#my fingertips are calloused from the illness

[clockwayswrites]

Me: Low! It is a miracle! My words have returned to me! They flow from my now calloused fingers once more! Also Me: *on day 9 of a 7-10 day active, viral illness and finally healing*

[taintedcigs]

⋅ ˚ ₊ ‧ ୨ ୧ ‧ ₊ ˚ ⋅ 𝐔𝐍𝐖𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐃.

summary: in which you show your best friend the new christmas lingerie you bought for a guy, and he finally snaps and shows you how much better he is for you. (wc:2.8k+)

warnings: smut smut smut, minors DNI, p in v, unprotected (wrap it up irl), possessive!eddie, slight breeding kink, degrading, praises, kinda dom!eddie, but v soft dom/sub tones, kind of a daddy kink (its used like 2 times i can never properly do daddy kinks im stupid) no use of ‘y/n’, nicknames!

pairing: best friend!eddie munson x bratty!fem!reader

authors note: so i was just looking for christmas lingeries, and saw those bow ones that wrap around your body. and i was listening to sabrina carpenter's fruitcake ep and this was made oops. not proof-read ignore any mistakes pls or ill bite u. [EDIT: sorry for posting this a million times tumblr won't co-operate w me so i got rid of the dividers. i hope it works or im gonna bang my head against the wall.]

“Do you think Chris will like it?” You hummed, admiring yourself against the mirror, moving around with a giggle as anticipation pooled in Eddie’s tummy, his breath getting more ragged, and pants getting tighter around his relentless bulge. 

Speechless. 

Eddie stood speechless, gaze darkening the more he admired you, he didn’t even know which part of you he wanted to take a mental image of. 

It was like you stepped from his filthiest fantasies, giggling up at him with that alluring smirk on your face. God, you had to know what you were doing to him. 

The red bowknot wrapped around you perfectly, cradling your curves, tantalizing him further and further. You were his precious Christmas gift, just waiting to be unwrapped by him, and him only. 

Not that stupid jock who probably couldn’t even make you cum no matter how hard he tried. 

No, you needed him, you needed Eddie to unwrap you, and show you how to properly be punished for even suggesting if this was good enough for you to surprise your boy toy with. 

“N-no!” He spat quickly, getting up from the comfortable way he was sprawled on your bed.

Your head cocked to face him. “W-what? Do you not like it?” You jutted out your bottom lip, and he so badly wanted to bite those plushy lips, shut you up, and show you who fucking owned you. 

You had been teasing him non-stop lately, and this had been your last resort, you knew Eddie always fell for your jealous antics, but this had been too much, you knew this would finally push him off the edge, finally handle you the way you wanted to be handled, rough and possessive. 

Neither of you were good at communicating your feelings, but this, this is what you were good at. And you had been wanting Eddie ever since the two of you became best friends. 

There was something unspoken there, a line the two of you always wanted to cross, always handsy with each other, always too close, but never stepping over that boundary. And you were growing tired of it, the nights you spent with your fingertips circling over your clit, imagining his calloused hands, mewling for him. 

And the nights, the mornings, the showers he spent, abusing his hardened cock with the images of you sprawled out for him, begging to fuck him had been torturous enough.

He deserved this, he deserved you.  

This was it, and Eddie was willing to fuck over the friendship once and for all. To finally make you his. 

“N-no, I like- love it.” He stammered, taking a step closer to you, “but there’s no fuckin’ way he gets you like this.” 

You wanted to smirk, the excitement you felt in your tummy was unexplainable, heat pooling with a need for him as you wanted nothing more than to have him push you against the sturdy beige wall of your room, exploring you, marking you as his. 

“That inexperienced asshole, doesn’t deserve you,” he spat, pushing his body closer to yours, merely inches away from you, and you nodded dumbly at his words. 

“You need someone who can take better care of you, princess. That can handle you like you deserve to be handled, don’t you think?” He coos, hand dipping to the lacey bow that adorned your curves, everywhere he touches feels hot, so hot that you almost whine, just at the sensation of his rough hands. 

“Do you think he knows you better than me, angel?” He tsks mockingly and you’re quick to shake your head. 

“That’s what I thought too, baby…” He hums, running his fingertips over the soft fabric that barely covers your slit, “Do you think he can handle a brat like you? D’you think he can actually put you in your place like I would?”

His fingers now dance over the wrapped bow, teasingly, wanting nothing more than to unwrap it and see you fully, naked, and begging for him. 

Your thighs rubbed together with need, “Honey,” he hummed dangerously close to your ear, breath fanning against your cheeks, and you melted into him, “if I unwrap you, am I going to find you soaking for me?” He pressed open-mouthed kisses down the shell of your ear, tongue striping a lick down to your throat. 

The anticipation is killing you and you want to answer him, but his slight touches on your body are making it impossible, he’s fucking perfect, and could probably make you cum undone with just his words. 

You whimper slightly, glossy bottom lips still jutting at him and he tsks, “Nuh-uh… baby, I thought I told you not to be a brat.”

“Use your words, sweets.”

“Yes,” You breathed, barely, eyes opening wide to see the way his amber gaze darkened. 

“Yes, what?” He taunted, grip on your body getting tighter. 

“Y-yes, sir,” you gulped, gauging Eddie’s reaction obediently. 

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he smirks under his greedy moan, quick to let his hands roam around everywhere, fingertips slipping underneath the fragile fabric barely covering your slit, he groans when he realizes just how wet you are. 

“Is that all for me, baby?” He hums into your mouth, swirling your slickness inside of your clit, grinning while having no mercy on your lips, all biting and nibbling. 

You’re quick to nod, breathless when he’s basically everywhere, and it isn’t long before he frustratingly unties the stupid bow getting in the way of him and you. 

With a growl he almost rips it apart, tossing it aside, and his eyes widen at the sight in front of him. 

“F-fuck, princess, you’re so fuckin’ perfect,” he moans needily, eyes taking in the sight of you, naked, pooling for him. Perfect tits, waiting to be sucked by him, bare ass waiting to be marked up by him, crimson red handprints would look perfect on it, he decides. 

He presses his plushy lips onto yours, desperate and sucking on your tongue, while his finger slides inside of your tight cunt, other grabbing onto your breasts, and you can do nothing more than mewl for him. 

Then his finger retracts from your sloppy walls, you whine at the loss and he’s quick to shove his fingers down your throat, you happily accept it, sucking greedily on his fingers, tasting yourself on his fingers, it’s all so filthy and you throb more and more for him. 

His darkened amber gaze is on you, almost groaning at the way you suck on his fingers, wishing he could fuck your greedy throat with his aching cock. But not now, because fuck, he needs to be inside of you. 

With a growl he wastes no time picking you up, tossing you against the bed with a soft plop, and you giggle when he settles beneath your thighs, enjoying how rough and attentive he is.

His grabby hands are everywhere, hips rolling into you, but he’s far too clothed, yet you can still feel his bulge pressing against your thigh, making your sloppy cunt clench around nothing. You’re desperate, and he feels big, so big that your mouth waters at the thought of him not fitting into your mouth, his cock stretching you out, fully.  

You tug at his pants, almost signaling for him to take them off, so that he could finally be inside of you. He taunts your desperate attempt with a breathy laugh, “Patience, doll,” he tuts, voice low and gravelly, making you hum sweetly. 

He wets his lip before his lips attack you again, hands giving more attention to your breasts, pinching your nipples to earn more whines out of your pouted lips, wasting no time to dive down into your aching cunt, leaving a trail of sloppy kisses all over your breasts, your stomach, and your dripping inner thighs, doing it all with a grin while he watches you shudder beneath him. 

He takes his time admiring your pussy, padded thumb slightly playing with your clit as he watches your eyes squeeze shut at his movements, he groans at your lips glistening with arousal. Perfect, just fucking perfect. And he doesn’t know how much longer he can handle not being inside of you. 

His cock is strained against his zipper, and it hurts, just the thought of your velvety walls engulfing him is enough to have him explode in his pants. He needs you. 

“Such a perfect fuckin’ pussy,” he growls, head dipping between your shaking thighs, inhaling and tasting you once he places open-mouthed kisses on your pussy lips, and your clit, giving you all the attention you need. 

“Tastes so fuckin’ sweet, too,” he hums into your walls, lapping up at your juices like a man-starved, and you’re too far gone to register anything, nodding dumbly and trashing beneath him. 

“Need you to sit on my face after we’re done, baby,” he purred. “But I need to fuck you now, doll, need to feel this tight cunt wrapped around my cock, yea?” He pulls back slightly, and you pout at the sudden loss of contact, it makes him grin, knowing how desperate you are for him. 

Frustrated, and restrained, he unbuckles his belt quickly, even quicker to take off his boxers, with a hiss, his cock slaps against his stomach, your eyes widening with it. 

No wonder you felt his bulge against your ass every time he passed by you, his cock slightly brushing against your ass, making you whimper quietly. No wonder you always felt the need to rub your thighs together when he wore those slutty grey sweatpants, he was packing. 

Slightly curved to the left, thick, and deliciously beading with pre-cum, his angry crimson red tip faced your inner thighs, you nearly whined at the sight. “S-so big,” you murmured, doe-eyes looking up at him with so much promise. 

“I’m going to treat you the way you deserve to be treated,” he grins up at you. “Gonna ruin you for everyone else, sweetheart.” You whine at that, his possessiveness slicking your thighs further as if that was even possible. 

“P-please,” you looked up at him, desperate. 

He tugs at his cock at your mewls, teeth drawing on his bottom lip at you. All sprawled out for him, legs spread apart, glistening pussy greedily waiting for his cock. 

He reaches for the condom but you’re quick to stop him. “No, no. ‘M on the pill,” you murmured. He nearly groans at your words. The thought of fucking you raw, feeling your walls hug him sweetly shoots pleasure through his entire body. 

“P-please, sir, wanna feel you,” you cry out, nearly wailing, glossy eyes looking down at him, pleading. 

And who’s he to deny you? 

“Want to feel you inside, fully, been waitin’ for this so long, Eds.” He groans at that, his cock aching, wanting to spill his load inside of you. 

“Already, beggin’ honey?” A teasing throaty chuckle escapes his lips, he’s more than amused, letting just the tip of his fat cock tease over your entrance, pre-cum smearing all over your throbbing clit.

“Mhmm,” you unashamedly moan. “I need you, been spendin’ too much time, touching myself to the thought of you, your cock… Need you to stretch me, ruin me, wanna be yours so badly,” you whined, voice cracking as you desperately thrashed beneath him, his teasing making you pathetic and dumb. 

That’s all he needed to hear before he slammed inside of you with a rough thrust, he couldn’t help himself, knowing that he could’ve had you all this time, made you his, and you were fucking touching yourself to the thought of him? 

He was about to lose it, and you were quick to cry out at his size, your tight walls trying to accommodate his fat cock, feeling him stretching you fully. 

“F-fuck!” He gritted through his teeth, holding onto your hips with a bruising hold. Your whines and your pussy clamping around his cock was enough to send him into a frenzy, wanting nothing more than to fill you up. 

“Eds, t-too much,” you wail out, glossy eyes looking up at him. 

“Ssshh, I know, baby, I know,” he coos condescendingly, making you whine more. “But you can handle it, can’t you, princess?” He bit on your bottom lip with a grin, “Look how well this greedy cunt is pullin’ me in,” he thrusts further into you with a groan. 

You cry out at the intrusion, welcoming the way the slight pain turns fully into pleasure, his cock driving into you with such force that you can almost feel him everywhere. “See? Such a good girl f’me, mmpf, just like that, honey,” he praises, flutters fill your stomach and heat rushes to your cheeks. 

He’s so perfect and you’re so proud to be his good girl. His padded thumb is quick to find its way to your clit, circling it gently to elicit more pretty whines from you. “This is mine, now.”

With a groan, “you’re all mine.” He continues to gloriously pump into you, enjoying the way you look so fucked out, his fingertips rubbing against your clit, you feel so full, so fucking full. Eyes lulling the more his cock dives deeper into you. 

“All yours, daddy,” you breathe, not realizing what you just said, it makes Eddie hiss loudly as his movements pick up, eyes rolling to the back of his head with a delicious growl spilling from his lips. 

You’re going to be the fucking death of him. 

“P-princess, fuck, Jesus fuckin’, you can’t just say shit like that to me,” He spills out through gritted teeth, enjoying the way you move your hips against him, desperate for more friction. 

“Look at you, shit,” Eddie groaned, pressing his thumb into your clit with more pressure, circling it with a grin, cock hitting that spongey spot deliciously while your back arched in pleasure. 

Babbles, and incoherent pleas left your lips, and Eddie grinned at the way you looked so cockdrunk on him, clenching around his cock, letting him know that you were getting closer. 

“Such a whore for me, aren’t ya?” He mocked, rough hands squeezing your cheeks as he made you look at him, “Love the way you go so dumb on me, pretty girl, not a single thought in that lil’ head of yours, only my cock, isn’t that right?” 

Your breathing picks up at his words, orgasm pooling in your tummy, you know you’re about to lose it soon, “Daddy, please,” you whimpered, not even knowing what you were begging for, it was all too much, his filthy words, his thumb on your clit, the way he was deep inside of your walls, hitting spots you didn’t know that existed. 

He growls at that, sinking further into you, “I know, baby,” he murmurs into your heated skin, reveling in the way you claw at his back, freshly manicured nails marking him. “You wanna cum, pretty girl? Go ahead, and cream my cock like the good girl you are, hmm?” His hold on your hips was rough, his other hand still circling your swollen clit, hips smacking against yours with such force that you were sure you were entirely gone now. 

“Come with me, Daddy,” Is what you managed to slip past your lips before you couldn’t handle it anymore, head falling back, mouth forming into a perfect ‘o’ shape, you felt that tight coil snap in your tummy, making your vision blurry as you sobbed beneath him. 

Your pussy squeezed and gripped his cock deliciously and with one more of his hips rutting into you, your orgasm was quick to trigger his. “Shit, gon- gonna fuck my load into you, angel.” He growled through gritted teeth, thrusts becoming shallow. 

“Gonna fill you with so much cum that y-you won’t get it outta you for days, f-fuck!”

“Feel s-so fuckin, good, baby, shit, shit, shit!” He grunted, and finally spilled his load inside of you with a loud groan, painting your overstimulated walls, cock twitching inside of you as his groans mixed with yours. 

Breathless, fucked out, and just a little sated, he was quick to slip out of you only when he made sure your pussy milked him dry and that every single drop was inside of you. 

Both of you struggled to come down from your highs, all those years of pent-up sexual frustration too much to even sate. 

“We’re nowhere near done,” Eddie hummed breathlessly, his head cocking toward you. 

With a smirk, you turned to him. “Oh, yeah?” You quirked a brow, excitement, and pleasure were quick to pool at your tummy. 

“Mmmhmm, still need to punish you for that whole Chris thing, princess. Even though it worked,” He gave you a hearty chuckle, “Don’t think you can tease me like that and get away with it, pretty girl.”

“And what did you have in mind?”

“Those Christmas lights you hung up on that tree,” He pointed toward the giant tree, decorated with lots of flashy lights. 

“I’ve heard they were a really good substitute for ropes, hmm? And the best form of punishment for bratty girls,” he grinned wickedly, attacking your lips again without giving you a chance to breathe. 

[loganlermanstanaccount]

Rigor Mortis (part 6)

College roommate!Miguel O'Hara x reader

(AO3 Mirror) (Wattpad) Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist,

Part 5, Part 7

summary: Everything unravels. You teach Miguel a lesson.

warnings: soooo much smut. mutual masturbation, grinding, slight femdom, Miguel is a submissive switch cuz I said so, m! masturbation. very very 18+ Minors DNI (ageless blogs will be blocked, thanks!)

a/n: yeah...so. ya.

Thank you to my beta readers, @tianyhi and @urgonnaneedabiggership (they also write Miguel fics, I highly recommend! my favourite is this series), I couldn't have done it without you guys <3

Join my taglists here

wc: 8k

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

in your half-hearted hubris,

Miguel is not a jealous man. Jealousy implies something he thought was shed long ago: a second skin of something green-eyed and crooked. 

One minute, he's watching you kiss someone else. And when you sigh into it; imperceptibly, but he notices because he always sees these things about you; he's biting the inside of his cheek and drawing blood. The guy you danced with, and now your lips are on his. Is… Is that your type? Jun is slender and charming; a pretty boy, through and through . There's a hand on your thigh, he notices, milky white and willowy. It has Miguel looking at his own, rough and tan, the ghost of soft skin and pillowy thighs on his fingertips. The illicit foray of one night, one night with you , and he's second guessing himself. 

Insecure. 

His hands are rough and calloused. He picks at hangnails, the skin is raw from rubber gloves and mystery chemicals, and knuckles creaky because he cracks them too often. Is that what you like? The kind of thing you touch yourself to; his hands, pawing at flesh. Jun cups your chin, slender fingers pulling you closer, and your own come up to wrap around them. You seem desperate for it, panting and pretty lashes fluttering when you separate. 

And you look at Jun like… like he wants you to look at him. 

There's blood in his mouth when you finally do. He looks away, quick and furtive, like you've caught him doing something wrong. It's not right or wrong, he supposes, just tripping over a muddle of thoughts – still stuck on the image of your hand on Jun's.  

He was a late bloomer, awkwardly proportioned and too tall for his limbs. Clumsy, if you can believe it. He's always been a bit of a bull in a China shop; bulldozing and brutish and still growing into a body that pools at his ankles and is tight around his wrists. Like an ill-fitting suit; the kind he wore to Fernanda's quince, skirting the rental hall with a bottle of j2o. In and out of conversations, tripping and stuttering over words in stiff dress shoes and a waistcoat . Gabi took a lot of photos: peace signs and pointer finger looped into coat pockets.

Point is; he's not felt this way in years . Tongue-tied, hot and cold, heart-pounding. Jun decidedly isn't; able to talk to you like a normal person, making you smile and laugh. Curling fingers into the crest of a wide palm, he digs his nails into the flesh: producing a sting that makes it crystal clear. Oh. Oh. 

Fuck.  

One minute, he's nursing a warm beer and trying not to take a chunk out the inside of his mouth. The next, he's on the floor of Lyla's living room, blinking up at bright lights. 

There's soft hands all over him. Holding his own, cupping his cheek, moving his head this way and that as he tries to focus. He's looking at your pretty lips, pert and pressed into the lean line of a frown. There are… people talking over the other; strained and hushed in a quiet corner. 

He recognises Lyla's voice, distinctive despite the ringing in his ears. 

"A-All over a drink…. pushing past 'em, Jess…. he threw the first punch…"

~~~

The drive home is terse, air thick with something. Stewing, you've got your arms crossed and head turned to the windows. You're watching the streaky lights of the city zip past, lips pursed. Head on the glass, you're making a point not to turn back or utter a word to Miguel. 

"You picked a fight." You swipe a finger on the condensation, finally ready to talk. 

He shrugs limply. A beat passes. 

"....this is the part where you explain what happened, Miguel."

"I picked a fight."

"...that's it?" Your brows shoot up. "You just… there was no build up? Why? "

"Wanted to give 'em something to bond over in the morning." He deadpans, glancing over to the passenger seat. "Matching black eyes."

You shake your head slightly. "Don't believe you." 

You see something flash in his gaze, and then it's gone. He smooths over features, and that Miguel is back: lifeless and blank. Steadfast, he doesn't turn to look at you. 

"Okay." He says simply. 

"All that Ophelia shit from a couple of weeks ago, and you still won't –" It's under your breath as you clamp down anger. If Miguel hears, he doesn't indicate. "I just want to understand."

He purses his lips. "Nothing to understand. I'm an insecure piece of shit, and I picked a fight. I ruined Jess' birthday, and fucked it up for everyone else. I know. Can we… Can we speed this bit up? I'm exhausted. "

"No-one… I didn't say that." Your voice is hoarse. He's being mean. He's never been all that nice; sarcastic and smug, for sure, but never cruel. It feels spiteful. You're blinking away a hot tear before you can stop it. And then they become angry tears, ones that sting your cheeks on the way down. 

You're not good with fights. Never have been. And it's not even the confrontation that scares you, it's the apathy. Sifting through your guts and begging someone to care, when they don't. It's like screaming at a brick wall and expecting the mortar to shift; a pointless exercise in delusion. You'd grown sick of it with Jamie; the hand-waving and the what do you want me to do about it of it all. It's the one thing you've grown to like about Miguel, about all your little fights. He's rarely the bigger person, petty, and able to get down in the shit and stink with you; because, on some small level at least, he gives a fuck. He cares . 

You're embarrassed that you even thought he would be any different. Disappointed, but not with him: with yourself for getting caught up in all of this. 

You're sniffling, wiping up and flattening out of sheer spite; refusing to let him see how a stupid thing like this affects you. The tears well up in your eyes, hot and blurry and you're focusing on holding yourself together by the seams before you get home. 

You don't notice him pull into a side road and park the car. It rolls to a stop, and he's reaching over to the backseat; and pulling out a box of tissues. The box is floral and tissues scented; rosy and sweet in a way you wouldn't expect from him. 

When he nudges you with the box, apologetic, you're still not looking at him; not even flicking over to give him a dirty look. 

"Chula. " It rolls off his tongue so softly, but you jut your chin in the air. "Please. I'm sorry." 

You purse your lips. 

"I'm a dick."

"Yep." You manage. 

"I picked a fight. I'm an insecure piece of shit–" 

"No, no." You're turning back, quickly. "Stop saying that. Why are you saying that?" 

He shrugs again, and you flop into your seat. You notice, he's gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles are white. 

"Relax , Miguel." You wrap a hand around his, and watch him visibly melt. His gaze softens. "M'not trying to push, I'm sorry."

You take his hand off the wheel, inspecting the purple and blue that spreads across taught skin. His palm is rough, knuckles bony and bruised. 

"When we get home–" Home. You sigh, bringing it up to the little car lights. "I've got a first aid kit, somewhere. We need to clean this up, or it might get infec–" 

Looking up, you catch Miguel staring , stars in his eyes, and it… it knocks the breath out of your lungs. All of a sudden, you're flustered and letting go of his hand in a hurry. 

All he does is nod, starting the car. He runs a hand through his hair, pulling away with a palm on the flat of the wheel. In the light of street lamps, shadow cutting his cheekbones just so. He's beat up, he's tired, but even then; Miguel is so, so pretty. 

~~~

You end up in the bathroom, first aid kit splayed on the countertop. He insists on standing, despite a slight limp he tries to downplay, and so you're sitting on the faux marble with Miguel between your legs. Your dress rides up but you're too tired to care, ripping open gauze and tapping disinfectant on a little pad. At least he has the decency to be still and quiet, with his palms on the counter top and kissing bare thigh. 

Miguel is tall, still having to bend over when you pat the peak of a split lip; hand on his chin ever so gently. 

"Where'd you get all of this from?" He asks because your first aid kit is comprehensive : micropore, gauze and antiseptic with a name that sounds like sleeping pills. 

You're swatting him gently, trying to keep his jaw still. "My ex was a med student."

He smothers a smile, like he's trying not to laugh. 

"...what?"

"...is he the one that couldn't make you cum?"

You stop tending to his wounds, hand on his shoulder to steady yourself. Never have I ever faked an orgasm – the words start ringing in your head. You're not a blushing virgin, but his crass word choice makes you flush. 

"None of your business." 

He smirks. "So that's a yes. "

"I faked it once or twice , sue me. But… I mean, the sex wasn't bad. It was even good, sometimes."

"Sure." He cringes, and you bat his shoulder. 

"Don't want to hear it."

He hums, pressing a little closer to your front. 

"What was he like, then?" He seems nonchalant; but his tone is unusual, sending shivers down your spine. 

"He was… nice."

"Nice?"

"Yep." Four years, and that's the best you can come up with. It's all you can verbalise, at least. How does one describe the feeling of getting hit by a metaphorical train? One that leaves you on the tracks, thinking of picnic dates and IOUs and diner coffee? They'd describe it as poorly as you do, most likely. A moment passes. "I loved him, I think." 

You don't know why you said that, but the melancholy of the night starts to sink in. 

"Then why'd you break up?" 

You shrug. "Wasn't enough." 

He looks surprised, eyebrows drawn up momentarily, as if that's the last thing he thought you'd say. You strike him as a romantic; ditzy and dopey when you have feelings for someone, a love conquers all type of person. 

The mood sours, air heaving in that little bathroom. You finish up in silence, applying strips to a gash above his brow. It takes some time for him to speak, as if he's been building up the confidence. 

"Is that your type?" He asks, finally puncturing that pressure. 

You shake your head, a little confused. 

"Nice? Like that guy you were talking to."

"...Jun?" You hesitate, sensing something else behind his words. "I mean… I just wanted to get laid."

He doesn't really react, thumb grazing the silk of your slip dress. The skin his hand brushes past feels a little hotter. 

"He's pretty, though." You're careful not to make eye contact, getting to work cleaning the cuts on his knuckles. You smile to yourself. "And yeah, he's nice. More than nice, actually. "

Jun works with computers. Jun is good with his hands. And you really were going to fuck him. Until… until… 

…until Miguel got into a fight. After watching you kiss someone else. The gears turn in your head, creaky and lumbering because you haven't had to navigate a shitty pseudo-situationship in forever. You're wrapping up his hand with gauze, mouth moving quicker than you can think. 

"Are you jealous?" 

He splutters, flashing pearly whites in indignation. 

"No… No . You can fuck whoever you want." He says it too quickly. "I don't care."

He looks a mess; a gash above one eye, a nasty cut glancing the side of his lip, and knuckles bruised. Suspecting more hiding beneath his shirt, you look at him, gaze heavy. You're worried, even when you shouldn't be, even when he doesn't deserve it. 

"Oh my God." You're connecting dots, and your stomach churns with the realisation. "What the fuck ?" 

" M-not -" 

"Just because you don't want to fuck me– " 

"I never said I didn't want to–" 

"You didn't have to, you just refused to acknowledge how we almost did for two weeks. "

"Neither did you!" 

"I wanted to… after. And you said we couldn't, because I had a lecture." 

"You did have a lecture, and you were high! That doesn't mean anything… I need you to mean it when you say it."

"So you resort to sabotage? I was gonna get laid, you fucking asshole."

"You kissed him."

" So? "

"You didn't kiss me."

That one takes the wind out of your sails, and you're stammering with the amount of brainpower it takes to wrap your head around it. You slip off the counter, putting some space between you both. 

"...I have no idea what you're talking about."

"I'm not saying you can't kiss him… o-or you're not allowed to, or some crap. I just don't get it. I don't understand."

He's holding your hands in his,

"You just met the guy, and you kiss him on a stupid dare–"

" –he kissed me." You correct him, voice hoarse. 

"He kissed you . Cool. Whatever. You kissed him back.  But when I tried to kiss you, after… " He trails off. 

"I dodged one kiss . Maybe I wasn't feeling it."

"And that's fine. I respect that, and I respect you. But it wasn't just one kiss. It's all the time , around here. I say something, then you say something, and then… we have a moment. Time just stops. Can't you feel it? I-I feel like I'm going crazy."

You keep quiet, only the sound of your heart racing to punctuate thoughts. 

"Miguel… "

He gets even closer, pressing you against the counter, his bandaged hand migrating to your waist, and then the small of your back. Your knees are weak as you swallow roughly, with Miguel; strong, annoyingly handsome, perceptive Miguel; resting his forehead on yours. You come together, intimate, even allowing your eyes to flutter shut, waiting for the press of lips on yours. 

It never comes. Wrenching yourself away at the last minute, you're standing in the doorway; arms folded, because you don't know what to do with your limbs anymore. 

He doesn't look disappointed. Just deflated. 

"Do you want to fuck me?" He asks. Yes , you answer, but he can't hear it. 

"Do you want to kiss me?" Do you want me? Do you want me in a way no-one else can have me? 

This feels different. Not as simple as a yes or no.

Your face must say it all for you, because he sighs. "I just want to know why."

His behaviour has been erratic, to say the least. You've spent a good month and a half terrorising each other, before coming to an uneasy truce – and he fucked it up. All that talk like he knows you, that he sees you, and it all feels for naught. 

"After all the shit you've pulled… what gives you the right? I was so worried about you–" Your voice is barely above a whisper. " Fuck this. M'going to bed."

Slipping into the gloom of the hallway, and then into your room, leaving Miguel there. 

It's different, why can't he see that it's different? A one night stand, with Jun, with someone else; kissing a guy in a dare doesn't have consequences. You get off, you go home. Simple, clinical, no need for niceties. With Miguel, as you've come to realise, there are other things to navigate. Even when high, you knew ; with someone like him, it's too intimate – the possible consequences too dire. He's your roommate, for God's sake. 

You can hear him now, turning off the bathrooms lights and padding into his room. For once, there's nothing to be heard from behind the wall. The dim light spills in, warm yellow pooling around the door. Your window is open, moonlight and the city below to keep you company. 

And you want him to stew in that room, to punish him for all the shit he's put you through in the past week; hell, the past few months you've been here. But you can't. If you're sick of the mind games, you can't keep this game of chicken going – you're both careening towards the edge faster than you can say the words: Yes, Miguel; I want to sit on your face. If you could get rid of the attitude, that would be great, too .

So you're knocking on his door, still in your dress, tugging down its hem when he opens. He's in that shirt and slacks, bloodied front and all.

Deep breath. You straighten your back, and make sure you're heard, loud and clear. 

"I don't like it when you bring over girls to fuck them in your room. The walls are too thin, and I can't sleep because I hear everything. Everything, Miggy."

He's stony-faced, unreadable as ever. Still, you continue. 

