#sees the same cake only its three layered

[owlespresso]

the golden ivy which clings

omega!luocha/beta!reader you are a beta courier. one of your clients is more interested in you than you'd like. tags: blackmail, coerced intimacy done as a part of @lorelune's a/b/o collab.

Your legs ache. Your muscles twitch with the extended exertion. The last five hours spent on your feet are catching up to you. It’s a trapping of the occupation. Being a courier on the Luofu means you regularly bounce up and down its many layers and areas, rushing from district to district, from the boughs to the canopy. After three years, you’ve long memorized the thin corridors and hardly beaten paths, mapped every vein and pipe and ligament in your seemingly endless pursuit of planning the optimal delivery routes.

Faces blend together in your line of work. You doubt your clients remember much anything about you. You’re a muddy sparrow flitting from branch to branch, a bee gliding from flower to flower, as nameless as any other customer service worker. You earn more than most of your peers, but that’s mostly because you’ve extended your services to stations and ships beyond the Luofu orbit.

…And also because of your status as a perfectly even beta, liberated from the debilitating symptoms of heats or ruts. You have no need for bimonthly off days, and needn’t fear the voracious gazes or grasping claws of wayward alphas. No one is likely to notice a lone, scentless courier, even in areas where the Cloud Knights frequently patrol.

Today’s business sees you on the far ends of Aurum Alley, where night has slipped over the artificial skies like silk over skin, streets steeped in deep shadow. You stick to the walls, underneath awnings and through narrow side paths. Silvery moonlight dapples through a canopy of sunset orange leaves, touching the aged stone path, the askew benches next to the food stalls.

On the furthest side, mist billows from the waters and onto the red wood docks. Quiet, still. Hardly a customer to be seen. It’s been the very same every other time you’ve visited. The only people you’ve seen have been members of the IPC. They’re surely thrilled at the minimal returns the businesses here are receiving. Filthy hawkers, intent on contaminating every locale unfortunate enough to make contact with them. You hope they never see another coin in their entire lives.

Not that it’s any of your business. You’re just a courier. It’s in your best interests to keep your head down and keep your eyes from wandering, lest you attract their attention… or the attention of any other governing body who would disprove of the wares you ferry from place to place.

Near the docks, where the wind churns the briny waves, stands the blond man. A repeat customer, a man you’ve come to know as ‘Luocha’.

“You didn’t have to wait out here,” is the first thing you say to him, adjusting the straps of your heavy bag. Your shoulders have started to ache from the strain of the day's long treks. “It’s cold, isn’t it?”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” he assures you. He has a delicate kind of beauty, the kind you see in fairytale picture books or depictions of soft omegas in gravure magazines. His cheeks are thin, set of his nose regal. His lips are soft rose, petals curled into a winsome smile. His lashes, thick and blonde, fan against his cheeks every time he blinks. It’s all at odds with his imposing height and strange, cold aura. “Shall we head inside?”

“It’s whatever you want,” you reply drolly.

“Inside, then. You look... tired. Have you been on your feet all day long?” Luocha’s hair sways when he turns and bobs which each sway of his hips. Dim lantern light catches on the ornamental pin which holds his strands in place. Just as striking as the rest of him. You really don’t know how he’s come this far without finding a mate. He surely turns the head of any alpha who catches a whiff of him. Even with your muted sense of smell, you still detect undercurrents of that delicate sweetness. Frosted finger cakes and clean face powder. It’s buried under something bitter and medicinal—only able to be caught in the tender hours of the night. After his work is long done.

“That’s just the job. It doesn’t bother me,” you assure him. The apartment building is darkly lit and nondescript. He doesn’t look like he belongs here, in all his whites and golds, pristine and put together and perfectly pressed.

“Still,” he glances back at you. “You won’t be able to do your job at all if you don’t get enough rest. And I would hate to be deprived of my favorite courier’s company.”

You don’t know what kind of face you’re making, but he takes one look at you and laughs quietly.

“My apologies. Given my occupation, it’s practically second nature for me to be concerned about these sorts of things.” He says with a small shrug. You don’t reply, lips nettling into a frown. If you were kinder, perhaps more naive, perhaps you would have mistaken the sentiment to be genuine. 

He doesn’t live in the hollow apartment he leads you to. It’s too ramshackle, mostly undecorated space with a couch, a table and a mismatched arm chair when you walk in. He’s dressed too nicely to tolerate moth-eaten curtains and layers of dust.

“Pardon the state of this place—I don’t actually live here. If it were up to me, we would hold our meetings in a nicer place.” he sighs. You don’t know why he feels the need for small talk. He hasn’t always been like this. During the first few months of serving him, the only words exchanged between you both were basic greetings and fleeting formalities.

“It’s fine. ‘S not like you live here,” you wave him off and deposit your bag onto the leather. It’s an earthy green, the color nearly the same as the worn upholstery. It squelches at the impact, and you tug it open by the zipper. The vacuum of created space is chilled around your arm, goosebumps rolling over your skin. A square package wrapped in plastic, off-worlder medicine banned aboard the Luofu, favored by certain members of Sanctus Medicus.

“Are you a member of Sanctus Medicus?” you’re not sure why you ask.

“Oh? I can’t recall you ever asking me such a personal question,” Luocha observes, a mote of mischief in his voice. “Why? Would you dislike it if I was?”

“No. It’s not my place to police anyone's beliefs—but the members I’ve met seem…” you trail off. It isn’t like you to give your opinion so freely, but you can’t imagine someone so discerning falling in line with those quacks.

“Sanctimonious? Self-righteous? Gullible?” Luocha lists for you, leaning against the back of that dowdy couch. He doesn’t move to accept the package, even when you pointedly zip the bag back up. His smile is unreadable.

“All of those things,” you agree, making the three steps it takes to reach him. “Though, I can’t really blame them.”

“And how could you? The long-lived of the Luofu will be roaming the galaxy and enjoying its many fruits hundreds of years after they’re dead and gone. It’s only natural to pursue that which they feel has been hoarded from them.” Luocha plucks the package from your waiting hands, eyeing it with mildly fond intrigue.

“I suppose,” you hum. You’ve already spoken too much. This isn’t a discourse you should be involved in. Sanctus Medicus, despite their incompetence, is still a faction of individuals with enough outreach to meddle in your business, should this conversation get back to them. 

Long fingers wrap around your wrist. Your eyes blow wide as you stumble into his chest—sturdy, so different from what you’d expect from someone so beautiful, built well beneath his layers. There is no presage, no forewarning.

Underneath the chamomile slides forth the tender, ambrosial scent which betrays his status as an omega. Your pulse hums in your ears, body frozen stiff—but you remain unblemished by the adrenaline.

“Mister Luocha?” you say.

“So steady, even now,” he observes with infuriating tenderness, breath warm against the shell of your ear. “I suppose I should have expected that from an emanator of Harmony.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say, unable but to be proud of how steady your voice remains. Every meeting you have ever had with him replays in your head, rolls by all at once like jittering strips of old-timey film as you pull them from the rusty bank of your memory. What could have given you away in the brief moments you’ve shared together? What in the way that you’ve handed him his contraband belied your true nature? Nothing, you’re sure. He’s discovered this piece of you on his own, and that worries you the most.

“Come now,” Luocha coaxes, the euphony of his voice slipping into something softer and sweeter. “You can be honest with me. We’ve already shared so much with each other, haven’t we?”

“The only thing I’ve ever shared with you are the poisons you order,” you inform him, hands braced against his chest. He tuts at you, and his scent grows all the sweeter. Even you can recognize the excited pheromones he pumps into the air. Your senses are replete with him, tongue made sticky by the devious croon of his voice.

“And you give so much of yourself with that alone,” he insists. “Your willingness to pass illicit drugs into the hands of your customers tells me far more about you than any small talk ever has. A shame, really. You have such interesting thoughts, whenever you deign to share them.”

“What do you want from me?” you ask flatly. Your eyes narrow with undisguised suspicion.

“A great many things, but to start...” His fingers tap a gentle drumbeat atop your shoulder. You shrug him off. A contemplative sound hums deep within his chest, quiet but loud in the dusty still of the room. “Share more of your thoughts with me, Courier.” he beseeches. “You’re always so quiet, when we’re together. I think we’ve known each other long enough to hold better conversations.” His hands slide off of you, smooth and quick as oil slick. It’s a concentrated effort to not bolt out of his reach like a startled fawn. 

His gaze bores into your back as you take several measured, extremely normal and calm steps over to your abandoned bag, zipping it back up with renewed zeal.

“I think that was extremely inappropriate.” you share generously.

“I apologize. I only meant to tease, but it seems I’ve pushed too far,” he confesses, genuinely contrite. There is something else about his inflection. Something which sparks alive the long distant urge to soothe. “I don’t often forget myself like this. You must bring it out of me.” 

You frown. The feeling dies. It’s not your responsibility to comfort this weirdo. He’s done nothing to earn your sympathy. Pesky biology, however, would dictate otherwise.

“You’ll be delivering to me again tomorrow, won’t you?” he asks, tilting his head. Your internal discourse snaps to a halt, instinct shafted to the side to make way for the sacred tradition known as “doing business”.

“Of course. Same ingredients, same amount?”

“Yes—and a Core Esse, if you’ve the means to procure one—”

You give him a look, but you nod regardless. “Understood. I’ll meet you at the docks, tomorrow—” It’s not professional to walk away while making arrangements with a client, but you very badly want to be out of this stuffy apartment and away from the new, bizarre scrutiny he looks at you with.

You typically avoid knowing anything about your customers beyond the bare basics. However, you can no longer afford Luocha that same distance. Just how much does he know? And where exactly has he pulled your precious secrets from? 

The investigation begins tonight. You’re hesitant to call on her, but you may very well need to reach out to a particular contact.

—

Hours worth of feverish research inevitably lead to you just calling the Stellaron Hunter who owes you a favor. You have not the slightest clue where Luocha procured such private information, or how much of it he has. Penacony’s travel logs will be the first place to look. If your bothersome merchant has been there before, it’ll be no mystery where he figured you out. Does The Family still talk about you? And do they look back on your brief term of leadership with nostalgic fondness or embittered hatred?

You care not. Those mistakes are long behind you. The Luofu is a kinder place, somehow easier to navigate despite its Abundance soaked innards, where only the engineers dare wander. Without the protections they are outfitted with, you suppose you’re more vulnerable to mara exposure and all it entails, but you never dwell longer than half-an-hour at a time.

Roots and vines cling to the aged metal paneling and jutting pipes, green and gold particles sour the dim air. The pipes rattle and groan, portions of something neon yellow shooting through the complex web of them at irregular intervals. Flowers sprout from the ropey greenery, some bulbs shut and others agape. Pale petals of pink and white and periwinkle peeled wide open against slick silver and rusted brown. The closed bulbs look oddly wooden, but you’re not stupid enough to touch one.

Luocha could surely excuse you for being mara-struck. The Cloud Knights, on the other hand…

Well. It’s not worth thinking about. The overworld welcomes you back with a gust of fresh wind, washing away the acrid tang of the tunnels. The shallowest of them have several discreet exit and entry points. Crevices in the walls swallow you whole and deposit you in nondescript locations across the Luofu, random alleys and average apartment buildings where it’s easy to sink into the crowds.

Today, it’s a high end district, populated by the high-end homes of diplomats and ranking officials from the Luofu’s sister ships. They come to roost in these behemoth manors a few times a year at most, meaning the streets are emptier than you’re accustomed to. There’s not a soul to be seen or heard, not one resident there to share the wide open road with you. The houses leer at you with wide windows and lacquered doors, sat fat and happy behind their tall gates and gaping lawns.

