, feeling the round little notches of bone beneath sensitive skin until he’s reached the twin dimples at the low of your back right above your ass, and presses there and hard—mean—so it hurts. Keening loudly, you crush your cheek harder, harder against your mother’s wallpaper until the bone aches, until there’ll surely be an indent of your shape left in the wall, and his thumb digs even harder anyway, gripping you tight enough to bruise.

This is how it’ll be—surprising, but also not. In all your years of imagining, you still don’t know what it is you expected.

“You’re carved so fine,” whispered against your skin and gooseflesh spreads like wildfire, nipples going tight and aching. His nose skims the slope of your nape, smelling you. “S’like you’re made of sugar. Is that what you’ll taste like too?” And his words are slurred, drunk-like and you feel the same way also, legs on the verge of giving out.

You press your hips back again, desperate for any sort of pressure, and he jostles you once, hard enough you bite your tongue. Quit moving, he snaps, shoving his knee between your legs and spreading you wide and immobile, thigh hooked over his own so that the toes of that leg barely skim the ground and now you’re precariously balanced on one foot, held up and pinned entirely by him.

Caughtcha, he murmurs.

You couldn’t move even if you wanted to.

The palm at the low of your back splays wide, his long fingers reaching from side to side and pressing hard against your skin and then all of a sudden he’s gone, and only for a second, before he’s back and slapping you hard and painfully stinging on the ass. A downward swipe of his thick fingers so that it really fucking hurts, and then the palm is back at the small of your waist, hooked thigh over his leg, unable to move, unable to do anything except take it.

He presses your belly into the wall, and the pressure is so intense and so deep—his breathing is so rough behind you. You know he worked the mountain all day, he should be exhausted, but the strength he’s trapping you with belies the possibility.

His hand goes away from your back again, and he’s spanking you once more, and you can’t tell if it’s harder or not this time, if it hurts worse than the previous, but the fire pain of it snaps all the way down from your thigh to your calve, pooling there in a knot of painful ache. An animal baying noise warbles in your throat, he tuts once, a cooing click of his tongue and cups your ass right at the rose of pain he’s left, kneading the skin gently, palpating the hurt like he’s looking for the physical imprint of it beneath your skin.

“Yeah, baby? Like that?” You sing the little animal song for him again. “S’what you needed, right?” His voice now is not the Joel-voice you’ve always known, but it is the one you’ve always dreamed of. The kneading fingers slide whisper soft down the back of your thigh, up again, down again, callused skin scraping. On the up again, his thumb catches at the edge of your bathing suit wedged between the cleft of your ass.

And lest he thinks he’s bested you, you say, “Yes, that’s what I needed,” and he laughs a rough laugh that makes him sound like he’s been gutted.

He squeezes the thick of your ass between his thumb and forefinger, an almost pinch and then smoothes his thumb beneath the pink edge along the curve, precariously close to danger. The sound of his name loses meaning, you’re praying it in a litany almost, over and over, begging. Hush now, he gentles, more in a sort of voice you recognize while your heart beats so hard against the wall it must surely sound like someone’s knocking on the front door for entry, like it must surely send echoes all through the ghost-house.

His smoothing thumb continues its journey until it’s between your thighs, pulling the wet lycra wide away from your skin so that he can tuck the rest of his fingers flat against your cunt, and now he’s there.

One of you says the word fuck another lets out a whimpering sort of noise—you’re not sure which is who, it’s all only a cunt-throbbing need you know he’s feeling leak and pulse against his hand.

“You’re so wet for me,” he murmurs all reverence like. Joel—touching your cunt and sounding like he can’t believe it. His hand slides back along the curve of your sex, and you really are so wet the sound of it is slick and lewd, his fingertips at your entrance, a gentle probing and then forward again, a circling not touch around your clit, like he’s learning for himself this new little place that belongs to him now. Your mouth falls open on a spit-full moan, your eyes closed because you don’t even have strength now to keep them open and watchful. You’re so wet for me, he says again and again like he can’t believe it all either.

He drags his finger flats against you once more and then another time and then taps twice with all four of them, two little almost slaps to your clit that make a sticky wet splashing sound. Good girl, and you don’t know which part of you he’s talking to. You’re practically leaking onto the floor, trying to widen your hips, arch your ass back further and present your cunt to him for fucking. And then his fingers side to side in a swiping motion and fast.

Oh God. Oh God. Inside, inside, you need him inside. He needs to go inside.

“Please, pleeease, Joel. Oh, please.” Delirious.

“Please?” His fingers move fast and your vision goes entirely away. “Please what? Please what? You, please.” He switches front and backwards again, and then two fingers draw a little ghost circle at your entrance. You, please, he says again. His hand flips over, palm facing downwards, and he starts to slowly, slowly press a single tip of one inside. “Please behave. Please don’t— don’t—fuck— please gimme a second to breathe, to think, to catch up. God, fucking tight little cunt. I’ll never fit in here, baby.”

Your vision whites, then blacks, then goes blinding bright and colorless—zero frequency. Up to the first knuckle, and he wiggles the tip inside, making you cry and squirm, pulls out and then two fingers are pressing inside and downwards. “We’re gonna have to take it so slow in this little cunt.” Shit—shit.

“Oh my God, yes.”

Your hips shiver and shake as he penetrates you, his forehead tucked against your shoulder so he can look down at what he’s doing, and drool slides along your mother’s wallpaper from the corner of your mouth as he pushes his fingers in and out of you so slowly, the slick slide, the pressure against your front wall so heavy, and spread so wide like this but held so immobile—it all makes you feel like you’ll wet yourself with such little control over your body. A few slides in and out again, “Good girl, just a little more,” before he’s wedging a third into the mix, trying to put it inside of you as well. A little more? The stretch is too much, burning, and you wail and cry, arching again but this time to get away instead of steal more.

“Okay, okay. It’s alright,” he soothes. Hush. “It’s okay.” He pulls his fingers entirely out and covers the slick mess of your mound with his entire palm possessively. Rubbing soothingly at your wet, his fingers slide over the satiny smooth skin of your lips.

“You’re all bare,” he whispers, shocked.

You swallow hard once, shoulders and neck starting to ache. “I— I got lasered.”

“Lasers?” Voice confused.

“Yeah.” You swallow again, can’t catch your breath. “Yes.”

“Gotta see.”

He pulls you from the wall, shuffling you like gambling cards in his hands, that’s what this is, a gamble, so that you’re facing him as he walks you backwards, bikini bottoms askew and cunt bare to your parents living room; your dead father’s best man about to fuck it raw.

Pressing up on your tiptoes at the same time that you’re tugging him low by the collar and the slightly too long hair that curls over it to press an open mouthed kiss to his lips with eyes kept open. You need to see his face, his reaction, that even though he’s all rough, he’s still Joel and he’ll still take care of you now.

One strong forearm bands around your back, pressing you up high and close to his chest, fingers tangling in the bikini string at your back so that it pulls tight and bites into your skin, the other reaching around the back of your thighs to take a squeezing handful of you ass as he lifts you clean off the ground, lumbering slowly towards the couch while the two of you stare at each other with something that smells suspiciously of wonder.

On the high ground now, you stare down at him, held as you are and kiss him again, for real this time, with tongue, an eating of his mouth. Trying to taste him as deep as you can go, digging your manicured fingernails into the rough whiskered planes of his cheeks until he grunts roughly.

Showing him that you can hurt him too.

His knees hit the edge of the couch, one palm going to the back to hold himself steady as he sets you down, following your path to fold over you nose to nose. Watching each other for a blink, predator, predator, lashes tangling and then his mouth is sliding wetly over your burning cheekbone, drawn out groan like dying. Down to the hinge of your jaw where he sucks sharp once and his tongue flutters down the column of your throat, tasting your pulse, his palms everywhere at the same time too. Over your shoulders and down your goosefleshed arms, cinching at the nip of your waist to slide around your hips and to your ass, pulling you forward and open when he goes to his knees on the floor at the edge of the sofa between your spread thighs, with you draped diagonally across the cool leather that sticks to your sweaty, coconut flavored skin.

One palm slides down your chest, dragging over your breast, the other catching at your nipple with this thumb, nail scraping and pulling the wet fabric along with him, baring you to the first glance of his eyes. A sound that’s a little like a whimper precedes his latching mouth, sucking hard and with teeth so you’re arching and crying and when your head rolls to the side, eyes bleary and barely seeing, he’s got your small breast in his mouth, jaw hinged wide and hungry. His teeth scrape, one wide palm sliding over your thigh to the back, pushing your knee up high and open to your shoulder, lips skim over your belly, smell so fucking good, sharp edge over your hip bone and the lave of his tongue, taste so fucking good.

“I’m gonna eat your cunt.” Bikini askew, one little tit bared to the cold AC, nipples hard enough to hurt, he pinches it once and mean and stretches the soaking wet center gusset of your bottoms wider.

He looks and looks and grins and everything inside of you pulses.

Boyish smirk and a cocky glance up at you, oh, pretty, “Perfect little princess pussy, huh? I see now.” He sticks his thumb into his mouth, pulls it out with a pop to rub it spit slick against your clit. Yeah, yeah, like that, and you can’t help the whining cry.

Pushing your other thigh up high, the grin turns to something a little more menacing before he bends to your cunt, whole mouth covering you there like he’d swallowed your breast. His thumbs dig painfully into the backs of your thighs like they’d dug in your back, leaving little spots of hurt all over your body is what he’s doing, spreading you wide open.

Every touch is possessive, full of ownership.

“What are you doing to me?” He groans as he eats your cunt, doing exactly as he said he would, flat of his tongue licking all over you, dipping inside. Purse of his lips then and he’s sucking hard and pulsing in quick successions, and there’s your first one—little gush of slick and your belly so tight it hurts, you need something inside of you so bad—your first orgasm forced from you and onto his tongue, swallowed down into his stomach. He groans like an animal—doubles his efforts, tongue spearing inside, pulling away to press two fingers in—fuck, fuck, and you grab hold of your own thigh to keep yourself open for him, knees trembling beside your ribs.

The hand not inside slides across you, smearing slick over your belly, it’s everywhere, and presses down as he crooks those two fingers forward. His hair’s all fucked up, eyes glazed a maniacle shade of hazel that makes him more intimidating than you’ve ever seen him and also hotter than you could’ve ever dreamed, that boy’s smile again.

His mustache is soaked in you. “Little pussy’s so small ‘nd wet, baby.” He wiggles his fingers, pets against the blindingly sensitive place inside of you. “Feel that?” Fingers twisting—almost too much, the stretch burns already and just like this.

“Please, put it in,” you beg stupidly, a tear leaks and then another, not at all smart of self preserving.

He clicks his tongue, and you can’t tell if it’s soothing or condescending or both, your eyes screwing shut at what he’s doing to you, trying to paw at his shoulders and pull him towards you at the same time. “Can’t—too small.”

No, no— His palm at your belly presses down, fingers petting forward, again, again, head bent once more to suck on your clit, licking it roughly if a tongue can be rough because it’s heavy and strong and intentional—I can take it. There’s your next one, obeying the come here order of his fingers. Mid-come and he’s forcing that painful third one from before inside, and now it’s split open and sloshing wetly—your cunt—hiccupping into another left over shaky orgasm, fucking hurts a little bit. More tears and his soft chuckle—you’re really in it now.

When he slurps at your leaking again, fingers leaving you to gape empty and wanting, your hips shiver, trying to shake him away and rock against him at the same time. He says something you can’t make out, can’t even open your eyes, you just need a second, you swear, and then the clink of his belt, the shuffle of clothes, and he’s pulled his shirt over his head—you’ve enough mind left to open your eyes for this.

He’s so strong, built for fucking and working and heaving. You knew this already, you hadn’t needed to see him without clothes to know.

And all yours now, too.

Your fingertips paw greedy at his chest, muscular, the thickly corded arms and shoulders. One hand wraps around the slim of your ankle, manacling you while he undoes his fly, your heart skips with the split of the zipper’s teeth and pulls his cock out, letting it fall heavy on your stomach—a threatening, aggressive thing. It drags against your cunt, so big it doesn’t stand up straight and jutting like the others you’ve been used to, but bobs low and hanging.

Reaching forward you flit the tips of your fingers over the wide head—barely there butterfly touch—and your hand looks comically small next to the thing as you pet at the dark head swelling out of the thick skin around it, soft and burning hot—he growls like a wolf at your touch.

“I’ve never— I’ve never… with one like…”

He pulls your hand forward, wrapping it tightly around the thick length with his fist over yours. “Nah, baby. You’ve never had one like this. It’s alright—I’ll show you how to take it.”

You’ve half a mind to roll your eyes at him, but he distracts you with the soft touch at the split indentation in your knee from your romp in the grass last night. “What happened here, little thing?” His words and his touch are so soft, eyes warm and caring, as if he weren’t threatening at all, as if that thing that’s about to split you in half and make you cry hasn’t started to slick itself back and forth between your legs, parting the lips of your cunt, sticky sound on every pass with his fist wrapped around himself—too many things happening to you all at once by his hand.

“A rock hiding in the grass last night.” You start to roll your hips minutely against him, presenting your similarly torn palm for his appraisal, no, no, my poor baby, he kisses the little hurt while the fat head swipes over your clit, pressing against your hole—a little gasp and you circle his wrist at your knee, anchoring yourself.

He frowns. “Last night when?”

“After you left me.” Pouting back.

Cooing once and low, “You shouldn’t go out alone at night, anything could happen,” pressing again at the mouth of your cunt. Fuck, now—

“Wasn’t alone—”

The head notches and stays, “Without me then— Deep breath now, baby.” He grunts on the first push inside, and your back arches tight as a bowstring, hand splaying wide at the center of his belly and his long fingers wrap around your breast tight, holding you in place, deep breath, he says again.

“Oh God. Oh God. Oh my God.”

He pitches his hips forward once, just a little, just a small shove, and you tense, sharp whine hiccuping through you. “Oh, it’s too big,” pressing harder at his belly as he edges deeper again, an inch and then another, literally splitting your cunt open for himself, thumb swiping slow and gentle over your clit, forcing little shudders of pleasure out of you amidst the pain.

“See, told ya.” It’s slow, slow until he makes it fit, watching himself sink inside of you the entire time, until you’re rooted on his cock, breath coming is quick, sucking pants, puffs out through your nose, body flushing hot and then even hotter. He folds over you, groaning loud and long, deep grinds and small shoves, and then it’s so much, too much until there’s no room left inside of you at all, that dull ache pain of his tip pressing against your cervix.

You’re going to be so sore tomorrow, it hurts, it hurts, but he plays with that place anyways, covering you with his body to press his face against your breasts, mouthing wet and hot at your nipples, biting hard to distract you from the pain inside. Your fingers twist in his hair, hot and damp at the roots, sweaty musk smell of a hard day's work, masculine, making you wetter for him. “It’s alright… it’s alright. You can take it. You’re such a good girl.” And then a fuck, and he’s mumbling your name, how good you are again, how well you’re taking your fucking.

“This what you wanted, right? To get caught on my cock?” The palm cupping your ass tips you up and forwards, forcing him inside just that little bit more. Your knees are at your shoulders, folded entirely under him, and the tip of his cock is still there where it hurts the most while he pants and sweats on top of you. A cramp of heat moves like lightning down your back and something goes loose in your cunt, your womb contracting once, accepting its fate as you start to come around him, milking him deep inside of you. You start to cry for real now too, fingernails dragging against his naked back looking for blood—sobbing, actually, not just crying.

He bites your breast hard, grinds further not letting the orgasm stop, “God—I’m so fuckin’ deep. No one’s ever been this deep, right? Tell me, baby,” he begs, sitting back and dragging you boneless, still coming, into his lap, little girl splayed wide over his knees on the floor. You sink further down onto his cock, and he kisses your hot cheeks, letting your cunt drip down him. His belt digs bruisingly into the back of your thighs and it all hurts—he really is so deep now, head tucked firmly at your cervix, and he feels like he’s getting thicker, harder, like he just needs to be sunk deep like this, as deep as he can get so that all your cunt needs to do is work him until it milks the come right out of him.

Your head lolls back on your neck, supported at the edge of the sofa. “No more—” You don’t know if you mean it, but it is just on the verge of too much now. You’re so sensitive.

“Yes more.” He starts to lift his hips again, pulling back and shoving, not a lot, but enough that it’s like a little punch inside of you each time. “As much as I say.”

Whining, “No—I can’t.” You roll your hips against him though, the both of you moving, straining against each other, his wide hands around your waist shifting you up and down like a doll on his cock. Your eyes finally open again, and the sunlight spears in through the windows in buttery blinding shafts, sparkling dust motes dancing above as he fucks you. The sound is all so wet, everything from his lower belly to the open front of his jeans is soaked. “I don’t like it anymore,” you lie.

“I don’t care,” and he gives you the first really rough thrust, not a pounding but with enough strength behind it that you get that heat cramp again, feel like you’re going to wet yourself again, there’s so much pressure in your belly.

You’re going to come again. You are coming again. It feels like you should say thank you.

He laughs, little cock sleeve, and you can’t understand how it’s so intense when the fucking is so slow—so good anyways—who cares about anything. His name slips through your lips without them moving, and he’s laughing again, a little mean and you tell him so, but still tender, still endeared by you.

You push his face away weakly, a mumbled, “Nasty old man.”

Nuh uh, he hums, taking both of your wrists in his grip and pressing them back to the leather edge on either side of your head, forcing you into an arch so that he can latch his teeth at your throat and suck. The rolling of his hips pick up speed, just that little bit, the heat coming off him boiling up to steaming and his sweat drips onto your skin and disappears inside of you—everywhere you’ve got him inside of you.

“Birth control?” All broken up with pants and your jugular between his teeth.

Flexing fingers, hands going away to numbness, he’s got you held so tightly, not being so careful of his strength anymore, his cock drags and it’s so wet and sensitive and swollen inside of you, it feels like he barely fits even more than it did before, like there’s definitely no more space inside of you for him at all.. “Yeah—ye—ah, ahh,” can’t get your voice to come out right with your clit grinding against his pelvic bone like that. “Implant right here.” You turn your face towards your left arm, tipping your nose the hidden little bump right beneath your skin. He clicks his tongue, kissing it softly.

“Poor baby. That’s good. That’s real good, baby. Just be good and lemme come in you now. It’s okay.” He spreads his thighs wider, pushing up with his knees into you now. Oh fuck— “But you gotta give me one more. I want it—it’s mine.” And the way he’s got you arched, the spot he hits inside is more intense than the others. He grunts rougher now, biting your throat so hard you’ll be left bruised all over and on the inside too. One palm lets go of your wrist to grip your bottom, long fingers slotting on either side of his impaling cock, pulling you to him so tightly the orgasm is squeezed out of you forcibly and hurts all the worse for it. You’re limp and boneless now, and he starts to pump his come into you in thick spurts, belly all suffused with heat and your name a groan in his throat.

His fingers, parted around his splitting cock rub at the slippery skin of your labia, back and forth to your asshole, holding and cupping the place he’s claimed, and he comes so long, hunched over and rutting into you, filling and filling until the wet squelch is even louder and you can feel the thick come being forced out of your stuffed full cunt.

You want to say his name, trying to move your lips, but your tongue rolls uselessly inside your mouth, all you are is a shivering cunt, a muscle spasming and spasming around him. He nuzzles at your throat, finally unlatching his teeth, licking away the hurt, pressing a soft kiss to the sore spot. You can feel him playing in the leaking wet now, fingering at your puffy cunt, well fucked and filled.

You want to tell him you didn’t think that the bikini was going to make this happen, pull this out of him.

At least not like this. You don’t think you could’ve ever imagined it’d be like this.