"I don't like it when you look at me… like that, and then pretend it never happened. You're inconsistent, sarcastic, you freak out whenever there's a sock out of place and it drives me fucking crazy–" 

" I don't –"

"I'm not finished. You're a prick. You don't tell people you love them enough, when… when you do. You so clearly do. Lyla was worried when you took so long to get to Jess' – just give her a call, sometimes. Let people know what's going on."

His face is stuck somewhere between abject horror and plain old shock. For Miguel, that means his eyebrow is raised a half-inch higher than usual. 

"...you finished?" He strains. 

"One more.. ." Another breath. "...your poker face needs work. Because you look like you need a shit half the time."

His jaw shifts. You maintain eye contact; despite everything screaming that you should run with your tail between your legs. 

"I fucking hate you , Miguel."

"I know." He softens, running a hand through his hair. Leaning against the frame, he steps a little closer; and imperceptibly, you're both pulled by the gravity of the other. All of a sudden, your head is on his chest, blood-spattered cotton that smells like him, arms wrapped around his middle. Hesitant, he pulls you even closer, slotting into the crook of your neck as best he can. 

Wordlessly, you separate. You knit your eyebrows together, looking up at him. With your hand on his cheek, he leans into your touch. You graze a thumb on his lips, eyes fluttering at the broken skin: plump and messy and pretty. 

"Sit down." You say it so softly, he convinces himself he didn't hear it. 

You go again. "Sit down."

Your tone makes him flush, and then he's sitting on the edge of the bed. He leans back, you step forward; legs brushing his knees splayed atop the sheets. 

"Do you want me?"

He's nodding before he even hears the end of the sentence, eyes locked onto yours. 

You shrug. 

"Prove it. "

And it goes straight to his cock: the way you say it, blasé and casual, like you haven't put words to the way he's been feeling for weeks. Usually, he'd start to spiral, endlessly loop around what you mean. Want , strong and heady; and to him that means a hungering that leaves his throat dry and innards bare. 

Do you want me? Do you want me in a way no-one else can have me? 

And yet, he doesn't quite know the answer. Instead, he shows you; hoping and praying  he hasn't read this wrong. 

Barely breathing, studying your every move, he takes your other hand. You hinge slightly at the hip, coming closer, eyes still locked onto his and he places your little palm onto his crotch. It spans his whole length, quickly hardening. When you don't react, he panics, trying to move your hand away… 

…and then you squeeze . 

Miguel keens, bucking into the pressure you apply with the heel of your palm. He starts a slow roll of hips, other hand wrapped around yours on his cheek; melting into it, in a way that brings heat to that sweet spot between your legs. And then he stutters to a stop, lips parted and panting. 

"Why'd you stop?" 

"G-Got carried away. Sorry ." 

His brows are knitted, shoulders hunched, and when you slide your hand down to the corded muscles of his neck, he tenses. He always seems so stressed, but you've never seen him like this: desperate and falling apart at the seams. 

"You're okay, Miguel. Relax. " 

You shift your wrist, rolling around that growing tent in your palm. He hisses, palms flat by his side and head thrown back. With a little smile, you watch his shoulders melt, satisfied. 

"Does it feel good?" 

"Y-Yes." He groans. Despite your quickening pace, he seems to clamp down instinct; biting his cheek to muffle wanton moans. 

"How about you get more comfortable for me?" 

At first he doesn't understand, grumbling when you take your hand away from his clothed cock. Pulling him upwards, you make a start with his buttons, helping slide the fabric off of his shoulders. He slips his slacks off, and then he's left in black boxers; it's band hanging dangerously low. 

They're tented, sporting a wet patch of precum around the fat tip of his dick. And he is large, its outline clear under the thin fabric. 

You wrap a hand around his waist, other hand tracing up to his chest. 

"What about you, chula? " 

You look up. Miguel looks down at you, eyes low, large hand splayed between your shoulder blades. 

"You don't like what I'm wearing?" Doe eyed, you don't really expect him to take you seriously. 

"N-No, no. " He's stuttering, now. "You look beautiful. Always do. I just… I want to see more ."

You click your tongue with faux disapproval. "Don't be selfish, baby. You wanted my attention, right?" 

He nods, with the self-awareness to be  hesitant at your tone. 

"Then," You start, slipping a hand into his boxers. You wrap a dainty hand around his length; thick and slanted and weeping at the tip. "Learn to be grateful."

"Ayy-" He wraps around you, head bowed to dip into your shoulder. 

You pump his cock, other hand around his neck; eyes sparkling as you force him to look to his side, at you. 

"F-Fuck–" He's breathing heavily, mouth open into a pretty little O , and you clamp a hand down to his jaw. 

"What do you want?" 

"R-Rapido, mas rapido por favor -" 

[Faster, faster, please-] 

Surprisingly vocal, he loses it as you press your thumb onto his slit; flushed and pouring with precum. You rub his wetness along the length of his shaft, squeezing and turning your wrist as you get to his tip. He likes that; hips bucking to fuck into the ring you make with your hand. 

You want to savour this moment: Miguel stripped down to his boxers, beautifully tanned skin pressed up against yours. And of course, that look on his face; a lusty haze, even stronger than the one you were under when high, all those nights ago. 

His lashes flutter, and you watch as his core tenses; watching and waiting for just the right moment to… stop. 

You pull away, and he chases it, bucking into thin air. You're pushing him back onto the bed, with a hand to his chest. Eyes blown , he leans back onto his forearms; unable to tear himself away. There's a certain glow about you, a glint in your eye, one that takes his breath away. Something smug , a little smile as you drag a black thong down your pretty thighs. It's long forgotten when you chuck it onto the bed; Miguel still can't get over the sight of legs and a flash of your cunt, committing it to memory. 

Sidling up to his chest, you kick a leg over and seat yourself onto his lap. Flush against the fabric, you settle onto your knees. The look in Miguel's eyes almost bowls you over; stunning and windswept, as he runs a hand over your thigh. Eyes wide at the way the fabric pools around your body: the swell of tits cupped by silk, how good it looks against your skin. 

He's staring at where you meet, that spot between your thighs when it happens; when you guide his hand to the apex of your pussy. His thumb slots against your clit like it belongs there, rough pads applying just the right amount of pressure.

"Oh f-fuuuck," You sigh into it, pressing your tits to his chest in a way that makes him hump into the pocket left by your body and the smooth fabric of your dress. 

Even in his haze, Miguel is hyperfocused on your pleasure, obsessed with the noises he can pull from you. With a big hand on your waist, he pulls you closer to slot you against his front. It's your turn to moan, the prettiest thing he thinks he's ever heard, slipping his cock between your lower lips with a swirling intensity. 

You're drunk with the pleasure, hands on his shoulders to angle him towards your clit. He thinks you look like an angel, head tilted back to expose the expanse of your neck. Bringing his teeth to that slight vein, he's a killer; sucking rough hickeys to the skin. 

"M'close, fuck –" 

"Damelo, hermosa, " He places two palms at the globes of your ass, squeezing and pressing into you even closer. 

[Give it to me, beautiful.]

"Miguel…shit–b-baby, think I'm–" 

You cum, gushing and clamping down around nothing. Miguel is more interested in the way you transform ; fine lines and deep furrows of your face softening, the pure bliss written into the gentle arch of your body. He did that. It makes his chest warm, it makes his cock swell; and with the feeling of slipping through your pretty folds, he gets so, so close to that biting edge. 

You stop, slipping off of his lap and he whines at the loss of you. Tugging down your dress, you make your way out of the room and he's reeling , clutching at your arm so you don't leave. 

"Chula ," He's babbling, tucked back into his boxers, but on his knees for you. "I'm sorry, please. Do you want me to beg? Because I will , baby, I w–" 

Helping him up, you give him a little smile that he's too pussy-drunk to realise its true nature. Dangerous, you cup his face with both hands, brows pressed together and large, sparkling eyes. Not quite sympathy, but it's enough to make him think you'll wrap a hand around his cock out of pity, press those pretty tits against him and–

On your tiptoes, you give him a chaste kiss between his brows. You flash him a stunning smile, bottom lip hooked under your teeth. 

"Goodnight , Miguel." 

And then you're out the door, down the little hallway and into your bedroom. Miguel runs a shaky hand through his hair, unsure whether to laugh or cry. And he knows, still rock hard, body burning with the memory of you: he's fucked. 

~~~

When morning comes, Miguel wrenches open his eyes, bloodshot and sore. He feels like shit , barely able to sit up without feeling like his chest will collapse. 

It feels like he was ran over in a headfirst collision; and he was, essentially, wincing at the memory of that fight. He can feel strike one and two; between his ribs, to the side of his navel; but the real knockout punch was you – a deadly, calculated assault that he almost hates you for. 

Almost. 

He came harder than he has in months last night; bent over his cock, pumping shakily. It had only taken a couple of rough tugs until he spilled all over himself; embarrassingly quick. He lasted longer the second time, unable to help himself.

In his defence, the black thong you had slipped off was right there ; rumpled amongst the sheets. He had pressed it to his nose and then wrapped them around his shaft; eyes closed as he imagined being buried in your plush pussy. All his fantasies; quickies in the shower spent jerking off to the thought of you, where he'd hold onto the feeling of brushing past you in the kitchen, or little touches on the couch. You've surpassed them, well and truly. 

Now, he stumbles into the shower, stripping on the tiles. Inspecting himself in the mirror, he pokes at flesh; purple bruises stretching over brown and tan muscle. Turning around and craning his head, he follows them all the way to his back and then… oh. He can see them: scratchy-sharp lines, spanning the width of his shoulder blades. You did that, he thinks. 

Fuck . He's hard again, sighing heavily as he clambers into the shower. It sputters to life, ice cold, but he grits his teeth and takes it , trying to free his mind of cotton and cobwebs. As the water warms up, he presses both hands flat on the tile, head down and eyes closed. The water washes over him, down his back, and like a flash of lightning he's imagining you pressed up against him, bent in half over his cock. He'd press a thumb to your clit, slamming into your ass; fucking you hard, like you deserve. You'd like that , he thinks, from what he's heard of you in your room, the filth that spills from your mouth and to his side of the wall. 

"Miguel?" It's a little muffled over the shower, but you get closer to the door. 

"Yes?" He shouts over the rush of water. He shouldn't . He really shouldn't. 

"You've got a call!" 

He hums. With the way you say his name he caves, making a tight ring around his length. 

"It's Lyla, and-" Something clatters. " Fuck , sorry."

Your voice is breathy, little groans as you pick up whatever's dropped to the floor. Miguel feels like a perv, turning the water pressure down to listen to your voice properly. All the while, he keeps a steady pace on his cock. 

"Should I just let it ring? Keep it going?" 

Keep going is what he hears, and then he  speeds up, wondering what it would be like to have your thighs shake underneath him. What would it would it take to have you babbling and begging for more? How would he break you? Maybe on his cock, where he'd watch you squirm as you take his length.

"Miguel?" 

Or maybe you'd be on your knees, choking around him and licking up his cum. Or, God , thighs wrapped around his head, riding out your high with his mouth sealed on your clit, crying for him slow down, for him to-

H-Harder, please–

That's how you would ask him, clawing at his back, and he'd capture those pleas in a searing kiss.

"–Miguel!" 

He releases, sudden and intense, spilling white ropes onto the tiles. He fucks his fist through it, overstimulated from the way you say his name. It feels like the only way it should be said; spilling from your mouth, haphazard and desperate. Like honey, like treacle; sweet things he didn't know he had the capacity for. He lets that feeling wash over him, panting, bringing his forehead to rest on cool tile. 

"Just take a message," He strains, panting as you say something in response. He doesn't quite catch it, of course, too busy reeling from the aftershock. 

The shower croaks and gurgles, spluttering to a stop. He listens as your footsteps recede beyond the door, moving away. 

Shit. It's going to be a long day. 

~~~

You sleep like a baby. Lulled into blissful sleep, after practically floating into bed. That orgasm does wonders; and you sleep better than you have in months. You dream of cotton candy clouds, flowing green grass, and tanned, muscled men on their knees; in the kind of sleep that wraps around you like a blanket. 

Surprisingly fresh in the morning, you wake up before Miguel does. You're milling about the hallway when he barrels into the bathroom, and on the couch when he leaves. 

"Mig?" You poke your head towards the door, and he almost jumps half a foot into the air. 

Eyes wide, and he can barely manage a weak smile. 

"Lyla called."

"Yeah, you…" He sighs, clutching the towel slung around his waist a little tighter. "You mentioned it."

In the light of the morning, you're able to assess him a lot better. To put it plainly, he looks rough ; blinking at you oddly, shifting when you come closer. You don't touch him, Miguel seems much too antsy for that, but you get closer to inspect the bruises that bloom across his side. It looks even worse than yesterday, purple and blue across taut muscle. You reach for it and he flinches, so you pull away. 

"...you okay?" 

" Yep. " He grits it through a plasticky smile; and the fact that it reaches his eyes is a red flag in of itself for the usual grump. 

The side-eye you respond with isn't quite enough to chip at it, so he continues.

"M'just fine."

" O–kay . Lyla said something about a debrief , earlier." 

"At the usual place?" 

"...uhhh. She said at HQ? In about an hour."

"Okay… okay. Nonono, that's fine… okay." He's muttering to himself and about to turn around when something catches his eye. Your lips; pretty gloss and freshly done. In fact, you're fully dressed to go out; in a display that has him confused. 

You answer the question he posits with a slightly raised eyebrow. 

"She invited me, Mig." 

His eyebrows shoot up. "Of c.. of course she did." 

Distracted and haphazard, Miguel gets dressed; squeezing into the car with a flask of coffee to-go. It scares you; the way he barely flinches while taking sips of the bitter liquid you know must be piping hot. He's acting weird, even weirder than usual; but you let it wash over you and move on. 

Eventually, you pull up to HQ ; a shitty dive bar that is inexplicably serving breakfast and other miscellaneous items at 12pm. At least, that's what it looks like, arriving to see one overcrowded table and a sea of pancakes and coffee. Jess sports a croissant and orange juice, whilst Peter scoffs down a burger almost as big as his face.

"Miguel!" He says it with a mouthful of pickles, beef and patty, slapping the man in question heartily on the back. 

He winces, batting Peter away before sliding into the seat next to you. For barely a second, your legs brush together and he's shifting away. Okay. That's… odd. 

You're sifting through menus when you glance over to the counter and you see her : a pretty woman of about 25, tucking red hair away behind her ear. Your heart stops, and then you're tapping Miguel. 

" Look, " You hiss quietly, nodding towards the counter. " Isn't that…? " 

June McGinnity, the premier main character in the hit tv soap, And Everyday Before The Last; The Final Season. It's the very same show you've been bingeing for the past 6 months. 18 seasons, 3 spinoffs, and a revival currently in the works; you're obsessed with the show that's gotten you through your last breakup – and the one before that, and a couple of rocky moments with your parents. 

She's been a staple for the last couple of seasons, quickly skyrocketing to popularity in her minor role, and now , in The Final Season, she's got her well-deserved spot as a season regular. June is tenacious, smart, absolutely hilarious, and–

" –she's coming over here . Shit, Miggy, she's coming over," You whisper to him and for the first time this morning; he smiles, wide and genuine. It takes you back; not just because he looks so pretty when he smiles, but because you have no idea what's so funny. 

June slips into the seat besides Peter, and your eyes almost fall out of their sockets. She gives him a kiss on the cheek , as Peter brushes away blunt bangs. Frantic, you turn to Miguel, who's trying not to piss himself laughing. 

He's borderline howling, and you put a hand around his arm to get him to keep quiet – to stop embarrassing you in front of June – but he's too busy wiping away tears. 

Peter turns to the scene, clearly confused. He says something to June, and then he's turning to you, saying your name. 

"Hey, I don't think I've introduced you to– Miguel, please shut the fuck up– this is–" 

"MJ." She smiles, brilliant and sparkling, with her hand outstretched and you think you might pass out. 

"I'm–" You're stumbling over your words, grasping her hand before you can overthink it. Maybe it comes off as overzealous, but you're desperately trying to shut out Miguel's laughing. "I'm a massive fan, you're so incredibly talented ; as June – I always cry at that one scene when you meet your long-lost sister... a-and when you find out that Jackie is actually your Mom, I swear, I get chills–" 

The man besides you splutters, hunched over and gripping onto the table for support. It's getting egregious, now, and you make it known as best you can with a dirty look. 

"I'm, oh fuck, no… I'm done, I promise." He clamps down a smile, hands up in surrender. 

"Was that… too much?" You gain some semblance of perspective, and then you're falling over yourself to apologise. " Shit , I'm really, really sor–" 

" – No, no. You're good, it's nice to get recognised for that show! Most of the demographic is old people and pensioners, honestly. Not a lot of IRL interaction with fans, if you know what I mean." She flashes you that smile, again, and you melt. She turns to the man beside you. "Don't be a dick, Miguel." 

"Yeah, Miguel." Peter continues to inhale what you think is his second burger, wagging a sauce covered finger. "What she said."

Miguel rolls his eyes so hard you think they might rattle about in his skull, and you give him a rough shove for good measure. Down the other side of the table, you spot Lyla; downing a brightly coloured drink and massaging her temples. 

"Shit , Lyla. You want to slow it down?" Jess says, and then her eyes are flicking over to yours. She does a double take, giving you a wide smile. " Hey , y'all! When did you get here?" 

"Not long!" You call back, and she gives you a thumbs up in response. Lyla coughs beside her, sporting a nasty grimace; and then she's up and looking around the table, as if taking a headcount. At least, you think she does, as it's hard to see her eyes between pink tinted shades. They slip down her nose and she brings a fork to the empty glass; silencing the rabble. 

"M-Morning…" She stills, hand on her chest like she's got heartburn; throat bobbing as she gags slightly. "Morning, everyone. First off, hope you all feel as shitty as I do." 

And then there's cheers and good-natured elbowing, especially towards Ben and Miguel. Apparently , if you're to believe the whispers and rumour mill; Ben took to bar-hopping across town, ending the night without a shoe and someone else's shirt. He gives a rueful smile, holding up a mug to scattered laughter. And Miguel… well, he's Miguel , sitting back in his seat with folded arms. 

"Second," She pauses, for dramatic effect. "Someone's volunteered to pay for the next round of food to apologise for last night… everyone say Thank you, Miguel."

She starts a limp round of applause with a flourish, and sits down. There's only about a dozen people there: most you recognise, and some you don't. There was no attempt to explain what exactly a debrief was; so you're left disorientated in the mash of voices. Miguel picks at waffles besides you, in his own world. Without a word, you get up, making your way towards neon bathroom signs in the corner. 

It's some peace and quiet, a moment to think as you look at your reflection in the mirror. You look lighter , as if a weight was lifted off of your shoulders last night. Your skin looks a little brighter, eyes sharper and even your hair falls differently, today. You feel good, and it seems to translate to the person looking back it you. Wow. You're practically–

" -glowing. Shit , you look good." Lyla calls out from behind you, entering the little bathroom with Jess. 

Jess gives you a warm hug, and Lyla follows before pushing up heart shaped glasses. 

" Damn, girl." Jess gives a low whistle, hands on her shoulders to turn you this way and that. 

They make you giggle, with a warmth that blooms at your chest. 

"Was it that cute guy from last night?" 

Lyla interrupts. " Jun! Did he send you a little something after you got home?" 

"Did you ditch Miguel to get some?" 

"God, did you invite Jun over? " 

Jess gasps, before quickly adding. "No judgement, of course. Once upon a time, we probably would've done the same thing." 

It's a back and forth that gives you whiplash, dodging fastballs that get hit into the tiles. Not trusting yourself to speak, you shake your head, demurely. 

"...are you telling us you didn't have sex last night? Because that glow says something different."

You clamp down any words that might give you away, but Jess' sharp eyes latch onto the cracks: a little smile tugging at the sides of your lips. 

"So not Jun … but someone else? Last night…? " 

The penny drops and then she's grabbing at you and Lyla. When realisation hits the mousy brunette to your side, she's flinging off pink shades to look you in the eye. 

"You fucked Miguel?" 

"No!" You're hissing, trying to calm raucous behaviour. "Technically, not… yet."

"Not yet? " Lyla repeats, astonished. "I mean, I thought you two were already–" 

"It makes sense! Could've sworn I saw his knees shakin' today…"

"Okay, okay…" You're laughing, finally understanding the magnitude of the grenade you've just lobbed at them. "It wasn't like that . It's not a thing."

"...do you want it to be a thing?" 

You tilt your head, pretending to think on it. Yes , you want to ride him till something breaks; but Miguel is a walking red flag. You know, deep down, nothing good can come out of it. 

"Don't… don't say it like that."

"Look, Ly, she wants it to be a thing. "

" Definitely. It's basically already a thing ." Lyla concurs, nodding firmly. 

"Fuck you guys." It's not said with spite, leaving your mouth with a smile. 

"Oh, no. You like 'em tall, and tan, and a little grumpy. You mean: Fuck me, Miguel. "

You're swatting her away, whilst Jess is doubled over in laughter; hand on the ceramic to steady herself. They're good fun; raucous and boisterous and making you feel welcome, when you know they really don't have to. 

The laughter dies down, and they're leading you out of the bathroom to their side of the table, chattering away. Jess digs into another pancake, rock hard, and all of a sudden you're telling her about the waffles at Pam's Diner, and all the interesting characters you've met there. Lyla nurses another sweet cocktail, chattering on about a pre-game she's got in a couple of hours; and then you're exchanging stories about hangovers and missed lectures. 

From their conversation, you slowly learn what a debrief entails: the remnants of a tradition they'd started when 19 and spotty. All of them, friends of friends, roommates, classmates; growing to know each other in the dinky bar across the street from their dorms. Tending to hangovers in the morning from an all night rager, or pre-gaming before the biggest events of the year: it's something that trickled down to every so often later in their adulthoods. It's something else Miguel started, surprising you yet again. 

So absorbed in their heart-to-heart, time flies by; and late breakfast turns to brunch. You're exchanging phone numbers, and left smiling from lots of little tete-a-tetes, before Miguel tries to drag you to the car. One last goodbye had turned into two, which had turned into four; and then he's grumbling alone in the car for a dire couple of minutes. 

You open the door, glowing. Your mood dampens immediately as you sit down; soured by Miguel's own swirling dark cloud. He seems worse than before, somehow. It leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, the air thick with something. Where you would've bit your tongue before, pushed down difficult-to-say words, now, you find a surge of confidence. 

"Miguel," You start, and he turns; key still in the ignition. 

You look around at the parking lot, mostly empty, except for you two. 

"Can we talk?" 

"...sure." His tone seems anything but sure; which feels like a first, for him. 

"About last night."

"Oh." And then he's gone again, eyes flicking around the cab of the car. All of a sudden the mirror needs fixing, and he's fiddling with some buttons on the dash. 

You place a hand on his to still him. He doesn't flinch. 

"Are you okay?" 

"Yeah." He shrugs. You don't believe him. 

"Did you like it?" 

He pauses, chewing his lip. " Yes ."

You believe that . 

"Good." You hum. "I liked it. But you made me feel like shit, too."

He softens. "I did?"

"You did. You only wanted me after you saw me with someone else. After I kissed Jun."

You wait to see if he admits it, and his hand curls into a fist, tight. His grip relaxes, and then his voice comes out in a whisper. 

"Y-Yeah… I was jealous." He seems remorseful, at least. 

You sigh. "I don't want a relationship with you, or anything. But it made me feel like… an object. A conquest, another notch on your belt because you only want me when you can't have me. It made me feel shitty, Miguel."

"I fucked up," He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Wasn't really thinking, chula. I'm sorry."

"It's okay, Miguel. I like fucking around with you." You say it with a small smile. "I want… more ."

"Me too." He's smiling back, shy, brushing against you with fingers stretched out.  

"That's fine, more than fine. We can do this because I make you feel good, and you make me feel good, and somehow… this works . But we need to keep this," Gently, you push away his hand, gesturing between you both. "...and us separate. My heart can't take the possibility of this blowing up. And… And it's probably going to be me; 'cuz I seem to like getting my heart broken."

You give a watery laugh, but he doesn't laugh with you; instead, boring into your soul with red-brown eyes. 

"If we're going to do this, it means I can't kiss you, properly ; it means no cuddling after sex, or staying the night in your bed." It's why you couldn't kiss him before, and you hope he understands. "You can say no… you probably should say no. But that's what I want, right now. And those are my terms."

It takes a moment before he respond, mulling it over, and you barely breath in the interim. 

"I want you ." He nods slowly, and then more firmly as he turns the key in the ignition. The engine rumbles to life, as Miguel turns to you with as best a smile he can manage. Lip cut, hair smattered across his forehead, and thick brows softening; he says, firmly, " Yeah, I'd like that."

_

_

_

Miguel taglist: @d1lf-loverrr, @afro-hispwriter @ilovemiguelohara @weedxgirlx420 @ladydovahkiin180 @aaliyuh3 @sweetanimebakery @vvitcxen @rosecoloredlenses708 @daikondal @magikmina @impettywhenyouare @alonelygirlsuicidenote @plushyplants @javi0ca @rheeves @starrfruit @nikirikii @marsbars09 @foxglove-grove @mimooyi @crosshairclown @dead-by-light @kynamitedessert @naarra @wanderlustingcastaway @sagejin @cookielovesbook-akie @tangerineloverrr @gobblegluckgluckgod @wolfiepirate @jxxey3 @ebrysteria @elliemm @manchuria @youngghostpeachslime @weasleybuns

@ilovemuppets @vauriz @bonbyon @aimno256 @ancientbeing10 @tvije @venus1224idkpleaze @neteyamsbulletwound @chickenjefferson-blog @maki-z @jasjasthings @aiyaaayei @hyp-oh-critical @tea-earl-grey-thot @sunset-euphoria @moonsio @akiras-key@szaplsdropthealbum@levanneisdumb @naiya-patel17 @Serostapesweat @strawberrymiguel @yumeeesss @errorundyne-exe @spear-bitch @redsoleily @marsissoswag @slezhara @ye4gerzz @adlct515 @nanam1 @indigocookie @cincocosas-blog @starguiders @path0logicalpeoplepleaser@funkyfishy@whoreloll@eugeab@tarjapearce@maddielikesmoths@egotaestical

[jolapeno]

Just read your Soft!Frankie. How do you think Joel would be? I love your work. Thanks.

omg anon, okay, so I did quickly converse with my pal, @swiftispunk to clarify my thoughts. but here goes (hope this is okay)—for this you’re ill/have a cold.

soft!joel miller x reader (pre-outbreak)

the house is quiet. the sound of the pipes coming to life groaning in the walls is the first thing which stirs you.

your head is still full, heavy, as your eyes flutter open. then, you’re aware of how your throat still burns, worse than yesterday. more or less like you’d swallowed glass.

the rest follows suit, the sniff returning, the ache in your cheeks. the cold not improving but rather worsening overnight. it proves your point when you move, dizziness adding itself to your list of ailments—blurring your vision, making you even more thankful for declining the overtime, happy to be home and not behind a desk.

you reach out, greeted by cool sheets as the fan on the dresser groans as it performs another rotation.

and you don’t want to rise, but you also do. you want to see him, curl into him. but, you take your time in rising, all slow in your movements, using the bathroom and dressing in nothing but him when you’re done. you hope he won’t mind, maybe even like it as you pull on some of his sweats, grabbing a pair of his work-boot socks before heading downstairs.

he only murmurs your name softly at the sight of you—likely spotting your glassy eyes, and puffy cheeks from the cold making a home in you. you look at him, watching his lips tug up into one cheek when he spots the clothing, brows furrowing before they flatten, and you step closer, palm flat to his cheek as you wipe the crumbs.

and it’s soft, tender. him kissing your wrist before he mumbles about making you a drink. something warm. even adding honey—sarah’s orders before tommy took her to soccer practice. and you smile, hovering, shifting from side to side before he motions for you to get comfy under a blanket, keep warm, grunting: y’shouldn’t even be up.

your feet shuffle into the next room, seating yourself in your usual spot, tugging the blanket up and over—glancing at the coffee table, the magazine you’d grabbed Sarah and the array of coins from Joel emptying his pocket last night, all upon letters and papers—a mess, but a welcomed one. it’s home, a place you’d trade everything to be in.

when he joins you he’s clutching a mug, steam swirling up from it as he briefly places it down, a thud in the quiet before he settles down next to you. you watch as he wipes his hand on his jeans, before he places the back of his hand to your forehead. eyes narrowed, knitted in concern—

“still burnin’ up.”

you know. the sweat peppering your spine tells you as much, but you just lean into him. resting your head, finding no protest, only him moving to get more comfortable as he picks up and rests the mug on his knee—occasionally handing it to you, telling you to take a sip f’me.

and you do.

because it’s simple, easy. both the act and this thing with him. a thing he wasn’t sure he could give you if you remember correctly, yet he does it without trying.

“don’t fall asleep on me.”

he says it, even knowing you will. your head nodding, a sniff punctuating it, and the deep sigh you hear echo through him tells you he knows you’re minutes from doing so—and you’re sure he doesn’t care. most likely even likes it.

your eyes growing heavy, the television sounds slowly lowering in volume as your illness tries to beckon you to sleep. your legs come up, curling more so into him and the couch. feeling his arm move, just ever so slightly come around you, the mug going, finding a home on the table.

it’s only in the place between sleep and awake do you feel it, the slight touch of his fingers on yours. brushing over the tips, calloused palm flattening over your fingertips, trying to remove the chill from them.

and you smile, ever so slightly—and then you sniff before you briefly catch the scent of him. the last thing you needed to be lulled back to sleep.