Luocha calling you here, after all of those clandestine exchanges in that dowdy shell of an apartment, is a statement in itself. Is he threatening you with this obscene display of opulence? You can’t begin to fathom why he’d bother with bothering a simple courier. What does he possibly hope to gain?

The address he sent is among the smallest houses you’ve seen so far. One of the least extravagant, which is to say, still pretty fucking extravagant. The latticework fence is wreathed with delicate cotton roses and the yard is a veritable Eden in comparison to the other lots. The path forward is lined by patches of vibrant wildflowers.

The air is cleaner here, and for the first time since entering the district, you can hear birdsong echoing from the tops of the trees.

How much of this did he plant himself? And how have his neighbors handled living next to a miniature forest? You reach out, palm sliding over the closest oak’s trunk, the bark coarse under your cold palms. Beyond the path, to your left, you hear the babbling of flowing water. The yard isn’t large enough to have a creek, you reason, and the time of your appointment looms close—but you figure you have enough legroom to at very least sneak a glance. Your curiosity for once gets the better of you, sending you through the thicket of green, beyond a copse of trees lined up like appointed sentinels, and over an emerging path of flat stones.

The forest opens into a small clearing. A massive, rock-lined pond nests at the center, surrounded by cattails and watergrasses and other waterfaring plants. The babbling, as you expected, comes from a filtration system stealthily hidden amongst the many reeds.

Sunlight shivers across the gentle waters, stirred up by the afternoon breeze.

A chair has been left unfolded beneath the low-hanging branches of a stout, red maple—a splash of crimson among earthy greens and cool browns.

Cautiously, you pick your way down the slope to the pool, squinting at the fish which flicker and dart between rocks and lotus stems. Mostly koi. Pretty, glimmering things which likely cost an arm and a leg. You’ve been to many aquatic markets, even ferried a few live specimens yourself. You settle by the edge, elbows resting on your bent knees. Cautiously, you extend outstretched fingers towards the water, dragging along the silken smooth surface.

A hand lands on your shoulder.

“My, my—”

You don’t hear the rest of what he says. One moment you’re above water and the next under, your startled flailing sending you straight over the lip. 

Luocha is at very least apologetic about your unfortunate (humiliating) spill. He shows you to the washroom and closes the door with a contrite little smile. You run up the water bill for your trouble, the shiver chased from your drenched frame as you step under the hot spray. The shower has room enough for three people, easily. There are two heads and a bunch of silver knobs and dials you don’t feel like fucking with. Rich people and their needlessly complicated household appliances.

You don’t know exactly how long you spend in there, but the mirrors have fogged over by the time you get out. Only once you’ve properly scrubbed the pond water from your skin and tended to your hair do you turn the shower off. The mist sticks to your skin even after a decent toweling. You go through two until you give up and throw on the plush robe he so generously provided. It’s as fine quality as the porcelain tub you spy nestled against the western wall.

The brass glows near gold beneath the warm light. The entire bathroom is all golds and black. Utterly resplendent, but it doesn’t really seem his style.

Is this even his home? You can’t help but wonder as you stroll out the bathroom and into the rest of the house. Most of the interior chambers are linked by wide circular arches. The furniture is cream cushions paired with lacquered dark wood. A sweet smell hangs in the air, but you can’t tell if the potted white lilies on the table beside the sofa are the source.

Luocha stands by the window. Beams of sun hit his face and cast his hair in vibrant gold. He’s ethereal in those shades of sun. He looks delicate, somehow, curves of his body lean under the flowing press of his silken robe.

He looks at you. The dreamy green of his gaze clears your brain of the remaining fog, leaving you cold and alone with the fact that you are alone, together, in an empty house. In a mostly empty neighborhood.

“Your clothes are in the wash,” he smiles. “They’ll be clean in around an hour. Once again, I apologize for startling you—”

“Don’t. I shouldn’t have been skulking around in your front yard in the first place.” The sooner your humiliating slip is forgotten, the better. “Let’s just get down to it. You wanted something delivered, right?”

“All business with you, even now,” Luocha sighs, forlorn disappointment wrinkling his brow. “You don’t have to be so uneasy around me, you know. Why don’t you take a seat? I’ll brew us some tea.”

You do not sit. “You called me here for a reason. I deserve to know what it is.”

“Is your company not reason enough?” he asks, tilting his head to the side. He’s closer now, close enough for you to see how glassy his eyes are. The cloying, sweet smell grows stronger with each step taken, reckless pheromones enough to send a shudder down your spine. Is he… “What if I said I simply wanted to see you?” he breathes, gently cupping your chin. “Should I admit that you’ve haunted my near every thought for the past month, or would that be going too far? Would it frighten you?”

A ruddy flush paints his pale cheeks, cracks in his composure beginning to show. He’s always been the perfect picture of composure, to an irritating degree. The certain grace he moves with used to almost annoy you. So steady, in a world contaminated by constant disruption and imbalance. The very pinnacle of perceived harmony. Perhaps you envied the way in which he carried himself or the freedom he enjoyed as an interstellar merchant, but now—

Now you can say you hardly envy him at all.

“I would say that you should wait until your heat is over before making any confessions,” you observe, resisting the urge to swallow and make the problem worse. Omega or not, he still looms large over you. 

“I’m in pre-heat, where I’ll most likely stay for the next few days,” one of his hands graces your right shoulder, thumb rolling delicate circles there. “I won’t ask you to… service me through the heat itself, but your company would help soothe the symptoms.” The touch wanders down your upper arm, a smooth, repetitive caress. It feels more like an unconscious gesture or a nervous tic than anything else. A self-soothing sort of motion.

“I’m a courier, not an on-call heat partner,” you inform him. How desperate must he be, to seek out the assistance of a courier of all people? “And I’m a beta. I can’t help you in the same way an alpha could. You know that.”

“And how do you know what will and won’t satisfy me?” he replies cooly, haughtily, as if he did not just sing your praises and plead for succor by your hand. “Betas are known to be particularly adept heat and rut partners due to their versatile nature—”

“I too have read the ‘Galaxy Hitchhiker’s Guide to Dynamics and All their Intricacies’. You don’t need to quote it verbatim to me.” you reply flatly, sounding as unconvinced as possible. Luocha is—dangerous. He is handsome, and he seems very sweet, and always seems well of manners, but you know he hides his daggers deep in his sleeves. The moment you realized you are considering his offer, you feel apart from yourself. Because it is ludicrous an idea.

Luocha’s eyes close. His bright lashes fan against flushed cheeks. “No sexual intimacy has to be involved. While skin-to-skin contact is the most effective method to ease the pain, simply being in the same room as you will suffice.”

The heat of him slips onto your skin, the layers between you thinner than you realized. An absentminded hand roams to the sash tied ‘round your waist, idly toying with the knot. His palm, after a moment of fidgeting, settles on the round of your hip. He gives you a gentle squeeze, but it reminds you more of a cat flexing its claws than a gesture of simple appreciation. He inundates you with scent and touch, pins you like a butterfly to a board, wings splayed open for his searching eyes. 

Not that you’ve really tried to fly away at all. A flush of newfound heat encompasses you, unbidden as his scent washes over your palate. You draw him into your mouth and swallow, thighs pressing tight together. It’s ridiculous, really. Inane. Who is he to make you feel so unbalanced?

You find him so utterly vexing. No other man could do this to you, you think. You wouldn’t dare step foot into anyone else’s private home. You wouldn’t consider breaking the strict code of propriety you keep with your customers. But for Luocha, denizen of the Abundance and keeper of your most precious secret, you fear you may do anything.

“I’m a beta,” you repeat quietly.

Luocha remains undiscouraged by your disquiet. Baffling creature, bold beyond reason and reckoning behind his steady, at times coquettish mien. “You can still help me, if you would like. I’m not in the practice of taking unwilling partners.”

You let a poignant pause settle between you, as if you are legitimately considering his request. He leans in, ever so slightly, as if leering at you from three centimeters away is any better than leering at you from five.

Then, finally, after remaining silent for at least thirty long seconds. “Do you prefer blackmailed ones?”

He smiles. The corners of his eyes crinkle with it, entire face lighting up with genuine fondness. So utterly vexing, this man.

“Do you really want an answer to that question?” he asks. When you don’t answer, he presses a kiss to your temple.

—

It isn’t as awkward as you thought it would be. Perhaps it’s because Luocha seems to lack shame in almost everything he does. True to his word, he doesn’t touch you without permission. The rest of the day is spent sitting together in the lounge. He reads a book while you sit on the couch, half-paying attention to the news program you’ve put on. Dinner is takeout. The conversation is… bearable. It helps distract you from how close he is, pressed tight to the side of his body.

You stay in the living room until the sun sets, vivid orange light descending to dusky twilight. Eventually, Luocha stands to head to the washroom. A chill replaces the space he once occupied. You don’t allow yourself to mourn the loss. Instead, you haul yourself onto your feet. Black spots swim at the corners of your vision as your body lags a few seconds behind your brain. 

It’s just more time wasted, as far as you're concerned, so you push yourself. You stagger until your eyesight clears, intending to make a break for the guest room that certainly must exist. Somewhere. A house this extravagant must have a guest room.

You manage to peek into two rooms, one a particularly extravagant closet and the other a sunroom. 

You sullenly retreat back into the main hallway and head for the next door. Luocha slides out of the bathroom and fixes you with a questioning stare. “Where are you going?” 

“Isn’t there a guest bedroom?”

“Ah,” he stands there and looks at you for a long moment, like you are a stranger in his home. Which is partially true, you suppose. You are little more than strangers. “There is, but I was hoping…” he looks off to the side with a pointed sigh. “you would spend the night in my bed.”

You stare at him like he’s grown a new head. He stares back, completely unrepentant.

“Because skin-to-skin contact helps?” you supply wryly.

“Right,” he smiles, as though glad you understand. “During pre-heat, an omega craves the constant companionship of a trusted person, preferably a mate, but that label doesn’t apply to our arrangement. Remaining isolated during this time could cause anxiety, depression, feelings of worthlessness, headaches, migraines—”

“You’ve gotten all the pity you’re gonna get out of me.” you inform him crisply. You relent anyway. The wooden floor is chilly as you pad towards him.

Your stoicism “Wonderful. Thank you for accommodating,” At very least, he seems to know that he’s putting this upon you. Luocha’s bed, you think, is far from the worst place you could spend your night. He’s far from unappealing. He smells good. He’s been weird to you, before, but he’s also unwaveringly polite and currently weaker than usual, hazier. 

Not like you have much of a choice.

He could easily leak your location to your former allies. The Family’s connections span the universe wide. They could easily track you down and cause you all sorts of trouble, maybe even get you kicked off the Luofu. It’s best to cooperate with him, for the time being. And it’s not like he’s terrible company. He holds the door open for you even now, when you’re here for his sake. 

His bedroom is as luxurious as the rest of the house. The floor is dark wood and the walls are black with golden accents. Tapestries hang over tall windows, blocking out the moonlight. A porcelain vase sits atop a combination dresser-vanity, its knobs and gnarled claws a warm bronze. The rest of the furniture is similarly colored, and of similar quality. 

What draws your attention the most is the bed. It’s a wide mattress held aloft atop a platform. Gauzy black curtains hang from the top of the thin gold frame, parted to give you a good look at the mountain of pillows and blankets stacked atop of it. This, you recognize.

“Ah, that’s…” you begin, not quite sure how to phrase it. Aren’t some omegas super touchy about their nests? You haven’t the slightest clue as to which compliments to pay and to which part.