His mouth, hot on your jaw once more before he finally picks up his head to look at you, and his eyes make you want to cry, all that manic heat is gone now, replaced by some softly smoldering ember. You don’t think anyone in all the world has eyes the color of hazel he’s got. Something that should belong to some fiercely guarded precious stone, they glow, amber opal like, burnished in the setting sun’s golden glow.

“You okay?” His voice is very soft, and only for you.

You nod, chin tipping to your sternum, face flushed with so much unbearably pleased heat you’re unable to find your own.

Tilting his head to get at your mouth, he kisses you long and soft and open mouthed, licking your tongue, tasting you completely. And when he pulls back he has that same look you feel on your own face—that same unbearable pleasure. Shocked wonder sprinkled into it.

Look at what we’ve done and together and how good it is—

A smile and then a laugh from both of you, giggling like school children into each other’s mouths, and you’ve always thought he has some strange effect of appearing all man one second and then smiling and boyish for the flash of a single moment the next. And you don’t think you understand how someone who’s been through so much can still laugh the way he does. You smooth your finger over the arch of his eyebrow, thumbing at the smile lines at the corners of his eyes. Gorgeously strong man, and you suppose, looking at the wider picture, his life here, Ellie and the boys and a whole full life, you understand it, just a little bit—all the ranch’d given him. He has so much here—centered by the land as its heart.

You’ve always wanted to be just like him anyway, and finally, voice found—the feel of his heartbeat inside of you—it’s like finding a dream, “I’m okay,” you tell him.

Chapter 4: Figs

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neonovember · 1 year ago

Text

Deceit

Mafia!au x Steve Rogers

CHAPTERS: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

summary: your escape to Brooklyn was harboured by secrets and a harrowed past, left abused and betrayed, you accepted your destiny of being swallowed by the crowd. Until the King of New York showed up in front of you and wanted a piece of you for himself.

divider by @firefly-graphics !

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Bucky is quiet the ride over, dark steel greys surveying the road eagerly, like he was waiting for someone, or something to give him a reason to jump out and spill blood.

The wheel wains in his grip, and his dark hair falls over in waves, pushed back behind his ears and smelling of pine nut and mint. There's a hint of a smile on his face, he knows you're watching him.

You avert your gaze quickly, looking towards the mountain trees on either side of the asphalt road ahead.

The relief you had thought would fill you as Bucky pulls into the potholed road of your apartment is blank, and your chest fills vacant without the heat of it. Your mind is restless, and the entire ride over had given you ample time to think over everything that had happened earlier.

You had folded and unfolded every piece of information Bucky had told you about Steve and all it had done was make you feel like you were intruding, like you were given privy to something you had no right knowing. Like peeking through the cracks under closed doors as a child listening in on their parents.

Where your street had once been busy with loitering huddles of gaunt faced men, a quiet murmur settles over the ground floor of your apartment complex, all the way up to the hallway to your place.

And as you pass by a few stragglers who blanch when Bucky shifts his hard gaze towards them, stuttering over their own feet and rushing back to their alleyways, you have an inclination that it was all Steves doing.

His reach was absolute.

You didn’t know what to feel, you’ve known displacement for too long.

Separating from your betrothed, separated from the life you had been half folded into, separating from the very syllabus of your name.

The spaces between the letters get further and further as the years go by. Until you can hardly remember if your namesake is really yours, just a frightening sound that came out of your husband's mouth.

This is different though. Until now, your instinct has always been right. And yet, when you think of Steve? When you try to find footing in your gut it comes up wobbly and unsure.

Was he something more than he let on? Did he only uncover pieces of himself for his own benefit?

Bucky had told you he had lost his own wife, and young too. Forced to be exposed to the brutality of the world before he could even get a chance to indulge in youthful recklessness.

You feel a sense of empathy for him, but also, also surprise. It isn’t the murder, or your own husbands doing that causes a slight slip of your heart. The truth is much more foolish instead.

There was a time Steve was ready to forsake this entire life, live forever looking over his shoulder, turn back on tradition that was as deep as marrow, all for love.

You could laugh if you had remembered what that felt like. The thought outright unnerves you. Steve? The gluttonous leader who held sanctions of New York with an iron fist?

It drives a pit in your stomach when you think too hard about what it means.

There’s a fiery jealousy that swarms you, you had never understood the wielding power that love carried all your life. It was a feeling, just like any other was it not?

Yet it had men like Steve falling to his knees!

And all that swarms your mind is how it’s so unfair, that you’ve never experienced such a thing. That you may never will. Forced to succumb to the life that was only half yours, down a path so far the ground had changed beneath you.

What did it feel like to give in? To show all your misgivings with unabashed apprehension? To let yourself, all of it, to another person?

Anything close to a love like that had come from the faded memories of your father, his warmth and deep gritted protectiveness over you. And that had been stripped from you quicker that you were able to forsake it.

You suppose that wasn't meant to be dealt in your cards, which you had come to understand were drawn years ago. You lie to yourself, but during some nights the aching desire to feel something, to taste the deep gripping love that had caused even Steve to lose focus explodes deep in your gut.

Your longing for connection was something you hid well, and god didn’t you get awfully good at hiding these years? Fit yourself in nooks and crannies that were too small, smoothed out your jagged edges to click into the puzzle pieces.

And yet, the empathy you had silently shared, the intimate conversation you had had with Steve in your mind is stamped out with swiftness as Bucky walks you to your door.

That was then, now Steve had made it perfectly clear where he stood. The cool indifference and hardening this life caused had stolen any shine or hope that Steve may have held those years ago. Everything he did now was calculated, for the betterment of broadening his kingdom.

He might as well have died along with her.

Bucky leans against the hallway, eyes surveying the decrepit halls lit by overexerted linoleum lights. You hesitate a moment, before popping your keys into your door, twisting it this way and that to get it to open.

You flinched as the door opened wide, almost like you were expecting someone to be standing right behind it, waiting for your arrival before pouncing. You’re a child, waiting for the ghoul in the closet to jump out.

Yet all that is there is the same peeling walls of your small entryway and some shoes and a coat strewn to the side in your haste to get to the diner early those days before.

You’d much prefer the monster.

Days, it had only been days, so why did it feel like a lifetime since you stepped foot into your home?

You don’t know what you were expecting, for your apartment to change when you had been kept away from it unceremoniously? For someone to have cleaned out the dishes lying in the sink, and ruffle the pillows lying on your old sofa?

You had craved mundanity for so long, craved consistently at a time where you didn’t know which face of your husband you would meet those days.

When the monster living underneath your husband's skin would jump out.

But now, you crave something more. It simmers right under your skin, deep within your chest and its shadowy fingers flutter over every inch of you.

Your apprehension is evident by the way Bucky shifts his way towards you stuttering frame.

“Hey, I wouldn't be so keen on coming home to this place either. Those carpets don’t look that inviting" Bucky replies, there is a sight lilt in his voice as he drags his eyes across your depressing furnishing.

You cut your eyes towards him, narrowing your lids.

“Not everyone lives in an exorbitant palace you know” You gruffly reply, shuffling into your door in a way that was more spite than eagerness.

Bucky breaks out in a grin that takes up half his face, his hand stuffed into his suit pockets as he rocks on the balls of his feet.

“Talking like a woman who hasn’t done just that half her life” Bucky replies, cocking his head to the side.

Oh right, your husband's estate that took up half of the city. One that was never, and would never be in your name.

You drop your handbag onto one of the hooks attached to the hallway, turning towards Bucky with a sigh.

“That’s different” You reply evenly

“Oh yeah? How so?” Bucky murmurs, eyes shining with a smile

“I was never welcomed in that home- house. God it would never be a home no matter how many architects and designers dressed it up. You think I escaped ‘cause it was my safe haven?” You cock your head to the side and Bucky’s face evens out. The smile adorning his features morphs back into his face as a look passes through his eyes.

“You don’t have to worry about that with Steve-”

“Oh yeah? Because he is the most upfront person to talk to. Right. This place, as depressing as it looks, is solely mine. It’s the only thing I have on this goddamn earth that hasn't been mauled and changed with my husband's fingers. Or the life he leads. You might not understand it, how important that is but-”

“I do. Trust me” Bucky replies, cutting you with and he offers you a nod that was more understanding than half the world's he promised to you.

Can I? You wonder thoughtfully. Was this just a part of some elaborate plan that Rumlow had clued you on? You were everywhere all at once, topsy turvy and turned inside out. This was the life you had to live now.

“Good” You say instead, wringing your fingers as Bucky’s phone begins to buzz from his pants pocket.

You wait for him to reach for it immediately, but he doesn't, just remains quiet as he taps his foot against the hardwood floor. There seemed to be a look of understanding that passed between you when he had racked his fist against the wall adjacent to your door.

The blues of his eyes twinkled under the sun peeking through the hallway window, and you didn’t realize it then but it was trust that shined in his eyes. Like the words he had shared with you warranted the same secrecy he held with the other men he worked with.

You had paid in flesh and blood for your silence, what more was another pound?

The ring runs through, and the silence soon returns between you both.

“I’m not going to the mouth off to half of Brooklyn that their most influential business man likes painting” You reply with a murmur, eyes darting left and right as if neighbors were listening in. Enough of them had watched you walk to your apartment door, eyes strained on Bucky and his shoes that shine too bright. Faces that had never even said hello had craned their necks as you passed, of course. Whispers of inquisition under their breath.

“I know you won’t” Bucky replies instantly. “Just- let him explain the rest of it, yeah? ‘S only fair you hear it from him”

“Fair?” You raise your eyebrows, “You’re talking about fairness now? Bullshit. If you were guided by some moral compass I wouldn't have been forced into this, you wouldn't even be in this life” You snark unconsciously.

Where does this all come from? You hadn't even raised an eyebrow at your husband, and now you were bad mouthing a man with a gun poking through his waistband. You look down, staring at the unusual stain in the hallway carpet you never quite knew what was. The anxiety and timidness you were used to coming back tenfold.

Bucky doesn't retaliate, just looks towards you with a feather-like smirk.

“I was wrong about you, y’know?” Bucky whispers, leaning in as if he were divulging in a secret he couldn't let be spoken in the open air.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re everything like Steve.” Bucky replies thoughtfully, a far away look taking over his dark features.

He’s miles away, reminiscing about parts of Steve that had been left in the dark. He looks younger than, when you notice the way his eyebrows scrunch and his locks fall flat over his face.

But it's enveloped back into Bucky in a second, a sad smile replacing his grin.

“If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call”

Giving you one last nod, he turns back towards the hallway entrance and it takes you a few moments before you realise.

“But I don't have your number!” You call out, leaning out your door

His brown locks shift as he turns back to you

“You sure about that?” A raise of his eyebrows at the ping of your phone, waving you with two fingers.

You don't have to pull it out to know it's him. And you can't help but let out a chuckle before turning back and shutting the door firmly.

You find yourself accompanying your time scrubbing down the floorboard and yellowed walls of your home, filling your hours since Bucky had left with meager tasks. It helps you think, concentrating on little chores around the house so you don't have to think about the thoughts that rattled loudly in your mind.

It’s still well into the morning, and as the sun filters through your drapes you lean back on your heels nodding accomplished at the glint of the shining floors. The walls were an impassive yellow, never yielding no matter what cleaning products you threw at them, but beyond the old entryway carpet the apartment was lined with pristine hardwood floors that shined with a little elbow grease.

Not that shitty huh Bucky?

Wiping the sweat that had grown increasingly uncomfortable above your brow, you make way to your small enclosed kitchenette, swiping a cup from the drying rack before you watch the water fill to its glass edge. You gulp half of it down, before your much needed break is interrupted by the faint buzzing of your phone emitted from somewhere in the living room.

You forage for it quickly, searching till you find it wedged between the cracks of your couch. You pause for a moment, considering whether it might be Bucky, or Steve calling but as you see the vibrating screen of your manager's face you slide the receiver across the screen.

You brace yourself for the inevitable screech of her voice, you haven't been to work in days, an irregular for you considering the mountain of bills that left your bank account squandered each month. You needed this job, and now Steve hand upended your life, you fear it’ll slip through your fingers.

Manager calls, you pick up, she’s very quiet and apprehensive and is all sweet in a a way you remember she never had been before. She’s almost scared to talk to you, asking about a shift you could cover and you say yea without thinking. You need a distraction. Even if Steve had made it clear you no longer needed to worry about work.

“Hello?” You reply, eyebrows furrowing at the beat of silence that fills the space usually used up by ** loud un yielding demands.

“Y/N? Hey, how are you doing” Replies carefully, as if choosing her words.

“What?” You blurt out

You can’t help the confusion that puzzles your voice, who was this person? In the months you had spent working at that dead end job not once has she ever asked how you were. Not when you had spent half your break with your head in your toilet the first few months you had escaped. A cat on edge, nerves frazzled by even the slightest heavy stamp of a dress shoe.

What had changed?

You don’t have to kid yourself, you know the answer deep down. Him, it always goddamn is.

“Sorry, uhm I’m been doing good” You reply “I apologise for kind of just disappearing on you and the Diner”

“Oh that? That’s totally fine, once your friends cleared that up” 8 gulped, the sharp exhale of breath filling the receiver at the mention of this friend of yours.

“Friend?” You reply

“Don’t worry about it, I’m glad your doing alright. Uh-, so uhm ’s sister dropped her kids off at 4am last night at hers, she cant her shift. And * got SAT prep. Can you fill in if possible it’s totally okay if you can’t, I needed to stay back a few anyway-”

“Sure”

You needed the distraction, you felt stifled in the walls of your apartment. It wasn’t meant to be a prison, and yet the only time you felt truly free now was when you slammed the door behind you.

“-oh, Oh thank you! Thank you so much. If you could come in at 12, it’s just the afternoon shift. And if you need to leave for whatever reason it’s totally fine you don’t even have to tell me-“

“Mare?

“Yes?”

“Relax. I miss the diner and it’s crappy linoleum lights anyways”

Mare snorts into the receiver “The teams missing you too”

After passing a few more instructions on the wave of Russian tourists coming through Brooklyn this time of year you let your phone clatter onto the coffee table.

Sure, your manager could be a pain in the ass but being passive aggressive didn’t warrant a mob leader holding you at gunpoint.

You wonder what Steve had said to her to cause her to be this shaken up, she was the most stubborn woman you’ve ever met. It couldn’t have been easy to have her yield, at least not without some sort of real threat.

Especially in New York.

You rifle through your bag before grabbing your work uniform. The musty smell of old oil and grease makes you throw it haphazardly into the laundry basket before reaching for a clean shirt.

You try to look presentable, washing your face with the bathroom tap that never not juts out cold water. You avoid your reflection when you pay your face dry, which is interestingly enough, hard to do since it’s well..your face.

Drawing the wisps of coils that spring free you pull your hair back into a bun. You don’t bother with makeup, it never quite sat right on your face when you did it. Reaching for your bag and throwing your phone and the rest of your miscellaneous, you hurry down the steps of your apartment complex.

Popping in your earphones as you step into the train carriage, you memorise the dock and pull of the train ride till you feel your stop. Your music swims through your veins, and you breathe it in before opening your eyes to the tram doors opening.

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ashleyfilm · 10 months ago

Text

Seeing Clearly - Chapter 6. The Nightmare

Please leave comments, I'd love to know your thoughts. And if you feel inclined to reblog, that would be so nice.

Chapter Warnings: cursing, SMUT, angst *im sorry* - Minors - DNI

Characters: Jackson!Joel Miller x F!Reader Plus Size. F!OC was recommended to me since there's a lot of description of her but I'm writing her as You (Reader) so hopefully you can still imagine yourself. Black hair, glasses, tattoos, big body, wears dark clothes, won't stop talking. Joel is tv show Jackson Joel.

Story Summary: Joel just saved your life, begrudgingly. He doesn't know exactly why but he brings you back to Jackson and you ingratiate yourself into his very small circle and his life. This takes place after season 1 of TLOU and season 2 doesn't exist in my brain because no.

Chapter Summary: The Nightmares that have plagued you come back and Joel helps you through it, but getting closer isn't easy. 1.2K

Thank you to @saradika-graphics for the book line divider. :)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

Chapter 6. The Nightmare

By some miracle, you haven’t had any of your nightmares since you arrived in Jackson two weeks ago. That is until early this morning when, in your sleep, you toss and turn and yell until you’re woken up by Joel’s large hands on your shoulders and his warm breath in your face. “Hey, hey, shhh, you’re okay. It was a nightmare, you’re okay. Look at me.” You realize your cheeks are wet, how long have you been crying? “Joel?” Your voice is scratchy, how long have you been yelling? “Darlin’, you didn’t wake up for me. It took almost ten minutes of me shaking you to wake you up,” Joel says, quietly as he can but you hear so much pain in his voice. “I’m sorry,” you say, “Raiders, I was caught for, for...two years, a little while before I came here. The nightmares, I haven’t had one since I got here, I thought maybe I wouldn’t. I’m so sorry.” Joel is kneeling next to your bed, hands loosening around you, and you see he’s in his pajamas and his hair is all messy from sleep. He sits back a bit, and you see he’s visibly angry, “Nothin’ to be sorry about. That’s never gonna happen to you again, I promise you that.” Still trying to catch your breath you say, “You can’t promise that, Joel.” He sits up again, closer to you. “You are here now, look at me,” and you do, its blurry without your glasses but he’s so close you can see into his eyes, “You’re here now and I’m not going to let anything hurt you like that ever again.” You try to nod but he continues, “Oh, god, you’re shaking so much. What can I do?” After a moment of silence you ask, “Will, will you hold me?” and before you can finish your question, he climbs up beside you, puts his arms around you and has your cheek resting over his heart that’s beating wildly. As his heart calms, so do you and you fall back asleep.

When you wake, you’re disoriented. You’re asleep on your side but you feel a large, warm presence behind you, and a large arm draped over you. For a moment, you freeze in terror and Joel, who was already awake feels the shift, grabbing you gently but firm to turn you so you face him. He says your name over and over, looking into your eyes and you finally breathe. Then he can finally breathe, and he lays his forehead against yours hovering over you, his eyes closed. Before you can think, you reach up to cup his cheek and he leans into it, snuggling your palm. And you think you’ve never felt this safe in your whole life. You’re so close. It would only take a slight movement of your neck, and your lips would touch. And then they do. His lips are so soft and so warm and your lips slot so perfectly with his. He doesn’t hesitate to deepen the kiss, licking at your bottom lip with his tongue, begging to be let in. You gladly welcome him, and he licks into your mouth, exploring you, tasting you. He tastes like mint and a hint of late-night coffee. Without thought, both your bodies start to move with each other and a moan escapes your lips only to be swallowed by Joel’s ravenous mouth against yours. You feel his hardness on your thigh, rubbing up against you. You start to run your fingers through his beautiful hair. It’s so soft.

Suddenly, there’s a slam of a door, “Joel?” Tommy yells from downstairs and Joel jerks away from you. Wild-eyed, dark and full of desire, lips pink and swollen from kissing. He stands up off the bed and you’re still trying to catch your breath, laid out on the bed in front of him, looking open and wanting. You can feel the slick pooling at the entrance between your legs. “It’s Tommy, I gotta,” he starts. “I know, it’s okay.” You smile shyly at him; he doesn’t smile back. And then he’s gone. You lay your head back on the pillow and sigh. Smiling ear to ear but also nervous about what almost happened. Does he want you as much as you want him? Fuck, you hope so. After what you’ve been through, you deserve to have something you want, right? You roll over to find the pillow Joel was laying on and inhale his scent.

