#rest in peace department: rise of the damned

[werewylf]

excuse me who was gonna tell me that not only did they make a r.i.p.d sequel but that my man jeffrey donovan from burn notice was in it

[virginsexgod69]

Hey, I love your writing! Could you write a story about Rick Grimes and a female reader?

It's two months after Lori's death and you and Rick have been sneaking around keeping your relationship on the DL

And during one of the hookups, he ended up calling you Lori instead. The hookups stopped for a while, and he went crazy because you had been avoiding him since the awkward moment. He ended up doing everything in his power to get you back

Please don't rush take your time :]

❝ Sweetheart ❞

pairing Rick Grimes x f!Reader

cw smut, unprotected p in v, angst, pining

note you are very kind, @hutchersonsgurl and i really enjoyed writing this request! sorry i took so long, but ty for your patience! i hope you like!

4.7k words

 This was the nth time you woke up naked, laying against Rick's bare chest in the uncomfortable cot of your cell. The first time this happened, you felt horrible. His wife had died barely two months ago, and here you were fucking him in secret. Maybe this was his way of grieving, or maybe he actually liked you, but either way the sex was too good to stop. 

"Mornin' sweetheart," he said, his voice still raspy with sleep. Your heart swelled. You loved when he used that nickname. You responded by pressing a gentle kiss to his chest. He wrapped his strong arms around you, pulling you closer. 

"Get 'nough sleep?" he asked, a teasing quality to his voice. He had kept you up all night and he knew it. You had the sore thighs and marks littering your body to prove it. 

“You kept me up all night and wore me out. I think I should be exempt from my duties today.”  He laughed at your suggestion. 

“S’too bad. I wanted to go out for a quick supply run, jus you ’n me.”  You perked up at this. Supply runs that involved just the two of you were always more than supply runs. Even if they ended up just being regular supply runs, you still enjoyed spending time with Rick. 

“When’re we leavin’!?” You asked excitedly as you untangled yourself from Rick’s arms to get up. He pulled you back into the cot and held you in a tighter embrace. 

“It’s still early. Let’s stay like this for a bit, yeah?” He asked before tenderly kissing your hairline. 

"You seriously wearin' that?" Rick asked as you approached the car. You wore a form fitting tank top paired with some denim low rise short shorts. You knew it wasn't the most practical outfit, but you couldn't resist teasing him. 

"Somethin' wrong?" you asked with faux innocence. He couldn't answer you seeing as he was too busy gawking. Piercing blue eyes stared at your cleavage before drifting down to your thighs where the marks he sucked on them peeked out from beneath the shorts. He's seen you naked and been inside you so many times, yet the sight of you in that simple outfit damn near brought him to his knees. 

"You gonna keep starin' or are we gonna get goin'?" You asked, arms impatiently crossed beneath your chest. He playfully rolled his eyes before opening the passenger side door for you, ushering you inside. He got in the driver's side and began driving to the department store you spotted the other day. 

 Rick's hand rested comfortably on your thigh as he drove and as you alternated between admiring him and admiring the view outside. Being alone with the man gave you the perfect opportunity to ask him all the questions swimming in your head about your relationship. You couldn't decide between enjoying the peaceful, comfortable silence or initiating a talk with him, but eventually decided on the latter. 

"What am I to you, Rick?" you asked with forced nonchalance. You could've sworn you saw him tense up, but he recovered so quickly you couldn't even be sure it happened. 

"What do you-" he took a breath, "what do you mean?" 

The lack of an immediate answer made your heart sink a little. You weren't expecting a speech followed by a marriage proposal, but anything else would've been nicer. 

"Am I a rebound? A friend? A bootycall? A..." you hesitated for a moment, "girlfriend?" You hated how hopeful you sounded at the last suggestion. 

 He ran a hand over his face and sighed before answering. "I don' know what you are to me." Your eyes burned with tears that you refused to let fall. His hand grabbed yours, squeezing it comfortingly. "But I know you're special to me and I could never live without you." You reciprocated his hand squeeze. Although it wasn't exactly what you wanted to hear, his words made your heart swell. 

  You held his hand for the rest oft the car ride, until the department store came into view. It was worn down on the outside, like most places were, and some of the letters were missing from the sign. Some windows were broken and others were boarded up. Pickings were slim so even if you thought there'd be nothing in there, it'd be worth it to check. You exited the car and grabbed your backpack full of snacks, water bottles, and a few weapons along with an empty bag for your finds and slung it over your shoulder. Rick grabbed it from you and carried it instead, a simple but gentlemanly gesture. 

 Hand in hand, the two of you entered the store. You were shocked to see fluorescent lighting and feel the cool air conditioning. The rest of the store was a mess. Dismembered mannequins, clothes, and clothing hangers littered the floor. Empty clothing racks were tipped over along with shopping carts. 

"Just grab a bunch of these clothes for everyone, I'll go look for some baby stuff," Rick said. You agreed and began shoving as many clothes as you could fit into the empty bag. With Rick off somewhere else, you began looking around the store. It all looked the same aside for a few different items strewn across the floor. You threw an apple scented candle into the bag because why not, and shoved in some blankets. The bag could barely zip, which was your sign to stop "shopping." You continued exploring the store until you came across the mattress aisle.

   It had felt like ages since you've felt the comfort of a real mattress and it was far too tempting not to give in. You set the bag down, but kept your knife and holster on you in case you ran into any trouble. You ran before jumping onto a random mattress, bouncing a little before settling on it. The fluffy comfort soothed your achy body. It hadn’t even been a minute, but your eyelids already started feeling heavy. Rick calling your name jostled you from your short sleep. You debated on ignoring him so you could drift back off to sleep, but that was far too dangerous and you knew that. 

“Over here,” you called back. He found his way over to you, baby clothes and other items in his arms. He looked at you skeptically before setting the stuff in his arms down. 

“What’re you doin?” 

“When was the last time you felt a real mattress, Rick?”  He looked up in thought, but took too long to answer, so you patted the spot beside you. He flopped onto the mattress, settling down next to you. You turned to face him. 

“Comfy, right?” His face cracked into a smile. 

“Yeah, too bad we can’t take it back to the prison,” he lamented. 

“Yeah,” you trailed off, eyes darting between his eyes and pink lips, “We better make the best outta this while we can.” You couldn’t help the way your mouth pulled into a smirk. His face mirrored yours as he pulled you in for a kiss. You tangled your fingers in his hair, deepening the kiss. His hands slid down your body, gripping your ass before pulling you into him, grinding his crotch against yours. He moaned into your mouth, allowing you to slip your tongue into his, tasting him. Out of breath, he pulled away, panting with pink cheeks and pupils blown with lust. He flipped you from on your side to your back before kneeling on either side of your hips. You sat up and went for his belt buckle, but he pushed you back down into the mattress. 

“C’mon, Rick, what’re you waiting’ for?” You whined impatiently. He leaned down and grabbed your face between one of his large hands, lips puffing out from the way he squeezed your cheeks. 

“Patience, little girl, or I won’t let ya cum,” he threatened with a lustful darkness in his eyes. Your stomach flipped and your pussy throbbed. You loved this side of Rick, but you hated waiting. You nodded your head and he relinquished his hold on your face. The pout on your face was quickly wiped away when he began sucking on the space where your neck and shoulder connected. You were too caught up in the moment to worry about him leaving marks on hard to cover places on your body, and he didn't seem to care too much either. He nipped at your collar bones as you tried to stifle the giggles that the ticklish feeling of his beard caused. When your tank top got in the way of his descent, he made quick work of removing it, almost tearing it in the process. His eyed went wide when he realized you weren't wearing a bra, but you just smiled innocently at him, causing his pants to tighten. The cool, air conditioned air hardened your nipples, which Rick pinched, earning restrained whimpers from you and making you squirm beneath him. 

"Nah, no holdin' back, I wanna hear you." 

"B-but what if walkers-" your own moan cut you off when Rick took your breast into his warm mouth. He captured your nipple between his tongue and the roof of his mouth as he sucked all while his other hand continued pinching the other. Your hands tangled in his hair as you pathetically whimpered. He pulled away from your breast with a wet pop and continued kissing wet, sloppy kisses down your stomach, until he met the waistband of your little shorts. The way he strained against his pants grew painful and he knew he wouldn't last much longer. 

"Turn 'round, wanna see your pretty ass in those little shorts," he ordered, gripping your hips to flip you over. You supported yourself on your elbows with your back arched and ass in the air, per Rick’s command. 

“God, you look so damn good in those shorts.” The complement sent heat flooding to your core. 

“Hurry up, Rick, I need you!” You whined wantonly. You knew Rick didn’t have patience for your impatience, but could he take any longer? Rick slapped your ass, leaving a pleasurable sting. 

“What’d I tell you ‘bout bein’ patient?” Rick snapped. You glanced at him behind you with pleading pout on your face, silently asking for forgiveness all while begging him to hurry up and pound you into the mattress. He already couldn’t say no to you, but when you looked at him like that it took almost everything in him to not give into your every whim. 

“Goddamn, sweetheart, you drive me crazy,” he groaned as he hurriedly unbuckled his belt. His hands were on you again, yanking your shorts down to your knees. With the way your arousal coated your inner thighs, Rick gave up on taking his time with you. You looked so delectable as you eagerly laid there desperately waiting for him with your own wetness leaking down your supple thighs. His hand held your hip in place as the other lined himself up with your entrance. He slid in effortlessly, filling you up so perfectly. A guttural moan escaped him once he bottomed out.  Every vein along his shaft you could feel as he thrusted in and out of you. His grip on your hips hardened to the point of leaving bruises as he pounded in and out of you. 

“Yer takin’ me so good, princess,” he said between his own pants and occasional breathy moans.

Your elbows shook as you struggled to support yourself, weakened by the pleasure and the pounding you were getting from the man behind you. They finally gave out, leaving you face down in the soft mattress. Rick’s thrusts were becoming sloppy and rhythmless as his breathing shallowed. 

“Rick, ‘m gonna cum,” you whined. 

“Me too, jus’ wait a sec.” 

He continued his tired thrusts, his hips bumping your ass with each one, filling the store with wet, erotic sounds.

“Oh, god! Rick!” You screamed as you came around his cock. Your velvety walls squeezed him as your eyes rolled back while your orgasm overtook you. He let out a guttural moan as his hot release flooded your tired cunt. After pulling out, the man collapsed beside you on the mattress. You turned to face him, a sleepy smile on your face as you cuddled up to him. He took you in his arms and held you to his chest, peppering kisses all over any part of you he could reach. 

“You’re so good to me, Lori,” he said between kisses. You froze and Rick did too. You forced yourself out of his arms. His arms were once your favorite place to be. You felt safe, warm, and comforted, like the world hasn’t ended. But now it felt like your world ended. The arms that once gave you safety and comfort left you feeling vulnerable and weak. 

“Sweetheart, I-I’m sorry, it was a genuine mistake,” he pleaded. His blue eyes held unshed tears which he blinked back as he desperately apologized. You ignored him, choosing instead to redress yourself in an angered frenzy. 

He called your name in that firm tone he uses when he’s serious. “It was an accident, I promis-“

“Shut up, Rick!” You snapped. His eyes widened in shock and honestly yours did too. You never snapped at him and not in a million years would you have told him to shut up. But you were just so angry. He hurried off the bed and pulled up his pants before hurrying to catch up to you as you stormed off. He grabbed your arm, successfully stopping you. 

“Just,” he sighed, “just listen to me. Please?” He pleaded. You refused to look at him, not wanting him to see the tears you couldn’t hold back. You snatched your arm out of his grip and grabbed your previously discarded bag. 

“I’m goin’ back to the prison,” you said cooly, grateful you were able to keep the waver out of your voice. The lump in your throat burned and your chest ached, but you refused to look back at the man, despite him calling after you. In all honesty, you just wanted to run into his arms and cry into his chest, but he was the one who had you feeling this way. 

 Rick had caught up to you once you were back outside in the Georgian heat. “You can’t walk back to the prison by yourself. It’s far and it’s dangerous,” he bargained. You turned to glare at him, facing him for the first time since he called you by his recently deceased wife’s name. 

“I can handle myself just fine out there and you know that!”  Rick was only rubbing salt in the wound, intentional or not. It already hurt that he called you by the wrong name, but to underestimate you like that only cut deeper. 

“I don’t doubt that one bit, but it’s dangerous out there and I’m jus’ tryin’ to protect you!” 

 Normally, you reveled in his protectiveness. It made you think that maybe there was a chance he loved you, too, but now it only made you angrier. How dare he hurt you then pretend to care about your safety by claiming to protect you. 

“Why? Cause you couldn’t protect your precious Lori!?” You spat before your hands flew up to cover your mouth in shock.  Rick’s face fell as he stood there, frozen, staring at you with heartbreak evident in his eyes. You regretted the words as soon as they left your mouth. It wasn’t even his fault she died. An apology burned on the tip of your tongue, but you swallowed it, wanting Rick to hurt just as much as you did. Your turned on your heel and resumed your trek back to the prison and this time he didn’t stop you. 

You cried to yourself quietly in your cell that night. It had been the first night in a while that you spent without Rick under the covers with you. His Freudian slip was more than an innocent mistake to you, it solidified every insecurity that had been brewing in the back of your head. Rick didn't love you, he loved Lori and you were just there to wet his dick while he grieved her death. You looked at him like he hung the moon, but when he looked at you, he just wished you were someone else, and that hurt. Eventually, that hurtful feeling of emptiness was overtaken by a dreamless sleep. 

When you woke the next morning, you just wanted to go to sleep. You wanted to skip out on all your responsibilities and re-enter that state of dreamless sleep that kept you from thinking about Rick. Once you got ready for the day, you trudged over to get something to eat. Footsteps rapidly approached behind you and you felt a hand gently grab your forearm. 

"Can we please talk?" Rick asked. You didn't even want to turn to face him, your urge to ignore him too strong. Honestly, you hoped he'd be mad at you too, for what you had said, but he didn't sound mad at all, just desperate. When you turned to face him, all of your emotions from last night came flooding back tenfold. 

"There's nothing to talk about," you replied, struggling to keep your voice even. You hated how broken you sounded almost more than you hated the way he was looking at you. His red rimmed eyes hinted that he had also been crying, but the way hurt and remorse swam around in his blue irises tugged at your heartstrings. You just wanted to give in and hug him and have him tell you everything was alright while he kissed your tears away. But the thought that maybe he used to do that to Lori upset you all over again, sending tears burning your already puffy eyes. You snatched your arm out of his grip and turned away from him once again.

"I, um... There's lots of walkers at the fence," you mumbled before hurrying off. 

All week, Rick didn't give up on trying to win you back. It honestly confused you. Did he miss you, or did he just miss having sex with you? Either way, you refused to give in. As much as you wanted to, you wouldn't. You didn't want to keep being a replacement for his late wife, so you just ignored and avoided him whenever you could.

 Whenever you would pass Rick in the halls, you'd go another way so he couldn't talk to you, which he always tried to do. He'd either try to apologize or beg you to talk to him, neither of which you wanted to listen to. You ignoring him really started to take a toll on him, and everyone started noticing. 

"Wha's goin' on between you 'n Rick?" Maggie asked you in the watchtower when she came to switch shifts with you. 

The question caught you off guard, stilling you in your place. "Nothin', why?" you replied as casually as you could. The mention of the man always made your heart beat a little faster, apparently that remained true when you were mad at him.

"He's seemed a little...off lately, and honestly, you have too." 

You trusted Maggie, you really did, but just the thought of telling her what happened felt humiliating. 

"Why do ya say that?" you ask, still trying to play it cool. 

"Well, ever since the two a' ya stopped seein' each other, you both've been miserable and it's kinda been affectin' everyone in here too," she explained. Your eyes went wide in shock knowing that she knew about your hookups with Rick. She must think you were awful for getting in bed with him almost as soon as his wife died, and it made your stomach churn. 

"Y-you knew?" you forced out through your dry throat. 

"There isn't much privacy in here," she said matter of factly. 

You looked down at your feet in shame, unshed tears burning in your eyes. If she knew, it was likely everyone else knew too. 

"Anyway," she said, digging in her pocket. She pulled out a few wildflowers. "Rick wanted me to give you these." You accepted them before you could even think of rejecting them. 

"Thanks, Maggie," you said, offering a weak smile. She returned the smile. Your turned to leave the watchtower, but before you could go, the sound of her voice stopped you. 

"Just so you know, nobody's judgin' Rick 'n you." You felt some of the weight on your shoulders dissipate. It was nice to know nobody hated you for hooking up with Rick, but that didn't matter much since you two were essentially broken up. 

 Rick missed you. He was more distraught now than he was when he was seeing his dead wife in different places. He hadn't been able to sleep without you wrapped up in his arms. Guilt crushed him whenever you avoided him around the prison. Guilt because he hurt one of the most important to him. He didn't even care about what you said that day, he just wanted you back. It wasn't even the sex that he missed, it was you. Seeing how you ignored him whenever you were unable to avoid him, he figured the chances of getting you back were slim. Apologies and wildflowers wouldn't be enough. He needed to do whatever he could to get you back. 

He wanted to give you your space as much as he could, which is why he didn't try to pursue you other than when you crossed paths, but he was losing his mind. Which is why he found himself outside of your cell. He hesitated before knocking on the wall beside the curtain covering the cell's bars. He heard shuffling and grumbling before he saw you peek out from behind the curtain, which you quickly drew shut upon seeing him. 

"I need to talk to ya. I promise I'll leave you alone, but only after you hear me out," he whispered, not wanting to wake the others. The silence on your ended lasted for what felt like a while before you finally let him in. You sat down on your cot as Rick stood there awkwardly before eventually sitting a respectable distance away from you. 

"What do ya want?" you asked, not looking at him. 

He took a deep breath as he gathered his words in his head. He had some idea of what he wanted to say to you, but his mind went blank when he saw you. You looked sad and tired, the complete opposite of how you were before that day at the department store. 

"I came in here because I wanted to apologize. I dunno why I called you Lori, but it wasn't 'cause I was thinking of her," he insisted. Your only response was huffing and crossing your arms over your chest, still not looking at him.

"Please, look at me," he pleaded. He sounded weak and desperate because he was. You made him weak and he'd do anything just to have you look at him like you used to. You finally turned to face him, but your gaze was cold and distant. 

"Did you even mean it when you said I was special to you? When you said you couldn't live without me?" you asked guardedly. Rick hated that he made you feel like you couldn't be vulnerable with him anymore. He was ready to bare his whole heart out to you and wished you could do the same. Your walls were up so high that he couldn't even read you anymore. 

"I meant every-" 

"Or were you thinking about Lori when you said that," you spat. 

Rick sighed and ran and hand over his face. He took a minute to compose himself, blinking back the tears that sprung forth at your words. He didn't realize he had hurt you that badly. He glanced around your cell as he blinking back his tears, noticing the flowers he picked for you sitting in an small can filled with water in the corner. It gave him some hope that you'd forgive him. 

"You are the only one for me." He reached for your hand but you snatched it away. 

"Rick, I'm not just some hooker you can call over whenever you get sad thinkin' 'bout your wife" your voice broke as your lips and chin began to quiver, your tears failing to stay put in your eyes.

 Seeing you fall apart crying broke Rick's heart, making it harder for him to hold back his own tears. He didn't know what else he could say to make you understand that his life wouldn't be the same without you. So he pulled out a piece of paper with a letter he wrote for you. He was originally going to have someone else to give it to you for him since you'd been avoiding him. But now was he chance. He placed it on your cot before letting himself out.  

You paced back and fourth in the prison fiddling with the letter Rick gave you as you anxiously waited his and the others’ return. You had all presumably defeated the Governor, but the others went after him anyway to tie up any loose ends. Having been a part of the initial fight, you wanted to go too, but Rick wouldn’t let you. You arguing with him on why you should go had been the first time you talked to him since he came to your cell that night a week ago. 

Worrying about Rick made you feel guilty for ignoring for all this time. You spent all this time ignoring him, too afraid to admit to yourself that you still loved him. And now he might be dead somewhere, never knowing that you forgive him and love him too. You stared down at the letter and reread it for the nth time, seeking comfort in his written words. 

Sweetheart, 

 When you asked me what you were to me, I couldn’t find the right words to answer. It shouldn’t have taken me losing you to realize that you are my everything. In such a short time, you became my world and I wouldn’t be able to live a day without you. Every time you’re away from me, I yearn for the moment of your return. I don’t know how much time we’ll have together, but no matter how much or little we have left, I will spend all of it trying to earn your love again, because I love you, (Y/N). 

-Rick 

 Tears welled in your eyes. You felt so foolish wasting so much time you could’ve spend loving Rick being angry with him. You folded the letter again and shoved it in your back pocket. The sounds of the gate opening and Daryl’s motorcycle approaching took your attention. You ran outside, hurrying past everyone else headed the same way. You saw Rick standing there unscathed talking with Carl. Tears blurred your vision as you practically charged at him. He opened his arms just in time for your to jump in them. You sobbed into his shoulder as you held each other tight. You pulled away from the kiss and held his face in your hands, staring into his beautiful, blue eyes. He leaned down for a kiss which you happily accepted. 

“They back together again?” Daryl asked. 

“About time,” Carol responded. 

With the addition of the Woodburians, privacy was even harder to come by, but you and Rick made sure to get some the night he returned. You sat perched on his lap with your arms wrapped around him and face nuzzled in his neck. He rubbed soothing circles on your back, happy he was yours again. 

“I’m so sorry for what I said that say,” you mumbled. 

“Me too, sweetheart,” he said soothingly. You sat up and stared at Rick. He looked tired, but at peace for the first time in a while. 

“What?” He asked with a smile on his face. His smile made your own face split into a matching one. 

“I love you.” He pressed his forehead to yours. 

“I love you, too, Sweetheart.” 

this was partially proofread.

anyway, thanks for reading! <3

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[whencyclopedia]

Ghosts in the Middle Ages

The medieval Church informed the people's religious imagination during the Middle Ages (c. 476-1500) and the world was therefore interpreted - even by heterodox Christians - through the Church's lens. Ghosts – referred to as revenants – were no exception in that the Church defined such apparitions as souls in purgatory requiring human intervention to find eternal peace.

In the Early Middle Ages (c. 476-1000), there was no consensus on the meaning of ghostly appearances since, following the biblical injunction to "test all spirits", it was usually thought that such an apparition was a demon. As the Church began to emphasize the reality of purgatory, however, the concept of the ghost-as-soul-in-purgatory gained more ground.

The souls most likely to return to haunt the living were those whose burial rituals were not performed correctly or who had unfinished business which required closure; suicides, women who died in childbirth, or people who died suddenly and tragically without time for confession and absolution. Another reason, often entwined with these, was the need of the living to properly say goodbye and let the deceased person go. Elaborate rituals developed to enable the living to cope with the loss of death, release their memories of the dead in order to lay a ghost to rest, and move on with life.

Ghosts in the Ancient World

In the Early Middle Ages, the Church distanced itself from the concept of ghosts as understood by pagan Rome – as the disembodied spirits of the dead – and interpreted them as demonic entities. The biblical epistle of I John 4:1-3 warns believers that not every spirit is "from God" and they should be carefully evaluated for demonic origin. If an apparition appeared in the form of one's departed loved one, it was most likely a demon assuming that shape in order to damn one by tempting them to question God's plan.

The Church taught that God was in ultimate control of every aspect of one's life and that, when one died, there was a place for every soul in the afterlife – in heaven, hell and, eventually, the in-between of purgatory – just as there had been in the social hierarchy of life. A ghost threatened that understanding because it was not only out of place but had returned to where it no longer belonged. If God actually was in control, how did a ghost slip its assigned place in the afterlife to return to the living? The answer, reflecting the I John 4 passage, was that the apparition was not a 'ghost' but a demon in disguise.

Prior to the rise of Christianity, ghosts were understood as a natural – albeit uncomfortable and unwanted – aspect of human existence. The pagan belief systems held to the same understanding of ghosts that the Church would eventually adopt – that spirits of the dead could return to ask help from the living in completing unfinished business, to punish the living for incomplete or inadequate funerary rites, or because some aspect of their death left them unsettled – but this concept was at first resisted by the medieval Church.

In ancient Egypt, people could write letters to the dead addressing problems ranging from why the writer was being haunted or experiencing misfortune to asking where some treasured artifact or document had been placed. In Greece, the continued existence of the dead depended on the memory of the living as expressed in monuments and rituals. The more vibrant the memory, the more vital the spirit in the afterlife. This same paradigm was understood and observed by the Romans who developed societies a citizen paid into which, upon one's death, ensured proper funerary rites and continued remembrance. An apparition, in all three of these belief systems, was a sign that the soul of the deceased was not at rest and some action was required on the part of the living.

The Church had to distance itself from this understanding in the same way it did with all other aspects of pagan thought in order to make its message completely new. Ghosts were demonized in the same way women, cats, attention to personal hygiene, and anything else valued by the pagans were.

Continue reading...

[yesterdanereviews]

R.I.P.D. 2: Rise of the Damned (2022)

Film review #575

Director: Paul Leyden

SYNOPSIS: Sherriff in the Old West Roeciphus Pulsipher is gunned down and killed in a shootout with some outlaws. Before he can proceed to the after life, he is recruited by the Rest in Peace Department (R.I.P.D.) to hunt down souls that have not departed from the Earth. "Roy" is partnered with veteran officer Jeanne to investigate a disturbance that could put the whole of humanity at risk...

THOUGHTS/ANALYSIS: R.I.P.D. 2: Rise of the Damned is a 2022 film. Despite what the name implies, the film is not a sequel, but a prequel to the 2013 film R.I.P.D., in which we see the story of how veteran officer Roeciphus "Roy" Pulsipher joined the department. The film is set in the Old West, where Roy is killed in a shootout with a local outlaw gang. He is recruited by the Rest in Police Department (R.I.P.D.) to deal with souls called "Deados" who have remained on Earth after death and must be sent to the afterlife. Roy is teamed up with another officer, Jeanne, to investigate an increase in strange activity. If you watched the first film, you'll know exactly what to expect from this film, because it is basically the same plot: rookie and veteran partner up to stop the souls of the dead from returning to Earth. However, unlike the first film, which was still entertaining by just rushing through the film and relying on constant action and strong character performances, R.I.P.D. 2 doesn't even have that, and the film stumbles along without any real energy or appeal. It doesn't expand on the world or the lore in any way, it doesn't reveal anything new about the characters, it's just a completely recycled product with all the good stuff thrown out.

The only returning character from the first film is Roy, who was played by Jeff Bridges in the original, is played here by Jeffrey Donovan (obviously Bridges would have been a bit too pricey for this low-budget prequel). While I see a lot of praise for Donovan's performance, I just didn't see it. In his defence, it might just be the awful script and writing that is giving him stunted dialogue and interactions, which is certainly feasible, as the characters interact rather clumsily. Jeanne 's characters is very much a typical "veteran cop," and the French accent gives it away that she is meant to be Joan of Arc fairly early, although the film "reveals" it a lot later (although I'm not sure if it is meant to be obvious, because the writing doesn't indicate it). Despite her being a famous historical figure, it doesn't fails to add anything to the film or her character. Following the lore of the film, Roy and Joan look completely different to living people so they can't be recognised, and are given the appearance of two black women. This does present an opportunity for the film to address the racism and status of black people in the Old West, but the film chooses to play it safe and does the bare minimum with it. If they're not going to address the topic, they might as well just not bothered having it as a plot point at all.

Every establishing shot in the film gives away that everything is a set devoid of substance beyond the camera. The effects are plain, and nothing stands out to make things interesting. The ending wraps things up in a roundabout way and addresses issues that I didn't realise were an issue (who actually shot Roy or something). Overall, you're not going to get anything out of this film that the original, and is far inferior in every way. Everything about the film feels cheap and uninspired, and the things that made the original entertaining are absent. Releasing ten years after the original as well means that the opportunity to ride the hype of its predecessor is long gone, leaving it alone and essentially dead on arrival.

[brokehorrorfan]

R.I.P.D. 2: Rise of the Damned will be released on Blu-ray, DVD, and Digital on November 15 via Universal Pictures. The 2022 supernatural action comedy is a prequel to 2013’s R.I.P.D.

Paul Leyden (Come Back to Me) directs from a script he co-wrote with Andrew Klein (MacGyver), based on the 1999 comic book by Peter M. Lenkov and Lucas Marangon. Jeffrey Donovan, Penelope Mitchell, Jake Choi, Richard Brake, Kerry Knuppe, Rachel Adedeji, and Evlyne Oyedokun star.

No special features are included. The trailer and synopsis can be found below. You can also watch the first eight minutes of the movie here.

The Wild West has gone to Hell, literally, and the world's best hope of being saved lies in the gun-slinging hands of Sheriff Roy Pulsipher (Jeffrey Donovan) as he becomes the newest officer for the Rest In Peace Department (R.I.P.D.) enforcing the afterlife's laws. If the Old West was wild while he was alive, wait until Roy sees how weird it gets once he dies. Roy thought joining the R.I.P.D. would give him a chance to revisit his daughter and solve the mystery of his murder. Instead, he has his holsters full with havoc and hellfire when he's given a mission to stop a dangerous demon from opening a portal to the underworld. The fate of the living and the dead now depends on Roy and his partner Jeanne (Penelope Mitchell), a mysterious swordswoman, as cowboys clash with creatures and undead insanity unleashes apocalyptic chaos.

Pre-order R.I.P.D. 2: Rise of the Damned.

[likeatlas]

A very poorly received movie from nearly a decade ago starring Ryan Reynolds and Jeff Bridges is set to release a sequel. In RIPD, Released in 2013, Reynolds and Bridges played two deceased police detectives tasked with hunting down wayward ghosts in the afterlife. The film (whose title was an acronym for "Rest in Peace Department") was considered a box office flop when it first came out. In general, the reviews were terrible, and RIPD it earned a score of just 12 percent on the review website Rotten Tomatoes. Viewers also condemned the film on social media, with some calling it "terrible." Now, it has been reported that a sequel is in the works. However, there is a catch: Reynolds and his original co-stars will not appear. The existence of RIPD 2: Rise of The Damned it came to light when the film was confirmed to have received a PG-13 rating. Ryan Reynolds in RIPD (Universal) According to IMDB, the film stars Richard Fleeshman (Coronation Street) and Jake Choi (Succession). Other than this, little is known about the film's plot or release details. The database also states that Rise of the Damned filming has already been completed.

[luffles424]

Unmasked

☼ Pairing: Seokjin x reader

☼ Genre: fluff, smut, pwp, humor, established relationship

☼ Count: 1.9K

☼ Warnings: 18+, teasing, face sitting, oral (f & m receiving), Seokjin being a chaotic bf

☼ Summary: Seokjin wants to surprise you with his “sexy” Halloween costume. His costume for you might just be even more surprising though.

☼ a/n: The first of a couple of Halloween fics I’ve got and am going to hopefully get out by tomorrow night! Let me know what you think! My ask box is always open ~ 💙💙💙💙

☼ Written for @btsholidaybingo​​​​ to fill the square scary masks

“Are your eyes closed?”

You snort as you adjust so that you’re more comfortable on the bed. “Yes, Jin. They’re closed.”

You hear him shuffling around and you have the urge to peek, but you know he’ll catch you and you’ll never hear the end of it. You had expected to come home and be fucked. That’s certainly where it had been leading after you both had departed your friend’s house, pleasantly buzzed and unable to keep your hands to yourselves. He’d pinned you to the wall in the hallway and kissed you senseless. But the second he had you striped and on the bed, he decided there would be a change of plans. 

Because apparently he had some sexy costume that he wanted your opinion on and now was the time he had deemed it perfect to show you. Maybe you’d blow him in the morning and stop before him cums as payback. He deserves it for this. 

“Are you ready?”

“I’m ready for you to fuck me,” you snark, earning a light smack on your thigh. You grin. 

The bed shifts as he moves closer to you. “You have to be honest if you hate it, okay?”

You wish he could see your eyes so he could see your eyeroll. He knows you’ll always be honest about his questionable fashion choices. It’ll never stop you from being supportive of said terrible choices as well, but he should at least know that tags on your shoes is not as cool as he thinks it is. “Yeah, yeah okay. I’ll be honest. Can we hurry this up and get to the part where your dick ends up in me?”

He slaps your thigh again. “Stop being such a fun sucker.”

“Would rather suck something else,” you murmur, earning another smack. You giggle. “Okay! Can I open my eyes and see this “great” costume.”

“I don’t appreciate the air quotes.” You feel Seokjin shift slightly again, leaning closer to you. “Okay, open them.”

You blink them open slowly, taking a moment to readjust to the light. And then you promptly scream as you come face to face with a snarling gray face, fangs big and prominent. Seokjin’s squeaky laugh floats out from the grotesque mask he’s decided to wear. You shove at his chest, but he doesn’t budge as his laughter continues. Your other hand presses to your chest where you can feel your heart pounding against your ribcage. You’re going to fucking kill him. You wanted to get laid, not get scared to death.

“What the fuck! Are you trying to give me a heart attack! How is this even supposed to be sexy?”

“Cause I’m naked. So it’s sexy. But it’s Halloween so it also has to be scary.” He says it like it’s obvious and you might just actually murder him. His hands rest on his hips. “So it’s sexy scary.” He states proudly, like it’s the most obvious thing ever.

The longer he giggles the more you want to shut him up. You tug the mask from his head, tossing it to the floor. He gives you a mischievous and delighted grin and then you push at him until he’s lying on the bed. You know exactly how to shut him up. You shift, kneeling above his head as your thighs bracket his face. 

He grins up at you. “Isn’t it a great costume? The sexiest vampire, right?”

You groan. He’s entirely too proud of this. “You need to stop talking.”

He raises an eyebrow at you. “Then make me.”

“Gladly,” you coo and Seokjin’s hands wrap around your thighs, encouraging and clearly on the same page as you shift closer. 

You shiver as his warm breath puffs against your pussy. Hands tightening, he pulls you down onto his tongue. Finally you’re getting what you wanted. Even if you had to take a small detour to humor Seokjin’s desire to scare the fuck out of you. You groan, planting your hands on his chest so you can roll your hips against his face, eyes squeezing shut and head falling back. You certainly hadn’t planned to sit on his face tonight, but you can’t find it in yourself to complain when he twists his tongue just right against you. Pleasure licks up your spine and you let yourself enjoy his mouth for a few minutes before you’re shifting forward. 

Your hands drop to the bed beside his hips and your gaze drops to his cock, planning to take him in your mouth, get him worked up and desperate to fuck you. But you freeze before you do much more than look at it. You blink a few times, as if that will make the black and red fabric that flows down from just below the head of his cock and covers his entire length. 

Your mouth opens then snaps shut. You honestly shouldn’t be surprised by this point by his antics. You should’ve known there was more to it than just the mask, nothing’s ever that simple with him. A swipe of his tongue across your clit jolts you, bringing you back to the reality of what’s happening right now. You’re sitting on his face, staring at the fucking vampire cape that he tied to his dick. It’s so utterly ridiculous. A giggle slips from your lips and it’s like a dam breaks. You’re quickly full on laughing, lifting yourself from his face to flop on the bed beside him as you laugh. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?! You really tied a tiny cape to your dick?”

Seokjin pushes himself up onto his elbows, lips shining as he grins. “What’s a vampire without his cape?” He wiggles his hips, cock and cape swaying with the movement. You wonder if he didn’t want to scare you to death but to make you laugh yourself to death.