“A nest. I typically don’t indulge in the baser instincts that come with heat, but the urge was stronger than usual,” Luocha informs you, padding over to the mattress. He flops backwards on it, swimming through silks and satins like a minnow up a stream. Soon enough, you’ve lost him in the pile. “There isn’t much else for me to do besides twiddle my fingers, and I can only watch television for so long. So I thought: why not? It’ll be as good a way to keep busy as any other.” 

There’s a small pause. Luocha hesitates by the vanity, drumming his slender fingers atop the hard wood. There’s something uncharacteristically fretful about the gesture. “What do you think?”

“It looks comfortable,” you nod sagely.

“What glowing praise,” he says, almost beaming. You’re kind of annoyed at how… no, you won’t call him cute. Not even within your own internal dialogue. “I’m glad to hear that. Why don’t you join me?”

He rests up against the headboard, lines of his body lean and lithe. He looks like something out of an old painting, long locks and pale limbs flowing over the dark sheets like 

The green of his eyes is startling in the dim of the room. He looks you over, haughty like a monarch on a gilded throne, until his eyelids dip and his head tilts.

“Come here,” he beseeches again. “Please.”

And you do. You cross the threshold of the room, slipping past the open curtains and into the bower of his bed. The mattress dips plush under your hands and knees. Once you’re halfway across, you sit back on your knees—but this is not close enough for him. He needles and pleads with you until you’re close enough to grab. One of his hands wraps around your upper arm, the other at your hip as he tugs you to him, fitting your back snuggly against his front.

You still, but the tension remains wound tight in your shoulders. You’re more amazed at your own stupidity more than anything else. Wasn’t it you who insisted on keeping your clients at arm’s length? All of that haughty professionalism was tossed out the window the moment you succumbed to his pleading—if it could even be called that. He asked nicely. 

Your eyes flutter shut. You lean backwards into his chest. His wide hands slide over your body, thumbs rolling circles onto your hips. A soft and sticky feeling settles underneath your skin as his thighs (bigger than you imagined) cradle your own, silken fabric of his robe pooled over the sheets. A low sound rumbles in his chest, suspiciously close to a contented purr. 

“I’m so glad you decided to spend time with me, courier.” he coos. His hand glides up your arm to cup your own, long fingers interlacing with yours. A contemplative hum rumbles within his chest as he turns it over. His thumb traces the lines and creases of your palm. “You have no idea how much this means to me.” 

“I suppose I don’t.”

“And that’s why it means all the more to me that you stayed,” Luocha murmurs. He reaches over to the nightstand, and the lamp flickers off. The room is plunged into matte darkness, hardly a glimmer of moonbeam slipping in. “I think that you’re more considerate than you pass yourself off to be. Does that frighten you?”

“I didn’t think you’d be able to talk this much,” your brow wrinkles. “Aren’t you supposed to be too horny to think?”

“I’ll remind you that I’m currently in pre-heat—a process my body uses to prepare for the actual heat.” he says with a light sigh. “Believe me. If I were in heat,” his breath brushed against the shell of your ear, a warm and heady caress. “You would know.” He delicately presses the shell between his teeth, nosing the space behind it with another pleased sigh. 

You shudder, and close your eyes. “And what’s the difference between heat and preheat?”

“Ah, I suppose you wouldn’t be able to tell… The pheromones for one,” Luocha squeezes your hand. “Are different. They’re similar to the ones we give off when under threat, a signal that we’ll need help soon… Not all omegas go through it—only an estimated forty percent.” 

“I see.”

Luocha smiles, the curve of it pressed against your throat. You don’t like not being able to see him. A predator looming in the dreary dark of his den. “The desire is still present. Less a raging storm, more the gentle lapping of the waves.”

“Poetic. But I still don’t get why you picked me. They have services for this kinda thing. People who know more about it than I do.” If you doubted his sanity before, you certainly do now. What kind of sane omega enlisted the help of a postwoman above paid professionals? 

“I would rather you than an unfamiliar alpha some service decided would be an adequate match. Even if vetted, a stranger is still just that. A stranger.” Luocha idly toys with your fingers, thumb rubbing circles onto your palm. It’s a touch too familiar, too tender for what you are. But Luocha permits himself to it, and the rest of your body, with a natural ease. You can’t help but feel lulled by it. 

“I see. And you feel safe sharing a bed with your dealer?” Tempting as the siren song of slumber may be, you retain enough wit to pry. The whole thing is too absurd to not badger him a bit more. The arm wrapped around your waist tightens in reply.

“I trust someone who has never been late, never sold my personal information or purchase history and has been nothing but courteous to me.” Luocha lists off your credentials with ease. They feel like they’re straight out of an EULA, or some sort of contract. Out of place in a situation as delicate as this. You could easily tell him as much, but he’s starting to sound sleepy. You would rather he get his rest. And be quiet.

“Of course,” he squeezes the space above your hip, making your pulse spike. “Having the endorsement of an Aeon helps. Especially if said Aeon rules over the Harmony. What a lovely and orderly path to tread, courier. She chose you so well.”

“You should have told me that this thing was gonna make you delusional,” you grumble, writhing in his hold to simply signify your displeasure. A part of you wants to come clean and ask where the hell he learned your secret. It’s obvious that he won’t change his mind, or be swayed by your protestations. But you’re still too stubborn to admit he’s right.

You’re almost annoyed by how comfortable this is. He laughs, breath brushing the crown of your head, but he says nothing else, perhaps sensing that he’s reached your tolerance threshold for silliness. His breathing evens out a few minutes later, chest rising and falling beneath you.

You adjust yourself, settling into his side. Over the next few minutes, he contorts around you, the weight of his arm settling around your waist. Time slips away from you, after that.

The rampant pounding of your heart at last begins to slow. You’re almost calm, wedged between the blankets and body. Your sleep shirt is still wrenched upwards, his bare arm pressed against your stomach. The contact is a boundary crossed, a spark to a hunger you didn’t know you had been harboring. You don’t like it. Some part of your hindbrain rejoices at seeing this man’s needs met, and that delight worries you more than literally anything else Luocha has done or said today.

You stare across the room at the covered window. Slowly and steadily, you untangle your legs, curling them to your stomach. Outside, a frog croaks. The pond babbles in the distance. The air above the blankets is cool on your face and legs as you gently kick the covers back. The chill caresses your skin, sneaks between your robes to give you bumbling gooseflesh. The walls of the nest vent out the worst of the cold. Maybe you’ll ask him about cracking a window open tomorrow. Just a little bit.

—

You wake up a few hours later, and blink into the dark. Luocha stirs next to you. He’s awake. You don’t know how you know, but you can tell. His finger curl ever so slightly against the soft core of you. A shiver ripples across you, robe parted just enough for his fingertips to touch your bare skin.

“...Did you plant the garden outside?” you don’t know why you ask, but you do. 

Luocha hums into the crook of your neck.  He strokes your stomach, petting you.

“I did,” he answers after a moment, a contented sigh ruffling your hair. “Now get some rest.”

—

You leave the next morning, without breakfast. Luocha is a surprisingly deep sleeper, though perhaps you owe that to his current affliction. You’re not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. You’re also not going to be lured into skipping work by your own foolish sympathy. He can take care of himself for a miserly ten hours.

The day goes as any other does, at first. You take the shortest route you can find through the Luofu’s abundance-ridden innards, starting at the lower decks first. Packages and envelopes pass hands with little delay.

One of your clients, a buxom woman who owns a silk shop, covers her giggling mouth with an oversized sleeve. You eye her with suspicion. She notices, and giggles harder.

“I don’t mean to offend you, dear courier—it’s just—I hadn’t taken you the type to so openly… wear that kind of perfume.” she says, as if elaborating. You don’t understand what she’s talking about, and you don’t particularly care. You leave her to her frivolities and spirit away, merging back into the crowd with casual ease.

The next few clients each make some degree of face at you. One goes wide-eyed, before schooling his features into his typical, customer-service smile. The next looks at you like you have just thrice cursed his family line, nose wrinkled and eyes narrowed into a beady glare. You resist the quite mean-spirited urge to remind of the legality of his purchases, shoring up your mental fortitude by recalling the sumptuous tips he usually gives.

Your seventh customer meets you beneath the crimson awning of a local cafe. You’re glad to be out of the beating sun. 

“Congratulations, by the way,” she says with a smile, nursing a cup of iced tea and ah—you realize, something about you has really changed.

“Thank you, but may I ask what you are congratulating me for?”

“Oh!” she looks startled, and then sheepish. “On the relationship? I didn’t mean to presume….but your scent, today…” she trails off, looking awkwardly to the side.

Fortunately, you don’t need her to elaborate. The context clues snap together with sudden, startling clarity, the peevish behavior you’ve endured all day granted perfect context. Of course, evidence of your business with the merchant would be more apparent to those with keener noses. Your cheeks blood with abashed warmth. You resist the urge to shrivel like an old apple peel, overwhelmed all at once with humiliation, with indignation at yourself and the man who cast this misfortune upon you. 

Heavens, how outrageous you must have seemed, walking into the esteemed establishments and parlors of your clients bathed in that ridiculous fellow’s scent! It’s but another consequence of yesterday’s poor decisions. You fume silently as you leave, making a beeline for your apartment. It’ll delay the rest of your deliveries, but that can’t be helped.

Your phone jitters in your pocket as soon as you step through the threshold of your dwelling. 

You drop your bag onto the grey throw rug. It lands with a mighty thud, loud enough to make you silently hope the downstairs neighbors had not been enjoying an early afternoon nap. Your jacket gets tossed onto the sofa, keys thudding onto the upholstery. Then, you roundabout to the door. A row of locks catch stray rays of sun. You swiftly latch each one and give the door a rough, cursory shove. 

Then, and only then do you check your messages.

You left without saying goodbye.

Your brow furrows. You’d never taken him to be this needy. Every other message above this exchange is polite, but ultimately curt. Most of his recent prying has been done in person.

You were still asleep

It’s alright. When will you return?

After work. Around 8 hours

That long? Could I persuade you to return sooner?

I can’t just skip out

I’ll buy you out. How much do you earn in a day?

Honestly, the nerve of this man! You type a series of poignant expletives out before tactfully deleting them.

It’s more than the money. my clients are powerful. i cant lose those connections

A few poignant moments pass before his reply comes.

Alright. I’ll see you later.

The tension drops off your shoulders. You expected him, in truth, to let loose a most potent threat to ensure your immediate return. A part of you, small and illogical, fears he’ll do his worst regardless. The thought of The Family learning your whereabouts nauseates you, bile churning at the very base of your throat, but surely a man possessed of his many sins is too wise to open his mouth about yours. 

Without even realizing it, you have completely trapped each other. 

What did he ever do with that Core Esse?

It’s better not to think about it. You have hours more left to move, and your line of work demands utmost focus, lest you drop an organ into the wrong customer’s hands.

Fifteen minutes, you afford yourself. The water chases the sweat from your skin, soap and sponge raking your skin raw. The evidence of him washes down the drain with the suds, leaving you remarkably less agitated. Because, really, who gave him permission to linger on your skin and on your clothes and in your thoughts—who gave him leave to evoke your fear and sympathy and intrigue and misplaced affections? Not you, that much is for certain!

You determine yourself free of the vexing beast’s cloying scent and return to the Xianzhou’s busy streets.

—

Arrogance is one of humanity’s most populated wheelhouses. Next door, its foundations built by fools and geniuses both, stands proud senselessness. If you had to name a tenant they share, then with abrupt acuity, you would surely name the Stellaron Hunters, who, as far as you can ascertain, base their stratagems off the ravings of a lunatic. As you wander to the edge between land and space, you cannot help but wonder what his credentials are, and if anyone has ever laid eyes upon them. 