[huramuna]

banshee's lament - chapter 7.

aemond targaryen x stark ofc minor jacaerys velaryon x stark ofc masterlist prev | next

wordcount: 2.5k

@huramuna-fics - follow & turn on notifications for just my fic postings! no taglists right now, sorry.

a/n: a short chapter, but very important! the next 3 after this will be very action packed! and then it is the end of act 1!

content: smut, angst, fluff, disabled ofc, aemond being delulu & obsessive, major canon divergence, ofc has a service direwolf, i'm taking canon rules and putting them in a blender and taking a shot, arranged marriage, graphic depictions of violence, my terrible, terrible combat writing, descriptions of injuries, allusions to suicide, talk of chronic pain and illness

story playlist

Shera had never rushed before so much in her life. She needed out. Out of Viserys’ room, out of the tunnels, out, out, out. As she pushed a stone backing, her knees skidded across the cobbled ground, skin ripping from them violently. Oh, how adept she’d become at injuring herself. She haphazardly wiped a few tears away.

The crisp night air whipped against her face before the smell changed– her other senses other than sight had become so keen since her loss of sight in her eye, so she was especially sensitive to even the most minute change in scents. She smelled the distinct aroma of fire– ashes to ashes, wafting along the breeze, mingling with a familiar smell of sandalwood and white cedar musk. 

A pair of polished black boots, now a bit dull in their pallor from soot, stood in front of her. 

“Lost, little banshee?” Aemond cooed. She could practically see the grin on his face, once again not of joy but something akin to self-assuredness and beastly callousness. 

“I told you…” she croaked, putting her now bloodied fingertips up to her throat, the pain reverberating through every word. “Don’t… call me that, nūmāzma zaldrīzes.” Mean dragon. She didn’t look up, or lift herself in any sort of way. Shera was all too aware she was not wearing her veil, nor her choker– and Aemond’s comments at the dinner (that he had still not apologized for, the cad) were festering in her mind, stinging and infecting like a plague. They hadn’t spoken since her almost ill-fated swan dive. He probably thought she was still suicidal. 

It was all too quick for her to register, her vision was still spinning, but he had picked her up, throwing her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, or perhaps a bale of hay. He didn’t say anything further as he began to walk down the hall, deeper into the Keep. 

Shera’s face went beet red as she sniffled, kicking her legs against him. “Put me down,” she growled, her voice raising more than it should, her tone becoming skewed and cracking. She resorted to trying to bite him then, her teeth fastening down on the leather jerkin he was wearing. It was so thick, that her attempt to snap her jaws upon his skin was hardly even registered to him.

“No.” he responded flatly, an arm fastened around her waist that was slung over his shoulder, his other hand coming up to swat her bottom. “Stop trying to bite me.”

“This is demeaning.” she hissed, now resulting in hitting her forehead on his shoulder blade, hoping to hide the fact that her face was burning scarlet at the fact that he had swatted her bum like an insolent child, no less carrying her like one. 

“Yes– well, mayhaps you shouldn’t be sneaking around at night, much less without your mutt guiding you.”

She grumbled a noise of discontentment, burying her face into his shoulder blade as a means to hide herself further, lest anyone see the absolutely precarious position that Aemond– and herself– had put her in.

They didn’t speak much as he took her back to her chambers. Moongeist was awake in an instant when he opened the door, growling and snarling.

“... s’okay,” Shera mustered as Aemond planted her on the ground next to the wolf, who immediately calmed at his owner’s presence– not without a wary look towards the prince, though. She put her hand on his head, her fingertips shaking. 

“You’re bloody, Shera.”

“Fell.”

“You can’t go to bed bloody. You’ll stain the sheets.”

“I can.”

“You can– but the maids would most certainly report it to my mother, or worse, to Rhaenyra. It’s not exactly a good look for a supposed maiden bride-to-be having bloodied sheets?”

Shera sighed, putting her head in her hands as she sat at her boudoir. “Get on with it.”

“Tell your mutt to not bite me, then.” Aemond returned in an equally annoyed tone as he wet a cloth at the washing basin, swathing it over her skinned knee, while keeping his eye trained on Moongeist– who in turn, was staring back at him.

“Have half a mind to… you were… quite mean.”

“Mean? I helped you back to your room.”

“At the dinner, when I came back. And you have been quiet since the… Kingswood.” 

“Ah.”

“... ‘ah’? That’s it?”

“Tell me truthfully; are you being coerced into this? If you are, I will cut that Strong bastard from stem to stern like a roasted pig. I see what it's doing to you. You’re frayed at the ends.”

He’s noticed? She glanced at him waywardly, fists squeezing in her lap. “I’m not some helpless little creature with no power… I still have some voice.”

“Hardly.”

“Jacaerys has been… cordial and proper,” she said. When he isn’t fucking my brother, that is.  “He even has written me letters when not visiting. What a novel idea that is, hm?” 

“You’re still upset about that?”

Shera peeked through the hair fallen in front of her face, scowling. “Yes. I am.”

He reached his hand up to pry one of hers from her face. “I’ll need to clean these, too. Even so, I do believe it requires two people to have a conversation through letters, does it not? I don’t recall receiving anything addressed to me from you over the years. I heard Helaena got quite a few.” 

Shera pressed her marred side of her face into her shoulder as she let Aemond clean the blood from her fingertips. She didn’t want him to see– she couldn’t. She didn’t quite understand the confidence that Aemond had, his scar proudly on display above and below his eyepatch. The tips of her ears went red at his insinuation. “... I suppose we both could’ve sent letters, then. I just…” her fingertips twitched as he pressed the cloth underneath her nails, scraping the dried blood from under them. “I wasn’t sure you would want to…” her hands strayed from his grasp, to which he grunted at, taking them back. “Cregan wrote the response for the first one. It… I’m sure you know it was a lie now. He is such an idiot– I am the opposite of fine. I don’t think I’ve been fine in nearly a decade.” her bottom lip wobbled slightly as she rambled on, saying all the things she’d always wanted to say to someone– no, not someone– to him. 

“... it was callous of me,” he finally offered, “To say… what I did at the dinner. It was mostly to rile Jacaerys.” he finally responded, putting the cloth to the side and examining her to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. “I’m sorry.” Aemond spoke his apology quietly, but looked directly at her face, then. His face was… surprisingly open. Not guarded.

“... ‘twas not far from the truth.”

“May I see?” 

Shera shook her head vehemently. “You can’t.”

“Please.”

She made a noise of disagreement, pressing her face further to her shoulder. She didn’t, however, account for the visibility of the scar on her throat, jagged and raised against the soft flesh of her neck. She felt one of Aemond’s fingers trace it, across slowly, then upward. His hand went to her chin and he turned her face towards him. And she let him. She didn’t have much energy to stop him, anyhow. 

His touch was soft, which surprised her greatly– she thought him unhewn and rough in all places– but this was something reminiscent of how he used to touch her as children. He was always gentle with her before. Her face was turned to him completely now, unveiled, unhidden– she braced herself for the look of humor or pity on his face, her heart stopped beating for a moment, her breaths caught in her chest.

Brushing an errant hair aside, he traced the scar over her eye. It wasn’t an entirely clean cut, like he had guessed, jutting out into two diverging lines, like branches of a tree going downward. His violet eye, the hue hardly visible from how large his pupil was, was trained on her blind one. The milky blue, her own pupil long gone. The edges of his lips curled into something akin to wonder. There wasn’t a look of pity and it didn’t seem like he was about to make another poor jest about her face– he just looked, as if to study it, to commit it to memory.

“Blue?” he murmured. “How curious.”

The way he said it had Shera perking her brow– it sounded like an epiphany to him, his voice taking a lighter note than she’d heard. There was no trace of callousness that had been exuding from him previously. He was calm.

“Yes, it's blue,” she muttered in response, his taut (but not uncomfortable) grip on her chin keeping her facing him. She desperately wanted to hide away, hide, hide. She’d never felt so exposed in her life, so naked– and she was fully clothed. It felt like her soul was on display to him, cracking from her ribcage. 

“Let me formally apologize,” he cleared his throat. “‘Tis not mangled at all, nor a mess. I now wonder, even more than before, why you persist with the veil.” Aemond let go of her chin, but not before giving it a little tug in an almost playful manner. Aemond? Playful?

“I like them– it's… to hide.” 

“Hide? To make oneself obscured, to conceal and fade into the background,” he pondered it for a moment. “You make yourself a spectacle with that thing, Shera. You are doing the opposite of hiding.”

Shera puffed out her chest, arms crossed over defensively. “A spectacle?”

“You chastised me for calling you a banshee, when you dress the part,” he leaned back in his chair, hands laced together over his stomach. He was relaxing. 

She puffed, rolling her eyes. She mimicked his body position, leaning back with her hands on her stomach. It felt… odd to be looking at him without any inhibition. It felt almost normal. Normal– normal. When was the last time she felt normal?

“I want to clarify,” she cleared her throat, fingertips paused on her throat from speaking up too fast, too loudly. “I was not trying to kill myself. It… I… I’m not suicidal.”

Aemond’s expression didn’t change, he merely focused his gaze even more onto her. He didn’t say anything.

“The… disassociation is new, like Hela told you,” Shera’s hands wrought over one another slowly. “But it isn’t… unusual, given my… conditions.”

“Conditions?” he asked finally. His face still didn’t give away any emotion.

“... no one else knows except for Cregan and the maesters at Winterfell. Jace probably knows from Cregan… telling him all the things that are wrong with me, to look out for when we’re married.” she took a breath before continuing. “The maesters don’t exactly know what to call it— but it is… I lose control of my body and fall to the ground, convulsing— it's terribly painful and then everything goes black. We have referred to it as my… fainting spells, but it surely feels like more than fainting. It’s… quite violent.” 

Aemond blinked. Hard. He took a beat to absorb the information before speaking. His position shifted as he leaned forward. “When was the last time you had one of these… spells?” 

“… not since Winterfell.” 

“I don’t remember this being an issue when you were younger— is it… relatively new?” he asked then. His lips were pursed together in a tight line, in tandem with his furrowed brow. 

“Since Driftmark.” 

The corner of his mouth twitched slightly at the mention. “Another thing for us to bear, isn’t it?” he gave a low, bitter chuckle. “The Gods weren’t satisfied in our mutilation alone and had to… bestow us with lasting gifts, hm?” 

Shera stayed silent, sitting up to where their knees were touching. Her eyes were wide as she took him in. His melancholic smile and the dullness of his eye as he looked off somewhere in the distance.

“The pain is bad most days. And on its worst days, it’s unbearable. The… the nerve damage, the maesters said. I’ll live with it forever— a constant thrum and reminder of it. There’s a few medicines that help temporarily but…” his voice trailed off, his gaze returning to her. “I’m sorry.” 

“You have nothing to apologize for, Aemond.” 

“I do and I do not— I should’ve protected you. I should’ve killed them.” he gave an ugly sneer, lip curled. 

Shera’s heart felt like it was in her throat. She wanted to cry, to scream for his pain, for her pain. She couldn’t speak, her voice coming out in unintelligible, choked sobs. 

He looked sad, too. The depth of his despair laid bare in front of her for only a moment. The mask slipped back on, his proverbial walls back up. 

But she knew. 

They were so alike— even now.

–

Aemond had always prided himself on his resilience, on his ability to mask his emotions into stone. 

Why did he become so unraveled with Shera? He confided in her so easily, as if it was second nature. 

His boots stomped down the corridor of Maegor’s Holdfast without much care. He was coming apart at the seams, like a thread pulled from an old doublet, letting the structure of the garment fall away. 

All it took was one thread. 

He found himself at his desk, candles lit. The piece of fabric she’d gifted to him, with her silly note, was still there. He clutched it in his hand, bringing it to his face and taking a breath. 

Lavender, rosemary, chamomile. The scent of her on it still lingered, if not a bit faded. 

He would smell it in the halls, coming back from training. He knew she’d been watching him in secret for the past moon. Whenever it wafted near him, he had half a mind to follow her, to confront her, to hold her—

Fuck. He was fucked. He was fucked the moment she came to King’s Landing— the very first time. 

His hand glided through his hair as he snapped off the leather cord holding it back from his face. Strands of it fell over his vision as he tossed his eyepatch to the settee behind him. 

Taking out the sapphire was a tedious task. And painful. 

But damn the Gods, if he wasn’t vain. Even if he was the only one who saw it most of the time. He clenched his free fist, white knuckled as he prised the gem from his socket, setting it aside. 

He picked up the note that had been attached to her fabric favor, looking over it again. Her handwriting was terrible— but so inevitably her. Pulling a key from under a stack of innocuous papers, he unlocked the third drawer that fell down the side of the oak desk. 

In it, were letters. Penned by him. Unsent, unseen. 

All for her. Everything he’d wanted to say to her for years, everything he’d ever written with her in mind. 

Everything he never could confess— not even now.

There were at least a hundred letters in the drawer, dated from those ten years apart. 

He placed the favor note on the top and locked it back in place. The favor fabric, however, stayed in his hand. 

After some careful cutting and somewhat haphazard stitching— Aemond had sewed a small segment of the fabric to the inside of his eyepatch. 

He stowed the remainder of it in his nightstand.

He was so fucked.

[sorceresssundries]

Stormbound

Pairing: Blackwall/Female Quizzy

Warnings: SMUT

Word Count: 6.8k

A/N: Hello, here is my first attempt at some Dragon Age fic because I have been playing Inquisition and cannot get THIS SAD BEARDED MAN out of my head. LUCKILY, @orangekittyenergy is sharing the same brainworm as me, and I got to write this for her birthday.

(I have not finished the game yet, I am too busy climbing the wall)

“This armour seems… ill-functioning, my lady,” Blackwall murmured from behind her, his voice rough with the effort to remain composed. His hands, large and calloused, worked methodically at the knots, trying to keep his focus on the task at hand. But it was impossible not to notice how her skin felt beneath his fingertips, like silk stretched over solid muscles. She was well-freckled, they reminded him of the first drops of rain on a parched road. He wanted to count them all, follow them to the secret little places they fluttered away to.  

“You okay back there?” Fawn asked, her tone laced with a hint of amusement as she sharpened her dagger with a whetstone on her lap. The sound of the blade against the stone was rhythmic, almost hypnotic, “If you’re struggling, I could always ask Sola—”

“No” The word came out too fast, and he cleared his throat awkwardly, trying to regain his composure. “I mean, that will not be necessary, my lady. I am well-practised in rope work. I have just… not seen it used as armour before.”

“Qunari,” she explained, her voice casual as she continued to sharpen her blade. The grind of steel against stone punctuated her words. “The tightness helps with my posture when firing arrows, and it’s light enough to keep me quick on my toes. Lumbering warriors with their fancy swords and heavy armour stand no chance.” She turned her head slightly, just enough to cast him a sideways glance, her lips curving in the way that made his heart stutter.

“No, we do not.” He said gruffly. He was grateful she was facing away from him, his thoughts were so fierce in his mind that they must be burning right there behind his eyes. The thoughts of her bound before him, the well-knotted rope biting into the soft parts of her flesh, gripping her like impassioned fingers. Him chasing the marks they left on her with his tongue… He shifted a little as he felt his cock harden in his breeches.  “How tight do you want it? I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“It needs to be tight, Warden, to save my dignity on the battlefield.” 

Maker’s breath. An image of her with the knots slipping apart and the silk wrappings fluttering to the ground like a singed moth skated through his mind. How tempting it was to leave it loose. But he would not, he would do what was best for her. Always.

“As you say, m’lady.” 

Fawn stifled a surprised gasp as he pulled the rope tight across her back, forcing her posture upright and practically dragging her back against him. His legs caged her on each side, and he was concentrating so deeply on the intricate knots she could feel the soft warmth of his breath against her shoulder. She wanted to lean back a little, to force his lips to meet her skin, to feel the roughness of his beard against her, the nip of his teeth as he growle… 

She focused on sitting straight - taut as a bowstring, sharp as an arrow. She could not let these thoughts distract her, it was not the time or the place. 

There was a battle to win. 

The fight was a blur of steel and blood, the clang of metal echoing through the dense woods. The only sight of Fawn was the occasional flash of blades in dim light, the steel glinting like bared teeth as she whipped and sliced through the throng of bandits. She moved with the grace of a shadow and slipped between her enemies like water, her daggers dancing in her practised hands. She would jab them into the slim, exposed crevices hulking armour did not cover, and once a bandit was gored and felled, Blackwall’s sword would cut it’s way down to finish the job. 

The two of them moved together. Where she was swift and agile, he was a tower of iron and fury. He was the boom of thunder and her the silent flash of lightning, they fought like a storm and their enemies were caught in their wake like helpless leaves. 

Another bandit charged at the Inquisitor, a wicked grin on his face as he swung his sword. She ducked, but as she did, the edge of metal caught her shoulder blade, tearing through the rope and drawing blood. Her armour started to slip loose through the hard knots Blackwall had tied, becoming an ill-fitting distraction instead of the coiled harness which kept her muscles taut and focus deadly.

She hissed in pain but didn’t falter. Instead, she spun on her heel, driving her dagger into the man’s side before he could react. He stumbled, clutching at the wound as she wrenched the blade free, and then fell lifeless at her feet. There was no time to breathe, no time to think before the next attacker lunged at her. She turned to meet him too late, but suddenly, a strong hand grasped her waist and pulled her back with a force that sent her heart racing.

A shield struck out, cracking like a storm-swilled wave against the bandit who had dared to raise a blade to her.

It was Blackwall.

His eyes were fierce, scanning her quickly for injuries. Seeing the tear in her armour, he didn’t waste a moment. With a swift motion, he dropped his shield, yanking her toward him as his large frame shielded her from the chaos. His hands, rough yet gentle, moved with practised skill as he tied the frayed ends of her rope armour back together.  His fingers brushed lightly over her cuts and rope marks. She let out a breathy little gasp, and something inside him snapped. Before she could react, Blackwall spun her to face him and he captured her lips in a fierce, urgent kiss.

The world around them seemed to blur and fade—the clashing of steel, the shouts of the dying—all of it dulled. His kiss was fire and tongue, and Fawn could have sworn she heard him growl. Her mind spun, caught in the whirlwind of his rough beard scraping against her skin, his calloused hands cradling her face, the taste of him, wild and desperate.

But as quickly as it began, it was over. Blackwall pulled back, his eyes simmering with a mixture of desire and something darker, something he dared not voice. With a final tug to secure the knot, he released her, turning back to the fight without hesitation, leaving her breathless and reeling.

Fawn stood there for a heartbeat, her mind struggling to catch up with what had just happened. The battle continued to rage around her, but all she could think of was the way his lips had claimed hers, the way he had looked at her—as if she was something precious, something he would die for. She twirled her daggers in her hand and flexed her muscles before darting back into danger.  There was no time for questions or second-guessing. She needed to focus, to be the breeze that guided his blade. They moved together once more, steel and silk, iron and water.

When the last of the bandits fell, an eerie silence settled over the battlefield. Fawn wiped her daggers clean, her breath heavy with exertion. She was aching, sweat-soaked, and utterly exhausted, but she turned to find Blackwall, needing to see him, to confirm that he was still there, that the moment they had shared hadn’t been a figment of her imagination. He was already striding across to her, he looked… almost angry.

“Thank you for th..” She started, but the gratitude on her lips was quickly replaced by his tongue and teeth and need.

He grabbed her, his rough hands pulling her close as his mouth claimed hers in another fierce, demanding kiss. This time, there was no urgency of battle to pull them apart. His hands roamed over her exposed skin, feeling the warmth of her flesh beneath his touch. She melted into him, the fire of the fight still burning in her veins now joined by a different kind of heat.

His hands slid down to her hips, pulling her closer still, until there was no space left between them. She moaned softly into his mouth, her hands clutching at the broad expanse of his shoulders as he deepened the kiss, his tongue exploring.

When he finally pulled back, both of them were breathless, but he wouldn’t meet her gaze. 

“I… My apologies m’lady” he murmured, his voice low and rough, “I let things get the better of me. I should not have… I’m sorry.” 

Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked away.  He was gone as quickly as he had come, leaving her with nothing but the ghost of his touch and the lingering taste of his kiss on her lips.

A week passed, dragging with it the heavy weight of duty and endless decision-making. Fawn found herself entrenched in the grind of leadership—strategic plans, tiresome debates, and the ceaseless meetings in the War Room. The reports were relentless: a new threat in the west, a diplomatic disaster in the east, and the perpetual need to balance discretion against diplomacy, stealth against soldiers. The endless bickering over the safest routes and the most effective tactics gnawed at her, draining her of energy and patience. Each day, after hours of strained deliberation, she would leave the War Room with a tension coiled so tight in her chest that she could barely breathe.

She would walk through Skyhold, her steps automatic, always ending in the same places—the battlements, the stables, the kitchens, the library, the undercroft—each time hoping to find him. But each time, she found herself alone.

He was never there.

Blackwall was nowhere to be found. Not in the stable, not in the training yard where his deep voice often barked orders, not in the barracks where he should have been resting after another gruelling mission. It was as though he had vanished from the fortress, the only evidence of him was his name in the trail of reports she devoured with an intensity she didn’t dare to admit.

Every one she read seemed to carry his name, and she found herself scanning them eagerly, looking for a mention of him, anything to know he was safe.

Warden Blackwall led a patrol around the perimeter… all back and accounted for.

Warden Blackwall and several others engaged in a scouting mission in the Hinterlands. They returned at nightfall with intel for the commander.

Warden Blackwall has been training new recruits in the field.

Each entry was a mixture of relief and fury, like a double-edged sword piercing her. Relief that he was alive and well, but fury that he seemed determined to push himself beyond his limits, to throw himself into mission after mission without pause. She clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms as she fought the urge to storm out and confront him. He was driving himself into the ground, and for what? To avoid her?

The realisation twisted in her gut, a knot of anger and hurt that burned hotter with each passing day. Fine, she thought, if he wanted to run himself ragged, let him. If he was so determined to spread himself thin, to exhaust himself in a relentless cycle of duty and danger, then she would no longer take him with her on missions. She couldn’t bear to watch him self-destruct, couldn’t stand the idea of being the reason for it. If he wanted to avoid her, then so be it. She wouldn’t let him see how it hurt her. 

But then, just as the flames of her anger burned the hottest, she read the latest report, and the fire was doused in an instant, replaced by a chilling wave of dread.

Warden Blackwall patched up in the field but was sent back to base to recover.

The words hit her like a blow, knocking the breath from her lungs. The ice of it spread through her, numbing the anger, leaving only fear and something deeper, something she couldn’t quite name. Her hand trembled as she held the report, her eyes scanning the words over and over, hoping she had misread, but the cold truth remained.

He was hurt. And he had still tried to stay out there, pushing himself until he couldn’t anymore. The thought of him injured, of him in pain, twisted her insides in a way that made it hard to breathe. She wanted to be angry, to hold on to the fury that had sustained her for days, but all she could feel was a deep, aching worry. He was avoiding her, and she knew it. Well.. Tough. She would go to him, to make sure he was all right, to tell him how much of a stupid, noble, idiotic fool he was for thinking he could do this alone and he would just have to deal with it. 

She threw the report to the ground, and headed straight to his quarters before he found a way to escape the fortress again, to escape her again. 

His room was dimly lit, the fire in the hearth casting flickering shadows across the stone walls. Fawn, angry and impatient, knocked once and, without waiting for an answer, pushed it open. Her steps faltered when she saw him.

Blackwall stood facing a small, cracked mirror, his arm lifted as he  pressed a damp cloth to a wound on his side. He was shirtless, his broad, scarred chest exposed, the muscles taut beneath his weathered skin. Another wound marred his back, and an angry purple bruise bloomed across his collarbone, evidence of a recent fight. He looked as though he had taken a beating, but there was something in the set of his jaw, in the way he stood, that spoke of more than just physical pain. He looked tired. Resigned. Her fury slipped away.

"My lady... I was not expecting..." His voice was gruff, tinged with surprise and perhaps a trace of embarrassment. Yet, he made no move to cover himself. Instead, he straightened up, his posture shifting. The change was palpable—he was trying to compose himself, to hide behind a wall of duty and stoicism. Fawn recognised it for what it was, another form of armour, one she wished she could strip away and bury with his past back at the Storm Coast.

Without a word, Fawn strode toward him. She reached for the rag in his hand, her fingers brushing against his as she took it from him. His skin was warm, despite the dampness of the cloth, and she felt a shiver run through her at the contact.

"Let me," she said firmly, her voice leaving no room for argument. She pulled a small vial of Oil of Elfroot from her pocket, adding a few drops to the rag. The herbal scent filled the room, mingling with the faint smell of sweat and leather.

He hesitated, searching her face for a moment as if he might protest, but then he gave a small nod, acquiescing to her will. She guided him to a nearby stool with a gentle push. “Sit down,” she commanded.

Blackwall sat, his broad shoulders slumping slightly as he complied. His head bowed, and for a moment, Fawn saw a glimpse of the man beneath the pride. She moved behind him, her fingers grazing his skin as she brought the rag to his back. His muscles tensed beneath her touch. The wound on his back was deep, the flesh around it angry and inflamed. She worked with gentle precision, dabbing at the wound with the oil-soaked rag, her movements slow and deliberate.

Every time her fingers brushed against his skin, she felt the heat of him. It was intoxicating, this closeness, this simmer that had never had enough space to flame into heat. She could feel his breath hitch with each touch, the way his muscles twitched in response, and she couldn’t help but wonder whether it was from pain or pleasure.

"Am I hurting you?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper as she pressed the cloth to the wound.

He grunted, a sound that was neither confirmation nor denial. "I’ve had worse" he replied, though his voice was rough, strained. It was a poor attempt at deflection.

Fawn bit her lip, focusing on the task before her. She cleaned the wound with care, her fingers tracing the edges of the cut as she applied the soothing oil.  She knew she should be concentrating on his injuries, but her mind kept drifting, her thoughts returning to the way he had kissed her on the battlefield, the way his hands had felt as they gripped her with a desperation she hadn’t fully understood until now.

“Why have you been avoiding me?” The question slipped out before she could stop it. 

Blackwall stiffened under her touch, his hands clenched into fists on his thighs. “I’m not avoiding you,” he muttered, the lie clear.

“Liar.” Fawn’s voice was sharper than she intended, but she didn’t care. She moved the cloth to his shoulder, her fingers brushing the edges of the bruise there. “You’ve been volunteering for extra patrols, taking on more work than anyone else. Seems like you’d rather go out and get the shit kicked out of you than spend another moment with me.”

He was silent for a long moment, his gaze fixed on the floor. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and quiet. “What happened between us… that kiss… was a mistake.”

The confession hit her like a blow. A mistake? The word reverberated through her mind, unravelling something inside her that had felt so solid, so certain. What had been a moment of raw, unfiltered connection now seemed to collapse into nothingness, as though it had never existed at all.

Of course, she thought bitterly. What a fool I’ve been. How could she have allowed herself to believe that it meant something? The heat of battle had driven him to kiss her, nothing more. He was a stoic fighter, a man of iron resolve who had gotten caught up in the rush of adrenaline, just another soldier with a hard-on after a good fight. And she—she had been conveniently there, within reach. That was all it had been.

The realisation stung, cutting deeper than any blade. The vulnerability she had felt in his arms, the trust she had allowed herself to extend to him, now seemed misplaced, foolish even. He must think her a smitten little creature, a naive girl who had come to demand his affection, to cling to him like some lovesick fool. The thought made her stomach twist with humiliation.

“I understand, Warden Blackwall.” His head suddenly lifted at the sudden use of his full title. 

“The error is my own. I mistook what happened earlier as a display of something more meaningful.” She placed the rag back in the bowl and focused hard on breathing in and out, not wanting to show herself up. “The wound is clean. I’ll leave you in peace, I shan’t make a fool of myself again”

She barely had time to turn before he was gripping her. Before he stood, a shirtless bulk of a man inches from her. His large, well-worn hands circled around her wrists as delicate as swan necks. His eyes were so dark they reflected the fire, but he was soft. He was worried. 

Gently, as though handling something prone to breaking, he took one of her hands in his and placed it on his bare chest, right over his heart. She could feel it pounding beneath her fingertips, hard and heavy, like the relentless beat of a war drum. As though it was trying to crash its way out from between his ribs to get to her. Her heart fluttered like the wings of a trapped hummingbird in comparison.

His gaze burned into hers  as he slowly guided her hand downward. Her fingers grazed the thicket of dark hair covering his chest, and she could feel every muscle twitch beneath her touch. His breaths grew hot and ragged and as her hand travelled lower, she could feel the warmth radiating from his skin, the tension coiled within him.

When he brought her hand to his breeches, what she felt there made her breath catch. He was so achingly hard, so ready, and all of it was for her. The realisation sent a wave of heat through her, a fierce blush creeping up her neck.

“Please, do not leave here thinking you are unwanted,” he murmured.

He lifted her hand once more, guiding it to the side of his face. The rough of his beard scratched lightly against her fingertips as he closed his eyes, his entire body seeming to relax under her touch. He closed his eyes and his cheek pressed into her hand as if it were a balm and not a curse. A different kind of key, to a different kind of lock. 

He opened his soft eyes, and struggled to find the right words. “I am not.. I am no fair-haired commander in golden armour with an army at my side," he began, his voice low and pained. "Nor am I a dashing mage or a charming diplomat. Would that I were, my lady, I would grant you all I have. Each drop of magic, every easy smile, an entire army. But, this is all I have. Just me. And it is not enough. Not for you.”

Fawn’s frustration flared, and she couldn’t keep the bite out of her words. "And how about what I have?" she snapped. She pulled her hand away from him, her patience wearing thin. "Why do you think I am so much better than you? so far above? Because I survived the Conclave? Because of some cruel twist of fate?  My hand is now blighted by duty and some dark magic. What have I to offer you, Blackwall? Other than danger and burden."