You suck in a wheezing breath, trying to speak between your giggles. “I can’t believe you really wore that while trying to fuck me. You’re unbelievable.”

Seokjin turns, grabbing hold of your thigh and pulling it closer so he can nip at the flesh. Your laughter dies off as his teeth graze higher up, inching closer to your cunt. He tugs at your hip, adjusting you so that you’re fully on your side and he hitches your thigh up so his mouth can properly brush against your pussy when he speaks. 

“I find it hard to believe that you never expected something like this and that it also doesn’t turn you on.”

You swallow a moan as his tongue darts out to swipe across your clit. “S-sorry to break this to you, but fabric wrapped around your dick doesn’t do it for me. I actually rather enjoy it completely bare.”

Seokjin hums, giving your clit a slight suck. “Then why don’t you undress it, baby.”

His lips latch onto your clit again, tongue circling the nub and robbing you of any comeback. You moan as his focus shifts entirely to your pussy, his fingers digging into your thighs. You stare at his cock, now only half draped in the cape as his position has caused it to slip partially off. 

You reach up, tugging the knot on the cape until the fabric slips completely free from his dick. His movements stutter against you as you wrap a hand around his cock, giving him a few pumps before leaning closer to wrap your lips around the tip. 

Seokjin groans against you, picking up his pace. You feel your orgasm rising quickly, years of being together has Seokjin knowing all the right places to hit to get you off. You slip further down his dick until he hits the back of your throat. It constricts around him slightly and you’re rewarded with another low groan against your pussy. 

You pull off his cock, moaning his name as he slips two fingers into you. He just hums against you, fingers working in tandem with his tongue. It’s enough to push you over the edge. Your grip on his cock tightens involuntarily as he continues his movements, working you slowly through your orgasm. When you whine, he pulls back and you hear him suck his fingers into his mouth to clean them.

Taking a moment to catch your breath, you start working your hand over his cock, jerking him slowly. You want to tease him a little, give him a little payback for his dumb mask. His hips stutter when you thumb over the head of his cock and you’re slightly surprised that he’s already so close to coming. You wonder why he decided to stop to put on a mask rather than just getting off if he was this riled up. Though a part of you wonders if the teasing and joking is part of what got him riled up. You’ll be damned if you ever let him wear that vampire mask in the bedroom again. The cape though…

A plan forms in your mind and you check that his eyes are closed before carefully grabbing the little cape. 

You pick up your pace on his cock, drawing more moans from him until he’s gasping that he’s about to cum. Your tongue darts out, swiping across the head to catch the first burst of his release and then you’re quickly replacing your mouth with the cape. You bite your lip to keep from giggling, working him through his orgasm instead. 

He flops onto his back when he’s finished and with a smirk you through the soiled fabric over the edge of the bed. 

“I worked hard on that costume, you know,” he grumbles.

You move so you can cuddle him properly, pressing a kiss to his chest. “No you didn’t. You definitely bought both of those.”

“It was a lot of thought though.”

You hum softly, letting the peace settle around you for a few moments before Seokjin speaks again. 

“Well… If you don’t like my sexy costume. I hope you at least enjoy yours. I did work really hard on that one.”

You groan. You can only imagine how terrible this is going to be given what he was wearing. He turns away from you, digging in the night stand drawer, which has your interest piqued. He had kept it in the drawer? Then he’s turning back, looking suddenly much more nervous. He presents a small velvet box to you and you blink. There’s no way.

He flips the lid open with a shy smile, revealing a sparkling ring tucked within. “Marry me?”

You stare at the ring for a long moment before your gaze is darting up to his face. “Are you serious?”

He chuckles nervously. “I know I joke a lot. But I’m the most serious I’ve ever been. I love you so much. Nothing would make me happier than to get to call you my wife too.”

You look at the ring again, tears welling in your eyes. “You big idiot, yes of course I will!”

A relieved breath leaves him and he quickly pulls the ring free from it’s confines to slip onto your finger. When he’s done, you press a kiss to his lips. 

“I love you so much. Sexy doting husband is a much better costume than your vampire.”

Seokjin presses a kiss to your neck before his lips brush your ear. “I can go get an apron and cook for you in just that.”

You giggle. “Like you didn’t do that already.”

“And I’ll do it forever now too.”

[fireandfolds]

failed by design, slow your pace down to mine (rizzoli & isles)

jane convinces maura to take a nap with her.

(involving black scrubs, a pull-out couch, coffee, and a betting pool.)

read on ao3 or keep reading below

note: this fic was written for a writing challenge hosted by a fun fanfic/podfic server, audiofrickbooks. the prompt was “destiny” and i had to write it between 200-1,000 words. join here if you want: https://discord.gg/jufpfE5vwx i hope you enjoy!

———

“Hey Maur.” The voice of her favourite detective reached Dr. Maura Isles’ ears as she typed away at a lab report.

The physician looked up, seeing the dark-haired woman looking ragged and worn-out. “I have no new information. What can I do for you, Jane?”

“D’you have a blanket?” The lanky detective fell heavily into the nearest chair.

She blinked, closing her laptop and standing. “I can neither confirm nor deny presently.”

“Just— yes or no.”

“I have a few throws. Why, what do you need it for?”

“To hang myself with.”

Maura’s head snapped toward the older woman, only to find her rolling her eyes. “To nap with. I’m no good to anyone this tired and driving home would eat up too much time. Got anything?”

“I’ll do you one step ahead. This couch pulls out.”

“It’s ‘do you one better’. Thanks, I don’t mean to impose.”

The blonde grabbed a thin but warm blanket and ushered the exhausted woman onto the quasi-bed. “You’re always welcome, Detective. I’m just glad that you’re listening to your body for once and resting.” She made to return to her desk, but was stopped by a hand clamping her forearm.

“Jane, is something wrong?”

“Need cuddle buddy.”

“No, Jane, I need to finish my report.” But the longer she looked at the sleepy detective, the more she was tempted to lie down next to her. So she tried a different tactic. “I smell like the morgue and I’m in my scrubs.”

The Italian woman said nothing, just made grabby motions with her hands.

“Oh, all right. Move over, you’re hogging the blanket.”

—

Knocking quickly on the open door, Senior Criminalist Susie Chang walked into the finely decorated office. “Dr. Isles? Lab res— oh.” Her eyes fell on the sleeping women, chests rising and falling in tandem.

Susie shook her head, pulling out her phone and taking a photo. Maura nuzzled deeper into Jane’s chest at the sound of the click. “This will make a good anniversary present…”

She looked at the quiet pair again, smiling gently. She rarely saw the soft side of her boss, but if anyone could bring it out of her, it was the brash detective. “Sleep tight, ladies.”

—

“Hey, Susie. Seen Jane anywhere?” Sergeant Korsak and Detective Frost poked their heads into the crime lab, the elder of the pair knocking lightly on the glass.

“She’s napping with Dr. Isles in her office. Judging from the dark circles under her eyes, or as Dr. Isles would say, periorbital hyperpigmentation, Detective Rizzoli will be resting for quite a while.”

“Okay, thanks Susie. We’re just going to check on them, and then we’ll let ‘em sleep.”

“They should be fine, I saw them about 10 minutes ago when I was going to give Dr. Isles some test results. They looked so peaceful, I couldn’t wake them up.”

Frost nodded. “We trust you. But damn, we’ve had a lot of shit go down here… better safe than sorry. I swear that loading bay in the good doc’s morgue area is a serious security breach.”

“We’ll leave you to your analysing.” Korsak dipped his head as both men walked towards the ME’s office, hands poised above grips.

Turning the knob silently, the Sergeant looked around in alarm at the empty desk. The Chief Medical Examiner of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts was quiet, but not this quiet.

They looked down and saw Maura’s heels, neatly standing up on their own, right next to each other. Around the heels were Jane’s combat boots, haphazardly thrown and lying in whatever direction they pleased.

That was when they heard the stilly purring of the youngest-promoted detective in the department. Wrapped in her arms, the resident ME.

“She smilin’?”

“You bet.”

“I need a photo.” Barry fumbled with his phone, snapping some photos and a video. “Need some blackmail.”

“I’ve gotta black male standing right next to me.”

“Oh ha, ha.” The young man shot his partner a scathing glare, returning his phone to his pocket as he punched Korsak in the upper arm.

Vince rolled his eyes and chuckled lowly. They died down quickly as he gazed at the two women before him. His heart tugged as he watched them reach for each other in their sleep. He loved Jane and Maura like his own; he’d watched his young partner flounder unhappily after Hoyt, slogging through the days and going home alone. He thanked his lucky stars that Maura had crossed paths with Jane in the Division One Cafe.

Silently nodding at each other, the men backed out of the office, turning out the lights and shutting the door gently behind them. They walked back to the elevator in silence, only speaking once the doors closed and the car was moving.

“Do you think they know that they’re meant for each other?”

“I don’t think Doc believes in fate or destiny or anything not-very-scientific, but I believe she would say they make a compatible pairing.”

Frost looked at him and smirked. “How would you know, old man?”

“Asked her about it once last week, and she went off like a shot. I felt bad for interrupting her, but I really needed to get back upstairs.” Korsak shrugged and scratched his beard. “It was good timing, too. Right after she stopped talking, I could hear Jane clomping down the hall.”

The doors slid open and Frost led the way.

“What a pair, huh?”

Vince nodded, pouring himself a cup of coffee. “D’you think it’s too late to start a betting pool?”

The taller man shrugged. “Don’t think so. Put me down for fifty bucks. I say they get together during the holidays. I’ll be in BRIC.”

Vince Korsak hummed to himself as he sat down at his desk. Frankie must have made the coffee today, it didn’t taste like dirty socks. He chuckled again, thinking of the slumbering women in each other’s arms. “What a pair.”

———

[bippityboppitybibuck]

@valleydean As of the start of writing this it's nearly 3:30 in the morning, I am almost exactly 13 hours away from the minute I was born on this day 23 years ago and I am awake thinking about Dean fucking Winchester so here you go. As a weird birthday gift from me to you on my birthday, I present mild angst but also of course fluff. By the time you get this my birth minute will have passed and I will be 23 ((oh my god just like Dean and Cas AGS.)) As with all of my ags posting this contains spoilers for the story, you’ve been warned!!

Dean’s 27th birthday snuck up on him. Well, as much as a date that comes around every year without fail can sneak up on a person who also has a solid five people clamouring to remind him. Somehow even Jack memorized the date after he heard Cas talk about it one time years ago and now the kid won’t stop bringing it up, which yeah is cute as hell but also Dean’s never been one to make a big deal of his birthdays before.

But 27 fucks him up. And hard.

He’s officially lived longer than Dean Wesson did, which sure, he technically did when he made it to the end of December, but the milestone feels bigger now that he’s 27. He’s 27. Dean’s never been 27 before because Dean Wesson never made it to 27.

It shouldn't mean anything, Dean Wesson is as much him as he is, even more so now that there’s no door keeping the memories from the light of day, but as he'd watched the clock flick from 11:59 to 12:00 with Cas beside him ready to give him his first of 27 birthday kisses something within him had felt morosely finalized.

A chapter closed, one that he’ll never be able to reopen the same way he did the first time around. Dean Wesson’s story is over. Dean Wesson’s story is his, but a part of it, the largest, hell only, part of that story came to a close when those red numbers switched over.

He doesn't know what to feel. He doesn’t know how to feel the loss, he died so young, he died with so much life still to live, he died and left Sam to live his decades out alone. He was young.

It never registered, even back then, how young he was, and he’s sure that with every birthday he has going forward that feeling is only going to get worse.

He and Charlie spent the Halloween of their 21st year watching the clock in a similar way. Waiting for the moment they lived longer than the Potter’s did - Charlie's idea that Dean went along with without putting up a fight - and it felt like this did. A shock to the system, a race won that you hadn’t known you were running. The realization that they were barely adults and now you are there living past what they ever got to.

Except, this time, it’s him he outlived. He outlived himself. It’s different for Cas, or at least Dean thinks it is, because there was never that separation, that differentiation within Cas of his two lives because there was no distinct difference when it came to his knowledge and understanding of his old life - and therefore no disconnect from himself in that way. Cas’ disconnect came in another way but Cas has already outlived himself sorta… it’s hard for Dean to tell when technically Cas has only really been alive for a short time but still was resurrected at the age he died at. Either way, Cas never made a fuss about being older than his past self.

The clock reads 12:02 now, Cas is sitting behind him, arms wrapped around his middle and Dean can’t think of what to say. 27 isn't a big birthday milestone, there's no grand party waiting for him with cards that list his age or balloons or any of the hooplas that 30 or 50 gets but this birthday feels more momentous than any he’s had or will ever have. He just doesn’t know how to deal with that yet, so he just goes and grabs it all right by the horns.

“I’m older than he was,” he says into the stillness of the dark room.

“Who? - oh, yes I suppose you are,” Cas responds, dropping his chin against Dean’s shoulder and resting it there.

“You never loved me at 27 before, is it any different?” There's a fear there he can’t name, something brought forth from etches in his bones that whisper that Cas may never love him like he did Dean Wesson, shared memories be damned, years spent together be damned.

“Mhmm, no it’s not, I love you all the same. Maybe even a little more now. A little more love with every year we get together that we never got before. Also, I’m loving you right now, that counts as loving you at 27 doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, I guess it does.” He drops his head back against Cas’ shoulder, their cheeks brushing gently together with the ebb and flow of their breathing.

“Do you feel any different?” Cas asks lightly, tentatively, as though he knows Dean is struggling with this new reality.

“Outrageously so. But I couldn’t begin to tell you why. There's just this thought that he’s not there anymore, he doesn’t have any side-by-side memories now. I don’t have any memories anymore… I sorta got used to them always being there, following me through the things I experienced in real time. But now I’m going to do things and I won’t be able to think back to what I did before. He’s not felt so separate since before Dorthey and the manor and I don’t really know what to make of it.”

“You know you can mourn him Dean. That is allowed. You can mourn that loss of yourself. Grieve for the future you didn’t get before.”

“But why should I? I mean I’m here now, with you, Sam, Mom, Charlie, Kelly and Jack too even if they are thousands of miles away. I’m getting to live, I’m getting my future and Dean Wesson is getting it too because he’s me, I’m him. I just - he feels disjointed within me now and I want the peace back but I don’t know how I’ll ever manage to get it when from here on out Dean Wesson stops being there alongside Dean Winchester. I’m moving away from him and like everything that dies, he’s stuck perpetually at 26. He’s stuck and I have to leave him behind.”

Something thick coats his throat with the words, a darkness that seeps in and threatens to choke him if he’s not careful. Grief is such a finicky thing.

“You don’t have to Dean, same as you don’t have to leave your middle school self behind or your pre my resurrection self behind. It’s all you in there still. You get to pick what you carry with you for the rest of your life. If you don’t want to leave that part of yourself in your past, then don’t and keep it with you.”

Dean’s quiet for a while, thinking about a lot of shit, including how the hell Cas managed to get so good at this shit, because that little speech would put Dr. Phil to shame in an instant. But then of course Cas would probably have had to do the very thing he’s telling Dean now.

“Do you remember how we spent my first 25th birthday?” Dean asks.

“Hmm, I do, and I gotta say the frozen ass I got from the fence was completely worth it.”

Dean huffs a laugh into the darkness, picking his head up from Cas’ shoulder as he asks, “Do you think that for the first birthday he won’t have we could do that again? Fly back to Amherst, maybe see Kelly and Jack too?”

“Absolutely, but no smoking this time, even if I did get a rise out of you back then.”

“You bastard, I knew that was intentional!”

“You caught me,” Cas says, the phrase all but dripping in sarcasm. “Jack will be thrilled to see us again, Kelly too.”

He smiles picturing it. Cas playing with Jack, running around the backyard of the duplex Kelly bought only a year ago, smiles wide, Jack’s blonde hair sticking haphazardly out of his puffball touque, Cas’ hair tucked into a hat he’ll surely steal from Dean. Their joyful shouts echoing around them all. So like they used to all those years ago when Jack was barely five, and now he’s almost double digits and Dean can’t remember the years flying by until he looked back and they were already so securely in the rearview.

“I’m old now,” Dean says a little while later.

“If it makes you feel any better, regardless of what that fake ID you made says, my birth year is technically 1845 so… I’ve got you beat in the old age department.”

“Oh Cas, you don’t look a day over a hundred and twenty, you’re fine,” Dean jokes, Cas’ light mood rubbing off on him.

Dean gets a pinch to the ribs in retaliation and awards Cas an indignant squawk and a begrudgingly given laugh before he settles back against him, his eyes slipping closed though he wants not for sleep.

“What should we do now, I’m not particularly tired, and I feel certain in assuming that you aren’t either,” Cas murmurs lowly, breath dusting the shell of his ear soothingly.

“I dunno, maybe we should just keep sitting here,” Dean says, a memory playing behind his closed eyelids. In the heat of the room, frozen air bites at his skin just as it did back then.

Cas answers this time around, but instead of using words he pulls Dean in for a kiss - the second of his 27 birthday kisses - and within that press of lips Dean knows he remembers too.

Their skin pressed firmly together, neither move, their eyes kept forward, staring through the window at the still portrait of the winter stars.

[caiuscassiuss]

Birched⎮D. Sicheng (M) P.1

Description: There was something that lurked beneath that pretty boy smile of Dong Sicheng— something dark, something dangerous… something you knew you would get pulled into once you got too curious. (Or, your ill-tempered coworker turns out to be your dominant.)

Sicheng♡Female! Reader

Genre: BDSM/ enemies to lovers winwin! smut | romance | angst WC: 11k+ Warnings: graphic smut (dom! sicheng + sub! reader, BDSM (Bondage, Dominance, Submission, and Masochism) paddling, fellatio, fingering), taboo relationship, blatant sexism, TW: mentions of an abusive relationship

(A/N: Thank you to my amazing beta @won-markiepooh-woo​ for helping me. This story wouldn’t have been possible without you!!!!

Also, this story contains heavy and graphic BDSM with violent contact play and uncomfortable dialogue. You might not like Sicheng very much here. 18+ please.)

Red, red light highlighted the contours of the woman’s back, and threw the rest of the room into dark, dark shadows.

Slap.

A long, drawn-out, strained moan resounded,.

A sinful smile crawled up the tall, slender man’s face as he looked down at her.

January 5th, 2020 

Raesung, Lee

Re: Important Office Notification — 

To: y/nl/n@sinochen.com, dongsicheng@sinochen.com, wangfeihong@sinochen.com… view 389 more

To all whom it may concern,

It is my greatest displeasure to be announcing my resignation and consequent retirement from Sinochen Enterprises. I had been the Head of the Sales Department in this great company for over 10 years and it has been a pleasurable experience to work with all of 500 you, in order to better our enterprise.

Words cannot express how grateful I am to all of you, from the interns to my managers, for working hard and honestly over all these years. We experienced a 468% sales increase over my tenure, and it couldn’t have been possible without any of you.

My resignation will be announced tomorrow at noon, but I thought it would be better to get a heads up from myself. In the meantime, until a new successor is appointed, my vice president, Xiao Daiyu, will step in and act in my place. A new email regarding possible successors will soon circulate shortly, and I advise all of you to keep an eye out for it. 

Once again, I thank all of you deeply for these wonderful 10 years at Sinochen Enterprises, and I wish the utmost success for this company and all of you individually.

Regards,

Raesung Lee

Department Head of Salesforce at Sinochen Enterprises

Chater House, Central, Hong Kong

Office 1876, 18th floor

Phone: +852 XXXX XXXX ext. 1876

On one side of the island, a woman finished reading her work email. She remained calm, scrolled through her other emails, and shut down her laptop after seeing no such material.

She faced her high rise window, contemplating the Hong Kong skyline.

The email was written in the usual arrogant tone that her Korean boss took. Not a surprise, seeing as she worked with him nearly every day as the South Asia Region Sales Manager. She sighed, kicking up her feet on the coffee table.

A new successor? Y/N L/N hoped and prayed that it would be her.

On the other side of the island, a man finished reading his work email. He remained calm, scrolled through his other emails, and shut down his laptop after seeing no such material.

He faced his high rise window, contemplating the Hong Kong skyline.

Of course, the man was anticipating this as his East Asia Regional Sales Manager. The old coot was due for his retirement, so he could spend time with his many mistresses. He sighed and kicked up his feet on the coffee table.

A new successor? Dong Sicheng knew it like the sky was blue that it would be him.

January 6th, 2020 

Sinochen Enterprises, Chater House, Central, Hong Kong 

7 AM HKT

It was a rather chilly morning, as your assistant knocked softly on the oak door. You finished putting your light coat on the stand. As you hummed for her to come in, she slowly creaked open the door.

She smiled brightly at you. Genuine, to boot. “Morning, Miss L/N. Do you want any pastries, or breakfast goods, to go along with your usual macchiato?”

You considered BeiBei a good secretary—prompt, meticulous, and all what an assistant should be. Sociable, too. However, even with all her amiable requests for lunch or coffee, you couldn’t consider her as a good friend. After all, there was to be a balance of power to be maintained.

“Yes, that would be great.”

Like everything else in your life.

Work went on as usual in the office—you dealt with the clients, you dealt with HR, you dealt with this and that.

BeiBei knocked softly at the door. She peeked in through the door with her sunglasses perched atop her brunette locks and a scarf around her neck.

“Miss L/N? They asked all of the sales department to meet in Ballroom D for an announcement.”

It was noon already? Christ. “Alright, let me get my things and I’ll go along with you.”

You grabbed your cell phone and Dior sunglasses, then quickly headed out with BeiBei. You lagged behind her slightly as she socialized with her other coworkers, laughing uproariously at some inside joke between them.

You wondered what it was like to be able to make real bonds in the office.

Out of your periphery, a large group coming from the other side of the floor was bustling their way through. In the midst, you could see the blonde head of Dong Sicheng, looking down at his friends as if they were his royal subjects.

Psh, you could never see what was the fuss around this boy. To be fair, objectively, he was good-looking... in that pretty boy kind of way. All of his older, middle-aged coworkers looked like pigs next to his lean, pale figure. Yet, all of the sales department, and probably half of the office, thought he was the next best thing since the vibrator.

You thought he seemed too nice, too friendly to be true. Sicheng had the innocent flower boy looks, but you could see the dark edge he kept from everyone. You could see how his smiles never reached his eyes, how his words were always friendly but strained. Dong Sicheng was disingenuous as hell, and it bothered you, but why waste energy over such a matter?

You’d rather focus on other, more productive things.

Namely, the Sales Head promotion.

Your South Asia and his East Asia division converged in the middle of the lobby, forming an even more boisterous crowd. Everyone slowly piled into the elevators to go down.

You were reaching the chokehold of the crowd, but unfortunately you were a bit on the shorter side. It was hard to see where you were going in this crowd, and you wouldn’t dare raise yourself up on your tippy toes, like some fresh intern.

“Ladies first.”

You looked up to see Dong Sicheng smiling at you brightly—his arm extended to herd you into the crowded elevator. You couldn’t help but see a mocking tinge to the curl of his lips.

“Thank you,” you said.

After you had stepped into the elevator, he followed immediately afterwards. You had no choice but to be eye level with Sicheng’s chest. You two were so close that you could smell his cologne, and it briefly think of his cologne all around you—

No. Never. No. No. No. No. No. Nope. 

Dong Sicheng would not tempt you. 

January 6th, 2020 

Sinochen Enterprises, Chater House, Central, Hong Kong 

9 AM HKT

The department filed out of the ballroom, murmuring amongst themselves about the new development.

“Oh my god, we all know Xiao Daiyu will never be promoted. Yeah, she may be vice president, but Daiyu can’t do shit.”

“Well, who do you think will be promoted?”

“Certainly not you, Lina.”

“Hey, I—”

A new voice enters. “I, for one, think Y/N should be promoted. She’s smart, driven, and you actually get things done when you work with her.”

A hum of agreement went over the little group. Some of them nodded along quietly.

“That’s not a bad idea. She’s cold as hell and kind of intimidating, but I wouldn’t mind working under her.”

You pretended not to hear their conversation, but you felt ecstatic to hear your name in regards to the promotion. It was hard to admit it to anyone other than yourself, but you thrived off of attention and vindication more than what was healthy. The satisfaction of being praised, of getting the answer correct or being complimented was as heady as being drugged.

“Y/N is great and all, but you know who’d I rather have as sales head? Dong Sicheng.”

Your jaw clenched unconciously when you heard that blond asshole’s name.

“Kinda agree. Sicheng’s friendly and it’s easy to talk to him. We also get a lot of work done with him too!”

You could not hear any more of the conversation as they had walked out of earshot, but you felt… sour. You swore to god—if that asshole gets the promotion, you will leave the damn company.

Well, whatever. The likes of Dong Sicheng would be wiped from your mind after the fun you would have tonight with Dolos.

January 6th, 2020

Sinochen Enterprises, Chater House, Central, Hong Kong

12 PM HKT

“Hey Sicheng, what did you order?” Some coworker of his said to him.

Sicheng felt an inward flush of irritation. Couldn’t people leave him the fuck alone and let him eat his meal in peace? Without interrupting him about how XX from the implementation team did this and YY from IT did that?

“Oh, hey, um—” What the fuck was his name again? Joon? Jin? “Jae, I ordered a teriyaki salad. It’s pretty good, I’d recommend it.” 

There. That answered any potential questions Jae may have and clearly signalled the end of the conversation so he could eat in peace.

“What about the grilled chicken salad? Have you tried it?”

Alas, not all well-thought out plans would be fruitful.

He continued conversation with his inane coworkers around him at the lunch bistro they always frequented. It was tiring, keeping up the facade of a friendly office boy. His impatience wilted slowly as the people tittered and tattered, laughing and gossiping, god—they were so stupid.

“I like your tie, Sicheng. It’s very nice.”

He turned back towards the conversation as soon as he heard his name.

The so-called department hottie was staring at him from her seat a couch away—her eyes slightly widened, in an attempt to be vexing.

“Thank you, Tzuyu. Might I add, you look very nice today,” he said, as he forced a smile on his lips.

The brunette blushed heavily and turned away in bashfulness. Ugh.

Don’t get him wrong.He rather liked blush on a woman. But, Tzuyu was the kind of woman that would not put up any type of fight, if he chose to seduce her. Sicheng liked the thrill of the fight, the thrill of gradually pressing his control into someone until they were submissive to only him.

God, but Y/N was someone he’d like seduce.

Sicheng thought back to the moment when he courteously gave his spot in line to her, yet she only thanked him off-handedly. Y/N was the only one in the whole damn complex that didn’t give a fuck about his amiable facade and treated him as callously as one would beneath them. He clenched his fist, thinking how uppity and standoffish you were to snub him. That was something that couldn’t ever be forgotten.

Luckily, he knew his darling Dove would be there tonight to take the edge off his anger.

Friday January 18th, 2020

A Busy Street

6 PM HKT

You huddled a light coat around yourself as you checked the address on your phone. 

353 Cornerstone Ave.

You looked up at the British colonial-style building, slightly reminiscent of the Ritz-Carlton a few blocks away. The building was probably a remnant of colonization. Nevertheless, it was beautiful.

Your heels clicked against the marble floor, as you dipped into the establishment named Black’s Spa. Swiping off your sunglasses, you beamed at the beautiful lady behind the receptionist desk.

“How may we help you today? Are there any services you would like provided?” she asked.

The corners of your lips turn up. You’ve always liked this part of the game, where you have to gain access into a club. It felt like you were a femme fatale in one of those old Bond movies your father loved.

“Hey, afternoon. I’ve been hearing about this rope treatment. I’ve heard it does wonders for your muscles.”

The girl’s pink tinted-lips twisted into a grin.

“Right this way.”

The zen, stark white corridors of the spa that the dungeon pretended to be eventually led to an innocuous bookshelf. The lady felt around the shelf for the handle underneath the dark wood paneling. A hum of affirmation left her mouth as she closed her well-manicured hands around it.

With a click, the shelf gave way to a dimly lit room that looked like the parlor of a traditional British gentleman’s club. What little light there was was provided by candles and glittering chandeliers, which reflected off of the dark oak paneling of the room. Rich Persian rugs and velvet sofas dotted the room, and the hum and tinkles of conversation meandered around. However, little details quickly ruined the impression that this was a respectable establishment of any sort.

For one, many individuals here were scantily clad. Yes, some were in suits and proper evening wear, but that was contrasted heavily by the diffusion of revealing lingerie sets and sculpted chests. Second, there were casual warning signs posted about the room, asking patrons to practice safe, healthy, and consensual sex, alongside the expensive paintings.

Black’s was the best dungeon in East Asia, no doubt. It was such a bitch to gain access into the club. Yet, what made Black’s so popular was not its top amenities or the luxurious atmosphere—it was the utmost anonymity it provided. 

The depravity that happened in these walls stripped even the most upright individual to their most primal, lustful states. People became lumps of flesh, starving for the next release. The eclectic mix of businessmen, trust-fund kids, and professionals hungered for the anonymity that they would be hard-pressed to find in a regular dungeon (as regular as one could get for being a BDSM dungeon, anyway).

The best way Black’s maintained privacy? 

Masks.

You quickly donned your own dove gray mask, securing the silk ribbons in your hair to prevent it from falling off. Tonight, you were Dove. Tomorrow, you will be Y/N. It was easy to slip into the subspace once you donned your mask, but you couldn’t really immerse yourself into it—not until your master came to you.

A quick glance at your watch told you it was only 10 PM. Dolos had told you in his letter that he would find you at 10:10. He certainly was a curious individual—one with an obsession with symmetry and a penchant for old-fashioned tradition. For fuck’s sake, his letter was sealed by a green wax seal. 

But Dolos was everything you never knew you wanted.

Deciding to amuse yourself with one of the exhibition rooms, you wandered into one that seemed crowded. A girl was strung up on stage, hands bound with chains connected to the ceiling. Her black hair hung around her face and she was as naked as the day she was born. Her voluptuous figure bared to the hungry crowd—a metal table full of paraphernalia was next to the cross.

A brutish man, clad in a wifebeater and tight jeans, walked up to the stage. 

“My slave has been rather naughty,” he announced. “She had the nerve to touch herself without my permission.”

A murmur arose from the crowd, whispering and gasping and giggling heard amongst the shadows. For a slave to pleasure herself, without her master’s permission, was a serious ordeal around these parts. 

The man drew a finger against the side of her breasts, causing her to shiver and a gleam of arousal to run down her leg. “Today, my dear little slave will see what happens when she doesn’t obey her master seriously.”

“Let’s start with something light. Flogging.”

A curl of delight ran through you. You loved flogging; each hit stimulated different parts of your body that ultimately brought you to the brink of an edge. A bit of heat rose in your bosom imaging Dolos, with his Cat O’ Nine Tails, flogging your ass until you were red.

A whimper was heard as he struck her stomach lightly with a cat o’ nine tails. He began alternating strikes against her breasts and inner thighs, as she whimpered and cried, begging for her master to touch her there.

“Oh dear, only good girls get touched in their sweet spot. What’s the magic word?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Please, sir! Please!”

“Better.”

A strangled scream echoed throughout the hall, as he struck her repeatedly in between the crux of her legs. After the girl was left shaking, he whipped off the juices she left on the leather strands then threw it behind him. You shifted uncomfortably, crossing your legs tightly to ignore the burst of arousal.

“Bend over!” the man on stage barked, grabbing a paddle from the table.

The slave bent over a table immediately, unwilling to risk the possibility of more punishment.

He inserted a knee between her legs and forced them wide open—her pretty cunt exposed.

You could only see a flash of his swing as his paddle connected with her backside, a thunderous smack resounding. Her gleaming arousal was almost to her knee now, and the poor dear was visibly shaking and could hardly stand.

A high-pitched whimper came out of you and you quickly bit your lips, hoping you weren’t heard. Your panties suddenly rubbed you in the wrong places and your knees knocked together, in an effort to stop the heat emanating from your core.

“I see my little girl has lost herself on her way to the Salon.”

A gasp left your mouth as you stared back into a burgundy mask, burnished with gold.

Dolos.

“M-master, but it’s only 10 PM—”

He chuckled—a dark, delicious sound—and stretched him over the chaise you had settled yourself in. Slim, tapered fingers played with the ends of your hair as his plump lips curved into a dark smirk.

“Wrong, dearest. It’s 10:15. What time did I write in the letter?”

You hung your head, playing with the ribbons on your dress. “10:10, sir.”

He tugged on your hair, forcing a whine from you. He tsked.

“Your master has been waiting patiently for 2 weeks to play with his favorite little girl. And yet, she’s late?” You knew he was teasing you, but a sliver of real anger and irritation slipped into his voice. Immediately, you felt guilty and your bottom lip trembled. You had disappointed your master.

“And what do little girls who are late get?”

“T-they get punished, sir. I’m sorry—”

His lips turned downwards until he was sneering. “An apology isn’t going to cut it, Dove. We’re going to the Salon right now.” He roughly took your wrist and pulled you out of the room. Interested eyes followed his clearly irritated and furious gestures.

“Your safe word, darling?”

“Sappho.”

“Sappho, what?”

“Sir.”

His eyes, through the holes of his mask, darkened. “God, I will never get tired of hearing you say that.” Dolos turned around.

Dolos has been your dominant for the last 5 months, and fuck, he has been the best one you have had. Your participation in a public demonstration had led to him stealing the contract from your previous Dom, who was already supremely possessive at first glance. Your eyes, he had told you, were the most expressive he had ever seen. They were the ones that had convinced him to enter into an exclusive contract.

Your eyes traced his tall stature, the broadness of his back highlighted by his nondescript white shirt. The quote from Julius Caesar came to mind. “Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world/ like a Colossus, and we petty men.” Such power, such arrogance.

The Salon was Dolos’ room of choice, since he was a legacy member of Black’s. Filled with toys hidden behind halcyon scenes of the English or French country sides and tall, imposing dressers, the room merely looked like a noble bedroom but the things that occured in it… not so much.

“Bend over my lap, sweetheart. I’m thinking… hm, 10 slaps? Double the time you made me wait. What do you think?” He mused, throwing himself into an armchair.

You settled onto his lap, lifting your skirt and exposing your pretty, pink panties beneath. A mixture of nerves and arousal made your hands tremble, but the haze and glossiness of subspace settled over you easily, like your favorite blanket.

“Whatever you deem necessary, sir.”

His chest rumbled. “Good answer, little one. Such a good slut for me, huh?” He whispered to himself, running a paddle over your bare ass.

You barely heard his acclamation of “ten it is” before the paddle delivered a stinging slap to your left cheek. You unconsciously jerked up until his arms forced you down.

“Count for me, Dove.”

“One!”

Another one, but to the flesh of your thighs.

“Two!” you bit out.

Dolos’ hit parts that surrounded your core, but never actually reached touching it. Moisture began to dampen your lacy underthing and you had to bite down on your lips to stop from grinding yourself on his thigh like a brazen whore.

After the ninth slap, he palmed your ass carefully. His fingers dipped in between the folds of your pussy and you held your breath.

“Already, so wet? Christ. Clean me up and I’ll hit you the place I know you want me to.”

Swiping your tongue over his digits, you looked back at his mask and saw the tension at the corners of his mouth.

“Good.” Without warning, he shifted aside your panties and struck the paddle against your throbbing pussy.