You don’t care enough to ask, though, when you reach the jagged edge. The end of the cargo hold, where the Xianzhou’s artificial sky breaks. Fragments of pale blue and white float amongst the void, growing smaller and sparser until none remain. The ground ends in a series of jagged, shiny edges, as though the metal had been cut clean through. You duck underneath a smattering of ships and starskiffs and cranes and cargo containers. Cold, silvery chrome gives way to the cold, open empty. That is where the man in black waits.

“Blade” is his name. He is a vision against the star-scattered expanse of the empty. Stood beneath a bright, red star, unbothered hy the thin oxygen levels and freezing temperatures. Tall and looming and perhaps irredeemably beautiful. It could be the lack of air talking. You like him more than you like Silver Wolf. She wastes your time with always unnecessary and often personal questions.

“Here for Silver Wolf, I assume?” you ask, already rifling through your bag for the cables and strange, circuit-board devices which she has ordered from you.

“Yes,” he nods, and you appreciate how he says nothing else. 

“Alright. Here you are, then. Make sure she knows that she owes me another favor. These things were hard to find. She’s getting the discount of a lifetime.” you hand him three small boxes and he leaves with a nod. A polite and concise interaction. As distant as mostly-strangers should be.

—

“Home” is after that. The skies have gone a bright gold, nighttime looming in the near distance. 

Luocha’s home is not your home. You refuse to identify it as such, for doing so opens dangerous doors and implications which are most inappropriate for what you have. You make a brief pit stop to your apartment to gather a night bag, changes of clothes haphazardly crammed into the black canvas alongside a toothbrush and other necessary toiletries. 

You nudge the door open with your hip. Pale orange light falls across the threshold and into the dimly lit living room. Luocha sits on the couch, or rather, he lounges. The silken collar of his robe drapes over his right shoulder, exposing a frankly indecent amount of his chest. You pay his naked skin no heed, plonking your bags onto the floor. It’s a welcome weight off your shoulders. You wish you could lay on the floor. A good sleep on that fine, polished wood would fix you.

“Welcome home,” he greets you, daintily depositing the book he’d been reading onto the side table. “I never realized just how long your hours are. You must be exhausted.”

“I’m used to it,” you reply, but you flop onto the opposite end of the sofa regardless. A heavy sigh punches out of you, weary eyes shutting. 

“With how much you charge me, I would think you could afford to shorten your shifts,” he says, with sympathy you know is feigned. You crack an eye open to cast him a cursory look—but the room shifts around you in a blur as long fingers curl around your wrist and pull, tugging you onto his side of the couch.

You land with a disgruntled squawk. Your hands curl into silken fabric. and you realize belatedly that you’ve all but been dragged atop of him, left laid out between his legs. You twist, top half of your body turning to the side to level him with a nasty glare. 

He’s flushed, is the first thing you noticed. More so than yesterday. His cheeks are dusted in pale pink, a delicate blush that runs all the way to his shoulders. He’s warmer, too. You can feel the heat of him pressed along your body. 

“You didn’t have to do that. You could have just asked,” How does someone who looks so willowy have such a strong grip? It’s beyond you, truly. 

“Forgive me,” Predictably, he looks completely, and utterly, unrepentant. “You were just so unsuspecting, I couldn’t help but want to surprise you…” You make a point of looking as surly as possible, and the fiend laughs. Quietly, and behind his oversized, crimson sleeve. Unbidden comes to you the shape of his lips around that euphonic sound, what they might look like when parted by soft breaths and dulcet moans— “Ah, please don’t make that face. It only makes me want to tease you more.”

“Enough of your insanity. ” you bite out, pointedly pressing your elbow into his side. You wriggle in his arms. His grip curls tighter around your waist and he sighs, pressing his face into the crook of your neck to take a long inhale. “Let me up!”

“Just a few more moments?” he asks, words mouthed into your skin. You feel hot all the way down to your shoulders. You muster all your resilience with a swallow, but it isn’t enough. A hush falls over the living room. 

Against your better judgment, you find yourself lulled by the gentle sound of his breathing, by his warmth at your back. Nearly ever part of you aches. Your legs throb, the tight muscles of your thighs worn and throbbing from a long day’s labor. The scorching pains dig deep into your shoulders and your back—you’re due a nice, long shower, you think. 

The dappled sun against the adjacent wall writhes and shifts with the artificial breeze. You can hear the winds shifting through the canopy outside. A songbird sings a trilling little tune. It’s easier to focus on these things while you indulge him and wait to be let up, even if he is being unusually quiet. You’re wise enough to not necessarily be glad for the silence. 

His hand cups your hip, shifting you even closer. It’s only a centimeter or two, but it lets you feel the pointed hard thing jutting into your back in greater clarity. Unbidden, your cunt throbs between your thighs. The arousal and exhaustion makes your mind sticky, concrete thoughts difficult to come by among the haze. 

“Luocha,” you murmur, and he moans softly, breath brushing against your tender skin. Goosebumps flare across your shoulders and arms despite the heat—the sound the shock you needed to get moving. “This is—” you cut yourself off with a swallow as his lips press to the column of your neck. Your already flagging resistance whimpers out into nothing. Each heavy inhale draws him further in, the scent so sweet and cloying in spite of your muffled senses.

“You must have had such a hard day. Doesn’t it hurt? Always going home to that empty apartment?” he purrs, voice indulging, dripping with a delirious sort of fondness. And isn’t that always the trouble with these sorts of situations? Does he want you, or are you the closest warm body available for him to rut into? How strong is his grip on reality? You writhe in his lap and he gasps. His grip tightens in response, holding you fast with surprising strength. “You must be so lonely…”

“I’m not, really,” you nearly snarl, finally losing patience with your clinger’s affections. Your voice, alongside the elbow you jab into his side, jars him from his twisted reverie. He chokes, and muffles a groan into the collar of your jacket, at last lifting his lips away from your skin. The breath whooshes out of him at the force of the blow, but his grip barely loosens. “Behave. Or I’ll leave.” 

He inhales quietly, and shudders.

Over your brief stay in his lavish home, you have perhaps twice (or thrice) wondered if keeping to your principles was worth it. Why not sink into his touch? Why not drink deep of the physical affection he saturates you in? The fact that you’re contemplating the subject at all is deeply ruffling. Little less than two weeks ago, you would have scoffed at the idea.

Alas, the creature at your back is more siren than man. It wounds your pride. You aren’t just any beta. You’re a prime beta, a beta noticed and beloved by Xipe herself. The gift of Harmony should allow you to smother the scents around you completely. It should grant you immunity to the bothersome urges which so often get in the way of business. He weakens your shored-up defenses, somehow. 

“Of course… My apologies.” he sounds contrite, and despite yourself, you soften. Just a tad.  “It’s just—well, a little difficult to hold back when you smell like that.”

“Like what?”

Luocha evades the question, without even pretending to humor it.

“Your last customer was an alpha, wasn’t he?” He lifts his head from the hollow of your throat, looking down at your intertwined fingers over your shoulder. His thumb brushes along the back of your hand before he flips it over. His fingertips brush over yours, before curling into a fist around your pointer and middle, giving a gentle tug. He idly toys with your hand while he speaks. Voice a light, low murmur. “A tall man. Black hair, pretty red eyes… They look like candle wicks, don’t they?” He says it fondly, and your heart sinks into your stomach.

Of course he knows Blade. Why wouldn’t he? 

You’ve never bought anything from Luocha, but you can tell from what he orders that he’s a merchant who idles in the same, seedy markets as yourself. A man who had asked you to trade him an organ brushing shoulders with a Stellaron Hunter somewhere in the darkest corners of the Luofu sounds completely and utterly plausible. A group of little coincidences which occurred just to be a thorn in your side. How did they meet? You can’t help but wonder. How well do they know each other? What kind of relationship do they have?

You don’t ask any questions. It’s not your place. Getting involved anymore than you already are is just asking for more trouble. 

“And if I did meet him?”

He pauses, and laughs a little.

“Well. I am almost in heat. Perhaps I just became… a bit defensive when you came back, smelling just like him. Omegas in heat can be just as territorial of their dens as alphas in rut, though that's often overlooked in the social narrative. We’re supposed to be weak, dainty little things, you know?” If he feels self-conscious about this, he doesn’t show it. He has a tighter leash on himself, now. He sounds more contemplative than resentful. 

“You, weak and dainty? I have to laugh,” you don’t. 

“I appreciate how open-minded you are,” he says sweetly. 

A brief silence falls over the room. You take in the soft sound of the breeze outside. The steady shifting of the trees’ canopies. The steady breathing of that small ecosystem he has birthed and nurtured. 

He’s hesitating. A question hangs in the air, tangles on the tip of his tongue. You can’t see his face, but you have a sixth sense for these sorts of things. That, and it’s typical of him to demand more than you’re willing to give. No more ground will you cede to him. If he begs again for you to remain during the duration of his heat, he’ll find himself succinctly refused. 

Still, you’d rather not have to go through the uncomfortable hassle of rejecting him. But he clearly thinks better of it, because he stays quiet—only breaking the contemplative quiet to ask you what you would like for dinner, his thumb rolling circles onto your palm.

[take-everything-you-can]

REQUESTING AS A FLEETWOOD MAC FAN

Everywhere - Fleetwood Mac

PLS

I Want To Be With You Everywhere 🖤

18+ MDNI LIKE FRFR GO SOMEWHERE ELSE PLEASE !!!

A/N : I'm so incredibly sorry this took so long but I hope it's worth the wait my love 💕 (1k celebration) also a special thanks to everyone along the way that helped me through the worst writer's block ! I love each of you so much 🖤🖤

TW: pet names, self doubt, sexual tension,mentions of food, oral(F), marking partners, unprotected PIV, anal , double penetration, multiple orgasms...

( not really edited all that much 😅 I'm so sorry if y'all see typos ... no you didn't)

WC: 4.3k

Pairing: Steddie x Fem Reader

A year you had all been together and Steve was starting to feel like he finally found peace. It was as if the second he caught sight of you and Eddie, he felt like he was coming home. A home that would welcome him with questions about his day and small chaste kisses to his cheeks. One on either side as he would stroll in from work. A home where he could lay his head across your lap and you would run your fingers through his hair. Eddie could be found sitting on the floor beside him. Close enough to where Steve could place small pecks against the skin beneath Eddie's ear. A home where he felt loved. One you had built together.

July was the hottest it had been in decades, according to the radio ads that came across the station, playing from that little box radio Eddie had bought Steve for Chritsmas. So hot that Steve was barely able to even make it to one of the chairs that sat next to his parents pool without being completely drenched in sweat, at least not the good kind. He hoped for nothing but a lazy day by the water, but he knew that the beach was too far out for just a day trip. So he opted for inviting you and Eddie over to his parents instead.

God what a mistake that was. The heat was making him deliriously frustrated.

He watched as Eddie let you apply the thick sunscreen, layer upon layer, to his pale skin.

“I’m not going to listen to you whine because you got burnt Eddie. Fear the sun Eds. Please?" A small chuckle was earned from the boy beneath your hands.

“Me ? Fear the Sun? I could never baby.” It sent blood rushing from his brain straight south for Steve. A slight pinch to the fabric of his swimming trunks to adjust himself. He could tell that just your touch affected Eddie. How It Made him shiver with every glide of your hands across his shoulder blades. Steve wanted so desperately to be the one under that grip. Hell he wanted to be the one doing the application, if he was being completely honest with himself. A curse under his breath was directed to himself for already putting his own on. A nervous knot in his stomach only grew as the day went on.