His gaze was gentle, but the resolve in his voice was unyielding. "It is no burden," he insisted.

"Of course it is," she retorted, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and desperation.

"No. Not for you," he said, shaking his head firmly. "It is a privilege."

Fawn’s heart clenched at his words, the sincerity in his voice cutting through her frustration like a blade. She took a step closer, as she tried to make him understand. "Well, if I am your privilege, then you are mine"

“Maker’s breath, woman…” His voice was rough, and rolled down her spine. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“Yes I do,” she murmured, leaning forward so she was just a breath away from kissing him. “I know exactly what I want.”

The tension snapped, and he closed the gap between them, capturing her mouth in a kiss that was fierce, almost brutal in its intensity. His hands slid up her back, pulling her against him as if he couldn’t bear the thought of letting her go. She responded by tangling her fingers in his hair as she kissed him back, pouring all her frustration, her longing, her love into that single, searing kiss.

When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathless, their foreheads resting together as they tried to regain some semblance of control.

Blackwall's voice was thick with emotion as he spoke, the roughness in his tone softened by the weight of his confession. "I have not been avoiding you because I do not want you, m’lady. I have been avoiding you because of how desperately I do." His words hung in the air between them, heavy with the longing he had fought so hard to suppress.

He kissed her forehead, a chaste press of lips against skin - then her cheeks, her brow, her parted lips…

"But, I will not abandon you," he continued, his voice a low, fervent murmur. "I meant what I said—the world could turn its sword upon you, and I would remain your shield. I am bound to you."

Fawn's heart pounded in her chest, her breath catching as his words washed over her. She looked up at him, her eyes searching his, seeing the truth and the fear that lay behind those stormy grey depths.

"As a soldier?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, needing to understand, needing to hear him say it.

"No." His response was immediate, and the way he said it, so sure, so resolute, made her drop each trouble she had collected. She didn’t need them now.  "Not as a soldier."

She swallowed hard, her throat tightening with emotion. "Show me," she urged, her voice soft yet insistent.

“M’lady…” he began, the familiar title slipping from his lips out of habit, a wall between them that he had used to protect himself. But she wouldn’t let him hide behind it any longer.

“Fawn,” she interrupted, her voice steady despite the storm of feelings brewing inside her. “Please. Use my name.”

The request hung in the air, and Blackwall stared at her as though the very ground beneath him had shifted. It was such a simple thing, to say her name, but it carried a weight he couldn’t ignore. It wasn’t just a name—it was a bond, an admission that she was not just his commander or the Inquisitor. She was Fawn, the woman he wanted, the woman he loved.

When he finally spoke, his voice was a low, reverent murmur. “Fawn.” The sound of her name on his lips, the way it rolled off his tongue, sent pleasure through her that she could barely contain. It was as bright as a spoken spell, a low rumble that seemed to rise from deep within his broad chest, reverberating through her like the echo of some ancient, primal chant. It was as if she were a savage who had heard her name spoken for the first time. This is how it always should have been said — carved by his tongue, shaped by his voice… Her name was a flame in his mouth, and it made her burn. And she welcomed it, she would blaze and shimmer for as long as his voice, his touch, commanded it. She was a woman alight. 

His hand slid up to cradle the back of her neck, drawing her closer until there was no space left between them. “Fawn,” he repeated, the word heavy with all the things he hadn’t dared to say before. In that moment, with her name on his lips, there was no more distance, no more hesitation. There was only the truth of what he felt.

He lifted her like she weighed nothing, pressing her back against the cool stone wall. The ease with which he did it made her gasp, the sound escaping her lips before she could suppress it. She wrapped her legs around him and her hand reached out, clutching at the wall, her breath hitching as he leaned into her, his broad chest pinning her. The hard muscle beneath his scarred skin pressed against her, and he was so warm. 

“Let go,” he whispered, his voice a command that was as tender as it was firm. “I have you.”

It was a promise that made her heart race. Her fingers released their grip on the stone, instead tangling themselves in his thick, dark hair. The feel of it, rough yet soft between her fingers, sent a thrill through her, and she tugged lightly, drawing a low, primal moan from him. The sound reverberated through his chest, and the vibration rumbled all the way down to her marrow and soul. 

“Good girl,” he murmured against her ear, his lips curving into a smug smile as he felt her shudder. So, the mighty Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste, enjoyed being praised? The realisation thrilled him. She deserved every bit of it, every word of admiration and every touch he could offer.

Blackwall was no poet; his words were often few, his expressions of emotion guarded behind a fortress of duty and honour. But for her, he would find the words, even if they stumbled and broke from his lips. He would give her words of sapphire, of saffron, of blood. Words bound in devotion and plated in gold. There would be no empty promises or hollow declarations; no pretty little songs with meaningless rhymes, no prayers whispered in the dark when all hope was gone. What he offered her were oaths, and he would use his tongue to paint her body with them.

Slowly, he began to move, grinding his hips against her, letting her feel just how hard he was. The friction was maddening, the pressure exquisite, and she couldn’t help the soft moan that escaped her lips. His thigh pressed between her legs, and she instinctively moved against him, grinding down as her breath came in shallow, desperate gasps.

Fawn hadn’t expected him to be so slow, so measured in his movements. The kiss on the battlefield had been all fury and flame, a desperate clash of lips and teeth born of the heat of combat. But this—this was molten. Deliberate. She felt herself bending under his hands, her body moulding to fit against him as if she had been made for this, made for him

“Is this what you want?” he asked, his voice low and rough, as he tightened his grip on her hips, guiding her movements. “Tell me.”

“Yes,” she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper. “Please.”

He groaned at her plea, the sound deep and guttural, sending a fresh wave of heat through her.

He murmured once more against her ear, “I’ll take care of you.”

He kissed her slow and languidly, each stroke of his tongue against hers deliberate and savoured, as though he were licking honey from a soft, ripe fruit. This is the way he wanted to kiss her cunt, but he would settle for her mouth first. 

She dragged her aching core across the thick, muscular trunk of his thigh, feeling the friction through the layers of her clothes. It felt glorious, and it felt filthy—this desperate grinding, still clothed, the heat between them building with every second. Her clothes were becoming soaked, not just with sweat but with the evidence of her need. The fabric clung to her, damp and hot. She was burning up, so needy that it was almost unbearable, but she didn't want to stop. The ache between her legs was almost too much to bear, and the slow, teasing way he moved against her only made it worse. It was maddening, intoxicating, and she never wanted it to end.

He licked the shell of her ear, and the sensation was so intense that she nearly came undone right then and there. A sharp gasp escaped her, and she had to bite down hard on her lip to stifle the scream building in her throat.

But Blackwall wasn’t having any of that. "No," he said, his voice firm. His eyes, dark and intense, met hers once more. He moved one of his hands from her arse to gently stroke her bottom lip, his thumb tracing the spot where her teeth had just been.

Fawn had thought he might struggle to hold her with one arm, but he was impossibly strong. With his muscular thigh pinned between her legs and his other arm wrapped securely around her waist, he was barely breaking a sweat. It was as if her weight was nothing to him, just another reason to keep her close, to hold her tighter.

"Do not hide any of your pretty noises from me," he murmured, his voice like a growl, vibrating with need. To drive his point home, he shifted his grip on her waist and pressed her down harder against the unyielding muscle of his thigh. The pressure made her whine, the sound high and breathless, and he responded with a satisfied rumble deep in his chest.

Each movement of his thigh sent waves of pleasure crashing through her, and with his command still echoing in her ears, she didn’t try to suppress the sounds that spilled from her lips. Every whimper, every moan, every desperate gasp was music to his ears, and he watched her intently, his gaze never leaving her face.

“Fuck.” He said “I want you to come apart like this. Fully clothed and rutting, can you do that for me?”

It took everything in him not to lose control. He could rip the clothes from her in one tear if he wanted to, he could spread her legs as though they were mere pages of a well-read book and he could devour her. 

But no, he would not rush this. She deserved more. She deserved everything. 

“Blackwall” she breathed, hot and laboured.

He nipped at the delicate flesh just above her collarbone, his teeth grazing the spot before he soothed it with his tongue, and the shiver that ran through her made his chest swell with satisfaction. He wanted to leave his mark on her, to make sure she knew she was his, just as he was hers

Fawn’s hands tightened in his hair, pulling him back up to capture his lips again, the kiss this time more desperate, more insistent. She wanted all of him, wanted to know what those hands could do, what promises his tongue could deliver. The grinding of her hips became more urgent, more demanding.

She whimpered and he knew she was close.

“Let go,” he whispered again, his voice a low, seductive growl. “I have you.”

With a final, desperate roll of her hips, she shattered, the pleasure crashing over her in waves that left her breathless and trembling in his arms. He held her through it, his hands steady and sure, his lips brushing against her temple as he whispered words of praise, of adoration, his heart pounding just as fiercely as hers.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to look into her eyes. They were half-lidded with pleasure, her pupils blown wide, her lips swollen from his kisses. She was beautiful, more beautiful than anything he had ever seen, and the sight of her undone like this, all because of him, made something fierce and possessive flare to life in his chest.

He wanted to worship her. To take her apart piece by piece and put her back together again. To show her just how much he desired her, how much she meant to him. And he knew exactly how he wanted to do it.

Without breaking eye contact, he slowly knelt before her, his hands sliding down her sides and peeling her clothes from her as he went. The rough pads of his fingers grazed her skin, leaving trails of heat in their wake, and he could feel the way she trembled under his touch. He wasn’t a man of many words, but he wanted to tell her everything. How she made him feel alive, how she had reignited a fire in him that he thought had long since died. There would be time to tell her, he would make sure, but for now he wanted to show her. 

He helped her step out of her breeches, he kissed her calf, her knee, small scars and freckles on her thighs. 

He could lift her again if he wanted, press her against the wall, get her to wrap her lithe, glorious thighs around his head as he buried his tongue inside her - but he wanted to be on his knees in front of her. This time, at least. 

His gaze flicked down, and his breath hitched at the sight of her, bared to him, her cunt flushed and glistening. She was breathtaking, and he felt a surge of pride knowing that he had brought her to this state.

Fawn’s breath caught as she watched him kneel before her. The sight of this powerful, broad-shouldered man on his knees, his dark hair falling over his eyes, his gaze fixed on her with a hunger that made her insides twist, was almost too much to bear. She could see the tension in his muscles, the way he anchored himself to her, and it sent a fresh wave of heat pooling low in her belly.

“Blackwall…” she breathed, her voice barely more than a whisper. There was a question in her tone, a hint of vulnerability that made him look up at her, his eyes dark and full of promises.

“Let me,” he murmured - a plea or a command, she could not tell any more. 

She nodded, her breath catching and Blackwall needed no further encouragement. He placed a series of slow, deliberate kisses along her inner thighs, his beard scratching lightly against her skin. The scent of her, the heat radiating from her cunt, was intoxicating, and he felt his own desire stir, but he forced himself to focus on her, on the task at hand. This wasn’t about him. It was about her, about giving her the pleasure she deserved.

When his lips finally brushed against her centre, she gasped, her back arching off the wall. He paused for a moment, savouring the sound, the way her fingers tightened in his hair, before he flicked his tongue out, tasting her. The reaction was immediate. She moaned, the sound low and needy, and he couldn’t help the satisfied growl that rumbled in his chest.

He took his time, exploring her with a slow, deliberate pace that had her writhing against the wall, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps. He licked, kissed, and teased, each movement of his tongue designed to drive her closer to the edge. His hands tightened on her thighs, holding her steady as he delved deeper, his tongue swirling around that sensitive bundle of nerves that had her crying out his name.

And then, the licking and kissing turned into something more fervent, more desperate. His initial slow, deliberate pace gave way to an insatiable hunger. He devoured her with a newfound intensity, his tongue moving in rapid, relentless strokes, each one more powerful than the last. His mouth was everywhere, leaving no part of her untouched as he explored her with an urgency that had her whole body trembling. His hand moved from her thigh to squeeze the soft flesh of her arse, to stroke behind her, between her legs, playing and teasing her as he ate her out like a man starved. She had never known pleasure like this. 

His name spilled from her lips in a breathless chant, each syllable punctuated by gasps and moans as he pushed her closer and closer to the brink. He could feel her body tightening, every muscle coiling with the tension of impending release. And still, he didn’t let up. If anything, he only grew more voracious, his mouth moving over her with a feverish intensity that left her breathless and begging.

“Blackwall…” she moaned again, her voice trembling with need. She was so close, he could feel it in the way her thighs trembled, in the way her body tensed under his touch. He focused on her clit, his tongue moving in a steady, rhythmic pattern that had her whimpering, her hips bucking against his mouth as she chased her release.

With one final, deep stroke of his tongue, he sent her spiralling over the edge. Her body arched, her breath caught, and her mind went blank as pleasure crashed over her in waves. He held her through it all, his mouth never leaving her as he coaxed every last drop of ecstasy from her trembling form, his tongue still moving with a rhythm that had her gasping for air.

When she finally came down from the high, her body slumped against the wall, her legs weak and trembling. He pulled back, his lips glistening, and he looked up at her, his eyes dark with satisfaction and something deeper, something that went beyond mere lust.

Gently, Blackwall rose to his feet and he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her with utter reverence.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice low and sincere. “I’ve been a fool.”

Fawn’s breath was still uneven, but a playful smirk curled her lips as she met his gaze. “I’ll consider forgiving you,” she teased, but her eyes still held the dregs of fear.  “Just please, no more running from me.”

Blackwall’s response was immediate and heartfelt. “Never.”

Her smile widened at his words, the fear draining. “Good, because I have some excellent Qunari rope I could put to use if you ever try that again.”

The sound of his laughter was like a breath of fresh air, a deep, genuine peal of delight that filled the space between them. For the first time, he seemed completely at ease, his armour dropped and the storm clear.

“Oh, trust me,” he said, his grin widening as he leaned in for another kiss. “I have not forgotten about the rope. I have big plans for it.”

[dottores]

HOME | BAIZHU

summary: after months in inazuma searching for something that could help him, you finally returned home.

warnings: none really, baizhu’s illness, soft sweet n a little angsty, unedited, written on phone

wordcount: idk probably 2k ish

notes: wowowowowow pretty green man stole my heart @saintdainsleif @hanmas @dxlucs @mxnjiros @manjiroscum @alucrds @suyacho @sugusshi @tokyometronetwork

“you are insatiable.”

you smiled against baizhu’s neck when you heard the man let out a soft sigh, stirred awake by the gentle kisses being trailed up and down his neck. to any other person, he would have sounded exasperated—annoyed, even—but you caught the fond undertone hidden beneath the words, and you didn’t have to look up to know that a small smile was inching onto his lips.

“i have missed you,” you corrected, carefully running your fingers through his long green hair, dampened by the steam rising from the warm water of his bath. you pressed another chaste kiss right beneath his right ear as you shifted the hair over his left shoulder. “have you missed me?”

you rested your chin on his shoulder, arms loose around him as you kneeled outside the tub, eyes slid shut peacefully. your fingertips grazed the surface of the hot water, basking in your lover’s presence for the first time in two months.

“a ridiculous question,” baizhu murmured, long, thin fingers intertwined with your own as he lifted one of your hands to his lips, pressing a kiss against your knuckles. “how did the trip go?”

were you able to find anything?

you let out a quiet breath, kissing his shoulder again. not for the first time, you had gone abroad to search for answers and remedies for the illness that plagued baizhu. mondstadt, sumeru, natlan, and now inazuma with the sakoku decree being lifted—you spent months traveling teyvat, leaving with hope that you finally would return with something for him and coming back at a loss for words, heart aching as you braced yourself for baizhu’s disappointment.

“scooch forward,” you said, drawing away from him to rise back to your feet. “let me join you.”

you could hear the water shifting as he did what you asked, sloshing around in the tub. you slipped off your clothes off, your mind racing as you tried to figure out what you were going to say.

your travels to the foreign nation had been fruitless, for the most part. you had gotten in contact with a priestess from one of the islands, but you were unsure if it would lead to anything worthwhile and you didn’t want to give him any hope that wasn’t there.

without a word, you slid in the tub behind him, legs on either side of his body, the hot water stinging your skin as your body adjusted to the temperature, but you were more focused on the man in front of you. you reached forward, fingers grazing his shoulder in a silent request for him to lean back.

you felt much more at peace the moment baizhu’s skin was flush against yours—his head resting against your chest, soft green hair tickling your collarbones. you wrapped your arms around his waist, leaning your forehead down on the top of his head.

“isn’t this more comfortable?” you asked softly after a few moments of peaceful silence. your only response was a quiet hum of agreement—you knew he was waiting for an answer but you wanted to avoid the topic for as long as possible. so instead, you decided to tease him, “the door unlocked, fast asleep in the tub… if i didn’t know any better, i’d say you wanted someone to come in here and find you in a compromising position.”

your hands dipped beneath the water, the pads of your fingers drawing circles around his hipbones as you waited for him to respond.

“no one comes around at this time besides you and qiqi,” he finally said, one of his hands returning to yours and you switched to continuing the soothing circles on the back of his palm again.

his hands were always soft, frail to where yours were stronger and more calloused from years of training. you felt like you were handling fragile porcelain whenever you held him in your arms but it was a dangerous game because if you treated him too carefully, it would just be a reminder of his inevitable fate.

“speaking of,” you said, pulling your other hand from the water to play with the wet strands of hair splayed against his chest, “where is our little bird tonight? i was hoping to see her.”

“she spent the day with streetward rambler’s young disciple,” baizhu told you. “i was going to go fetch her when i was done resting.”

“i can handle that,” you offered. “it’s best to not leave the shop unattended in case of an emergency.”

a blatant excuse, you knew that and he knew that, but you figured an excuse was better than the truth—he was simply not up for running around trying to find qiqi and yaoyao.

baizhu didn’t respond. you thought he might’ve fallen asleep—his pale chest rising and falling steadily beneath your hand, breath even and relaxed. but then he shifted, turning his head to the side to look up at you.

for the first time in months, familiar gold eyes met your own, steady and searching yours. you swallowed thickly as you braced yourself for the question he was bound to finally press.

“you found nothing in inazuma.”

your throat felt tight, lips parted as you fumbled for words but you were left at a loss, as you were every time you returned with empty hands. baizhu exhaled at your reaction—the only answer he needed—shifting back around to face front, eyes sliding shut as he rested against you.

“i stopped by the yuehai pavilion before coming here, scheduled a meeting with the tianquan to make sure the political climate in fontaine is still okay before heading north. i’ll find something there, i promise.”

he suddenly looked older, the weight of your answer adding even more stress to the frail man—the bags beneath his eyes dark against his pallor, and his collarbones and ribs peaking out just a bit more than they had been before you had left.

sometimes, you were scared when you left to travel—scared that you would leave and there would be no home to return to. because your only home was him, and you’d never know if when you left, it would be your last time seeing him.

he was careful to hide how severe his pain was behind those smiles and gentle words but you could see through it. and you knew he hated that heavy gaze of yours he couldn’t escape in the days before you left to travel, but you couldn’t help yourself—terrified that one day you’d return and only have a fading memory to remember him by.

“we’ll figure this out,” you promised, not for the first time, but you never made promises you couldn’t keep. you’d figure something out even if it meant signing your soul away—you had heard rumors that the fatui of snezhnaya had made some intense advancements with the elemental energy and technology, and you figured that if anybody had ability to help baizhu, it would be them…

… but bargaining with the fatui for help could cast you as an enemy of the qixing… and it could cost your freedom, and maybe even your life. so you would go to fontaine first, and pray to the archons that you would find your answers there.

“i know,” baizhu said, giving your hand a weak squeeze as he melted back into you. you could hear in his voice that he was on the verge of dozing off, and you supposed he must have had a busy day running the pharmacy.

but before he could fall asleep, you lifted one of your hands to cup his cheek.

“i’ve been deprived of your lips for months and you’re going to make me wait another night?” you teased gently, chest light when you heard him let out an amused huff.

he tilted his head back to the side to look up at you, gold eyes lidded as they fluttered open to look at you, and you leaned your head down just a bit to steal a soft kiss.

you smiled against his lips, fingers carding gently through his damp green hair—for the first time in months you finally felt at home, and already, you dreaded having to part ways with him again. even if you knew it was for the greater good.

you pulled away too soon for your liking, but you could feel even in the way his lips moved against yours how exhausted he was and you didn’t want to keep him up any longer after having already disturbed him.

“i’ll fetch qiqi before it gets too dark,” you said quietly, pulling him back to lay against you, and he let out another hum of agreement, eyes sliding shut. “sleep, i’ll wake you before i go.”

[gretavangroupie]

Vigilance (Chapter 21 Part 1)

Word count: 15.3k

Pairings: Jake x Reader, Sam x Reader, Sam x OC, Jake x OC

Warnings: Alcohol, Cursing, Dramatic Themes. Angst Including: Talks of Infidelity, Toxic Themes, Arguing, Yelling, Extreme Portrayal of Sadness, Crying, Abandonment, Heartbreak, Talks of Illness, Extreme Illness, Fainting, Hospitalization, Hospital Procedures and Protocols, Mentions of IV, Talks of Death and Dying. Fluff.

This story is a collaboration with my best pal @gretavanmoon.

HER POV

Why am I so hot? You awoke to the feeling of a warm arm draped over your body, a leg tangled between yours, and a sheen of sweat covering your skin. Your eyes opened and you found Jake completely wrapped around you. What’s happening?

You turn your head to see him resting on your pillow, his mouth slightly open as his eyes move back and forth beneath his lids. A soft breath left his lips, as you stared at him. The most beautiful human you’d ever seen. You weren't sure how you ended up here, wrapped up with him, but just for a moment you let yourself feel the rush of happiness flooding your brain. 

His hand rested on your shoulder, his calloused fingertips laying gently against your shirt. His shirt. The shirt he gave you years ago. You knew he remembered the other night, just by the way his eyes grew when he saw it. Was it intentional? No. But it gave you hope that somewhere deep down inside of him, there was still something there.

You let your fingers gently brush the strand of hair from across his face, tucking it behind his ear. His mouth twitched at the movement but you knew he would probably wake soon anyways. You were going to enjoy this moment, before he woke up and made you forget it ever happened.

Your hand traveled down his neck and over his torso, feeling his soft skin beneath your fingers, trying to commit the feeling to memory. You loved him. You’d never stop loving him, regardless of if he wanted that love or not. You let your hand settle on his stomach, as you rolled towards him, leaving you nose to nose. 

It took everything in you not to press your lips to his, you could almost feel them when you closed your eyes. But instead you just looked at him. Taking in the curve of his jaw, and the angle of his nose. The tiny scar on his eyebrow, and the freckle on his cheek. Little things you’d come to love, and knew held a permanent place in your memory. 

His foot brushed against yours under the blankets, and you tensed up knowing he was about to wake up. You held your breath as you watched his eyes flutter open, trying to adjust to the light in the room. His eyes opened wide as he took in his surroundings, taking note of where he was and where his hands were placed. His eyes met yours, full of emotion, as you felt his hand slide down your shoulder and over the curve of your hip.

He rolled to his back and let out a sigh, staring up at the ceiling as he stretched his legs out before going limp again. Your hand fell from his stomach as he rolled to his back, his skin still warm and dewey as he lowered the sheets down to his hips.

Neither of you said a word about it, instead just laying there soaking in the blissful feeling of being together under the sheets. He turned his head to look at you, and you peered up at him through your lashes, ready for the harsh blow of regret to leave his lips, but to your surprise it never came. He turned to grab his phone from the nightstand, and began to scroll through his notifications, as if it was any old regular morning. Like he didn’t cripple your emotions last night. What happened after you fell asleep?

You laid there watching him, and after a few minutes, you felt his foot slide up the side of your leg as he pulled the sheets the rest of the way off of him and rolled out of the bed. He walked over to his suitcase and grabbed a change of clothes before turning back around and catching your gaze. 

“What?” he asks.

You can’t help the smirk that graces your lips, “Nothing, nothing…” 

You could see the evidence of his morning wood through the thin black boxers sitting low on his hip bones. You swallowed back the shock that riddled your body, wishing more than anything for him to come back into the bed. He made his way to the bathroom, and shut the door, just as you rolled onto your back. What in the world?

You pull yourself from the bed and walk over to your suitcase, fishing out the clothes you wanted to wear for the day and gathering your toiletry bag. Jake emerges from the bathroom a few minutes later, fully dressed but still very quiet. A nervous glance is exchanged between the two of you as you slide into the bathroom and start the shower. 

—

As you stood in front of the mirror brushing your teeth you heard the hotel room door shut. Opening the bathroom door the steam releases into the main room and a gush of cold air hits your wet hair. You look through the peephole, wondering where he went off to, only to be startled by the sound of his voice as he sat at the desk in the corner of the room. 

“Looking for someone?” he asks.

You throw your hand to your chest, “God! You scared me! I thought you left!” 

“I did, but I just got back.” he answers, standing and walking over to his bed. You quickly finish up brushing your teeth and hang your towel over the railing before stepping back into the room.

Sitting on his bed, you find Jake sipping from a paper coffee cup as he flips through TV channels. Oh, he went to get coffee. 

You walk to your suitcase and grab your blow dryer, ready to tame your frizz, as he speaks again.

“Yours is gonna get cold…” he says gesturing to the paper cup on the dresser.

“Oh.” you reply, completely shocked at his gesture. You toss him a confused look, because just a few short days ago he couldn’t even be bothered to leave any coffee in the pot for you.

“Don’t get excited, it was an accident. Told them no cream but they added it. Made me another. I figured you’d drink it.” he says.

“Oh. Yeah. Of course.” you say, shaking your head nervously. 

Of course it wasn’t on purpose. You were getting ahead of yourself. 

“Thanks.” you reply meekly, grabbing the accidental coffee and stepping into the bathroom. 

As the door shut behind you, you took a sip from the paper cup and smiled. This wasn’t an accident, not at all.

JAKE POV

Waking up next to her felt like a piece was finally back in its place. You knew she was confused, shit, you were too. And there was no explanation. There rarely ever was when it came to Y/N. All you knew is that the guilt was crippling you, and that holding her, just letting her know you were still in there, was enough for you. 

A headache had set in already, forcing you down to the lobby to look for coffee as she took a shower. You stepped outside into the light of the day feeling like your head was going to burst. You spotted a local coffee shop just a few doors down and waited in the line, hoping the coffee would clear you from this miserable headache. 

“Hey, can I get two coffees, one with cream, one black?” you asked, as the barista rang up your order. “Oh, can you add vanilla to the one with cream?” you asked with a smile.

You handed her your card and she handed you the two coffees with a thank you.

You quickly made your way back to the room, hoping to get back before she was done in the shower. The door shut behind you just before hearing the shower turn off. You set her coffee on the dresser, hoping she would notice, but when she finally emerged and saw you with yours her face fell. Like you could ever forget about her.

“Yours is gonna get cold…” you said, pointing to the cup on the dresser.

“Oh.” she replied, her face full of shock. 

You couldn't let her fully believe she was off the hook. She still fucked up, but maybe in some kind of weird way you had too. 

“Don’t get excited, it was an accident. Told them no cream but they added it. Made me another. I figured you’d drink it.” you lied.

“Oh. Yeah. Of course.” she agrees, and you can see the disappointment written all over her. 

Of course it was on purpose Y/N. Just drink it. You’ll see.

“Thanks.” she replied, slipping away to the bathroom with her blow drier and her coffee.

As the door shut behind her you swiped your hand over your mouth. Tell her, you coward. 

You opened your texts pulling up your thread with Elle and reading it again. How could you? Why couldn’t you remember that? 

You finished your coffee and downed a handful of Advil, praying to shake this feeling from your body. You pulled some clean clothes from your suitcase, ready to hit the shower when she was done, hoping the steam might help break up the tension in your chest. You flipped through a few TV channels, catching the news as you heard the bathroom door open again, and watched as Y/N floated out and into the room. You tried not to stare for too long, but how could you not? 

“If you’re done I’m gonna grab a shower. I think we have to leave soon.” you said.

She looked at you and nodded her head, “I’m done, and yeah I think we have about… twenty minutes.” sending you a cheeky smile and raising her eyebrow.

“Don’t give me that look, I’ll be ready.” you quip.

“What look…” she said playfully, continuing to dig through her suitcase as she gave you a knowing look.

You grabbed your clothes and stood from the bed, and as you walked past her you snapped your t-shirt in her direction, grazing her ass and causing her to spin and look at you.

“Jake!” she yelped.

You paused and looked at her with a smirk, “I said, I'll be ready.”

HER POV

What is going on? Am I being Punk’d?

The confusion was rattling your brain, the up and down, back and forth, rollercoaster that Jake was taking you on. Last night when you fell asleep, Jake told you to never say ‘I love you’ ever again. Basically called you trash. Cold and harsh and bleak, just like the past couple weeks of your life had been.  

But all of a sudden, you woke up to him nestled beside you, limbs tangled while you slept. And was that coffee really an accident? And he was flirting? Not just any old flirting, the flirting that was intentional and predisposed. What the fuck? 

Not that you were complaining one bit, but his action still took you by surprise. And you still fully expected him to treat you coldly again. It wasn’t lost on you that you still deserved it, and he was most likely going to keep giving it. 

Tonight was the Saginaw show, and soundcheck was in, well now, 15 minutes. You finished getting dressed and ready for the day, checking a few emails while you waited for Jake. Finally he emerged from the bathroom, just a towel wrapped around his lower half. Fuck. Look away, Y/N, look away. You tried to distract yourself. 

If things were normal, you’d rush him along, tell him to hurry and get dressed. But things are not normal. And you wouldn’t rush him. So you sat, sipped your coffee, and waited. 

“Did they put vanilla in your coffee?” You asked him as he pulled a towel through his dripping hair. 