“TEN!” You sobbed, unable to keep from sagging into his lap. 

He hushed you and ran a comforting hand over your ass, smoothing over the red marks you were sure glowed.

“What a good, good girl you are,” Dolos cooed, caressing your cheek. His thumb wiped away your errant tears and he smirked, patting it.

“On your knees.”

You scrambled out of his lap and onto the carpet, wincing as your heels met your sore ass. You looked at him, wide-eyed, for his instruction.

“Suck my cock.”

A blush spread over your face at his frank wording and your hands moved to unzip his trousers, but Dolos made a noise of disapproval.

“With your mouth only, slut.”

Your hands bunched the fabric of your dress tightly and you squeezed your thighs together.

“Yes, master.”

As you took the button in between your teeth, you used a combination of your lips and tongue to unbutton his trousers. Once opened, you slowly dragged the zipper down all while looking up at him innocently.

His length, girthy and flushed an angry red, sprung out of his trousers. Licking your lips, you looked up to him for permission.

A sly smile came across his face. “Go, darling. This is your reward.”

You took the head of his cock in between your lips and swirled your tongue over the salty precum. He groaned, a gutteral noise from his chest, and his fingers clenched the plush arm rests of the chair tightly.

Gathering some of the precum on your tongue, you released his head and ducked down to take his testes in your mouth. You licked the length of his cock, finishing off with a playful suck to the head.

An angry glint flashed in his eyes. “Stop teasing, slut. Get to it.” 

Dolos clenched some of your hair at the back of your head in his fist, and the pain from the sudden action caused your eyes to water. You’d gotten the message loud and clear.

Spitting on his cock, you took half of him in your throat, bobbing and hollowing your cheeks. Your master made sounds of appreciation, loosening the grip on your just a little bit.

Taking a deep breath, you closed your eyes, relaxed your throat and went farther down on his thick cock. You were no novice, but you had trouble taking him so deep—even after such a long time together. The tip of your nose touched the base of his cock and you hummed in satisfaction.

The vibrations from your throat seemed to set him off. His previously relaxed grip tightened again and he forced down on his cock until your face was smashed in his crotch.

“Mmph!” You  gagged from his sudden, violent action.

“You’re such a fucking tease, fuck,” Dolos groaned, his head tilted back in pleausure.

Forcefully, he fucked your mouth without mercy. You could barely breathe, and the combination of the pain from your hair being pulled, your throat being abused, and the slick between your thighs caused tears to run down your cheeks.

“You know you like this, whore. You like gagging and choking on your master’s cock. You like being used like a little slut, don’t you?”

Unable to respond, you focused on trying to breath through your nose as he abused your mouth.

“Don’t you?! Answer me!” he shouted, pulling your head back.

More tears dripped out of your eyes at this pain, and you nodded quickly with his cock in his mouth. Dolos narrowed his eyes and forced you further on his length.

He quickly set a cadence and it felt like your mind was filled with cotton. The only sensations was the pain from your throat being stretched, his groans of satisfaction, and the throbbing in between your thighs.

“I bet you’re dripping right now. What a slut, getting off on her throat being fucked,” he sneered. His face was flushed as he neared his peak.

Your knees started to throb in pain, your joints aching at being on the ground for so long. His thrust even harder and faster into your lips, prompting a squeal.

“I’m getting close, slut,” he said between clenched teeth. You could feel the hard muscles in his thighs tensing in anticipation for his orgasm. You sucked even harder on his cock, swirling your tongue in figure eights on his length.

“FUCK!” he shouted, eyes clenched tightly. Both of his hands grasped your head and forced your head onto his cock until your nose touched the base. You gagged and prayed to breathe as warm liquid splashed down your throat. He thrusted his hips harder into your mouth, riding out his orgasm.

Dolos pulled out and left the tip of his cock on your opened mouth, tapping his length on your tongue as cum spurted out erratically as he groaned. You flinched as he slapped his cock along your cheeks for good measure. He slumped back in his chair after he rode out his orgasm, his broad chest breathing heavily. In the low light, he looked like a fallen angel with his head turned up towards the heavens.

I will show you how us mere mortals can reach the gardens of heaven from earth, he had said to you once.

You waited with your mouth open, still painted in his seed, for instruction. A few drops of his seed dripped on your chin and onto your chest.

Dolos took your chin between his thumb and forefinger, turning your head side to side. He paid attention in particular to your smeared lipstick. A beatific smile crossed his lips and he was so beautiful in that moment, so wicked and debauched and depraved it made your heart ache. 

“What a gorgeous mess I’ve made.”

Tuesday January 21st, 2020 

Sinochen Enterprises, Chater House, Central, Hong Kong

8 AM HKT

Raesung, Lee

CC: daiyuxiao@sinochen.com

Re: Important Office Notification — 

To: y/nl/n@sinochen.com

Y/LN,

It is with great pleasure for me to inform you today that you are being considered for the Head Salesforce position at Sinochen Enterprises. Your name has come heavily recommended to me, and your previous boss has given me a glowing review of your performance these past few years. I, myself, have enjoyed your hard-work and impressive work ethic in your year as Head of the South Asia Division. Two other people are being considered for the role, and you will hear more from Daiyu and I about several interviews and necessary materials. I know you will practice the utmost discretion regarding this email.

Regards,

Raesung Lee

Department Head of Salesforce at Sinochen Enterprises

Chater House, Central, Hong Kong

Office 1876, 18th floor

Phone: +852 XXXX XXXX ext. 1876

You squealed but quickly clamped a hand over your math. This was it. This was the culmination of your dreams coming true. Being the Salesforce director for one of the largest companies in Asia… shit. That would prove your mom and everyone in that shitty-ass town of yours wrong.

After quickly shutting the door and the windows, you did an undignified jig around your large office filled with fist pumps and silent screaming.

“Y/N-laoban, I have the files for—”

You froze.

“...For… uh… you know what, I’ll just come back later—”

“No, it’s fine, BeiBei.” You cleared your throat and sat back into the chair. “I just had exciting news, that’s all. Come, please hand me those files.”

Beibei quickly handed them to you and moved to scurry out of the room and back to her desk.

“Wait! Beibei, could you grab me an Iced Americano? I feel like I need a treat today.”

Her young face peered at you curiously and nodded furiously. 

“I-If it isn’t too much to ask, laoban, what’s the good news?”

Uncharacteristically, you beamed at her. She seemed a bit frightened at the sheer excitement you were exuding, so you toned it down a bit.

“Let’s just say I might not be the Head of just South Asia any longer.”

“I hear congratulations are in order?”

You looked up from your double-screens to see the extremely pretty face of Dong Sicheng. His plump lips pulled in a sort of mocking smile.

“For what? I don’t recall getting engaged nor getting pregnant,” you retorted.

“I overheard a little birdie telling her friends that her boss might move up in the world.” Sicheng pushed off the doorway and moved to place a long-fingered hand over the back of one of the couches.

A sigh left your mouth. Oh BeiBei. 

He drummed his fingers against the back of the couch. “Although, I am surprised Raesung is considering someone like you for the promotion.”

Your eyes snapped to his heavily lidded one. “Pardon?”

“You know, someone of your… type.”

“Elaborate.”

He sighed, like he was dealing with an ignorant child, and moved to lean over your desk.

“We all know when push comes to shove, no matter how icy your demeanor may be, individuals like you will eventually succumb to their emotions.” His mocking smile was an attempt at his nice-boy persona around the office— that made you want to throw your paper weight at his face.

Your jaw clenched. “I knew your family was traditional, Sicheng, but I didn’t expect they were this intransigent.”

He moved closer. “The old ways keep our heads at the right place, woman.”

A snort left your lips. “And I suppose customs guide the ignorant?”

His smile grew razor sharp. “Exactly.”

Your teeth clenched around your tongue. “Excuse me, Sicheng, but I’m afraid I have a meeting in a few minutes—not all of us are as lax as a board member's son.”

Ignoring the barb, he watched raptly as you stuck all your files into your purse calmly. As you moved to show him to the door, he stalled.

“I think you’re forgetting something, Y/N.”

“I’m afraid you have me at a loss, Sicheng. Please hurry.” 

“Don’t I get salutations as well? I’m the other person being considered.” He smirked.

Thursday January 23rd, 2020

Your House

9 PM HKT

“Hi, mother. How are you?” you asked.

“Aiyo, my old bones are holding up, but you know what would make me feel more at ease?”

“What, mama?” You kicked off your heels and threw yourself into your lumpy, comfy couch. It was time for that conversation again.

“If you settled down with a nice man and gave your grandfather and I grandkids.”

“I am busy.” 

She continued as if she hadn’t heard you. “I know there are a lot of nice men at that company of yours. Surely there is a rich laoban that you can settle down with? You are not unhandsome, after all.”

“I am my own laoban.”

A moment of silence. “Ah, that’s good I suppose.”

“Thank you, mama,” you replied dryly.

“Aiyo, but you know men won’t like that! The good sort of men want good, obedient wives. How are you going to serve your husband and raise your kids if you are working such a busy job?”

“You say that as if I will marry or have kids.”

A loud gasp came from the other end of the line. “Y/N, you will give me a heart attack early! Husband, Y/N will kill me early!”

You heard a faint grunt and your mother subsequently scolding him.

A migraine started to form. You loved your mother as much as one daughter could, but she was very traditional in the way she looked at things. She had raised you from a young age to be an obedient, well-trained wife of a village man like her. Mother had good intentions of course, because that was all she knew. This was the best way she could prepare you for a good life.

The only reason she let you move to the city was because she thought you would find “good quality” (her words, not yours) men in the city. She only approved of you applying to Sinochen because not only did she see the name emblazoned across her noodle and food packets, she also knew very rich men worked there.

You really had thought that once you had moved to Hong Kong, everyone would be Westernized with more flexibility in their mindsets. But the higher ups in your company diminished those hopes very quickly.

Especially for country-bumpkin you.

You hadn’t known the Hong Kong dialect Mandarin, the new slang and modern mannerisms. Adding onto the fact that you were a woman, Sinochen did not treat you very kindly until you started to learn that being kind would get you nowhere.

And look at what you are now—a highly-paid business woman at one of the largest companies in Asia, living in a luxurious apartment within some of the most exclusive real estate on the island, along with all the pretty handbags and shoes you’ve always wanted. You even knew you were reasonably pretty and attractive, if the way Dolos looked at you was true. You kicked ass.

“Y/N, please visit us! Your father and I miss you terribly.”

You grimaced at the thought of your dirty and dusty hometown in the mainland. But still, you missed your father, who had supported you silently in whatever ways he could, and your mother, who loved you something deep.

“I forgot to mention! Kunhuang has been asking after you. Aiyo, what a good boy. He comes to our house once a month and gives us fruits, you know? Such a kind, kind boy.”

You smiled at the thought of Kunhuang and his childish face streaked in dirt and playing Catch the Dragon’s Tail in the woods near your village.

“Tell him I said hello, mother.”

“That boy— he owns most of the farms around us, wah—he tells us he misses you. Why couldn’t you have married him? You could've been closer to us, you know. Kunhuang and you would have made such cute grandkids—”

You sighed heavily. “I had dreams to chase, mama. I still do.”

Friday, January 24th, 2020

Black’s

9 PM HKT

Sicheng frowned at the vellum letter in his hand. His dearest Dove was unable to make it this week, citing she had work responsibilities she could not miss.

The letter crumpled in his hand. 

He quickly stood up from the armchair near the cozy fireplace at Black’s, dodging various couples or individuals that attempted to coax him into joining them for the night. There was no need for him to be there tonight.

What a pitiful mess he was—over a woman, nonetheless.

When he had first received a recommendation from his uncle to join Black’s, he was ecstatic. Sicheng knew of the rich history and tradition of the club. It was a holdover from colonial times, when bored British aristocrats created a gentleman’s club that quickly turned into a pseudo-bordello as the 19th century chugged on. Legacy and tradition were paramount to the club. 

His father was too fastidious to enter Black’s, even though his own father was a frequent patron of the club. For all his faults, he was a loyal man to his wife. Sicheng, on the other hand, was a randy twenty years old looking to unleash his private fantasies onto the prestigious dungeon.

The mask and name he wore were given to him by his Uncle, who retired from the club as Sicheng entered. Dolos was the other side of his personality that Sicheng hid from the rest of the world.

But never had Dolos been so enraptured by his contracted submissive, Dove.

Dove was… perfect. While other women just laid there and received his attention like a rag doll, she responded in kind. Whether it was an adorable gasp from her lips or precious, minute twitches, Dolos never had a problem ascertaining what Dove was feeling. She was also such a good girl for him, as well. 

So, so good. Incomparable.

No other woman would do it for him. Well...

Sicheng slammed open the door a bit more forcefully than he had intended. Fuck, not her. Anyone but that prissy bitch. Roughly bidding goodbye to the receptionist of the so-called spa, Sicheng quickly slid into the passenger seat of his Maserati and zoomed off into the lights of Hong Kong.

As much as he’d like to put her in her place, Y/N would never do it for him.

Monday January 27th, 2020

Sinochen Enterprises, Chater House, Central, Hong Kong

10 AM HKT

Your ears perked up to hear the sound of muffled yelling outside your office. Quickly standing, you peeked your head out the doorway to see Sicheng fitfully waving a crumpled paper in his fist at two employees, towering over them with his mouth pulled into a sneer.

“—I do NOT pay your salaries for you to laze around and produce substandard work! If my secretary had not caught this mistake within the analysis, I would’ve been fucking HUMILIATED at the board meeting for faulty figures! My ass would’ve been on the line—”

Glancing over, you saw the other girls in the office whispering behind their hands with shocked eyes. In any other situation, you would’ve done the same. Pretty boy Sicheng? Nice, kind Sicheng who dimpled at everyone each morning? It would’ve been unimaginable for that Sicheng to be putting two of his employees (Tzuyu and Xiaogui, you think, but can’t see past their bowed heads) on blast—but this one stood in the morning light, proudly and harshly, with a terrible mask of rage.

BeiBei, who was standing outside the doorway of your office and head bowed with her friend, giggled softly.

“Wah, Sicheng looks so attractive like that. He’s usually nice but, ugh, what I wouldn’t do to get him,” BeiBei pointed at the now snarling Sicheng,“—bending me over at my desk.”

Her friend squealed and fanned herself. “I may need to change my panties after this, oh my god.”

BeiBei nodded sagely. “I knew he was in a bad mood earlier, when I accidentally bumped into him in the elevator, but my god I didn’t expect for him to blow up like this.”

“I wonder what made him so mad? I remember when Jae accidentally spilled coffee over his phone and Sicheng didn’t even get angry—just smiled and patted him on the back.”

You frowned, remembering that day. While he did pat Jae on the back, Sicheng’s fists were clenched so tight that his knuckles were white and the veins on his forearms stood out. There was a hidden layer behind his seemingly placid eyes, and your suspicions were confirmed after you saw the janitor taking out a broken lamp from his office late one night.

It was that incident, along with so many other tiny occurrences, that clued you into Sicheng’s secret side. You distrusted him solely on that basis. Otherwise, what kind of trustworthy man would hide something like that?

From the corner of your eye, you could tell that Sicheng looked dangerously close to punching something. You decided to intervene before HR got called. Even you had a heart, no matter how cold you were. However, you couldn’t look like you were bailing them out...

“Tzuyu! Xiaogui!” you barked, startling the gossiping women next to you.

Everyone’s heads snapped towards you, along with Sicheng.

You pursed your lips and adjusted your stance. “The Yang reports were supposed to be in my hand an hour ago. My hands are currently empty.”

Tzuyu looked close to crying, while Xiaogui shifted his eyes to the side.

“Go. Before I tell the finance department and you won’t get your full bonus for the year.”

They bowed to Sicheng, then to you, and scrambled off.

There was a moment of silence, until Sicheng had turned his angry attention towards you.

“Well? Why are all of you just standing there? We have deliverables to fulfill, people!” You scowled at the crowd, which disbursed from your shout.

Sichend had not taken his eyes off of you, not even when everyone left.

“Y/N, can I see you in my office for a moment?” he asked with his jaw clenched.

You narrowed your eyes, but acquiesced, standing by the window overlooking Kowloon Bay as he shut the door.

Sicheng paused for a moment by the doorway, his broad chest heaving. He let out a strangled breath before standing near his desk.

“You do not encroach on MY authority in this office, woman. I know the old men in other departments let you step all over them because you’re willing to put out—”

Your jaw dropped and motioned to defend yourself, but he rolled right over you.

“—but you do NOT get to do that here. Unlike the other fuckers in this office, I think with my fucking head not my dick. I handle my goddamn subordinates the way I see fit, understand?”

Your hands gripped the plush chair you stood next to.

“Where the hell do you get off talking to me like that? They’re under my supervision as well, have you fucking forgotten that? Criticize me however you want, but I draw the fucking line on attacks on my character!” you hissed, stepping closer to Sicheng.

“I talk to you however the hell I want, woman! This is my office. I’m in charge!”

Scoffing, you sat on the arm of the chair. “I know you’re sour you didn’t get the region you wanted. But that's real life, Sicheng. It must suck getting told no, daddy’s boy? Huh?”

“You shut the fuck up, Y/N. You do not get to talk to me like that,” he growled, towering over your deceptively lax figure.

You examined your nails nonchalantly. “Whatever, Sicheng. Let’s see who gets to talk when I get the promotion.”

“Ha! You wouldn’t last a fucking week in that position. No one can stand your uptight ass.”

Your placid demeanor snapped and you pushed a manicured finger into his (surprisingly) built chest. 

“Fuck off, Sicheng! Some of us worked our ‘uptight’ asses off to get to where we are. You wouldn’t be shit without daddy dearest!”

“You wanna bet on that, woman?!”

Too little, too late—you didn’t notice how close the two of you were. His right arms clenched the back of the seat behind you and your noses were inches apart. If someone walked in right now, it would’ve looked like Sicheng was trying to kiss you.

You both were breathing heavily and, for the first time, you observed him from up close—his frustratingly clear skin, straight nose and slender jaw line, mouth drawn into a snarl looking like he wanted to corner you into your chair.

It was… hot.

Unwittingly, you bit your bottom lip and his intense eyes were drawn to the movement. Your legs shifted to rub together at the crux and his pants tented, while his eyes narrowed. He breathed heavily through his nose and, god, what you wouldn’t give for him to push you up against a wall and—

What the fuck!

You recoiled the same time he did, jumping away from each other like opposite poles repelling. A cold sweat formed on your back as you realized you were fucking attracted to the man that called you a whore all but in name a few moments ago.

The feral desire on his face morphed into disgust and the two of you gazed at each other in shock and revulsion.

Rushing out of his office like a bat out of hell, you slammed the door to your office shut and collapsed into your chair. Here you were, wanting to vomit in disgust but your panties were fucking soaking. You groaned and pulled at your hair. How the fuck were you supposed to last until Friday without Dolos? He would somehow fucking know you got yourself off and he would paddle you black and blue.

You dialed the private line for Black’s. 

Your last resort...

Monday January 27th, 2020

Black’s

7:55 PM HKT

Sicheng drummed his finger restlessly against the leather couch, glancing at the clock. His knee bounced in anticipation and he was unaware of the dark energy he exuded.

The man felt like he could explode right now—no thanks to Y/N in his office earlier. Sicheng couldn’t believe he was reduced to a pathetic bundle of nerves all over Y/N and her red lipstick and fuck me! Eyes.

He wanted to crack open that ice-cold facade that you hid behind. He wanted to pick apart every aspect of your being, from your veiled eyes to your restless hands and—

He rubbed a hand over his face. Fuck, not Y/N again. Where the hell was his Dove? Although, he supposed he couldn’t ask for anymore than her now. He was about to break their schedule of Friday nights only, but, by some saving grace, the manager of Black’s called to notify him of Dove’s request to meet here tonight at 8 PM.

Sicheng couldn’t get out of the office fast enough. He usually worked late, but as soon as the clock turned six, he revved his Audi to get home and shower. Now he was here, looking groomed as hell for his favorite little girl.

“Master?”

There she were—standing off to the side, wearing a simple skirt and blouse, yet looking like sex personified.

He was so relieved that he didn’t even check the clock to check if his darling girl was late.

“Sit on my lap, sweetheart. Master has missed you.”

She straddled his lap and he buried his nose into her neck, inhaling deeply. He could feel the tension melting away in his muscles as she sat in his lap.

“Are you stressed, sir?” she asked innocuously, stroking his chest.

He hummed affirmative, tracing his nose over her collarbones. “Master’s had a rough day, baby. Why don’t you be a good girl and help me out, hm?”

Dove grinned, and Sicheng could see her twinkling eyes under the grey mask. “Anything for you sir.”

Sicheng heaved her over his shoulder, a squeal to coming out of her mouth unbidden. He smirked. She was lucky he hadn’t stopped her from making noise.

As soon as he got to the room, he made her strip as he pulled down a silk tie from the ceiling. Sicheng roughly forced her hands up, exposing her breasts to the cold air. As he finished binding Dove’s wrists together, he smirked and flicked a finger over her hard peaks.

A small mewl came out of the girl’s mouth, but Sicheng heard it clear as day. A smirk crawled over his plump lips.

“What was that, little girl? You want me to use a riding crop on your ass? Huh?”

Her eyes widened, she held still.

Sicheng languorously looked her over, eyes tracing the dips and curves of her body. “That’s what I thought.”

From a wooden panel, he produced a riding crop, setting aside on a side table as he rolled up his sleeves and loosened the collar on his button-up. Brandishing the crop again, he placed it on her collarbone, the cold leather a stark contrast to Dove’s heated skin.

“Safeword?”

“Sappho, sir.”

The tip of the crop forced her chin up, his intense eyes meeting hers. “Good girl.”

She preened.

He traced it down her chest, circling her sensitive breasts. He chuckled. They were so perfect for him, begging for his attention. She clenched her eyes shut.

Out of nowhere, he sides of both her breasts in two quick snaps of the wrist. Her eyes flew open and she gasped.

“Eyes on me, girl.”

Down and down he went, tracing over her stomach and waist. Sicheng skipped over her mons and started at her feet. He tapped the crop softly against her calves and thighs; he smiled, seeing her keep her stance. Sicheng would delay her orgasm if she so much as bent her legs. The irritating tapping continued until he got to her ass, where he delivered two sharp blows.

He could see her swallow down a moan, her eyes begging him to touch her there. Push and pull, Sicheng reminded himself. Push and fucking pull.

The man looked her dead in the eyes as he snapped the crop all over her ass and waist. Sicheng was unsatisfied. She could withstand the sharp, short pain of the crop and Dove wouldn’t act out.

Throwing the crop to the ground, Sicheng grabbed a ball-gag and paddle from the wall and stalked towards her.

Stuffing the ball-gag into her mouth, he smirked. “Keep your fucking legs straight.”

With that, he wasted no time and swung the paddle straight over her ass. her moan, muffled yet a masterful concerto to his ears, filled the room. Again and again, he paddled her ass until it was hot to touch, taking out his anger at Y/N on her poor ass. She couldn’t think—a buzz filled her ears and a subspace settled over her mind as he kept delivering.

Sicheng smirked as he saw the clear, viscous fluid of her pussy tread down the inside of her thighs. Unable to help himself, he swiped a finger through it and sucked on it.

However, the paddle had hit right next to her throbbing pussy and she cried out, pushing her legs together to relieve the tension.

His slim fingers grabbed her chin. His eyes were wild and his lips were drawn into a familiar snarl. The thought left her head as he hissed. “What the fuck did I just say about keeping your legs straight? You wanna be bad? Disobey my order? I’ll show you bad.”

Uncharacteristically, he threw away the paddle and wrapped a strong arm around her chest. She felt the rough, calloused skin of his palm smack her ass and she couldn’t take it.

 Moans and whines forced themselves past her lips as he kept on going, smacking her ass in quick succession with his bare palms. It was a useless mission trying to keep her legs together but he kept going until she was trembling. The only thing keeping her up was his arm around her waist.

“What a naughty, naughty girl,” he whispered into her ear. “You deliberately disobeyed my fucking orders, huh? Fucking put your legs together because you were too impatient for master to touch you.”

“Sir, please,” she sobbed through the gag, saliva dripping down her chin.

Sicheng thrust two fingers into her mouth and she rushed to spit and lube them up. He quickly spread the lips of her labia apart with his finger, and his thumb brushed slightly over her little pearl. The ‘accidental’ move nearly made her pass out, a loud scream echoing along the walls.

“What sweet, sweet screams are elicited from that throat of yours,” he murmured.

Suddenly, he roughly stuffed two fingers into her dripping wet pussy making her scream even louder from the sudden intrusion. Pumping harshly, in and out, an undulating rhythm that made her legs collapse and lean on him totally for support. She cried into his shoulder as he just kept on going, feeling the lush walls of her pussy pulsate against his fingers. Once again, his thumb brushed over her clit and her throat felt raw from her shouting. He rubbed her little pearl viciously while two fingers were still deep in her pussy. Her muffled screaming echoed through out the room and he quickly unbuckled the gag from her mouth.

“Master, sir—please, let me come! I’ll be your good girl, I’ll doing anything you want, I’ll keep my legs apart, I’ll—”

“Come, sweetheart. Come for your master,” he said, his breathing finally a bit labored.

She let out a keening wail and her nails dug into his broad shoulders, shaking uncontrollably against him. He held her close.

Monday January 27th, 2020

Black’s

9 PM HKT

All that could be heard was the crackling fire in the corner of the room. You slumped bonelessly against Dolos on the leather couch, head on his chest, knees pulled up to rest on his lap. As you drifted in and out of consciousness, you could feel his fingers stroke your hair and the comforting sound of his heartbeat thrumming steadily. 

“Sir, I… I missed you,” you whispered.

He said nothing. But, as you turned your head up to his, he gazed at you with an unreadable gleam in his eye.

You blushed, and buried your head in his chest. God, that was too sincere. It actually sounded like you needed him outside the walls of this playroom. You knew what happened when you mixed feelings with sex. Trouble.

Trouble was Minghao. Trouble was dark and mysterious—the kind of boy that made girls go starry-eyed and ga-ga over him. The girls would constantly daydream Minghao “fixing” himself for them, “piecing” himself back together in order to be with the girl of his dreams.

Except they were wrong. So, so wrong.

Minghao wasn’t like that. He was cool, he was cruel, and he was mean. He was the first to initiate your eager eyes into BDSM. He was the one that discovered how good of a submissive you were. He was your first in everything.

In the end, he was too much for you. Minghao would’ve destroyed you had you stayed for any longer—would’ve ruined your already fraying self-esteem and confidence. Yet, when the two of you parted ways, it felt like something had been torn out of your chest. You had dedicated yourself to serving this man, thrown your confidence and dignity on an altar and sacrificed it to him, but he had deigned to not even treat you with a modicum of respect outside of playtime.

Never again.

“Never mind, sir. My mouth ran away from me for a moment.”

His right hand rose to cup your jaw, and his fathomless eyes searched yours.

“You are the only thing real in this world, you know that?”

Your thumb stroked his sharp cheekbones and Dolos sighed. He quickly gathered you up in his arms and crushed you into his chest. You froze, unsure what he planned to do. 

“Fuck,” he said. “What are you doing to me?”

You gazed into the fire lapping at the stone of the fireplace, snapping and crackling. What the hell was he doing to you? Dolos was the first dom in years to make so weak—so attached.

He gave a bitter laugh.

“I came here for control.”

Burying his face into your hair, he inhaled deeply like you would disappear in thin air.

“So why are you taking it away from me?”

Wednesday January 29th, 2020

Sinochen Enterprises, Chater House, Central, Hong Kong

3 PM HKT

You sighed and played mindlessly with your pen as the clock ticked forward. Sicheng had gone to the bathroom before your quick progress check with him which left you to scrutinize his office.

If there was one word to describe his office, it would be monotonous. White, black, and red with no personal effects in sight. The only thing that made the space not some page from a design catalogue was the simple calligraphy painting bearing a proverb in harsh, strong strokes.

人算不如天算.

Man proposes and god disposes.

Huh. Funny, for a man whom you thought was fettered by nothing but himself.

The scroll painting was also dead set in the middle of room, with two dark bookshelves flanking it. In fact, everything in the room was perfectly symmetrical. The two chairs faced the desk straight on. There were two pens that stood side by side, unnaturally neat at the center of his desk. Even his recycling bin was perfectly in the center of two tables—

A ball of paper, different from the other stark white sheets in the bin, caught your eye. Weirdly enough, the paper broke the bizarre, polished neatness of the room by laying on the floor adjacent to the bin.

Insatiable curiosity gripped you in its clutches, and you bent down to pick up the odd bit of parchment.

Immediately, you felt the quality of the paper. It was heavy and smooth like silk, not something an individual wrote on casually. Hell, it was aged as well. What was Dong Sicheng doing with this?

Opening the crumpled paper (which had felt like it had been crumpled and straightened many times), you took a look at the contents of the paper.

Your own handwriting stared up at you mockingly.

Dropping the paper like it was a burning ember, you fell gracelessly to the carpeted floor. Your eyes widened and your hand clamped over your mouth to prevent you from gasping.

No. That could not be Dove’s letter. It couldn’t. It couldn’t because—

You heard muffled footsteps echoing coming down the hallway outside the office, and you scrambled off the floor and into your chair. Having no time to think, you stuffed the letter into your coat pocket.

“Y/N, thank you for waiting,” Sicheng greeted, striding confidently into his office.

His casual oxford and black trousers were a slap in the face. How could you not notice the similarities between Dolos and Sicheng? The way they walked, the way they talked, the way they looked at you.

With Sicheng, looking into his eyes was like gazing through a veil. Silhouettes and hints of something indiscernible danced in his eyes, alien to his warm demeanor. Looking into Dolos’ eyes was as if the veil had been lifted, naked and hungry desire running rampant and burning with its ferocity. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide underneath his stare.

Even his forearms. The way they flexed as he lowered himself into his office chair and took one of the freakishly aligned pens in his sinuous fingers. You could see them twisting and rippling as he paddled your—

“Y/N?”

Your eyes refocused on Sicheng watching you intently, concern written on his face.

“N-no problem, really.”

You wanted to facepalm yourself. Your voice almost fucking cracked and sounded shy, like the twittering of the office girls around him. Fuck, where was your ice queen when you needed her?

A slight smile played upon his pink lips, and hell if you couldn’t imagine him calling you a little slut.

The informal progress meeting continued on in the same vein, you acting uncharacteristically bashful and him hiding his befuddled amusement badly.

The paper felt like it was a brand burning through your blazer pocket the rest of the day.

Love, your Darling Dove.

Friday January 31st, 2020

Black’s

9 PM HKT

Friday night once again found him at Black’s, awaiting his weekly tête-á-tête with his darling Dove. But this time, he planned to make it different.

He restlessly toyed with the red, signature box embossed with gold etching. He had never spent this much money on something for someone other than his mother and older sister, but Dove once again compelled him. The necklace with gold filigree had a simple pendant of a blossom, its leaves done in malachite and its petals in iridescent opal. Sicheng imagined Dove in nothing but his necklace, her pretty lips contorted in a moan, and he instantly got hard again.

Fuck. He could not wait to get her to the Salon and kiss every inch of her skin, worshipping her with his mouth and his hands. And after, when she was sated and curled contentedly in his arms, he would ask to remove her mask.

And hopefully, she would say yes.

Then she would be his.

His mouth salivated at the thought, his heart beating just a tiny bit faster at the thought of untying the ribbon of her grey mask and the stupid lace falling down so he could bask in her features. A thousand different features flashed before his eyes, each one as perfect than the next.

Y/N’s cold gaze flashed unbidden before his eyes.

Sicheng’s teeth clenched until he couldn't feel his tongue. As much as he’d like to put her in her rightful place, why was she in his thoughts? Dove was perfect and submissive to his whims, and he was about to make her his. Y/N had no business being even a passing thought.

Although, she acted quite off this week. She was her normal, bitchy self around the office, ruthlessly demanding results while everyone obeyed in a mixture of fear and awe, but Y/N was almost… shy.

She refused to look him straight in the eye, even if, in the past, she had no problem getting all up in his face. Her posture was slumped and hesitant, her hands twiddled and twitched in his presence.

While he liked it a bit more than he should, this was not the Y/N he knew. He had no idea what made her like this and it made him... uncomfortable. Did he do something?

“Dolos, sir.”

He looked up from his broody contemplation into the fire and to the distinguished, older man’s face. This was not some errand boy, this was the owner of the damn establishment. Sir Theodore Lau himself.

“Mr. Lau, nice to see you,” he said, rising up to greet him properly.

“Quite well, and you?”

“In good spirits.”

Mr. Lau’s face took on a pained expression.

“What’s wrong, Mr. Lau?”

The usually unflappable gentleman looked discomfited. “You… I have received this. For you.”

Sicheng cautiously took the letter from Lau’s hands, and broke the wax seal to the aged vellum inside

    Dear Dolos,

   I am sorry you could not receive the contents of this letter in person, but circumstances have not allowed for it.

   Dolos, I’m sorry to inform you I am no longer a patron of Black’s and consequently not your submissive anymore. No, it is not an issue of money. Neither have I been treated untowardly in this establishment. No, I have had to leave because of some personal conflicts.

   I have had the best six months of my life with you. You have made me feel comfortable in my submission, with no shame or judgement in those eyes of ours. I looked forward to our Friday rendezvous, embarrassingly eager for when I could be in your arms again. But that shall sadly never happen again.

   Please do not get angry, but if our six months together meant anything to you, please do not seek me out. It’s best for the both of us.

   Thank you master,

   Dove

Sicheng could only gape at the paper, the letters rerunning and jumbling in his mind until they were all a blur. He could literally feel the blood freezing in his veins and the unnatural stillness he was stuck in.

“She… she said she was sorry. Very sorry.”

Mr. Lau could have been speaking gibberish for all he cared, because Sicheng could not hear anything other than the pounding of his blood.

“What the fuck,” Sicheng hissed after a long time of not speaking.

Mr. Lau could only look on piteously. Sicheng’s face was grotesquely beautiful in the firelight, highlighting his angelic features contorted tortuously. The owner had never seen such raw, unfiltered emotion from Sicheng— from anyone in his life, really. This was the face of a man who had the rug taken out from beneath his feet.

He put a fatherly hand on Sicheng’s shoulder. Lau had known the boy since the boy was an adolescent and a submissive had never left him in such a state.

“We have other girls—men as well—who would be more than happy to serve you tonight—”

“I don’t want to fuck tonight,” Sicheng seethed, brushing the older man’s hand off roughly. “I don’t want any of them. I want Dove.”

How could she do this? Just leave him high and dry with just a letter and unforgettable memories? He thought they were more.

Evidently not, Sicheng thought bitterly.

However, something was off in the letter. There were blotches of water around the page and even in the handwriting, as if a droplet had smeared the page. Of perhaps, a tear.

“Can I meet with you privately in your office?” Sicheng said lowly after he got his rage under control.

Mr. Lau sighed. “Of course. Come along.”

Sicheng refused his invitation to sit, but did accept a finger of bourbon. He took a sip, contemplated the glass in his hand, and hurled it at the wall.

Mr. Lau jumped out of his chair, shocked. “Sicheng, those glasses were from my grandfather!”

“Sorry,” he mumbled. Like air suddenly leaving a balloon, Sicheng deflated and collapsed into the armchair. The blond youth rubbed a hand over his tired face.