The sun had reached its peak and you decided to go inside and make some lunch for you all to enjoy by the poolside. A few sandwiches cut into small triangles for Steve and squares for Eddie. Humming along to one of the hits that had snuck its way into your brain that had played on and off throughout the day. You had started to put back all of the different ingredients you had used in making lunch, but as you shut the fridge door you stop for a minute. You were looking at an array of photos you'd seen many times in your visit to The Harrington's place.

You found one of Steve not much older than maybe seven, holding a trophy for winning a soccer game. The same trophy that sat in his room at the top of the stairs. You see another of Steve and Eddie from a few months before you had met either boy, one where Eddie's eyes shine as Steve shows all teeth. A green robe and diploma in hand, something he looked so proud of. A moment you wish you could have been a part of. The picture that holds you the longest is the one of the three of you and Robin at a party they had all thrown you for your birthday. One where you sat facing the candles of your cake as each boy on either side of you looked at you in full adoration and no one else. The moment you knew you loved them both captured in real time.

A glance up and you could see Eddie lapping his way around the pool as Steve laid out skin to the rays to soak up some color and make those freckles more bronze and prominent. Eddie Loved when Steve was kissed by heat. He loved that radiant afterglow that his skin held and the warmth that he could feel late at night under covers.

For a man who loves the cold Winter season, for Eddie, Summer days like this held a close second. Days where he could catch you watching Steve from afar. Days where he could wiggle his way between the two of you once the sun finally set. Days like this where he could just soak in the love that poured from both of you. The days that came with nights so peaceful he swears he could hear how all of your heartbeats were in sync.

Steve raises a hand to shield the sun from his eyes as he watches Eddie round the pool for the hundredth time in the span of a few hours. It amazes him just how much energy Eddie can muster even when the temperature is almost boiling. A slight twinge of jealousy is cut short by basking in all the glory that is his lover pushing past the surface of the water. Taking one of the hair ties he keeps around his wrist, Eddie slicks back his long locks into a sloppy wet bundle. He lets a few tendrils frame the outline of his jaw, and it leaves Steve yearning, straining even.

You make your way back outside with the food and a few drinks. Cold cuts and ice tea, an offering of relief from the heat. Eddie uses his forearms to lift himself off the side of the in-ground and out of the water. Steve already knows to throw a towel over the bottom of his chair where his legs once laid, as Eddie plops down ready and waiting.

Eddie's skin begins to dry as the sun heats his shoulders and Steve lets out a small hum from beside him, nudging him with his shoulder a bit. Swallowing the last bit of his sandwich. You and Eddie had grown to accept that Steve ate fast. Within the first few minutes, if food was placed in front of him, it was gone. While Eddie would take his time savoring every last bite, and you would graze. Always had a snack in hand whether it be a bag of chips, or a peanut butter cup. The perfect it couple you thought. One who eats too slow , one who eats too fast , and the other who keeps the peace, always in between. A twist to a Goldilocks story of your own.

A few drinks deep, from the wine the Harrington's kept on tap or for the boys beer Eddie had brought long ago and kept there on a bottom shelf. It was giving you a dizzy warmth from within, it had you gulping the ice cold tea down in minutes, and unfortunately your mind began to wander. It had you deep in your thoughts, a look out on the past year.

What were you bringing to this relationship?

How did an invite to a show get you to where you are now? An instant replay of the night you met your boys started a reel behind your eyes.

Your cousin Gareth had invited you to a show that was kind of a big deal, in his words. The band he was in had played for a few years and their hard work had paid off. A bigger venue had asked them to come play, and a bigger venue meant a bigger crowd. You were so proud of him for not giving up on himself, so of course you were going to make the drive up.

The second you walked through the door you were met with a smoky haze and a packed house. You hear your name being called from afar but as you turn you're pulled into a crushing hug.

Gareth was beaming from ear to ear.

"You made it !"

"I.. I can't breathe gare." He lets you go but his arm still holds you close.

"I'm so sorry. It's just been awhile… I missed you." You could have cried right there, because it had been awhile. It had been months. Months of nothing but going to work, coming home, and doing the whole thing over again. You had stopped making time for your friends, your family. You had even stopped making time for yourself, but you couldn't let those thoughts cloud this moment for him.

"I missed you too garebear. I'm so proud of you, this crowd is insane." There had to have been well over two hundred people in the place. Seats full and still not much room to stand.

"Isn't it though. I never thought we'd make it this far but Eddie knew, from day one he knew, lucky bastard. Anything out of his mouth comes true I swear to God" You laughed, if he was the one responsible for that shine in Gareth's eyes then you'd just have to buy this guy Eddie a drink.

"Come with me backstage real quick. I want you to meet the guys." You follow Gareth down a little hallway with a bathroom on the opposite wall of the door you were walking through. Glares from the woman in waiting as they saw you getting an escort towards the private area behind a security guy guarding the entry. A roar of laughter shoots your nerves out of whack. Why were you so anxious? It's not as if Gareth was leading you to slaughter. So why did it feel like the walls were closing in?

The second you turn the corner your eyes meet the two faces you're sure are the reason for your downfall. They have their bodies turned away from you but hearing footsteps enter the room they had both turned to look at who had come in. Breathtaking, these men were most definitely sent from the gods above, sculpted to entice the most prudent of Eves. They were as if one held the apple and the other tempted you to take a bite.

Both tall, broad shoulders. One with a glow of grace and the other swallowed in hellfire. One dressed in a complimenting sweater and the other in a divinely fitted tee. Pretty, simply put these men were pretty and you couldn't help but stare. Your heart had skipped a beat and your brain could barely seek refuge in the prying eyes of the other people in the room.

"This is Jeff, he plays guitar. There we have Grant, he is our bassist. That is-"

"I'm Eddie." He steps forward, the one with the long curls and amber eyes. "I sing" he practically yells as if the words he was saying were being pulled from him with a struggle."an- and guitar."

"And I'm Steve." You hear it come from the man with the soft looking lips and even softer looking hair. "I guess you could call me a groupee." You let out a giggle that nearly makes Eddie's knees give out and Steve's stomach flutters.

How do I get her to do that again ?

From that day on you knew you were gonna have these boys in your life whether you wanted them there or not. It was instantaneous, as if you had all found the missing puzzle pieces that would make you whole.

A call of your name and a grip to your thigh brought you back to reality.

"Huh? I'm sorry, what?"

"You okay babe?" Steve was starting to worry about how quiet you had gotten.

"Yeah , I'm okay. Are you ok?"

" I'm good. You just look lost in thought, that's all honey." You give him the best smile you can as you sit, letting the sun work its way into your skin.

"You might need some more sunscreen." You say to Eddie, there was no way he hadn't washed it all off doing laps. You lean to the side your bag is sitting next to and grab a bottle of spf, handing it to Steve. He raised his brow in question but you just smirked back.

"Don't think I didn't catch you ogling us earlier when I gave Eddie the rub down. Go ahead baby he needs it unless you want to be the one rubbing aloe on him every few hours?"

"You say that like it's a bad thing." A small smirk to his grin and a flush to Eddie's cheeks.

No protest, Eddie turns his back towards Steve and he waits patiently. Like a good boy, one that deserves praise for listening so well. Most days the brat in you and Eddie would send Steve up a wall, but today Eddie seemed content. You just chalk it up to the sun draining his energy but you are far off. Eddie is content because you and Steve catering to his well being fuels his fire. One he's been raking the coals of all day.

Eddie was waiting for that harsh coolness of the lotion but it never came. Unlike you Steve put some of it in his hands and warmed it with a small lather before bringing it to Eddie's skin. Steve first left a massive handprint and in turn you said the words that neither boy expected.

"It looks just like the one on your ass Eddie." A blush had made its way to Steve's chest and Eddie's ears were on fire as a choked sound came from the back of his throat.

Did it really? Eddie had noticed the large handprint that was left behind, as it had started to purple and was outlined in that grayish yellow, In the mirror a few days before as he was stepping out of the shower. The first glimpse had sent his stomach into summer-saults. A rush to the kitchen to find you and Steve, y'all had been trying to figure out what you were having for dinner.

"Did you see this?" Eddie turned to show you both as you let your jaw snap shut and Steve let out a small wolf whistle.

"Someone got you good hunny." Eddie turned clutching his towel to the front of his body as his hair flew and eyes widened. Giggles left the both of you as he stomped backwards out of the kitchen.

" oh you both just wait, you think this is soooooo funny. You know I have a shoot tomorrow! I'm gonna get you both back so good. Just wait and see." As he left the room you turned to Steve who was already waiting for the high-five coming his way.

A swipe over the lotioned handprint made Eddie shiver as he retreated back from the memory.

"I don't know when and I don't know how but trust me, revenge is most definitely on the way."

"Eddie, I bet it made the pictures for the magazine amazing." A slide of his tongue across his teeth and you knew you were right.

He and the boys of Corroded Coffin had made a small name for themselves, and they were ever growing, and had scored a small interview for Rolling Stone. Jeff had suggested a partially nude, face turned, asses out while holding their instruments picture. You and Steve knew what needed to be done. Eddie was never mad in fact it turned him on even more knowing the world was going to see just how hard you both loved him. Proof not only to the world but something simple he could cut out and hold onto.

"You think we should put it in the Christmas card collage." A loud laugh from Steve as Eddie turned to face you with his jaw dropped.

"Absolutely not. Wayne would keel over, no way." You lift off your chair leaning forward to grasp his jaw in your hand a small squish as your lips meet his.

"Whatever you say baby."

"Alright now I'm starting to feel left out." A little huff from Steve, but Eddie stands and offers his hand.

"C'mon, come swim with me before the firefly's start coming out."

You watch as the boys start an all out splash war. Giant toddlers you swore. A small laugh escaping you every time Steve played dirty and fully dunked Eddie under. A smile to the way Eddie's dimples caught like his tongue between his teeth. You made your way to the shallow end of the pool. Where a few steps led you into the water deeper and deeper the farther you got.

Sitting on the first step your lower half makes contact with the water. From where you were sitting the view of the sky was the perfect shade of ombre pinks and purples. A cotton candy swirl to end an almost perfect day, but you were still in your head.

What do I bring to the table? It's not like I'm doing anything important with my life.

Am I doing enough? It's like I'm taking far more from them than I give back.

Do they know I love them with my whole being? I think I'd cease to function without them. Ever since that day I have set eyes on them. I knew right then I was a goner.

Do they know that I'm nothing special? What's so special about an average looking woman, in her late twenties , doing god knows with her life. Why me? It echoes through once more, really delivering that final blow.

Why me?

Humming, you hear it. You had closed your eyes when you started to tear up. You throw your head back hoping the tears will dissipate before the boys notice, but the humming. It's far too close.

"Hunny, what's got you upset?" Steve watches as the tears you so desperately try to hold back find their way out the scrunched corner of your eyes as you roll your head to your shoulder. Eddie had stopped humming the second he saw your body tense in the way he knew far too well.

Steve had gathered you onto his lap as Eddie had found your hands in yours, taking a seat on the lower step beside you. They waited for you, so patient and kind. Two more reasons to tag onto the longest list in history. The reasons you loved them.

"It's ok baby, whenever you're ready." A small hum from your throat as you lifted one of your hands out of Eddie's grasp and found its home on his cheek. One he gladly always sought out, leaning into your touch. Your other hand found its way around Steve's arm, gripping as the tears became adoration for your men. The ones who stopped their own worlds from turning just to fix your own tilt.

"I love you." A statement, loud and proud. Something you often said to each other as a single statement. What was loving one without the other?

You didn't know. It was as if it had always been both, for each of you. A silent knowledge.