A bit later, and fully dressed, you make your way downstairs to see Joel standing in the living room and Ellie in a chair looking utterly pissed off and you wonder what the hell you just walked into. Ellie stands looking at you sadly, then stares at Joel and stalks off for her garage. Once she’s gone Joel starts speaking, not really looking at you, not in the eyes at least. “They’ve got a place ready for you, above the bakery. It’s ready today. S’what Tommy came to tell me.” It’s like a punch to your gut. You knew this was going to happen, but you didn’t think it’d be this fast. You almost thought that maybe it wouldn’t ever happen. It was going well here with you and Joel and Ellie. Right? God, you’re stupid, they’re each other’s family. You’re just a new person in town and they were just doing you a favor. It wasn’t your bedroom, it wasn’t your wolf mug, Ellie wasn’t your daughter, and Joel wasn’t yours. Your eyes brim with tears and you ask quietly, “What about this morning, Joel,” He cuts you off, his voice low, “Was a mistake, won’t happen again, this’ll be better for you.” You feel like he slapped you and stand to run upstairs so he doesn’t see you cry, again.

Tommy comes to help you with the two small boxes of things to take to the new place. He looks from you to Joel and neither of you will look at each other or him. Joel puts one more thing in the box Tommy is carrying as Ellie emerges to give you a hug before you start walking off the front porch. The hug starts off awkward until it turns into the most amazing hug you’ve had in decades. “You have to come visit me, I’m above the bakery, we’ll eat so much bread.” Ellie smiles, laying her head on your shoulder, Joel walks off into the house. “I’m so angry at him, he’s being a stupid asshole and a coward,” Ellie says, and Tommy looks back into the house seemingly trying to piece together what’s going on. “It’s okay, Ellie. I’ll see you, promise.”

After Tommy leaves you at your new apartment, you sit and stare at the floor, it’s a cute place, perfect for just you. A small kitchen, a breakfast nook by the front window, one bedroom and a pretty bathroom with a tub and a shower. And it smells amazing, but you can’t enjoy it. You feel cold being away from him, your lips feel lost without his. You don’t feel safe anymore. What had you done? What did you do to make him push you away so hard. He wouldn’t even look at you. And for the first time, since he saved you, you wish he hadn’t. Because this loneliness was worse than all the other times. This hurt more than you thought it could. And now you have to start over, alone, again.

Taglist: @somedayheaven @elegantduckturtle

If you'd like to be added to the taglist just let me know in a message or comment. :)

#ashleyfilm #joel miller plus size reader #joel tlou #pedro pascal fanfiction #seeing clearly #joel miller #the last of us #joel millerxf!OC plus size

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espballs · 5 months ago

Text

It's Never Just Coffee

Chapter 4 - And Losing Fights

♡ Summary: Shadow and Sonic race with gay thoughts involved.... and 0 people spying on them!!! (NOT CLICKBAIT!!!

♡ Reminder: Canon divergent, technically takes place at the start of Sonic 2. Characters may be ooc because of altered events. Previous chapters needed for context

♡ Cross posted on AO3

It was 6:01.

Sonic was late. So by default, Shadow had already won the race by getting to the target on time.

Shadow was about to spiral into the idea that Sonic had ditched him, but the blue hedgehog appeared in a blur in an instant.

“You’re late.” Shadow turned to face Sonic, watching as he brushed the imaginary dirt of his shoulders and grinned.

“Fashionably late!” Sonic announced proudly, hands on his hips before he took a step forward. “Knuckles and Tails held me up a bit, they were all watching a movie and apparently I’m not good at sneaking around!” Sonic scoffed.

Shadow just narrowed his eyes at Sonic. “What happened to being The Fastest Thing Alive? ”

Sonic quickly turned to Shadow, putting a hand over his heart and gasping. “Excuse me!” He gasped, feigning hurt. “Being fast does not mean I am stealthy!”

Shadow huffed, glancing at the moonlit grass ahead of them. "Excuses don’t matter. You’re late. By default, I’ve already won." He announced proudly, crossing his arms.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold on," Sonic said, holding up his hands as he stepped closer. "That’s not how this works! You don’t just win because you got here first."

Shadow just stared at him, waiting for the idiot to realize that was exactly how races worked.

Sonic stared at him expectantly, seeming to think of it as a staredown. Once Sonic realized he was quick to wave his hands around, losing the staredown in an instant. "No, no, no! That’s not how this race works! We didn’t even start yet—there was no countdown, no 'ready, set, go,' none of that!"

Shadow quirked a brow, clearly unimpressed. "Sounds like someone’s making excuses for being slow."

“Fine!” Sonic announced. “Let’s settle this properly."

"Properly?" Shadow echoed, leaning slightly forward. "You mean you losing?" He teased .

Sonic’s grin widened, a spark of determination lighting up his emerald eyes. "Keep talking, Shadow. That confidence of yours is gonna look real funny when you’re eating my dust."

Shadow smirked, the faintest hint of a challenge flashing in his expression. "We’ll see who’s laughing when this is over."

They both turned to face the stretch of moonlit fields before them.. Sonic gestured dramatically toward the path ahead. "Alright, the rules are simple. First to that oak tree—” He pointed at one far ahead, up on a hill. “—and back. No shortcuts, no cheating! —just pure speed. Deal?" he held out his hand to Shadow.

Shadow nodded and shook his hand. "Deal. Let’s see if you can keep up this time." He smiled, lining up at their imaginary starting point.

“Fox, can you see anything?”

“Shh!” Tails put a finger over his mouth and turned his head towards Knuckles. “Whisper!” He yelled in a hushed tone before looking back at the two hedgehogs down on the field of grass and the occasional dandelions or sunflowers.

Tails looked back into his binoculars and gasped. “They’re lining up, Knuckles! They’re lining up!” He squealed.

Knuckles shoved Tails over and grabbed the binoculars. “Let me see! Let me see!” He gasped at the sight before lowering the binoculars and pumped a fist up to the sky. “Yes! Sonic will soon win over the barista’s heart!”

Tails glared at him. He silently made a quick prayer that Sonic would take the full week. If he won, his prize would be a mountain of mints.

If Maddie won…

Tails shuddered. Kitchen duty… Knuckles’s knuckle sandwich special…

But still! Tails trusted that Sonic wouldn’t rush into a relationship in only a day! It’d been a day since they met which meant if they were together by tonight… Knuckles would win.

That meant… The Warrior Fighting Pit would be allowed in the living room.. And Tails would have to face his greatest foe!

Lightning.

Tails had no idea how Knuckles would make him face it. But Knuckles would definitely find a way…

“Here, I brought you your own pair!” Tails handed Knuckles a pair of binoculars, earning an approving nod from the echidna.

"Thank you, Fox! Your readiness is greatly appreciated!” Knuckles looked back at the pair of hedgehogs. “Now… when are they supposed to kiss?”

Tails was so shocked he had to slowly lower his binoculars, then slowly turn to look at Knuckles. Completely missing as Shadow and Sonic sped off toward the finish line.

“It’s supposed to happen when they finish the race and stargaze.”

Knuckles and Tails screamed so loud that Tails had to turn around to make sure Sonic and Shadow hadn’t heard. (They didn’t, they were too busy racing)

“It’s the goat milker!” Knuckles shouted.

“ It's the goat milker!” Stone mocked before scoffing and handing Tails a Stoneacchino and Knuckles a Cortado. Knuckles sniffed it before downing it in one gulp.

Tails handed a pair of binoculars. “Glad to see you could make it!” His tails swishing behind him as he smiled at the man. “Now! How long do you think it’ll take Sonic and Shadow to start dating—”

“By tonight.”

Tails’s ears drooped, he sighed and shook his head.

“Oh! They’re about to make it to the tree!” Knuckles gasped excitedly.

"Touchdown!" Sonic shouted, placing a triumphant hand on the trunk of the tree. He turned to Shadow, ready to brag and dance but froze when he realized the other hedgehog was nowhere to be found.

Sonic looked back at the path they had ran on and gasped when he saw Shadow racing back to the starting point. Oh! I said to here and back!

Sonic scrambled back on the path, re-running the path to try to catch up. His efforts were in vein when he saw Shadow already waiting at the field of grass, tapping his foot impatiently against the ground as he waited for Sonic to return.

Sonic sighed and fell onto the grass, rolling onto his back and facing up at Shadow. “I would’ve won if I remembered to come back!” He announced proudly, trying to save some of his lost dignity.

Shadow snorted lightly before sitting down beside him. “Sure, sure”

“What does the winner get?” Sonic wondered aloud before turning his head to the sight and seeing a sunflower right under his nose. “Oh!” he gasped, sitting up to pluck it out of the ground.

“What are you doing with that?” Shadow asked, struggling to keep his tone flat. Oh gosh this is what they do in Telenovelas!

Sonic grinned and spun the sunflower between his fingers before holding it out to Shadow with a playful flourish. “What does it look like? I’m giving it to you,” he said, his tone light and teasing. “Winner gets a prize, right?”

Shadow stared at the flower for a moment, his ruby eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re giving me… a flower ?” He asked, looking at Sonic to confirm.

Sonic nodded, closing his eyes with a smile. “Yep! A pretty flower for the pretty winner!” Sonic was about to take that back till he saw the flushed look on Shadow’s face. Wow I am such a natural flirt!

Shadow leaned forward, and Sonic tried to place the flower behind his ear as carefully as he could.

Shadow sat frozen as Sonic leaned in. The sunflower’s stem brushed lightly against Shadow’s quill. Sonic's fingers briefly grazed Shadow’s cheek as he finished his work.

“There,” Sonic said softly, pulling back just enough to take in his handiwork. He tilted his head, a grin on his face. “Perfect.”

Shadow couldn’t tell what he looked like. But if Sonic said it was perfect, then he trusted him.“You’re insufferable,” he decided to say, his words lacking any bite.

“And yet, you’re still sitting here with me,” Sonic quipped, leaning back into the grass with his hands behind his head. “I must be doing something right!”

Shadow glanced at him, a small smile gracing his features as he murmured, “Maybe.”

Sonic dug a finger into the grass beside him, testing out the dirt before letting out a satisfied hum. “I’ve got another idea”

Tails squinted through his binoculars, his twin tails swishing with anticipation. “What’s Sonic doing now?” he murmured, adjusting the focus. Tails quickly gasped and pulled out his notepad, crossing a line over a sentence and going back to watching. “Plan D is in action!”

Stone’s brows furrowed, looking between the two aliens. “What’s plan D—” With a shove of the utmost gentleness from Knuckles, he was shut up.

“Shh!” Knuckles hissed before excitedly looking into the binoculars.

Sonic was… running circles around Shadow? Wait no, it wasn’t a circle unless Sonic was blessed with idiocy. It looked like a triangle with two small circles— OH.

Stone gasped, before whipping his phone out and taking a photo. He then proceeded to take out a fucking Sony Hxc-fz90sn Portable Hd Studio 4k Cam W/ 20x Lens & 7" Studio camera and took a photo. Stone then magically put it away into a bag and pulled out a Bluey Digital Camera… weird guy…

Tails really wanted to comment but he’d probably be punched to the moon (with utmost gentleness) by Knuckles for interrupting the moment. “This is so skibidi!” Knuckles gasped.

Tails really wanted to punch Sonic for infecting Knuckles.

“Sonic did it!” Knuckles cheered, jumping up in joy despite how Tails rushed to try to shush him. The echidna had completely forgotten that they might get caught. “The hedgehog made a heart!” He put a hand over his chest proudly. Impressed by his brothers Sonic’s game.

Shadow stared at the uneven heart Sonic had drawn into the grass. It was lopsided, with uneven lines and awkward curves, a poor excuse for a heart. But it was still a heart and it was… endearing.

He glanced at Sonic, who was standing outside the lines, watching Shadow’s expression for a hint of approval. The blue hedgehog had a smug grin plastered on his face, clearly anticipating that approval.

“So?” Sonic asked, turning his head to look at Shadow. “What do you think? Pretty romantic, huh?”

Shadow folded his arms, feigning indifference despite the fact this was the most romantic gesture he had ever received in his entire life (and the only aside from that flower Sonic had just given him). “Romantic isn’t the word I’d use.”

Sonic gasped, placing a hand over his heart dramatically. “Shadow! You wound me!” he gasped before falling back.

Shadow chuckled before sitting inside of the heart, near the edge of it to be closer to Sonic. “It’s… nice” He decided.

That was way to kind, Sonic shot up instantly with stars gleaming in his eyes and a smile so bright Shadow feared he might go blind.

Shadow snorted, and Sonic snorted back. Shadow wondered if he should comment on that, but decided against it.

The two simply looked up at the stars above. The night stretched on in comfortable silence, with only the faintest sound of the wind rustling the grass and flowers around them. The occasional dandelion blowing.

The stars were brightly above, scattered across the sky.

The last time Shadow was able to sit down and watch the stars, was fifty years ago. Back when she was still alive.

The pain of her loss was still there, but it wasn’t as unbearable as he thought it would’ve been when he was in his stasis. He felt like it was consuming him, drowning him in nothing but a repeated grief and anger as his memories repeated over and over.

But with Sonic… the pain became more bearable.

The happiness Sonic made him feel made that pain feel bearable. No longer did that anger consume him. When he fell asleep at night, he thought of Sonic. Sonic was a thought that guarded his mind and kept the recurring memory of Maria’s death away.

The pain was there. Maria was gone. But Shadow’s love was still there, sitting right besides the pain he felt.

And Sonic had come into his life and brought him joy he had never thought himself worthy of.

Sonic spoke up again, like he knew Shadow was a thought away from losing himself to his thoughts. “You know, I never really thought much about the stars before,” he said, his gaze still fixed on the sky, his voice a little more introspective than usual. “I never really took the time to just... look. They’re a lot more interesting than I thought.”

Shadow glanced at him, surprised by the unexpected honesty in Sonic’s words. “You didn’t look at the stars?” he asked, half-teasing but also curious.

Sonic laughed softly, glancing sideways at him. “Nah, I was always too busy running. Always trying to outrun something,” he admitted with a shrug. “But tonight, I don’t know... it feels different. It’s like... there’s no rush or anything. Just me, you, and the stars.”

“You’re not wrong,” Shadow said quietly, his voice softer than usual. “It’s strange. Quiet. But not bad.” He looked up at the stars.

Sonic grinned, his eyes watching Shadow, not the stars. “Yeah, it’s beautiful, huh?”

It was quiet for a little while longer till Sonic pulled his phone out of his quills and hissed. “Oh crap! It’s almost ten!” He shot up so fast he might get whiplash. “I gotta go!”

Shadow nodded, standing up and brushing the dirt off his shoulders before he met Sonic’s eyes. “Will you come by The Mean Bean soon?”

“Of course I will!” Sonic smiled cheerfully. “Now! Gotta go! Or else the Donut Lord might give me a lecture! Bye!”

He missed the utter look of confusion on Shadow’s face. “... Who the hell is The Donut Lord…”

Tails slowly lowered his binoculars and sniffed, whipping a tear from his eyes. “Why is Sonic’s plan working?” he sniffed.

“Because Sonic has one thing no one else on this planet does!” Knuckles announced, looking up at the stars with a proud look. Like he was mentally thanking his ancestors for blessing Sonic with such an interesting romance story.

“What’s that?” Tails asked, genuinely curious.

Knuckles grinned, slowly turning to look at Tails. His voice brimming with pride as he said the worst thing Tails had ever heard in his mouth, “Ultimate rizz. ” Tails was going to fucking kill Sonic.

Knuckles laughed before jumping up. “Now! We must fulfill our part of his plan now that he has!”

Tails was gonna lose that bet… Tails was seriously gonna kill Sonic in his sleep if he got put into that Warrior Pit.

"…What plan?!" Knuckles knocked Stone out the moment he opened his mouth.

Shadow just stood there for a while, looking at the direction that Sonic had raced off in. A serene expression on his face as he looked up at the moon.

“I think you would’ve liked him, Maria.” Shadow whispered. The night’s gentle winds brushed through his quills, and Shadow looked down at his hands. The hands that were meant to destroy, but with Sonic, now had the chance to love.

Shadow hoped that if the time ever came, he would be able to gently hold Sonic. That he would be able to soothe and love Sonic.

If the chance never came, and Sonic never gained feelings for him. Shadow could at-least be glad that he had loved someone with his own feelings, that he had ever been capable of being in-love.

Something in the air suddenly shifted. His senses sharpened at the chance of a threat, but before he could react, a hand gripped his shoulder with surprising force. A low growl barely escaped his throat as he whirled around, only to be met with darkness.

#movie sonadow #shadonic #sonadow #sonadow fanfiction #sonic movie universe #sonic x shadow fanfic #coffee shop au #barista shadow the hedgehog #barista au #barista shadow #ao3 fanfic

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ilys00ga · 11 months ago

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𝐓𝐈𝐙𝐈𝐑𝐈 (1/2)

Tiziri (n): often used as a feminine name within some North African communities, tiziri is an Amazigh word that means 'moon' or 'moonlight'. It reflects and symbolizes the tranquility, serenity, and beauty associated with the moon. (proud amazigh moment)

: ̗̀➛ pair: yoongi x f reader/oc

: ̗̀➛ chapter word count: 2K

: ̗̀➛ tags: supernatural/superpowers, sorcerer!yoongi, belly dancer!reader/oc, private entertainment worker!reader/oc, arabian/middle eastern older eras settings, use of gun (nothing gruesome), time traveling, no smut, (will add more tags if necessary)

: ̗̀➛ synopsis: In a world of simplicity and ordinary, Yoongi was only a teenage boy stuck in a turmoil of his indentity and purpose in life when he embarked on a long, tough journey of endless obstacles and ignorance. For years, he traveled the world and crossed paths with all kinds of humans and characters, all kinds of situations and dangers. He worked on honing his powers and bringing honor to his kind, despite, and despite, and despite. However, nothing could ever compare to a certain set of eyes. Not that he would ever believe that himself, anyway.

OR: when a powerful sorcerer falls to his knees in front of a belly dancer’s eyes.

: ̗̀➛ A/N: Chapter one is finally here! enjoy and interact with it, so I know you're interested in more <3 and give me your feedback!!!! I'm pretty proud of my improvement with this fic. it's completely new to me, I did a whole lot of research and other stuff to make it as interesting and good as possible.

: ̗̀➛ warning: this piece of fiction does not represent any community or ethnicity or group of people. I was inspired by the arab/middle eastern culture (as a semi arab myself), but it's all a product of my imagination. I hope this point is clear.

★ MASTERLIST.

Yoongi’s eyes shifted from one corner to another, taking in the sight of the dimly lit lounge room he was resting in. The several scented candles scattered around casted warmth and a hint of intimacy to the air. A kind of intimacy he didn’t find in any of the places he visited in other villages and tribes before in his long journey.

A few customers settled down on comfortable floor cushions just like he did. A small band was playing on oud, goblet drums and other instruments in a corner. Their music drowned the noise of quiet chatters and the soft boiling of a number of hookahs, including the one Yoongi had planted inches away from where he was lounging.

He took a long drag, feeling the refreshing flavor of mint and lemon smoke on his tongue. By habit, his fingers fidgeted with the magical long chain he always had wrapped securely around his wrist. He liked tracing the engravings on its moon shaped pendant.

A number of dancers emerged to the center of the room, each with an almost see through red veil over their head. The music continued flowing as they danced around. Yoongi didn’t bother lifting his eyes from the carpeted floor, focusing instead on the rhythmic instrument sounds he grew to like listening to, but soon after, when he did, his eyes froze on one single figure.

Among the group of performers, one stood out the most to him. And by the content smiles and lingering eyes he could see on the faces of the other attendances—once he actually peeled his eyes away from the show before him—he could guess this particular one was a favorite.

She took the center with a different, more accentuating attire than the rest. Yoongi let his eyes observe the way she moved her body, the way her arms extended and moved ever so gracefully, the way her waist had a life of its own. Her hips swayed fluidly, oscillating between sharpness and smoothness. Her face and hair were hidden behind a cloth, showing off her eyes alone.