“May I ask you for a favor, Mr. Lau?”

The man, inspecting the now ruined silk wallpaper, snorted. “Unless you replace my decanter set, no.”

Sicheng waved a careless hand. “Consider it done. 1890s, correct? I’ll even pay for the cleaning service.”

Harrumphing, the owner sat in his office chair and steepled his fingers. “So, what may I do for you?”

Sicheng’s burning eyes turned towards him.

“Tell me who Dove is.”

Mr. Lau winced. “Anything but that Sicheng, anything. Not her identity.”

“Well, say goodbye to your father’s decanter set, then,” Sicheng murmured petulantly.

“I can live with that. However, I will never disclose her identity— or anyone’s, for that matter.”

“Please, you don’t understand. I need her.”

Oh, how beautiful he looked like this. A tortured angel materialized from a Michaelangelo painting.

Mr. Lau felt all his years weighing him all at once, and two sides of him warred.

“I’m sorry, but no matter how good your intentions are, I personally and legally cannot do that.”

“Even though my family and I have been patrons of the club for decades?”

“Even then. You know this.”

The blond man’s eyes shifted to the side, and his jaw tightened. His knuckles grew white clutching the wood armrests of the chair he sat in.

“Fuck this!” he shouted, suddenly throwing the chair back with a resounding clash. He motioned to stomp his way out of the room, but Mr. Lau’s voice stopped him.

“She’s a good girl, Sicheng. If she wanted to be found by you, she would’ve.”

Sicheng grasped the door and said ominously, “I will not accept this. Never.”

The older gentleman sighed, and took in the destruction a man’s broken heart had left in its wake.

*cackles evilly* to be continued...

[malkumtend]

(Their) Booth. Human Warriors AU.

“This is my booth.”

Crow does not consider that the voice is directed in him, therefore he continues to scroll through his phone.

“Hey.” The voice raises and Crow hears the hint of annoyance. “I said this is my booth.”

His own mood souring, Crow turns and returns the narrowed eyes the girl gives him. She stands with her arms crossed, green eyes flashing, her look is so thundering that it may have looked intimidating, if it wasn’t clear that she was half a foot shorter than him.              

And he was only 5,7.

“What?” He tries to push her away with the growl on his tone.

“You’re in my booth.” She says it again, her frown sharpens.

“Your booth?”

“My booth.”

“Is your name on it?”

Her annoyed glare darkens. “Is yours?”

Crow already decides he hates this girl. Whoever she is. She seems familiar somehow (it would be hard to picture not remembering the dark ginger curls or the peach coloured skin or the dotting specks of freckles) but Crowpaw doesn’t care to find the time to remember.

He takes a sip of his milkshake, clicking his tongue as the tang of mint lingers. “I’m not the one claiming a seat is mine.”

“Well I am, so will you move?”

“Find somewhere else.” He tries to cut it off, turning back to his phone. He knows that she won’t; this break hour is near lunch which means that every table is full and bursting with laughter or chatter.

Still it’s a slightly more polite way of telling her to piss off.

She doesn’t budge. An eyebrow raises. “Why don’t you?” In the crook of her arm rests her own milkshake, her fingers drum on the cup impatiently.

“I’m already here.” There’s no way he would even consider moving, even if she was a friend rather than a nuisance of a stranger. It’s still half an hour before his next class, and without his friends out of their own periods, he’ll be damned if he’s walking out alone for that long.

Her green eyes dart over the booth, “Are you waiting on people?”

His eyes burn as she smirks. “None of your business.”

“You’re taking up a six-person booth, you seat hog.”

He leans back on the chair, his jacket squeaks against the leather seat. “I don’t hear anyone else complaining.” He ignores when she lazily uses her hand to gesture over herself. “Whatever.”

“Are you going to move or not?”

“Are you going to make me?” The silence makes him think he’s beaten her. A split second later, she’s across from him on the other side of the booth. Her feet tuck over the seat, letting her back slip against the wall as she pulls out her phone, scrolling as she uses her other hand to let a straw link her treat to her lips.

Crowpaw stares as she expertly ignores him. “What are you doing?”

Her lips smack as the straw leaves her lips, “Drinking a milkshake. Can I have some privacy?”

“You’re at my table.” He falls into the trap and cringes when she says it, smirking with a grin full of sugary, sickly sweetness.

“I don’t see your name on it.” She coos, “Now a little quiet please, I am letting you share my booth after all.”

Crow felt like he wanted to stand up and start screaming, but they were in the middle of a busy milkshake place, and he would more than likely be thrown out, and this time was the only peace he got to himself. So he glowers, sucking in milk and sugar through the bitten crease of his straw and tries to block out her face with the screen of his phone.

…

Same time the next week, he sits in that booth. It takes ten minutes for her to arrive. She doesn’t even speak before she sits down on the other (her?) side of the booth.

He figures they’ll stay silent like last time, so he just frowns and tries to focus on his drink.

Then she grins again, “Thanks for saving my spot.”

His hand grasps the cup so much a shot of vanilla goes right down his throat. After stifling his cough, he growls. “Haven’t you got any friends to hang with?”

She shrugs and pulls up a bright, sunny yellow backpack adorned with badges of flags. “Got class this period.”

He could say ‘likely story’ but he knows she’ll just throw it back at him. So, he just grumbles a complaint and fails to ignore when she pulls out a notebook and a textbook, something to do with film studies. She opens to a task page and starts writing in her notes.

She notices him looking, “It’s not at the last minute, for your information. It’s for tomorrow.”

He blinks. “I wasn’t going to ask.”

She doesn’t look up. “We both know you were.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Sure.” As she writes, her ginger curls fall over her eyes, blocking their gazes from meeting, ending the conversation. It suits Crow just fine, as he relishes the silence. It means he can tolerate the intruder (was she an intruder it wasn’t his seat either) enough to not feel a vein throb.

Then after filling a page, she speaks again. “Should you really be drinking that?”

Crow’s face twists, “What?”

Still not looking up, she points her pen perfectly at his vanilla bean iceblast, “That? You’re on the track team, right?”

His brow hardens and he sets the drink down. He tries to remember this girl again. “How do you know that?”

The pen flicks towards the gym bag beside him. “Well there’s that, and I don’t think you have the… build for the football team.”

Crow suddenly regrets wearing the thermal top today. He crosses his arms over his lean, but extremely un-muscled, body.

“That’s going to take a two-mile run to burn off, right?”

He scoffs, “You make that sound like it’s a big deal. Not much of a runner, are you?”

She lifts her head to frown at him, “Careful, you’re Miss Ashfoot’s kid, aren’t you? I don’t think she’d like to know what calories your poisoning your body with.” She almost sounds like her, wagging a mocking finger at him with her artificial authority.

She isn’t wrong though. His mother would freak out.

Crow scoffs, putting down his phone, “As long as I burn it off, it doesn’t matter. Besides, I’d still run rings round someone like you any day.”

“Oh, is that right?” The girl says furtively, “You wanna take this outside, then?”

Crow laughs, it’s full of mocking spite, but it’s a laugh. “I think I’ll save you the embarrassment.” He wasn’t going to waste his break over some fight or race he knew he’d win.

She leans back, her chin rising up, her eyes shine a gratified emerald. “Good excuse.” Crow wipes off the trap like dirt off his shoulder. His eyes drag down to her textbooks.

“A film student then?” He might have guessed. Those lot were known for being an extravagant type.

She pouts, placing a hand over her book like they’re in middle-school. “You’re nosy, aren’t you?”

“You seem like the kind of girl who’d be absorbed in a camera?”

She hasn’t taken off her dark green winter jacket, the beige faux fur on the hood surrounds her neck like a lion’s mane. It’s like she’s dressed like she wants everyone to look at her.

She laughs off his comment, sneering. “Says the weedy kid, on his own, dressed only in black.”

Fucking A! This girl was quick!

“And you’re wrong, I’m mostly behind the camera.” She says pridefully, her pen taps on the table with a show of reverence. “I’m part of the directing team.”

“What? The staff intern?”

“Ha ha, weedy. We’re in the middle of a major project.” She looks over her notes again, beaming. “It’s going to be awesome!”

He feigns ignorance with a small huff, but a part of him is interested. Everyone likes movies. Even the shitty ones could be a good laugh.

She writes another set of notes down, then looks up again. “So you’re Crow, right?” Her grin skulks over him. “Like the bird.”

He rolls his eyes, a lifetime of childhood taunts rolling in his memory. It doesn’t bother him so much, but it still makes him groan. “Mhmm.”

Her arm moves and Crow expects the offer of a handshake. Instead he’s met with a not-so-light punch on the arm. She whips the locks out of her eyes as he rubs his arm. “Squirrel.” She says.

“Oh, like the bushy tailed rat?” He says instead of ‘like the daughter of Fireheart, head of the Thunder department’ because he does not want her to feel like she’s special.

Regretfully, it seems she likes his answer more. “You can’t talk, bird boy.” Her laugh is real.

…

He easily wins the track meet, he always does. His heart doesn’t start pacing until the fourth lap, and by the time he’s finished the tenth, the rest are only on the eighth.

“Good work, Crow.” His mother says, permitting him to sit down on the bleachers. “Keep it up.” She pipes on her whistle, waiting for the others.

He drinks his water and rubs the sweat out of his eyes. He checks the stopwatch attached to his hip and purses his lips when he sees he’s twenty seconds off his last run. Oh well, he considers, he’s still at the top. It keeps his mother happy. (keeps him happy) He shakes his head.

He gazes up into the bleachers and smiles when he sees Feather is there. She’s part of the swimming team and they met because of a sports team gathering last term. She’d come up to him and told him he’d left his water bottle in the gym.

After that Crow was pulled into her smile. It’s a smile he always responds too.

Until he sees who’s next to her, waving, still keeping that stupid grin of hers.

After greeting Feather, he sits down and hisses into her ear. “Are you following me?”

“In your dreams, bird-brain. Feather’s my Math tutor, she wanted to come and see you before we head into Highstone Steet to go to ‘Milkshakes 4 You’ before we head to hers to study.”

Crow forgot that Feather mentioned how she tutored some students. “Have you two met?” She asks, her eyes glittering on the two.

Crow grumbles, “Unfortunately.”

“Oh, don’t be like that.” Squirrel pipes, gleaming Feather with a smile, “Me and him are milkshake pals.”

“We are not!”

“Oh, that’s great!” Feather’s always pleasant and friendly voice rings out, “Should we all head there together?”

Crow sees Squirrel’s fluttering eyelashes that prick him to shout a denial. But Feather’s friendly radiance forces him to say yes.

At the milkshake table (their table) Feather and Squirrel get on really well. Throughout their studying, they laugh and talk and it’s clear this is not just going to be a study meet. They’re friends.

Crow sighs because he can tell this is going to happen again.

After another half hour, they giver their goodbyes (a sweet wave from the actual girl, while the red-haired rat gives him a back-handed flick of the wrist). He’s not sure if it’s her cockiness that pisses him off, or if it’s the fact she’s the one going to Feather’s house instead of him.

…

They’re sharing a lunch table at school now.

Feather has her brother, Storm, with her (Crow doesn’t care about him too much but he’s alright enough) and Squirrel’s brought her sister along (she doesn’t say much but she can tell Crow recognises her, everyone knows about the straight A student since Firestar wouldn’t shut up about how she was one of the few who got perfect marks in her mock tests). Her name’s Leaf and she keeps her eyes behind the fringe of her cut short hair. It’s clear she’s only there because her sister dragged her along.

Squirrel does most of the talking for the table, which annoys Crow since she always offers her own opinion whenever he tries to ask Feather something. He doesn’t dare tell her to button it though. He would not turn into the delinquent that Squirrel likes to believe he is.

So, he keeps quiet and watches the group react to this girl.

It’s clear from Storm’s face that he thinks well of the ginger nuisance. Crow tries to hold back his vomit.

He also learns more about this girl than he cares to.

Her favourite class – Film.

Her favourite teacher – Mr Dustpelt.

Her favourite movie – The Breakfast Club (she stops to claim that Crow would make a good Bender. Crow’s never seen it, but the fact the group are laughing makes him scowl at her.)

Her favourite film studio – Disney (would have guessed)

Her favourite film movement – German expressionism (what the fuck is that)

She pulls her sister into the conversation, despite her obvious hesitance, but that only spurs Feather on. Calm, lulling and welcoming as always. It doesn’t take long before the shy girl has settled into some kind of comfort and safety as she actually begins asking the others’ questions.

“I’ve seen you on the field before! How do you do that without passing out?”

Crow feigns indifference but admittedly it’s always nice to be recognised. “Just practice and practice. It’s just like studying really.” He knows she’ll get that.

She does, letting out a small laugh. “Oh, well I could never do something like that.”

“Well that’s because you’re good at healthcare,” Squirrel nudges her, coyly smirking at Crow, “Something meaningful.”

“And just how meaningful are your little films.” Crow doesn’t hold himself back now, but he doesn’t scowl as the others share a cautious glance. Perhaps mercifully, Squirrel just flicks her ginger hair back with another throaty laugh.

“Don’t be an idiot. Everyone enjoys movies, we all have one that means something to us! Even little kids binge watching Disney films, those princesses and frogs will always be in their memories.”

Crow raises a brow, “So what are you making then?”

She wags a finger at him, “Ah ah, that’s classified.”

Leaf gives him another gentle shrug, “It’s true. She won’t even tell me what’s it’s about?”

“But if you’re interested, they’ll be airing at the end of term at the culture festival.” Crow vaguely recalls the festival where every class portrayed some kind of reflection piece, he also recalled staying far the hell away from any sign-up sheet. He wasn’t competing in some damn triathlon.

“Oh!” Feather bursts up, “That’s so cool! Could we come see it!”

Oh no no no no no!

“Of course!” Squirrel pulls out her phone and emails what Crow can only assume is an invitation. “It’s $5 for entry. But I’d say that’s not so bad!” The invitation is confirmed when his own phone beeps and he sees that Feather has forwarded it to him as well.

“I’ll be there!” Feather pipes, Storm soon follows suit. All eyes turn to Crow, Feather’s excited, Storm’s expectant, Leaf’s sheepish and Squirrel’s smug. So very smug.

He realises that if he turns this down, he’ll turn into this ginger haired director’s antagonist. For a moment he wonders if he can feign sickness on the night, but it’s a night four months away, and it will be oh so obvious what he’s avoiding.

So, he nods. And gives her this round.

…

A month later, their group has become normal. Feather’s still a complete angel, Storm seems to have realised how Crow sees his sister (if the stone cold eyes weren’t telling), Leaf’s a little more hard to get out due to her consistent studying phases but when she turns up she’s fine enough (she keeps to herself and is oddly polite whenever she speaks to him), and Squirrel is now a little less of a constant grievance.

Crow presumes it’s like one of those dark films where a person has been kept in a constant state of torture long enough that it seems almost calm now. What kind of torture punishment would she be? Crow’s stuck between waterboarding and being stuck in a basement for a month with the same terrible song on repeat.

They’re now waiting for her film class to finish so they can head to Highstones for a bite to eat (yeah waiting to be annoyed, that was what his life had come to). But he couldn’t argue. They all waited when Feather was caught up in Swimming practice and they all waited when he was running behind in the track meets.

They all had to deal with each other now.

He can hear her barking orders in some kind of movie nerd language he didn’t really get. It didn’t seem like some mindless drivel; she clearly had some idea of what she was talking about. But he still felt pity for the poor actors she was leading, lord know he wouldn’t be able to handle getting shouted at by the likes of her.

Eventually it ends though, and the director and her team exit the doors, red-faced, but shivering with excited, well-done, glee.

“Great work guys!” She yells after her waving friends; Crow recognises none of them. She points out to one short boy with curled brown hair. “Remember to work on your stunt moves, Shrew!” She hits her fist against her palm with spicy exaggeration, “We want real action, not Pinocchio caught in his strings!”

The boy presses his palms against his cheeks in mock shock. A real actor, Crow can tell. “Ouch! That hurts, ginger!” He rolls his eyes as he turns away, “I’ll knock you off your feet, next time.”

“That’s what I’m counting on!” She laughs for a moment, then finally turns to the waiting group. “Sorry to keep you guys waiting.”

“It wasn’t that long.” Stormfur says, a little too smoothly to be natural. Crow, disgusted, meets Feather’s eyes, she shrugs with a gentle chuckle.

“Are we heading over to Highstones then?” Leaf asks.

Squirrel nods her approval, but her eyes dart around the corridor for a moment, as if searching. It’s only for a moment, but when she smiles back to the group, Crow notices a slant along the natural perk of her shoulders. She hides it well.

Crow isn’t sure why he’s noticed it.

He isn’t sure why he can see her face tilt back and forth as they all walk from school to the high street. Still scanning for something unknown. Her smile stiffens and trembles as they begin to reach their destination.

Crow considers saying something, but he knows how well that would go down. Besides, it wasn’t his business. It wasn’t his concern.

By the time they’re at their table, her eyes aren’t smiling anymore. Crow can see a vague disappointment.

He says nothing about it.

But he does pay closer attention to her. Especially when she doesn’t have the energy to make quips at his expense today.

Crow wonders if he’s worried. Then brushes away the thought like dirt.

…

It’s next week when Crow sees Squirrel get angry for the first time.

It is approaching the end of the lunch period, and the four are leaving their newly established table when Squirrel’s head perks up.

Approaching them is a boy. A tank of a boy at that. If this guy wasn’t part of the football team, Crow was sure that the teachers were begging him to join. A golden ‘T’ badge is clipped to his bag. Clearly this guy was well thought of in the Thunder department.

He must stand a good foot over Squirrel, but he smiles at her, not really looking down. “Hey.”

Squirrel straightens her posture, her eyes half closing, “Oh, hey Bramble. How’s everything?”

“Can’t complain. Your dad’s giving me ear-ache though.”

“Heh. That’s a surprise.”

“Yeah. So, he wanted me to ask you when you’ll be home? I’ve got a meeting with him about the sports faculty later so I just thought I could tell him then.”

He doesn’t sound patronising, but Squirrel still coils back in offence. Her hair sways as she groans to the side. “Ugh! What? Does he not want me studying?”

Bramble raises a brow, “I’m pretty sure that’s what he’s worried about.”

“Um, excuse me.” A polite but firm voice steps in. All eyes turn to Feather. “Hi, I’m Feather. I’m the one who’s tutoring Squirrel for math, and you can tell Firestar that she really is working hard!”

Bramble’s eyes widen, and Crow can see the surprise. His gape stands while he marinates on his words. “Oh, really? Um, sure. I’ll let him know.”

“You don’t need to let him know.” Squirrel says under her breath, her emerald orbs losing the shine they’d had before. “I’m working on it, I just have other things to work on as well.”

As if snapping his fingers, Bramble’s chestnut hair whips up with realisation that makes Squirrel’s face fall. “Oh right, the film thing!” He clearly doesn’t catch when Squirrel winces. “How’s that going for you?”

Squirrel takes a breath that is too fragile to lay her exasperation. “Well-”

“Bramble!” A sharp voice cuts in. Another tank of a lad comes over. Not as warm as his predecessor. He stands taller than Bramble, more defined and muscled as well. His hair is the same colour, but it looks darker above the icy blue of his eyes. He looks over the group absently, it only takes that brief second for Squirrel to blast him with a look gleaming with hate, before he truly fixes his attention on Bramble. “Are we heading out? We’ve got to train for tonight, remember?”

Bramble’s lips thin, but he nods. “Yeah, I know Hawk. I’m coming.”

‘Hawk’ doesn’t move away, he stands there, dull impatience creasing his lips into a frown.

He might have looked bad if it weren’t for the storm taking place on Squirrel’s face.

Bramble turns, offering the group a generous apologetic smile. “Sorry, I’ve got to get going.”

“So, he said.” Storm chimes in, trying to lift the chill that has clearly overcome them all.

Only Bramble and Feather laugh, both equally weak.

“Yeah. I’ll see you later though. Oh, and I’ll make sure to let your father know to expect you late.” Bramble says that over the shoulder gripped by his mysterious accomplice.

Squirrel flushes with a spark of frustration and anger but once again, the ice thin polite voice of Bramble beats her voice. But he isn’t talking to her.

“Oh yeah! Leaf! Congratulations on getting first in the state Healthcare exams!” He chirps, casting her a swift thumbs up.

Leaf’s eyes widen, and her eyes slide from side to side nervously. It’s like it wasn’t a compliment she received, rather an arrest warrant. “Oh, uh, thank you.” Crow has heard her enough to know when she sounds genuine rather than hollow.

Then he follows where her hopeless look lands. And it becomes clearer.

“It’s all that keeps Firestar in a good mood these days!” Bramble chuckles, “So, thanks for making my life a little easier.”

“You’re welcome.” Leaf nods her head in a way that should share a joke, but her tight voice is almost a plead for him to go away.

Now Feather notices it as well, placing a gentle hand on the shaking shoulder.

The brown-haired boy is finally pulled out of the cafeteria by his growling friend. In his wake, a group of friends are left, all anxiously glancing at their tight-fisted, clenched-jawed, unmistakably gutted friend.

“Squirrel.” Leaf starts gently, her tone carrying something the others cannot peg.

Her sister brushes a stray ginger lock out of her eye and starts forward. “Let’s just go.” She doesn’t wait for another word of concern. She doesn’t even say anything until they reach the milkshake bar.

Well, more she doesn’t start yelling until they’re there.

“Piece of shit!” Squirrel bursts, chewing on the end of her straw. Her emerald eyes are now balls of green fire. She would more than definitely be making a scene if the place wasn’t at full capacity. “That pompous, know-it-all meathead!”

Crow’s sure that’s an oxymoron but he keeps his mouth shut for concerns of having his head snapped off.

“’Am I studying?’ The freakin’ nerve of that idiot! How’s it his business?”

“He was just asking for Dad.” Leaf says carefully, she’s been trying to calm her sister down since they got there. It hasn’t worked.

“Then he needs to mind his business as well!”

“He’s just worried.”

Squirrel’s eyes narrow into viper like slits, “He doesn’t need to be. I’m doing fine.” She leans onto a palm, her head sinking into her hood.

There’s something troubled on Leaf’s face as she turns away slightly. It’s clear to Crow that there may be a reason that Firestar is worried about his loudmouth daughter. But the dark-haired girl is smart enough to not say anything.

Crow sits there, half-lidded, pretending not to listen, and inwardly groaning every time Storm tries to bark some sugary compliments to the angry girl across from them. It does give him some mild pleasure to see the disappointment on his face when he realises that Squirrel clearly isn’t listening to him.

Still, it was aggravating to see the girl so damn moody. Crow wasn’t so sure why, but seeing her so clearly pissed made him pissed as well, the kind that makes your stomach shift and your breathing heavy.

Luckily, he’s able to get away from that when Feather returns from her assumed break to the toilet carrying back three milkshakes. She slaps them down in front of him and Storm, before sliding into the seat beside him, beaming.

Crow’s cheeks cruelly heat up. “Oh, come on, you didn’t have to-”

“It’s fine!” She pipes, gesturing to the drink before him. “You have to try this! It’s new here and I think it’s one of the best things I’ve tasted in freakin’ years!” Her eyes sparkle and her silver hair swirls in the excited movements of her head.

He sucks on the straw and a deep twist of caramel and honeycomb exploded on his tongue, coating him with a sweetness that could only be equal to Feather. It might be too sharp for his taste personally, but he smiles at her, relishing the fireworks that go off in her eyes.

“Told you so!” She exclaims.

“It’s a little too sweet for me.” Storm says. Off of Feather’s look, he quickly adds, “But it’s still really good!”

“I’m sorry I didn’t get you guys one.” Feather said, shyly looking to the two sisters across the table. “But you guys had already got yours so-”

“Oh no, it’s fine!” Leaf sooths. Squirrel only makes a passive murmur as she scans a page of crudely drawn diagrams.

“Thanks Feather,” Crow blurts out. The words feel like a tongue twister to Crow, embarrassment and hesitant glee melting in his mouth.

Her blue eyes light up again, and her hand pats a spot on his shoulder that instantly tingles. “No need. Next time it’s on you though.”

Crow manages to let out a laugh. It was easy when he was entranced in her happiness.

…

It’s two weeks later, and Squirrel isn’t at the lunch table.

“She’s filming with her group today.” Leaf says. Crow wants to take this moment to relish for the opportunity at a little silence, but Feather looks worried.

“Is she okay?”

“I think she is. Why?” It seems that Leaf does know why but doesn’t want to be a bad sister who spills secrets. It might have worked, but she was a terrible liar.

“Whenever she studies with me now, she looks stressed.”

“Isn’t stress another word for studying.” Crow jokes. He hopes to get a smile from Feather, but her worry keeps her mouth turned down.

“Well, how is she doing study-wise, anyway?” Storm asks.

“She’s definitely improving.” Feather considers, delicate fingers rubbing her neck. “But she was doing well enough before, in my opinion, and she wasn’t so…” She sighs. “I don’t know, I just thought that something might be bothering her.”

Crow’s frown tightens, he hates seeing Feather worried. He sighs, long and tight, “Maybe she’s just worked up about her film? She never tells us how it’s going. Maybe she’s behind schedule on something.” He’s grasping at straws but he’s trying his best.

Storm murmurs a sound of agreement but neither Feather nor Leaf give him a reaction that says they’re reassured.

“Maybe.” Feather twirls a silver lock in her hand.

“You don’t need to worry about it, sis.” Storm remarks, offering her one of the fries on his plate. “You’ve said she’s doing fine; she’s probably just worried about getting the grades. Like all of us!” He laughs. “It can’t be easy studying when you’ve got a department head at home breathing down your neck.”

Leaf quivers in her seat, the salad leaf on her fork trembles off and falls to the floor.

Everyone notices and now not even Storm is smiling.

“Leaf?” Feather probes gently.

The girl looks up, then down, then up again and swallows hard. “For the love of God, please don’t ever say anything like that to her.” She sounds as dry as sandpaper.

Storm’s jaw loosens then shuts with a clip. Nobody says anything about it, as if mentioning it further would call forth bloody Mapleshade herself.

But the thought is there in Crow’s head, remaining like a scorpion in his skull. Not because he truly understands what the issue is, he is not psychic. But-

It can’t be easy studying when you’ve got a department head at home breathing down your neck.

He wishes he didn’t, but he gets that.

In more ways than the others could understand. Certainly more than he would ever tell them.

He feels sick now. He actually sympathises for that ginger brat.

…

Crow is surprised when he finds her studying at their table the next day. Studying Math to say the least? It’s early in the break and the others will be on their way soon. For now though, it’s just him and the girl biting the end of her pencil with a scowl.

“Having trouble?” He smirks, sitting across from her.

“Piss off.” She growls but doesn’t look up. Her freckles look like small stains underneath the shadow of her fringe. Another frustrated groan leaves her lips as she scribbles out what looks like an angle diagram on her sheet.

Crow obliges her mood and pulls out his phone. After a series of three more grunts and four rips of paper being ruthlessly scratched, he gives in. He already knows he’ll regret it.

“If you don’t get it, just wait for Feather to get here.”

Her green meets his blue, her irises twitch like hungry fangs. “I’m just fine on my own, thank you.” She finishes poisonously, dimming back into her work while obviously trying to avoid his gaze.

Crow looks away, “Whatever, just don’t ask me for a sharpener when you’ve killed that pencil.”

Her hand makes an exaggerated line on the page, “I’ve got my own. I need it to be nice and sharp when I stick it in your eye.”

Unconsciously and conceitedly, he snickers. “If only your Math was as good as your comebacks.”

Now she is really glaring at him like she wants his head to erupt into flames. The hand gripping the pencil turns white and Crow actually wonders if she is straining from jabbing the instrument into his retina.

Instead, she hisses through clenched teeth and bores down to her scribbles of failed solutions.

This round goes Crow’s way.

There’s a twitch to her lips that makes him wish it hadn’t.

To hide his awkwardness, Crow makes sure his focus is on his phone before he speaks. “I don’t get why you’re so worried. Feather told us all you were doing just fine. It just looks like you’re worrying over nothing.”

He means to be (somewhat) nice, but Squirrel only shakes her head. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Hey, I wasn’t the one who said it. What’s the problem, she said you were doing good? Newsflash.” His hands stretch out dramatically, “That’s a good thing.”

She’s clearly multi-tasking with ignoring him and realising she doesn’t know what the hell she’s doing. Her free hand digs into her head, strands of soft hair fleeting through the cracks. “It’s not good enough for me!” She hisses.

“Why? Did you get an F in your last exam or something?” He teases, though part of him braces for the possibility that that was the truth.

It wasn’t. “B-”

Crow’s mouth hung partway open while he blinked slowly a few times. “So, what the heck are you worked up over?” A B-? Crow used to get a trip to Purd E Cheese when that happened to him!

The pencil is dropped and lies still as she directs a stony gaze at him. There is no trace of animosity or bite, just plain out exhaustion. A dull emerald bore into him. “Different house, different expectations. I’d be happy getting a second in one of your little track meets.” She leans forward, a finger tap-tapping on the notes below her. “Would you?”

Damn. That makes Crow’s mouth feel like it’s full of glue.

He keeps quiet as he imagines the idea of not coming first in track. The shadows that would appear before him.

Point made, she slinks back, and they don’t talk. Either embarrassment or anger keeps them in this icy space. She still audibly struggles with the work, looking more and more drained by the minute.

Finally, she sets the notes down with a defeated grimace. “I’m getting a drink.” She says tonelessly, hands hidden in the deep pockets of her coat.

Crow doesn’t move, but his eyes fall on the abandoned notes, or scribbles, or whatever they were and were not meant to be.

He considers. Glancing back at the worthless news feed on his phone, then at the girl sulking in the line to the bar.

The shadow comes back to his mind. And then he sighs and relents.

She understandably isn’t happy when she finds him on her side of the table, scanning through the notes she was actually embarrassed about. She’s on the cusp of snatching her humiliation away from him when he says in a stoic voice. “You’re using the wrong formulae.”

She glowers, but she doesn’t argue. “What?”

He taps the page, “You’re using the theorem for binomial series here, you should be using the arithmetic series.” Off of her clueless expression, his brow raises. “Have you gone through this with Feather yet?” He doesn’t imagine she’d make that kind of mistake.

Squirrel blushes. She actually blushes, and it’s clear this was unknown territory for her. Crow stifles a chuckle while she crosses her arms and turns away. “I don’t remember any of that.”

By God, being nice to this girl could be a chore. Crow exhaled, “Come on, I’ll show you.”

“I don’t need your help.” She bites, still not looking at him.

Crow’s about to lash, but he bites his tongue, considering his words. “I’m not helping you. I’m just studying for myself.”

She gives him a half-lidded, uninspired glance. “Of course.”

“Just shut up and sit down.”

She doesn’t shut up, her mouth is full of questions (which he guesses is fair enough, least she’s actually trying) but she does sit down next to him and listen as he goes over the formulae. To be very fair, she’s a quick study and once she knows the right theorem it takes her half a minute to get the question done.

When they’re done and Crow rises to go back at his own seat, he winces as his arm feels her fist again. He’s about to snap when she looks up, and Crow has enough reasonable certainty to see the lightness in her eyes. Her smile is about as slippery as an eel, but it’s a smile nonetheless.

She wouldn’t be smiling if she was mad. He knew that much about her.

A punch was a strange, annoying way to thank someone. But he supposed that fit her rather well.

When the others finally arrive, they’re too focused on returning to their original seats, shouting that it wasn’t what it looked like, that they don’t notice the brief sadness coating the eyes of Feather and Storm.

…

It’s next week when the siblings finally tell their friends.

Squirrel, unsure, like the rest of them, of what to say, keeps her voice whispered. “What do you mean you’re running away?” She leans across the table so they can hear her over the din of the bar’s patrons.

Feather and Storm sit side by side, both equally unhappy, looking down at nothing but a stained and chipped table. “It means what it means.” Storm says, breaking off a piece of his chocolate bar. He nibbles on the ridge.

Crow feels like he cannot move, his mind thumps and crashes like it’s being pummelled by a heavyweight boxer, but he barely manages to speak. “Why?”

Feather holds her head up with a hand, tired, but encompassing all the strength she has left. “Our parents decided on the divorce terms.”

Crow tenses, he remembers hearing how shaky things were at their home. They used to make jokes out of how they couldn’t get sleep because of their parents screaming. Neither had looked perturbed, so he hadn’t thought much of it.

“Joint custody?” Leaf anticipates wearily.

Storm shakes his head, “We fucking wish. Our mom wants Feather to move out with her at the end of term, I’m meant to stay here with my dad.” His fist clenches, “No way that’s happening.”

Crow looks from him to his sister, they’ve both clearly made up their minds. They would not be separated.

He wants to admire them, but he can’t help how his chest stings.

“So what will you do then?” Squirrel asks.

“We have some family that live down in River County, once the term ends, we’re heading down there.” Feather’s voice shakes as she explains. It must have been a plan they perfected over the week but saying it out loud is a completely different ballpark.

“That’s just two months away.” Squirrel muses out loud, for once her voice doesn’t carry any kind of bite. Her eyes widen like a puppy being abandoned by its family.

“Our folks down there need to prepare for us arriving.” Storm sniffs, he gives his sister a small sideways look. “Plus, we need to decide what to take with us.”

It really was a plan they had thought hard about.

Two months to plan.

Two months until Crow would never see Feather and her glowing smile again.

He feels like he knows he should say something. Just a small wish of good luck, a nod of acceptance, and buried deep he knows he should reveal what he’s always wanted to say to Feather.

But what did that matter? She’d be gone soon.

There was no point at all.

So while Squirrel and Leaf speak about how much they’ll miss them, and while Feather and Storm apologise and thank them for understanding, Crow continues to stare and stay silent, making a case to look away from those tender eyes so desperately trying to reach his.

If he was going to lose them soon, why should he even try?

…

For the next two weeks, he spends most of his time on the track, practicing. Preparing for the final track meet before summer.

His mother is pleased, but obviously perplexed. Her son was just naturally gifted when it came to the field, he never trained more than every three days usually, now he was there most days from five till nine, just running again and again. Lap after lap. She makes sure to tell him to not overwork himself, but it doesn’t look like he’s listening. Even when she gives him the death stare that usually sent him to bed without a second thought, as a child, he just turns his head, drinks some water and gets back to the track.

She doesn’t know what it’s about.

She doesn’t know what’s he running from.

He runs until he can feel his muscles sting and his head goes blurry, that way he goes home focused on something else. He can’t focus on them. No point gripping to something that would soon let you fall.

He saw them appear once. Looking for him. No doubt wanting to question him about why he’s never at their table, at school and the bar, anymore. Storm looked pissed for reasons Crow didn’t care to know, Leaf was holding back a furious eyed Squirrel from storming up to him and screaming in his face, and Feather just looked sad.

Incredibly, shamefully sad.

He knows to turn back to the track again when he wants to go over and hug her.

So once again, he’s running, hiding and forcing them out. Reluctantly, one by one, they seem to get the hint, walking away from the field. Crow couldn’t help but watch to see if any of them looked back.

Only one person did.

Her green eyes were in a tight scowl, rigid with scorn. They lock on Crow’s sweating, pounding face for a moment. Then she shakes her head, slowly, at him, and leaves him there.

They don’t return for the next week. Crow is left running, burning, and aching on his own.