“Huh? No, why?” He perked up, eyes sunken. 

“You said they messed up your coffee the first time, mine tastes like they put vanilla syrup in it, too. Not just cream. They must have messed up your order all the way.” You continued scrolling your email, not looking up from your phone. “It’s just funny that that’s my normal order...” you went on, voice trailing. 

“Yeah, pretty big coincidence I guess.” He muttered, heading back into the bathroom to change. Hmm. When he emerged a few seconds later, you heard a cough so deep in his chest that it startled you. He swallowed it back, shaking his head as he took a full, deep breath. 

“Ready to go?”

—

It finally came time for the show to roll around, and you had noticed that though Richard was back on his bullshit, the crew was still warmed up to you, asking you questions and joking with you, involving you like they always had. It made you feel good, knowing they still held you to the same respect that they did before everything happened. 

Jake and the guys were starting to fiddle around, communicating and checking sound as normal. 

“Why the fuck did we decide to put Brave New World on the encore tonight? Who decided that?” Josh blabbed into the earpieces. “I can hardly even sing like that anymore.” You watched as Jake moved around silently, oblivious as ever. 

Sam moved himself to the tiny mic behind him. “Uh, you did, idiot. We took from your list tonight, remember?” 

Just recently, you’d gotten the hook up to be able to hear their chatter in your very own ear pieces. Logan had a few old cheap in-ears that he rigged up for you and a few more of the crew, just in case there was anything they’d need during a show that wasn’t extremely pressing. You truly enjoyed listening to their banter while no one else could hear it, like a private little inside listen at their antics during shows. 

“Y/N, hey!” Logan yelled from across the stage. 

“Hey!” You called back, waving him over. He jogged across the stage, bringing you in for a tight hug, his long curls falling across your face. “How’s everything going, all ready?” You asked him. 

“Yeah! Feeling more and more confident with each show. I think we’ve finally got it together. This crew kicks ass, honestly. Hey, how are your IEM’s? Everything sound good?” He asked. 

“Yes! I don’t have anything to compare it to, but they sound great to me. Thanks for letting us use them, by the way. This way we’ll never miss when Sam is out of his Topo Chico.” You rolled your eyes as he laughed. 

You glanced behind Logan to find Jake turned toward you, glaring at you from behind his sunglasses. He hit his electric hard, sending out a louder-than-necessary wave of sound across the venue. It startled everyone, sending you jumping back at the sudden jolt of sound. 

“Jesus Christ, Jake! Wake up the entire city, why don’t you?” Josh complained, throwing his arms up. You knew what he was doing, but you weren’t quite sure why. 

“Sounds great on my end, Logan!” Jake belted across the stage, sending double thumbs up to him. Interrupting your conversation. Okay, Jake. 

Logan returned the thumbs up to him. “Hell yeah! Good deal, bro!”

Logan turned back to you, placing his hand on your arm. “Hey, I gotta run but I’ll catch you after the show. Maybe we can grab some breakfast soon? Mimosas?” He asked as he walked backwards away from you. 

“Yeah! Sounds great, just text me!” You answered, sending him finger guns as he disappeared backstage. Such a good guy.

Everyone had high hopes for the show tonight, the third one always being when everybody finally got their footing. You’d popped back in to the guys’ dressing room to check on things, finding Jake seated on the couch with his acoustic, barely playing anything at all. His eyes stayed mainly closed, only popping them open every now and then to check his surroundings. 

You approached Sam and Elle, nodding your head Jake’s way. “Has he been alright? He’s hardly said anything today.”

“He perks up every now and then. Said his head is hurting really bad still.” Sam responded, sipping his drink. You were still concerned that maybe he wouldn’t be able to perform tonight, so you ran to your purse in the corner and grabbed him some headache medicine and a bottle of water. 

You walked over to where he was on the couch, extending your hand out to give him the meds. “Here. Chug. Do you need caffeine?” You asked, truly out of concern. 

He took the pills and water from your hands, swallowing them down and killing half the bottle of water. He shook his head no, standing from the couch. 

He ran his hands through his hair, and shook his limbs out. Just then, your radio buzzed with interference. “Ten minutes, ten minutes to stage.” The voice came across. 

The guys gathered in their huddle, and Josh spoke quietly as they all hugged. He popped up after a few seconds, hitting his fists on his chest. “Saginaw, baby! Sagnasty!” He was the exact and polar opposite of his twin who sulked beside him, still himself but much more reserved than normal. 

“Check me out, Y/N!” Danny said as he spun around. 

“Perfection, sir!” You responded as he opened the door and headed out. Sam and Josh were on his heels, and Jake was following behind, not seeming to be in a hurry at all. 

“You can check my suit, if you want.” He murmured, his eyes falling to the wayside as you looked to him. What? 

“Oh, yeah. Sure will.” You dusted his shoulders off and pulled on his lapels, not seeing anything out of place at all. Just standing this close to his face was enough to make your heart race. 

“Remember when you used to create little mishaps for me to fix with your outfits?” You smirked. 

He smiled, just a little bit. “I do. Just wanted to feel your hands on me.” 

His words took you by surprise. Here comes the rollercoaster again. 

“Hm. So sneaky. And why did you want that?” You pressed, unsure of how to really respond to that. 

He shrugged one shoulder. “I dunno. Made me feel good. And you always saved me for last. Gave me a few extra seconds alone with you.” His eyes were sunken back, but still blazed with the sweet caramel flecks that showed up when he grinned. 

“I’m always gonna save you for last, Jake.” You whispered, letting your hands rest on his chest, feeling it vibrate beneath your palms as he breathed. Your brow furrowed at the feeling, what was that? He started coughing a little as he separated himself from you, grabbing his water bottle and finishing off the rest. 

You instantly became more worried. You felt his chest rattle just now. “Jake, you really don’t look so good. And your chest sounds like shit…”

He cut you off by rushing to the door. “I’m fine. Gotta go.” And he was out the door before you could even finish your sentence. 

——

The show was electric, the crowd huge and loud and more excited than ever. Jake seemed to have caught his second wind, bounding around the stage like he hadn’t been acting like death keeled over the past couple of days. You hoped that whatever he was fighting off would go away soon; you made a mental note to grab him some Vitamin C and other things the next time you were able. It probably wouldn’t hurt for everyone to get their immune systems up right now. 

The end of the show was drawing near, you and Elle had been dancing the night away just like always. Things with Elle were still a bit, awkward? to say the least, but you just brushed it off as both of you being busy. Things would level out soon.

Logan joined the two of you near the end of the show, watching from side stage, a place he rarely ever got to visit. You offered him a questioning thumbs up which he returned, giving you his famous 100 watt smile. You were so happy he was here, his presence alone always made you feel like you were safe and cared for. 

The Weight of Dreams began, and suddenly, it looked as though the fog machine was turned on full blast, absolutely drowning Jake in thick fog. Even from side stage, he was completely enveloped in it. Shit. You looked to Logan who took off immediately, rushing around back stage to loop back around to the front. Why was there so much fog? You grabbed your radio as quickly as you could. “Where are the stage fans? Let’s get them on quickly please.” You demanded into the radio, watching as it clouded and billowed around him. 

Finally after what felt like an eternity you could see him through it. He never missed a beat. The very first thought in your mind- that’s going to be good for his already rattling lungs. You could see him trying to cough a little bit as the smoke cleared, turning his head around and trying to get away from it. 

The show continued on after Logan most likely told them to cut the fog machines altogether. After they played My Way, Soon, which appeared to be a surprise crowd favorite, they left and went backstage before encore. You ran back to the green room quickly to meet them, and Jake was leaned against the cool block wall with his arms covering his face. He was coughing again, the deep growl in his chest sounding worse than it did before. 

“Shit!” He yelled as he caught his breath. “What the fuck was up with that fog?!” 

“I dunno man but my throat hurts so bad I wanna scream. And I’ve already been screaming all fucking night.” Josh said, sipping the hot toddy he warmed back up in a microwave. 

You felt worried for them both. This was not the time for them to be coming down with anything. 

“Let’s just get through these last three…” Josh said, spraying his throat with some type of spray. 

“Well, we would have planned an extended encore for a night when we actually want it to fly by, huh? Lover, Leaver is gonna be stacked.” Jake said, sitting on the couch wiping off his forehead. 

Just then, Logan burst in the room. “Hey guys. I know you’re not feeling the best. I know you’re struggling out there, I can see it. But you’re kicking ass, I don’t think anyone even noticed the fog incident. We turned them off.” He said. 

“Thank god…” Jake muttered. 

“I have just the thing for you, I promise you it will make you feel better for the time being.” Logan said, bringing out a mason jar from his back jeans pocket. 

“The fuck is that?” Sam asked. 

“Holy shit…” Jake added. 

“This right here is white lightning moonshine. And the real kind, too. Not the shit you buy over in Gatlinburg. My uncle makes it. Take a few swigs, it will light you the fuck up. But it will help you get through these next few songs, I swear.” Logan went on, shaking the jar and showing off the bubbles. 

You watched as Jake and Josh exchanged looks and shrugged. “What could it hurt?” Jake said. 

The two of them found cups so as not to spread whatever the hell they had going on, poured enough for a few drinks each, and walked toward each other. 

“Cheers, I guess.” Josh said, taking a large drink. 

“Son of a bitch! Woo!” Jake yelled as the liquid traveled down his throat and into his system. 

“I want some!” Sam yelled, bringing his own cup over. 

“Let’s hope that works, I can already feel my chest loosening up, damn.” Jake said with surprise on his face. 

“Don’t drink any more alcohol on top of it. Just chase with water. I gotta go, I’ll leave it here in the fridge. Good show guys!” Logan said as he jumped back out of the room. 

“Well, let’s go see if that helped.” Jake said, throwing back the remaining whiskey in his cup. 

——

…And it did. For the time being, at least. Jake and Josh still seemed winded, but they played the encore without even a slip, full of energy and enthusiasm. 

Sam started out on the keys first off, playing a little tune you barely recognized. As it went on, the familiarity hit you in the face. Was this the song he played you at the speakeasy in Vegas? Gershwin…

Right when it hit you that that’s what it was, he glanced up to you and Elle, shooting you the tiniest of winks. Sam, good lord…don’t make my heart beat like that ever again, damnit. 

And they were right, Lover, Leaver, Taker, Believer was extended to almost twenty minutes, and Jake even threw in a little bit of Brave New World. The crowd was absolutely going insane, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t completely starstruck from hearing the old song that they never play. 

They finished out the show without any more hiccups, and after tying up a few things with the crew, you rushed backstage to meet them in the green room. 

When you got there, Jake was still dressed and leaned back on the couch, looking completely washed out. Josh was sitting on the arm of the couch next to him, already changed and ready to go. Josh looked at you, true worry painted across his face. 

“He’s usually always the one to change first.” He said, his voice scratchy and eyes glossed. 

“I know he is.” You replied, taking the seat next to him on the couch. “Hey, Jake. You wanna get out of that suit so we can go home?” You placed your hand on his leg, trying to keep up your charade as best you could. 

Suddenly Danny was grabbing his hands and picking him up off the couch, Jake fighting him to stand. “Come on, little buddy. Let’s get you up.” Danny teased. 

“Get the hell off me, asshole.” Jake said through a soft smile. “I’ve got it, I’m good.” Another deep cough caught his chest. He sulked off to the dressing room, sweat still pouring from his face. You couldn’t wait to get back to the room so he could rest, your gut telling you that something was ominous.

——

You could tell something was definitely off when the elevator ride contained no jokes, no laughter, nothing. Just silence. Jake was slumped over on the railing, with his head leaning against the metallic wall. His chest was heaving and his eyes heavy. Maybe he was actually sick. 

Josh stood across from him in a similar state, though not as pale, and still coherent enough to respond if someone did talk to him. The three of you stepped out on your floor, watching as Jake had to pull himself off of the railing. He was sweaty, his hair stuck to his neck, and you wondered if that was remnants from the show or if he was fighting off a fever. 

Josh stepped up to his door, and entered inside with a soft goodnight, leaving you and Jake a few steps away from your own door. Jake trailed behind, exuding more effort than usual just to place one foot in front of the other as his chest continued to heave. 

“Do you have the key?” you asked.

He fell into the wall, pulling his wallet from his pocket and thrusting it into your hands. What the hell? You opened his wallet, pulling the key card from one of the slots and tapping it to the door. You walked inside, hearing him come in after you, attempting to lock the door. 

He carried himself to his bed and flopped down face first into the sheets. God, what is his deal?

You kicked off your shoes and grabbed your pajamas from your suitcase, making your way to the bathroom to change. Silence. Pure silence. Your heart started to race. There is something wrong. There has to be. He’s never this quiet.

You pulled the shirt over your head and threw your hair into a bun, quickly walking back out to the room, to see Jake still laying on his stomach on his bed. He hadn’t moved an inch. His sunken eyes stared blankly at the wall, as beads of sweat collected on his forehead. 

You made your way over to him, crouching down in front of him, “Jake?” you asked, placing your hand on his sweaty face. Oh my god, he’s burning up. His eyes fluttered closed at your touch and a shaky sigh left his chest.

“Hey…Jake…you’re not looking too good. I know you aren’t feeling good. Can you talk to me?” you ask, standing up and trying to roll him to his back. With a little extra effort you are able to roll him over, and you make your way to the foot of his bed, unzipping his boots and tossing them to the floor. His chest is still rising quickly, and his skin is pale as you look at him, starting to put the pieces together. 

His headaches. His coughing. He is sick, and this isn’t a normal sickness. 

“Hey…can you talk to me? Please, say something?” you ask gently.

He just blinks, a wheeze leaving his chest with his exhale. Fuck.

“Jake, please…Look, I know you hate me right now... I just need you to tell me what's going on. You sound really really bad. You’re scaring me.” you beg.

“Don’t hate you…” he breathes, using every bit of effort he has to try and reach for you. 

“Okay, okay. Can you breathe? Is it your chest?” you ask.

“Yes…” he whispers.

“Yes you can breathe or yes it’s your chest?” you ask.

“My chest...” he answers.

You place your hand on his forehead again, feeling the heat absolutely radiating off of him. 

“I’m gonna take some of your layers off okay? You are too warm.” you say.

He nods, continuing to wheeze as his chest rises and falls. 

Fuck what do I do? What do I do?

You unbutton the rest of his shirt, trying to strip it off of him as quickly as possible, seeing the sheen of sweat covering his body. 

You watch his chest cave inward as he tries to pull a full breath into his lungs with a crackle. God Jake. 

His hair was stuck to his neck, drenched in sweat. “Can I pull your hair up?” you ask.

He nods and reaches his arm out to you to let you grab the hair tie from his wrist. You do your best to pull the sweaty hairs into a bun, and away from his face. 

“I’m gonna go get a wet rag, I’ll be right back.” you say, rushing off to the bathroom. 

You quickly wet a washcloth with cold water, wringing out the excess before returning back to him and placing it on his head. 

He swallows and looks at you, “Will you lay with me baby, please…” he breathes, eyes barely open.

“What? No, Jake you don’t mean that.” you say, knowing it’s probably just the fever getting to him. 

You stand up and walk over to his toiletry bag searching for the tylenol, hoping it will bring down his fever.

You return back to him with a bottle of water and the pills, sitting on the bed next to him. “Take these, please. It will help.” you ask.

He groans and waves you off, as you place your hand on his arm. “Please, Jake.”

He grumbles again and grabs the water from you, tossing the pills into his mouth. He drinks them down before collapsing back into the pillow as a horrible cough rips through his chest. 

“Jake, I’m really really worried. I think you have something pretty nasty.” you say, taking the water back from him and standing from the bed. His hand shakily reaches out to grab yours. 

“Please stay…” he says through another cough. “I’m so tired– don’t fight me. Just…” he trails off. 

You set the water on the nightstand and sit down on the bed next to him. His hand reaches for yours, limply holding it in his. Electricity travels up your arm as you turn to look at him, his face growing more and more pale by the second. His lips turning more blue than they have ever looked. 

He brings your hand to rest on his bare chest, and you can feel the shallowness of his breathing, not matching up with the exertion you were witnessing from him. 

“Hey, do you think you could take a shower? Maybe help break up whatever is going on in your chest? Bring down your fever? What do you think?” you ask, letting his fingers glide over the top of your hand. 

“You’ll lay with me after?” he asks.

“Sure.” you answer, knowing you’d do anything to make him feel better. 

You stand from the bed, and grab his hand, gently pulling him to his feet as he wobbles. You place your arm around his waist and bring his other arm over your shoulder as you help him towards the bathroom. You sit him on the toilet, and reach into the shower to start the water. 

What are you supposed to do in this situation? Do you leave and let him do it himself? Do you stay and help him?

“Do you…want…help? Or…” you ask, noticing the bathroom filling with steam.

“Don’t leave…please…” he says, weakly trying to unbuckle his belt. You wince watching him struggle, and you know that you need to put everything aside and step in. 

You push his hands away, unbuckling the belt and pulling it from the loops. You pull him to stand and unbutton his pants, looking away as you push them towards the ground. His eyes study you, you can feel them boring into your skin. As you turn to look at him his eyes are hazy, sunken, and scared as they search yours. 

“You’re okay Jake. You’re just fighting off something bad. It’ll be okay. Can you step in?” you ask, pulling back the shower curtain. 

He nods and steps in, letting the hot water hit his skin. The steam is filling the bathroom perfectly, and you hope that it will help him breathe easier. When he isn’t looking you slip out of the bathroom and find your phone, still buried in your purse. 

You quickly hit Josh’s contact and hold the phone to your ear as you try to find clean clothes for Jake to change into. 

“Hello?” he answers, his voice rough and scratchy.

“Hey, I’m sorry to bother you, but… Jake is like, really really sick. I–”

“Yeah me fucking too. I can barely move. Feel like I got hit by a bus.” he says.

“No, Josh he is like, not breathing right. He’s coughing and wheezing and I’m scared.” you admit.

“Fuck. I noticed him coughing today…Do you think he needs to see a doctor?” he asks.

“That’s why I was calling. Do you think he should? What should I do?” you ask, nervously.

“What is he saying?” he asks.

“Josh, he is barely breathing, let alone talking. He hasn’t been able to catch his breath since we left the show.” you say.

“Take him to the hospital. Call Sam or Danny. They will know how to get him there.” he says. 

Suddenly a crashing sound comes from the bathroom, causing your head to snap in its direction. 

“Fuck I have to go.” you say ending the call. 

You throw your phone onto the bed and run back into the bathroom, and what you find nearly stops your heart. 

“Jake!” you yell, throwing the rest of the curtain back and turning off the water. 

Laying slumped against the shower wall was Jake, completely passed out. 

You climbed into the tub, pulling his face from the wall and shaking his body. “Jake! Jake! Please!” you yell, tears welling in your eyes. 

Fuck what do you do?! Is he breathing at all?

You pull from every single life safety protocol you ever learned, praying you could remember what to do.

You continue to shake him, trying to open his eyes and get him to wake up, when suddenly it hits you. Blood flow to the brain. You pull his soaking wet body towards you and try to ease him down onto his back, propping his legs up. 

“Please Jake. Please please please wake up.” you whisper, letting the tears roll down your cheeks.

Seconds later he coughs, trying to take another deep breath. His eyes shoot open and a sob rips from your chest. You did it.

“Jake oh my god!” you cry.

“Are you okay? You passed out! I’m so sorry I never should have left the bathroom, I just called Josh and–”

“Josh…Where’s Josh…” he whines.

“He’s in his room, he’s sick too. I just talked to him, he’s okay Jake.” you say.

“I need him, tell him I need him…I don’t feel good baby, something’s wrong…” he pants.

“I know. I know. I’m taking you to the hospital. I just need you to get up if you can. Have to put clothes on…” you sniffle.

You rush out of the bathroom and grab your phone, hitting Sam’s contact and putting it on speakerphone as you try to help Jake stand up from the shower. 

“Do you know what time it is?” Sam answers.

“Sam…” you plead.

“Oh fuck, what? What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Come to our room, please fucking hurry. Bring Danny, bring anyone I don’t care just help!” you beg.

“Be there in two seconds.” he says, ending the call.

You grab a towel and try to wrap it around Jake, drying his shivering body the best you can, knowing his fever is getting the best of him. 

“Come on, I got clothes out for you…” you say, pulling him to sit on the edge of his bed.

“Can you put these on?” you ask, tossing the clothes next to him.

He nods and slowly pulls the shirt over his head, still looking terribly pale and lethargic.

A knock at the door has you running to answer it, seeing Sam and Daniel waiting.

“What the fuck, whats happening?” Sam asks, bursting into the room.

“I don’t know, we came back to the room and he could barely move. He was sweating and completely out of it. He can't breathe, he just passed out in the shower! I didn’t know what to do but then I did, and he's awake now but I–I need to take him to the hospital can you please help me!” you say, breaking down again.

Daniel rushes over to Jake, squatting down in front of him, “You okay man? What’s up?” he asks seriously.

“Can’t breathe…” he answers weakly.

Daniel looks over to Sam, sending him a look. Sam pulls his phone from his pocket, scrambling trying to figure out whose car you could take.

“Hey! My parents! The–they are here for the night because of the show!” you say, grabbing your phone and hitting your dads contact. 

“Hello? Hey dad, I’m so sorry I know it's so late. I need to borrow your car. We have to take Jake to the hospital. What– Yeah, I will explain everything but we have to go right now. Can I come get your keys?” you say, rushing to get your shoes on. 

“714… Yes… I’m gonna send Sam. Be there in a sec.” he says, ending the call.

“Daniel, I’m going to get the keys, can you two get him to the lobby? I’ll pick you up.” Sam says, pointing to Danny.

“Yeah, hurry dude. He looks bad.” Danny says, only adding to your stress.

“Danny, is he going to be okay?” you cry.

“We’re gonna take him to Ascension, they will check him out. I’m sure he will be okay. Just having a rough time right now. Right Jake?” he says, hoping Jake will calm your nerves, but instead you’re both met with a horrible cough. 

You grab your purse and your phone, tossing his wallet and his phone into your bag as Danny helps him walk towards the door. 

The three of you nervously ride the elevator, your eyes never leaving Jake for a split second. The image of his passed out body in the shower making you sick. The elevator arrives at the lobby and you and Danny rush him out the front door, to wait for Sam. 

Seconds later he is pulling up, and you are helping Jake into the backseat of the car. You slide in next to him, and as the car starts to pull away you feel his body slump into your lap. 

His face is warm as you rub your hands over his forehead, winding your fingers through his hair. 

“You’ll be okay. You’ll be fine. They will know exactly what to do. You’ll feel so much better in just a few minutes. I promise.” you say, trying to help him relax. His eyes are glossed over as he stares up at you, blinking slowly. 

“Sam, call your parents!” you plead.

You bite your lips together to keep from crying. You’re not sure you’ve ever seen him like this. This vulnerable. This weak. 

You rest your left hand on his jaw, his skin burning hot against your palm. His hand comes up to grab yours pulling it to rest over his heart, knowing he just needs to feel the comfort of your touch, regardless of everything that’s happening between the two of you. 

As the car pulls into the Emergency Room drop off, you slide out of the car and help Jake get out, watching him slowly pull himself out of the car. Daniel steps in again, helping walk Jake inside of the hospital, as you rush to the desk to talk to the attendant. 

Within minutes a nurse arrives with a wheelchair instructing him to sit, as the two of you stand and watch him be admitted. Jake grabs your hand and pulls you close to him, his hands clammy and shaking.

“We can only do one rapid test. Immediate family only. The rest of you will have to wait here and take a standard test before we can let you come back.” the nurse says, starting to wheel him away.

“No...please…She– she’s family! She is my family…” Jake says, still trying to hold on to you as they move further away. You let go, and he turns back to look at you until you can’t see him anymore, your heart shattering into a million pieces.

“Fuck, I’ll call you. Cars’ in lot B.” Sam says, tossing the keys to Danny and rushing down the hall to catch up with them, leaving you and Daniel standing in the waiting room with nothing but questions.

You can’t help the tears that break free as they disappear down the hallway. Is he going to be okay? What’s wrong with him? Why now? 

Danny throws his arm over your shoulder, and brings you to sit in one of the hard hospital chairs. He sits next to you, turning towards you grabbing your hands in his. You blink back your tears as you look at him.

“Y/N, I know Jake. He’s gonna be okay. They are going to find out what’s going on, and he will be just fine. I know it sucks that you can’t go with him. It hurts to hear that you aren’t family. Trust me, I get it.” he laughs, trying to lighten the mood, “...but just know, if he could have picked any of us to go back with him, it would be you. Everytime it would be you.”

You rip your hands from his to cover your face as another sob wracks through your body. He doesn’t even know. He doesn’t even know he hates me. He doesn’t even know what I did to him.

“Why don’t I…take you back to the hotel... We can hangout and talk and wait for Sam to call us. I know they aren't going to let us back there, and I think you need to rest. I won’t leave you, I promise. Plus, we should probably talk to Josh…” he offers.

You nod and stand as he throws his arm around you, pulling you tightly into his side, and as you walk, you wonder if it’s finally time to come clean.

JAKE POV

Your finger was tapping along with the sound of something, a steady beep that repeated every second and a half or so. Your eyes were heavy and blurry, your head was still pounding, and there was a heaviness in your chest that you couldn’t shake off. But the tapping felt strange. You lifted your finger and looked at it, a large white clip thing attached and pinching your pointer finger. You studied it, twirling it around and inspecting it before reaching with your opposite hand to remove it. 

“That’s your pulse ox, Jacob. Gotta keep it on, okay? Measures your oxygen levels for me.” You heard a sweet female voice ring in your ears as you felt a pair of warm hands take yours, and replace the pinchy plastic thing. “I know it’s annoying, but it’s very important.”

You finally opened your eyes all the way, finding yourself in a bed unfamiliar, surrounded by monitors and dim fluorescent lighting. Fuck, did they really bring you to a hospital? You reached up to your face, and of course, found two little plastic prongs pushing cold air into your nostrils. You looked around the room once more, expecting to be lectured by the pretty voice again. 

“Yep, oxygen, hun.” She said. You began to sit up and readjust yourself in the bed, feeling your entire body beginning to pound like your muscles had been beaten with a meat tenderizer. You felt the tiniest bit of panic beginning to set in as your disorientation started to slip away, knowing that you wouldn’t be in here if something weren’t seriously wrong. 

“Just relax, Jake. You don’t need to overexert yourself. Just stay laid back, you’re in good hands.” She said again, bringing herself beside your bed to readjust your pillows. “They’re about to come and get you for radiographs, we need to take a few X-rays of your chest to figure out what’s going on, okay? Those will tell us a bit more about how exactly to move forward with your treatment. But you just stay relaxed, we’ll be back in a few to get you for tests.” The sweet voice continued. It sounded… oddly familiar? Your eyes were too blurry to make out a face, but you knew she was a young nurse. And all you wanted to do was ask questions. And find Y/N. 

The nurse was gone from the room a few seconds later, and instantly, another body was beside your bed. A familiar one. 

“Hey brother, you doing okay?” Sam. Fuckin Sam. 

You groaned, wanting to roll to your side but the monitors connected to your chest and arms holding you back. 

“No, not really. Why did you bring me here? Can we leave? Where’s Y/N?” You went on, perturbed that Sam was the only other one in the room with you. 

“No, we can’t leave. You’re not in good shape, Jake. Y/N is with Danny.” He answered. 

“I’m fine. Just a little cold. I can fight it off myself. Tell them to give me some meds and let’s get out of here. We have shows to play.” You growled. 

You heard Sam sigh hard. “Jake, listen to me. Do you remember anything after the show? The shower, anything?” He asked. You began to feel disoriented and dizzy again, like no amount of oxygen could bring you back to coherency. 

“No. Well, a little bit. I remember Y/N taking my clothes off in the bathroom at the hotel.” You went on as you sat up again. You gave Sam the most detrimental look you could muster, biting your tongue hard as you stared daggers through his skull. “Probably wasn’t as good as her taking my clothes off in a hotel stairwell, though. Huh Sam?”

You felt his body language tense as he went completely silent. Even from behind his face mask, you could tell he wasn’t breathing. He stood stoic, still as a statue beside your bed. 

Yeah, that’s right asshole. I know all about it. 

“Where even is she, anyway? Where’s mom?” You muttered out, having absolutely no energy to talk about that with Sam at this point. When you got your energy back, though…

He cleared his throat. “Uh, they wouldn’t let her back because she’s not family. Said maybe after she tests negative for COVID…same with mom. They can test tonight and have results back tomorrow, so.” 

“Do they think that’s what I have? What did the doctors say?” You asked him, the dizziness setting back in. 

“They don’t know, Jake. They tested you for it as soon as we got here, while you were still out of it. Do you remember passing out in the shower? Y/N said you quit breathing for a little bit…then she called me and Daniel.”

You shook your head. “No, not really. Guess I blacked out. Maybe that’s why my body hurts so bad. And I probably went too hard at the show. Shit, where’s Josh?” You said, feeling another cough threatening your chest. 

You felt Sam sit beside you on the bed while you worked through the coughing fit. “He’s at the hotel, he’s sick too. They’re coming to do the chest X-ray and blood work, Carson said. If it isn’t COVID, then they said it could be pneumonia, Jake. Like the bad kind.” 

You sighed, exhausted after feeling your lungs tighten in on themselves. “Fuck. Awesome. On the third fucking show…” you shook your head, pissed off. “Wait, who's Carson?”

“Your nurse. Carson Neely, remember her from high school? I think you graduated with her. ” Sam said. 