And those eyes… A sight he never saw before.

Her irises: each with a different color. One, a perfect brown, the other, an ice blue. Each chanting: I am beauty, magic and temptation.

Yoongi wanted to avert his gaze. To look away and feel the boredom seeping into his pores like it was supposed to. To note whether every swing and turn is well synched with the flowing music or not. But he couldn’t. The hookah mouthpiece stayed tucked in the corner of his mouth. He kept his eyes carefully fixated on her, face blank and empty of emotion, as he followed her every move.

A server crossed the hall, holding out a tray of pretty metal goblets to the dancers. Without breaking the performance, she smoothly picked one up and stood up straight in front of him. He watched as she marched a few steps closer and knelt down, then held it out to him.

In that very moment, as her sultry eyes locked with his cold ones and pierced well into them, a chill ran down his spine. He, for some undefined reason, found her eyes so captivating that he couldn’t bring himself to blink just yet.

He reached a hand out and took hold of the cup without breaking the contact of their eyes. Then, he watched as she found her way back to her spot at the center of the huge persian carpet underneath her.

The moment she stood still, her hips broke out in quick quivers that lasted for a good one or two minutes. It was mesmerizing, like she controlled the sound of the drums herself, matching every single tap on its own with a proper lift and drop.

The performance went on for a few more minutes, and Yoongi slowly sipped on the drink he was served. His gaze was mostly fixed on the golden anklet wrapped around her ankle, absentmindedly grounding himself after being in the chokehold of those mesmerizing eyes for longer than he’d ever like.

When he didn’t hear the instruments playing any longer, followed by the clapping that erupted around the hall, he realized that it was over.

His gaze never left the dancer that had his full attention the entire time as she bowed down gracefully then quit the hall with the rest of the group through a beaded curtain.

“Have a blessed evening.” Said a man, who looked close to being past his forties, at the front desk near the exit. He had a turban similar to the other servers inside the lounge, but different in color.

Yoongi’d been in there for quite some time, sitting down and enjoying the calm atmosphere, thinking and mulling things over. Amongst the train of thoughts he was taking, he found himself thinking back on that same performance. The one that caught his attention like no other before.

He never was one to sit and devote his attention to such pieces of entertainment, yet he never watched something quite as spellbinding as that of some previous minutes. Time was a concept he could often play with, though with some unprevented consequences. Yet those eyes, like a magnet, pulled at his senses to a world where time stood still, unmoving.

Although that thought alone stirred some irritation in his system, a tiny piece of his being deep inside couldn’t help craving more of it, more of that special sight in itself.

Acknowledging the worker’s service, Yoongi nodded his head respectfully and ignored the way his gaze lingered on his own face a few seconds more than necessary, before heading towards the wooden exit door.

It was sometime in the late afternoon when he got there, but the sun was already almost completely hidden under the horizon. The warm tints that color summer skies around that time were fading out, leaving room for the night to fully set in.

He looked at the pale buildings aligned on both sides. The lanterns hung along the tall, semi narrow passageway worked well with the paleness of the limestone of the village’s architecture.

Everything was new to him there. A sudden want to see the atmosphere under the moonlight alone, away from all the humanmade lights, washed over him as he walked ahead with steady steps.

Yoongi was immersed in breathing the beginning of a chill night’s air around him when a sudden body collided onto his, once he'd made it near a sharp bend.

He quickly steadied himself, a low curse slipping out between his lips, and the other person almost made it to the ground had it not been for the tight grip he had on their arm, pulling her up.

“Argh!” Their cry grabbed his attention. “Careful there!”

The person—a woman groaned as she clutched onto one of her shoulders. He took note of the blood under that hand and her pained expression. One of her eyes was covered with a black eyepatch, while the other roamed his face carefully as if trying to identify it. After some seconds, her frown dissolved a little.

“You-” she cut her own sentence short with a pained yelp. A hand yanked her by the hair and pulled her away from him.

“Hey, hey hey!” Yoongi was on high alert. He quickly grabbed the arm in a tight hold, willing to draw it away, but the other face-covered man yanked his collar with his free hand instead.

“Mind your business, foreigner.” He growled through gritted teeth, then pushed him aside.

“Get your hands off of me!” The woman exclaimed, rushing to free herself from the harsh grasp. Yoongi was able to get a direct glance at the injury on her shoulder once she moved her hand from it.

He heaved a sigh, grabbing the man’s arm again with more force. He had to remind himself to keep his strength at bay, to not blow his own cover just yet. He, however, couldn’t resist punching him in the face.

The punch was quite effortless, but the man stumbled to the ground. Yoongi was ready to receive whatever reaction he could get from him when a shout from the end of the passage grabbed his attention.

“Boss, there she is!”

Two other men were rushing towards them. One of them had the same exact clothing as the one he just dealt with, while the other was dressed in something that looked fancier than the other pair.

If the number of his opponents did not worry him, then the gun that the latter was holding out in their direction did a perfect job at unsettling him.

“God- What are you doing? Run away!” The woman behind him urged, but did not move an inch from her own spot.

He turned around and gave her a confused look, but the man who was on the ground surprised them both and struck him with a punch.

Yoongi's teeth dug into the inside of his cheek. He hissed. “That was painful, damn it.”

With quick, sharp moves, Yoongi countered his opponent with a jab to his guts and a kick to the ribs. Then, he gripped his covered head and slammed it onto his own knee, before throwing him to the ground again.

The other two were so close to reaching them. He wasted no more precious seconds and spinned, gripping the woman's arm before starting impulsively running through the labyrinth alleyways foreign to him.

The ground under their feet and the buildings on both of their sides were a blur. The sound of her ragged gasps ringed in his ears as he tightened his grip on her arm, feeling her pace winding down the slightest of bits.

“Don’t stop!” Yoongi threw over his shoulder.

The sounds from the busy main street were getting closer and clearer. The scent of fresh market wares grew thicker in the air. From spices to fresh herbs, vegetables and fruits. A light sense of relief filled him at that.

Moments later, the stillness of the alleyways was replaced with the warmer and brighter atmosphere of the bustling market. They hurried through the main, larger street, blending into the crowds of modestly dressed individuals.

Yoongi threw another glance over his shoulder and spotted the three figures searching for them. With a swift clench of his hand, all the lanterns that were assembled above the entirety of the local market with multiple cords were switched off, followed by a second or two of complete silence before people started moving and mumbling in confusion. The only thing illuminating the place was the moon that started its fresh journey in the night’s sky.

The face of the uncovered man twisted into a grimace, frustrated as he couldn’t catch a glimpse of them or even move through the crowd. He pointed his gun up to the sky and shot a couple of times.

Startled gasps and scared shouts erupted in the marker. Yoongi cursed under his breath as people started scattering and scrambling around in all directions.

“From here!” The woman was the one to pull at his hand this time. “Hurry, quick!”

They struggled through panicked bodies until they slipped into a narrow backstreet, never looking back. Even as the volume of the chaos was getting lower behind their backs, they kept running and taking turns through the web of never ending alleys.

Using his free hand, Yoongi made sure to subtly move some things he deemed helpful around to block the path behind them.

The further they ran, the harder it was for Yoongi to distinguish the differences between each alley they took. His breathing was beginning to become heavier, the distant presence of footsteps and grunts chasing after them was no longer audible—or maybe he just was too distracted by the woman’s pained gasps and hisses to pick up on anything else.

“s-stop… I c-can't...” She struggled to mumble.

With one last glance over his shoulder, Yoongi pulled her into an alcove, pushing her gently onto the wall while keeping a wary watch over the path they’d just taken. When he found no trace of their chasers, he stepped back and hid his body as well, panting.

“Don’t you dare move.”

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kaakelymaakely · 5 months ago

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do i wanna know

KLANCE FANFIC CHAPTER 2

Monster Hunter! Keith AU

1 WEEK BEFORE

Keith fiddles with the cord of his microphone, twirling it around on his index finger. He gently tugs on the wire as he eyes where it’s connected to the laptop. On the computer screen, the timer blinks back at him– he’s going over his usual time limit. His fans probably won’t mind a longer episode– in fact it’s something they request quite often– but they’re definitely going to mind another story with a dead-end.

He glances out his office window, where the sun has already set. Oregon was a beautiful place, just not for him. Thankfully, his lease would be up soon, so he can go wherever the road takes him next. The only reason he was even in this state was because he was chasing his most recent lead: an apparent ‘Dream Demon’ haunting a group of 12-year-olds.

Which, honestly, really should’ve been his first hint that this ‘demon’ did not exist.

But Keith was starting to get desperate for any content– desperate to prove the existence of literally any monster. So he listened to the kids, pursed his lips and pretended to take them seriously, and rented an apartment in Oregon. He had spent the entire month interviewing, researching, and documenting anything he could find. Only to come up empty handed.

He was practically pulling out his hair when he discovered that this ‘Dream Demon’ was actually a result of these kids watching an R-rated movie, and suffering through nightmares. He had to grit his teeth and force a smile while he explained to their parents how they shouldn’t let their kids pick movies unsupervised. At least they seemed apologetic, and even gave him some hard cash as a compensation for his troubles. He had spent the rest of his time in Oregon trying to twist the tale to at least seem interesting for his listeners. That way they could focus on the fun story, and not the fact Keith failed to find something supernatural. Like always.

At the reminder, he sighed deeply. “Alright, that’s going to do it for this episode. Remember not to believe everything you hear, unless it’s from me. Tune in next month for a particularly interesting episode.” He’s lying straight through his teeth– he has not a single clue what the next episode is going to entail. He has no hot-tips, no leads, no hints, nothing. He’s already scoured the internet for something , only to come up empty-handed. The only cases he can find are ones he’s already chased, or ones that are so blatantly fake.

He clicks off the recording and sinks into his uncomfortable office chair, dragging his hands down the expanse of his face. Keith fights the urge to bang his head into the wooden table until he can’t remember his name and, more importantly, his podcast. Times like this were when he wished he had become something more practical, like a pilot.

He tilts his head back and groans, the sound muffled by the palms of his hands. He waits a few seconds, allowing himself to bask in his stress, before doing what he does best– pushing it deep inside until he can’t feel it anymore. That stress and frustration can be an issue for tomorrow. Tonight, he’ll kick back and relax.

Instead of sparking up a cigarette like his hand twitches to do, he staggers his way into his tiny kitchen, careful not to slip in his socks. He scratches at the waistband of his pajama pants as he bends at the waist, shuffling through his barely-working freezer. Keith peels back a bag of frozen hashbrowns until he can see the tub of ice cream. He pulls it out, and closes the ice chest by knocking it with his hip.

By the time he makes it out of the kitchen, he’s already shoving a heaping spoonful of mint chocolate chip into his mouth before he even reaches the couch. Keith plops himself down, taking another bite, and starts flipping through TV channels until he lands on HGTV.

He’s mindlessly spooning half-melted ice cream into his mouth, commenting on Chip and Joanne’s choice of a color scheme, when he gets the notification. He bites down on the spoon at the sudden buzz. It takes him a second to realize the noise came from his phone, as no one ever texts him. It bothers him less than it should– he just doesn’t have anyone to message.

It probably has to do with work, which instantly sours his mood. He closes the lid to the tub of ice cream and rests his spoon on top, putting it off to the side as he reaches for his phone. Keith curses under his breath as he opens the notification.

It leads him to his podcast’s twitter, a platform he’s never really active on… not that he’s really active on any social media. He really only uses it when it's a necessity, like when his fans are feeding him supernatural rumors.

It takes him a second to navigate to the inbox, but when he does, he’s greeted with an intriguing message.

‘If you're finally looking for something real, check out Altea. Small town, deep woods, and something out there that no one’s been able to explain. Animals disappear. People see things. This isn’t some hoax. Look into it.’

Altea, huh? Keith sat up straighter, rereading the message. Altea… he knew the name. A quiet little town, barely a blip on the map. Not exactly the kind of place that usually made waves, but the wording of the tip sent a thrill through him. ‘Animals disappear.’ and more importantly, ‘People see things.’That sounds right up his alley.

Pulling his laptop back over, he typed in the town’s name. Headlines popped up, most of them old, buried under news about budget meetings and county fairs. But then he found it—rumors stretching back years. Unexplained sightings. Reports from locals that never made it to mainstream media. No concrete answers. No real explanations.

Keith smiles. Guess he’ll be making a little trip.

–

PRESENT DAY

Keith used his dullest kitchen knife to slice the pie into 8 pieces. As the knife breached through the crust, he could finally make out the filling– apple. He smiles to himself.

He plates two of the slices, and brings them back out into the living room, where Lance was openly snooping around, not even tring to hide it. He was shuffling through the coffee table’s drawers when Keith placed his plate in front of him. Lance blinked before a wolfish grin split his face in two. He grabbed his fork with a tight fist and immediately went to work, scarfing down the pie as if he’d never eaten before in his life.

Keith watched, both weirdly amused and disgusted. As for his own slice, he slightly poked at it, watching it wobble back and forth. As much as he’s a fein for sweets– something he loathes to admit, as he does not have weaknesses— he just doesn’t have the stomach for it. He chalks the fuzzy feeling in his abdomen up to simple adrenaline, a result of the possibility to get closer to cracking the case.

Lance is quick to finish his pie slice, even going as far as to hold the plate perpendicular to his face, and licking it clean. Keith awkwardly clears his throat, causing Lance to pause and open his eyes to cast a sidelong glance at him, before finishing one more swipe of his tongue. Keith adverts his eyes, poking his pie once more before putting it off to the side. Keith intertwines his fingers together and rests them on his lap, back to business.

"What does the monster look like?"

Lance swallows, twirling his fork around his fingers. He hums, tapping the fork’s handle against his chin. The movement is the perfection of casual, but Keith sees it for what it is; He wouldn’t be a very good researcher if he couldn’t see through people’s bullshit.

Lance is hesitating.

"Let me see…" Lance drawls, dragging out the words like he’s deep in thought. Then, he smirks. "Short, violet eyes, and a bad mullet."

Keith exhales through his nose, unimpressed. His fingers curl into a fist against his thigh as he fixes Lance with a deadpan stare. "Okay, haha. Real funny. I’m being serious."

Lance grins, clearly proud of himself. He tosses the fork back onto his plate. Keith honestly preferred when he was stuffing pie down his throat—at least then he was quiet.

"I don’t believe that," Keith says flatly.

Lance sighs, dragging a hand through his hair before letting his head fall back against the dusty old couch. The fabric lets out a soft thwump beneath him. He stretches his arms over the backrest, staring at the ceiling like Keith is exhausting him. "Seriously, man. I haven’t seen a monster around here. Trust me, I’d know if there was one."

Keith frowns. He’s trying to force his voice to stay calm and steady, but he’s honestly about to grab Lance by the collar and shake the answers out of him. "Then why have other people claimed to have seen it?"

Lance shrugs, too quick, too dismissive. His eyes flick toward the window, lingering just a second too long. "I dunno. Maybe they’re just bored. Or making stuff up for attention."

Why won’t he look at him?

His gaze narrows. "Lance."

Lance groans dramatically, rubbing a hand over his face. "Keith."

"Fine. You ‘haven’t seen a monster.’" Keith makes air quotes. "You said you'd answer my questions."

Lance shifts in his seat, shoulders drawing up like he’s trying to make himself smaller. His voice is defensive. "I’m trying, dude. It’s just hard when I’ve never seen it!"

His eyes darted to the left. Barely a second. A flicker of movement.

Keith catches it.

"You’re a bad liar."

Lance scoffs, dropping his hand from his face. "I think I’m pretty good."

"Lance. What have you seen? Even if it’s just claw marks. Even if it was just a figure. Give me something. "

Lance exhales, his gaze dropping to his plate. Anywhere but Keith.

"…Nothing worth talking about. Let alone putting in your podcast."

"Not up to you." Keith gestures between them, his voice steady. "I invited you in. I’m eating pie with you. Just give me something. Give me the truth."

Lance’s jaw tightens. His knee bounces, restless energy bleeding through his movements. For a moment, Keith thinks he’s going to get up and leave. But then—

"Truth?" Lance lets out a humorless laugh. He shakes his head, but it’s not playful this time. It’s hollow. "If you knew what was out there, you wouldn’t be so eager to dig it up."

Keith studies him closely. His pulse picks up.

"That sounds a lot like someone who's seen a monster before."

Lance finally levels Keith with a look.

"Yeah," he mutters. "Maybe it does."

Silence settles between them. The only sound is the faint ticking of the old clock above the kitchen sink. Then, almost too quiet to hear—

"It had a lot of fur. Like, a lot. And it was pretty big."

Keith straightens, scrambling to reach for his laptop. He quickly types out what Lance had said, even if his voice recorder was picking everything up. "Where did you see it?"

Lance hesitates, then lifts a hand and points out the window. Keith follows his fingers towards his backyard– the woods.

Keith nods, already typing notes in record time. His heartbeat thuds in his ears. "How close did you get? Did it try to attack you?"

"No!" Lance blurts, then winces. He softens his tone. "I mean—no. It wasn’t hostile, it was friendly. Just looked at me and left."

Keith raises an eyebrow. "Friendly?"

Lance backtracks immediately. "Like—it wasn’t dangerous. It’s never attacked anyone in town. It’s just… living. Same as us."

Keith watches him carefully. "Is that why you didn’t want to tell me?"

His jaw works like he’s chewing over his words, picking them apart before spitting them out. Finally, he exhales through his nose, voice low. "I don’t want some internet weirdo listening to your podcast and coming here to hunt it down. He doesn’t deserve that."

He…?

Keith says nothing.

Lance exhales sharply, shoving his plate away like the sight of it irritates him. "We’re done here."

Keith blinks. "But you never finished—"

"We’re done."

Lance pushes to his feet, enough force to send the couch slightly scraping against the wooden floor. He heads for the door, steps brisk, shoulders tense. His hand hesitates on the doorknob, just for a second. Then, in a softer voice—

"Enjoy the pie, Keith."

The door swings shut behind him.

Keith winces. Did he take it too far? He has a habit of pushing too much. This isn’t the first time he’s made someone upset while interviewing them, and it certainly won’t be the last. In fact, minus Lance storming out, he’s gotten what he asked for. He should be happy.

Staring at his untouched pie, he doesn’t know why he’s not.

–

Keith used his teeth to pick at his thumb’s hangnail, simultaneously tapping his pencil against his notepad, which was filled to the brim with his writing. He’s still mulling over what Lance had said earlier that day. As soon as he had left, and Keith had gotten over his moody brooding, he practically leapt to grab his notebook and write it all down. Even though he had his laptop and voice record documenting the whole exchange, sometimes it was better for his brain to write it by hand.

‘It had a lot of fur. Like, a lot. And it was pretty big.’

As much as Keith loathed to admit it, that could easily be the description of an animal. Even though Altea’s woods aren’t known for its bears, it’s still a high possibility that that’s what Lance had seen. But he had trust that Lance could tell what a bear looked like, and decided that it was not that. And if it were a bear, why would he be so hesitant and reluctant to share? He even openly admitted to wanting to protect it all the same, in case his listeners wanted to spear it down. Or ‘him,’ as Lance had labelled it.

Lance was a good guy.

Keith shakes his head, ridding him of the unwelcome thought. Focus on the monster. Focus on your dwindling career. And do not focus on some… random villager.

Keith tapped his pencil against the page once more, before bringing it up to now tap against his forehead. He reread what he had written– everything Lance had said about that monster, and what his next steps should do. He reread and reread and reread until his eyes strained.

1) Explore the woods himself

He was a bit partial to this idea. Dangerous, but not a bad idea. It’s something he has experience in– searching ‘scary places’ for clues and hints. He usually always turns up empty-handed though, which puts him into a soured mood every single time. If he was going to go though, it’d be best to do it tomorrow, as he was losing daylight. It’s not the smartest idea to be out there late at night yet, just in case there really was a dangerous monster. Or friendly– as Lance had described. He’ll save the late-night expedition for the end of the month, when he has all the information he needs.