"Which big feelings?" Steve asks, hoping he can sway the answers you've already given yourself.

" A little sad, mostly questions about myself, about us. Confused, and honestly just a little bit meh."

"Meh is a good start. We can work with meh, even kSad , and hell I'm Confused ninety-five percent of the time. What's got you feeling these big three?" Eddie, sweet Eddie said, searching for comfort in you.

"I don't know , nothing specific happened. It's almost like I love you so much that my brain can't handle what my heart already knows. Does that make any sense?" Looking for understanding from both men, but you find certainty. You find amber eyes and dark curls. You find irises colored like chocolate melting in the summer heat with beauty marks you've lost count of. You find that none of your doubts in yourself have ever even crossed their minds , not for a second.

You find a devil's smirk, and a devious smile. You find that they are sharing a secret conversation to have you end in ruins.

"What?" Your eyes dart back and forth as you feel Steve's grip slip around your rib cage as he holds you hostage. A deep giggle from him has your spine tingling from the breathing he huffs out below your ear.

"Ed's I think we need to show our girl how much we understand. What do you think ?"

"I think we definitely should." A lunge forward to capture the thickness of your thigh has you trying to squirm out of Steve's hold.

"No! Eddieeee No! Please." But Steve's grip never faults, even with all your twists and turns in protest. That slight hint of anticipation in your voice has Steve hard, letting all the friction of your body sliding across his lap in delicious momentum. His release mounting far too quickly, a long time coming , being edged all day by just looking at you and Eddie.

Eddie has been dying to hear you all day. Knowing the sun would weaken your defense so he could handle you just the way you liked him to. To have that overpowering strength to hold your legs open and keep them that way until he got his fill of you. To have you moaning at the slight pain in overstimulation as his tongue attacked your clit until tears formed and slid from the corners of your eyes. Tears of bliss instead of confusion.

He looked up at you through dark lashes meeting your half hidden lids as your high took over , unable to move while Steve held you in place. Your body lifts in an arch as your eyes find their way back into your skull as your vision blossoms of white static and red vessels.

"Isn't she beautiful Stevie?"

"She's god damn gorgeous." His grip on you is no longer a stronghold but he keeps you seated against him, straining against the fabric of his swim trunks.

Small huffs begin to leave your mouth and your chest begins to rise and fall easier as you crack one eye open into a squint.

" There she is ."

"Hi." Steve starts to leave small kisses up and down your jaw.

"Hello , is this heaven?" Eddie burst into full laughter, loud and giddy.

"No but it feels that way sometimes doesn't it ?"

"All the time." Steve answers and you feel it , him.

A shift of your hips back against Steve has him groaning in the crook of your neck.

"I need it."

"You need what? Say it baby."

"I need you to fuck me." He nibbles at your shoulder as he glances at Eddie, who is biting his lip in anticipation for all the ways Steve could turn this.

"You think you can handle us both right now?" He leans up whispering the words into your neck as you shiver and nods as the goosebumps travel down your spine and mingle with the ache in your core.

"Words."

" I can handle both of you. I promise. Please ?"

"Well baby since you asked so nicely I don't see why we can't give our good girl what she wants . Right ed? "

" You are correct sir." A twinge in his eyes as he finally releases himself from his swim trunks and you feel his massive cock stroking the rim of your ass. You let out a deep moan as his thumb prods against you letting you feel the slight stretch. One you had grown familiar with and started salivating at the thought of the stretch that was still yet to come.

Eddie watched as your eyes fluttered close as Steve messaged his fingers within you letting the other hand play with your breast. Eddie found his dick in his hand as he watched the two of you getting off on just the sight alone.

"Please Stevie , more" a sound came from the back of Eddie's throat as he heard Steve grunt at the tightness of your hole. A strangled moan from Steve as he slides himself in completely. A grip on your shoulder that will ease when you can move.

"Fuck you guys are hot." Eddie can't take his eyes off of you and Steve. Entranced by the look in his eyes you barely register that Steve's grip lets up. You slightly move yourself off of him and slam back creating a rhythm that becomes a bounce. But it's not enough.

"I need more."

"Fuccck mee" Steve holds your hips slowing the pace as you open your legs a bit wider so Eddie can fit just as snug as Steve is.

Sliding his cock through your folds Eddie tells you to take a deep breath and he slides in easily and it feels like he knocks the breath right out of you.

Both boys have you feeling full and both find a rhythm soon that works together sending you straight into your second orgasm.

Overstimulated Steve can't hold it any longer as he spent all afternoon building this frustration he is finally letting go and as he shoots his ropes of thick cum into you , your cunt begins to clench around Eddie who is not far behind as your grip tightens in his hair.

"Your body was just made for us wasn't it love?" Just made to take cum huh?" His praise of you makes you tighten around his cock he comes undone in a thrust not far behind Harrington.

"God damn babygirl, you look so good all cock drunk and dumb." You can only nod in agreement to whatever he says and Steve kisses you on your temple as he motions for Eddie to come close so he can do the same for him.

You start humming. It's something you do sometimes after you've cum so hard your brain stops. Like a second nature your body responds instead. You start humming.

Eddie begins to hum along knowing the song since it's played over and over again as the day draws on. Neither of you expected it but Steve began to sing the lyrics a perfect end to a perfect day . " I wanna be with you everywhere…."

[phoenixcatch7]

Welcome to the environmental lore photo collection that took me three weeks to do! We shall see if we can fit all the photos in!

Okay! For purposes of this compilation I'll not be talking about either seasonal areas or the war! Because those are whole separate topics, and well...

We know enough. Also, I had to lighten several photos, so they might look slightly off to experienced players. It's so you can see!

So, the very first area -

Forgive the quality, this is their second compression lmao. As you can see, we start off with pretty standard Sky Kingdom architecture - blue stone with pale blue paint, topped with gold almost-spikes. There's a landing area from valley (middle left) but it's almost entirely flooded with cloud so good luck landing on it now lol. An overhead walkway (bottom left) that only appears elsewhere in the valley citadel and skate race. Unsurprising, given the proximity.

The interesting things are the campfire, the lanterns, and the broken bridge (top left, right, and bottom right respectively).

The huge campfire and the rows of lanterns speak of low light levels and temperatures. The nature of the wasteland is pollution and corruption, so it's easy to think the thick, dark cloud layer blocking out the sun is a result of that, and thus came about later in the timeline. But it seems to be early enough that ancestors made their own countermeasures to the darkness.

The broken bridge, of course, led down. It's sizable. I wonder what it looked like, before the hurricane? Perhaps they used shuttle boats like the village of dreams? Unlikely - there's no boat debris anywhere on either side, but it's an interesting thought. Either way, it tells us the hurricane wasn't always there...

^ Enter the wasteland proper, and you're met with this. Everything is half buried in sand, the water is toxic, and there's not a candle to be seen (except of course on cake days, as you will see later XD) - this will remain true for the whole realm. Under the hooked arch in the bottom pic is the sapling (clinging on for dear life, surely) and the dock leading to Enchantment.

What purpose the listing building in the centre pic does, I don't know, but if you squint under the left arch in the bottom picture, you'll see there's another one (with nothing inside). Given its placement, it could be assumed one had to pass through it to reach the main entrance. It's highly unlikely they were homes.

Similarly, all those giant broken arches could have enclosed a vast area the size of a small town (figuratively, if we consider the dream village and the aviary) - they're all pointing at each other (as best they can). Valley has proven the smaller version of these are to be walked on, so perhaps guards or manta riders could patrol on them? You do crashland enter under the only standing arch, after all.

The paths, centre right, also seem to be doing badly. Their solidity and thickness means they're not simple flagstones or paving like other areas in sky - they're heavy duty, lined with I believe to be more of that golden metal that bent instead of crumbled. They were built over unsteady ground. Whether that be the sand and toxic water they sit in now or just normal water remains to be seen.

If you look left, you'll see a distant... Factory of some kind. Middle left picture. Pipes leading in or out of it. Whatever it is, production, water purification, waste disposal, it probably doesn't work anymore. If you've played Journey (sky's predecessor), it's strongly reminiscent of an area where you build a temporary bridge connecting the broken arches so you can cross into the enormous building ahead. It's a fantastic sense of scale, to realise that this ancient civilisation ringed a significant portion of way around the base of this gargantuan mountain.

Half buried statues guard the crumbling entrance - smaller than the gigantic ones in the valley stadium, but pretty much the same otherwise lol. Given the amount of buried rubble around them and the chasm in the stone above, did something burst in... Or out? The mystery isn't solved on the inside, but at least the corridor isn't completely blocked. Sky kid (me!) for scale! It's interesting, how apart from the obviously ceremonial dramatic valley statues, these are the first things we see of anything resembling combat or even weapons. A culture which has a concept of militaristic might. They're guarding something important. (Vault, duh.)

No! Unlike what you'd think, the important thing becomes clear immediately. The collosal, toppled bell (I always wondered if they were hollow), the odd ceremonial structure it landed by (top left), those funny diamond bells (top right, top left if you squint), the studded cylinders (bottom left). The hastily stacked rubble blocking the krill's sight (bottom middle), the ripped open roof (bottom right).

It's identical to the forest elder shrine. This is a temple. Could this have been the original location of the wasteland elder shrine? The only remaining proof of a secret eighth elder, now subsumed?... A cool shaped building the architects took and ran with? We don't know. Whatever it was, it was clearly of great import. Most likely ceremonial, or for worship, or, heck, the equivalent of a podium specifically for big grand speeches. When the roof was there, it was an enormous, grand room, guarded by stern stone giants twice over and blocked by the same great doors that hide the forest glade. The ones that light up and spin and only open after meditating and meeting the elder...

There's no sign of those doors now, which is impressive. Probably where they got the stone for the krill blockade and the hiding places along the little bridge. Good thing they're gone, then, because those magic hinges seem to have run out of juice and gone dark. My theory is they were there to keep people out - a barrier between the last traces of peace and the battle torn graveyard we're about to walk into. (Another potential point in the 'prev wasteland elder location' - an ancestor would have to pass through him to enter, and the enemy on the way out.)

There's pipes now, too - I can only believe they were a later addition, given how haphazardly they coat the walls, and the industrial pollution aesthetic much more suited to the grimy, bleak wastes of today than the gilded ceremonial hall this once was.

Just off the left after the main temple area, there's a large room, ceiling also torn off. I can only describe them as pedestals, but what stood on them I don't know. My first thought when I found this place as a moth was a wardrobe/constellation/friend constellation thing, but it's??? Eh. If it were statues, they're long gone with no sign, and they're not big enough for anything mobile. This room served a function, that much is clear, but if decorative or practical I doubt we'll ever know.

^ The graveyard. This is its actual name, I believe. Fitting. The wasteland title promised us Vault, that's all this place is now good for, so that must be the vault we see looming in the background, tower reaching into the low clouds. (If you've played Journey, you're already familiar with the tower idea, so it's easy to slot the two together.)

Here you'll find, uh, krill. There's four here, the highest concentration of krill in all sky lmao. You'll find giant skeletons. You'll find sand. Toxic water. And that's kind of it.

Interesting things abound, however! There's a fleet of sunken, broken boats (middle left), a campfire now overgrown with dark plants (not shown) and a giant crab roasting campfire with a poor, beloathed by the community, crab loving spirit (middle). We can only assume he's the one who built the campfire! Thanks dude! Please have an easier relived memory! (should we call it a seance??) Now, given the guy is an elderly dude who carries a guitar and spends his time chasing crabs all across the dang map, he's probably not a warrior. Heck, with the amount of crabs, he probably arrived after the pipes. After the war, even? On the middle right pic is the weirdly undecorated entrance to the sunken ship.