Oh yeah. You wondered why her voice hit a familiar nerve. Wow, it had been years since you heard that name. You played soccer together growing up, and all the way through high school. She was an absolute beast of an athlete, playing more sports than any guy you knew. And she kicked your ass as a forward. Always really easy to get along with…you remembered having a few classes with her, too. She was always so nice and pretty, kind of off-putting but in an attractive way, like she never let you have the upper hand. You always figured it was just her competitive nature. 

“Shit, that’s her? I haven’t heard that name in years…small world.” You told Sam. 

“Yep, she’s been in here since we got here. Got you all hooked up and asked me all kinds of questions. I never saw her ending up as a nurse, but. Anyway, I’m gonna go call everybody and update them. Mom and Dad should be here soon. They can’t come up, but. They only allow one rapid test, and you get me…” Sam’s voice trailed off as he exited the door, pulling his phone from his pocket. 

“Sam…” you called back to him before he closed the door. He turned back to look at you. “Is Josh okay?”

“Not really, no. He’s gonna go to the doctor tomorrow.” And he let the door shut behind him. Fuck. What is going on? Another deep cough rattled through your chest, this time hurting so badly you could hardly catch your breath. Carson burst through your door, straight to the monitor that read your vitals. 

“It’s okay, Jake. Just breathe through it. Stay relaxed, you’re just fine.” You felt the air in your nostrils blow harder. You calmed down a bit, able to pull air in through your nose a bit better. “See? All better…”

“Carson, how are you?” You asked, your eyes fluttering open and shut from exhaustion. 

She laughed nervously. “Ha ha, I’m good, Jake. I’d ask you the same, but…”

You managed a laugh. “I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you. It’s strange seeing you here and not kicking my ass in the soccer field.” 

She laughed again, pushing you to rest back on your pillows. “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it? Times sure have changed since high school.” Her voice was so sweet, and you guaranteed she was just as pretty as she used to be, but your eyesight was failing you. 

“It has been a long time. How long have you been a nurse?” You asked her. 

“Right out of high school. I started taking classes senior year and got my RN the next year.” She said proudly. 

“Wow, that’s awesome. I never thought you’d be doing something like this. Always thought you’d end up on the Women’s National team.” You grinned as she adjusted your monitor and took notes on her laptop. 

“Ah, nah. I still play a little bit, but this was my calling.” She went on. “Don’t you remember us talking about going into the healthcare field during that one project we did for Mr. Jackson’s class?”

“Oh, shit yeah. I kinda do…the human body project.” You replied, remembering your anatomy and physiology class. 

“Mmhm. If I remember right, that’s what you wanted to do, too?” She asked, bringing her face a little closer to you as she spoke. 

You pondered on the question, pulling from fibers way in the back of your brain. “Yeah, I always kinda did. Wanted to be able to help people, ya know? Any way that I could… never really happened though.”

She scoffed. “Are you kidding me, Jake? Have you not noticed that you literally help thousands of people every single night you have a show?” 

Wait, what?

“Maybe not in the health care way you wanted to, but. Your music. It helps people.” She said, continuing her notes. 

“What do you mean?” You kind of understood, but you wanted her to elaborate. You wanted to keep listening to her talk, keep listening to her voice…

She huffed, closing her laptop. “I was at the Grand Rapids show. Got to stand in the pit surrounded by hundreds of your fans. I watched people cry, scream, dance, and hug each other. Pure joy, Jake. Everywhere. Excitement. You and your brothers, you all have got that something.” She began to wheel her laptop cart away from your bedside. 

“I’ve worked in this field for a long time, but I’m telling you, especially in the fucked up world we’re living in right now, you guys supply the best medicine anyone could ever take.” She said, giving you a wink over her mask. You felt your insides get warm. You’d never heard anyone put it like that before. 

You choked back what felt like a cross between a sob and a cough. “Thank you, Carson. That’s…that’s really nice of you to say…”

“Anytime. I’ll be back here in a little while, gonna start you an IV for fluids. You’re severely dehydrated, hun. Try to rest.” She said, slipping through the door as Sam came back inside. 

You glared at him again, his presence bringing you a mix of emotions. Thankful that he was here, but miserable because you knew what he did. 

“I talked to Mom, she and dad got a room in the same hotel as us. They’re coming to get tested so they can visit you tomorrow. She’s going to take Josh to the doctor early, too. He’s not as bad as you, but he’s damn close. What the hell did you guys get into?” He asked. 

“I have no idea. I would say it was the fog machine blast to the face tonight, but I’ve been sick for days. I shouldn’t have ignored it.” You said, feeling regretful. 

“I talked to Daniel, too. He’s taking Y/N back to the hotel since they won’t let them up, either. Said she was a complete mess, worried sick for you.” Sam said, taking his seat again. 

You sighed. Things were so fucked up. You missed her, you were mad at her. You loved her, wanted nothing more than to be near her. But also still felt so betrayed that you wanted to leave her in the dust, until you remembered your conversation with Elle. Your intentions to be with her…

“Well, she found me passed out naked in the shower, so. I guess she is a little fucked up. Probably feels a little guilty she didn’t bring me here sooner, didn’t go behind your backs and just bring me immediately…” You said, trying your damnedest to insinuate without exerting too much energy. “Probably would have been a whole lot better if she would have just listened to her gut instead of making the wrong decision, hm?” 

“Jake. Stop. Not now. Fuck…” Sam said, burying his face in his hands. “Please, just…” 

You laughed as deviously as you could. “Why not, Sam? What better time than the present? Hell, I might die in here tonight. Let’s talk now, yeah? Don’t be shy, I can’t get up and fight you, as badly as I wish I could.” A cough wracked through you again. 

“Tell me about it, Sam. Tell me all about your night in the hotel stairwell with my girlfriend. The love of my life. Yeah? You know her? I wanna know about it all.” You went on after catching your breath. 

“Jake, stop it.” He said sternly. 

“I know what you did, Sam. I know all about it. It’s funny, you didn’t even think to come to me and tell me what you did. And you call yourself my fucking brother?!” Your mind began spinning. 

“Shut the fuck up, Jake. I’m telling you.” 

“Always after what you can’t have, taking what isn’t yours…” you muttered. 

Just then Sam stood up, rushing over to your bed, hovering over you. 

“I said this isn’t the time and place Jake. And if it was, I’d remind you that she was mine for a very long time, and she followed me into the stairwell that night.” He stepped back a little bit, gathering himself. 

“And hell, if I remember correctly, it looked a lot like you wanted to take Elle back to your room that night if Josh wouldn’t have called. Hmm? I bet you had plans to, didn’t you? I saw you two whispering, you were into it. You wanted to take Elle back, not Y/N. Stop lying to yourself, Jake.” 

You felt the blood drain even more from your body, the strange guilt creeping back in. You shook your head and covered your eyes with the heels of your hands. 

“God, Sam. Are we ever going to stop chasing after the same woman?” You asked. The emotions were filling you to the brim, confusion setting in your already clouded mind. You didn’t know what else to do, so you laughed, which brought on another hard coughing fit. 

“Wait, what do you mean chasing?” Sam asked as another deep cough shook your entire body. Your monitors were going nuts, and Carson burst back into the room. 

“Jake!” Sam yelled back at you as you struggled for your breath, two more medical personnel coming into the room. 

“Sir, please step back.” One of them said. 

“Should we prep a vent? O2 sat is dropping quickly…” The other suggested as you listened to the beeping slow down, your vision blacking out by the second. Your eyes searched for Sam through the crowd of people, looking for him to tell you it’s okay. But it wasn’t. You knew that.

“No, I haven’t gotten the orders back yet. Have respiratory on standby. Crank O2 to 100%. Let’s go ahead and get him to X-ray. I’ll get the IV on the way.” Carson said as they rushed out the door. 

“Sammy…” you managed, gravely and hoarse.

You looked to Sam as they wheeled you away, panic setting in as fear filled your body. Struggling to breathe, struggling to think straight. All you could see were the terrified eyes of your baby brother, standing helplessly behind in the room. 

“I’ll be right here when you get back, you’ll be just fine. I’m not leaving you!” 

As your vision went black you saw her face. Your girl. Your forever girl. 

HER POV

You pushed the door of the car open, the rush of cold March Michigan air actually feeling nice on your hot skin. You’d fought back terrified tears the whole ride back to the hotel, Danny trying his best to console you. The two of you walked through the hotel lobby, and up to the room. 

“I’m gonna go to my room and change really quickly and I’ll be right back, ok?” He said.

“Okay, Danny. Thanks.” You didn’t want to impose, but you knew you needed some company right now. And honestly, he probably didn’t want to be alone either. 

Just as you entered the room and pulled the doorstop to hold the door for Danny, your phone buzzed in your hand. 

Karen K

1:54am: Hey honey! We just got into the hotel room. We’re right by Josh, he’s doing okay and I’m going to keep checking on him all night. I’ll take him to the doctor in the morning. Is there anything you need? Have you talked to Jake? 

You sighed, exhausted from this damn charade. 

You

1:56am: Hi! Glad you got in safely. Glad Josh is in good hands with you. No, I’m okay. Danny is staying close by tonight, we’re going to keep each other company. Elle too. Yes, Danny talked to Sam. I’m so scared, I know you are too.

Karen K

2:02am: I am scared, honey. But he’s in the best place he can be. Hopefully we can get in to visit tomorrow and get some answers. Love you, call if you need anything! 

You

2:04am: Love you! 

Danny came back into the room shortly thereafter after you had changed clothes. He was carrying two to-go boxes in his right hand, and two Gatorades in the other. 

“I have leftover pizza and a piece of cherry pie. It’s not much, but. I know neither of us have eaten.” He said, sitting everything down on the bed. 

Your heart swelled. “Danny, you’re so sweet. Thank you. I guess we should eat, if we’re gonna be everyone’s caretakers, huh?” You tried to make light of the conversation. 

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. Speaking of, Elle just texted and said she had a pretty bad headache coming on, too. She’s going to go to sleep. Said to send you her love.” Danny went on. 

“Shit, maybe we should put ourselves in a bubble, huh?” You joked, but half serious. 

He nodded in agreement. You shared the cold pizza and pie, and downed the blue Gatorade while you sat and chatted with Danny. You were fighting the urge to cry the whole time, the fear and the nerves and the guilt rushing back each time Danny would reassure you that Jake was going to be okay. 

“Plus, he has you in his corner. He’s always been a fighter, but now he’s got something worth fighting for. He will be okay, Y/N. I promise.” He went on, trying his best to keep your spirits up when you knew his were faltering, too. 

Danny’s phone alerted him of a text. He read it aloud. 

The Great Sambino 🎹 

2:37am: Jake’s still coughing really bad, keeps going in and out of it. Just heard them ask if they needed to prep a ventilator. Taking him to get X-rays and bloodwork now.

“A ventilator? Fuck, Danny…that means, no…” you began stammering, knowing that being on a ventilator is most definitely not a good thing. 

“It’s ok, Y/N. He said they took him for tests, which means he’s not on it. It’s alright…” Danny said, joining you on your bed as you fought sobs. 

“That’s not good, Danny. He could be getting worse. And he hates me, he doesn’t even know what’s happening…I can’t be there with him to remind him…” you were talking in incomplete sentences, incomplete thoughts…

“What do you mean, he hates you? Are you crazy? What are you talking about, Y/N?” His face falls as he looks to yours, seeing your tears falling even harder now. “Y/N what did you do…”

You took a deep, choppy breath, tears flowing so hard from your eyes you could barely see. 

“Are you sure you wanna know?” You asked him. 

“Well yeah, I’m this far invested now…lay it on me.” He said. 

You took a breath. “I slept with Sam again…” you whispered, feeling the strangest sense of even worse guilt hearing it be confessed out loud. “In Vegas. The night we…all went back to their room. We all started, fooling around. Things got a little bit wild, I guess…we were all so drunk…I was making out with Sam and Jake was with Elle, hell even Elle and I were messing around. It was just...” You took a breath again as you saw Danny’s utterly confused but intrigued expression. 

“It was a cluster, Danny. Just. I don’t even know how to explain it. We were just having fun. But it brought up so many unresolved things with Sam, ya know. We never fully got to finish each other out. I know you know that he still loves me. He told me you know.” Danny nodded, showing you he remembered the conversation they had while sledding last Christmas. 

“I don’t know if he told you, but I still have some of those feelings, too, Danny and I don’t know what to do with them. I didn’t know. They were just, eating me alive. I felt so guilty…even thinking for one second I could hurt Jake. Then that night rolled around, and we just…” you threw your arms up. 

“It just happened. When Jake left to go find you and Josh. But he and Elle were really getting into each other, I could tell, Sam could tell. I talked to Jake about it. I told him to go ahead with Elle, if that was what he wanted to do. We never got to finish the conversation. Then, Elle passed out, Jake left, and I went to smoke with Sam…” you trailed off, too embarrassed to even look at Danny. 

“Fuck.” Was all he said. “So you did sleep with Sam. And Jake knows? And that’s why he hates you?” 

You nodded. “Yeah, he ended things on the spot that night. It’s been horrible. I have apologized a million times, and I know it will never be enough. Just these last couple of days he started coming around a little, letting me talk. It’s so fucked up, Danny.”

He let you talk a little bit more, and to your surprise, he didn’t yell at you or scold you like you expected, like you deserved, but instead he just listened. Stayed neutral. You could tell he was very, very upset with you, so you let him be. 

After a while, and after the conversation had set in, you told Danny to sit on your bed and process for a minute. You went into the closet, pulling a fresh set of sheets and pillows from the shelf, stripping off Jake’s bed and replacing all the sheets. You patted the bed and motioned for Danny to go back. 

“There. Nice and clean and not covered in Jake’s sickness. You don’t have to stay here, just thought we both could use some company while we slept.” You told him. 

He nodded, slithering his way back over to the other bed. He sighed deeply as he got underneath the heavy white comforter. “Y/N, I don’t know what to say. I know you’re in the shit right now. And I am upset with you. Disappointed in you and Sam both. But I think we should focus on Jake and Josh’s health right now. And figure the rest out later. Either way, I’m still gonna be here for you. I know you’re sorry.”

“Thank you, Danny.” You whispered as you got in bed, too, the sleepiness setting in. “Don’t deserve a friend like you.” 

Before you fell all the way asleep, you grabbed your phone, sending Jake a text you never thought you’d have to send. 

You

3:19am: You’re going to be okay, babe. I love you endlessly, with everything in me, till I can’t anymore. I promise you that. Never going to stop telling you. I’ll see you tomorrow, stay strong. Thank you for calling me your family. ♥️

——

The next morning you woke up to the bright sunlight coming through the windows of the hotel room. The immediate stomach ache from yesterday’s stresses came circling back as your brain reminded itself. You glanced over to Danny, silently scrolling on his phone. 

“Morning.” You mumbled, rubbing your eyes. 

“Good morning. How’d you sleep?” He asked. 

“To be completely honest, a lot better than I thought I would. I think I was exhausted.” you said. “You?”

“Not too bad, actually. Surprisingly.” He said, stretching out. 

You sat up on the edge of the bed, checking the time. 8:22. A little over six hours of sleep, you could live with that. 

“Hear anything from Sam?” You asked Danny. 

“Yeah, he texted me a little while ago. Said his night was pretty smooth, thankfully. The doctor came in and gave him his test results just a few minutes ago actually.” He continued reading his text. 

“Said it is bacterial pneumonia, which comes from having a cold beforehand and bacteria entering the lungs. Said it’s the more severe form, and he will need to stay in the hospital a few more days. He will have to have oxygen on at all times, breathing treatments, and a hard dose of antibiotics and fluids. Was severely dehydrated and lethargic… Other than that, that’s all they can do. Said he’s still coughing pretty badly and is out of it, mostly, but he’s resting now, and their mom was going to go see him after she took Josh to the doctor.”

You sighed a huff of relief. “Well, that’s better news than I expected to wake up to.” 

“Yeah, same. At least it’s treatable. I was really scared there for a minute, seeing his lips that color…” he trailed off, shaking his head. “Fuckin’ scary.”

“Danny, thank you, for staying with me. I don’t think you know how much I appreciate it. I was scared to death last night, too.” You relented. “Can’t believe I got any sleep, honestly.” You chuckled. 

“You’re welcome, Y/N. You wanna go see Josh with me real quick? He’s awake.” He asked. 

“Yeah, let’s go.” You agreed to meet back at Danny’s room in a few minutes after doing your morning necessities. 

You pulled your phone from the charger, noticing a text notification. 

Oh my god, it’s from Jake. 

Your finger couldn’t open the notification quickly enough. 

Jake

8:09am: You’ll always be my family.

You felt like your heart could have burst into flames, lighting a fire in your soul that made you want to float away. Just from a simple text. Maybe there was still a chance he didn’t hate you entirely. 

A few minutes later, you and Danny were knocking on Josh’s door, and Karen met you with a genuine but tired smile. “Hi, my babies. How are you?” She brought you both into the room and gave you big welcoming hugs. 

“We’re alright, how are you?” Danny responded. 

“Oh, I’m okay,  just trying to be sure all my kiddos stay in one piece.” She glanced over to Josh lying on the bed, scrolling his phone. He raised one arm in the air, waving at you. 

“Hey, guys! Stay far, far away. Don’t want you catching this shit.” He smiled as best he could as he waved. 

“We just wanted to come say hi, Joshy. You guys heading to the doctor?” You asked them both. 

“Yes, gonna get him out the door now. Our COVID tests should be back soon. Said they’ll call us when they are. Then we can go to the hospital.” Karen answered. 

“Good, I was just going to switch out Sam when we get there, I’m sure he’s exhausted and needs a coffee or six.” Danny said. 

“Oh no honey, don’t worry. I’ll stay with him tonight. You need to be here, with everyone else. Take care of everyone…” Karen gave Danny a quick wink, knowing that his calm and level headed demeanor would be needed for making decisions for the band. 

“Okay, yeah you’re probably right.” He giggled. 

“Josh honey let’s go, let’s get you in the car.” Karen signaled. “Your dad’s probably pulling up now.” 

Josh looked horrible, too. Weak and frail and exhausted, a cough and raspy voice aggravating him. But he had a bit more energy than Jake did, able to pick himself up off the bed and walk on his own. He slipped his coat on and zipped it all the way up, obviously in the middle of the freezing part of his fever. 

“Fingas crossed it’s just the flu and not the ‘puh-nuh-monya’!” Josh joked in his brand new accent he’d just recently come up with, closely resembling how Elle sometimes would speak when she was in a goofy mood after drinking too much. 

“Whoa Josh, why did you just sound exactly like Elle when you said that?” You asked as you felt a real smile cross your face for the first time in days. 

“Don’t worry about it, dahling, I’ll see you in a bit. Go take care of my brotha.” He waved you both off as he stepped through the door after Karen. You giggled under your breath, happy to see him still in good spirits even being so sick. You and Danny shrugged to one another. 

“Guess that’s one of his new characters we’re gonna have to get used to.” Danny laughed, “Let’s go get Sam breakfast.”

——

After grabbing something that Sam would actually eat for breakfast, you and Danny made your way to the hospital. Luckily, their parents had driven separately, leaving you an extra car to use. When you arrived, you found that your COVID test wouldn’t be back for a couple of hours, due to the hospital being so busy and short staffed, and you being the last one out of everyone to test. They assured you it shouldn’t be too much longer, and they took your phone number to call you directly. 

Karen, Kelly, and Elle were gathered in the waiting room, on the off chance that their tests would come back sooner than expected. 

“I took Josh back to the hotel, he’s resting again. Got him his medicine and he said he was going to sleep the day away, thankfully it's just a chest cold for him. My poor babies.” Karen told the group. 

The elevator doors opened, revealing a very tired and very hungry Sam. He nodded his head to everyone, going straight for the coffee in Danny’s hands. “God bless your sweet soul, Daniel Robert.” He said, tilting the large white cup back like his life depended on it. Elle stood and greeted him with a hug. 

“Hey babe, you feeling okay? Your headache gone?” He asked her. 

“Yeah, I’m good now. Think it was a fluke. You make it through the night?” She asked him. 

Sam’s eyes cut to you. “Barely…” he said quietly. Shit. There was his warning look. That’s not good. 

Sam greeted his parents with hugs and reiteration of Jake’s most current status, which hadn’t changed much since the last news. 

“I need a shower…” Sam finally sulked as everyone broke off into separate conversations. 

“I can drive you, if you want. They said my COVID test wouldn’t be back until after everyone else’s. Plus I need to find Richard and tell him everything that’s going on.” You said. 

“Sounds good, let’s get on the road.” Sam said. You shot Danny a look that said ‘it’s ok, he and I need to talk.’

Sam kissed Elle on the forehead, telling her he’d be back in a bit, and the two of you left the hospital. When you got in the still-warm car, you and Sam stayed silent for almost the entire drive. You tapped your fingers lightly on the steering wheel as you let whatever station Kelly had playing on the radio sound out quietly into the car. 

“Next up this morning on WILZ 104.5 we’ve got none other than some Clapton for your mid-morning blues…stay tuned and keep that coffee flowing, keep your Monday going!” The radio DJ said in an all-too enthusiastic voice. The song that played next couldn’t have come at a more horrific time. 

Of course. 

‘Wonderful Tonight’ began playing quietly through the speakers. Sam scoffed, shaking his head. 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” He said, reaching over to push the button to silence the radio altogether. He shook his head as you took off from the stoplight, bringing his hand to his face as he gazed out the window. He took a deep huff of a breath. You didn’t even know what to say. He was being way too silent. 

When you finally pulled into the hotel, Sam told you he was going to take a shower while you talked to Richard, and to call him when you were finished and he’d meet you back at your room. You agreed, taking off across the parking lot to make a phone call you really wanted to ignore. 

——

Knock, knock. 

Sam had made it back to your room after an hour or so, and you’d mentally prepared yourself for what he was about to see. 

You opened the door, letting him into the room. “Hey, how was the call with Dick?”

“Not bad, actually. He understands the severity of Jake’s illness and is making all the necessary moves for the next few shows. Said he needed to talk to you, Danny, and Josh asap, um. I think he knows that…Jake’s gonna need some time…” you said, sitting on the edge of your bed. 

“Yeah I uh, I was thinking that too. Pneumonia recovery isn’t just a few days.” Sam said, pulling his still-damp hair behind his ear. “He’s gonna…he’s gonna be a while, isn’t he?”

You nodded reluctantly, the realization of what might need to happen with tour settling in. “Yeah, Sammy. He will.” 

“Fuck.” He sighed as he looked around the room. Here it comes... 

“Hey wait, why are there two beds in here?” He brought his questioning eyes to yours. You stayed silent. 

“Y/N, why are there…” he glanced around again, noticing that it appeared that the two of you were living on opposite sides of the room. 

He looked at you again, completely confused. Quickly his expression turned from puzzled to knowing. “Shit, Y/N…don’t tell me…”

He ran his fingers through his hair and leaned down, putting his face in his hands. “He told me he knows. He knows what happened. Last night…he tried to make me tell him…”

“Yes, Sammy. He knows. He’s known for a long time.” You said under your breath, ready for the blowback. 

“What?! What do you mean he’s known for a long time?!” He yelled. “Since when?”

You took a deep breath. “Since the night it happened.”

“WHAT? Y/N, you’re joking right? He’s known all this time? And he hasn’t said anything? Why?” He was frazzled. 

“I didn’t make it back to the room in time to shower. He was already there. He just, knew, Sam. He could tell. He made me tell him what happened. So I did…” you felt the panic creeping into your chest. 

“God, shit…” Sam stood up, and began pacing around. Finally he motioned to the beds. “So, are you…?”

You nodded again, trying to stay calm. “Yeah, we aren’t together anymore. Haven’t been since that night. He broke it off. We’ve been pretending ever since, to keep up appearances.” It pained you to hear yourself say you were actually broken up. “We didn’t want to cause a big scene right before we left for tour, so. We kept it to ourselves. It’s been awful, Sam.”

Sam stayed silent as he let it sink in. “No, no you can’t break up again. Things were just…you two were finally...I can’t let that happen, Y/N. No way…” he spat. “It’s my fault, too, not just yours. He didn’t tell me last night that you were broken up…”

You grabbed his flailing arms, bringing them back down to his sides. “Sam, listen. It’s okay. We are in a very weird place right now. And it happened at the absolute worst time possible, and now he’s sick…we actually just got back on semi-good speaking terms yesterday. We’re working through it, I think. Trying to give ourselves time.” 

Sam was letting tears fall from his eyes, now. “No, Sammy, stop crying, what’s wrong?” You brought your hands to his face, patting down his wild hair as you sat him back on the bed. 

He swallowed hard. “Last night at like 3 am, Jake went into some type of respiratory emergency, there were doctors everywhere suddenly, nurses crowding him, I–I’m probably naive but it seemed really, really serious. I was terrified, I couldn’t do anything to help him, he kept looking at me like ‘what’s happening, Sam? What’s going on?’” He swallowed hard again. 

“His eyes were so terrified, Y/N. I’ve never seen him that vulnerable. He was gasping for air, it was the most terrifying- I didn’t know if he was ever gonna catch his breath. It lasted forever…” he took another deep breath. “I didn’t tell mom or anybody about that. They don’t need to know. Just you. I didn’t know if he was gonna make it, Y/N. His lips were blue, his face was blue…” 

Sam’s tears were falling hard again. “I’m sorry, maybe I should’ve kept that part to myself.” 

“No, no Sammy. I’m glad you told me. It’s okay…I know that must have been so scary for you...” You answered, trying to console him. 

Finally he got enough gumption to speak again. “Long story short, Y/N, I truly thought my brother wasn’t going to be coming home with us there for a second. And I had just slept with his girlfriend. Cheated on mine. Lied to everyone about it.” He looked to you. “We were being selfish, Y/N.”

You nodded, his face inches from yours. “Yeah, we were Sam.”

“And look what it got us, in this fucked up predicament. My most favorite couple in the world, separated, because of me. I feel like absolute shit, Y/N. And I haven’t even told Elle, yet.” 

“Don’t blame it all on yourself, Sam. I followed you into the stairwell that night. I made that decision just as much as you did.” You licked your lips as he nodded. “But, I think you do need to tell Elle. But maybe not now. The timing is just…not the best.”

“I know. I will. I am. I promise, I am.” He said, wiping his eyes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to dump that on you.” He laughed. 

“Sam, stop. You’re still my best friend, you know you can vent to me anytime. Always. Okay?” You conceded. 

He leaned his head on your shoulder as you both looked out the window into the foggy air. “I’m really sorry, Y/N. For everything. You don’t deserve any of this. Neither does Jake. I knew better than to press the issue that night.”

“I’m sorry too, Sammy. And I hope that when you tell Elle, she can somehow forgive us both. This is gonna be a long road for all of us.” You said. 

“Yeah, it is.” He said blankly. He raised his head up, looking directly into your eyes. He held his pinky out, biting his lower lip. “Never again…”

You sighed, grabbing his pinky with yours, just like you and Jake used to do when telling each other secrets.

“…Never again.”

——

The topic changed four times after your chat with Sam, and as the hours ticked by you could see the tiredness in his face and in his posture.

“Would you hate me terribly if I went and took a nap?” he asked nervously.

“No! Not at all! I’m shocked you made it this long to be honest.” you smiled.

“I–I hope your test comes back soon. Jake wants to see you. He asked for you all night.” he said, feeling your heart drop into your stomach.

“As soon as they call, I’m gone.” you say. 

“Good. I know you two aren’t on the best terms but there is no doubt in my mind, after everything I saw last night, that he still loves you. A lot.” he says, walking towards the door.

“I hope you’re right Sammy.” you reply, shutting the door as he slips out. 

The room falls silent. You look around seeing your things and his scattered around the hotel room, a pang shooting through your chest that he’s not here with you. Your phone buzzes in your pocket as you sit down on his bed. 

Elle

4:57pm: Hey babe, checking in…still bleak here. They are saying he’s doing a little better though. Still waiting on our tests. It’s ridiculous.

You

4:59pm: Hey, thanks for the update…I am anxious to see him. I’ll be there as soon as I get the call. Love you.

Elle

5:00pm: Love you too

After a few minutes of attempting to clean up the room, you decided on a shower, gathering your things and making your way to the bathroom. Stepping inside made your heart sink. Remembering the image of Jake laying in the tub calling for Josh. You swallowed back the tears and turned on the water, hoping one day you could forget that image all together. 

As you’re rinsing the soap off of your body you hear your phone ringing in the room. You quickly shut off the shower and wrap a towel around your dripping body as you sprint to your phone and answer. 

“Hello?” you pant.

“Hi, this is Ascension St. Mary’s, just wanted to let you know we received the results of your test and you are cleared to visit.” the lady said.

“Oh my god thank you!” you say, hanging up the phone.

You try to dry off the best you can, pulling your clothes on and running into the bathroom to dry your hair and do the most minimal amount of makeup. As you open your makeup bag you see your necklace sitting at the bottom, still mended together, and decide if there is any time to wear it, it has to be now. 

Five minutes later your phone is ringing again, Karen’s name on the screen.

“Hey!” you answer.

“Hey honey. We just got our results back. We are walking up to see Jake right now. Can you come up here?” she asks.

“Yes! I am leaving here in a few minutes.” you reply.

“Could you bring him a change of clothes for when they discharge him?” she asks.

“Yes! I’ll grab them now. I’ll see you soon.”

You run your fingers through your mostly dry hair and hit the lights on your way back into the bedroom. You walk over to Jake’s suitcase, opening it up and being completely enveloped in his smell. You close your eyes just for a second, letting yourself just feel for a few moments before opening them again and trying to find warm clothes for him to wear. 

You find his jeans, his socks, his boxers, but you’ve yet to find a clean shirt. Digging around in the bottom of the suitcase your eye is caught by a small white bag, old and tattered with the initials ‘AJK’.

What in the world is this?