So, there’s nobody there when one day on the track, the muscles in his blazing ankle finally give in on him. It happens within the intake of a breath. For a suspended second, his foot hovers above the air, then hits the ground and fire chokes his tendon. He falls like a fat sack of flour, too amazed by the overwhelming pain to even utter a whimper. He tries to stand but falls on one knee with every attempt. He has to crawl to his bag to get his phone and call his mother to rush over from her office. Nobody else is there.

There are no tears running down his face, no sobs or moans creasing his throat, as he limps with one arm on his mother’s shoulder he just feels a deep, pulsing emptiness, a drainage in his gut that he feels could swallow him whole and he wouldn’t even complain.

…

It’s just a strained tendon, is what Dr Bark says; just two months taking it easy off the right foot; just one track meet, the final one, that Crow will have to miss.

Dr Bark actually had some relief to his voice when he explained it. Apparently, Crow is lucky that it’s not as bad as it could have been. You could have ruptured the tendon. Then you’d really be in trouble.

Crow does not feel lucky.

He is not glad that his time sitting on the bleachers, watching his teammates actually able to compete for once, will last just a little less than it could have.

He was still on the side-lines. His right ankle wrapped in a flurry of bandages that throttled his skin like a thick mess of barbed wire. He doesn’t need a crutch, but the weight of the bandages, as well as the thin cast stiffening his foot, makes him limp.

He knows, every time he passes a face, where the eyes will fall.

All pathetic pity. All the more knives that dig into Crow’s back.

They’re everywhere, Crow feels them, the thin smiles, the smouldering eyes, the low whispers, all of their bitter empathy. They stared at him as if he was some kind of invalid instead of the track champion for the past year.

All of those stupid get well soon cards his mother had gathered from his team-mates, he’d hidden under the bottom drawer of his cupboard. He knew what they really thought, they relished this, he would have. Now they had the chance to shine above him for once; hell, he wouldn’t even be considered. And yet, his mother thought it would be a good for him to turn up for the final race, just to show support for his team.

As if.

He spends the next week wandering, anywhere really, just so he can avoid those pathetic stares. Whether it was in the corner of the library or needlessly searching the computers of a barren class, he made sure that whatever free time he had, he spent it alone.

He’d rather be a shadow than a crack on the wall.

Unfortunately, some couldn’t seem to take the hint.

Thankfully, he’s able to avoid them. But his phone is a non-stop traffic jam of messages. He only gave his number to one of them.

Every single time, his finger lingers over the block button. It would make it so much easier; he’s practically blocked her in real life after all. But the messages, desperate, pleading, keep coming and coming like fingers digging into his shoulders. I hope you’re okay. We’re here if you want to talk. Please, Crow. I’m worried about you. Please! I’m sorry! Can you please call me back? … Call me if you want to?

Crow stares as they flood his phone, his finger still shaking over the words as he imagines them all in her voice; her trembling, hopeless voice that he hated to picture.

His arm limply falls every time, and the messages continue.

He knows he’s being unfair. He knows she’s hurting more because of him.

But he can’t do anything but sulk.

Unlike his father, he’s never had the guts.

…

“Hey!”

Crow cringes as the book falls from his hands. He hears the furious shushing of the librarian and the quiet ‘sorry’ the girl responds with. He pushes the weight into his swollen ankle, ready to get out of the library as soon as possible. He can’t be bothered to deal with her now.

But a hand, heavy and determined, forces him down into his seat, and she is there beside him. As furious as always. He remains impassive, undisturbed. He can’t lose his cool now.

“What do you want?”

“That’s a nice way to greet your friends!” She scoffs.

“We’re not friends.” Crow returns himself to his book, anything but her.

“Yeah?” The book burns his hands as she snatches it away, forcing him to glare at her. “Well I’m the closest thing you have to one right now! And that’s your own damn fault!”

She follows him past the snarling librarian and out into the courtyard. Crow grit his teeth, wishing he could limp any faster. The early rays of summer make the fabric feel like a constrictor around his ankle.

“Stop following me!”

“Didn’t you say you could run rings around me?”

“Fuck off.”

She doesn’t. She walks on, clutching her bag over her shoulder, never leaving his side.

“I know she’s messaged you.”

Crow tenses. “So what?”

“So why don’t you quit ignoring her, you asshole; what’s your deal?” She asks, as stabbing as possible without even realising it.

“None of your business!”

She makes a scoffing sound that is ripe with astonished disgust, “Uh, when my friend is crying because of you ghosting us all, I think it is.”

It’s only for a moment, but Crow’s pace slows. The image of her tear-stricken face flashes in blue luminance. His chest suddenly aches terribly. But he tosses it away, still storming off, his foot now stinging from his increasing speed. If he doesn’t get rid of this pest soon, he knows he’ll either have to stop from the pain or will fall down himself.

So, he lies. “So what?” He hisses as if she’s nothing but dirt on his shoulder. “Why the fuck should I care about her?”

Crow doesn’t know what he expects. Her to stop out of shock? Her to storm off with fire in her belly? Maybe her jumping on him with blazing fury?

He doesn’t expect the small, cold laugh. Or the words that leave her mouth. “Because it’s clear that you like her.”

Now he truly does stop. His burning foot sets like a stone he could never lift up. She stops right beside him, a thin gaze cutting into him. His head rolls up with a hollow exhale.

“What makes you say that?”

She snorts. “From what I’ve seen,” She responds, “She’s the only one who you ever smile at.”

Ouch. Crow would like to think he didn’t know why that hurt as much as it did.

The boy notices how heavy his steps had become. He sat down on the edge of the fountain in the courtyard, the nearest place, soon joined by his ginger accomplice. The boy shifts himself about so that he can face her directly without having to turn his head, now with his arms resting on his knees. But he waits for her to inevitably speak first.

Eventually, after what seems like a lifetime of her cold stare, she sighs herself, her ginger locks glistening as the sunlight flashes between the water and her hair. “Why do you have to be such a moron?”

He briefly wonders if she’s talking about his attitude or his foot. He now secretly considers the idea that he may be a bit of a moron.

“She misses you.” The girl says.

A month ago, he would have been overjoyed to hear those words. Now, in the face of an outcome he wants to abandon, it just leaves a terrible pain.

“Great.” He responds, hollow.

“No, it’s not.” She declares with a frown. “What the hell are you trying to prove by ignoring her? You think that’s going to make her stay?”

Crow stares for a moment, then his eyes dip. Admittedly, that was a good question. What was he trying to prove? Nothing really. He just didn’t want to say goodbye.

“Won’t you miss her?” He asks.

“Of course I will!” Squirrel says, letting a hint of anger bleed out of her assurance. “That’s why I’m trying to spend, you know, actual time with her before she goes!”

His eyes narrow. “But she’s leaving.” He finds himself saying aloud.

“She hasn’t yet.” Squirrel says plainly, like she knows she’s in the right and is tired of trying to explain it to the incarnation of self-pitying foolishness sat next to her.

Christ. Were those actually his own thoughts…

Shit…of course they were.

This girl was a pest of many variations, but that didn’t stop her from pointing out the obvious.

The truth that he’s been trying to flee.

His neck cranes forward again, staring at his feet. The pain in his foot has dimmed, leaving a tingling, but blank, pulse around his injury. “I don’t want her to go.” He admits, finding it easier when he doesn’t look at her.

Amazingly, she doesn’t say anything for a moment. Predictably, but deservedly, though she sniffs. “Neither do I. But moping around feeling sorry for yourself like some emo isn’t helping anyone!” Her voice punches him. “It’s not like she’s looking forward to leaving as well. But what else can she do? Her and Stormfur don’t want to be dragged apart because of their parents’ bullshit. You can understand that can’t you?”

He does. But it does not mean he likes it?

But then again, neither does she probably.

His fingers pinch the bridge of his nose as it begins to sink in just how in the wrong he is? Is it too late to drown himself in the pool? He doesn’t know how long he can take her vindicated glare.

“I guess.” He admits, dragging his voice like a corpse.

It’s not enough to sate the girl. “You guess.” She snorts, “You know there are better ways of saying you fucked up.”

He leans back, crossing his arms, remaining stupidly silent.

Her mouth creases down, her eyes sliding away from him. “Whatever. So, you going to apologise to her then, or are you just wanting to sit here remaining a jackass?”

“What good what it do?”

“What? You being a jackass? Not much.” She smirks when he growls at her. “What the hell do you mean? ‘What good?’ Does it really matter? It’s just apologising so you can hang out with her again, dumbass.”

His mouth sharpens to swing another sword of insults, then it dulls as the thought lingers. Hanging out with her again. There is some dark, small voice buried somewhere that reminds him how much he wants that.

Tilting forward, his voice is softer than he thought possible. “But she’s going to leave. What does it matter?”

That’s what happened to him. People were here, then they went, and Crow was left missing them. That was his life; the kind of bad joke you would find in a Christmas cracker.

He hears something rough start up like a boxer stepping into the ring, before a dry sigh follows. Something bumps against his arm, but it doesn’t hurt, it just gets his attention. She’s still there, sat beside him, relaxed, her eyes still sharp, but her mouth is curved into something flat and unjudging.

“If we’re going to miss her either way,” Squirrel says, far too smooth to be recognisable. “We might as well make up the time we’ve got left with her.” She adjusts herself in the cold, yet comfortable way that only she could. “Look, she misses you, man. Just come to the bar and talk to her.”

It’s so gentle there might as well be the ‘please’ on the end that she refuses to say.

She’s keeping a little bit of her pride.

Crow can admire that much; he’d be a hypocrite otherwise.

His own pride wants him to scoff and turn away from her, carrying on the same way he always has. His pride has always been the leader ahead of his brain.

But something’s catching up in that race.

Something that makes Crow stumble up, silently resigning himself to what he truly wants. He doesn’t wait for the clearly surprised girl to stand as well. She’d catch up soon enough. And she does. Crow half expects her to take a clear lead, walking backwards, grinning at his expense as he plods along like a fallen soldier.

Instead, she walks beside him, never taking a lead and slowing down when he needs to. He must have been going crazy; he almost swore he saw her hand reach out to steady him whenever he slightly stumbled. She looks away whenever he glances to see.

Hazily, he changes the subject.

“She really missed me?”

“Yep.” She snaps her jaw, beside him he can see the conceited sneer grow on her face. “God knows why? It was beginning to get peaceful without your miserable ass.”

The quiet part of him softens, pleased and guilty by the clarification.

The loud part of him is wounded by the insult.

“Oh really?” He scoffs; same old bitch she usually was. “Then why are you here?”

Her emerald eyes open halfway, a thin line across her mouth. “Feather was too scared you were mad at her, and Storm pretty much hates you.” She shrugs, “No one else would give you time.”

“Right.” He scoffs, nudging her with a force that’s halfway between play and pain. “Keep telling yourself that.”

“You should be grateful that I will.” Her teeth gleam in the sunlight. “Otherwise, you’d be limping your sorry ass back to crying in your room again.”

He rolls his eyes, annoyed that he’s gifted her another point. “Prick.”

She gently nudges him along. “Love ya too.

…

Every chemical in his brain is sparking. The thoughts rising up in a thousand screams that demand him to turn around.

At the door to the bar, the flashing neon lights seem to hurt when they meet his eyes.

Get out of here. They roar in flashing cries. She’ll never forgive you.

A hand softly pushes him on.

They’re all at the table. Their table. Her beside her brother, upset and anxious. Leaf on the other side, awkwardly trying to raise broken spirits. The empty seats make their space look lonely. Or maybe it’s for the best.

They’re better off without you. Just like you’re better off without them.

Squirrel raises a hand, calling over. They all turn to face the pair.

Crow wonders where their eyes linger, what they all hold.

You know where they’re looking right. Cripple.

He swallows, trying to taste whatever they see in him. Feather’s blue orbs shimmer on him.

She just feels sorry for you. You can’t make it right.

He slowly trudges to the table. Feather rises out of her seat. Storm puts up a limp hand cautiously.

See that. He doesn’t trust you. He hates you, and he should.

Storm lets the hand fall, lets her walk slowly up to where Crow stands.

Crow begins to feel spots blinking across his eyes, she gets nearer and nearer. His cast is beginning to warm up, the heat milking over his body, he thinks he can feel himself sweating a little.

She’s only a step away, her eyes close then open with direct intention.

Crow breathes in the silence accepting the hate she’s sure to give. The hate he now knows he deserves.

Then she hugs him.

Tells him she’s glad to see him, that she was so worried after hearing about his injury, that she’s sorry for not coming to see him herself. She pulls back, holding him dearly, smiling like only she can do.

Crow breathes in and out. In and out.

She’s going to leave.

She is. And it will hurt.

But he can’t let himself see her hurt again.

So he apologises.

She accepts it.

And they all blissfully move on.

…

They only have a month left. They all know that. There are days where Feather and Storm take the time to pack and plan, careful to not alert anyone. They all realise how quickly this time will fade in the hourglass before they can never see each other again.

So they use that time wisely.

Every moment they can, they are all together. Storm picks them all up in his car, sometimes early enough that they can get breakfast together, then it’s classes, breaks, lunches, and finally getting together so they can finally put their evenings to good use.

Movie nights and pizza meals where they laugh as Squirrel overanalyses every detail.

Final study groups where they all take turns being embarrassed by Leaf’s overwhelming knowledge.

Drinks at the bar where Storm and Feather sneak drinks out to the younger members before running as security spot them (those are Squirrel’s favourite nights apparently).

Sessions at the karaoke place – Crow refuses to take part for a while, watching as Feather sings Beyonce like an angel and Squirrel (admittedly perfectly) spits out every rap song from Hamilton. He eventually gives in when the bar added songs by The Strokes to the list and nobody else knew who they were; it was time to teach them about real music.

But even before that, Crow knows that, for the first time in years, he’s truly having fun.

Because when they’re together, laughing, not out of any mocking reverence, but true laughter, and he sees her smile in the way he loves, everything feels right. Perfect.

There is a part of him that stings, like a thorn twisted in his arm, at the thought that these days are slipping and fading through their fun, growing closer to the separation that rains on them all.

But for those smiling moments, he doesn’t care.

Because it’s only those moments he should ever care about.

…

“You’re coming, right?” She asks.

She’s sat beside him as they watch the final track race of the year from the bleachers. They all talked him into seeing it. Sure, he still had another week before his cast would come off, so of course he was side-lined, but it gave them all some more time to kill. Plus, apparently Storm was friends with some guy on the team (Crow pretended he recognised the name) so if Crow didn’t go, he’d be on his own.

Reluctantly, he’d acknowledged his pride wasn’t worth the bullshit of that.

So they all sat there (except for Leaf who was helping her friend Moth study), buried in the small crowd, wrapped up against the cold air (he’d never realised how cold these nights were when he wasn’t pumping air and blood throughout his body) watching the team actually compete for once.

They are all in the fourth lap when she asks.

“What do you mean?” He asks, stiffly looking ahead. He’s only playing, but there’s something different in the brief glimpse he can make of her. Her mouth is coiled into a frown that doesn’t look right. He lets the game go early. “Oh, the premiere? Yeah, sure. I’ve got time to kill.”

“It’s not killing time,” She scoffs, pulling the gloves from her hands to click her fingers. “It’ll be making it.”

“Is that a promise, or will I get a refund in the inevitable chance it flops?”

She tries hard to look angry at him, but there’s something twitching her mouth upwards. “Nope. You turn up, that money’s ours.”

The team ascends into the fifth lap and Crow scoffs, spotting that half of them are clearly running out of energy, they’d all drop before they got a winner. “It better be Oscar worthy then?”

The gloves slip gracefully back onto her hands. “You shouldn’t expect anything less.”

“I’m sure it’ll be great!” Feather coos from the other side of Squirrel. “You’ve converted it for me, haven’t you?”

“Naturally!” Squirrel promises. Feather and Storm will be able to attend the premiere, but the girl had begged Squirrel to burn the movie onto a disc for her. A parting gift. Feather spoke like it was already a masterpiece instead of a secret project none of them knew about.

“Sick! I can’t wait!”

“Well, you’ll have to. Just two more days.” Squirrel says, her dark ginger hair flares up as the light of her phone screen brightens on her face.

Just two more days before the film. A day later, their group decreases.

Crow sips down his coffee, the bitter taste mercifully numbing his thoughts.

“Come on, lad! You can do it!” Storm’s grunts resonate.

Crow watches as his (kind of) friend’s friend sprints near the front, sweating and panting in ways Crow could never do this early on. He keeps that to himself. “He needs to slow down a little.”

“Slow down in a race?” Storm’s tone is enough to scratch Crow with a stare. “Great idea.”

“Yeah, I know, numb-nuts.” Crow bites back, “Because if he doesn’t, he’s going to fall worse than I did.”

“There’s still like ten laps to go.”

“All the more reason to take his time. From the looks of it, he’ll be able to walk past a track of dead bodies if he holds back compared to the rest.”

“This is the team you were part of, right?” Storm’s leer prick from an eye corner, “Do you have a nice word to say about anyone?”

Crow gives him a look.

“Never mind.” Storm retreats, his sigh steaming in the cold.

“I don’t know,” Feather grins, “You might actually have a challenge when you’re back on the field, Crow.” Her voice is a tender prod that makes both her brother and Crow smirk.

“Oh, I’m shaking.” They all find themselves laughing.

Almost all of them.

Only Crow notices, but he doesn’t try to look like he does. Squirrel is staring at her phone screen, a dull look burrowing into a series of messages Crow can’t get a good look at before she buries the phone away.

Then she gets back to smiling. In that filtered, artificial way that Crow has begun to perceive with weak malaise.

…

Something is definitely wrong, Crow identifies.

The whole group had been able to get front row seats. Surprisingly, the film team made the hall look really damn impressive. The Home Ec class had sent a section of their team to cater at the front of the hall, and the whole room was pungent with the airy tang of buttered popcorn and hot dogs.

At least sixty chairs had been set up around the room, and each one was occupied, probably mostly by friends or family members, but hey, they all paid. Plus, another twenty people were stood at the back of the room, also eagerly awaiting. Crow sees Squirrel’s parents among them, both holding bright, jubilant smiles as they await for the introduction by the film team.

Crow remembers the way Squirrel felt when they were studying, the pressure on her shoulders.

Surely her father’s excited face would make her know that there were some who believed in her.

Crow doesn’t wonder anymore why that satisfies him.

It had been a great turn out, all things considered. The kind that Squirrel had wildly mulled over all these months. The kind that she should have been proud to see.

That’s what makes it so much more troubling when she steps out with her class. The group is a sea of faces, nervous and proud, but her face sticks out. Because after her eyes glaze the room, examining every seat, her face, actually done up with a little make-up, drips into disappointment.

Her voice, high and passionate as she thanks them all for coming, is enough to trick the audience with a mockery of eagerness. But Crow finds the small tics, the breathy snaps in the joy.

His stomach curls as she walks off to her own seat at the side, the green glow of her eyes darkening to grey, her fiery hair extinguishing, as the lights fade off.

Crow almost feels guilty that it isn’t the film that takes his attention for the next hour and a half. He catches on enough: it’s some stylised action-comedy about a group of teens who rebel against their domineering teachers and take several of the worst teachers and bullies’ hostage. It goes well enough, Crow feels. The audience laugh when they’re meant to, some in deep hysterics, it’s directed fairly well, especially for a student film (how they got the permission to set a car on fire, he’ll have to ask her), the actors are genuinely really good (though that Shrew kid is certainly melodramatic when he has the chance), but it goes by.

And it’s undeniably Squirrel. Crow isn’t sure how much of a hand she had in the script, but the jokes and one-liners he knows so well (usually since they’re at his expense) fly off the screen like bullets. The scenes are energised, fast, dragging every pair of eyes like they were on the back seat of a crashing plane.

It’s all her.

And Crow finds he likes it.

Hell, Crow actually chuckles at one or two jokes, that’s something they could put on the poster.

But still, his attention is driven away, like an itch on his neck, a pinch that convulses his head sideways, towards her.

The placid line, the lacklustre stiffness that makes her expression like a plastic doll, it never leaves.

There is a screen that is literally screaming everything he knows is her, and when he looks at the flesh, he doesn’t recognise what he sees.

Not even at the end, where the cast are bowing to a room of applauding, whooping, undeniably entertained people, she fakes the smile, her eyes give her away.

Crow doesn’t understand. Not why he’s worried. Not why she’s like this. Not how he’s the only one who’s noticed. A sigh to his left proves the last thought contrary.

“Leaf?” Crow prompts her as they exit the seats. “What’s going on?”

Unlike what he’s seen on the screen, Leaf’s acting is terrible. “I-I don’t know what you mean.” She stammers, blinking three times in a second. Storm and Feather follow a group of people to the front of the room where the film team are being congratulated, they join Squirrel and her parents, helping the adults gloriously praise the director. Squirrel smiles thinly and nods her head.

“Yes, you do.” Crow presses, his eyes narrowing. “What’s wrong with Squirrel? Did something happen?”

“I’m not sure.” Leaf lies, she doesn’t meet Crow’s gaze. “Not that I know of.”

Somehow, Crow suspects Leaf is one of the few that does know about it.                 “Come on, cut the crap.” He snaps. “You know what it is!”

“I- No, I don’t.” She tries to join the group, but Crow gently hold her arm. She turns to him, worry filling her eyes. “Let go.”

Realising himself, he does, but he speaks quickly. “I’m sorry. Look, I just want to know what’s wrong?”

Leaf does calm down, enough that her own eyes thin on the boy. “Why?”

(She helped him get over himself)

(She told him how much he had upset Feather)

(He hates how she looks when she’s upset)

“She’s my friend.” He admits and lies, bleakly, letting go of his annoyance at how hot his face becomes. Be calm. Keep cool. It’s not that big an admission, whether they say it or not, they’ve been hanging out with each other for almost half a year now, they definitely were not just unfortunate acquaintances anymore.

However, Leaf still looks at Crow like he’s grown a second head.

But after a moment of tense silence, and a promise by Crow to not tell Squirrel who told him, she admits that Crow is right and what it is that’s upsetting his so-called friend.

It takes him a minute to remember the face that matches the name. Bramble. He does eventually remember the brown-haired jock from months ago. Apparently, he used to be Squirrel’s English tutor before Feather. Leaf says that Squirrel used to get on really well with him. Enough that their sessions on Shakespeare had begun to turn into something else. But then he had to quit as her tutor because he wanted to spend time with his half-brother.

“Hawk.” Leaf says the name like she’s chewing on wire.

Crow doesn’t see the problem until Leaf explains more. Hawk is trouble, real trouble. Leaf has met him before, since her best friend is his sister. He’s terrible to that sister, Leaf says. Terrible in ways that are conducted by threats and insults. There are rumours that he is involved in crowds that are more, and worse, that plain out teenage vandals.

Squirrel had tried to warn Bramble about him. He didn’t listen. He continued to stick with Hawk, continued to stay over the line that was growing wider between him and the girl that had clearly liked him. He had made promises to meet her, to show he wasn’t giving all his time to one person, and had failed every time.

Failed again and again.

And tonight was one of those failures.

The night that had meant the most to Squirrel, the night that Bramble had sworn to uphold in every apology he had made before, it was a night where he hadn’t shown up. It seemed it was the final straw for whatever friendship Squirrel had thought still remained with the boy.

By the end of it all, Crow understands. And, though he knows he can’t really hate someone he doesn’t know, the thought of the brown-haired boy makes Crow’s fist clench and his jaw tighten.

Crow had hated Squirrel when he first said he would turn up, and he had meant what he promised even then.

“It really upset her that much?”

Leaf looks down, letting the silence speak. “Squirrel doesn’t like anyone easily.”

“I can believe that.” Crow mutters, exhaling. He wonders why his breath steams in a room as warm as this. “Do you think he might call her?”

Leaf huffs, anger looks wrong on her features. “Oh, he will. Just not when it matters.”

“Son of a bitch.”

Leaf nods sagely, craning her head for a moment. She’s staring right over his face, like a hawk watching a mouse.

“What?”

“Nothing.” She says, turning away. “Come on, we better go see her. At least someone can be there for her.” The awkwardness between them lets up a little at that shared goal. They both hated someone who had hurt their friend. They both now wanted to cheer that friend up.

But Crow didn’t know how to do that? It sounded like Squirrel really liked this guy. He must have meant a lot to her if his absence had caused that look to cross her face. What could he possibly say?

Well, he had to say something at least.

They walk over to where she stands, still soaking in the compliments like a wet rag. “Hey.” She says simply when she finds them. Her mouth crookedly curves up. “Did you enjoy it?”

As Leaf goes on about how much she did, Crow sees everything. The attempted blushes of make-up, the smooth dress she wears so differently from her winter coat, the way her hair has been smoothed down in red shining tails. Everyone had dressed in some formal style; this was different.

She’s made such an effort.

Squirrel takes in her sister’s words with lazy nods and a weak smile. Soon enough those hazed eyes will be on him, waiting for his own words that will fall off her like dust.

Crow’s stomach dances like a maniac, internal claws poking and prodding him to think of something that won’t just pass through her like a ghost. His breath hollows in his throat, and his fingers twitch in his pockets.

He didn’t know about this kind of-

Oh shit. Yes he did. Not the same way, but it was there. Liking someone close to him, and then feeling betrayed by her actions.

But unlike him, Squirrel was innocent. Still, he got it. Of course, he did. It was her who had come to him when he was like it anyway.

Leaf finishes her tune of praise, and Squirrel doesn’t look much better. Leaf can see that, but she doesn’t say much else, just gives her sister a close hug. Maybe there are some whispers that Crow doesn’t catch. Then they separate like rain off of glass.

And those green eyes find him. Crow straightens. She rolls her eyes, not in the way Crow likes, and her brow creases. “This ought to be good.” She sighs, reserved, “Okay, put me on the chopping block.”

Against his better judgment, Crow laughs lightly. He isn’t sure why. Around the two is an endless noise of celebration; whatever light revealing them mounts the shadow of a spotlight. Their own personal staring contest, as if they were waiting for the other to say something. But no, it’s Crow who has to speak, now or never.

Someone more cunning than Crow might have figured out the perfect thing to say. But Crow wouldn’t know wits if it spat in his face.

He’s always been up-front and honest. So that’s what he is. “It was good.”

The lines on her face break as Squirrel raises a brow. “Really?”

“Yeah. You all did a good job.”

Despite the noise, it feels quiet. “Oh.” The girl purses her lips, “Thanks. I’m glad you liked it.”

It’s plain and simple, that is Crow, but that’s not her. Crow’s mouth trembles open again, his mind digging. “Um, so, that part where Anita smears paint over her teacher?”

Her head raises slightly, “Yeah?”

“Was that inspired by Tarantino?”

Squirrel snorts, “Was it that obvious?”

“Kind of.”

“Are you saying I plagiarised? There’s such a thing as influence.”

It’s not the joke, but the snappy nature that makes Crow smirk. “You want me to write that in your defence notes for the trial?”

A tight sound escapes Squirrel, her hair curls out a little from the snap of her head. “Well, at least I know I got his style right.” She mumbles.

Crow shrugs, “You got a lot of his stuff right actually? Is he one of your favourites or something?”

“Pfft! I’m still convincing my dad to let me hang his movie posters in my room to this day!” She shakes her head a little, “Excessive violence, my ass. So, what else of his ‘stuff’ do you mean I got right?”

Crow doesn’t hesitate, “The humour.”

Now, a real chortle of laughter escapes the girl. Her eyes close, then open again, spunky and full of light. “Humour? Knowing you, I’m not sure if that’s really a praise!”

Crow stiffens himself with a coy shrug, “Well, it made me laugh. Whether the scenes were meant to or not,” His teeth expose in a real grin, “That’s a different question.”

The punch lands softly on his shoulder. “Jackass!” She pipes in a voice Crow can actually recognise.

He takes the chance. “Still, I wouldn’t like to be the idiot that missed this.”

Her smile remains, like an age old painting. But there’s something questionable in her eyes, and its hard to tell if she thinks he knows anything or not. “Yeah…” Her face flickers momentarily like a dying lightbulb. The silence comes back as her head falls a little, the smell of hot dogs becoming overshadowed by the fizz of cheap soda.

Crow swallows, “They don’t know what they missed. I guess that’s their loss, right?”

Her poker face is not as good as she likes to think it is. Crow is glad it’s not. Under the lights, he sees every detail buried in the screen of her emotions. The silent stare, the drop of her face, then the slow rise of the sun, and the settled, content smile that finally looks normal.

It’s probably not the end of it. Crow knows it wasn’t even really over for him.

But for now, it’s enough. The shine of green that lingers on him proves that much.

“Damn right.”

…

Crow is sad the next night.

For one, he stands in the cold air as Storm finishes packing the small luggage into the back of his car. They had to all be on time if they wanted to make this right. Feather hugs both Squirrel and Leaf close, they’re all making wet, crying sounds.

“I promise I’ll be in touch soon!” Feather exclaims, her face must be freezing from how much the tears streak down her cheeks.

“You better!” Squirrel hold back a real sob.

In touch. Crow suspects that’s a nicer way of saying I’ll never see you again. The cast is now off of his leg and he’s able to walk surprisingly well.

But it still hurts. Everything hurts.

As the women cry, Storm wipes his hands down, walking over to Crow. His impressive build is imposing and powerful in the red headlights. “I guess this is goodbye.”

“I guess.”

One of Storm’s hands lazily finds his pocket, the other waves aimlessly in the air. “Feel free to call if you want.”

Was that a last minute effort of a truce? Crow can’t tell as Storm’s face is remarkably stony; he guessed he had to be when his sister was crying her eyes out. The dark-haired boy nods, “Sure.”

“Great. Um, good luck on the field when you get back to it.”

Crow sniffs, “I don’t need luck.”

“Cocky little shit.” There’s a rattle of humour in his response. His hand extends out. Crow takes it. They shake and part without struggle. “I’ll see you.”

“I hope not.”

As he enters the car, Storm leaves crow with a smirk on his face, and a gradual nod.

Now it’s her turn.

Linking their eyes for the final time was harder than any race Crow thought he’d ever done or do. This had been the climax he’d hated to think about for the longest time. This was it. If there was anything he wanted to say to her, he had to say it now.

He doesn’t say it.

Partly because he knows it would do neither of them any good.

Partly, and more surprisingly, because when he found those blue pools he’d adored, they didn’t pull him in like they remembered. They were just the eyes of a good friend that he needed to say goodbye to.

A good friend.

And that’s how they part, after a long, tender hug, and more promises to talk over wires and electricity. He’s have to cherish that voice in the future, he knew that much. But it’s not as hard as he imagined. They pull away from each other, her eyes wet, his eyes beginning to leak, and then she calls a final goodbye as she enters the car, not looking back.

Crow feels like he’s only blinked once, his hand still in the air, when the red eyes of the headlights fade over the road and into the darkness.

It’s just the three of them now. And it’s then that Crow realises another reason why he’s sad. The link in his friendship with these girls was gone now, they had no reason to remain friends of friends anymore. It’s certainly that way for Leaf at least as she turns off, still rubbing her eyes.

To Crow’s small, slowly realising hope, Squirrel met him for a moment. Her eyes are red and raw, but she’s keeping herself tight and composed.

“Are you going to be okay?”

Apparently, hope was like a dominatrix, a real pain lover. It was only pity that Squirrel had for him. The pity for some heartbroken sap; that was all he was. Crow looked away.

“We’re going to have to be, aren’t we?”

Squirrel exhales, her breath fogs over the creamy glow of her skin. “She’ll call.”

“I know.”

He wants to leave yet wants to stay. It’s what she thinks that makes his lips tighten. But can he blame her? For a while, it was undeniably true. Not anymore, but it was still there, she was in her right to think that.

The quiet sticks, making the air sickly and humid, until Leaf pipes up. “Squirrel, Dad just text; we need to get back soon.”

“I’m coming.”

She lingers there. Her ginger hair un-straightened and blazing. The fire begins to cool as she turns one last time to the boy. He stands there, feeling stupid for so many reasons, his stuffy throat keeping him infuriatingly silent.

Once again, he’s running away, this time while being cowardly still.

She must realise that nothing else will come, as her pitying eyes only loom over him a second more before she nods slowly – a last goodbye – and walks off with her sister.

He stands there, watching another fire go out. In the cold. Alone. Once again.

He zips up his hoodie over his mouth and walks off home. Still terribly cold.

…

It’s the first day of summer vacation. The break towards a new start, some idiots have said. All he feels is an ending.

Feather has called him like she promised. Her and Storm have made it to River County. Crow is happy for her. He thanks her like the good friend he likes to think he is and talks about track and the swim team up there before they call off with another promise to speak again.

By the time he’s finished the call, he’s made it to the milkshake bar.

He’s terribly thirsty. Terribly drained. He’s ready to sip in the sugar again, this time at a new, smaller table.

He walks in.

They’re both already there. Sat at their table, two sisters talking between themselves. Crow thinks the seats beside them look full already. This was a bad idea. He swallows down the empty air before turning.

Then he hears his name. Then a nickname.

“Hey bird-brain, we’re over here!”

The name hits him like a dart. But it’s enough for his hand to fall off of the door. When he looks over, staring, still, he waits a tense moment to see if his hopes will be kind to him for once.

She’s standing up, her winter coat shaking gleefully in the summer air conditioning, not caring a bit as other patrons look her way. He doesn’t care either. Her hand waves frantically, “You still having trouble walking? Get over here, dumbass!”

Her sister scolds her volume and language. Squirrel laughs, pitchy and playful, then calls for the boy to come over again, exaggeratedly patting the seat next to her.

Crow doesn’t hesitate to take it.

“I would have called you, but,” She shrugs, “Turns out I don’t have your number. So, I got you this, just in case.” She pulls a shake up from next to her knee and holds it out to the boy.

Crow, like he did a while ago, blushes fervently, “Is this some kind of extortion scam?” He says, smiling, pulling out his wallet.

She smacks his hands down, “No, it’s a milkshake. This round’s on me!”

“What is it?”

“Try it and see.” There’s a glint in her eyes Crow finds charming and worrying all at once. He tries to see if Leaf knows if he’s about to be poisoned or not. The girl just smiles and shakes her head unknowingly.

He knows the chances that he’ll regret this far outweigh the chance that this will be something he’ll enjoy. He wouldn’t expect anything less from this girl. Yet he still grins as he gratefully takes and tastes the drink.

His face twists. Gleefully. Banana, cream and caramel leaps over his tongue, forcing a tidal wave of pleasure down his throat. They surge around his taste buds like a thousand fire-crackers.

It isn’t too sweet either.

It’s as sweet as the syllables of a name that feels warm in his mouth.

Just perfect.

His expression is clearly enough. “Thank God for that.” Leaf sighs.

“See! I told ya I had good taste, Leafy!” Squirrel punches him lightly on the arm and Crow thinks nothing of it. The girl may be infuriating, but she’s also remarkable.

But, he wouldn’t give her the round that easily.

He sets the drink back down on their table, flicking the girl’s ear. “If this makes up most of your taste, little bushy-tailed rat, that smirk of yours will go black.”

For now though, her smile is a beautiful, a really beautiful, white. “Laugh all you want, just know that whenever you get that in the future, I’ll be wanting an interest rate from you.” Her hand lands on his back, and it doesn’t leave. “How’s fifty percent sound?”

“How about I tip fifty percent of this over your head?”

“As long as you pay me, I don’t care.”

And they all laughed.