Of course I looked at the skeletons and compared them! Each wasteland one had tiny scratches or notches in the spine spikes, and yes they aren't there on the other, but otherwise the size and shapes are identical! These skeletons are whales, as proven by the skeleton in forest haunted by the whale whisperer! The poor forest whale died of head injury colliding with the building, so there's every chance these guys were also used in warfare for similar reasons - maybe even specifically bred to fight the krill - but it could also have been a tragedy of mass extinction during what turned the graveyard into what it is today. :( That you can find a Rythm spirit in a skull tells us the troupe came about a LONG time after the deaths.

^ To the shipwreck! The first pic I caught during the shard event (though they landed all the way in prairie!) lol. It looks so ominous... Outside of the seasonal enchantment beauty, this is the biggest vessel in the game, and much more utilitarian. Unlike SS Enchantment, this thing was a tanker, not a home for those on board.

Featuring - the only decorated pipes in the kingdom (middle left)! Life boat deployment cranes (bottom left)! A beached lifeboat, bottom right :(. A boat still attached (feat me). More of those weird diamond bells for cargo, which proves they were a valued commodity and at least semi mass produced and shipped around the kingdom! More than the craftsman in prairie, or the tree fellers in forest, they prove a thriving, stable kingdom steadily advancing in technology and society! And the boat being pointed to the temple - incoming goods? Potentially, for Vault?

The krill decided it didn't want to be in the top pic, but I swear he's there XD... Most likely what sank the ship, tbh. It's not caught on some rock, or ledge, or ditch. In fact, the bottom is more intact than the top!... I think the krill escaped the warzone and caught the arriving ship, possibly spotting an unlucky crewmate through those big arched windows. The memory of the saluting captain walks the wreckage of his ship, sending away a loyal crew member on the second last life boat, back out to sea. Whether it's the boat dashed on the rocks or if they escaped the krill I don't know, but we know the captain didn't. Crab whisperer passes through later, so we know the light seekers are also post event.

We've reached the entrance to the vault! It's.. Smaller than it looks from a distance. Vault must be a shorter building hidden behind it, or far enough away it vanishes into the smog. Under a shard event sky, the black waters look like blood.

The first thing you see of the battlefield is the large, imposing building, now listing to one side and rimmed with stakes (cheval de freise, if you want to be fancy. Large caltrops... When your mounts and enemies can fly). There's only one spirit here, lookout (middle left). Whether it was supposed to be a temporary building (UNLIKELY) or whether they didn't build it properly and the sandy ground subsided over the aeons that have passed between then and now is up to interpretation, but at least this time the lack of roof seems intentional. I'm more annoyed it doesn't line up with the temple, I had to stand literally on the right wall to get the bottom picture and it's still slightly left!

Lighting the crystal triggers three krill to emerge from the ground and start hunting. (One time I visited some unknowing friends who triggered the gate... A krill emerged less than a metre from me with no warning... Terrifying XD.) Previously they used to spawn basically on top of the players and you had to run for your LIFE, but now they take a leisurely stroll in your direction, so you've got plenty of time to wander your way to safety. Maybe stop and get an ice cream. Boring :/. In terms of lore very fascinating and scary, given the last stand and the aurora concert both seemed focused on defending the crystal. This whole time... It was rigged. By which side, I don't know.

The shrine! ^

From the outside, a large, ominous building covered in pipes and statue towers. On the inside, an octagonal chamber many stories high. Like the rest of wasteland, what little decor there is is chockers with that hollow star shape that symbolises light, the king, all that good stuff. There's six ginormous double doors ringing the chamber, all tightly shut. My first thought was six realms, one war council. Nothing to prove or disprove that lol. It would have been a great place for diplomacy, though, without the shrine statue. Sand everywhere, probably through the gaps in the ceiling lol. Beautiful door.

Wasteland elder himself!!! His weapons are the ones arranged on his shrine - whether that means he can manifest in the world and grab them or if they're stone recreations of the ones he carries at all times, I don't know. He's never been seen in any memory or cutscene of war, so maybe he can't manifest... We know the isle elder can, in the song runaway of aurora. His space is the very same place as the Crystal outside his chamber, facing out, and he points his spear towards where the kings star would be, the crowning jewel of his tower. We can safely assume whatever his role, he was defending Vault and Eden behind it. And he succeeded.

There's so much to talk about with the vault door. Top left, the closed wasteland/vault door. Bottom left and right, the closed forest door. Centre and top right, the open vault door. You'll notice more diamond shapes and boat imagery. But in wasteland, the jewels that presumably power the great door are missing, black. The double switches, inactive. Even when activated, no line traces up and no light appears - only the outlines of the stars and speckled lights hidden on the door itself. If that's not divine intervention from the elder, I don't know what is lol.

Pass through into vault, and see its beauty untouched. But turn around, and see the mounds of golden sand blown in from Wasteland, settling in the still air. Vault acknowledges its protector.

Some final thoughts:

^ For some reason, probably that it's the only place it's not very visible, the shipwreck is the only place where the kings star is absolutely massive and has a ring. Every other place, it's normal! It's probably an old design tgc forgot to update with the rest lmao.

^ An entirely accidental realisation due to my research. Man I love environmental storytelling. Nearly every detail of the mask matches the skull! The IMAGERY.

^ My first attempt to get a good shot of wasteland instead caught a first person witness to an expert krill dodger! I didn't get to talk to them, but know you were caught being very cool in high definition!!

^ I didn't get to talk about this theory before, but every entrance and exit to the graveyard and next door shipwreck EXCEPT their connecting corridor are all huge drops in altitude. Both are the only places you find boats. Both are sodden with black water. The ground is uneven. There's whale skeletons. My theory is that these areas were once entirely submerged! Water areas! Shipping and naval battles and cargo! Abyss proves krill can survive perfectly under water - and all emerging krill do so from water!! It'd explain the sand and the debris and the beached boats and all!

Elder shrines do like their slitted roofs. This is prairie. 'S why I wasn't theorising about the sand in wasteland lol. Gotta get the dramatic shafts of light from somewhere!

The open door and two beautifully poised strangers - well done on completing wasteland! I hope you enjoy vault!!

Pipe theory: these things pop up at the entrance to wasteland and follow you all the way through to the shrine, disappear in vault, and then reappear. They go all the way to the point of no return in eden!!! They're either taking something up, or, considering the amount of pipes that open into black water areas, the general gravity situation of vertical pipes... It's likely they were siphoning something away. Sewer pipes, but evil. Maybe trying to wash away whatever corruption happened to the Eye? It didn't work... Poisoned the waters instead. Maybe they carried water up to the Eye like a kingdom sized cooling system and that drained the waters??

And the photo that started this whole thing, the day I climbed the wasteland temple...

that's not smog. That is a wall. That is the biggest wall I have EVER seen.

Do you see the line under the clouds? The sky box? The 'horizon'?

YOU'RE ALREADY LOOKING AT VAULT.

TGC YOU MOTHERS OF DUCKS.

[multiverse-of-fanfic]

Happy Birthday, Harry!

Sleeping Beauty was one of my favorite movies as a kid. So, of course when I saw this anon ask on @sitp-recs dash, I knew I HAD to write this little birthday blurb

"Is it supposed to look so – "

"So what?" Draco snapped, whipping his head to his left to arch a sharp brow at Ron.

Ron floundered under the attention. "So, um, uh – "

"What Ron means to say," interjected Hermione, stepping forward with a gentle hand on Draco's shoulder and a pointed look towards her husband. "Is that it has a lot of character. Isn't that right, Ronald?"

Draco's head swiveled back towards his ginger critic to find him frantically nodding, his head moving up and down wildly as if on a hinge.

Pursing his lips, Draco turned back towards his creation. "I'll admit. It's not exactly what I'd originally had in mind."

And as if Draco's words were the panacea to his sudden – and welcome – silence, Ron stepped up and pointed at the cake. "So, it's not meant to be all crooked like that?"

"No," Draco said tersely.

"Have you got it stuck like that with a Stasis Charm?"

"Yes. It was either that or prop it up with a bloody broomstick. I haven't the time to bake another."

"Bake?" cried Ron. "You made this yourself?"

"Yes. Is that so hard to believe?"

"No," Ron snorted.

Draco turned and glared at him, but Hermione attached herself to his upper-arm with both hands and a cry of, "Oh, I think it's lovely, Draco."

And almost as one, the three of them turned towards the cake – its form leaning more and more the farther removed from the base tier it went. Icing in Gryffindor colors – Draco swore a part of himself died with each layer – dripped out from between the layers and down the side. All of it culminated with the heart made of cherries on the top.

Chewing on his bottom lip, Draco started to ask, "Do you think – "

"I'm sure Harry will love it. It's the thought that counts."

"That's not what I was going to ask, Hermione."

"Oh?" Her brown eyes went wide, and she blinked owlishly at him before turning back to the cake, valiantly ignoring the holes Draco bored into the side of her face.

"What's everyone looking at?"

"Harry!" Ron shrieked, his voice cracking up the octave.

Draco whirled around and stepped towards the newly arrived Harry, bracing his hands on either side of Harry's chest.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, laughing sweetly (if not a bit madly). "You weren't supposed to be back for another hour."

"I left early. I wanted to see you." Harry's smile lit up his face, and Draco couldn't help but mirror it as Harry leaned in for a quick kiss.

"What's this then?" he asked, wrapping an arm around Draco's waist and looking expectantly at Hermione and Ron.

They'd closed the space where Draco used to be and were body blocking Harry from the cake, casting quick glances towards Draco.

"Go ahead and show him," Draco sighed, flinging an arm uselessly in the air. "We can't hide it from him forever."

"Hide what?"

Draco gestured to the cake wordlessly, Hermione and Ron parting like a wave, the cake appearing between them like a giant, red-and-gold eyesore.

"What's this?" Harry asked, intense green eyes focused on Draco.

"It's supposed to be a birthday cake," he groaned.

Harry only closed his eyes, the corners of his lips tilting up. "I know that."

He tugged Draco closer. "Did you make this for me?"

"Yes," Draco whispered, suddenly ashamed. He should have just taken Molly's help when she'd offered it.

"So what's wrong?"

"Well, it's awful. I know you're blind, but surely even you can see that."

Harry wore that expression he always did when he wanted to let Draco know he was overreacting. "But you made it for me?"

"Yes," he whispered again.

"I love it," Harry whispered back. "It's got character."

Draco heard Hermione's pleased 'humph' from behind them and rolled his eyes. "You really like it?"

"Love it," he corrected, squeezing Draco closer. "And I love you. Thank you."

A burning sensation gathered behind Draco's eyes, and he could see the same sheen of unshed tears in Harry's. Draco, though, still had a sense of pride, and refused to cry in front of Ron and Hermione. So, he pulled Harry closer so that they were just a hair's breadth away.

"Happy Birthday, Harry," Draco whispered into the air between them.

Then, there was snogging. Lots of snogging. Ron, of course, cut into the cake without them. But that was alright. There would be many, many more birthdays to celebrate.

[sassydefendorflower]

Would you mind if I asked for the recipe for your famous lavender cake?

Hi :D

Still not sure how you found out about the lavender cake (probably my tags on something) but I shall answer your ask - fair warning though, I'm too lazy to convert much of the measurements into Imperial, so much of it will be metric. Convert at your own risk ;)

The Cake TM:

6 eggs 1 teaspoon of lemon extract (+ the zest of one lemon) 220g sugar 280g flour (all-purpose) 2 teaspoons of baking soda A sprinkle of salt

Split the eggs and beat them until they are firm (don't overbeat) and then slowly pour the sugar into the mixture to make a meringue (which you cannot overbeat thank god).