You set down the clothes in your hands and grab the bag, sitting down on the edge of his bed. You pull the delicate strings and tip the bag out into your palm. 

A gasp leaves your chest as the gold ring tumbles to a stop in your hand. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest so hard you feel like it could cause an earthquake. 

A ring? An engagement ring? Was…was he?

A sob rips from your chest as you look at it, admiring the simple gold band and the small diamond fixed upon the center. It’s old, and cherished and beautiful and he wanted to give it to you. He wanted to ask you. But you ruined it. Everything was ruined. How long had he had it? When did he decide this? Why was it so perfect?

You throw yourself back onto the bed, letting the tears flow as you hold the ring in your fist. 

“I’m sorry Jake! I’m so, so sorry!” you cry into the empty room.

Your eyes are blurry through the tears as you try to focus on the ring again, watching the small diamond sparkle in the setting sun coming in through the hotel window. 

You did this. You deserve this hurt. You don’t deserve to marry him. He deserves someone better. Someone who would never, ever make him feel the way he feels right now. You did this.

You wipe your tears on your arm and sit up, placing the perfect ring back into its little pouch. You pull the strings tight and place it back in his suitcase, knowing that was probably the first and last time you’d ever see it. 

Continuing to sniffle, you try to resume your task of finding a shirt for him, seeing a black t-shirt still folded at the bottom, along with a folded flannel. Your flannel. His flannel. In a split second decision, you grab it and the t-shirt and add it to the pile of clean clothes you place into your bag. 

You close up his suitcase and grab your phone from the charger, making your way to the hotel room door, and down to the parking lot. Your parents had graciously allowed you to keep their car until you were ready to leave, and currently you had no idea when that would be. 

It was a short drive to the hospital, and as you stepped into the waiting room you saw Kelly, Daniel and Elle all sitting talking. 

“Oh my god you’re here!” Elle said, standing to hug you.

“They called me a little while ago, said I was good to see him now.” you reply.

“Honey, your eyes are so red, are you okay?” she asks, cupping your face.

“Yes, just scared about Jake is all.” you answer. Not fully a lie.

“Well Karen is up there right now, you just go on up and see him. He has been asking for you all day.” she smiles.

“Okay.” you say, nodding your head towards Danny. 

“He’s on floor four, room 403.” Kelly says with a soft smile.

You swallow nervously, making your way to the elevator and up to the correct floor, shaking with nerves. He looked bad the last time you saw him, but even then, he was still your Jake. He always would be, no matter what.

Shaking your clammy hands out, you lift your right hand and let your knuckles gently rap on the wooden door. Your heart is pounding out of your chest as you wait for it to open, and as the handle twists, all the breath is stolen from your lungs.

.

.

.

.

.

.

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[inquisimer]

i carried my own ashes to the mountains

for day 1 of @zevraholics' Zevwarden week 2023, tradition and trying new things - some pre-ship Nika and Zevran, a discussion of what will come of her return to Orzammar.

pairing: f!Brosca & Zevran word count: 1200 rating: general audiences tags: hurt/comfort, platonic relationships, fluff, a hint of pining if you squint

Nika stared at her reflection, warped and hazy in the frozen puddle outside their camp. A few hundred yards back through the trees their tents formed a half-circle around the fire. Beyond that loomed the peaks of the Frostback Mountains and within them, the gates to Orzammar.

Orzammar. Nearly three years gone since she’d left and going back now felt as intimidating as leaving with Duncan had then. Her fingertips traced over the faded brand on her cheek, newly bisected by a long, fresh scar. One of three—souvenirs from their battle with the dragon in Haven. Between that, and the weight on her shoulders, and the harsh cynicism regret had etched into her, she wondered if anyone in Orzammar would recognize the rebellious little casteless who dared defy their laws.

Part of her hoped they wouldn’t. Then she wouldn’t be alone in seeing a stranger in her face.

“Reminiscing, chapparita?”

A twig snapped under Zevran’s weight and Nika’s hand fell from her cheek as she glanced at him over her shoulder. She shrugged.

“Something like that, I suppose.”

Zevran hummed his doubt. Of all her companions, he would know. When they stumbled across his ill-conceived trap, she was still fresh-faced and sun-blind, lost without the cavernous Stone to ground her. She'd nearly shanked him in her anger. But his eyes shone with the wild desperation of someone who had absolutely nothing left to lose—he would have welcomed her blade, and it was a look so familiar that to see it in another shocked the rage right out of her.

He repaid her mercy with a curious devotion, sitting up with her through the coldest, darkest watches and fording paths when their inane quests took them through wilderness where even the smallest plants stood well above Nika's head. Bit by bit, he came to know her history, wheedling it out of her as none of the others had even tried to.

Things weren’t so different between the Carta and the Crows. Antiva's operation was larger and more storied, of course, but both were ruthless and cutthroat to a fault and you were only worth as much as the success of your last job. Nika didn't know many assassins, but she knew how they worked, and nothing builds trust like a mutually assured dagger in the back.

Zevran leaned against a tree and regarded her with a knowing look.

"You are apprehensive about returning to Orzammar."

"Am not."

He huffed, an aborted laugh that fogged the air around his mouth. "Dear Warden, there are at least seven paths that could have gotten us here sooner. And don't tell me you don't know of them," he added, for she'd opened her mouth to do exactly that. "I showed you how to read the map myself."

She rolled her eyes. "And?"

"And I think you should know that you do not need to run off into the woods with your woes." Zevran squatted at her side and tilted her face toward him with a knuckle on her chin. "You do not need to hide from me, chapparita. Not after everything."

"I know it's just..." Nika pursed her lips. "It's stupid. I just need a few moments to get it together."

"If it causes you distress, it cannot possibly be stupid."

"Yes it can," Nika grumped. "I get distressed by stupid things all the time. Rain and wagons. Broken lockpicks. Alistair."

"While amusing, this deflection won't save you." Zevran caught one of her hands and traced the calloused lines of her palm. "What troubles you so about returning home?"

"Home?" Nika scoffed. "Hardly a home. A place of origin, perhaps. But there was too much anger and never enough food to really call it a home."

"But you have family there, yes? Your sister and the young man...Lester?"

Nika's gut twisted. "Leske. And Rica, yes, they're still there. Or at least, I think they are. Some of the rumors coming up from Orzammar make me think there may well be nothing but carnage when we get there."

"Is that what troubles you, then?"

"Mmm not really. The city can tear itself to shreds for all I care, 'slong as Rica and Leske got out."

"Not worried about the city, not really worried about your family." Zevran tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Your reception upon return, then?"

Nika scrunched up her face. She really was quite transparent these days—if Behraht had been able to read her that well, she'd've never been allowed in the Carta, no matter how well Rica cleaned up. She glanced down at her griffon-stamped chestplate and sighed.

"I'm not the same person who left Dust Town," she finally said. "You know—you were there for most of the changing, the struggling, the growing."

"Not too much growing," Zevran teased, waving his hand over her head. She swatted at it and stuck her tongue out at him.

"The thing is, the time and the experience and even being a Warden—it won't matter to the people down there. You can't change your lot in life in Orzammar, so..."

She brought her fingers back to her marked cheek and Zevran’s gaze followed. "Once a brand, always a brand," she said bitterly. "I'm not even sure they'll listen to the treaties, not if I'm the one asking."

In the silence that followed, Nika stewed. She could feel Zevran considering her, but she didn’t want his comfort or his pity. Not when she had to walk back on the way the surface had changed her perspective. Not when she needed to be as cold and cruel as she’d ever been, to survive a return to Orzammar.

Gentle fingers caught her chin once more and this time the pad of Zevran’s thumb ghosted over the raised skin of her brand.

“They know you by this, as you were. But that is not who you are any longer so: have you considered…changing it?”

“How can I? It’s as much a part of me as my nose.”

“You misunderstand. I am not suggesting you attempt to remove it, anymore than I would suggest expunging your history before the Wardens.” Zevran dropped his hand to her shoulder and gently squeezed. “But the rest of you has changed on this venture. Should your face not change as well?”

Nika went very still. Her eyes darted back to the frozen puddle and the stranger reflected there. She imagined dark ink spiraling out around the blocky lines of the brand, weaving in and around the scar tissue, softening the hard border of the burden she’d worn like a prize all her life, just as this journey had softened all of her sharp edges.

In her heart, the idea slotted into place, so right that it immediately drew her out of her anxious melancholy. With eager eyes, she grabbed Zevran by the wrists.

“Can we do it now? Right now?”

A soft, warm smile crinkled the corners of Zevran’s eyes, a hint of wistfulness keeping it from catching at his mouth proper. But it swiftly gave way to his usual grin and he lifted her small frame effortlessly, swinging her onto his back.

“Of course, chapparita. We can begin whenever you like.”

[dathomirdumpsterfire]

Chat writes the plot! Time for more 👑🐲🐟 KotD!

🔥🔥 don't forget to reblog tysm! 🔥🔥

Want to be on the tag list? -> Comment with 'tag me!' Have an idea for next chapter or clicked the wrong option? -> Reblog about it! Check the bottom for the Ao3 link. Latest chapter is below the cut!🔥

~King of the Dragonfish: Chapter 18~

Obi-Wan wakes himself up with a powerful sneeze. He groans, long and low. The sudden jerk of it sends a flash headache searing through his skull like a forest fire. As the pain fades, he realizes that everything aches, and his respiratory system feels scratchy from the back of his throat down into his chest.

Oh bother. He's caught a bug, one potent enough to overcome a jedi's natural immunity to illness. Or, equally likely, he's just that worn down.

The only good part of waking, relatively speaking, is that he's alone and somehow… on a mattress..?

Obi-Wan rolls his head to look at the situation. His vision lags behind the turn of his eyes, making him nauseous, and moving makes his scalp flare in warning. He closes his eyes and breathes for a moment, drawing the force to him in the same way a weaver might run their fingers through freshly sheared wool. It flows through him, and begins bolstering his body against the sickness.

Settled a bit, the jedi opens his eyes to try again. Carefully.

He is still in Maul's private chambers, but that doesn't change the fact that beneath him is a futon mattress, like he'd seen on daybeds in fancy guest rooms. It was thicker than his own pallet in the temple, and zipped up in a soft, removable cover. This is what he lays on.

Obi-Wan has the stray thought that it really needed proper sheets. He sets a hand on his face, and sighs at himself. No, wrong, what it needed was to go back where it came from, just like him.

Cautious, slowly, the jedi master sits up and looks around. He is nonplussed to see his clothes are gone, and confused but interested to notice a literal bottle of water set beside the bed. What he does not see is a sith lord turned deep sea creature.

The memory of claws comes to him, deadly sharpness trailing down his back in the gentle touch of a prospective lover. Obi-Wan droops where he sits. Unfair. This is all utterly unfair.

Maul had become something out of a fantasy. The idea of him, deep under the sea, pining for years to take his revenge, only to change his mind at the sight of his mortal enemy, and instead kidnap them away to be lovers? It was a the plot of a one credit bodice ripper novella, and the force hasn't even seen fit to give him a bodice to wear while, apparently, living it.

Blast it, where are his clothes?

Obi-Wan stares down at his calloused fingers, each digit a little paler than usual. They're dry and cracked from repeated dunks in salt water. The texture of his own fingertips distracts him.

‘I might be disassociating a bit,’ the stewjoni thinks to himself while rubbing his thumbs and forefingers together. ‘I’ve stumbled into somewhere between nightmares and dreams, and my options to deal with it are so few.’

He sighs softly, being open and forgiving with himself.

‘I want to have sex with the man that killed Qui-Gon,’ he mulls wryly, ‘if I make it out of here alive, I think that merits a trip to the mind healers for a guided deep dive of my psyche.’

Obi-Wan chuckles a little, but stops quickly when even that makes a flash headache shred at his brain.

‘Indeed, a good long look. In the meantime… I…’

The jedi draws his knees up, feeling them tremble with fatigue, until he can set his head against the sailcloth over his thighs. He leans there, bonelessly.

Obi-Wan feels cold, but is he actually? Is it emotional cold, fever cold, brisk air on naked skin, or true chill?

Blast it, but he wants Maul to come back. And that is a terrible sign.

Obi-Wan shivers a bit where he sloughs against his legs, just accepting the fact that he wants to be held and petted and treasured and doted on by his own personal monster. It is, most likely, a completely normal reaction to being ill, to want those things. Yes, it really is, isn't it? He exhales heavily, and just lets the truth of it be.

Obi-Wan refuses to cross that line, to consummate this foolhardy preoccupation with his own jailor, but, these feelings are still valid and reasonable.

He feels better for acknowledging it.

Now onto matters of the physical.

Gingerly, the sick jedi eases himself over to get a hold on the water bottle, drawing back and cracking it open. He sniffs it, questioning the water's potability. It's stale, but clean tasting. To his scratchy throat it's a little painful, and a little soothing. He dearly wishes it was tea with honey and lemon.

The jedi drinks half, then recaps the bottle and sets it aside in favor of lowering himself back down onto the futon. If asked, Obi-Wan would swear that he merely closes his eyes for but a moment…

He blinks muzzily, and comes around to fingers carding through his hair. Claw tips slide back over his scalp, so gently it almost tickles.

“Kenobi,” the sith calls, soft and singsong, “Keno… bi~.”

“Mmnnnh,” he replies, feeling the length of Maul's tail pressed against him under the covers. He is dry, sleek scales like rounded glass. One of his pelvic fins rests on Obi-Wan's hip, lightly holding on to him, while the silky upper caudal fins that trail the sith are draped over his legs under the sail cloth and tarp. They're soft. Smooth. When Maul shifts they flutter against the skin of his ankles pleasantly.

Obi-Wan is, once again, wrapped up in the arms and fins of the very same ‘dragonfish king’ he was sent to kill. With an incredible amount of ‘fuck it’ energy, he noses forward under Maul's chin.

“I'm a bit sick,” he admits.

“Hnnn… your flushed cheeks and reddened eyes told me so already,” the other man says, still toying with his hair.

“I want tea,” he sighs, “with honey and lemon. My throat hurts.”

Maul makes this… incomprehensible noise. Not human, not zebrak. In the force he feels… pleased?

“Making wishes of me now?” the sith murmurs, “I suppose I could share one or two, seeing as I have three but do not need any of them.”

...what?

Obi-Wan pulls away to look at him with all the skepticism his dizzy self can muster. Maul smiles back, a cruel twist of lips framed by the most charming dimples imaginable.

He is stunned. This is Obi-Wan's excuse for why he doesn't move away when the sith captures his lips, biting oh so gently at him with his needle-like teeth, then licking his way across and inside.

Obi-Wan lets it happen, eyes drifting closed as he reciprocates slowly. Oh. Kissing makes his head feel better. Whatever chemistry that's about, it's working.

“That's it, jedi mine,” the sith croons to him, “taste me in return, and I will bring you tea.”

Well if it's for a good cause.

Tentatively, Obi-Wan licks at Maul's lips. They're thin but plush, utterly normal if wider than before his transformation. The other man hums, encouraging, the tip of that long pink tongue flicking playfully against his.

Obi-Wan chases it as the slick muscle recedes, finding the pointed tips of Maul's new teeth. He explores them with care, finding out which of his experiences with making out can and cannot apply.

He finds a good angle and pumps his tongue into that wet heat, slickness sliding against slickness. Obi-Wan's head twinges with the movement, but he's a bit too enthralled to care.

Maul makes, just, the sweetest little noise. Begging. Needful. Obi-Wan feels himself stiffening, his cock pressed to Maul's belly where skin fades to scale.

Oh dear. Now that is quite enough of that indulgence.

With one light kiss of the traditional sort, Obi-Wan pulls back and relaxes onto the mattress with a sigh. He watches yellow-green eyes blink open, pupils blown and slow to focus.

“Very good,” the sith tells him, trailing the backs of his fingers down Obi-Wan's face. “You will learn that I keep my promises, Kenobi.”

“If you bring me bread of some kind that hasn't been drowned in salt water, I'll do that again.”

Maul chuckles, sliding out from under the makeshift covers. “You see? Gifts are a good way to show favor.

The jedi would roll his eyes if he wasn't a hundred percent certain it would feel like an icepick in his brain to do so.

To be continued...

-Tag list- (Comment if you want added!)

@obimaulartfire @savageopressbignaturals @icequeen8043 @moonsickvampire @maulish @obi1-kenobae @milkcioccolato @cyborg0109 @krazykupid @messy-sunbeam

New? Start from Chapter 1! 👇🏽

[loki-is-my-kink-awakening]

For the WIP game I'd love to hear about your post s2 scenario and the Binding of Loki! 👀💖

Thanks for the ask, bestie. 😘

Post S2 will see Mobius realise he never got a chance to properly talk ~~and kiss~~ Loki. And while he doesn't want to change the past, he does want to grab some of Loki's time. But it's not going to be easy.

I posted the opening snippet for Post S2 last week. Here's a following bit.

The mud squelched as Mobius stepped out into the little lane in Chicago, 1893. It was dark, as it had been when he and Loki had run through the streets looking for Victor. That moment felt like an eternity away, and despite his attempts to distract them both from the mission with various treats from the era, they hadn’t had time to talk. He had been building up to taking Loki on a hot air balloon, giving them the space to breathe. They never had a chance, not really. His past self was too busy numbing and ignoring what was happening around him. It was just too horrific to look at his life, to know his existence at the TVA was a lie. Now, he knew different. He looked up the lane, recognising the whir of a bicycle passing. It won’t be long now until his past self and Loki separate, chasing after the man they needed to open the blast doors. The folly of it should make Mobius laugh. Instead, he walked a little down the lane until he found a small alcove. It was almost pitch black in this space, but he closed his eyes and listened. Loki was fast. They could run like the wind. He had to make this count. His heart pounded in his chest, distracting him. His palms were sweaty. There was a distant sound of feet scuffling as Victor and Ravonna started running. In his mind, Mobius saw his past self run one way, and Loki coming down this very lane he was standing in. He took a deep breath and braced himself. One, two… Mobius stepped out, his fingers brushing over Loki's jacket. It tingled and scratched at his calloused fingertips, and he stared at them for a second, before sighing at the disappearing figure. He'd held back too long. He needed to go back earlier.

The Binding of Loki is a kind of fix it. I'm a mythology nerd, so I thought of an alternative timeline Mobius/Don getting caught up in a storm in Norway and discovering Loki bound in a cave.

Because he is essentially a Sigyn variant in my head, Mobius will stop the poison dripping down onto Loki, and will cut them loose. Loki will slide off the rock to the ground and Mobius will light a fire and they'll cuddle for warmth.

Then, there be some revelations, Loki talking about how this Mobius looks so like him. Mobius asks where the other him is, and Loki listens and says: "Only a few timelines over."

Mobius continues to care for Loki, convinced Loki might leave him here but he can't do anything else. The god is ill.

But after 24 hours, maybe longer, Loki is strong enough and teleports them both back to where Mobius was staying.

There's a handshake that turns into a hug, and finishes with alt-Mobius telling Loki to go get Mobius.

Then, Loki disappears, and Mobius sighs.

But we switch to Loki’s POV, appearing beside Mobius after he says, "Let time pass."

"With me?" Loki will ask.

And then they start living a life together

I have no snippet for this one yet but hopefully the idea is interesting.

[dewdewick]

Shadows in the dust | Chapter 8

Pairing/s: Finnick Odair x fem reader

Summary: At the age of 18 you thought you’d soon be free of the hunger games, unfortunately fate has a different plan. You are picked as a tribute for district 2 and thrust into capitol life.

Warning/s: Angst, Hurt/comfort, Trust issues, Death, Torture, Mental illnesses, manipulation tactics, Weapons, Swearing, Canon typical violence, Mentions of psychological distress, Use of Y/N, Fem reader, descriptions of clothing reader wears, explicit descriptions of weapon use, Disassociation, exploitation of minors, underage drinking

A/N: HI BESTIES! I’m actually flying out to a different country tomorrow morning so I wanted to hurry and post! My beta is to thank as always for putting up with my nonsense. I’m also starting to post this on AO3 so if you’d prefer you can read it there! You can look up the title, my user or click the link in the masterlist!

Word count: 4.4k

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Cold air was a funny feeling after so long in the heat. It made her nose runny and her fingertips a bit numb. It made the skin on her arms prickle and the hair on her neck stand on edge. Cold air was even more uncomfortable with the blood on her skin, where did it come from again? She felt confused, fuzzy, not quite awake.

Medical staff rushed around her as they led her inside the aircraft, laying her on a cot. A light appeared in her vision quickly after, causing her to squint. A doctor held his finger in front of her face, moving it back and forth. Everyone sounded so far away, so distant even though they were inches from her. People surrounded her, strapping different medical devices to her arms. A sharp pain stabbed into her inner elbow, she flinched, pulling her arm away from the pain. The people around her shouted, doing their best to hold her down. She thrashed, panic bubbling up in her chest. What was going on? Why was she in pain? She cried out, gasping for air as she panicked. A similar sharp pain spread throughout her neck.

Everything faded quickly, the people, the sounds, the panic, darkness overtook her vision.

Weightless, that’s how she could describe the sleep she fell into. A dreamless scape of pure black. Was this death? Had she died and this weightlessness was all that remained? Her brows furrowed as she heard a faint beeping sound after what only seemed to be a moment of silence. The beeping got louder, she could begin to feel her body. First only her toes but soon the feeling spread up her body. A slight Pain invaded her senses, her eyes cracking opening to a squint.

The room was dim and quite blurry for the first few minutes. A clock ticked, louder and louder as her brain came back from its sleep induced stupor. a plain white hospital room only containing a bed, a small table and a chair came into view as her eyes focused. She blinked wearily, reaching up to touch her face. Her nose felt strange, it was smaller and much straighter than before. She rubbed her eyes, sitting up in the bed with a groan. Hunched over, she yawned and took a deep breath. Her hands felt smooth and soft, any trace of her once prominent callouses was gone. Small scars once strewn over her arms had disappeared as well, her eyes widened a bit as she held her arms up in disbelief.

“What in the…?” She questioned to herself, moving to sit on her knees. The soft blankets on the bed slid around her as she moved. the hospital gown on her body draping down over her legs. She lifted the flimsy gown a bit, looking at her knees. They were smooth, free of the childhood scars that she had collected alongside her siblings. A bit of fear rose in her stomach once more, who had done this to her? And why had they done it?

She stood on the freezing cold tile floor, a machine beeping loudly as she got off the bed. Wires connected to her body every which way, holding her in the immediate vicinity of the bed.

The door opened, a familiar face appearing in the bright light of the outside. Enobaria offered a bittersweet smile, slipping inside the room and closing the door behind her. “Hey Kiddo, It’s ok, you’re ok, you did it” she said softly, walking over and gently leading her back to the bed. “You need rest, lots of rest though. No getting up until you’re cleared by the doctor.” She lightly chastised. Y/N was made to lay back in the bed as Enobaria sat by her legs. “You did great, the capital loves you. Everything is gonna be ok now.” She assured, taking the younger girl's hand.

The next few days were slow, mostly filled with sleep and rehabilitation. She found that the scars she was allowed to keep were those she earned in the games. However they were as asaesthetically pleasing as possible, the spiraled bites of the glowing worms and the gash on her arm given by Dutchess now just a few shades lighter than her skin. Barely noticeable and yet a stark reminder of the binding consequences of a game she didn’t sign up to play.

As she grew stronger more people came to visit. Aerith stayed only enough time to tell her that she was going to have Hebe as a stylist, Aerith herself was being moved to District 1. She didn’t offer a congratulations, a smile or a kind word at all, only the information she was there to say before leaving. Hebe visited soon after, her motherly spirit comforting and caring. She brought simple homemade soup, easy to digest and incredibly delicious.

After about a week Y/N was able to leave the medical ward. She was brought back to the apartment that she and Finch shared before the games. It felt cold, lonely without another person to share it with. The room her companion had occupied was shut, the dark wood door that had barely been closed before the games was now locked. The emotions about Finch felt conflicting, she hated what he did, but at the same time she missed him.

Why did he have to kill Caspian? He was just a kid, a baby, a sweet boy who had done nothing but ask for help. Anyone else could’ve done it, but then she remembered the look in Finch’s eye, hatred. She sat on the bed in her room, the sheets had been changed. They were softer, better quality than those on the bed before the games. Figures, giving victors better food, clothes and bedding as well as unnecessary nose jobs apparently. She wondered if they would’ve done the same if she were a man, if she were Finch. They probably would, every victor seemed to be absolutely perfect.

A big part of her regretted killing Finch, it didn’t feel real. The entire game felt like a dream, something conjured up by a crazy person on the street. She pushed the thoughts of Finch and Caspian away, feeling emotions she didn’t want to deal with coming up in her head. She could be normal, she had to be normal again, she had to be as perfect as the other victors. Laying down on the bed, she closed her eyes, clearing her mind.

A beat of silence passed before a knock came to her door frame. She sighed, Furisha stood by the door as she opened her eyes. The tall woman smiled happily as they made eye contact. “Oh my dear, I’m so happy to see you again!” Furisha grinned, opening her arms and offering a hug. Y/N sat up, a tight smile on her lips. “Thank you Furisha, it’s nice to see you too.” She said with a small nod. “I’m here to go over your schedule, is it alright if I sit my darling?” Furisha asked, motioning to the foot of the bed.

“Go ahead” She said, scooting over just a bit. Furisha sat down quickly, folding her hands on her lap and crossing her legs. “I won’t lie, this week will be very busy. You’ll be exhausted by the end of every day and as bad as that is for your ongoing recovery, it’s a necessity.” She began, looking down at the younger girl next to her. “First you’ll be on Caesar Flickerman’s show again tomorrow night, you’ll watch a highlight reel of the games.” Furisha continued, sending a shiver through Y/N’s body. She had to watch the games? She had to watch all of the death again and relive the horrors? She grimaced, her hands wringing together in anxiety.

“You’ll be crowned as a victor by president snow at a ceremony and a party in your honor will be held after. It’s called a victory banquet. The game makers, stylists and a few different mentors will be there to pay their respects.” Furisha added as she gestured around. The whole thing sounded awful, all of the people who knew exactly why she was there. The people who made the games happen and the president placing a crown on her head afterwards.

“Finally we’ll go back to district 2, you’ll have dinner with the mayor and a few important people of the district. Your family will be invited too, you’ll meet them again as we get off the train.” Furisha finished, that sickly sweet smile returning to her face. That smile, that fake and perfectly crafted smile, she decided that she hated that smile. She let Furisha’s words register in her mind for a moment, looking down to her hands and offering a small nod.

She would get to see her family, feel the warmth of their embrace again. A thought seemed to gnaw at the back of her mind though, what if they were disappointed in her actions in the game? What if they hated her because of those actions? She squeezed her eyes shut, taking a deep breath. “I know it’s stressful but on the bright side, you’ll be in such pretty clothes!” Furisha tried to reason. The nerve of the woman, the frivolous and stupid woman. “You’ll be surrounded by important people, have the best food and company for the rest of your life!” The capital escort added, that practiced smile on her cheeks. She stood up, not bothering to look back as she left the room. She needed to get away, she needed a moment to not think so hard about the what if’s of her life.

Walking out the door of the apartment, she walked to the nearby elevator. The peacekeepers outside the door staying silent and still as she looked back at them. She had expected to be stopped, to be held in that stifling apartment. Pressing the button and boarding the small room as the doors opened, she pressed the button for the roof. Fresh air seemed like a rare treat, the cold air conditioned rooms of the capital almost made her skin crawl. The silence of the elevator was a relief, she seemed to have people following her around constantly demanding her attention. The ride only took a few seconds, the doors opening quickly to the warm summer night of the capital. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes once more as the fresh air swept over her. The lights of the capital looked beautiful from the roof, but the sounds of the city bellowing around the building seemed more calming.

The warm summer breeze wafted over her skin, she could feel her muscles starting to relax slightly. Horns from cars echoed below, dogs barking from balconies of surrounding apartments. The city seemed so loud in comparison to not only home, but the games as well. She was used to the chirping of crickets and howling of coyotes. Her heart ached as her eyes slipped open to see none of the things she was accustomed to.

The roof was relatively barren, some small sparkling lights and patio furniture decorating the space. It wasn’t much to look at, the sparkling view from below being the real draw of the space. She pulled her thin sweater closer around herself, crossing her arms as she came to stand by the edge of the roof.

A small shuffling sound from just behind caught her attention. a familiar bolt of panic and fear shooting through her body. She quickly turned, bringing her arms up in familiar defiance. Her breathing quickened as she saw a figure behind her. The figure shuffled closer, an old woman with long grey hair. She studied the woman, how she slowly approached and seemed to be less of a threat the more she moved. “Who are you?” She asked, willing her voice not to show any fear.

The woman said something in a thick jumbled accent, difficult to understand. She could surmise that the woman told her she was of no harm, her hands held up in a non threatening way. “Have we met before?” She asked, her shoulders relaxing a bit and her arms lowering. The woman quickly said another jumbled sentence, a certain word sticking out to her. Caspian.

“You knew Caspian?” She asked, more interested in what the woman had to say. “Mags” the woman pointed to herself. Mags, why did she know that name? She thought for a second, her brows furrowed a bit. She realized quickly that Mags was one of the oldest living victors. She was a mentor for district 4, a notoriously kind mentor.

Mags nodded, a bittersweet smile on her face. She could feel her throat tighten a bit, her eyes burning. Mags stepped forward, gently placing a hand on her bicep. That small touch, something about that touch broke all resolve to stay composed. Her eyes burned alongside her nose, tears welling up in her eyes. Her lips quivered the tiniest bit, her shoulders dropped. “I’m sorry” she murmured “I’m so sorry.”