…

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

Jaskier is good at nothing if not wanting people who will get him into trouble, so falling for Geralt was somewhat inevitable. But Eskel? That one he didn't see coming.

They've been at Kaer Morhen for a couple of weeks now and Jaskier has been drawn to Eskel from the start. He can't say why exactly, though he’'s come to notice how similar Eskel is to Geralt in a lot of ways. He's more open though; more willing to praise Jaskier for his voice and for his songs, and more likely to sit and chat and share details of his past adventures. Geralt never seems to mind, but he never seems to be present when Jaskier sits with Eskel in the evenings.

And that, Jaskier puts down to the weird sort of tension between the two Witchers. He watches them closely when they're together and he suspects one or both of them has realized, but neither says anything about it and neither has asked him to stop. Geralt keeps his emotions close to his chest, but when he's with Eskel, he seems freer. He smiles more, for a start, and there's something different about the pair of them. Something that Jaskier can't quite figure out, but it begs to be pushed over the edge and Jaskier wants to be the one to tip it.

The thought of having Geralt to himself is, he's starting to realize, a daydream destined to drive him to madness, but if Geralt can be happy with someone else who would Jaskier be to stand in the way? And if he lets his mind wander at night to the prospect of being pressed between two Witchers, that's his own business. And it's a damn good thing Witchers can't read minds.

So what Jaskier was hoping might be an interesting winter has turned into watching from afar and hoping Geralt isn't as actually emotionally stunted as he's proven to be with him. And some days it's too much. He wants too much, loves too hard, and seeing the pair of them together is more than he can deal with. Those nights, he tucks himself away in his room with a crackling fire and tries to think of anything but Geralt or Eskel.

And it would be alright if it was just Geralt because he's used to being pushed aside by Geralt, but Eskel has been nothing but kind to him. And he was hoping to be able to give him something back for once. If he's honest with himself, he's been thinking almost as much about Eskel since they arrived as he has about Geralt which is unexpected and, under the circumstances, more bitter than anything. Because he'd rather see Geralt happy than pursue his own desires - especially with someone like Eskel.

Then the weather takes a turn for the worse. They've all been expecting it, but Jaskier didn't realize how much time he'd spent outside until it wasn't an option anymore. And staying indoors means other ways of keeping themselves occupied and while Jaskier can think of many, many ways to pass the time, most of which involve having a willing partner and currently, he does not.

But being trapped inside means being in much closer quarters and spending a lot more time with Geralt and Eskel. He tells himself it's to figure out what they need to cross that imaginary line in the sand, but he genuinely likes being around them. And when Geralt is with both of them, his openness extends to Jaskier. So maybe he sticks a little closer to them than he feels he should, but given the option between being alone and finally having a proper connection with Geralt, there’s no contest.

There's a storm one night and they're sitting in the hall in front of the fire. Jaskier was playing for them, but his fingers have since gone numb with cold and drink and he's sitting quietly now, rubbing his hands together to heat them up. Geralt is recounting the story of a fleder they ran into in Aedirn when he stops suddenly. They've all been drinking, so Jaskier isn't surprised when Geralt's eyes linger on him before dropping to his hands.

"You're cold," he says simply and Jaskier barely has a chance to shrug before he's been hauled unexpectedly into Geralt's lap. Nose-to-nose, Jaskier can't seem to catch his breath and for once, Geralt seems to be the one who's perfectly comfortable with the situation.

And it's not as though this is something new for them, per se, but Geralt is never the one to initiate so much touching and certainly not while anyone else is around. Especially not someone else he's interested in. Jaskier can even remember one particular night in which he was shoved unceremoniously onto the floor because Yen was there. But even now, with his arms looped around Jaskier's waist, Geralt keeps talking quietly with Eskel. And Jaskier’s heart beats so loudly he’s sure it must be deafening for them.

Geralt and Eskel speak in hushed tones, soft and private, and all the while Geralt's fingers play with Jaskier's shirt, fiddling with the fabric until it's lifted enough for him to reach his skin. Jaskier nearly pulls away when he feels Geralt's fingers on his bare skin, but when he looks down at him, Geralt smiles back softly. And when he looks at Eskel, he looks nothing but comfortable, maybe even interested, watching them both as he lounges on his side.

When Geralt finally turns in for the night, Jaskier is almost expecting him to ask him to join him. Geralt walks with him to his room, and Eskel joins them, though he departs first, turning into his own room with a quick goodnight. At the bottom of the stairs, Geralt hesitates for a moment, then wishes Jaskier goodnight and leaves him to ascend alone. Despite the warmth of the fire and the wine, and the pleasant feeling in his chest, Jaskier struggles to sleep that night. And things only get more complicated.

If he thought the night by the fire was a one-time thing, he was dead wrong. After that, Geralt is much more affectionate and usually, wherever he is Jaskier is too. And Eskel always manages to find them, even if they've wandered out in the snow or down to the training yard - not that Jaskier minds at all. It never feels like an intrusion when Eskel finds them, and he can't quite put his finger on what it feels like, but it feels good so for the time being, he's happy with that.

But constantly being with Geralt and Eskel means dealing with the tension between them and some nights, when they're the last three down in the hall it's unbearable. More than once Jaskier has considered telling them to just fuck it out and get it over with; he even left them alone one night in the hopes that they would, but nothing ever came of it. And being with them every night does nothing to help him, either because, since that first night, Geralt has dropped a lot of his walls and touching is now a thing he's apparently, very much okay with. At least when it comes to Jaskier. Which Jaskier is struggling to deal with.

And Eskel is no better, constantly brushing his hands down Jaskier's arms or pressing a hand to his back when they're standing together. Jaskier always keeps an eye on Geralt, to see how he responds to it because Jaskier doesn't want to get in the middle of whatever they’ve got going on, but Geralt only ever seems pleased to see them together. Sometimes it almost feels like he's watching them, and even the most innocent touches make Jaskier's skin prickle knowing how closely Geralt is paying attention to them. And he's not the only one who notices.

Vesemir was the first, having interrupted one of their fireside conversations, but he doesn't seem to mind what anyone does in the keep so long as there's peace amongst them. And Coën keeps to himself most of the time, so if he cares - or realizes at all - he doesn't say anything about it. Lambert has been mostly okay with the whole thing, other than an errant scoff or eye roll here and there, but it's not until one night when everyone is together in the main hall that he starts to show his irritation.

They've been inside for over a month now and with no one else around, everyone is starting to get a little tetchy. Jaskier, especially, is missing the company of anyone other than a bunch of Witchers. And maybe it wouldn't even be so bad if Geralt and Eskel could figure their shit out because he's fairly certain they wouldn't be opposed to having an audience. And while he'd rather be included in any sort of encounter, watching those two would keep him plenty occupied for the rest of the winter. But they're stubborn or oblivious or something and Jaskier hasn't quite figured out how to make them realize it yet. And so he's irritable too, but Lambert takes it to another level and it's not even their fault, not really.

They're playing Gwent, or Geralt and Coën are; Jaskier is perched in Eskel's lap, watching from a few seats away and Lambert is on Geralt's other side. And Jaskier isn't even doing anything. He's had a drink or two, but he's not drunk by any means, but he can't keep his eyes off Geralt tonight for some reason. Maybe it’s the way he's got his hair down or maybe it's the solitude way up here in the mountains, but Jaskier can't think of anything but running his fingers through it. Maybe he'd give a little tug to see what kind of reaction he'd get from him. He thinks Geralt might like it.

He leans into Eskel's chest and dips his chin to whisper in his ear, noting the way Eskel's arm cinches a little tighter around his waist. He just wants to share his theory with Eskel, maybe give him a nudge in the right direction, but just as he moves, there's the scraping sound of chair legs against stone and Lambert rises to his feet.

"For fucks sakes," he bellows, "you have three rooms between you, pick one!"

He's gone before Jaskier can even think to reply. Coën and Geralt share a brief look before returning to their game, and Eskel just shrugs when Jaskier looks down at him.

Jaskier doesn't think much of it in the days that follow - Lambert is irritable at the best of times - and he just carries on as usual. Although even he will admit to being less and less subtle when it comes to Geralt and Eskel. Most of the time, he's trying to get one or the other to see what they're missing, but more and more often his efforts go unnoticed, their attention focused on him. And maybe he likes it. And maybe he doesn’t try quite as hard anymore to get them to stop. But it’s hardly his fault when it’s been months since he’s had any company and Geralt and Eskel won’t stop touching him.

But nothing ever really happens. Eskel allows himself a little more physicality, more often being the one to haul Jaskier into his lap, where Geralt is welcoming but still usually waits for Jaskier to make the first move. Neither does more than look at him and talk in hushed voices or, occasionally, let their hands slip to his thighs. And it's doing nothing to help the simmering lust under his skin.

It takes a few days before he reaches the point of too much and decides he needs to do something about it. Either he needs to get Geralt and Eskel together or he's going to break and fuck one of them himself and that's not going to make anyone happy in the long run. He doesn't like the idea of losing Geralt to anyone else, but Eskel is a much better choice than Yennefer ever was and so he resigns himself to it and goes off to find them.

Jaskier searches all over, even going as far as looking for them out on the balconies, but if Geralt and Eskel are still in the keep, they don't want to be found. He thinks briefly that maybe they figured things out on their own, though judging by the argument with Lambert that he overheard this morning, not likely. And speaking of Lambert-

"Hey!" he calls out, hurrying down the hall before Lambert can escape into one of the rooms. Sighing, Lambert stops and turns to him.

"Can I help?"

"I'm looking for Geralt and Eskel."

Lambert very pointedly rolls his eyes. "Of course you are."

"Just point me in the right direction, I'll keep them out of your way."

Lambert pauses, considers for a moment and turns around, waving for Jaskier to follow him. He does, traipsing after Lambert through the halls until they come to a large wooden door at the end of a hallway. Jaskier is suspicious, but he and Lambert want the same thing here, technically, so he's pretty sure he can trust him. If not, Geralt will certainly avenge him later.

He enters the room to find what appears to be a library, of sorts. Or maybe they use it for making potions, considering the tables lining the room. There's a large fireplace at one end and next to it, Eskel is seated in an armchair, slouched slightly and looking across the room to where Geralt is standing. Idiots, Jaskier thinks, but he doesn't have a chance to say as much before the door behind him shuts and a key turns in the lock.

Both Geralt and Eskel perk up at that and Jaskier turns and pushes against the door to no avail.

"Figure your shit out or you'll be spending the rest of the winter in there," Lambert says and Jaskier doesn't need enhanced hearing to hear his footsteps fading away down the hallway. So much for his plan and so much for being avenged.

Eskel just huffs from across the room and Geralt returns to where he was leaning against a shelf. Presumably, this isn't the first time this has happened to them, and maybe for Witchers, being trapped in a room for weeks isn't a big deal. But for Jaskier, it's a hell of a long time to spend in one place, especially without any privacy.

It takes an hour for Jaskier's frustrations and restlessness to get the better of him. And it's not entirely his fault. Eskel is sitting there in the only chair in the whole place with his legs spread wide like an invitation and Jaskier is sorely tempted to take him up on the offer. And then it hits him; this is the perfect time to put his plan into motion, although plan might be a bit of a stretch.

He pushes himself off the wall he's leaning on, giving himself a moment to stretch before sauntering over to Eskel. If this works, everyone gets what they want, and by the way Eskel's eyes lift to follow him, he doesn't expect his advances to be turned down.

"You've taken the only seat," Jaskier says, lifting his hands to his hips, "and as a Witcher with heightened stamina, I don't think that's fair."

Eskel smirks, huffing a laugh as he spreads his arms and Jaskier takes the invitation for what it is. He presses between Eskel's thighs, slipping onto his lap and wrapping both arms around his neck. He spares a quick glance at Geralt, and there's nothing but calm resignation in his eyes so Jaskier settles himself against Eskel's chest.

Geralt has never come across as a particularly jealous person, so it doesn't exactly come as a surprise when he doesn't respond. But Jaskier is determined and there's a restless energy that thrums beneath his skin. Or maybe Geralt just doesn't care if he fucks Eskel because so far he's made no attempt to separate them. Eskel's hand slips up his side pressing under his doublet and rubbing his shirt against his skin. Jaskier hums and presses into the touch... and nothing happens.

He sits and fidgets and Eskel does absolutely nothing else, but his hands are still warm and heavy against Jaskier's side and the small bit of intimacy is affecting him more than it should. He sighs dramatically, pulling out of the touch and sliding off Eskel's lap to the floor.

"I'm bored," he complains, running his palms up Eskel's thighs. His eyes flick up to meet Eskel's just briefly before Eskel looks up above his head. Jaskier knows he's looking at Geralt, and when he gives no indication of hesitancy, Jaskier's heart thuds. Well, if he's really doing this, he's going to do it properly.

He slides his hands up to Eskel's hips, letting his fingers play over the ties of his trousers and Eskel shifts under him, pushing his hips forward. A wave of heat rolls up his back and Jaskier nearly fumbles with his laces as footsteps approach from behind. He doesn't dare turn around because he wasn't anticipating Geralt wanting to have any part in this and he can't quite reconcile that in his mind. He doesn't get performance anxiety, but something about having Geralt right there makes his breath catch.

Jaskier focuses on the task at hand, unlacing Eskel's trousers and rubbing his palm over the growing bulge beneath them. Eskel groans softly above him and Jaskier presses a little harder, revelling in the way Eskel's cock jumps under his hand. He wraps his fingers around him, stroking him through the fabric and as Eskel's cock swells, the head peeks out above his waistband enticingly. Jaskier stares at it peeking just far enough that he could guess the size of him and he wants to lean in and wrap his lips around it. He wants to take Eskel down as far as he can and lose himself in the taste of him and the stretch of his lips around his girth. Gods, it's been too long since he's been able to do this.

But he's putting on a show - for both of them - and letting himself get carried away so early won't do any good for anyone other than maybe Jaskier's sanity. So he moves cautiously, abandoning Eskel's cock to an unimpressed groan and rising up on his knees. He smiles up at Eskel, slipping his hands under the edge of his shirt and pushes it up his chest. Eskel pulls it up and over his head which is fine as far as Jaskier Is concerned because he's moved on.

He runs his tongue along Eskel's collarbone, pressing kisses along the ridge before reaching the center and slowly making his way downward. If he listens too hard, he can hear Geralt behind him in the creak of the floor beneath his feet and the steady breaths that don't quite reach his hair to ruffle it. So he hums not a tune, per se, just something to fill the silence between the soft moans that spill from Eskel's lips.

Jaskier slips back down to his hips, adjusting to sit back on his heels as he pulls Eskel's trousers away, revealing his swollen cock beneath them. He flicks his eyes up to Eskel's, taking in the lip trapped between his teeth and the way his nostrils flare and Jaskier smiles at him before dropping his eyes back down and wrapping his lips somewhat awkwardly around the head of Eskel's cock.

The shaky exhale of breath is encouragement enough - not that Jaskier needs any - but Eskel's hand slips into his hair, tugging unintentionally as Jaskier's mouth slips over him. Eskel is big, thick enough that he stretches Jaskier's lips around him. but he's got a lovely cock that Jaskier is happy to get as much of in his mouth as he can. Which, surprisingly, is a lot. He's out of practice, but he takes him almost all the way down, slipping a hand around the base of him before pulling back off.

He gets into a rhythm, working his tongue around him and pressing up into every touch as Eskel's finger grip more firmly in his hair. He'd forgotten what it feels like to have someone really get into it, the warm swell of pride and something like satisfaction in his chest knowing he's doing a good job. And something about the fact that he's a Witcher really gets to him, these men who are built to kill and Jaskier is able to take him apart with only his lips and his tongue.

His own cock aches, ignored, against the front of his trousers and when he shifts closer, it rubs against the silky fabric. Jaskier moans around the cock in his mouth, a stunted, choked-off sound, and a warm hand slides around the side of his neck, fingers running along the underside of his jaw.

Jaskier's eyes flutter shut and he hums softly, pressing up as Eskle's fingers dig into his scalp. He's getting close. Jaskier can feel it in the way his hips stutter, the way his moans become louder, less restrained and in the way his fingers tug at his hair, sending little jolts of pleasure through Jaskier's entire body. But he's not going to let himself get drawn into it all because this isn't about him right now. Because as much as he'd love to bring himself off with Eskel's cock in his mouth, he's supposed to be helping. But Geralt's hand slips lower, fingers sliding over his collarbone and down under the edge of his shirt and it's a lot harder to focus as calloused fingers brush over his nipples.

He whimpers, taking Eskel as deep as he can and holding him there. He slips his fingers into Eskel’s trousers, pressing back behind his balls and earnestly ignoring the way his own hips stutter Eskel squirms under him, muttering something but the blood rushing in Jaskier's ears is too loud to hear it. He bucks his hips, clenches his fingers tight in Jaskier's hair and as Jaskier pulls up to the head, winding his tongue around it, Eskel comes.

He curses and groans, thrusting hard between Jaskier's lips and Jaskier takes him as well as he can, wrapping a hand around him to keep him from thrusting too deep. And Geralt is right there, bringing his hand back up to cup his cheek, brush his fingers along his jaw, and when Eskel's hands slip from his hair, Geralt's replace them, brushing it out of his face and gently running along his scalp.

Jaskier pulls off Eskel's cock, his head foggy with lust and looks up at him. Eskel's head is dropped back over the back of the chair, his arms draped loosely over it, and Jaskier swells with pride. He dips down, running his tongue along the underside of Eskel's cock, drawing out a final moan and a full-body shudder, but he isn't granted much time to tease before he's hauled up to his feet. Geralt's nose presses against his temple, drawing back so his lips graze the shell of Jaskier's ear.

"You didn't come," he breathes and just hearing those words out of Geralt's mouth is almost enough to push him over the edge. He's about to say he doesn't need to, that it doesn't matter, but Geralt's hands are already on him.

Jaskier's shakier than expected and when he glances down at himself there's a damp spot on his trousers where his cock leaked through. Geralt's chest presses against his back, running his hands down to curl around Jaskier's hips and Jaskier lets out a shaky breath, his whole body shuddering without his permission. Geralt's fingers creep closer to his cock and Jaskier squirms against him, drops his head back onto his shoulder and bites his lip.

"Can I touch you?" Geralt asks and Jaskier just nods dumbly.

He can feel Eskel's eyes on him, despite his own being shut, and it makes him more comfortable as Geralt slips his doublet off and tosses it away. His fingers move down again, quickly and easily getting Jaskier's trousers undone and pushing them down his thighs. His cock bobs free and Jaskier should feel exposed like this, but when he opens his eyes, Eskel is watching him hungrily despite his own cock growing soft against his hip and Geralt's hands are eager where they slide back up to settle on his waist.

Geralt's lips press against the back of his neck and Jaskier whimpers. For years he's imagined feeling them against his own, how Geralt would kiss him, but it was never anything quite like this. Then again, this whole situation is something beyond even Jaskier's imaginings.

Geralt's mouth finds the corner of his neck and shoulder, moving urgently and brushing against his skin in a way that has Jaskier's eyes rolling back in his head. Then, in one swift motion, Jaskier is lifted off his feet and finds himself straddling Eskel's thighs, jostled slightly as Geralt presses between them from behind. His mouth finds Jaskier's neck again sucking at the most sensitive spot just under his jaw and Jaskier can't help the way he presses back against him.

Geralt's hands slide down his chest just as Eskel's slide over his hips to cup his ass. Warm fingers slip around his cock and Jaskier's breath catches as they dance up his length. His eyes drop shut and his hips roll forward on their own, pushing his cock through the warmth of Geralt's hand. Geralt's fingers wrap firmly around him, squeezing tight and stroking him slowly. It's exactly how he likes it and Jaskier has to bite down on his lip to keep from moaning out loud. He's jostled slightly and when he opens his eyes, Eskel is sitting up and facing him, reaching out to run the pad of his thumb along Jaskier's bottom lip.

"Don't," he whispers, "let us hear you." Eskel's other arm slips around his hip and he tugs him closer, tipping forward to kiss him.

There's a low growl from behind him and Geralt slips up close, fingers slipping from Jaskier's cock in favour of holding his hips. He presses himself against Jaskier's back and Jaskier can feel the press of his cock against his ass and the realization that Geralt likes this spreads like fire through his veins. He likes seeing Jaskier with Eskel and gods, if that's what he's into, Jaskier is happy to give it to him. But, he thinks as he reaches back to wrap his arms around Geralt's neck, he may have been off the mark with his earlier assumptions about the Witchers.

Jaskier groans as thick fingers wind around his cock again and Geralt's teeth find the back of his neck, lightly grazing his skin as his body shudders. He lets himself go limp, one arm around his waist and hands sliding up his chest, leaning against Geralt's body. Eskel draws away, leaning back in his seat, and Jaskier whines softly at the loss, but Geralt is right there to take his place, nipping lightly at Jaskier's lip before kissing him. And Jaskier's hips roll smoothly, matching the steady pace of Eskel's hand as he loses himself in the heat of Geralt's mouth against his own.

When his eyes open again, startled by the sharp twist of Eskel's wrist, he breaks from Geralt's mouth, rolling his head against him. Before him, Eskel is hard again, stroking himself with one hand as the other works over Jaskier's length.

Geralt shifts against him, pressing his cock against the cleft of Jaskier's ass. "Do you want him?" he breathes and Jaskier can barely manage a response with that low, husky voice right in his ear. Geralt's hips roll against him and Jaskier groans, shifting forward in Eskel's lap.

Eskel's hands pull away, much to Jaskier's displeasure, but he's close enough now that when he rocks forward, his cock slides against Eskel's. He uses the position to his advantage, leaning back to prop himself up on Eskel's knees as he slips a hand around them both. His grip is loose, unable to wrap all the way around, but Geralt's hand slips down against his own, encircling them both. Eskel's hips give a sharp jerk and Jaskier doesn't miss the heated look he casts up at Geralt.

In an instant, Geralt is hauled down, Eskel's fingers firm where they're tangled in the front of his shirt and Jaskier nearly forgets how to breathe. He's surprised to see how easily Geralt submits, melting into the kiss though his grip on their joined cocks never falters. Jaskier watches in awe as Eskel's hand slips up around Geralt's back, tugging his shirt out of his trousers and disappearing under it. He was right about one thing: watching Geralt and Eskel together would almost be enough to make up for his own lacking sex life. Not that he needs to worry about that anymore.

He drops his head back, the image of the two Witchers burned into his eyelids, and he rolls his hips steadily. His cock slips between the rough skin of Geralt's hand and the silky smooth of Eskel's cock, a duality that promises to have him shaking apart in minutes. Eskel, apparently, has other ideas.

The bottle he presses into Geralt's palm is small and clear and appears from apparently nowhere but makes no mistake as to where he's taking this. Geralt pulls away from Eskel's mouth long enough to look over at him, his eyes dark and full of anticipation. Something in Jaskier's chest swells and he leans up to kiss his lips, sitting back up in Eskel's lap.

Eskel gets his arm around him again, sliding his hand down his back and down into his trousers. His fingers slip further, pressing between Jaskier's cheeks and Jaskier rises up instinctively, leaning into Eskel as thick fingers slide over his hole. He doesn't linger, drawing back and cupping Jaskier’s face as he draws him in again. Geralt's hand slips from between them, and Jaskier pulls away too, sliding his hands over Eskel's shoulders.

He's vividly aware of every move Geralt makes as he pulls away from them and slips back into place behind Jaskier. He smooths his hands down his sides, pushing his trousers down further and out of the way. He can't get them all the way off without Jaskier moving and right now he's quite happy where he is. And Geralt doesn't seem to mind. He pulls the cork on the bottle and Jaskier settles, pressing his hips back encouragingly.

The first time Geralt presses a slick fingertip against him, Jaskier groans. His body shakes with anticipation, but Eskel holds him close and kisses his neck. Geralt is quick and precise in a way that speaks of years of experience and makes Jaskier's legs shake under him.

Jaskier's erection flags a little as Geralt slides a third finger into him, but Eskel is still rock hard against him, hips rocking just slightly as Jaskier squirms. Jaskier's focus jumps between Eskel's cock and Geralt's fingers, Geralt's lips against his neck, his own cock, filling again as Eskel gets hold of it.

Geralt adds a fourth finger and Jaskier holds his breath as he adjusts to the stretch of him. He drops his forehead to Eskel's shoulder and slowly rocks his hips back, fucking himself on Geralt's fingers. When he adjusts, he moves more quickly and Geralt's hand rises to press against his lower back, steadying him. But Jaskier wants more. Geralt's fingers fill him wholly, and they reach surprisingly far within him, but it's not enough right now.

Right now, Jaskier's half-naked and trapped between two increasingly horny Witchers and if one of them doesn't fuck him soon he feels like he might break apart from the inside out. It's been months since anyone touched him but himself he needs more. Even as Geralt thrusts into him again, Jaskier's thinking about his cock instead, thick and hard and pressing deep into him- He groans, huffing out a breathless "please", as he pushes his head against Eskel's shoulder.

Evidently, Geralt isn't as patient as he seems. As soon as his fingers withdraw, he hauls Jaskier to his feet, spinning him around so he can kiss him. His lips are soft but urgent and Geralt gets him out of his trousers without breaking the kiss, winding his arms around Jaskier's hips and pulling him into his body. And fuck, when Geralt's cock digs into his hip, his mind goes blank with lust, pressing back against him even as Geralt walks him backward. Then Eskel's hands find his hips, holding him steady as he presses his cock against him.

Jaskier sits back slowly, letting Eskel's hands guide him. His breath hitches as the blunt head of his cock presses against him and he curls his fingers in Geralt's hair, holding his gaze as he lowers himself onto Eskel's cock. Geralt dips to kiss him, wrapping one hand around his cock and stroking lightly as Jaskier settles.

Once he's comfortable, Geralt pulls away and Jaskier is disappointed until Eskel thrusts up into him, reclaiming his focus as his hands slip around to hold Jaskier's hips. Jaskier rolls his head back on Eskel's shoulder, breathing heavily against his neck and shifting his hips in time with Eskel's thrusts. This isn't how he foresaw his day going, especially not after being locked in the library, but he has no regrets.

Well, maybe one, but that can easily be remedied.

He glances up, meeting Geralt's eyes, and any regret fades as quickly as it came. Geralt is watching them with a heat like Jaskier's never seen in his eyes and when his gaze slips slower, Jaskier can see how hard he is in his trousers and it makes his own arousal soar. He could feel him against him, but seeing for himself is something entirely different and he doesn't think before reaching out and curling a hand in Geralt's shirt, he just wants to touch.

And Geralt allows him to haul him close, fitting himself between Eskel's legs and leaning low over him and Jaskier. He shifts his weight to prop himself up on one arm, sliding the other up Jaskier's thigh, his thumb brushing dangerously close to his cock as he slips up over Jaskier's hip. Jaskier takes it as a sign that he can reach out and touch, but just as his fingers slip under his shirt, Geralt's attention is diverted.

Eskel beats him to the punch, drawing Geralt close until their noses bump against each other. And Jaskier can't see the look on Eskel's face, but Geralt's eyes drop shut, his lips parting just so. Jaskier groans at the sight of him, missing the moment their lips meet but he hears the muffled sound of Geralt's moan as he reaches out for him.

He slips his fingers over the bulge in Geralt's trousers, tracing the line of his cock before slipping his fingers around it. His fingers won't quite fit around him and his trousers are still in the way and it's hard to keep still with Eskel thrusting up into him, but Jaskier does his best. He strokes Gerlt through the thick fabric, and every time he presses into it, Jaskier's cock twitches against his stomach. He lets his fingers drift, brushing over the buttons on Geralt's trousers, but Geralt pushes his hand away.

He pulls away from Eskel, turning his attention to Jaskier as he slips his knee between Eskel's thigh and the arm of the chair. For a brief second, Jaskier considers the strength of the chair and whether it will hold up under their combined weight, but Geralt's mouth presses against his own and the thought is gone. Geralt kisses him roughly, slipping his tongue between his lips and swallowing Jaskier's moans as he presses closer.

Eskel keeps a steady pace, but as Geralt shifts against them he slows and it doesn't take long for Jaskier to figure out why. Geralt's fingers press against his rim spreading oil over the skin and around Eskel's cock where it slips into him. Jaskier shuts his eyes, but when Geralt presses more firmly he can't help but wonder about taking both of them. He doesn't know if he'd be able to, but the thought of it has his cock leaking against his stomach and he's never been one to turn down a challenge.

He hauls Geralt close again, panting against his lips as he fumbles with the buttons on his trousers, desperate to get his hands on him. This time, Geralt lets him and when Jaskier's fingers dip into his trousers, wrapping around his length, he stills, moaning softly against his lips. Eskel mumbles something against his ear that he doesn't quite catch, but it sounds like encouragement and Jaskier wraps more firmly around Geralt's cock.

He pulls him out of his trousers, stroking him firmly as Geralt gets his other leg up on the chair. Eskel adjusts to make space and in the new position, Geralt's cock slips right up against Jaskier's and it's just a natural progression for Jaskier to pull him closer. He keeps one hand fisted in Geralt's shirt, rocking unsteadily against him and it's almost too much. His mouth goes slack as Geralt's hips roll fluidly against his own and Jaskier knows he won't last long like this. He doesn't have Witcher stamina and he'd be perfectly happy to let them continue afterward, but he doesn't want to come yet. He wants Geralt inside of him, and more than that, he wants to at least try to take them both. The idea of it makes him dizzy with lust and if he doesn't try, he knows he'll regret it.

He takes Geralt's cock in his hand again, guiding him down to where Eskel presses into him and pressing him against Eskel. There's a breathless "fuck" against his ear and Eskel's fingertips dig into the flesh of his hips. But Geralt looks up at him, presses his forehead against Jaskier's.

"Are you sure?" he breathes and Jaskier nods enthusiastically.

"Please."

Geralt gets his fingers slicked up again, stroking Eskel slowly before pressing one finger in alongside him. It's tight and Jaskier shuts his eyes, pulling away from Geralt to press his face into Eskel's neck. Geralt waits, letting him adjust before sliding a second finger in and then a third.

When he pulls out, Jaskier almost misses the stretch, but Geralt's cockhead presses against him, softer than his fingers though wider. Jaskier buries his face in Eskel's neck, trying to contain the pained noises that threaten to escape him because he's not used to having one Witcher cock inside him, never mind two. But Geralt is gentle and Eskel is patient, stroking his hair and tipping his head up to kiss him as Geralt presses in.

Jaskier can feel the way Geralt's cock twitches inside him, eager to get on with it, but he remains still to let him adjust. Jaskier focuses on every other place they touch, where Geralt's thigh is fitted under his own, where Eskel's chest heaves against his back, and he relaxes. The thought of having them both at once, of having two of the most beautiful men he's ever met at the same time, is enough to help him settle and Jaskier shifts between them, finding a comfortable position so he can better control their speed. Though he quickly finds that with Geralt and Eskel sandwiching him, he's very willing to give up what little control he has.

He leans back and Geralt follows him, bracing himself on the back of the chair as he rolls his hips more quickly. Eskel curses breathily against Jaskier's ear, mumbling incoherently as his hips jerk opposite to Geralt's. Jaskier can't imagine how it feels for them, squeezed tight and sliding against each other, but Eskel's moans tell him enough and Geralt presses his forehead into Jaskier's shoulder, lips parted and panting. And Jaskier has never felt so full, every inch of him filled and fucked.

His head spins, cloudy with lust and so overwhelmed by the waves of pleasure that roll over him that he can barely move. His limbs are loose where they wrap around his Witchers, one hand curled in Geralt's hair and the other slipped around the back of Eskel's neck. He presses his hips down and squeezes around them. Geralt growls, a loud rumbling sound that vibrates right to Jaskier's core and he turns his head, kissing him hard.

It's rough and sloppy because Jaskier is constantly jostled, but he relishes the feeling of having Geralt's mouth on his again. Eskel's hips jerk and he slides an arm around Geralt's back, using him as leverage to thrust up hard. Geralt draws back, tipping his head and Eskel catches his lips in a heated kiss.

Eskel's hips snap up hard and Jaskier melts against him, groaning at the way he presses into him. He's close, Jaskier can feel it in the way his thighs shake and the desperate little gasps and curses that spill from his lips. Jaskier tugs Geralt against him, clinging to him as Eskel comes, slamming into him and digging his fingers into Jaskier's hip, holding him down.

Eskel slips out and Geralt readjusts, pushing deeper into him with a grunt. As Eskel comes down, his fingers slip up into Jaskier's hair, running through the strands as he pants and catches his breath.

"How does he feel?" he asks and Geralt rolls his hips at exactly that moment, rendering him momentarily mute.

"Good," he huffs, "really good." He tips his head back to look at Geralt. "Ah- Geralt, I'm gonna-" Geralt cuts him off with a swift kiss, working his hips in quick sharp thrusts and driving Jaskier closer and closer to the edge.

Jaskier whines and tries to hold on, but Geralt's cock pushes into him, hitting that spot deep inside and it's all he can do not to break apart right there. When Eskel's hand slides around, wrapping around his cock and stroking him slowly, Jaskier comes, spilling all over himself and Eskel's fingers. Geralt only lasts another couple of minutes before he's grunting, burying himself deep and biting down on Jaskier's shoulder.

He slips from the chair almost immediately, dropping to the floor and leaning back against the table leg behind him, breathing hard. Jaskier slumps, the only thing keeping him from falling to the floor next to him is Eskel's arms around him, holding him up.

Jaskier watches him for a moment, the way his eyes fall shut and his chest heaves. But he can already feel exhaustion overtaking him and he settles against Eskel’s chest, pressing his face into his neck.

By the time Lambert returns for them, Jaskier is awake and dressed again, though Geralt and Eskel seem unbothered about their lack of presentation. Lambert casts a look between the three of them, rolls his eyes and sighs a dramatic finally before turning around, exiting the room, and slamming the door behind him.

It's a few hours before any of them sees Lambert again and dinner is a surprisingly quiet affair. Jaskier turns in earlier than the others, still thoroughly exhausted, and Eskel traipses after him, accepting Jaskier's invitation when he reaches his room. They fall happily into bed and Jaskier is asleep by the time Geralt joins them, but Geralt is there in the morning when he wakes, curled protectively around Jaskier's back.

They all head down to breakfast together and while Jaskier sees the way Lambert rolls his eyes at them, he makes the - probably wise - decision not to mention it, slipping into a seat across from him.

The day is uneventful. The boys train in the yard for the better part of the afternoon and while Jaskier joins him, he prefers to sit and watch. The sexual tension isn't quite so obvious with Lambert and Vesemir around to tone it down, but Jaskier still catches the odd glance between Geralt and Eskel that gets his heart racing.

He's certain they're a song just waiting to be written, though, given Geralt's aversion to being sung about, it might have to be for Jaskier’s ears only. Not that that has ever stopped him before. He scribbles down a few thoughts, noting the way the two Witchers move around each other, each carefully keeping track of his opponent. It has the makings of his most provocative ballad yet. A shame no one will ever hear it.

In the evening, they retire to the mess hall, just the three of them and Lambert. Geralt is complaining about no one wanting to play cards and Lambert is mocking him, grumbling away from his seat near the fire. Jaskier doesn't mind; he's spent enough years being pestered about learning Gwent that he just tunes it all out now, and sitting at the table with Geralt's chest against his back, he can find very little to complain about.