2) Go interview more people

His least favorite option. It requires going into town and having to strike up conversations with people, something that Keith is not good at. He’d really like to put that off for as long as possible. Lance was just an anomaly, and even then looked at how that turned out: Lance upset with him, and Keith strangely feeling guilty. But still… if he was going to travel into the forest tomorrow, he’d need to stock up on water and supplies. Maybe he doesn’t need to interrogate people today, but it’s a smart idea to head into town.

3) Track down Lance and apologize

No.

Keith exhales through his nose, shoving his pencil behind his ear. Well, that settles it. Looks like he’s making a visit to the village.

–

Keith is used to being on the receiving end of weird looks. Why wouldn’t he be? He’s a strange man, entering small towns where everyone knows each other, only to interview them all on their towns’ scary ghost stories. And then he leaves. That’s how it’s always been, and that’s how it’ll always be. But of course he’d be the talk of the town.

What he’s not used to is receiving kind smiles and greeting waves. When he stepped foot into the heart of the village, only to discover their strangely positive reactions? Safe to say, it made him stop dead in his tracks. He glared back, and they’d advert their eyes in response. It made him feel shitty, but at least he had them off his back for now. It’ll definitely bite him in the ass when he comes to ask them questions, but that’s a future Keith problem.

Eventually, he stumbles upon the town’s market by complete accident. He squints over the crumbled list in his hand, the one reciting everything he needs, before stalking inside. The bell chimes from above, signalling his entrance, and he winces. The last thing he needs is people noticing him any more.

Looking around, there’s not many people shopping; It’s scarce enough to where he doesn’t need to worry about engaging in social interactions, which is exactly what he wanted.

He goes about the store, grabbing what he needs for his trip. Things like a flashlight with extra batteries, a first aid kit, protein bars, and other necessities. He’s halfway through grabbing a collection of paracord, when he feels a hand on his shoulder. Keith does NOT shriek. He stands and spins around, preparing to deck the lights out of whoever is about to attack him. He stops himself when he just sees a harmless man twirling his mustache, his eyes crinkled with a smile.

“Hello there, my good chap!” the man bursts out with enough volume to make Keith wince. “Or, as the kids would say, my ‘skibidi rizz!’”

Keith awkwardly looks away with a grimace. “I… don’t think you’re using that right.”

The man waves him off dismissively. “I definitely am. But anyways! I just wanted to welcome you into town!”

“Oh. uh. Thanks…?” He’s trying really, really, really hard to play nice. Maybe he could get something out of this interaction, like another clue about this monster.

“So!” the man clasps his hands together. “What can I do you for? Need help with your groceries?”

Keith looks to his list, before looking back to the man. He hadn’t written it down, assuming that this small market wouldn’t have anything like it. But maybe they’d have a motion sensor? The first thought would be a bear trap, but Keith really doesn’t want to hurt any any creature– animal or monster.

“Well,” Keith squints, trying to read his–... “Wait. Where's your name tag?”

“What? Oh, no!” The man laughs as if Keith told a particularly funny joke. “I don’t work here, silly!”

“Ah,” Keith grimaces, but forces a tense smile. “Right… silly me for assuming…”

“It happens to the best of us! Except me, of course. I am, as the youngins would say, “level 10 gyatt!’”

Keith resists the urge to groan, instead pinching the bridge of his nose. “Well, if you excuse me, I need to–”

The man snatches the list straight from Keith’s hands.

“Hey!” Keith growls.

“Ah, looking for some monster hunting gear, are we? Well unfortunately,”The man balls up the paper list and chucks it over his shoulder, wiping his hands clean of it. “they don’t sell any of that here!”

Keith bristles, preparing to rip this man a new one. Who goes about welcoming someone one second, only to toss out their belongings the next? Where the hell does this man get off? Keith opens his mouth to throw all niceties to the wind and shred this guy into pieces, before pausing. “How did you know?”

“That you were monster hunting? Let’s say a little birdie paid me a visit! Right young man, that one is.”

“Lance?” Of course he would.

“Right-o! Darn, you’re good.”

Keith rolls his eyes. “Just let me continue shopping, and I’ll be out of your mustache.”

“Didn’t you hear me? I just said they don’t sell your gear here!”

“I have almost all of those items in my cart right now. I just needed to grab the paracord.”

The man deflates.

Keith continues, “why would you lie? Unless," Keith thinks back to Lance. “...you were protecting the monster, just like lance. Why?”

The man sputters. “Protecting— protecting? The monster? What! You’re crazy! I was just going to say that– I know someone who would give you much better gear! They’d craft it up themself!”

Keith raises an eyebrow, and the man continues. “Seriously! I could take them to you right now! Free of charge!”

Well… admittedly, free gear sounds pretty nice. If it doesn’t work, it’s not like he wasted any money. He can always just come back and buy whatever he needs, just like he originally planned. Not to mention, this would be the perfect opportunity to call out this man on his lie and get answers– he was obviously trying to protect this monster too, no matter what he said afterwards to distract Keith.

“Okay,” Keith finally relents. “Take me to your friend, uh. Who are you?”

With a flourish of his mustache, the man beams. “Coran.”

#voltron #voltron fanfic #klance fanfiction #fanfiction #klance #keith x lance #keith kogane #lance mcclain #voltron coran #originally posted on ao3

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rook-de-rivas · 5 months ago

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“Vi–” Her words are breathless, her cheeks pink, pupils consuming the green of her eyes. Viago’s eyes are similar, the faintest hint of blue around a sea of black. “Ashara,” and she can feel the damp heat of his breath against her mouth. His breath smells of mint, his cologne surrounding her like an old, familiar blanket – comforting, warm, secure. Her heart is racing, this is a line they should not cross, but Maker, she wants his lips on hers, she wants his body crushing her to the wall, she wants… She wants…

Part two of When you fly high but don't land right (I'll be there then), now up on AO3 for all your hurt/comfort needs!

#viago de riva #rook de riva #Beth writes #dragon age fic #viago x rook #rook x viago #if you saw me updating the chapter count NO U DIDNT

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sihtricfedaraaahvicius · 2 years ago

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Chapter 3.

Note: follow up to chapter 2.

Warnings: fluff! mention of smoking, hints of anxiety and feeling lonely.

pairing: Modern!Sihtric x you (f)

summary: You met up with Sihtric for the afterparty, and you got all stuck in your own head.

wordcount: 3,4k

Masterlist

'I only have eyes for you, trust me.'

During the days that led up to the last show of their tour, you and Sihtric stayed in touch, like you had done ever since you met again, almost two weeks ago.

The afterparty you had been invited to would probably last til about 5 in the morning, Sihtric told you, and you just hoped you could make it through the night, until you could catch the first train back home in the morning. Sihtric said you could bring your friend, Gisela, to the afterparty too. But to her horror, she wasn't in the country that day, and had no way of going with you. And so you had to go alone while she was devastated. Not that you minded going alone, you were confident enough by yourself, but you could've used some support while facing the man of your dreams again.

And naturally, your hands were shaking when you walked out of the train station, late at night, while messaging Sihtric that you were on your way to the venue.

You: I'm almost there…

Sihtric: can't wait x I'm having a smoke outside at the backstage entrance. You remember where it is?

You: yeah you only told me like 10 times x

You chuckled when you read his reply.

Sihtric: alright alright, just checking, lady ;)

Whilst shaking in your black platform boots, you walked through an almost empty street, adjusting your outfit; simple black skinny jeans and a black tank top, while a green and black coloured flannel kept you warm as you roamed the street on this chilly night.

Apart from a few fans, the street where the venue was located was rather quiet. You made your way around the corner, to the backstage entrance, and right away you saw Sihtric; looking down at his phone, taking a long drag from his cigarette while he leaned back against the door. His recently washed hair was tied back in a bun, and he still had that well kept goatee you loved so much, the sight of it shot a pleasant heat through your entire body. He was wearing a plain black shirt and black, slim fitting cargo sweatpants, which were, as per usual, tucked into his Doctor Martens boots. When Sihtric looked up and exhaled the smoke he had just inhaled, his eyes immediately found you, and a beaming smile appeared on his face. He flicked his cigarette away and walked up to you. A chuckle escaped him as he bit down on his lip, and he immediately pulled you in for a hug once you were in arms reach. Without thinking, you automatically wrapped your arms around his neck as he leaned in, and he snuck his arms around your waist, underneath your flannel. He quickly kissed your cheek and held you tightly pressed against his muscular chest, wrapped in his strong arms.

'Hey, baby girl,' Sihtric spoke softly in your ear, 'it's so good to see you again.'

'Hey,' your giggle sounded muffled against his chest, 'it's good to see you too.'

'How are you? How was your day?' he asked while pulling away, keeping his arms circled around your waist.

'Tired,' you pouted, 'work was rough. But happy to be here of course. Happy to see you.'

'Yeah? Awh,' he smiled sweetly, 'glad you made it, love,' he said, looking you up and down.

'But how are you? How was the show?' you asked while Sihtric was quick to reach for a pack of gum in his pocket.

'All good,' Sihtric said, chewing the mint flavoured gum while his hands lightly stroked your sides, 'everything went pretty smooth. This tour was just a bit of warm up, really. But that's all I can tell you for now,' he winked with a cheeky grin.

You stared into each other's eyes for a moment, then Sihtric chuckled again and hummed softly, bringing one hand up to cup your cheek, leaning in closer.

'You look beautiful,' he said, drawing his lower lip between his teeth as he gave you a cheeky half-smile.

'You're looking handsome yourself,' you smiled, hands placed on his broad chest as he just wouldn't let go of you.

Sihtric thanked you and leaned in even closer, his lips brushing lightly over yours while you both smiled. Tingles spread through your entire body as his warm hand held your cheek, and his hot, minty smelling breath tickled your lips. You were absolutely oblivious to your surroundings, completely captivated by his eyes, his touch, his smile and his pleasant smell. And just when you thought he was going to kiss you, Sihtric suddenly pulled away with a deep sigh. You snapped out of your dazed state and then realised a few young fans had recognised the bass player who had his arms around you, and they were trying to gather the courage to walk up to him. Sihtric had noticed them already while he was waiting for you, but thought the teenagers wouldn't gather the courage anyway. He desperately wanted to kiss you as soon as he saw you, but he knew better than to kiss someone out in the open, as a sneakily taken video was only two screen taps away, and he didn't want to cause you any more trouble than he had already done when he decided to follow your instagram. And just when he was barely able to resist you anymore, his lips touching yours while you closed your eyes, anticipating him, he glanced towards the young fans and saw they hesitantly walked over from across the street.

Sihtric wasn't an asshole, but he also wasn't in the mood to pay attention to anyone that wasn't you right now. He just desperately wanted to kiss you, or at least have you completely alone for a minute or two. So he pulled his backstage pass out of his pocket, swiftly scanned it to unlock the door which he then held open for you, and he quickly followed you into the dimly lit, empty hallway. Sihtric closed the door while you turned to face him, not knowing where to go as the venue was completely strange to you. But instead of guiding the way, he pulled you close again and took your face in his rough yet gentle hands, leaning in while he towered over you, and he pressed his warm lips onto yours, softly, as if asking permission for more. And when you finally grasped what was happening, you managed to kiss him back, your hands finding their way to his waist.

You couldn't actually believe you were kissing the guy you had a crush on ever since you first met him, all those years ago, so without thinking, or really having any other option, you surrendered to him entirely. And when Sihtric broke the soft kiss which had turned firm, you almost whined at the loss, but his lips didn't stray far, in fact, they were still touching yours lightly as he spoke.

'You mind a little tongue?' he whispered, smiling against your lips.

'I don't mind,' you breathed, and a nervous giggle slipped out, to your embarrassment.

Sihtric chuckled and stepped back, took out the gum he was chewing on and threw it in a trash can. And before you knew it, his rough hands gently took your face again, and he kissed you tenderly once more, then slowly made you part your lips along with his. He carefully explored your lips with his tongue for a moment, before he hummed as if satisfied, and eagerly deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue into your mouth with ease, desperately wanting to feel and taste all of you as much as he could. You felt his hand move up to the back of your neck while his other hand trailed down to your waist, and your hands were simply still frozen on his waist, but your fingers had intensely curled around his shirt. You were lightheaded, filled with lust and nerves at the same time. The feeling of kissing Sihtric was overwhelming, yet it was also a feeling you never wanted to lose, a feeling you would forever want to chase. And when you both needed air, you unwillingly broke the kiss at the same time, breathing heavy onto each other's lips while refusing to pull away further.

'You good with this, hm?' Sihtric breathed, his hoarse voice tensing up your lower abdomen instantly.

'Y-yeah,' you sighed, then buried your face in his chest as you couldn't stop yourself from giggling like a teenager.

You felt Sihtric's hand on the back of your head, gently keeping you pressed against his chest and he lightly swayed his body while holding you, understanding you needed a moment. When you softly hummed, he took your chin and guided your lips back to his, as he leaned back against the door. You have no idea how long you kissed there, right at the entrance, but it didn't feel as if you got enough of him once he pulled away.

'I think we should head to the party,' Sihtric chuckled, 'or I'll get shit for not showing up.'

He looked down at you and slowly traced your lips with his rough thumb. 'Stay by my side?' he asked, almost pleading.

'Well, yeah,' you chuckled, 'I'm here because of you. I don't know anyone else here, really.'

'Good,' Sihtric smiled, 'then I won't have to worry that you wander off.' He grinned.

'As if,' you rolled your eyes and smiled, 'but, eh, can I put my flannel somewhere? It's quite warm here already.'

'Yeah, of course,' he said, 'anything valuable in there? Because then you should just put it in my dressing room. I don't know most of the people at these parties either, I keep my stuff away from the party really.'

'Oh, yeah, okay,' you nodded, 'my keys and such are in there so, yeah.'

Sihtric took your hand and led you down some stairs, to his dressing room. He took your flannel off your shoulders, threw it on the couch, and deliberately brushed his hands over your bare arms as he ushered you out of the room again. Then he wrapped his arm around your waist and finally led the way to the afterparty, which was at the end of the hallway you had shared your first kiss at. He walked you down some other stairs and opened the door to a large, dimly lit room. The room was quite warm and busy, the music loud, but not painfully loud, and you were immediately greeted by a faint smell of weed as you walked in.

Sihtric offered you a drink and you nervously sipped from your glass once he handed it to you. You could feel his eyes on you when you scanned the room, spotting the other band members, who were all each surrounded by at least a dozen girls, and you grimaced but then snorted.

'Yeah, don't ask,' Sihtric's lips grazed your ear as he spoke to you, and his arm found its way back around your waist again, 'they always got a bunch of ladies hanging around them. They love it.'

'And you?' you asked, still needing the reassurance you weren't going to be replaced as soon as some other lady walked up to him.

Sihtric shook his head and leaned in again.

'I only have eyes for you, trust me,' he smiled when he looked down at you, squeezing your shoulder.

You felt flattered and completely flushed. Slowly but surely everything was dawning on you. Where you were and with who you were, and you decided to try and just let it all happen. You desperately tried to get out of your own head while Sihtric kept hugging you and stole kisses whenever he could. And he murmured in your ear when he wasn't pecking your cheek or nuzzling your neck.

'I'm so glad you're here,' he murmured, 'haven't been able to stop thinking about you since we met last time. Can't get you out of my head.'

But it all suddenly became overwhelming when a few girls walked up to Sihtric. He wanted to ignore them, but knew it would be rude of him to do so, and then reluctantly took his eyes off you. You took a step back, but Sihtric kept his arm around you.

'Will you sign my boobs?' one of the fans asked with a grin.

You wondered what Sihtric would do, and within a split second you imagined how you would feel if he would say yes. Would you be okay with that? Not really… but, you had no right to complain either. You weren't dating. You don't even know if you could consider yourself friends. What exactly were you to him, you suddenly wondered, and it only made you feel more overwhelmed and insecure. And you suddenly felt going to the party might have been a mistake, you would probably get your silly little heart broken by this guy.

'Nah,' Sihtric replied to the fan, 'but I'll sign your arm or shirt, if you want?'

The small group of girls eagerly accepted his offer. Sihtric looked at you, conflicted, and brought his lips to your ear again.

'One sec, okay?' he said, 'I'm sorry, I'd rather have you all alone now, instead of all this.'

Sihtric grabbed a marker of the table next to you and pulled off its cap with his teeth, not wanting to let go of you, and he carefully, but quickly signed all their shirts. Apparently there was a rule to not ask for any pictures at the party so, after his signature, the fans politely thanked him. They tried to flirt with him for a moment, completely ignoring your presence next to him, but when it became clear to them that Sihtric wasn't interested, the girls turned to the other members.

In the meantime you felt rather dizzy. You were tired and overwhelmed, and in truth, all you wanted was to go home, get in bed, and sleep. Maybe even cry, actually. And Sihtric suddenly saw your teared up eyes and blank expression when he brought his eyes back on you.

'Hey,' he said, concerned, pulling you closer and towards an empty corner, 'what's wrong? You okay, babe?'

'Yeah, I'm just… tired, I guess,' you said, 'I feel a little dizzy. I think I need some air.'

You swallowed hard and stepped away, pushing to open the heavy door, and Sihtric was fast to help you as you struggled. Without asking, or saying another word, he took your hand and walked you out of the crowded, warm and loud room, into the cool air of the dimly lit hallway. You inhaled deeply and exhaled sharply, eyes closed as you leaned back against the wall, which felt cold against your back. A welcoming feeling, you thought. Sihtric towered over you as he placed one hand on the wall right next to your shoulder, and he carefully took your chin with his fingertips.

'What happened, love?' he asked, a worried look painted his face.

'I think I'm just tired and overwhelmed. I'm really sorry,' you said quietly.

'There's nothing to say sorry for,' Sihtric smiled softly and caressed your cheek with his thumb, 'come,' he guided you with him, back to his dressing room, where he sat you down and handed you a bottle of water.

He sat down next to you on the black, leather couch, his arm around you as it rested on the couch's pillows, and he scooted closer.

'Can I get you something? Anything? Some food maybe?' Sihtric asked, his voice calm and low, 'or do you wish to go home, love?'

'No, thank you,' you smiled weakly, 'sorry if I ruined your night. You can go back, I'll… find my way out,' you shrugged, 'I can call a friend who lives here, it's no problem.'

'I don't know what you're talking about,' he said, carefully monitoring you, 'if anything,' he chuckled, 'I'm glad I had a valid reason to leave that party. But if you think I'm letting you head out on the streets on your own right now, you're wrong.'

You smiled at him, simply being speechless because of everything.

'Wait,' Sihtric scoffed, 'you came here by train. What time is your last train even?'

You glanced at the time and saw almost two hours had passed since you arrived in the city.

'Yeah,' you sighed, 'there is no more last train. The next train is in about three hours. I hoped I could linger around at the party long enough to catch that train back home,' you smiled sheepishly.

'At four in the morning?' Sihtric frowned, 'what… why… hold on,' he said, 'you thought you could stay up all night, here, partying, and then take the train back?'

'Yeah, I was a little too enthusiastic, I guess,' you admitted.

'Sweetheart,' Sihtric chuckled, 'you... clearly you won't last another ten minutes here-'

'I know. But like I said, I can call a friend, I'm sure they're still awake. I can grab a cab or something, don't worry about it.'

'Where does your friend live?'

You reluctantly told Sihtric your friend lived at the other side of town, in a rather dodgy neighbourhood.

'Oh, no, absolutely not,' Sihtric said, his voice firm but still polite, 'look,' he exhaled sharply, 'just… just come with me, to my hotel. Stay the night, I'll get you home tomorrow.'