Mags gave another bittersweet smile, wrapping her in a motherly hug. She cried in the woman’s arms, clinging to her for dear life. Somehow just a touch undid all of her self inflicted will to remain composed and adult like. She had barely spoken to this woman and yet her arms felt like those of a family member.

She cried and cried, tears rolled down her cheeks until no tears were left. She hiccuped, whimpered and shook, Mags held her tightly through it all, when all was quiet, Mags pulled away and cupped her cheeks. “It’s alright, I’m here now.” She said softly and slowly, making sure she was understood.

The two victors stood in the warm summer breeze for a few moments. Their short introduction didn’t seem to matter, Mags treated her like a grandmother would. She seemed to understand Mags better the more they spoke, the intricacies of her accent became more apparent. She held Mags’ hands, listening to any advice she was given. Mags promised to be at the banquet being thrown in the next few days.

Y/N could only give a small smile in return. Having someone in her corner, someone who really understood what she was going through, it was the best gift she could ask for. She gave mags hands a small squeeze, “Thank you” She sniffled.

The two parted ways not long after, a quiet goodbye on their lips.The elevator ride down seemed quiet, her footsteps seemed lounder. She walked back into the quiet apartment, curling up on the slightly uncomfortable couch.

Eventually she was found again by Furisha and Hebe. She was forced to eat, shower and go to bed, falling asleep to the whispers of those who unwillingly controlled her life. The next day was fairly slow, she slept in late and ate brunch at a leisurely pace. When afternoon hit Hebe came with a few garment bags and it seemed to cause a spark of chaos. Her hair was pulled in every direction as makeup artists smeared her face with cosmetics. She felt like the doll that children throw in the mud for fun, dragged around with no clear objective. She was taken to a car and driven to what she recognized as the studio where she would be interviewed.

Before she knew it, her legs shook as she stood on a platform. She could hear the crowds screaming above, Ceasar Flickerman’s enthusiastic voice encouraging the excitement. She smoothed her dress, a low cut leather thing. It clung to her skin uncomfortably, showing off every curve of her body. Dark sultry makeup painted her eyes, her lips glossed. Her hair was made to look wet on top with fluffy curls at the bottom. She wondered if it was a callback to her blood soaked hair in the games. Hebe had outdone herself, she didn’t look like a girl, she looked like a woman.

Enobaria walked up next to her, a small frown on her face as she approached. “You alright?” She asked, offering a small glance. Her hand took the young woman’s, squeezing it just a bit. “I’m…alright. I’m a big girl, I can do this.” She responded, her shoulders back and head held high. Enobaria grimaced a bit “Just know, I’m always here ok? I’ll be here.” She reminded, her hand squeezing her tribute’s again before slipping away. “I’ll see you on stage.” She encouraged, stepping back.

Caesar’s voice got louder, announcing Brutus’ name. The crowd roared, sending vibrations through the floor with their excitement. Her mentor gave one last glance before hurrying to her own mark. She balled her hands into fists. Her long acrylic fingernails digging into her skin. Too dull to cut, sharp enough to cause irritation on her palms. Her fingers rubbed together nervously as Enobaria was announced onto the stage. The audience cheered even louder than they did for Brutus’. Clench fists, unclench fists, remember to breathe.

The automated door above her opened, the voice of Ceasar Flickerman echoing down. Her head ached a bit, it was all so much on her senses. The platform below her rose, bringing her up into the stage lights. The screaming of the audience was deafening, shrill whistles breaking through every so often. Ceasar took her hand, holding her arm up and laughing giddily. “Our lovely winner of the 69th Hunger games!” He cheered. She gave her best smile to the crowd and Ceasar, allowing him to guide her to one of the chairs on stage.

Brutus and Enobaria sat on the loveseat to the right, Ceasar planted himself in the chair to the left. She was made to sit in the chair right in the middle. “My my! You look absolutely scrumptious my dear!” Ceasar grinned, his overly white teeth almost unnerving. “Thank you, I owe all the credit to my stylist Hebe though.” She replied, doing her best to sound smooth and confident. “Well darling, I must say, you are quickly climbing the ranks and one of the most popular victors. A star the likes of Glimmer and your mentor Enobaria here.” He bragged on her behalf. “Oh to be one of the greats..” She joked back, a charming smile on her face.

Ceasar gave an over dramatic laugh, taking her hand once more. “Our Diamond, so funny!” He chuckled as she tilted her head towards him, the same smile present on her face. “Now I have to ask,” He started, quick to get to his point. “What motivated you to win? And how does it feel now that you’ve come out alive and victorious?” He questioned.

Her smile dropped a bit and she looked over at her mentors. Brutus gave her an odd look, almost accusatory. Enobaria just nodded for her to answer the question. “I suppose…my family” She started, turning back to look at Ceasar again. “I just wanted to see them again, I couldn’t stop until I knew I would. How do I feel now though? If I’m being honest I feel exhausted.” She laughed “But most of all I feel lucky. I don’t think I was supposed to win, but I did and I’m so grateful.” She said with that same charming smile. The crowd gave a sigh, obviously happy with the bittersweet answer. Caesar placed his hand over his heart, giving a dramaticized fake frown. “Isn’t she humble dear viewers?” He asked. “Lets see how this diamond won the games shall we? A recap of the 13 days of the 69th hunger games!” He suggested.

The stage darkened, music playing through the speakers as the screens around them lit up. She saw herself at the tribute parade, waving with Finch. Ceasar commented on how much he loved the dress she had worn. The screen changed to her previous interview with Ceasar, the crowd made a bit of noise as her dress sparkled. Once again she saw herself, this time on the pedestal as the clock counted down for the games to begin. Her brain began to feel that fuzzy feeling again, she knew she wasn’t going to be present very long while the games replayed. She stuck a soft smile on her face as she let herself slip away.

In the blink on an eye, she was back in a car. Hebe held her hand and smiled as she looked over. “We’re on our way to have you crowned.” She explained. The new victor furrowed her brows, hours were gone, “Did I do ok in the rest of the interview?” She asked quietly. “You did great, smiled and waved like normal. We only noticed you weren’t really all there when you wouldn’t talk after you got offstage.” Hebe explained, squeezing her hand. “I’m sorry baby, I know it’s unfair.” She continued, her face falling. Y/N just nodded “I know” she murmured.

The two sat in silence for a moment before Hebe pointed out that they were close to the venue. It was the same as the tribute parade, however this time she was driven around back. Hebe helped her out of the car, leading her upstairs and into a room close to the balcony were she would be crowned. “Do you want a drink honey?” Enobaria asked, already sipping a glass of amber liquid. “Yes please” She replied as Hebe sat her down in a chair next to Furisha.

An Avox quickly handed her a glass of champagne, it was a light pink color with a sweet taste. The alcohol made something in her sinuses burn as well as her throat, but she gave a dry cough but drank another few sips anyway. Warmth settled in her chest as she wrung her free hand in a nervous fidget. “Y/n?” Enobaria leaned forward, waving a hand to get her attention. She looked up quickly, watching her mentor frown. “You can’t be doing that in front of the president, you need to be fully here.” She lightly scolded. “It’s not a long ceremony but he’ll talk to you and when he does you need to show you aren’t going to crumble.” She said with a frown, her brows furrowed. “I’ll do my best to keep it together.” The younger woman said softly, taking another large sip of champagne to ease her nerves.

A small announcement came through a small black box on the coffee table in the drawing room. “5 minutes till appearance, final touches stylists.” The male voice said before cutting off. “Showtime” Brutus said with a huff, downing the rest of his drink in one gulp. “Let me powder you one last time sweetheart.” Hebe said, reaching to get a compact while Furisha stool Y/N up at fussed over her already perfect dress. She took a few more gulps of her champagne, finishing the glass and handing it to a waiting avox. Her head felt a bit fuzzy but she blinked rapidly to keep herself present.

Hebe took a feather soft powder puff, applying the makeup to her face and pulling out a tube of lipstick to touch it up as well. “Remember to be careful, say yes sir and no sir, answer every question truthfully because he already knows the answer.” Enobaria whispered to her, seeming a bit paranoid but for good reason. “90 seconds till appearance” the male voice rang out from the coffee table as the doors were opened by Avoxes. Screams and cheers echoed into the room from the crowd below. “Smile darling, you deserve this.” Furisha said, that sickly smile on her face. The words made her chest burn but she ignored them, stepping forward.

“30 seconds till appearance” The voice said one last time as the drums below somehow sounded louder. This almost reminded her of getting into the tube before the games, but that wasn’t something to entertain now. The drums stopped and she stepped out onto the balcony. The crowds went absolutely wild, screaming at top volume and pushing against the blockades to wave at her.

She gave her biggest smile, waving to the crowd and even blowing a few kisses. Men and women alike swooned as she looked in their direction. Enobaria stepped out behind her with brutus, each taking one of her hands to hold them up in victory in front of the crowd. The people were cheering so loud she felt herself start to get a headache, she smiled through it. The two mentors held her hands and led her to a small podium where she stood alone. They stepped away to the wings as the process paused for a long dramatic moment.

The center doors opened slowly, two peacekeepers standing at attention next to them. President Snow emerged in all his grandeur, a smile on his face as he waved to the crowds. His smile dropped a bit, almost unnoticeable if she weren't looking, as he looked over at her, coming back just as quickly. He walked over to the podium set up for him, starting by calming the crowd. “Welcome! Welcome! I welcome you to join me in crowning our victor of the 69th hunger games!” He announced, the crowd roaring in excitement as predicted. “This year a brave young woman beat the odds and came out victorious. She is an example of how even our allies can be defeated.” He said, continuing on. “We all look forward to what a valuable asset our new victor will be not only to her district but to the capital as well. I’m sure she will continue to be an excellent example for all of us forevermore.” He grinned, setting his sights back on her as he gave a small applause with the crowd.

Walking over and picking up the golden circlet from its podium, he walked up to her. “Flawless my dear,” he congratulated as he set the crown atop her head “I have big plans for you.” He promised in all seriousness. “Thank you Sir, I’m honored.” She said, doing her best to sound confident and sincere. He smiled wider, “The pleasure is all mine.” He said as he took her hand to lead her closer to the balcony's edge. The crowds screamed as they walked closer, cheering for them both as they smiled and waved.

The entire ceremony only lasted about 15 minutes but it felt as if it lasted for hours. The President eventually parted from her, smirking slightly as they walked their separate ways. She was led back into the drawing room, her face falling from its smile. Her hands shook, she felt slightly dirty. “You did it sweetie, you did amazing!” Furisha exclaimed, fluttering around her. She took Hebe’s hand, trying to ground herself and keep calm.

What did he mean by “big plans?”

[ohyondermemphis]

WIP Lines Tag Game

Thanks for the tag, @luxvespertine!

Rules: share 7 (or more) lines of a WIP you've been working on

———

Well, I am getting old af. But these WIPs are even older.

1.

A Silence of the Lambs AU that just feels like I'm watching the movie but with Tomarry:

“You drew these yourself, sir?” He follows Harry’s line of sight, unblinking, that slow slide of a smile that still looks ill fitting on him. Voldemort hums, walks slowly closer to him. Harry tenses, jittery but desperate to not show it, this close and it feels like a predator closing in. 

He’d been to the zoo once, long enough ago that it’s not a clear memory, but a snake had reared up in the cool dark of the enclosure, swaying eye to eye with him for breathless moments. He feels very much the same now. 

2.

Jumping on the Regulus bandwagon, Fem Harry/TR/RB, semi-incestuous Black family drama:

“You fuck him and call it family.” She spits it out, like it could absolve her from her own guilt, like how she dug her fingernails into her palms every time she looked at him. 

He smiles, bright and charmed by her vulgarity, crosses around the desk to stand in front of her, tall and much more impenetrable than she could ever hope to be. His hand, long and wand calloused, touches the curve of her cheek, her hard jaw. He whispers lover soft into her ear, “What do you call it when I fuck you?”

A jolt, but he’s always hit below the belt. 

“A mistake.” He laughs, low and amused, forever amused by her, she’s always ten inches tall in front of him. 

3.

Tomarry Arranged Marriage AU - my absolute favorite - with a gush of A/B/O:

Customarily, before mating, the alpha will supply all and sundry for the omega. He is to come to his alpha with nothing but that which the alpha provides. Harry isn’t surprised that Voldemort is such a traditionalist. 

So, Harry sits on his bed, sleep deprived and nervous. His fingers twitch on his bare thigh, and his door remains locked even though there have been knocks. He murmurs an affirmative to their low voices, ambivalent to any concern now that the contract is signed. The words are binding, his people are safe, his family and friends even more so. Magic is shining her light on Great Britain again and he isn’t even the first war bride in the last century.

4.

Witcher!AU - High fantasy with UST and knives to throats.

“He’s but a boy.” Tom arches a brow, arms folded and already bored with the older men’s theatrics. The clash of swords outside, that beautiful melody of steel against steel, reaches longingly into his ears. How long has it been since he pressed blade to blade with Barty, with Bella? How long since he had felt more human than monster? 

The answers aren’t in Dumbledore’s bright blues. Nor are they in the basin, with its blood and gore, where two emeralds fade into the bones that rattle in its depths. 

“A boy.” Sardonic, he turns to Gellert, his mentor, one hand holding his cheek and long legs crossed. His smile is all sharp teeth. He knows Tom will say yes, his pet seer isn’t needed for that, at least. 

5.

Fem!Harry/Fem!Tom, Hogwarts!AU - Grief fic sliced with slutty interludes.

Tom puts her arm up, quick, silent, stopping Harry in her tracks. She licks her lips, eyes on Tom, feeling that reckless, that daring more than usual tonight. “You’ll let me go, won’t you, Tom?” She becomes boneless, lost lamb. Tom’s eyes eat up what little light there is in this secret, furtive alcove.

“That depends entirely on you, sweetheart.” Tom doesn’t do anything as crass as licking her lips, not like Harry, who has plump bottom lip caught between teeth. She leans, breathless, on the wall, let’s Tom tower over her. She seems to like it, this cat and mouse game Harry can’t stop herself from playing. 

Tom’s other hand touches her sharp collar bone again, light fingertips that trail across vulnerable skin. They haven’t broken eye contact. 

Harry pushes forward, tip toes skimming the flagstones to press her mouth against the slick smirk on Tom’s. 

6.

Again. Femme Tomarry - because there just isn't enough. Toxic domesticity (catch and release pt 2)

There’s a darling curl of a tattoo under her rib, snake and skull, that clues Tomasina to anywhere she might be. She’s had no cause to regret it, even now. 

They’ve only been split for three days, enough that the ashes of every Marlboro light still clings to the tips of her fingers, drunk on cheap fire whisky (at home) and giggle water (at the pub). She keeps her wand near her and her ears as open as she can, can’t help but watch sightless in front of her when Tom’s name is whispered behind her back. 

7.

Tomarry Hannibal!AU - Dark romance in all it's forms.

She doesn’t bring up her late night escapades the next day. All her glamours drip off like rain as she walks through his doors, so she doesn’t have to say a word. The arch of his brow, the purse of his lips, the way he can read her so well, intrinsically, intimately. 

She swallows the thought back down. 

“Trouble sleeping again?” She wonders if he’s paid by the word, if he’s energized by the charming way he disarms every warrior that enters through his gates, world weary and heavy hearted. She snorts, inelegant, unrefined, nails bitten down and dirt from where she’d worked in her garden this afternoon. 

She was off today. Twenty four hours away from the hell her job had become. Twenty four hours to drink whiskey from mugs and pet her cats and feed her owl and pretend for twelve goddamn hours that this was the sum of her life. 

Her mandatory attendance with Tom Marvolo Riddle, six p.m. sharp, every Wednesday, whether she was working or not, interrupts that blissful fantasy. 

These were the terms and conditions of her agency. Free will wasn’t an option. Not when she was her, not while she still dreamed of monsters, not while she didn’t even need to be asleep to see them still. 

.....and that's enough of that.

[zooone]

IM BEGGING FOR A DEAD GUFL WALKING WOLBUR FIC

THE SPICE

ill give you a blurb since i need sleep ^_^ a little bit of a heavy makeout bit but nothing too much!!

here it is. the time youve been dreading since you took a glance at the cast list.

when you auditioned for veronica, you expected this to happen. you practically signed up to do it, so there wasnt much ample room for blame. there were down sides that you knew of, yet you wanted to push yourself to do it. just not with him.

your heart nearly dropped from its ribcage when the director spoke about today's rehearsal. how they were going to work on candy store a bit more all of that. but most devastating? you were going to be blocking dead girl walking.

with your hands clenched by your knees and your shoulders down to your earlobes, you catch a glimpse at wilbur. its no surprise that he's barely even phased by this information. sitting there with his arm hanging from the seat next to him. legs spread wide like hes trying to prove a point. and that god damn smirk. if you had one dying wish, it would be to smack his smirk clean off.

he moves his head towards you, half lidded eyes meeting yours. he catches you staring and quickly quirks his eyebrows up with a smile. this silent interaction was all you needed to know exactly what he thought of this.

going through candy store a final time is like waiting your turn in line to be executed. its not even that hard to act scared and stressed as veronica, because those were your exact emotions. just glancing at wilbur makes you want to throw up. just sitting there with his book and trench coat on. biting his cheek to hold in a sly smile. its too distracting, too painful.

and when candy store is over, you can feel your guts churning in on each other. wilburs smile isnt helping the matter.

the director tells you guys to try to wing it based off of the original performance. then, you guys can work on tweaking it from there. its extremely suffocating, the room feeling small. and you bite your lip to hold back your emotions. wilbur, on the other hand, looks like he's about to be given candy.

the instrumental plays, and you begin.

the beginning is easy enough. just singing directly at the audience. atleast, it should have been easy, if your voice wasnt almost shaking with anger. you cant imagine the smile on wilbur's face as he lays behind you.

"got no time to knock, im a dead girl walking-" and here we go. you take a breathe to steady yourself as you step up to wilbur. he scrambles up to his feet. his face is only half lit by the lights. the shadows on his features look sharp.

"veronica? what are you doing in my room?-" and his acting. it wanted to make your hear shrivel up. you never wanted to admit that he was good, but his acting genuinely made you reel.

"sorry but i really had to wake you," you sing out, bracing yourself for the next line. "see, i decided i must ride you till i break you."

you can see him licking his teeth, trying so hard to repress a smile.

"cause heather says i gots to go, youre my last meal on death row," wilbur opens his mouth, and you continue. "shut your mouth, and lose them tighty whities- cmon!"

you will yourself to step closer to him, recalling the choreography from the original. maybe its the being-on-stage-adrenaline, but things have gotten semi easier now that youre acting it out. but your stomach still feels like mushy butter.

"tonight im yours! im your dead girl walking!" and he moves closer, hovering his hands above your hips, until you grab his shoulders and shove him down to his knees. "get on all fours, kiss this dead girl walking."

you hold his face while he looks up at you. suddenly, your knees feel like buckling in on themselves. watching his soft eyes from this angle made something ignite in your body.

"lets go, you know the drill. im hot, and pissed, and on the pill," and if it wasnt already difficult enough, you can feel his calloused fingertips trailing up your thigh. such a gentle action, but bearing loud emotions and intent. "bow down to the will of a dead girl walking-"

and as you sing the next bit, youre face to face with him. you can feel his gaze piercing through your skull as you continue singing. his tender eyes and slightly parted lips make him look so. soft. its interesting to see this angle, this side of him. after youve seen him always smiling and pestering you, for once he looks- dare you say, tolerable.

"in here it's beautiful," you motion to yourself, trying to sing through a tightened chest. "lets make this beautiful!"

he holds your sides, almost like hes been waiting several eternities for this exact moment, until the music stops. it must have been something that neither of you noticed, because you both just kept going."that works for me-"

and you get the tiniest bit carried away. grabbing his face and shoving it into yours. its like an out of body experience, as if your limbs were impossibly moving on their own. nonetheless, you move yourself to straddle wilbur, feeling his legs straighten beneath you as he continues kissing you breathless. youre holding the back of his neck like its your only support, and you feel his own hands crawling up and down at your sides.

the only thing that stops you is the director completely yelling at you two. "wilbur! Y/N!"

and you part from him, nearly having to shove his shoulders away. your knees still straddle either side of his legs. and youre sitting there with shame written all over your face.

"you guys were only supposed to go up to the 'lets make this beautiful' part," the director sighs, dragging a hand down his face.

you quickly gather yourself and get up, grabbing a fistful of your hair. maybe the pain of yanking it would drown out the pain of embarrassment. "oh my god- oh my god, im so sorry, sir, i didnt mean to, i got carried away, and-"

"its fine, im not angry. i just.. didnt expect you two to go that far," he speaks, and you can feel relief draining into your pigmentation. "atleast it makes my job easier. you two have good chemistry. really good chemistry. casting you both as jd and veronica was a really good choice."

the words replay in your brain. really. good. chemistry. really good chemistry? you? with wilbur? okay, sure, the most he's seen was you straddling wilbur and kissing him until he's panting for air, but his words were just completely incorrect. yet, you keep your thoughts to yourself.

and watching wilbur from his spot, still sitting down, he looks really red. granted, you werent looking too good either, but that was because of pure humiliation. wilbur was never the type to get humiliated. if anything happened, he'd simply laugh it off. him being red would only be if he were flushed, but maybe your thoughts were just snowballing.

"we'll work on it a bit more, but i really don't think there's a lot to really tweak. you both did great. excellent acting," the director says. so innocently and simply, he doesn't notice the weight of his words on you.

excellent. acting. but was it really still acting?

[pookiecowpoke]

Hello! Dunno if you still take rarepair requests but Im craaaaving for David x Ace romantic fluff fanfic, been suffering for all these years..i cant take it anymore. If you could make the omega verse one id be the happiest person alive :) And ill tip for your work and time of course <3

Ace High

Pairing: Ace Visconti/David King

Fandom: Dead by Daylight

Rating: Gen

Tags: Fluff, Omegaverse, scenting, marking, cuddling, poker

Word count: More than 1200

Comments: This is my first omegaverse fic… so I apologize if somethings aren’t the typical alpha/omega dynamic. It’s not really my thing to read, but I’m always willing to try new things :) And I don’t know if this qualifies as romance… but I tried. I hope you enjoy you lovely person!

It was cold. Even this close to the campfire the fog sent a chill into Ace’s hunched over figure. He was the only one present, most other survivors either in a trial or wandering into the fog to pass the time by. It was these lonely times that Ace hated the most. Away from his alpha’s warmth and struggling to not fidget. David hadn’t even been able to give him a goodbye kiss before he was whisked away by the Entity. 

A few moments ago Ace had felt a spike of pain cutting through his chest, he keeled over and held his chest, knowing that David had been hooked, but the pain ebbed away as quickly as it came on. As time had progressed between their relationship they had both been able to feel each other’s pain and hints of their sharp emotions. 

To keep his nerves at bay, he took to shuffling his deck of cards, fingers going numb at this point. He wasn’t sure how he had gotten the cards in the first place. The almighty Entity could be gracious at times, and he assumed when he found the deck in his pants’ pocket he had earned them somehow. 

Feeling the worn paper between his calloused fingertips usually calmed his nerves, but tonight it only made him more antsy. The mark on his neck itched something fierce, like an underlying rash that only his alpha could sooth. 

With an eyeroll and groan, Ace hung his head and let his cards flutter to the forest floor. Why did the Entity see fit to torture him? Didn’t they get enough torture and pain in the trials? 

Ace grumbled as he picked up his deck of cards and shoved them into his pocket, staring into the flames of the campfire as it licked over the ever burning logs. When Ace had first woken up in this hell hole he wondered how the logs never needed to be replaced, how the fire never dampened. It was just one of those unexplainable things. 

Ace sighed and kicked a clump of dirt into the campfire, watching it hiss before coming back full force. He wished David would hurry up in his trial so they could cuddle by the campfire already. 

As if the Entity answered his prayers, he heard multiple footsteps emerge from the fog, the crunching of leaves following. Ace whipped around to watch four people approach the fire. Dwight stumbled up to the fire followed by Meg and Jake, but Ace’s attention was on David’s imposing figure. 

David’s face lit up upon spotting Ace by the fire. Ace put a coy smile on his face even if his heart leapt into his throat and stomach filled with butterflies. 

“Took ya long enough, David,” Ace scoffed and scratched at his jaw line. 

David rolled his eyes and put his hands on his hips, staring down at his omega. His stare made Ace squirm and bite his lower lip, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

“I can’t leave ya anywhere can I?” David snickered before dipping down and bodily scooping Ace up. 

Ace felt like he was on cloud nine as David nuzzled into Ace’s neck to kiss at the mark on his neck. Curling his arms around David’s solid neck, Ace greedily inhaled David’s scent, sating his loneliness. David always smelled salty with sweat but with hints of beer and cedarwood. It made Ace shiver, especially by being cradled in his large arms. The contact of their bodies drew the chill from his body and made him feel warm and safe like nothing could harm him.

After David sat down, he perched Ace on his lap and settled his chin on his shoulder, humming a tune unknown to Ace. Must have been some British pub song or something. His large hand reached up to pull Ace’s hat off so he could graze his fingers through his graying hair. Ace leaned up into the petting, his eyes fluttering shut in bliss.

The calming aura surrounding them lasted until Ace huffed and turned to give David a pout. “Do you want to play a game of cards?”

David quirked an eyebrow. “What isn’t my presence enough for ya, ya li’l bastard?” Ace knew he was teasing by the warm smirk curled on his lips but it still made his heart thump unplesanatly. David sighed and cupped Ace’s jaw, fingernail scratching at his facial hair. “Ya promise not to cheat again?” 

Ace lit up and leaned in to press his forehead against David’s. “Ah, I can’t prommmise, but I can say I won’t.”

David chuckled and patted Ace’s flank. “Alright, I’ll play with ya, but if ya fockin’ cheat-”

“Ya won’t do shit, my Alpha.” Ace chuffed and slid off his lap to sit beside him so he could deal the cards. 

“Hmph, we’ll see about that.” 

Throughout the few rounds of Texas Hold ‘Em, a few more people had returned to the fire, but Ace was purely focused on his alpha and the cards in his hand. He almost got distracted from his goal of winning when David ran a hand over his shin and thumbed at Ace’s ring, but he held strong in the end. 

David threw his cards down after losing several rounds in a row, only to find out Ace had been counting cards and had two aces up his sleeve the entire time. David cupped Ace’s face between his large scarred hands and attacked his nose and cheeks with kisses. 

“Is this my punishment? Because it doesn’t feel like much of a punishment.” Ace chuckled between kisses, his fingers curling around David’s forearms brushing over the dusting of hair. 

David pressed his forehead to Ace’s, his dark eyes peering into Ace’s sunglasses before he reached up to flick them off. “Nah, I don’t think it’s a punishment, love.”

Ace’s heart swelled with joy at the simple petname, but his tongue lashed out for him. “You can be so sappy, David.” He pressed his lips to David’s scarred nose. “But I wouldn’t have it any other way.” 

“Me, the sappy one?” David barked a laugh before burying his nose in Ace’s neck teasing at the tanned skin. “Look in the mirror, sweetheart.”

“When you find a mirror in this shit hole tell me.” Ace carded through David’s hair before pressing his cheek to the top of his head, taking short sniffs of his hair. 

David hummed, the vibration in his throat rumbling into Ace’s body. “I’ll be sure to let ya know.” 

After Ace collected his cards and put them away, they shifted positions until David was seated on the ground, his back leaning against the log and Ace curled up against his side. David’s heavy, blanketing arm was slung over his shoulder keeping him warm, and Ace’s own arm was flung over David’s stomach. 

Ace’s eyes drifted shut as he listened to David’s powerful thumping heart, the way his chest vibrated when he quipped to one of the other survivors’ statements. It was peaceful, until he opened his eyes and the warmth of his mate was gone. He was alone, no campfire in sight and the dark, linoleum hallways of the Doctor’s institute setting a coldness in Ace’s gut. 

“Ugh, fuck you, Entity…”

[tillyashton]

For Faith: "Feel like coming by the Shady Lady sometime and having a casual conversation? I think you'd get along with my boss, Lorenzo. We can scrounge up some ice for your face. Signed, N.E."

Grime clung stubbornly under Faith's fingernails, a permanent souvenir of her self-appointed role as Moonbrook's unofficial clean-up crew. Her fiery red hair, usually pulled back in a messy braid, hung loose around her shoulders, the aftermath of a particularly enthusiastic sweeping session.

A calloused fingertip brushed against something rough in a familiar gap between the tavern's wall planks. A note. The note itself was terse, but not unfriendly. It was scrawled in neat script that mocked her own. Literacy lessons ended abruptly for Faith at ten, when her parents died of illness and she was handed over to the Defias. Nevertheless, she percisted at sounding the thirty-one word note out... despite getting stuck on the word "Lorenzo."

Faith scowled, a familiar fire igniting in her gunmetal eyes. They didn't know her very well, these people who dangled promises or threats in cryptic messages. She wasn't some naive farm girl anymore and hadn't been one for the better part of twenty years.... But… ice. The throbbing in her lip seemed to pulse in agreement.

With a sigh, she grabbed a scrap of parchment left over from, who really knew when, and a chunk of charcoal from the hearth. The end of her education was evident in her handwriting. It was messy, spidery letters slanting at odd angles across the page; barely even the basics but the reply was clear. Fine. Shady Lady. When?

Folding the piece of parchment into a tight square, Fith shoved it back into the hole in the wall, a silent acceptance of the mysterious N.E.'s invitation. Maybe the ice was a lie, maybe Lorenzo was trouble, but one thing was certain. She was as curious as a kitten. ((thank you so much and I AM SO SORRY FAITH'S ASKS WERE TURNED OFF. I didn't even realize. Doh, dur! I turned them on! ))