"I'll have to teach you to play," Geralt hums and Jaskier, warm and comfortable, finally agrees.

"But not now," Jaskier amends, shifting to get more comfortable. Across the room, Lambert rolls his eyes.

"He's just jealous," Eskel winks, crossing to stand next to Geralt. He leans down and whispers something in his ear, but whatever it is, Jaskier doesn't hear it. He does hear the little huff of a laugh that is Geralt's response, and the drawn-out groan from Lambert.

"Gods," Lambert grumbles, "I think I preferred things better before."

[shelling4869ford]

Patchwork

Hello my dear @deducingcircumference  I was your @dcmksecretsanta​ this year! I decided to go for your idea about the Mori family, I really hope you’ll like it! I had fun writing it, even though it was a lot harder than I thought. I’m sorry that I wasn´t able give it to my beta before, I’ll repost it once it’s corrected. Still, I hope you’ll like it! Have am merry, healthy and nice Christmas and a happy new year!

~ Shelling

Patchwork

 He should have known better.

These past day’s the doorbell had only caused him trouble and pain.

Why had he even believed that it would be different this time?

Megure however, couldn’t care less for Kogoro’s grumpy face.  

“His parents are still dealing with the FBI and the Professor has his own little problem right now. He can´t stay in the police department any longer, it would only raise further suspicions.” Megure swallowed, that was something he really didn´t want to deal with, on top of everything right now. However, he wasn´t sure if this really had been the best idea.

His former college looked at him like he’d gone crazy.

“So, you dump him here of all places?” Mori growled, didn´t care about his tone, while he spoke with his former boss. Megure sighed, looking behind his shoulder where the “boy” had only filched beneath Kogoro’s  voice. The officer rolled his eyes, he’d been through this question before, even though it had been the asked in a much higher voice.

The officer took a deep breath and shook his head.

“He’s in no condition to help right now, and neither are you.”

“I have to go back to the hospital! I need to-“  

“You have to wait until visiting hours tomorrow.” Megure interrupted Kogoro’s argument.

He sighed, placing a hand on the man’s shoulder.

“I know you’re worried Mori-kun, but there’s nothing you can do for her right now, but you can take care of one another.” Megure swallowed, finally taking a step aside to reveal the grad schooler who’d been hiding behind his legs.

Kogoro took a sharp breath and despite his anger he could feel something inside him stirring at the sight of the “boy”.  However, the detective desperately tried to ignore it, it couldn´t be more than the rising bile in his throat, looking at the lying freeloader.

Conan- or rather Shinichi Kudo didn´t dare to look up. At least the kid seemed to have a little bit of a conscience left. Kogoro knew what happed and why, after his kids – kid- his lovely Ran had gone missing, the truth had slowly come to light. And now Co- Kudo was standing here, asking him to take him in for the night, while his little baby girl was still in the hospital. Alright, she wasn´t frighting for her life- at least not when he believed in the doctor’s words, but she still wasn´t waking up, since a heavy blow to the head, while  tried to help…him. 

The one who had lied to them for over a year, who used them and ignored her tears, being here and safe and fine, while she was still in medical care.

Well fine might have been a little exaggerate.

Actually, he looked more like death warmed over, after he destroyed a whole criminal organization. Even through the brat didn´t dare to look him in the eyes he could see that they where bloodshot, with dark circles beneath them, seeming even deeper due his pale complexion. His hand’s where bandaged, his glasses where broken and a little voice inside Kogoro wondered why no one had told him to put them down. Damn! Couldn´t they see that it was dangerous, the boy could easily lose an eye when the glass- ah but why should he care, he didn´t that’s for sure.

Mori bit his lips and shook his head while his gaze traveled down the boy’s legs, one being places in a walking cast to stabilize it, but even if he tried to hide it, Kogoro could still see that the kid was in pain, clearly favoring his left leg.

“Alright…” Megure’s tone ripped him from his analysis.

“I’ll leave the two of you alone now…” The officer tired to catch the boy’s eyes, but the shrunken detective who’d surprised them all didn´t dare to rise his galnce. So Megure briefly placed a hand on the kid’s shoulder. He was about to leave when he stopped close enough to Kogoro, to make one last request in a low voice.

“… and Mori-kun,… he’s already broken, so please try not to hurt him further.” Kogoro took a sharp breath, ready to protest when his eyes shifted back to the silent child in front of him.

‘Damn right he is.’ A voice inside him seemed to scream, while he watched Megure disappear at the end of the stairs. He couldn´t believe what the man was asking of him, after everything. He grumbled, but when his eyes reached the bruised body of the kid again, he couldn´t help but frown at the slight tremble in the little clenched fists.

Kogoro could feel the emotions inside him shift, putting pressure on his chest. He desperately wanted to believe that it was just anger he felt, but he knew that there was something else hiding in it’s mist. It couldn’t be guilt or worry- even through the boy had lived with them for so long, it wasn´t his job to protect him, he wasn´t his father aft all.

But yet-

“I’m sorry..” the soft voice froze him on the spot, but it where his next word’s or rather the name the boy used that finally brought him back to reality.

“I’m truly sorry Mori-san.”

Right.

Conan = Kudo

Not foster son, but little lying bastard.

He had to remember that.

The boy swallowed, finally finding the courage to look up, but Kogoro had already turned his back to him, climbing the stairs. Shinichi bit his lips, trying again, but Mori stopped him before he could finish his sentence.

“I-“

“Don´t, I don´t want to hear it.”

Mori hissed, taking the last steps to their- to his home and closed the door behind him.

XXX

The beer tasted foul.

It was his first that day- alright his third, but the first one since Megure had dumped the little freeloader at his doorstep. Being kicked out from the hospital, had left him with the urge to drink, to fill his mind with cotton so that the reality would drift far away. But he denied himself to be numbed by alcohol, he had to remain sharp if the hospital called, so he instead called his wife to update her. However, it seemed Eri had already known and of course this woman believed in the nurse words, that she would be alright, that there was no actual damage to her brain and that she simply was exhausted. Exhausted, his Ran, strong and brave, exhausted to the bone. He couldn't believe it, he wished he could, but the fear of losing her filled his mind with cruel pictures.

And it was all his fault.

"Damn brat..." he growled, taking another sip from his stale beer. Days ago he'd been worried when the boy had suddenly disappeared, he couldn't deny it... Since the not-child had been living with them for little over a year now. Of course, he wasn't found of him, he didn't care... why would he? Conan wasn't his son, nope, no way he dared to think of him as his own flesh and blood.

But he couldn´t help to admit that he’d been worried about the boy, before the constructure of lies slowly crumbled around him, he’d struggled to believe it in the beginning, the brat being that high school detective, hiding under their roof all those times.

“And I didn´t even notice, the great detective Mori… pff…”

Kogoro sighed, his eyes wandered from his beer to the clock, before they moved to the front door, which he might have left slightly ajar, by pure accident of course. It nearly been three hours since Megure had dropped Kudo here and he couldn´t help but wonder what the boy might be up to.  But why should he care anyway? It’s not like the great “Shinichi Kudo” wasn’t able to take care of himself, he could be lucky that he hadn´t thrown him out. However….

The sleeping detective chewed on his mustache, they way the kid had looked it would only be responsible to make sure he’s fine, besides so he could make sure that the boy wasn´t messing with his case files- Yes! That was it! He had to make sure that everything was still in place and the kid wasn´t messing up his work.  With that thought Kogoro nodded to himself, rising from his seat before he headed for the stairs.  

The office was dark, but the door was closed now and he was sure he left it open when he’d turned his back to Kudo. Could it be- that he’d left?

With a frown on his face the detective stepped into his agency, still no sigh of live, or of the boy, everything seemed to be like he left it. Kogoro was on his way to his desk, when he finally spotted the little boy on one of the two sofa’s he normally used to talk to his clients.

Conan – no Kudo was asleep, but it didn´t seemed to be a peaceful rest. Mori swallowed, he knew that sigh, the kid was having a nightmare. Not the first he was about to whiteness, but now that he knew that he wasn´t a mere child, shouting his, or most of the time Ran’s name at night he couldn´t help but wonder.

Kogoro barely knew Shinichi, especially since his separation with Eri they hadn´t met the Kudo’s quite so often, before they left Japan. What he knew was, that the boy had a bad influence on his daughter, not to mention that he’d hurt her, disappearing just like that, leaving her in the dark, lying to her while he was right beside her all this time. So maybe it was the kid’s own conscience hunting him at night. But the way the boy tossed and turned in his sleep told him that there was more to it.

The detective made a face when the child suddenly yelped in his sleep, twisting his bruised body around without much care. Kudo was facing him now, even though he was still asleep. Kogoro’s hand twitched, in the attempt to rip the broken glasses from his face, before it could hurt him any further.

With a sigh he took a step towards the boy, slowly shaking his shoulder, even if his voice wasn´t as soft as it normally was, when he tried to wake the brat from one of his nightmares.

“Oi! Co- Kudo-kun! Wake up!” But like so many times before the touch on his shoulder only seemed to stress the little one even more. Conan twisted and turned in his sleep, not caring for his obvious bruised body. Kogoro’s throat grew tight, it was hard not to pick the child up to carry him into his bed, while muttering some calming thoughts into his ears.

“It’s just a dream.” He told him instead, trying to reach for the boy again, but when Kogoro’s fingers touched him, the boy flinched away from his touch, jerking backwards so that his already bruised shoulder hit the back of the couch.  Mori gasped when new blood seemed to break through the bandages and his shirt, all caution forgotten he bent down to the kid, cradling his upper body in his arms, while Conan still struggled in his touch.

“Hey don´t, you’ll just hurt yourself further!” The detective hissed, before he pulled the boy closer to himself, brushing some grime from his forehead.

“It’s alright… easy, Conan-kun.” His voice was gentle now and finally his breath grew even and he stopped to struggled in his arms.

“Come on now, wake up, everything’s alright.”  Kogoro assured the child, who finally stirred one hand searching for the man’s sleeves. He blinked with eyes still heavy from sleep and the nightmare, before he murmured something that made Mori’s chest grew warm and tight at the same time. “O-Othosan…”

Kogoro took a sharp breath, it wasn´t the first time the brat called him that by accident, but while he usually tried to ignore his fluttering heart as well as the words, when he put the kid back to sleep he couldn´t help but feel like he’d been frozen to the spot, unsure what to do. The boy suddenly looked not only broken but also even more tiny and vulnerable in his hands. Luckily the shrunken detective came to his senses before Kogoro had to decide what to do.

Conan blinked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, but hissed when he moved his shoulder. Kogroro could actually see how he finally caught up with the situation, struggling out of his arms, with the hint of a red on his cheeks.

“Ojisan… huh- ah um Mori-kun.”

There back to normal.

Kogoro took a breath in relive, before he eyed the boy, who still looked up at him. The detective rose and eyebrow, taking a step away from the child both of them ignoring what just happed. He cleared his throat, looking down at the brat.

“What do you think you’re doing here?”  He grumbled, but the boy blushed again, blinking in surprise before he seemed to search the answer on the floor.

“Uh- sleeping?” Mori raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“Well boya, but not in my office.” Conan flinched, but Kogoro already took a step towards the door.

“Come on, get up.” The grad schooler obeyed, but Shinichi wasn´t sure if he was supposed to leave or just supposed to follow. But his doubt should soon be answered by Kogoro’s annoyed voice.

“What you’re waiting for?” The older detective asked, opening the door before he nodded upstairs.

“I-uhm, I’m coming.” 

Conan hurried up the stairs as best as he could and he could sense that it took Mori some strength not to hurry or maybe even carry him. But when he finally entered the place he’d called home for so long he took a deep breath, only now getting aware that he’d in fact missed it. But Kogoro cleared his throat pointing to their small dining table.

“Here sit down, I’ll see If I can prepare you something to eat.”  

“But you don`t have to!” Shinichi assured, while Mori just rolled his eyes, disappearing in the kitchen, almost shouting from the other room to answer the ridiculous request of the boy.

“Apparently I do since your folks still dealing with this secret organization and Megure decided to dump you here.” The grad schooler winced but the detective was too busy in the kitchen to notice.

“Besides, when was the last time you’ve eaten something?” Kogoro questioned, when he entered the living room again. He looked at the bruised boy, who looked more dead than alive on his feet.  

“I- uh-“ But the growl of his stomach answered for him.

Conan – Shinichi – the brat, jeez he still had trouble with that, just blushed when his stomach growled in protest of the lie that he was about to tell him.

“I see.”

Conan finally sat down at the table, staring holes into it, it just didn´t feel right, Mori should be fuming in anger at him, not trying to take care of him. However, the boy didn´t notice that Kogoro had moved behind him, before he took the broken glasses form his face. Honestly if he had to see the shade of glass nearly piercing the boy’s eyes any longer he would go crazy.  

“I’ll take these for a while- since you apparently don´t need them.” Mori told him, but when he finally looked down at the kid without the simplest of all disguises, he couldn´t help but wonder what a fool he’d been. How could he not have notice how much the brat looked like the annoying high school detective.

Kudo seemed to notice the eyes on the sleeping detective on his skin and took a shivering breath.  

“Oji- I mean Mori-kun, I’m-“ But Kogoro cut in between his sentence with a sigh and the shake of his head, before he could continue.

“I know… that’s not what you planned to happen.” The detective muttered, while he moved into the kitchen where a very familiar chirm told him, that the brat’s food was ready. He returned with the food and put it on the table with a little bit more force than necessary.  

“Yet I can´t believe that you thought that Ran, that we would be safe with you living under our very roof.” He growled, while Shinichi just seemed to be sinking deeper into his seat.

“Sorry.”

“Stop apologizing kid, I know why you did it and…” He remembered the nightmare, as well as the others before, Conan seemed to read his thoughts since he moved his gaze away from him.

“I know it might have not been easy at times, but I’m still angry at you, and my poor Ran-“

The name alone however, was enough to move Conan’s eyes back to the older detective.

“Any news? About Ran I mean.” The detective swallowed at the despair in the kid’s voice.

“She’ll been fine, she’s just exhausted and needs some rest.”

“What? R-Really?” Conan’s voice was high pitched, he looked at the detective in disbelieve.  Kogoro suppressed a chuckle, and the urge to ruffle the kid’s hair who suddenly looked like the child he was supposed to be, with big shining eyes.

“ Yeah and now don´t worry and eat.”

Conan took a breath in relive before he turned his attention to the “meal” Kogoro had prepared for him- or rather microwaved. A cup of ramen, something he hoped to be rice and he wasn´t sure if the last of the three dishes was a hot chocolate or some kind of sauce.

Apparently Kogoro noticed the kid’s stare, raising an eyebrow at the obvious hesitation.

“What?” Conan flinched, but after a short hesitation Shinichi decided to answer.

“Ah- nothing, nothing… I just- sometimes wonder how you and Kisaki-san survived before Ran took up to cooking.” Shinichi teases with the hint of a smirk on his face.

“Wh- you ungrateful little brat!” Kogoro grumbled.

“Besides, you can be thankful that it was me who put in the Microwave instead of Eri.” The detective added in a lecturing tone.  

“True, otherwise you’d serve me coal.” The older detective smirked, before he remembered that he was supposed to be angry with the brat, so he turned the kid’s head back to the food.

“Pff… now eat- we’re going to the hospital early tomorrow and I need to check that shoulder of yours.”

“It’s fine.” Conan muttered between a spoon full of ramen, but Mori just snorted.

“After everything that happened to you, I Wonder If you even understand the meaning of this word.”

“Oi!” But after a brief glare Shinichi did like he was told, while Kogoro searched his medical cabinet for some new bandages and pain medicine for the size of the boy.

 XXX

 Kogoro took a long shaky breath, he leaned against the cold metal back of the elevator, as he watched how the floor numbers slowly counted higher.  He’d already called early this morning, nothing new, Ran was still sleeping but they expected her to wake any moment now… was that what he was supposed to hear for the rest of his life? Mori felt panic rising in his throat, sure the Doctors told him that she would be find, but he couldn´t help but worry.

The detective bit his lips, his fingers were itching for a cigarette and one glance at the little boy (who still looked kind of creepy without the familiar glasses) told him that Co- Kudo was nervous as well. Even through, he tried to hide it, Kogoro could tell from the tension in his body and his stern gaze to the floor that the kid was freaking out inside. To be honest, even without the bangs beneath his eyes the boy looked pale since they arrived her, with his bandaged hands and the cast he looked more like he should have his own bed in this establishment. After he changed the bandages on his shoulder yesterday, Kogoro had felt sick to the bone when he saw how many scratches and bruises littered the child’s tiny frame.  

 The elevator chirmed suddenly, ripping Mori from his thoughts, when they finally reached the right floor. However, when the door finally opened the detective was met by a familiar face.

“Mori-kun!” A young nurse offered him a welcoming smile.

“Miruna-san, good morning.” Kogoro tried for a smile as well, even though it was a little embarrassed, after his behavior yesterday. But she seemed to ignore the fact that he’d cried, shouted and wept some more in her presence, while she’d reassured him over and over that his daughter was going to be fine. Instead, she focused her attention on the little boy beside him.

“Nice to meet you again! And this must be your son you’d been so worried about yesterday?” She leaned down to the child, offering her hand and a charming smile.

“You must be Conan-kun, right? You shoudln´t disappear like that, your dad was rather worried about you.”

“Uh- he was?”  He looked up to the old man, who deliberately turned his attention away from him, but the redness on his cheeks revealed her words to be true. Shinichi blinked in surprise, still staring up at Kogoro, who cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Well- we should go now.”

“Oh sure, sure! You must be worried about your Neechan, right?” She ruffled his hair and Mori could see how the boy fell back to his old act, smiling brightly at her while Kogoro wondered how the arrogant brat he’d known, had learned to endure such a treatment. But the young nurse didn´t notice the frown on the detective’s face, when she turned back to him.

“She should wake every minute now, her heartrate is higher now, maybe you’ll be able to wake her.” Kogoro nodded.

“Thank you.” She smiled and took their place in the elevator.

“yYu’ll see everything will be alright!”

Mori took a deep breath moving forward to find Ran’s room before Conan’s voice stopped his movements.

“So, you’ve been searching for me?” The boy’s face showed a grin, but his eyes revealed his doubt.

“Don´t get the wrong idea, brat.” Kogoro huffed, rolling his eyes before moving forward.

“Come on, let’s go.”

Shinichi followed Kogoro through the hospital hallways, struggling to keeping up with him, with his short legs and the damn cast.

When Kogoro finally entered his girl’s room he took a relieved breath to see that Ran was indeed fine, even though still asleep. He moved to stand beside her, taking her hand in his own feeling her warm skin beneath his. It took him a few minutes to notice that the boy seemed to be frozen in the doorway, staring at Ran’s sleeping face and the beeping heart monitor beside her.

The detective swallowed, horror was written in the boy’s face and he remembered his first visit to the hospital after he’d shot Eri. He took a deep breath, moving over to the boy, who only noticed him, when he put a hand on the slim shoulder.

“Oi, what’s wrong.”

“I- I-“ The boy stuttered, his body tense beneath his grip.

“Come…” Kogoro assured him, pushing him slowly into the room.

“It’s going to be fine.”

Conan followed him beside the bad, but still keeping his distance, while the worried father slowly brushed a strand of hair from her forehead.

“Ran…”

Both of their hearts skipped when they saw how Ran twitched beneath Kogoro’s fingers, before her eyes slowly fluttered open.

“Oh- Othosan?” Her voice was weak, as she slowly tried to push herself a little more upright in the bad.

“Ran! You’re awake!” Kogoro exclaimed, almost shouting, before he put his arms around his daughter, holding her close before he moved away from her again, to take a closer look at the high schooler.

“How do you feel? Is everything alright? Should I get you a glass of water- or a doctor or-“ Ran chuckled. “I’m fine Othosan!” But her gaze moved from her father to the little boy beside the bad, who didn´t dare to look up at her.

“Shinichi… Conan-kun.” A sad smile moved to her lips, while the boy’s voice was barely more than a whisper, when he finally found the courage to look up.

“Ran… I-“

But Kogoro was not having any of that right now.

“Oh enough of that!” He cut through the suddenly awkward tension.

“You two can talk later and if you want to rip his head of Ran, I’d advise you do it later, since it wouldn’t make much of a difference right now.” He’d advice, earning protest form the boy beside him. “Oi!”

But Kogoro simply ignored him, grabbing the kid from the floor to pull both of his children in a thigh hug. “For now I’m glad the two of you are alright!”

“Othosan!”

“Ojisan!”

But Mori just grinned and the two started to laugh as well, as broken as they all might be, patched up and together, they made a strange but good family.

[anika-ann]

The Best Mistake of My Life - Pt.5

The A+ Day...

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader    Word count: 2320

Summary: A soulmate AU. They say having a soulmate is a blessing. Who wouldn’t love the idea of star-crossed lovers, right?

You get to spend the day with the Avengers. Should you be excited or scared? Well, Steve is by your side, so...

Warnings: swearing, FLUFF, Steve’s friends being Steve’s friends… go figure

Story masterlist

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

You were very comfy and very warm. Maybe even too warm. Also, your covers were moving behind your back and that was a bit odd, but you blamed the sensation on the morning confusion. Your bed smelled nicer than usual too. You nuzzled closer into the moving warmth, content it stilled its movements.

Except that after that, it talked.

“Sorry to wake you,” the comforter whispered hoarsely and it was like a shot of adrenaline to your veins, making you jolt fully awake, sitting up straight, causing your head to pound with the swift movement.

That was Steve’s voice.

Because you were sleeping in Steve’s bed.  

“Are you okay?” he asked lowly, but you couldn’t respond right away. The memories came rushing back to you, messy but warmly fuzzy images of last night.

You had danced with Steve. Steve had kissed you. Steve had kissed you a lot.  

Your lips unwittingly curled up in a smile despite the abrupt wake-up process. You heard him moving at your side, sitting up as well, so you turned to him, still grinning in perfect contrast to his concerned face.

He looked adorable with his hair sticking in every direction, a bit sleepy expression on his face, and he was also still very much shirtless. You were sure you woke up to heaven.

“Sorry to freak out. I was just… ugh, confused for a bit,” you explained, keeping your voice on low level just like he did, worried you might disturb the peace. “Good morning, Steve.”

His face cleared of worried wrinkles and he charmed a smile for you. “Morning, doll. Slept well?”

“Very. You?”

“Yeah.”

You just stared at each other, grinning like fools, eyes sparkling. You must have looked ridiculous, but you didn’t care. Subconsciously, when he released you from the lock of his eyes, your gaze wandered over him, appreciating the lack of clothing. How could person have a body this marvellous? You knew it was probably the effect of the serum, but gosh. What a view.

Good morning indeed.

You noticed a blush spreading down his neck and quickly snapped your gaze back to where it was decent. But hey, when you were offered a view like this, you simply had to make the best of the opportunity!

Steve seemed a bit sheepish, but you couldn’t help but notice that a new glint appeared in his irises, something in the way he was watching you back that gave out that maybe, you weren’t the only person to enjoy the situation at hand. It took you a second to realize why that was – you were wearing his clothes.

You remembered Ryan telling you about what it felt like to him, seeing a girl – or a guy in his case – in his clothes. Like a flag on a flagpole, mark of ownership on a conquered land, he had told you.

No funny business had happened between you and Steve last night, but the thought still made your face hot all over. To cover your embarrassment, you ducked your head to Steve’s shoulder, resting your forehead on it.

Steve tensed at first, but quickly recovered and sank his fingers gently into your hair, very carefully caressing your scalp, wary of pulling at your hair and causing you pain. You hummed in appreciation, instinctively brushing the nearest patch of skin with your lips – an inked patch of skin. You smiled against your will at that. Your words. Your ridiculous first words to him.

His breath caught in his throat at your bold move, but a kiss landed at the top of our head, so you figured you didn’t overstep.

“How much do you hate morning breath?” he muttered, sounding a bit embarrassed.

“Not particularly…?” you answered, not sure where that headed.

Looking back, you really should have understood what he was asking. Then again, the pleasant surprise of his fingers gently finding your jaw and tilting your head so he could kiss you right on the lips, warm and soft and sweet, was worth the lack of your brain function. You melted, your palm finding a way to lie flat on his very bare chest, feeling every expansion of his ribcage, his skin burning. He deepened the kiss, his fingers tangling in your hair enough to make you notice and boy, did it do things to you. You sighed into his mouth, content and yet needy for more, a second from climbing into his lap, too fast development be damned.

Just as you were out of breath, he released you, his thumb drawing a soft circle on your cheek. It was cliché, but your fingertips were literally tingling with euphoria and excitement.

“Wow,” you breathed out, still feeling his breath tickling your lips as he had barely moved away. “Can I stay another night? Can I be woken up like this every morning?”

He gave a breathy laugh, making your eyes snap open, and you could see the blown black of his pupils, the gleam of wanting more now diluted with giddiness.

“Can’t say I’d complain,” he admitted with a lopsided smile radiant on his kiss-swollen lips.

God, he was so handsome. Had you mentally noted he was handsome before? You still couldn’t believe it.

“That an invitation?”

“I mean, if you convince Tony…”

“Oh god, I take it back,” you groaned, falling back to the sheets dramatically, rewarded with Steve’s light-hearted laugh.

He laid down on his side then, propped on his elbow, watching you with a soft smile. “Thank you for staying.”

You let out what surely was a very unattractive snort. “’Cause not having to go home and not having to hail a cab in the middle of the night was a real sacrifice…”

Steve was fully grinning now, dropping a playful kiss on your nose, which caused you to giggle.

“I know, my lady. Let me make up for the hardship you had suffered through with making you breakfast.”

“You sound like Thor. Also, offering breakfast to a girl? You are a dangerous man, Steve Rogers,” you stated, the stupid smile simply not disappearing from your face no matter how much you tried to get it under control; so you gave up on that. “You seem to know just the way to my heart.”

“I sure hope so. Are you coming with the adorable bed-hair or do you want a minute?”

You gasped at the cheeky comment, grabbing the pillow by his head to smack his stupidly perfect skull.

His laughter filled the room and you felt like the happiest person on Earth.

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

When Steve led you to the communal kitchen and dining room ten minutes later, you were surprised to find three people already there. Clint was sitting at the bar, his head resting in his palm, a mug of coffee hazardously close in your opinion, just in case he would actually fell asleep and faceplanted on the counter; Bruce was sitting nearby, watching over him, while Natasha was standing at the cooker, making…

“Are those pancakes?” you gasped, your stomach instantly reacting to the smell, making you squirm in humiliation. Steve at your side chuckled, while Natasha grinned at you.

“Yep. There’s enough for you too. Unless Steve wants to impress you with his own cooking skills,” she teased and winked at him. He smiled bashfully in return.

“I mean… maybe next time? Since you already started…”

“Oh-ho, so there will be a next time?” Clint wolf-whistled, startling you with both the question and sudden sign of life.

“Let them be…. Coffee?” Bruce beckoned to the pot. You bit you lip bashfully. You didn’t want to be rude, but coffee… “Or maybe tea?”

You lighted up. “If it’s not too much trouble…”

“I’ll do it,” Steve hurried before the other man could rise from his seat. He pecked your temple. ”You go sit.”

“Yes, sir…”

Looking around, you weren’t sure where to. Between Bruce and Clint? Next to Clint since Bruce was at the bar stool at the end of the counter?

“You can sit next to Clint. It’s safe. This is his second mug of coffee,” Natasha supplied helpfully and you frowned in confusion. Perhaps an inside joke. “Yes, he is dangerous before he finishes his first.”

“Hey!” the man in question complained, but rolled his eyes for your benefit. “That’s actually accurate. You can sit here, I don’t bite.”

“He’s just a pain in everyone’s ass.”

“Morning to you too, Stark,” Clint saluted him and a mug of tea landed in front of you, soon followed by a stack of pancakes.

“You’re gonna spoil me. Thank you,” you said in earnest.

Natasha waved it off, while Steve let out a simple “Planning on it.”

“So you didn’t spoil her last night?” the billionaire hummed casually, pouring himself a coffee. Your eyes widened and you rather started eating to avoid an answer. Steve only sighed.

Neither of you replied, which earned you some raised eyebrows.

“She seems right at home in his clothes, huh?” Clint added and you shot him a look, mortified. Him too?

“She does, doesn’t she? Sign of a successful night?”

Steve grinded his teeth at Stark’s latest remark, turning a bit red in his face. You sipped your tea, figuring out a sassy response.

“Very successful. I slept like a baby. Sleeping duty fulfilled,” you announced and noticed that Bruce’s lips twitched as if he was holding back a smile. You continued. “That will be all, thank you for your questions. For further information, contact our PR department. ….Ouch, we don’t have one, looks like it’s none of your business then. Too bad…”

Tony’s mouth was theatrically hanging open, his hand clutching his chest and Clint’s eyes seemed rounder than a moment before; then again, that could just be because of the amount of caffeine in his system. Natasha chuckled, positioning a plate in front of Steve – his stack of pancakes was visibly taller and you wondered just how much he had to eat.

Speaking of Steve, he was smugly grinning into his mug. “I have nothing to add.”

“Still though. She’s like… shining or something. That’s released endorphins, I can tell. Good job, Cap.”

You internally whined.

If they keep that up, staying overnight is gonna start feeling like a sacrifice.

“Play nice, boys,” Natasha scolded them and you smiled at her gratefully. “Let the poor girl eat. She’s gotta make up for the calories Steve helped her burn…”

“You too?” you burst out simultaneously with Steve and Natasha raised her hands in a harmless gesture.

“I meant when you were dancing. What did you think I was talking about?” she asked innocently and everyone in the room but you two laughed.  

“I hate you,” Steve mouthed at her and she just winked in return, turning her attention back to her cooking.

You wished for the Earth to swallow you, but you liked the teasing air hovering above the group of friends. You smiled reassuringly at Steve, stroking him arm shortly.

“It’s okay, Steve. I still like you despite your annoying friends,” you emphasized the last words, which was followed by affective aww from Clint, Tony and Natasha.

Steve smiled at you, apologetic and kind. “Thanks, doll. You’re the best.”

To show his appreciation, he kissed your cheek, the innocent gesture drawing a wolf-whistle from Tony.

“Get a room!”

You just rolled your eyes and stole a quick peck from Steve’s lips for a good measure. He tasted like coffee; it seemed you might grow fond of that taste after all.

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Despite all the odds, everyone survived breakfast. They teased you once more after you asked about Thor, learning he had left in early morning because of an urgent matter on Asgard. After all, he was son of the King. And an Alien. And a demigod. Apparently, you knew those now. What an insanity your life became in such a short time.

The team went separate ways after the meddling over the most important meal of the day. Steve stayed with you, of course, showing you around the Tower. You marvelled at the view and despite having a tiny fear of heights, you agreed to Steve taking you outside at the top.

It was incredible. You found yourselves basically on the top of the world, steps slightly shaky, but with Steve’s firm reassurance. You trusted him not to let you fall. So trying to keep your mind of the potential life-ending fall, you busied your mind with how touchy-feely Steve quickly became after sharing the first kiss yesterday night. You loved it.

When you came to a stop, you were unable to resist the urge to spread your arms and let the gentle wind play with your hair and rather loose clothes; Steve’s hands found their way to your hips to steady you. Slowly, he moved further, his fingers running in a feather-light touch over your arms and threading his fingers with yours.

You giggled and dared to lean onto him with your back, testing the waters. His lips brushed your cheek and you couldn’t but turn your head, catching his mouth with yours in a searing kiss. He was so sweet. You trusted him with your life, knowing he would never allow you to even stumble, and yet you were falling, falling for him so hard. The realization was overwhelming.

How could you be… falling in love so fast?

Steve gently squeezed your fingers, brining your joined hands to your waist and you decided you didn’t care and let the kiss consume you.

When you finally parted, your eyes fluttered open to meet his gaze. You couldn’t stop smiling.

“Put Titanic on your list, huh?” you murmured, your brain turned into a useless mass of lovesick jello.

Laughter was twinkling in Steve’s eyes. “Not really. It’s a perk of the movie nights, we take turns in who’s picking.”

You frowned in confusion. “Who chose Titanic?”

For some reason, Natasha didn’t strike you the type. Clearly, you were right, because Steve chuckled.

“Clint.”

You burst out laughing, Steve soon joining you. You wondered if the whole Manhattan could hear you. Once again, you had no care in the world.

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Part 6

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Tags:

@cxptain​ @mermaidxatxheart @smilexcaptainx , @murdermornings​@irepostthingsiwanttoseelater , @polarcrystall​ @eliza5616​, @rayofdawnworld  @victor-criss-bish​ @skychild29​  @elysianecho​ @simmisblog​ @scentedsongrebel​ @orions-nebula​, @sergeantrosabellaswan​ @songofcosplay​, @ilovesupersoldiers​ @wxstedhexrt @silver-winter-wolf @nova3312​

Tags are open, you want in or out, let me know :))

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I actually had to split it into two parts, because it was waaay to much fluff in one go an that coming from me?  You better believe it!

Thank you for reading. Attempt at humour will come later, promise ;)

[a-dorin]

ardor | darth maul

word count: 3.135k

warnings: age gap, cursing, professor/student relationship, sexual tension, mentions of sex, sexual innuendos

a/n: hello everyone! so this is the surprise i listed on my upcoming works list! i was just so excited to post this that i have been working on it constantly! this is a modern au involving professor!maul, set in coruscant. the reader is 21 in this fic. let me know if you want this to become a series or be added to the tag list! i hope you all enjoy :))

summary: as a junior enrolled at university of coruscant, you are striving to complete a minor in psychology. however, one class in particular intrigues you. will you be able to focus or let lust consume you? 

pushing open the massive wooden doors, you grimaced at the vast amount of students already crammed in the seats. glancing at your phone, the time read 9:46 a.m. letting out a quiet sigh, you were fourteen minutes early and the lecture hall was almost to capacity. all of the seats on the edges were filled, and you grumbled under your breath. those damn freshman. always so early. 

scanning the space, your eyes fell on an empty seat, near the front of the hall. strolling down the steps, you mumbled apologies as you shimmied into the empty seat, almost collapsing into the chair. rummaging in your bag, you fish out your laptop, powering it on. 

once it’s whirred to life, you pull up your notes application, ensuring that you’re ready to take notes for the first lecture. the moment you were all set up, you ran a hand through your hair, noticing the togruta sitting to the right, as well as a mirialan to your left. 

“w-was this seat reserved for someone?” you stammered, a blush spreading through your cheeks. 

the togruta shook her head, “not at all! you see, that mirialan, she’s my best friend. we can’t sit by one another in class because we don’t pay attention. the seat is empty, we just wanted some space between each other.”

“oh okay,” you mumbled, relief rippling through you, “i wasn’t aware that everyone was going to be so early.”

“that’s freshman for ya,” the mirialan nudged you, giggling, “we just got here and the hall was practically full!” 

“don’t scare our new friend off!” the togruta huffed, her bright blue eyes shining with amusement, “i’m ahsoka tano.”

ahsoka tano was a gorgeous creature, a descendant of the togruta species. her complexion was an orange hue, her head tails striped navy and white, with two montrals poking out. her face was wise, as if she had matured at a young age. the white markings on her forehead were breathtaking, trailing down onto her cheeks. ahsoka’s eyes were a bright, crystalline blue, shining with warmth and kindness. 

you enjoyed that aspect about her already, as she was so friendly. she wore a plain navy blue tank top, which complemented her head tails, while donning a pair of grey joggers. her knee bounced, a fresh white pair of nike air maxes on her feet. you noticed the university logo stitched below a pocket, the curiosity within you rising by the second. 