'Sihtric, wh- I mean,' you stammered, 'I- I… I appreciate that, but, I don't know,' you looked down at your feet and mumbled, 'I don't think that's a good idea.'

'What makes you think that?' he asked quietly, studying you as you carefully seemed to pick your next words.

You already embarrassed yourself today, you thought, so you might as well make it worse and ruin whatever it is that you had going with Sihtric. It would be for the best, probably, to just get this over with before you got too attached.

'Look,' you finally spoke up, 'obviously, I like you,' you blurted out, 'but I don't… I don't want to spend a night with you and possibly fall even more for you, only to be just… played.'

'Played?' Sihtric asked and sat back, confused and perhaps even slightly offended, 'you think I'm asking you to come to my room because I want to fuck you?' he stared at you and licked his lips, 'listen,' he leaned in again, 'you think I stayed in touch with you just for laughs? To play you? Really?'

'I don't know,' you said softly, 'I don't even know what this is,' you gestured to him, 'I don't know what you want or expect from me. You seem to like… like flirt with me, invite me here, make out with me and all that, and now you ask me to stay over. But I just…' you threw your hands up.

'No, no, listen to me, babe,' Sihtric cupped your cheek and stared into your eyes, 'this life,' he said, his voice barely louder than a whisper, 'my life, is really fucking lonely.'

He averted his suddenly vulnerable looking eyes.

'It's really hard to make friends or keep the friends I already have. You and I… we just vibe somehow,' he looked back at you with soft eyes. 'I like your company. I like our conversations and I like your energy. I like you,' he smiled sweetly, 'and I'm not simply looking to fuck. I mean, hey, I gladly will, lady,' he chuckled, 'but I just want to get to know you. And clearly, you need to get to know me too. I like you, I really do. But I don't want to rush anything either, so maybe I wasn't direct enough when I invited you here. We can do everything at your pace, I promise. I'm only asking you to come with me because, in truth, it is the safest option for you to spend the night in this town. But also because I just… I feel so… gods, this is so fucking cheesy,' he shook his head, 'but I feel so happy when you're around, or when we just talk, even online. And I'm really sorry if I gave you the wrong impression. I'm not looking for a one night stand, I actually thought I made that clear when we messaged, you know?'

You felt so many emotions going through at once, you felt rather lightheaded again. You could only stare up into his eyes while your hands were tightly wrapped around the water bottle.

'I swear I'm not playing you,' Sihtric whispered and cupped both your cheeks, 'I'm really not, baby. I promise I'm not messing with you. And I promise I'm not expecting you to sleep with me anytime soon, if you don't feel comfortable. But just… please, stay with me, baby?' he pleaded, 'just tonight. We're not going to do anything you don't want to do, I promise.'

taglist: @clairacassidy @finanmoghra @uunotheangel @hb8301 @bathedinheat @neonhairspray @anaeve @bubblyabs @travelingmypassion @sylasthegrim @bubbles-for-all-of-us @andakth @bel-bottoms @willowbrookesblog @lady-targaryens-world @skyofficialxx @diosademuerte @elle4404 @alexagirlie @sweetxime @solango @gemini-mama @cheyennep3107 @little-diable @jennifer0305 @drwstarkeyy @mrsarnasdelicious @verenahx @urmomsgirlfriend1

#sihtric x reader #sihtric x you #sihtric kjartansson #sihtric fic #the last kingdom fic #the last kingdom #sihtric #tlk #modern!sihtric

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that-student-that-has-homework · 1 year ago

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You WILL Have my Herbs 05

Diluc / Reader

Previous Chapters: Chp 1 | Chp 2 | Chp 3 | Chp 4 | Chp 5 | Chp 6

Read the Full Story on Ao3 | Tumblr MasterList Here (Maybe even leave me a comment please? :3< )

Summary: Listen you just wanted to pick some plants, do some experiments, find some cures, and report back to your mentor. Unfortunately a handsome vigilante puts you in his debt and now you have to fight him to let you make it up to him.

Chapter 5: Burgeoning Superbloom

If you’d been difficult to track before, you were nigh impossible to track now. Not that Diluc had been trying really, at least not nearly as much as he had the previous time. Though sometimes he couldn’t help but wonder if there was something divine preventing him from locating you.

Months passed. Months. Not a word of a sighting, not another informative complaint from Kaeya…nothing. He was almost inclined to believe you’d left, if not for the sporadic letters to Adelinde.

Those letters were the only semblance of a lead out there.

What was truly baffling was how following the trail of the letters led him to all sorts of places. For example, one such letter was sent not too far from a Fatui camp. The courier, who was really an inexperienced adventurer, that delivered the letter had been so proud of himself, bragging about how he’d dodged a Fatui camp. Maybe even hinting that he’d like for Adelinde to tip him.

Whether it was to the adventurer’s fortune or misfortune, Diluc just so happened to be there for that specific delivery.

A few casual questions and the shrewd warrior knew that not only had you paid in full (though you’d bargained to get a reasonable price-much to his surprise), you’d even gifted the adventurer a handy salve as a tip. He’d also figured out where you’d been when you sent the letter and therefore the location of the Fatui camp.

Yes, leave it to you to unintentionally find yourself in a dangerous location. He ought to make sure you never meet Bennett, your disastrous luck together would be of a whole other magnitude.

Either way, the vigilante had vermin to exterminate. It was rather convenient for him that you’d unearthed this poison plaguing Mondstadt. You seemed to have a knack for that: locating problems. Once he eradicated the filth from the land he’d be sure to check on you.

While that rookie adventurer managed to avoid the Fatui, it seems you had not. While decimating their forces the Proud Citizen of Mondstadt discovered a bar of that unique soap of yours. So that’s why the Fatui scum hadn’t smelled as though they wallowed in their own filth as they usually did…and the laundry that seemed to be hung to dry.

There were a number of scenarios as to how the scum could have obtained the soap.

The first one that came to mind had to be that they’d seen you nearby and had gone to attack, and you’d given them a soap bar in exchange for them leaving you alone, then probably ran away when they continued to plunder you regardless. Though knowing you, maybe you’d thought they were humans and had sought out their camp yourself looking for company and ended up at the dangerous end of a nozzle. Which makes that two scenarios. The third scenario…truthfully most of the scenarios he imagined generally resulted in your safety being jeopardized. You were an adept healer but not much of a fighter after all. He could only hope you were a decent runner.

Anyway.

The good news was that he hadn’t seen your pack nor any other traces of you save for that soap. He did make sure to ask one of the Fatui recruits there though.

Just to be safe.

“Where’d you get this soap?” The former knight had a heel to the fool’s chest and a large blade to the side of his neck.

“Soap? You- you want to know about the soap?” The panicked soldier asked bewildered.

To be fair it was a strange inquiry given the circumstances.

The redhead shifted more of his weight to his foot that was on the scum, “yes, I’m asking you about the bar of soap with mint in it.”

“We-we bought it off a lady,” he gasped out and Diluc eased up a little. After all, what was the point of an interrogation when the other person couldn’t talk?

Now, was this lady he mentioned a merchant, or was this you ? He would not risk making assumptions on the matter.

“What did she look like?”

“I don’t remember. Friendly, kinda weird, but she didn’t look like she was from Mondstadt.”

Not good enough. Tch.

“How much did the soap cost?”

“If you want the soap you can have it! Just get off me!” The rat squirmed beneath him.

Hah! Did he really think he was in a position to be making demands? The audacity of this filth.

“I don’t want the soap,” Diluc growled, “I’m asking about the price of the soap.”

“60 mora a piece!”

An abysmally low price. It was you, no doubt.

“What happened to this lady after you ‘ bought ’ the soap from her?”

“I don’t know! We just bought the soap and left!” The pathetic scum rambled. “We didn’t do her any harm if that’s what you’re insinuating!”

Ah, it seems he picked the right recruit to interrogate after all. An anxious blabbermouth. Perfect. Bad for the Fatui, very convenient for him, he must be a new recruit. This would be easier than he originally thought.

“Why should I believe you?” The redhead shifted some weight back to the foot holding the captured agent down.

“I’ll take you to her camp! You’ll see she’s just fine!”

“Her camp? You assaulted her in her camp?”

“ No .” Good, he was getting frustrated. “She was cooking up some weird stuff and we followed the scent. It smells amazing for your information. And we found this weird lady mixing some weird stuff like she was a witch. She sold us some soap, and we left.”

“She didn’t offer to give it to you for free?” Did you perhaps know not to be kind to the scum of Teyvat?

“How did you know ?” The Fatui officer was in complete shock.

He knew it. Your generosity would kill you one day. He was sure.

“We, the proud followers of Her Majesty the Tsaritsa, would never take something that was clearly labored over for free!” The pathetic little vermin spat at him indignantly. “Don’t look down on us, we’ve got more dignity and honor than all seven nations combined!”

Diluc scoffed, raising a brow at him. Ah yes, how convincing coming from a Fatui operative. The nerve.

“Show me to her campsite,” the vigilante removed his foot, and the Fatuus took in a sharp gasp of air - how dramatic.

“Tch, fine ,” he scoffed.

Diluc kept his sword poised in case the pathetic agent tried anything funny, the former knight waited for the Fatuus to get up. Though the moment he was up, the redhead grabbed him by the back of his neck, he didn’t have time for leniency.

“Is this really necessary?” The agent complained.

“Start walking.”

Thus began the short trek to what would hopefully be your campsite. While it was very convenient that the scum seemed to be seriously leading him towards your campsite, it was also…well…the Fatui agent clearly didn’t trust him, and he could easily pose a threat to your safety, yet this “proud follower of Her Majesty the Tsaritsa,” who had “more dignity and honor- ” hah! “-than all seven nations combined,” still chose to lead him to you . Yes, lead a man with a claymore and a pyro vision, that had decimated the whole camp of trained Fatui officers, to a medical researcher who was clearly untrained in combat, and would likely be helpless to defend herself.

For as far as the Fatui scum knew, you were helpless. That was the initial impression you gave off after all. Though, he found he was of another opinion following your time together in that domain.

You reinforced his opinion when he arrived at where the Fatui claimed to be your campsite.You were not there. Though to the scum’s credit it had clearly been camped in as there were remnants of a campfire. However…

“ When did you say you bought this soap from her?” Diluc readjusted his grip on his captive’s neck.

“When?” He responded instinctually, quickly spewing out responses when he was reminded of the grip on his neck. “M-maybe two? No three…three to five days ago?”

As he’d suspected: you’d likely abandoned this camp shortly after the Fatui had found you. Well done.

Now, it was time to clean up the last of the scum.

-_-

As was the case last time, the tycoon didn’t find you until you came to him. Indirectly.

“Well well, look who we have here,” a familiar voice that usually preceded a headache spoke from not too far away, “say, it’s been quite a while since I’ve seen you last. What could you have possibly been up to?”

Diluc afforded the knight a quick glance, only to be pleasantly surprised to find you there. He took a few quick steps to allow himself to observe this exchange.

Your shoulders dropped the tension they’d previously held in favor of drooping in an indecorous manner, meaning you’d likely let out a sigh. He understood your position, truly, he’d also rather avoid Kaeya when he could.

Hence his observing the two of you from this advantageous distance.

You then huffed a sardonic little laugh despite your initial reaction and turned to face the captain more fully with a smile though. He noticed you tighten your hold on the hefty sized fabric knapsack you were hugging. He imagined Kaeya had his usual smile taunting you. That, or an expression that revealed his malicious glee that his current source of entertainment had returned.

“Sir Kaeya,” nerves riddled your smile, “how have you been?”

“Absolutely awful!” He never missed the opportunity for dramatics did he? “I recently had the worst stomach pain and my favorite apothecary was nowhere to be found!”

You huffed a little, smile still in place and knowing, “you drank excessively on a somewhat empty stomach didn’t you?”

“Oh?” He could imagine the grin on Kaeya’s face clearly. “How did you know?”

“You weren’t subtle about your alcoholism,” you shrugged, “call it an educated guess.”

The alcoholic in question let out an actual laugh and Diluc found himself sharing in the amusement.

“Won’t you spare me a moment?” The captain gestured with his hand in a sweeping manner while placing the other on your back.

You flinched and ducked away from his hold on, what seemed to be, pure instinct. Were you perhaps uncomfortable with such contact?

“Please refrain from touching me,” ah, you really were uncomfortable with the contact.

Now that he considered it, you seemed to try your best to avoid having him help you when you’d injured your leg. He’d thought your uncomfortable expression at the time had been due to the pain and what you’d said about avoiding being indebted to him, but, it seemed that you didn’t like the contact either.

“Very well,” the silver-tongued menace raised his hands in a weak surrender and moved to allow for a respectable distance between the two of you.

Kaeya…respecting boundaries? Well this was new.

Then again this could just be a way of loosening your tongue.

The knight began leading you on a walk through the city. The curious redhead followed the two of you, making sure to remain far enough to be undetected, but close enough to eavesdrop. After all, there was no doubt what the everso slippery man was about to discuss. It would be to his benefit to listen to this discussion too.

Kaeya would get his answers, most definitely. Aside from your nature, the knight was also exceptional at drawing intel out of people. Much to Diluc’s ire.

“It’s been so long, I was beginning to wonder if I’d never see you again,” he broke the silence that had settled between you as you walked, “I ran out of that soap you gave me,” he pouted slightly, “a shame really, it worked very well with my skin, and had such a lovely fragrance.”

“I made a new batch! I infused them with cecilias this time!” You perked up, ever so eager to talk about your herbs. “Or would you prefer the same old soap?”

“Oh cecilias? Did you head to Starsnatch Cliff then?” He raised a brow at you as he led you. “Is that where you’ve been?”

“Yes, I went there to collect new specimens for my research,” you nodded, your smile polite.

Small talk. Truly such a tedious thing. Though he wasn’t so closed-minded that he didn’t see what Kaeya was up to. So far the conversation felt like he was asking after an old friend. It was rather pleasant, disarmingly so. Diluc would only need to suffer through this pointless small talk until the knight deemed you were unguarded enough. That’s when he would strike with the more sensitive questions.

“How are you liking your time in Mondstadt?” He inquired.

“It’s been nice,” you answered instinctually, “I’ve been learning a lot.”

“Oh? Would you care to share?”

“Windwheel Asters are excellent against fevers! They also help you obtain necessary minerals that your body requires, it turns out,” you spoke excitedly.

“I see,” Kaeya hummed, “so you’ve been out studying windwheel asters and cecilias then?”

“I’m pretty sure I’ve mentioned before that I’m here to study local herbal remedies,” your tone was light.

The knight nodded with a smile, “indeed you did.”

Then, “well while you’ve been out there curing fevers with windwheel asters,” he began, “I’ve been here holding on to a will someone left behind.”

There was a notable pause, as though - perhaps you were considering your words? “The person didn’t think to leave their name on their last will and testament?”

Again the knight chuckled, “oh they did, not to worry I know whose will it is.”

You nodded slowly at that, “well then, I suppose that’s good. Now you can make sure it finds its owner safely.”

“I’ve also been hanging on to some odd letters from the same person,” ah! Finally .

“You-uh-you didn’t go through this person’s private letters, did you?” You took a judgemental and concerned tone, likely to conceal your panic. “That’s an invasion of privacy.”

“My, so quick to accuse me of wrongdoing,” he could imagine the expression on the captain’s face. It was positively punchable. “Do you think so little of me?”

“I’ll take every opportunity to be suspicious of you I get,” your tone flattened, “see how much you like it.”

“My my, have I really antagonized you so much?” Kaeya’s tone was sickeningly saccharine, and Diluc liked grape juice of all things. “And here I thought we were good friends.”

Hah! Though from what Diluc could see of your face, you seemed to take that lie to heart.

“If we’re good friends why are you always suspicious of me?”

“You’re really insistent,” he leaned down into your space and you moved away, “ that’s rather suspicious my dear little apothecary. What secrets are you hiding?”

“W-well…if I tell you, they…they wouldn’t be secrets anymore now would they?”

The knight laughed, and pulled himself back to his full height. From what the redhead could see, your expression only soured at this reaction. Unfortunately your quick-wittedness was only furthering Kaeya’s desire to toy with you.

“What a classic response!” He said as he calmed down. “If you want to be free of suspicion why not be more cooperative?”

“I am very cooperative, thank you very much!” You huffed.

“Then you wouldn’t mind answering a few questions about those letters I mentioned earlier.”

“What letters?” You snapped back at your interrogator clearly still agitated by his prior suspicion.

“Why these letters I found outside that domain near Springvale,” Kaeya resumed walking around and you followed, readjusting your knapsack again.

It took you a moment to respond, “Ah yes, the private letters you’d read - you said you’d read, by invading the privacy of the writer.”

You paused. That sounded long winded.

“I mean the letters- no- well it was an invasion of privacy all the same!”

Another chuckle from Kaeya. Another scowl from you.

“You’re right,” the cryo user hummed, laying his trap, “under normal circumstances I’d be inclined to agree.”

“Under normal circumstances?” And you walked straight into it.

“Yes, had I found these letters in a more common location, then, hmmm,” he drawled off.

You hugged your knapsack a bit tighter, as though seeking comfort from it, while breathing in slowly-it seems you’d figured out what he was talking about, “give-given how Mondstadt had been under attack, I’d assume you’d find all misplaced correspondences suspicious.”

“ Oh . Most impressive Miss Apothecary,” Kaeya was having too much fun at your expense, “I do ,” he paused no doubt reveling in your anticipation, “so I’m sure you can imagine just how suspicious ‘ misplaced correspondences ’ outside an enemy domain would be.”

“Very suspicious, no doubt,” you nodded enthusiastically.

Diluc noticed you shake out a shiver that had no doubt ran its way through your spine, most likely in response to Kaeya’s expression. He really did wish he could see the knight’s face…and that he would get to the point already.

“It only gets more suspicious from there,” the knight stopped walking in a relatively empty area of the fortified city, “these letters were addressed to a foreign country and were not only written in the native language unique to the country, but with an advanced cipher.”

You stood before the knight silently, yet Kaeya did not continue. You readjusted our grip on your plants. “So, did you manage to figure out the cipher and read the letter?”

To Diluc’s knowledge: no he hadn’t, that’s why he was here, asking you.

“Not yet, unfortunately,” he lamented.

“I see,” you nodded slowly, “I’m-I’m sure trying to decipher it must be a major headache, would you-would you like more mint oil?”

There was a momentary pause, before Kaeya erupted into joyous laughter. Diluc shifted momentarily to get a better look at the captain’s face, noting the disbelief that tinted his amusement.

In contrast you stood there stiff as a plank, looking, for all of Teyvat, as uncomfortable as an amateur adventurer in Dragonspine. Truly you looked like you’d rather be in a hilichurl camp than here with Kaeya. That in and of itself was amusing, unfortunately for you.

When the blue-haired nuisance calmed down, you smiled at him awkwardly.

“You studied at the Sumeru Akademiya, didn’t you?” He was being really roundabout in his methods today.

“Yes?” You looked as though you were trying to figure out where he was going with this.

He wished the cavalry captain would stop toying with you. Kaeya would have cornered you by now, following the man’s usual pattern. However, with how he’d been laughing at virtually everything you’d been saying, the knight no doubt was finding immense entertainment in watching you dodge his traps as you did.

Ah. This must be it.

The real reason why Kaeya was suspicious of you.

Yes, you were much more adept at tricky conversations than he initially imagined. Neither the captain nor he, had yet to glean anything at all. Diluc would have been significantly more disappointed had he not found some amusement in the obnoxiously adept interrogator’s failure in this interrogation.

“You must have learned a thing or two about ciphers, and maybe even about decoding cipher s while there,” He was drawn out of his musings by Kaeya’s suggestion.