“do you play any sports?” you arched a brow, “i couldn’t help but notice the logo on your joggers.”

ahsoka’s eyes drifted towards the pocket, “oh yeah! i’m on the saber team.”

“you wield lightsabers?” a gasped tumbled from your lips, “that’s awesome!”

a blush spread through ahsoka’s cheeks, dusting them a light pink, “thank you, it took many years of practice and dedication. i was offered a full ride to come here, so i transferred here from theed university second semester my freshman year.”

“rumor has it that ahsoka’s undefeated,” the mirialan chirped, “good morning, i’m barriss offee.”

barriss was almost the opposite of ashoka, clad in a floral sundress, the pattern burstings with greens, yellows, and purples. it suited her light green complexion, along with her rich blue eyes. her eyes were darker than ahsoka’s, glimmering with intrigue as she gazed you. black diamonds stretched across the bridge of her nose, her lips coated with a black lipstick. tights covered her legs, a chunky pair of doc martens on her feet. a hijab wrapped around her head, the material an inky black silk. barriss was gorgeous, her aura radiating  nothing but intelligence and compassion. 

“well i’m (y/n) (y/l/n),” you couldn’t help but smile, “i’m a junior.”

you couldn’t help but feel an attraction towards the two girls, as if you were meant to find to them, to be their friends. already, the three of you were off to a great start. you were looking forward to spending the rest of class with them for the semester, even if you just met. 

“what’s your major?” ahsoka inquired, “i’m a sophomore, looking to pursue an education major. i’m not quite sure what aspect of education, but i love kids.”

“that’s really cool!” you gushed, “how about you, barriss?”

“i’m a sophomore as well,” her tone was smooth, “i am looking to major somewhere in political science.” 

“i’m going to major in health sciences,” you remarked, “but i plan on minoring in psych. i needed this class for a prerequisite for next semester. which is weird considering the course title, but i feel like it’ll be an interesting class.”

“i agree-” ahsoka began, but was cut off the sound of the door slamming. 

the murmur of your fellow classmates fell as the professor entered the room, an aura of concentration settling over the lecture hall in a thick haze. you clicked on the mousepad of your laptop, ensuring that you were prepared for any note taking. absentmindedly, you typed in the date, as well as a title for the note section: first day of class. 

“good morning class,” the professor rumbled, his voice clear as it rang through the space, “i am aware that this is a three hundred level course and we have a limited number of weeks to get through course material, but today there will be no lesson.”

“so much for opening my laptop,” you grumbled, earning a hushed giggle from ahsoka and barriss.

“today will be an overview of the syllabus, as well as some icebreakers,” the professor continued, a unanimous groan erupting from the class. the professor chuckled, “i know, we all hate standing up and stating five fun facts about ourselves. but, it helps me remember names. after all, there are about one hundred and fifty of you.”

your eyes drifted up from your laptop screen as you shut it, widening with shock as they fell on him. 

your professor was a descent of the zabraki species, his ivory horns protruding from his skull. his face was absolutely gorgeous, jet black tattoos weaving an intricate pattern over his crimson skin. his jawline was strong, his incisors flashing as a wide smile enveloped his features. he was similar to barriss, an aura of wisdom and intelligence shrouding over him. if you had to guess, he was somewhat young, in his mid thirties or so. nonetheless, he had you in a daze, eagerly eating up every word that fell from his mouth. 

the zabrak was clad in a black turtleneck, paired with a tweed jacket. the jacket was a beige hue, dark, chocolate brown slacks as his choice of pants. a thin silver chain hung around his neck, lying on his chest as he spoke. in the light, you caught a glimpse of a silver stud, pierced on the upper cartilage of his ear. 

“gods, he’s hot,” you muttered, almost speechless.

“you can’t say that about our professor,” ahsoka teased under her breath, “he’s probably older than we think.”

“but he’s so attractive,” you breathed. 

“we need to pay attention,” barriss hissed. 

“shall i start with a brief introduction of myself, or should i begin with some review of the syllabus?” your professor placed his hands on hips, awaiting the class’ response.

“icebreakers!”

“i hate syllabus days!”

“the more time we take away from class, the better!”

the zabrak placed his hands out, chuckling, “all right, all right. the class has spoken. well, to start, i am professor maul. you can refer to me as professor or maul. my home resides in the psychology department, and i do find myself dabbling in philosophy or theology from time to time. i have two brothers. savage, the eldest is a geology professor here at university of coruscant, while feral, the youngest is a pastry chef deep in the city. perhaps if you guys are good, i can bring in his pastries sometime. if you have any questions for me, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

ahsoka’s hand shot up instantly, and professor maul nodded towards her, “yes, the togruta in the front.”

“how old are you sir?” her voice surged with confidence.

professor maul’s eyes narrowed playfully, “is that any question to ask a professor? since you were so bold, i will answer. i am thirty-one, nearing thirty-two by the second.”

“you’re old!” a voice called out.

“perhaps,” another chuckled tumbled from the professor’s lips, “i won’t hesitate to kick your ass in saber duel, though.”

“you were a saber wielder?” a classmate to below you, a twi’lek, blurted out. 

“i was,” he responded curtly, “although i teach here, i am not an alumni. i attended mustafar central on a lightsaber scholarship many years ago. however, i didn’t go pro, i took the graduate school path. enough about me, let’s me hear about you guys. i would like your name, your intended major or career path, along with a brief fun fact about yourself. don’t think about it too hard, we don’t have too much time.”

with every word professor maul spoke, you found yourself hanging onto every single word. there was something about him, the way he spoke so eloquently, or the way his amber eyes glowed with authority, that sent butterflies flurrying in your stomach. he stood proud, his arms folded across his chest as your classmates introduced themselves. you swallowed thickly as you realized you were staring a little too long, a blush spreading through your cheeks as his eyes fell on you. 

“it appears as if it’s your turn to introduce yourself,” his voice was so smooth, like honey, “how about you tell the class a little bit about yourself?”

you rose to your feet, anxiety swelling within you. clearing your throat, you began your spiel, “u-um, hello everyone. i am (y/n) (y/l/n). my major is health sciences, and i am unsure of the career path i want to take after i graduate. i guess a fun fact about myself is that i will be wrapping up my psychology major by the end of this year.”

intrigue flashed in the zabrak’s eyes momentarily, “ah, well, it is a pleasure to meet you, (y/n). never hesitate to reach out to me this year if you have any questions. who’s next?”

ahsoka stood from her chair beginning to speak. however, you couldn’t but notice his eyes on you, his lips pursed, a wistful daze painted across his face. you swallowed thickly, biting your lip, desperate to avoid his gaze. your cheeks burned, hot to the touch. gods, it was only the first day and you were already crushing your professor. a professor who was a decade older than you, nonetheless. 

the class was an hour and twenty minutes long, the time eleven o’clock by the time everyone introduced each other. once the last person finished, professor maul strolled up to the rows of seating, a thick stack of papers in his grasp, “please, pass this around, and ensure that everyone gets a copy. this packet is your life for the next fifteen weeks! do not lose it!”

as the packets were passed around, the sound of paper rustling echoed through the lecture hall. drawing in a sigh, you mumbled a thank you to barriss as she handed you the syllabus. once it was in your hands, you scanned over the text, glancing over it hastily. 

psych 315: monsters in modern society. the title of the course jumped out at you, a feeling of dread washing over you, threatening to steer your attention away from the syllabus. 

how were you supposed to pay attention to lectures in class when you could barely keep your eyes off the professor? 

****

“how was your first day of classes?” a familiar voice called into the den of your apartment. 

“rex!” you gushed, sprinting into the den.

the blonde couldn’t help but grin as you wrapped your arms around him, “good evening to you too.”

“classes were boring,” you groaned, burying your head into his chest, “they’re not the same without my best friend.”

“my classes were just about the same,” rex chuckled softly, “what’d you make me for dinner?”

“there’s some spaghetti in the fridge,” you responded, still latched onto the blonde, “the garlic bread is in the oven, keeping warm.”

“perfect,” he placed a tender kiss on your forehead, “practice was horrible.”

you detached yourself from rex, arching a brow, “yeah?”

“i’ll tell you about it later,” he exhaled, “i need to cool off for a bit, shower, and eat.”

“if you say so,” you shrugged, “hey, i’m going to go to the gym for a while. i should be back by the time you’re working on homework.”

rex rolled his eyes, “if film counts as homework, sure.”

“just text me if you need anything,” you slung your gym bag over your shoulder. 

“will do!” rex shouted as you opened the door, closing it. 

rex was your best friend, a kind and pure soul. the two of you met your freshman year, during the first week orientation for all incoming newbies. since you were far from home, you were anxious, unsure if you were going to meet any new friends or establish connections. one night, while you ate alone in the dining hall, a platinum blonde approached you, asking if you had any company. from there, the rest was history.

the two of you were almost inseparable. since you had known rex for a couple years, it only made sense that the two of you shared an apartment your junior year. besides, your schedules didn’t clash too much, as rex was on an athletic scholarship with the university’s rugby team. meanwhile, you were involved with a few clubs here and there, preparing for an internship with the hospital on campus. 

although you were in the pursuit of a health sciences major, you were unsure of which area you wanted to concentrate on. there were a variety options: dietitians, nutrition, nursing, radiology, athletic training, physical therapy, and so many more. however, you were set on graduating with a minor in psychology. which, you were on the right track. after your junior year, you would have that minor. 

the internship with the hospital was to dip your feet into uncharted waters, where you would experience a little bit of everything. you would be a receptionist for a variety of departments, switching offices every month. the internship began within the week, and the excitement within you was growing by the day. 

pushing open the doors to the recreational center, you chirped a greeting to the student employee at the desk, requesting a bottle of water. strolling towards the elevator, you pushed the button, aching to relieve the pent up stress. 

it wasn’t like your first day of classes were horrible, you just knew you had a tumultuous year ahead of you. with eighteen credit hours, along with the internship, you were unsure how you were going to tackle it all. yet, you knew that you could manage it. you just had to trust yourself and go with the flow. everything happens for a reason was the mantra for the year. 

as the doors slid open, you strolled towards the weight room, where all of the racks and machinery were located. since it was about nine o’clock, the rec center was shying closer to close, students making their way towards the elevator. you noticed ahsoka in the fieldhouse, practicing combat techniques with her team, the hum of lightsabers echoing off the walls. 

however, as your hands rested on the handle of the door, your breath hitched in your throat. through the glass, you noticed a familiar face at the punching bags. 

there stood professor maul, clobbering the bag with jabs and punches, his breathing ragged, coming out in light pants. curses rolled off his tongue, in a language you couldn’t quite decipher. 

carefully, you slipped into the weight room, careful to avoid making any sort of interaction with the zabrak. after all, this was a facility meant for the students, faculty, and employees. it was for anyone’s use, but the fact that he was there, in the same space with you, had your heart thudding against your rib-cage, your mind buzzing. 

sweat trickled down his skull, his back glittering in the light. with every single jab, his muscles rippled. scars plastered his shoulders and back, some deep, some faint. hesitantly, you clambered onto an elliptical, every fiber in your being screaming at you to look away. to stop staring. to stop admiring. 

the zabrak paused, scooping his water bottle off the floor. as he chugged the water, you nearly choked as water dripped from his lips onto his neck, down his tattooed chest. not only was his face tattooed, but the ink was all over his beautiful body, weaving geometric patterns. 

your cheeks reddened as you noticed the pair of black joggers hanging loosely on his hips, exposing his v-line. filthy, nasty, thoughts filled your mind, and you desperately shook them away. he was your professor. you weren’t supposed to see him like this.  

“fancy seeing you here,” his voice was low, raspy, “isn’t it almost closing time?”

“i still have about an hour,” you mumbled, your cheeks burning, “i wasn’t aware that professors actually used this facility.”

“you’ve got some fire in you,” he chuckled, slipping on a plain black v-neck, “your name is (y/n), isn’t it? you’re in my level three hundred class.” 

the sound of your name rolling off his tongue sent a shiver down your spine, “u-uh, yes. and you’re professor-”

“you can call me maul,” a smirk crept onto his lips, “no need for the formalities here.”

“okay,” you mumbled, flustered by his banter, “i didn’t know you were a boxer.”

his eyes flickered over you, maul licking his lips as you sat on the machine, your thighs full, “i am. it keeps me in shape. as much as i would love to stay and chat, my brother is finished with his work for the night. i have to go meet up with him.”

“you two carpool?” you felt a giggle bubble up. 

“unfortunately,” maul scoffed, rolling his eyes, “i have been having some car issues lately. hopefully i’ll be able to drive myself soon.”

“well goodnight,” you beamed, “i hope that your night isn’t too horrid.”

“if i have to hear one more word about geology, i just might throw myself out the car,” maul chuckled, his eyes shining, “goodnight (y/n).”

“goodnight maul,” your voice was low, the words almost a whisper.

the zabrak strolled towards the door, pulling it open. however, he paused, turning to face you, amusement glittering in his amber depths, a playful grin stretched across his features. 

“by the way (y/n), you could be a little more subtle about your wandering eyes.”

***********************

tagged: @sapphicstars , @maulieber , @starflyer-104 , @alwayshappysith​ , @doobiwankenooku​

[joelmillerthirstqz]

From this prompt: Joel meets y/n and he makes it his MISSION to fuck her. Throw in a daddy kink if you’re brave

(I did, with ten thousand character-intensive caveats. Porn with obligatory plot, is there a tag for that? Anyway have some suspiciously assertive Joel)

---

Joel moves throughout the rooms of his house, picking up one occupation after the next, bored around one in the afternoon and faced with the reality that he neither remembers nor knows what to do with actual free time, safety, and space of his own. Tommy and Maria had brought some kind approximations of traditional housewarming, but much of his home was furnished by the previous resident and he sat there overwhelmed by spatial possibility. For all his griping about Ellie’s perpetual stream-of-consciousness chattering, the silence roared in his ears like he’d been dragged downstream.

Do people just go drink now? Just talk to each someone to pass the time? he thinks to himself, frustrated. By the time he could legally go to a bar, he’d been twenty-one and Sarah had been three, her mom long gone. He hadn’t spent time alone since the outbreak—always Tommy or Tess and others in between nearby. Acute problems to solve, no time for chronic reflection.

Tommy brought a lone box of possessions from his apartment with a case of cheap beer the night Sarah’s mom left, hanging around more tangibly than any other family had and often taking Sarah to school once Sarah was old enough. Tommy joked that it was more like Joel having two kids to deal with; Joel ribbed him for perpetually flirting with the very clearly married moms of his niece’s classmates.

Joel gulps a breath, self-flagellating with the idea that he hadn’t been able to protect Sarah when Tommy and Maria so clearly deserved to have their own child, forgetting as ever that his brother executed the soldier that shot Sarah before he could get to Joel—without a blink.

Wonderful. That’s what you do alone with your thoughts for two seconds. Jesus, Joel, he grumbles inwardly.

He’d been dragged to so many damn things since settling in Jackson and didn’t know what to do when it was his choice, so he looks outside. If Ellie’s light is on, he’ll go awkwardly try to make conversation, see if she’s okay. If she’ll be caught in a forgiving mood; if not, if he’s really pushing it.

Joel’s boots thud softly on the flagstone they’d carefully laid together, a path for her to get up to the house without soaking her sneakers through. Tonight, though, she’s gone or playing dead, so he sighs and shrugs a coat on, headed for the Tipsy Bison.

————

Joel spent a nontrivial amount of his time lately fending off interested parties in Jackson.

It was just cuffing season, he dismissed—encroaching fall making people a little weird. Since he’d begun to settle in, slowly accustoming himself to having Ellie out of his sight often and a normal couch in a house without shattered windows, he’d slowly accepted more public interactions. He’d grudgingly shoulder into town meetings, quiet until Tommy or someone else would put a question to him like he had a fucking clue.

Joel went on patrol, helping some of the greener residents learn to keep themselves safe. Unfortunately, it meant more people caught sight of him. Joel was used to prowling through quarantine zones swollen with cowering masses plainly terrified of him, which left him minimally prepared for reactions he thought he’d stopped evoking long ago.

The people whose breath hitch when they first notice him, the longing stares when he’d finally break and smile or laugh—they’d gotten embarrassing enough for him to avoid certain places.

Whenever Joel seems like he’s about to not comply with her wishes, Maria frequently threatens to tell the women who ask her in lewd tones if Tommy has a brother the truth—he does, and how about I introduce you?

The truth was he didn’t feel capable of starting anything with someone who’d ask where he’d been. Joel didn’t want to remember, even if he’d finally pinned the picture of himself with Sarah at a soccer game up next to the blooming collection of pictures in his living room with Ellie, Polaroids in Jackson blooming over nearby wall space every few weeks. People who wanted honesty to go with their peaceful existence reminded him too much of Tommy’s near-fatal optimism, and he felt like it would be too dishonest to start anything with anyone who still lost sleep over distasteful things done to survive. Delightful first-date baggage, in his estimation.

At the Tipsy Bison, he edges in by the drinking patrol nearest the door, welcomed gruffly and responding the same. It was nice to be recognized without raw fear or calculation as he entered, and Joel warms enough to drop his coat over the back of his chair, his rust-colored flannel’s buttons parting over the shirt beneath it as he moves, listening to Eugene tell some inflated war story with an almost-cold beer.

“Alright, fuck this. Knuckle up, asshole, I’m not doing this on patrol tomorrow,” Joel’s ears perk up at the sound of your chair clattering backwards as you stand. Joel recognizes you from the newer batch of arrivals, clearly deemed capable enough to join an early patrol just days after your arrival.

“Jesus, settle the fuck down,” one of the younger patrolmen grouses, standing up. Alex. Oh, the dumb kid.

“Nope. Now or never,” you insist.

“Listen, I’m not hitting you,” he sounds unapologetic but tries to portray himself as the reasonable party. He’s wiry, and Joel’s seen him fend for himself, but his posture doesn’t belie cool confidence.

“You clearly have some doubts, so let’s get into it,” you urge, agitated beyond belief. He’d been needling you about perceived skill, something about not growing up having to field dress animals, and you’d fucking had it. He was going to make a point on patrol and get someone hurt, and you were not carrying bodies back into Jackson because of some ego or misplaced crush.

He taps your shoulder mockingly with a closed fist, a gentle little motion, trying to smile playfully.

You hook him across the jaw, staggering him before taking a knee to his stomach as he tries to right himself.

“More, or you’re finished?” you ask.

Joel fully sits up in his chair. He hasn’t seen anything like this in Jackson. Glancing over both shoulders for his brother, Maria, and finding a clear coast he watches the outcome with interest, sipping his beer with an upturned mouth.

You’re cute, or appealing, or some reflexive word Joel hadn’t used in years, pushing hair out of your eyes as you regain your center.

Alex tries to sweep your legs out, successfully swiping one and getting a knee to the diaphragm for it as you land.

“Okay, fuck, I’m done,” he grunts and you rise easily, offering him a hand.

“Good,” you mumble, letting go the second he’s righted. You look around a little chastened by all the eyes on you, deciding to forego another round.

“I’m going to bed before we do this again,” you nod at Alex, and the rest of the patrol group you recognize in turn.

Joel eyes you as you depart, beer polished off and goodbyes waved, coat gripped in his fist to be flung on once outside. He knows your name, had seen you near the stables and conversing with the patrols. Hearing you speak, despite the context, maybe because of it, let him confirm something he’d been suspecting when he caught glimpses of you before. Never having had the right circumstances or raw spare time to devote all his energy to taking someone to bed, he steels himself to confirm it.

He trots after you, tugging his jacket back on and finding his way to the four-story hotel the town had spent arduous time clearing, stripping of spores, and making hospitable enough for people new to Jackson. Joel ended up leading a lot of the effort himself, vaguely proud to be doing something other than dismantling things, stretching old skills. Your little corner balcony faces off of one side, a nice view of the town unfolding as people begin to switch lights on for a sooner-than-yesterday sundown. You’re appreciative of a strange little luxury—not sure when the last time you stood with your back to a door without anticipating some infected would burst through.

You lean your elbows on the railing, a flask of whisky tipping in your fingers as you watch Jackson light up, a lone figure’s long strides coming into view down the broad street. The night is cool against your skin, but the little shiver the breeze causes feels affirming.

You’d always loved the fall, and Jackson’s soft sounds of life feel unreal enough that you could never sit here just sobering up before bed. It would leave you too wired, buzzing with the anxiety of certain impermanence. Reconciling this liminal zone with the gnashing horror just beyond it wasn’t something you’d take on without help. If Jackson was only a passing reprieve, you had to make yourself calm enough to enjoy it.

Joel halts below where you’re standing, hands on his hips pulling his jacket open as he looks up at you.

You’re instantly sheepish—you’d guessed in whatever patrol hierarchy there was, he was rather important. And you’d just visibly beaten someone down.

“Alex okay?” you call.

“He’ll be peachy. Not here for that,” Joel retorts, low drawl pleasant.

“Well,” you shrug, gesturing to the two mismatched chairs on the balcony with your flask. “Allow me to be a gracious host.”

He smiles and looks down for a moment. Even a couple of stories above him, you can see his height, start to assess his proportions because you’re too tipsy to be a human fucking being about your first interactions in a good place. You quickly add up a sum: his legs are long, shoulders broad, hair long enough to tug on. His frame suggests complete capability and you have a dire need to test it.

Aw, fuck.

“Y’know, I’ve got real glasses for drinking that,” Joel insinuates before he can tell himself to shut the fuck up, or to stop harassing newcomers, or any other sensible thought.

“Fair enough,” you call, closing your flask and holding a finger up to signal that he should wait.

When you arrive downstairs, boots poorly laced and denim jacket barely enough for the chill, Joel’s leaning on the veranda of the whole structure. You suppose its fair to gawk in appreciation so you do, assuring yourself you could have chosen not to.

“Look, I’m not going to ask what this is, and you won’t ask why I’m saying yes, okay?” you say softly when you’re a couple of feet from him.

Joel raises his eyebrows, feeling untethered. Some corner of him expected to humiliate himself to death so he could go home and fall asleep barely after dark, anything to shut himself up until he was occupied again. His heart speeds a little at your reply, hand on the back of his neck as he pushes back onto both feet.

“I’m close,” Joel offers, hand down towards the street, fists quickly in his own pockets. You pull your bottom lip inward, looking at his profile, wanting to hear it again, lower, helpless.

You pass the walk in tense but not unpleasant silence, glancing at each other until you reach his porch and he edges in to unlock his door.

Turning on lights as you toe off your boots and follow him inside, you watch how he moves, past the need for any type of persuasion. He returns from the kitchen with two matching, unchipped short glasses and a cylindrical glass of amber liquid.

“Trade?” Joel asks setting the bottle down and closing an open window. Your mouth quirks.

“That’s a nice custom. It a Jackson thing?” you ask, tipping your flask into his glass as he returns and pours from the bottle for you.

He laughs, sharp hazel eyes jumping up to you and back down, hand running over his beard.

“Not sure. What else would you do?”

You drop onto one of the two couches, arranged in the way that says people actually spend time here together. Joel gets onto his knees to build a fire, definitely a necessity, though kind of needlessly sweet for the occasion.

“This?” you tease, gesturing between the two of you. Joel joins you on the same couch, heat radiating into the space around you, well before the spark in the fireplace could catch enough to reach you.

You take stock of each other in comfortable silence, and a slow grin moves from one side of your face to the other. You finish your drink with a tinge of shyness, setting it down as he does the same.

You have no warning before his mouth is on yours, hands on either side of your face. It’s achingly good to be kissed with complete attention, luxury of time changing the entire tenor of kissing another person. You’re grounded to who’s holding you, mouth accepting him as Joel leads, guiding your jaw where he wants it with the flat of his palm. Joel moves slowly, plenty of time for you to reciprocate his motions though you begin to shift closer, scant sense of rhythm keeping you from straddling his hips.

The taste of him and your anticipatory haze keeps you fixed on the kiss, his hands sliding lower and beginning to move you towards his lap.

You try not to break the kiss with a smile, but it happens anyway and he looks up curiously. You sit back on your heels and tear through the buttons of your jacket, tossing it over the back of the couch and stroking fingernails through his beard before beginning the kiss again. Joel tugs you closer by the hip, urging you into his lap. He scans your face intensely, pulling you fully against him and letting his hands run the expanse of your back.

You can feel how rough his hands are through your shirt, so your fingers fly to his to work the buttons of his flannel.

“Christ,” you roll your eyes, exposing a second shirt underneath. He chuckles warmly in his chest, your foreheads bowed together a moment.

“C’mon,” Joel mutters, broad hands under each of your thighs as he rises with you wrapped around him. A segment somewhere in your brain shimmers, clicking with the novel experience, a knockout strike in the lane of neurons igniting to remember their roles.

“Where’s c’mon?” you ask incoherently between kisses, moving your mouth to his neck so he can answer. You think regretfully that it’s probably substantially warmer down here, fire catching nicely.

“Upstair—” Joel cuts off, your teeth nipping his pulse point.

You feel his heart jump against your mouth and your chest at once. You kiss him slowly as he takes you upstairs, stopping halfway up. He pushes you against the banister and deepens the kiss, hard length made clear. Shifting you closer to his waist once you resume, Joel’s hands creep a little higher, fingertips edging up as they dig in.

As you reach his bedroom, you have one hand hooked in the bottom seam of his shirt, ready to pull it off as he tries to set you down. Joel grunts when you tangle his broad shoulders in it, getting free and discarding it agilely. He bears down on you under dark lashes, chest rising and falling noticeably. The chill upstairs dissolves quickly as you twine together, hands running over his chest. It’s impressively broad and defined, thickening line of hair leading into his jeans.

You strip out of your two shirt layers with a casual roll of your upper body. Joel’s rapt eyes dragging over every rib leave you feeling exposed until his hands cover your breasts, mouth on your neck. You try to tug the rest of him towards the bed by the belt loops, but get frustrated and try to unclasp his belt instead.

Joel stoops to claw quickly at his boots, both thrown one handed before coming to rest against the wall. He hasn’t taken his eyes from you as you rise to slip your jeans down, one hand already curled back around your waist. He spreads his other hand across your abdomen, callused fingertips making you shudder appreciatively. Shoving you back, Joel gets to his knees with one of your legs hooked over his shoulder, grasped in his palm, kissing down your thigh. His free hand still moves over the rest of you.

Your mind is blankly focused on the rasp of his beard inside your legs. If you were honest, head wasn’t a frequent priority after the outbreak, sex usually a time-sensitive stress fix—for everyone. Add to that the average skill of the college peers you’d fucked before and, well, you’d only ever mildly enjoyed it.

Joel sucks your clit into his mouth, hard, and you arc off the bed. He moves without an ounce of uncertainty, shifting and roughly positioning you for the best angle as he goes. Being pursued like this, by a person who squarely checks boxes you didn’t know were empty left you wet enough to take him the moment you’d been out of your pants. His tongue pushes inside of you, followed quickly by one finger and then another, static but wonderful. You writhe on the bed at the feeling, low hum of a chuckle skittering across your sensitive skin.

One hand in the sheets, your other makes it into his hair. You grind against him without being able to help it, riding the stretch of his fingers as his tongue laves forceful circles around your clit.

“Fuck,” you try to grit out, embarrassed by the disassembled breathiness of your voice. It’s more a sigh as he curls his fingers within you, hazel flicking up to watch your reaction. You paw at his shoulders blindly, wanting him closer, wanting to fuck him, trying to pull back from him to tell him. He’s deadset in his focus, teeth softly grazing you in reply to your attempt.

“Can you just—” Joel grumbles, rising,“—be good for one goddamned second—” he yanks you towards him by your ankle.

“This where you want me to tell you to make me?” you tease, sitting up in his lap and wrenching him closer with your legs.

He huffs a small laugh, making to kiss you, but you hold him back.

“I want you to make me, okay?” You say seriously, grasping the hair at his nape to emphasize it.

Joel leans forward, biting your lip with care.

“Alright,” he confirms, hands around your jaw. You taste yourself on him, and a near-growl ripples through him, evident through his chest pressed against yours.

You duck away from his kiss, not caring to get his jeans off before getting a hand around his cock, your mouth enclosing the tip before you can register how much there is to take.

“Christ,” he breathes, eyes shut, face turned towards the ceiling. As your hand becomes slick enough to work over his shaft, his hands stabilize in your hair, bunching. You feel him flex in your mouth as he parts his lips and tugs on your hair, hauling you up level with his face.

“You don’t get to end it now,” Joel smiles, mouth almost against yours. You smile at the rough motion, hot interest skipping down your spine. His opposite hand is running over your chin while he composes himself, far closer than he’d wanted to be at this point.

You bite his fingers, pulling two deftly in to suck and keeping his gaze. His pupils darken and you feel a surge of pride at the same time as you feel him shove you back onto the bed, tearing his jeans off and finally joining you. Joel covers you, kissing you roughly and pulling your thighs around his hips, on his knees. He sheathes inside you without resistance, groaning and bowing his head at first. Even ready, he stretches you noticeably and you gasp at his first experimental thrusts, dragging your hips up to his each time.

You rise up to meet him, nails dug into his shoulders for traction, meeting his thrusts.

Joel hisses more in chastisement than discomfort at it, smacking your ass curiously.

“You know I’m not delicate,” you say close to his ear, snapping the lobe between your teeth unnecessarily hard.

“Shit, ow—” he grumbles, smacking you harder. You moan at the feeling, spread over his lap and trawling nails down his back. You tug where you’ve latched on, moving lower and biting his neck. He does it again, rolling his hips as you clench down on him. You scrape your teeth over his shoulder. Joel hits you again, force of it stinging how you’d hoped.

You provoke him to continue, pulling his hair, hard, and biting the skin over his collarbone.

Joel fists your hair and tugs back hard, exposing your throat to him even as you keep riding him, spanking you with almost musical timing. You almost draw blood scratching your nails out of his hair to the nape of his neck, grinning from your forced angle as he pants under you.

Joel leans forward and nips carefully over your larynx, clamping down hard on tendons just next to it. It’s a brash spot to suck a bruise into, and even the less visible parts of your body would surely be screaming on patrol in the morning.

You cry out, nerves and instinctive reaction to teeth near your neck making your heart and your cunt clench.

Joel flips you without effort, pressing a palm against your lower back to shove you into the mattress. You feel him strike your ass, once, twice, three times, and then his fingers are at your entrance, coaxing your hips to tilt up. He brushes his knuckles against you, leaning over to breathe into your ear.

“Here?”

“What did I just say?” You retort, appreciative of his caution but entirely sold on the possibility that walking will hurt tomorrow.

Joel doesn’t reply but you can see him roll his eyes from the corner of yours as he swats your cunt, hard, sensation shattering across your skin. You moan and he takes the initiative to do it again. Your shoulder blades pinch together around his hand, veering up with it. You turn your face entirely into the bed, muffling moans and faux-objections as he works, tenderness rising to the surface of your skin.

You feel Joel’s hands harshly grasp handfuls of your ass the second before he thrusts into you again, the force pinning you to the bed. He fucks you hard for long minutes, sweat building between you enough to make his hands slip. Joel’s forearm slides around your front and pulls you back against his chest.

You immediately claw at his arm, grateful to anchor yourself to him directly, pushing your hips down against his as he falls back to a gentler pace. His mouth reaches your shoulder and your hand flies to his hair again, straining to kiss him. Maybe it was weird to seek him like that—could still be a fantastic, unattached fuck—but Joel kisses you with this unerring focus that already makes you hope it will happen again.

“Takin’ me perfectly,” he drawls, some enunciation falling away with his blood coursing like this. You want to keep hearing him, so you nod and resume kissing him.

“More delicate than you thought? Need a break?” Joel taunts, and your eyes narrow as he speaks low and close, still thrusting shallowly.

“You want it hard again?” Joel teases, fingers skimming your stomach to roll your clit between them his thumb and index. It pinches and you suck in a breath, your hips floundering against his patient rhythm.

Your eyes spark and you decide to push.

“Yes, daddy,” you mock, almost sneering at him.

A dim recollection of a girl he’d briefly seen after Sarah’s mom left dusts itself off, and he reconnects dots that drifted apart from disuse after the outbreak. Joel raises his eyebrows at you and tips his head as if to say, “Well, alright then.”

You’re on your hands and knees before you can react, his hand spanning across your collarbones, bracing you against his repeated impact. Joel’s breathing becomes ragged each time he slides home, folding over you again to spill an endless wave of questions into your ear. His fingers are smoother across your clit now, drawing soaked concentric circles as you hitch.

“That’s it, baby girl,” Joel punctuates with a snap of his hips.

“You gonna come for me just like this?” Again.

“Come around my cock like a good girl?” Again, rough.

You moan, dropping to your elbows as he pounds into you, orgasm building inside of you spilling over to his fingers’ stimulation, a low groan meeting yours. You’re past words and shivering on the edge of climax when he taps your jaw.

“Focus up, c’mon,” he rumbles in your ear, demanding your attention. The pressure of his length against the tension inside of you has your vision blurring at the edges.

“Tell me,” Joel demands, pulling out halfway.

“Yes! Please, please,” you hear yourself sound panicky at the threat of losing his touch.

“Not what I asked you, baby,” he goads, nipping softly across your shoulders. His hand hasn’t stilled, and you know your eyes are rolling with the distracting pleasure of it.

“Yes, yes I will, please—”

“Tell me what,” he slips in an inch, voice shaky with thin control, fingers flexing where they meet your skin.

“Come for you, please don’t stop,” you plead, trying to shove your hips back to to meet his.

“That’s it, baby girl,” Joel murmurs and you break, quivering against his fingers and fussing with effort and relief. Your cheeks and mouth bloom red as your eyes droop with the onslaught of endorphins, still cresting as you feel Joel’s hips snap in quick succession, burying himself deep and making the best, most broken noise you could have hoped for. Even deep in your own fog, you reach for him, finding his mouth as it seeks yours again, aftershocks rolling through him.

Joel rolls onto his back, tugging you along one side. You don’t much enjoy being pinned if you weren’t also being penetrated, so the intimacy of lying there like lovers with someone you’d barely glimpsed, much less talked to, was unsettling.

Joel laughs like it’s easy for him, face lighting up with the motion, hand stroking your hair behind your ear.

“What?” You ask, propping yourself up on an elbow.

“Just surprised you said yes,” he clarifies. “I’m don’t—this isn’t a usual Wednesday for me,” he clears his throat.

You analyze his expression for a second, looking for the deceit and just finding something genuine and suspiciously shy for having nearly spanked you to orgasm minutes ago.

“You don’t accost every vulnerable newcomer and ply them with good whisky?” You prod, draping yourself over his chest, an easy negotiation of legs happening without either of you needing to acknowledge it.

“Bourbon, and, just the ones who start fistfights, really,” he teases, hands drifting over you, hungry warmth reaching his eyes as the afterglow begins to recede.

“Come downstairs?” Joel asks, like you weren’t tangled up in his bedsheets, surrounded and willingly captive to whatever he wanted.

“That was the original plan,” you protest, peering around for his shirt and slipping into it.

He smirks and kisses the tip of your nose, pausing and tipping your chin up to kiss you properly.

God damn it, you think. Oh, god damn it.