“Well, as you can see,” you lifted your knapsack, and your observer wondered if the tremors in your hands were due to exertion- the knapsack looked rather light though, “I’m an apothecary , so…so even if I did learn ‘a thing or two’ about ciphers, it’s obviously not my area of expertise.”

“Always so clever aren’t you?” Diluc found himself looking to where Kaeya usually kept his cryo vision. It seems like he wasn’t as patient nor as amused as Diluc had thought. “I’m sure you could help me figure this cipher out.”

You looked distraught by the suggestion. Your mouth opened as if you were preparing to say something, then closed, you looked around, then pursed as you looked back at the captain.

“But-but…but,” you stuttered, “do I have to?”

Diluc couldn’t help the smile that pulled at his lips. You sounded like, of all things, that was the last thing you’d want to do. It likely was.

“Now now,” the captain spoke as though placating a petulant child, “weren’t you the one that offered to help with anything at all?”

“I did?” Your face fell. “I did. I’d meant-” you paused, “yes I did say that didn’t I?”

“Indeed you did,” Diluc could hear just how pleased with himself Kaeya was at cornering you, “now then, if you’d be so kind,” he gestured with a sweep of his arm.

Hmm. Oh, it seems he meant to take you back to the Knights of Favonius Headquarters. That would be less than ideal.

Perhaps he ought to intervene?

“Right now?” You startled.

“No time like the present,” he could hear the glee in your interrogator’s tone at his victory.

“W-wait-but!” You spluttered desperately. “You said this would only take a moment! I have herbs to sort through! And tests to attend to and research to submit! This conversation wasn’t supposed to take so long!”

“So you don’t want to help me?”

“Sir Kaeya, you wanted to borrow a moment -“

“Why that’s a figure of speech,” his tone was so patronizing, Diluc felt his own ire rise,” I thought you knew.”

“Yes a figure of speech implying a short amount of time,” you returned without a moment to think.

“I’m sure this cipher will be easy for someone as clever as you,” Kaeya moved in and you backed away.

“Ciphers are so incredibly tedious and time-”

“I’m confident this won’t take that much time-”

“Please understand ciphers are not so easy-”

“Given you penned these letters.”

That halted your arguments regarding the nature of ciphers. You stared at the knight for a long moment, your mouth slightly ajar. He’d finally managed to corner you. You snapped your mouth shut, before taking a deep breath, your shoulders sagging, your grip on your belongings momentarily loosening. When the sack started slipping you were quick to readjust your grip on the thing. The ex-knight noticed that you fumbled with the large thing a bit more than he would have expected you to. When you finally had them in a relatively comfortable grip, you met the cryo user’s gaze, your hold tightening on them again.

It seems you understood what would follow this point.

“Ah, so this does ring a bell… hmm ?”

You remained silent; and the real interrogation began.

“What did you write about in your letters that would require you to use a cipher?”

“Personal matters,” you answered after a momentary pause.

“Now now that couldn’t possibly be the whole story.”

“It is,” You took a moment to breathe - likely trying to figure out what your response would be, “those letters contain personal matters I wished to share with my family.”

“That so?”

“Yes.”

Kaeya paused to lean back and fold his arms across his chest, most likely staring you down, and give you time to stew in your anticipation, “rather strange that you thought to include a will in the package we found.”

“Yes well,” you averted your gaze for a moment, “I would like that will back.”

“All in good time,” he continued to press on, “now, what could be so personal you’d have to use a cipher?”

You exhaled, looking mildly pained, “something too personal to share with you.”

The pyro user felt his eyes widen minutely.

“My, this is you being cooperative ?” However, Kaeya was closing in on you despite all your efforts.

Your lips pressed into a wobbly frown. From what the vigilante could see, you were looking at the knight before you as though beseeching him to leave you be, “they’re personal m-matters I don’t feel comfortable disclosing,” you reiterated, expression falling into something poignant.

“That sounds like a very convenient excuse to hide that you were sending out sensitive information,” he observed the knight move closer towards you.

“Only sensitive information concerning my own state, as you know, I know very little about Mondstadt’s internal affairs,” you had a weak smile on your face, with one foot already positioned behind you in case you needed to recreate the space between you.

“If it’s only personal matters, why use a cipher?” Kaeya pressed.

You paused, taking a breath while not looking at the captain. However when you did, “so that people like you can’t read them,” your expression was as he remembered it when you were together in the domain, firm, resolute, “and that the information only reaches those it’s meant for.”

“People like me ?” It’s been a while since he’s heard him sound affronted like that.

“Pray tell Sir Kaeya, are you so bored that-that you find the need to interrogate medical researchers about documents they wish to share with their fam-families?” It seems your patience had all been whittled away.

The winery owner found himself mildly impressed. You’d figured Kaeya out in the middle of all that was happening. Or were you simply-

“Deflecting now are you?” The trembling he’d noticed in your arms earlier returned, or perhaps it had never left - however it was more noticeable now. Your senses were attuning to the rising threat the captain posed to you. “Why would an innocent person feel the need to deflect?”

“You make a good point,” ah were you ceding this argument, “however you also deflected my own question.”

Not bad Miss Apothecary. Huh. He’d never imagined you’d respond in such a manner.

“What were your letters doing outside that domain?”

You hugged the knapsack to reduce your tremors at that question. You took a deep, if staggered, breath and did your best to meet the biting look that the cryo user was no doubt giving you. “I’ve been visiting battlegrounds in the aftermath to produce salves for the knights and-”

“Yes, but the knights hadn’t entered the domain by then.”

“They hadn’t?” That was rather impressive acting. Though with the way your face was scrunching up, had you really forgotten?

You looked back at the knight. “Oh they really hadn’t had they?” You asked in that familiar mildly-stunned, rather sheepish tone. You’d really forgotten then.

“You went into the domain before the knights did,” Kaeya pressed, “you wanted to deliver information that the knights would be coming.”

“What? No. Why would I-”

“Oh? Wasn’t it fun playing savior? I’m sure everyone doted on you, calling you a generous hero, giving you free food and lodging. Why not keep the assault going then?”

Your eyes widened in disbelief, your lips pursed and your trembling worsened. Should he perhaps intervene? Kaeya’s questioning was starting to get out of hand. He knew that the cryo menace didn’t actually believe you to be a threat.

Though to his knowledge he’s done worse before.

“Every time I’ve had the horror of encountering an Abyss Mage, it’s tried to kill me,” your voice cracked, “why would I go to talk to them? No - how would I get out alive if I tried?”

“You’re the only one who’s reported Abyss Mage attacks to your person, who's to say that wasn’t a cover?”

“Who’s to…?” You sneered momentarily before pursing your lips. “Sister Barbara who healed my leg months ago. If she remembers, she can attest to the damage I’ve sustained.”

“You could have given yourself that injury.”

No. Not willingly at least. You had a hand in getting injured as you did, but from what he’d seen of that injury and you, you didn’t have it in you to injure yourself like that, not willingly at least. Kaeya hadn’t known about that injury though it seems.

“You try-” you started before seeming to stop yourself, “how,” you inhaled sharply, “how have you arrived at this conclusion?”

You were trying not to flinch but a tremor clearly went through your body. Had he a better vantage point he’d be able to better make out Kaeya’s expressions.

“You didn’t know what an Abyss Mage was? And you tried to negotiate with it? Not to mention your interest in the Dark Knight Hero that conveniently preceded a report of an onslaught on Mondstadt?” This man . “You don’t need to be a highly educated scholar to put all the pieces together.”

Your mouth opened slightly. Your knapsack rose slowly before falling slowly. Time and time again as though you were working to keep your breathing under control.

“If you trust me so little, why use my remedies then? My soap, my mint oil, my …?” He could barely hear you as your voice struggled to make it out of your throat. "The attacks have stopped, haven’t they?”

Your interrogator paused for a moment. Diluc cursed his inability to see the blue-haired menace’s face. His expression would reveal whether he was pausing to stress you out, or because he’d really not anticipated that response from you.

“Funny how the attacks stopped when you disappeared,” he hummed, “quite an interesting coincidence wouldn’t you say?”

Your expression laid bare your indignation and thoughts. There was a riddling of panic coming in now, however your expression had originally screamed: is this man being serious right now?

You let out a huff, “I didn’t leave until after the attacks ended,” your mouth pulled into a scathing smile, “I was attending to the citizens of Springvale, making sure they were all healed,” your eyes narrowed as your smile grew, “I was even in the care of a kind lady by the name of Mrs. Suzanne there, if you wish to follow up.”

Now was not the time to be challenging Kaeya. He would take this and wield it against you.

“Goodness you’ve really given this alibi of yours some thought,” ah he was using that tone that inspired people to violence, “if you’re as innocent as you claim, then why not explain your letters and involvement in the domain to me? Why send me all the way to Springvale instead?”

You hugged your knapsack tighter. To Diluc’s knowledge you’d only entered the domain pursuing him. You’d followed him around the domain much like a duckling would its mother and had been so relieved to see him that it turned into nervous excitement as you proclaimed you’d brought food and water proudly and a little loudly for someone in enemy territory. Diluc would not deny that the water had saved him.

Oh.

He would be intervening now. He couldn’t allow this to go on. Taking care not to be seen just yet he began moving towards you.

“So that I may have the time to sort through my herbs in peace while in the city,” you responded unthinkingly.

Hah! The pyro user halted. Most amusing.

Not to Kaeya though.

“Excuses, excuses,” Kaeya twirled an intricate crystal of cryo he’d produced between his fingers, “but never a straight answer.”

Diluc resumed his careful approach, and found himself halted by your voice yet again, “well you seldom ever give me a straight answer either! And at the time you came to me wanting help with a headache!”

The cryo user chose that moment to drop the icicle he’d been toying with to the ground. You jumped away with a yelp as it expanded on the ground.

The captain followed you with an amused, “Again, if you were truly as innocent as you claim to be, you wouldn’t be deflecting like this, now would you?”

You looked up from the icy ground to the Kaeya who had clearly established himself as a threat to you. Yet…

“My letters are a private matter, and you insist on perceiving me as malicious,” you stuttered out, hugging your herbs to your chest protectively, “and as for the domain, my involvement was related to providing remedies to counter its effects.”

You threw a glance to your side, before, “I’m sorry but I have no more time to spare you for the day. You’ve used up your moment and then some, good day,” you spoke quickly before making a quick escape out into the public eye again.

So much for intervening on your behalf. Seems you’d managed to escape all by yourself.

You’d been pushed to your limits though, if the way your lips quivered or the way your knapsack seemed to vibrate in your hold indicated anything. It would be irresponsible to remain passive in this situation.

Hence Diluc abandoned his stealth in favor of making his presence known to the Cavalry Captain that would have pursued you without a doubt. Call it a deterrent of sorts. He deliberately strolled by the relatively secluded alley you were just in while throwing your interrogator a little glance. Their eyes met for a moment Kaeya’s lips were curling upwards with a little huff.

But he didn’t look remotely surprised to see him. Hmph.

He’d have to make sure Charles worked the bar tonight. If that smile meant anything, the man would be coming by to complain about his eavesdropping. Not to mention, with how poorly his investigation went, he’d likely want to drink. This was perhaps the first time Diluc had the pleasure of witnessing the highly capable captain return with so little success in an interrogation. Well played Miss Apothecary.

Of course those were matters he’d have to deal with later. What was more important was that you didn’t get yourself into trouble following Kaeya’s attempts to amuse himself. After all, of the handful of times you’d met with each other, perhaps one or two of the times hadn’t involved Abyss Mages.

Thankfully pursuing you posed little challenge. Between what he imagined was a stormy mental state, the lack of heavy crowds, and his superior stealth, he’d managed to follow you outside the gates of Mondstadt undetected. He was entreated to the sight of you failing on multiple occasions to place your precious herb knapsack into your pocket dimension, then attempt and fail to climb up a tree multiple times and fail, before finally, you looked around wildly and ran towards the base of the bridge. He was mildly concerned you’d roll your way into the lake when you’d tripped over yourself in your hurry, but you managed to stop yourself in time and didn’t, and you finally made it to the little archway.

It seemed like you wouldn’t be doing anything rash in your upset state. He could return to his usual duties, if he so desired, yet…who knew when he’d be able to see you again. Cruel as it may seem, he needed to get answers from you before you disappeared again.

So, after confirming no one was following him , Diluc made his way towards your hiding place, taking great care to approach you as silently as possible. As he neared the base of the bridge, he could hear muffled sniffling alongside the flow of water.

Shuffling ever closer to the open arch, he heard a choked sob followed by more sniffling and shuddered breathing. Could you possibly…? He peered over the side of the arch, and there you were, biting down on your hand to keep yourself as quiet as possible while tears poured down your cheeks. Your body, now unsuppressed, was shivering violently. In your other hand you held a handkerchief, which he noticed you were using to wipe your nose as he moved back to conceal himself fully so as to not be caught.

..and to provide you with some privacy.

Diluc pinched the bridge of his nose. It would be inhumane to question you while you were in such a state. That damned Kaeya. He poked his head to check on you again, seeing you hug yourself while rocking back and forth while attempting to get your breathing under control, all the while suppressing your sobs.

No, it would be much too cruel to try and ask you anything right now…but it didn’t look like you’d stop crying any time soon either, and he had things to do. He took in a deep breath looking upwards, he could always ask one of his people to stand watch and inform him if you’d left, without invading your privacy any further than he already had.

So he did just that. The ever so busy business man went back to Angel’s Share, found one of his trusted staff, and tasked the fellow with reporting to him if he saw a young female foreigner exit from under the bridge arch before going about his day. And what a day it was, it had started with an interrogation in the late morning after all. The sun was setting by the time he’d wrapped up his most important tasks for the day.

He hadn’t heard from his informant though, so he headed over to the Angel’s Share, only to find he hadn’t returned yet. Lo and behold the man tells him nothing had happened ever since he took his post. At that point Diluc dismissed him in favor of checking on you himself. He approached the archway just as silently as he’d done before…

Only to find you seated right outside the archway, nestled into a crook formed by the meeting of two boulders. With how his form cast a shadow upon your book, you did the first thing any person would do, which is look up, and therefore spot him.

Nothing had happened . He should have asked him to clarify. Then again it wasn’t like his informant would have been able to see you here. Truthfully you weren’t that far from the arch, and he should have proceeded with greater caution.

His eyes met your own, it seemed like yours were still swollen from your crying earlier. Besides that, what was originally a tired, peaceful gaze quickly blew wide with an unhealthy cocktail of alertness, panic, and utter horror.

You had decent reaction time, he rediscovered. As he’d barely opened his mouth to greet you than you’d managed shove the rest of your sunsettia into your mouth; collect a nearby notebook, chuck a knife into it, swipe a handful of handkerchiefs; and bolt away from the rocks while clutching what looked to be a blanket you’d been wrapped up in prior to his arrival.

Of course he also had a good reaction time, so, he was on your heels in an instant. What should he say to dissuade you from running? Or should he just let you tire yourself out and talk to you then?

He’d barely formulated what to say to you when you tripped over your own cover, barely caught your footing and dropped a pen. What was astonishing was how quickly you managed to swipe the thing up and keep going.

But…

“Why are you running from me?” He questioned loud enough for you to hear him.

Amazingly, that worked very well and you halted the moment after his question had registered. Though it was so sudden that Diluc’s own momentum carried him past you. You were decently fast, he’d admit. Turning to face you, he noticed you looked as confused as he was as to why you’d chosen to suddenly bolt from him.

You took a short breath, “I…I’m not sure,” you sounded so incredibly bewildered, “I guess…I don’t think I feel like interacting with people today.”

Your gaze fell to the ground then, hugging your books and the covering draped over your shoulders closer to yourself, much like you had with the knapsack earlier. “Though it was incredibly rude of me to just run from you,” your gaze flickered up to his for a moment, before dropping again immediately, “I’m sorry.”

Yes, well, you weren’t wrong about your response being rude. However, he was aware of your circumstances, and it seems he’d triggered some kind of fight or flight response in you. “No need for apologies,” he shook his head as he took a few steps in your direction, “I wasn’t offended.”

You pursed your lips, your eyes widening slightly, “yes well, it was still rude though, so an apology is due.”

“And you’ve apologized, and I’ve accepted,” Diluc responded, “call it water under the bridge.”

That got a small laugh out of you, you peeked up at him for a moment, “was that a deliberate choice of idiom?”

What? He looked past you towards the bridge you’d been hiding under - ah. “Not particularly, no,” he responded, his tone light.

Your smile faltered, and you righted yourself enough to try and look at him, “well…um…it’s been a while, how’ve you been doing? And Miss Adelinde? And Mr. Elzer? And well…everyone else?”

Oh. That was mildly unexpected. “We’ve been doing well, thank you for asking,” he nodded at you, “and yourself?”

You took another breath, shaking some tension out of your system as you readjusted your blanket as well as the myriad of other things you were holding on to. Actually now that he got a better look at it, that blanket seemed to be more of a cloak. That did make more sense, upon further thought.

“I’ve been well!” You perked up. “I got to do a lot of research so it’s been lovely.”

“So that’s where you’ve been for the last few months?” He followed up.

“Yes,” you nodded gently, “wait you noticed?”

“Well, there has been a notable lack of advertisements for herbal salves, teas, and ointments for a while,” he nodded at you.

“Oh would you like to take me up on that offer then?” You brightened up right then and there. “I have so many new effective treatments that use the native flora of Mondstadt, so even when I’m no longer around you can easily procure and develop these treatments yourself in case you need to!”

Yes, these responses and this attitude right now felt more accurate to what he’d seen of you in the past. The question became: which of the two attitudes he’d witnessed today was more true to your natural being? He was inclined to believe it was what he was witnessing right now, but he’d have to question you himself to find out.

Looking towards the horizon, the astute former captain devised a plan. “It’s getting to be around dinner time,” he turned to look at you, “have you eaten?”

“Oh!” You mimicked his earlier actions, looking towards the horizon. “You’re right! No, no I haven’t.”

“Neither have I,” he’d been rather busy all day so this wasn’t a lie, “would you care to dine with me then?”

You didn’t need to look so surprised. What else would he follow his first question up with? You seemed to consider it, “theoretically would we be dining at Good Hunter then?”

What a curious thing to ask. Ah…yes…he understood, you didn’t want to run into Kaeya again. Well there was always Angel’s Share. “No, we don’t have to dine there if you don’t want to,” you seemed to grimace at that, “I own a tavern, if you recall.”

Your lips thinned, “I’m not very fond of taverns if I’m honest - oh and it’s not that I don’t want to dine at Good Hunter, I just uh…I don’t really uhm…the food’s fantastic there it’s just um...”

“Their seating isn’t ideal when you’d like to avoid interacting with people,” he supplied.

“Yes! That exactly!” You brightened at his understanding, before dimming again, “I apologize if I’m being difficult.”

“Not at all, I invited you to dine with me, making sure things are comfortable for you is the least I can do,” he shook his head.

Truthfully, he could also do without any further interactions with people for the day. Well, he had an idea about that. As a lot of his regulars usually did, you could grab a meal from Good Hunter and then head to the tavern to eat. “Well then the second floor of Angel’s Share is generally quiet, we could get our meals from Good Hunter and eat there.”

“So we’d be dining inside a tavern?” You seemed apprehensive.

“Yes, would there be - is that not to your liking?” He quickly corrected himself, you’d lowered your guard but you were still incredibly weary and he couldn’t have you running again.

“I don’t like the smell of wine,” you admitted, “it makes me dizzy. And I become irritable when dizzy, and I don’t like being either.”

“You don’t drink then?” He probably shouldn’t have been so surprised by that, yet he was.

“Oh no. I hate alcoholic beverages,” you looked rather repulsed, “if they smell that awful I can only imagine how they taste,” you looked sick purely by the thought of it, “and it’s horrible for your health and overall wellbeing.”

A moment of silence passed over the two of you as the winery owner considered his options. You seemed to take that as him being affronted by your comment. “Apologies! I didn’t mean to insult you or your business or uh…you’re being very kind and patient with me and I just-”

“Not to worry,” he cut off your rambling, “I don’t like alcohol either.”

You looked reasonably surprised, he did, after all, own a tavern and a winery to boot. He was also aware of the Dawn Winery’s status as a giant in the wine industry internationally. “I don’t like the way it feels on my tongue,” he decided to share with you, “I prefer grape juice.”

“I like lemonade personally!” You volunteered in return. “Especially when it’s infused with ginger! It tastes good and boosts your immune system too! Two birds - a two birds with one stone kind of deal!”

Seems you were finally relaxing, now onto the next phase “I have tables outside the tavern that aren’t too visible to the public, would that work for you?”

“Sure,” you nodded.

Things went rather smoothly from there. You took a moment to put your things away and adjust your cloak on your person before following him back into the city. Unfortunately the tension he’d worked to diffuse returned. The moment Good Hunter was in view you’d picked up your pace, almost suspiciously so. You’d quickly leaned over the counter, a little bouncy, and asked Sara about something. The cook turned and pointed to the side, explaining that what you were looking for should be just around the corner. At which point you quickly turned to him as he arrived behind you and hurriedly excused yourself for a moment.

The redhead followed you discreetly, realizing that all the hurry was because you wanted to use the restroom. He had found you seated by the river, and you had been there since the morning…it all made sense. It wasn’t long before you rejoined him, looking sheepish and apologetic. That didn’t last long though as you put in your orders…and you proceeded to debate him over who would purchase your meals.

“I don’t mind sharing a meal with you but I’ll pay for my own meal,” you argued, “you’ve already done so much for me and-”

“I’m the one who invited you to dine with me, it only makes sense I would pay for the meal,” why must you make things so difficult?

“Even so,” you seemed to understand he was making a fair point, “I wish you would have informed me ahead of time. I wouldn’t have ordered as much.”

“Well then, it’s a good thing I didn’t.”

“It doesn’t feel right to take advantage of your kindness like this.”

“If you’re concerned about the cost, don’t be.”

“But I ordered more than I should on someone else’s mora!”

“Yes, well, this someone else invited you to dinner,” he stressed, “would you insist on paying me had I invited you to dinner at my home?”

He watched your mouth snap closed, your argument leaving you. He would pursue this line of reasoning then. “You wouldn’t appreciate it if I were to fight you over payment had you invited me, would you?”

“I’d be very upset with you if you did that,” you frowned at him, “especially given how indebted I am to you.”

“Well then, given you feel indebted, why not heed my requests?” This would work well when he questioned you later.

Your inner turmoil was written across your face, as you finally conceded with a: “fine,” while looking both disappointed and nervous.

“Oh! Finally settled on who’s paying then?” Sara called from where she was already preparing the meals.

“Yes,” he responded and she came to collect the amount before returning to her work.

The two of you waited for your orders off to the side and relatively out of sight. It was quiet for a bit, until you suddenly began to ask him if he had any new ailments, or if he needed to restock his inventory of remedies. Then you asked him if he’d be interested in mint oil in case he ever had headaches, he found that he was, and you brightened, saying you’d make sure to get some to him as soon as possible, even going so far as to make a note of it in a small notebook you took out your pocket.

Things were silent between the two of you again after that. While he didn’t mind the quiet, it seemed you did. You’d been doing your utmost to mask your anxiety ever since entering the city walls, however while your face looked mostly calm, the nervous energy needed to go somewhere, thus manifesting itself in tremors in your extremities. He took the liberty of pulling your cloak’s hood up to help conceal your identity. You’d look more suspicious, but maybe you’d calm down.

You’d startled and turned to look at him. He gave you a tired look in return, “you’re shivering.”

You looked away immediately, embarrassment ravaging your features as you held your hands together in an attempt to get them to stop shaking. Had he intervened into that interrogation sooner…maybe you wouldn’t be so distressed.

You’d managed to calm down slightly when you were informed that your meals were ready. Then he was leading you towards the table near the backdoor of the Angel’s Share. You took the hood off once the two of you started eating. Given how you were still nervous, he suspected it was a gesture of respect for his company. Though unnecessary, he appreciated it.

Dinner was a mostly silent affair, save for when you complimented his choice of food, given you’d ordered what he’d recommended to you. Your smile, though riddled with nerves, had a deeply appreciative aspect to it. Perhaps now would be the time to ask you about the letters.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” you finished cutting off a piece of steak, “but was there something you wished to discuss with me?”

Another surprise from you. Truly, you were full of surprises today.

“Yes, there was,” he nodded, dabbing a handkerchief to his lips, “what made you think that?”

“Oh,” you clarified, “that you wanted to talk about something?”

He nodded in return.

“Well if my memory is correct, when you came to visit me in Springvale all that time ago you told me,” you paused, placing your utensils down and squinting at nothing in particular, “I think you’d said something along the lines of ‘much to discuss’ or something to talk about at the very least.”

Your gaze met his for a moment before you began fidgeting with your fingers, “also I’m aware our interactions haven’t been the most amiable, and we aren’t all that well acquainted. I’m also not so arrogant as to think you’d seek me out, out of personal interest either.”

That was…rather astute of you.

He looked at you, who had perhaps only managed to get through half of one steak, continue to fiddle with your fingers, your utensils out of use on the plate they sat on. He wouldn’t let you stew in your apprehension any longer; he would get straight to the point.

“I received information that you left a will and letters written in Sumerian with a cipher outside the domain we cleared,” as expected you startled, your wide eyes met his for a second and your fidgeting stopped entirely, so did your breathing, “what did you write about that required you to use a cipher? And who were you writing to?”

Your fidgeting resumed, and you took a slow breath, as though bracing yourself. “I-I was writing to my family in Sumeru,” you began while looking at him, before looking away again.

Swallowing thickly you continued, “you-you’d saved my life before, and-and when I saw you go into the domain, by yourself, I-I,” you wrung your hands together as though weaving your thoughts together.

“It felt wrong-it felt wrong to-uh- to just leave you to…let you go? inside? by yourself,” your fidgeting intensified, with you picking at your nails now.

“You’d saved my life before, and I owed you a debt and it wasn’t right. I couldn’t pretend I hadn’t seen you go in. I couldn’t tell anyone you went in either, given you’d made me promise to keep your identity a secret,” you rambled on, “so I wrote a letter to my parents in case I died after following you in there.”

What?

You weren’t looking at him anymore, holding your hands together to keep from shivering too noticeably, whispering “I said that there was a Dark Knight Hero in Mondstadt that saved my life on multiple counts.”

You paused.

A shiver wracked your body as you raised your head to look at him. Panicked, you added in, “I didn’t mention your name though! Just your mantle of Dark Knight Hero, and no real information that would really allude to you - I mean your real identity! Except that thing about using the Angel’s Share if they wanted to contact you and-”

“No matter,” you’d been writing about him ? “Is that all you wrote in the letter?”

“Oh. Yes. Um sorry. The letter. Well…well in the rather viable case I didn’t survive, I wanted my parents to know why I had died…and that I loved them dearly, and was so thankful to be their daughter..and that I would honor that they raised me to be generous, and to repay my debts, so I would be following my savior into the domain, in hopes of being of help to them,” a violent shiver went through you then.

“I also disclosed that I’d received a vision that I would be using to heal you, and I loved them a lot, and I hoped they’d be proud,” you finished with a small smile before adding on, “oh! And I also told them to come collect my research and give it to my mentor.”

“Your mentor?”

You gave a small smile, “a Forest Ranger by the name of Tighnari.”

You were answering his questions so readily. You were even providing added details, and rambling as you often did. So all that dodging with Kaeya…?

“Then the sensitive information you were hiding with a cipher?” He needed to confirm.

“I promised you I wouldn’t tell anyone, didn’t I?” You looked at him again, looking mildly concerned he hadn’t believed you when you’d promised.

You withstood Kaeya’s interrogation to conceal his involvement and protect his identity? Diluc found himself pinching the bridge of his nose. What made this worse was that Kaeya already knew about his identity. If you’d known, maybe you could have avoided all that strife.

“You don’t believe me?” You sounded positively crestfallen.

You looked equally crestfallen, and your wobbling bottom lip told him you were still riddled with nerves.

“No,” he sat up to look at you, “no I do, I believe you. I just didn’t expect you would go to such lengths.”

“But…I promised you?” You were very clearly offended. “It’s a good thing I used a cipher, of all the knights, Sir Kaeya was the one to find them…”

You seemed to realize something in that moment, given your expression shifted back to horror as you stared at him, “you said you received information…did Sir Kaeya tell you about my letters? Why would he…? Are you colluding with-”

“I work alone,” he cut you off then and there, “there are a few exceptions to this rule and Kaeya is not one of them.”

“Why would he tell you about them though? Do you know Sumerian? Was it Sir Kaeya that told you about the letters?”

“No, and, yes,” that you continued to use Kaeya’s title after what he’d done to you today felt like a testament to your filial piety.

A daughter that hoped her parents were proud of her…

“Then is Sir Kaeya aware of your identity?” Your intuition, or perhaps it was your intellect that led you to that conclusion.

“Yes,” he informed you, “whether that is to my fortune or misfortune, I’ve yet to find out.”

Your mouth hung open, reminding him a lot of a fish out of water. You shuddered, shaking your head and looked away. Your breathing slowed, then became a laborious task. You were blinking with increased frequency.

“I’d have appreciated knowing that before,” you resumed playing with your nails, “then again it wouldn’t have changed much. Wait a minute…that tip he gave me about the Angel’s Share…”

“You never know what Kaeya’s thinking, don’t trouble yourself with it,” Diluc chose to save you from further agony.

You shook your head again, before looking up to meet his gaze yet again, “is there anything else you wished to discuss?”

Diluc felt his eyes widen. Much like you had earlier while being interrogated, your lips wobbled, and your extremities trembled, yet you sat there before him.

“I’ll save talks of payment for your remedies and services for another day,” why did that statement only increase how nervous you were, “do not try to dissuade me, you worked hard to heal me.”

“Because you saved my life.”

“You mean to say you wouldn’t have healed me if I hadn’t saved your life?”

“No! I mean yes?” You gestured in frustration. “Of course I would still heal you! Even if you hadn’t saved my life!”

“Then, I owe you mora for your products and services,” he insisted, “quite a bit of it from what I gather.”

“You owe me nothing,” you stubbornly disagreed, “besides you said we would be saving this discussion for another day.”

“You entering the domain and providing support was more than enough repayment for a debt you do not owe, yet insist upon.”

“You still had to help me out while in the domain unfortunately,” you were quick with your responses, “ and you saved my life three times, so I have only cleared one count-”

“Adelinde is the one who sheltered you from the rain-”

“In your manor-”

“Winery,” he corrected, “and I would never deny Adelinde anything, she deserves all the credit for that.”

Your mouth snapped shut with how final his argument was. Now for the last count, or rather first count, “I have no recollection of the ‘first time’ you claim I saved your life.”

“You killed an Abyss Mage - Cryo Abyss Mage,” you informed him quickly, pointing off to the side, “not far outside that exit.”

“Exterminating Abyss Mages near Mondstadt is done more in service of Mondstadt than for you ,” that sounded harsher than he’d intended, “that is to say I would have exterminated it either way and you don’t need to feel indebted.”

“Lastly,” he paused for a moment, “you provided a distraction that aided me, and provided intel that aided my interrogation, for that third count, so you’ve no debt to repay,” his lips quirked up slightly, “if anything I’m indebted to you .”

Checkmate.

Your face scrunched up in a way that clearly said: preposterous! He could sense you working to rapidly spin together a counter argument to all he’d presented to you. He had to end this cycle, swiftly.

“How about we agree that all debts are settled between us, and stand as equals?” He proposed.

“I couldn’t possibly-”

“I will abandon the thought that I am indebted to you,” he cut you off, “if you will abandon the thought that you are indebted to me.”

Your brow furrowed as you struggled with that notion. So he decided to help sway you in his favor, “I promise you, you owe me no debts.”

“Then…then if I agree, would you be more willing to solicit my services?”

“Only if you agree to let me pay for them, as a customer of these services,” he answered, standing to offer you his hand.

You stared at him for a moment, before getting to your feet with a huff.

“Very well,” you shook his hand, sealing your agreement.

“Now by that token-”

“Oh no,” you cut him off, withdrawing from the handshake to point at him in warning, “we are starting from zero. That was the agreement.”

“Very well,” well he wasn’t the only person who could get his money to you, “please stop by the winery, I believe I have something that may be of interest to you there.”

“Sure,” you didn’t sound very convincing.

“You’re planning on running from me again aren’t you?”

“Hey!” It was nice to see you were less nervous, with how your responses were. “I-I stopped when you asked me why I was running, didn’t I?”

“Yes, that you did,” he gestured at your plate, “would you like to continue our meal?”

You looked down, before taking a seat, “I think that would be a good idea.”

He returned to his seat as well. Things were silent as you continued to eat. Meanwhile he called Patton over, quietly requesting a couple of glasses and a bottle of grape juice.

“Oh!” You looked up at him. “Master Diluc, um, I promised I wouldn’t say a thing about your identity, but Sir Kaeya seems to think I’m a malicious spy from another nation,” you seemed to struggle with your words, “how can I - may I…?”

“How should you clear things up so Kaeya won’t continue to be suspicious of you?” He articulated for you.

“Ah yes,” you nodded at him.

“Leave Kaeya to me,” the vigilante weaved his fingers together, “I’ll make it so he doesn’t bother you again.”

A moment of silence passed. Drunkards could be heard from within the tavern.

“That sounds mighty ominous Master Diluc,” you commented.

His lip quirked upward at that remark, “Kaeya is bored and in need of entertainment,” he made eye contact with you, “unfortunately, your penchant for running into Abyss Mages, and manner of being, seem to amuse him.”

“What makes you think that?” Your brow pinched.

“The manner in which he informed me of your letters,” he paused to receive the glasses and bottle of grape juice from a waiter, then waited until he’d walked out of earshot, “while your use of a cipher was suspicious, it was clear he was less suspicious and more curious, and mostly because he suspected you followed me in.”

Another shiver racked your body. Ah yes -

“I think you ought to declare your vision,” he advised, pouring some grape juice and offering it to you, “keeping it hidden will only increase suspicions surrounding you.”

“Miss Lisa knows about it, and she’s technically a Knight of Favonius or with the knights” you answered, accepting the glass, “does that count?”

“Does she also know why you want to keep it hidden?” He glanced at you momentarily while filling another glass.

“Vaguely?” You worked to poke a piece of meat and cheese at the same time. “No… I mean yes , she knows. I remember, she figured out about-learned about my discomfort around Kaeya and told me she wouldn’t tell him about it.”

“Either way, make sure Jean knows about it,” he took a sip out of his glass.

“But she’s always so busy, I’d rather not bother her for something so trivial,” you picked up your own glass, taking a tentative sip.

Seems the juice was to your liking if your expression was any indication.

“This is for the sake of your safety, and you’d be saving her a lot of work in the future should you get tangled in messy matters again,” he informed you, “actually it might be better if you have Lisa inform her on your behalf. Given what you’ve told me about her, she’d report things in a way that’s favorable for you.”

“I’ll make sure to let Master Jean know in some way then,” you smiled at him, “thank you. I appreciate it.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“Also thank you for the juice! It’s delightful!”

“I am glad it’s to your liking.”

Silence fell upon the two of you again as you continued eating. Refilling his glass, the former knight remembered something.

After calling for your attention, Diluc asked you about something he’d been curious about, “did you sell soap to a group of Fatui while you were away?”

“Fatui?” Your expression fell into something pensive. “Ah! Those men that wear colorful clothing with a flower looking pattern on them?”

“Yes.”

“I did,” you nodded, “they were the last soaps from an experimental batch,” you explained, “I felt bad taking their money, but they insisted on it, particularly the guy in a red coat.”

Ah, that was the Fatuus he’d interrogated if memory served, “did they do anything to you?”

“Not really?” You shook your head. “They questioned me a bit. They thought I was a witch or something. Aside from that one guy I mentioned before, the rest seemed...unfriendly.”

“Yes, Fatui are generally ‘unfriendly’, to put it mildly,” Diluc nodded, folding his arms across his chest, “they’re an organization that uses oppressive methods to force countries to do business in a manner that’s favorable for them.”

”Really?” Seems you hadn’t heard of the Fatui as you regarded him more with curiosity than conviction.

You didn’t look like you were completely convinced by what he was saying, but you didn’t verbally oppose him either.

“Well anyway,” you poked at a piece of potato, “I packed myself up, and the moment my new soaps had set, I was off.”

“A wise decision,” Diluc nodded in approval, taking a small sip of his juice.

“Yes, well, having a group of strange men in the wild know my location isn’t exactly safe, wouldn’t you agree?” You smiled sardonically.

“I would.”

“I’m curious as to how you know about this though?” You asked him.

“The adventurer you sent your letter with was rather loud about Fatui being near your location,” he placed his glass down on the table, “so I dealt with them and discovered some of your soap at their camp.”

You looked mildly discomforted, clearly having an idea of what he’d meant when he’d said he’d “dealt with them.”

“The Fatui pulled some underhanded moves in an attempt to place Mondstadt in their debt.”

Your face fell as you considered that.

“Once indebted to them-”

“They could use that as leverage in future negotiations,” you finished quietly, your gaze downcast

“Precisely,” your knowledge was turning out to be broader than he’d expected, “do you have experience with negotiation?”

“Pardon?” You seemed startled by the new question.

“I’m wondering if you have experience negotiating,” he repeated. Now that he thought about it, you had negotiated that one adventurer down, according to him.

“Why do you ask?”

“You seemed familiar with the leverage tactic.”

“Yes, well, it’s a rather common tactic used by many people in many situations, isn’t it?” You leaned back in your seat, gesturing into the air, “the whole ‘you scratch my back, I scratch yours,’ only perverted into a: ‘I’ve scratched your back, now you owe me a back scratching too.’”

“It almost sounds like you’ve been on the receiving end of this,” Diluc mused, “is this where your obsession with repaying debts comes from?”

You paused, as though frozen by an enemy attack, blankly staring at him. When you finally blinked again, you seemed to shake off your trance with a shake of your head.

“Maybe, I think it does influence it partially,” you nodded, “but I also simply hate being indebted. Or only taking and not giving back.”

“Understandable,” Diluc weaved his fingers into each other before him.

A silence passed over the two of you, long enough and empty enough that the vigilante wondered if that would be all for the night. Until you poked a potato with your fork and looked his way again.

“I assume the Fatui plot was foiled by Mondstandt’s most vigilant Dark Knight?” You asked.

“It was a collective effort,” the corner of his lips quirked up at the memory.

“I’m glad you all managed to avoid being indebted to the uh…Fatui?” Your smile fell into a frown.

“I advise you avoid them,” he made eye contact with you, “they can be quick to resort to violence. You were lucky this time.”

“Noted,” you nodded, finally eating that potato you’d poked earlier.

You continued to eat for a little longer, but it was clear you were going to save the rest for another day. You were quick to pack yourself up. Upon finishing your glass of juice you smiled at him, without all the nerves this time, “thank you very much for the meal and everything else Master Diluc,” you took a deep breath, “I feel much better thanks to you.”

“Thank you as well,” he returned your smile with a polite one of his own, “for your efforts in keeping my identity a secret.”

“Like I said,” you met his eyes again, “I promised you.”

You pulled your hood over your head and cast him one last look, “good night Master Diluc, and thank you again.”

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