Once this is done slowly pour one egg yolk at a time into the mixture - then shift the flour, baking soda, and lemon zest into the mixture and gently fold the dry ingredients into the wet ingredients until they are combined - but only just.

You don't want to overmix.

Really.

Line the bottom of a 9 or 10 inch baking pan with baking sheets, but DON'T butter the sides. Bake at 175-180 °C (375F) for about 45 minutes or until it survives the poke test. Let cool slightly and cut in as many layers as you like. (i usually do three layers)

The Buttercream:

500ml whole milk 1 pinch vanilla extract 2 bags of vanilla custard powder 100g caster sugar 1 egg yolk 500g softened butter 10 drops lavender extract a few branches fresh lavender (optional)

Heat 450ml of the milk in a pan, mixed with the vanilla and lavender extract. In a seperate bowl mix the custard powder with the rest of the milk, the egg yolk and the sugar until well combined.

Once the milk comes to a boil, quickly mix in the custard/egg mixture. Mix well. Let it simmer for about a minute, but don't stop mixing for even a second. Take it off the heat.

Put the finished pudding into a deep bowl, cover with clingfilm, and let cool.

(optional) Wash and dry the fresh lavender before chopping it finely and mixing it into the butter.

IMPORTANT butter and custard/pudding need to be the same temperature for this next bit. Once the pudding has cooled to room temperature, slowly whisk pieces of butter into the mix until everything is well combined.

Try the creme to see if you like the amount of lavender - if not, add more lavender extract.

The Ganash:

200g white chocolate 80ml heavy cream 1 tbsp butter a few drops lavender extract

chop white chocolate until its small and even.

bring butter/heavy cream mix to a simmer and add lavender extract - DO NOT BOIL

once the heavy cream is hot enough, gently pour it over the chopped white chocolate.

Wait a minute and start mixing - don't stop until its smooth and uniform.

set aside

Other:

lemon curd / good lemon jam simple syrup

Assembly:

place bottom layer of cake on a plate, add one or two tablespoons of simple syrup onto the cake before spooning a third of the jam/curd onto the cake. Spread evenly. Now add a third of the buttercream - spread evenly.

Repeat with the second layer.

Add the top layer of the cake and crumb-coat the cake with the rest of the buttercream. Put it in the freezer for 30mins to chill.

Prepare the ganash - if it's too solid, gently warm it back up my placing it in a microwave in 10 sec increments.

Place the cake on a cake rack and slowly pour the ganash over the cake, starting in the middle and only slowly working your way to the edges.

Decorate and enjoy!

[spookyspaghettisundae]

The Three Horsemen in the Boardroom

The thunder of spinning rotor blades slowed to a crawl. Artificial thunder deafened the world to Chloe Grant, drowning out any shouting on radio comms, and the shouting of U.S. military operatives as they coordinated all around her like she wasn’t there. It even drowned out her own heartbeat.

“It’s your mess to clean up, Future Proof. We were never here.”

Every word he said pounded her skull like a jackhammer in slow motion. Captain Dariel Rose pulled up his ski mask, slipped his goggles back on, and joined his forces in their controlled retreat.

Metal cables screeched in the pulleys as they dragged the tremendous weight of the T-Rex carcass into its designated black container. Heavy doors slammed shut.

And Max Carter stayed on the ground. Destined for a depth six feet under. His blood had drenched the dust and dirt beneath his lifeless corpse, besides which Grant now sat.

Though her own blood still pumped, kept inside her body without a single injury to note, she sat there, almost as lifeless as Carter. The statue of a sitting, thinking woman, garbed in a black jumpsuit and body armor, and peppered with dust. But she was not thinking a single thought.

The unmarked helicopters gained altitude as soon as all black ops had clambered back inside them. Two soldiers rode inside the container with the dinosaur carcass.

Dust in the artificial windstorm devoured the bright blue sky.

This was the darkest sunny day Grant had seen in years.

Looking back, she wished for it to stay the last.

People’s panicked words shot from her helmet’s headset, but they all fell upon deaf ears. Grant recognized the voices, registered the chorus of upset tones, and wallowed in a confusion which she only fed by not responding.

She always thought before she spoke, so she had nothing to say for now.

Without a sense of how many queries went unanswered, Grant turned her radio off.

Dust settled around her in silence. The clouds of loose dirt kicked up by helicopter rotors finally descended upon the abandoned oil rig where she sat, in the middle of nowhere, thoughtless and speechless in some Midland desert, unable to locate without some map.

The dust settled on everything, layers of it, turning even the T-Rex’s pools of blood a brackish brown.

Grant waited without knowing what for.

A nagging voice in the back of her mind said she needed to be professional. That internal voice told her she needed to be cool, to get her shit together, switch that radio back on, and do what Future Proof expected her to do.

Damage control.

The U.S. soldiers had just absconded with the specimen’s carcass. Carter was dead. And Stantz had pretty much offered up Singh on a chopping block for the government to hang out to dry for hacking their comms.

Grant’s weary head bobbed once, then twice, then she peered over to the unconscious boy, who lay lost, sleeping uncomfortably in the brush nearby.

She had shot him in the back with her EMD rifle. Just thinking back to her snap decision, her impulse to pull the trigger and stop him from running away—the one step of damage control she had contributed for the day—it all elicited a sigh from the deepest and most depressed depths of her lungs.

The kid would survive. Grant herself had once volunteered to take a shot from the EMD rifle back in Future Proof’s headquarters, just to see what it felt like. To know for sure.

To guarantee to herself that it worked. Carter had claimed it could take down a mammoth with sufficient shots, and it had worked on the T-Rex.

Tested on herself, it hurt like hell. Grant had spent a day in agony, wracked with muscle spasms whenever she wasn’t trying to sleep it off in a delirious haze brought upon by painkillers.

The kid, Aiden, was going to get to know that same world of hurt like she had, though he hadn’t signed up for it.

Aiden was still caked in the blood of his family and the dirt of Midland’s desert. The stains upon him would never be washed off in his life. Filthy, miserable, and bound for a future filled with therapy. Over the course of a day, this young boy had witnessed a T-Rex kill his mother and brother, destroy his home, and chase him through the wasteland. To add insult to injury, the people who had just promised to protect him ended up shooting him in the back.

Literally.

On top of it all, Captain Rose’s grim expression still lingered in Grant’s memory, haunting her thoughts like a cruel ghost. Would things have turned to the same disaster if the soldiers hadn’t showed up?

It probably wouldn’t matter to the kid, and eventually, Grant would have to live with it all.

“I’ll pretend we didn’t tango like we did, and we go our separate ways,” Rose had told her.

Generous words, considering it felt like Grant had broken his nose in their struggle against each other on the ground. Then again, Rose’s team ended up shooting Carter and not her, likely because Rose had been Grant’s living shield amidst the chaos.

She understood why they shot Carter—he opened fire in a Mexican standoff. Though he had only taken shots at the waking T-Rex, to prevent disaster, they responded as anybody would in an armed negotiation.

The only difference was, they had been using live rounds, the kind that made human beings very dead, very quickly. Rose’s team had killed both Carter the dinosaur. They only took the latter.

Carter still lay on the ground with Grant, dead. Aiden lay crumpled in a bush, shoulders heaving with every breath. Rose’s team hadn’t given a damn about them.

It’s your mess to clean up, Future Proof. We were never here.

She gripped her helmeted head. Squeezed, as if it helped in any way. Grant had lost fellow soldiers before. Attended funerals of former colleagues. Her history in the military and the private sector was a path paved with corpses, the eternally resting bodies of allies and opponents alike.

“You’re the strongest person I know,” her mother had once told her. “Compartmentalize, meditate, mediate—you, girl, you’re Zen, Girl-Buddha, I sense it. You ain’t a bad person just ‘cause you keep your cool. You ain’t cold ‘cause you’re smart, y’know? Me, I can barely function when some ass-wipe cuts me off on the road, honey. What you got is a gift, not a curse.”

Grant sighed again. It was time to clean up the mess.

She clapped Carter’s shoulder twice, as if to motivate him, to get back up.

As expected, his body stayed lifeless on the ground while she groaned and rose to her feet.

She switched the radio back on.

A new chaos of chatter engulfed her already cloudy mind.

She found that Zen her mother had spoken of, compartmentalized, got to work. Barked sitreps, called in sitreps, pat the dust down. Cuffed the kid, carried him away. Rendezvoused with the others.

Hours later, the job was done. Mischchenko and Ruiz had performed a clean sweep elsewhere. They had somehow managed to herd the injured Hadrosaurus back to the Anomaly, sending it back to its rightful time and place. They even locked it before the glowing hole in the space-time continuum vanished again.

Spencer himself had shown up in the Midland deserts. He won whatever pissing contest there was to be won against Captain Rose’s superiors, and Future Proof laid claim to the other dead Hadrosaurs strewn around the farmstead where Aiden had lived.

The unconscious boy was sent to HQ, where he received better medical attention than his family could have probably afforded in a lifetime, though he would be barraged by incessant brainwashing for the ensuing days. Following Marcus Stantz’s guidelines for media control, Future Proof’s best HR agents would be schooling little Aiden not to tell the wider public about dinosaur incursions or mysterious glowing orbs that connected different eras of Earth’s history.

All the while, Chloe Grant avoided human contact as much as she could.

She filed her report, kept everything above deck, by the book. Checked in with communications, medical, therapy, accounting, Stantz, R&D, Solomon, Containment—the works.

One day, she caught herself frozen, paralyzed, as she stood outside Singh’s office, now empty. He was the first person to give her a tour in Future Proof after Spencer had hired her.

The door to his office now stood wide open. Nobody but cleaning personnel had been inside there since his arrest. Grant stood there frozen, till the sound of a phone ringing in the offices helped her snap out of her trance.

The last she had seen of Singh, he was staring at the floor, sneakered feet shuffling listlessly, while intelligence agents escorted him out of the Future Proof building—in handcuffs, with his designer varsity jacket draped over his wrists to conceal the shackles.

The days melted away without light. Sunny, each and every one of them, but darker than ever.

Grant accepted the invitation to Carter’s wake—least she could do for her colleague. Another name to add to her list of people she buried.

She filed more reports, studied more protocols, fell back into safe routines. She stared at her computer screens and phone and always let calls bounce to voicemail, which she answered in texts, and she answered all emails just timely enough to conform with company policy.

Showers took her longer than usual. She found herself staring into the drain every time, where water spiraled downward, and the steam and heat and the wet engulfed her, muting every other sense, and washing away the imagery of carnage and chaos in the Texan desert.

She skipped every nonessential meeting and only read the minutes that Danielle Bennett gathered in her absence. Grant scoured the notes that R&D had gathered, and frowned when she learned that something had been disrupting their Anomaly Detection System.

Had the government done this? Was that why Rose’s team was on-site so quickly?

She didn’t want to think about it. The likelihood was high, but Grant didn’t care to pull the trigger on that. Spencer and the rest were calling the shots, she would only speak up if she had anything important to add.

Eventually, all reports had been processed and evaluated. The CEO of Future Proof himself drummed up everybody, had them all gather in the glossy, windowed boardroom atop the towering skyscraper.

Debriefing.

He chewed everybody out. Made the T-Rex look like a kitten.

Malachi Spencer never swore. He never even came close to uttering a single syllable of profanity, yet every one of his words cut with a vicious sharpness to match his knife-like appearance. It felt like getting cut down to the bone, and having every pound of flesh carved away until he was done.

With everybody. He was done with everybody. Yet nobody was fired.

Nobody received compliments.

He had a whole plan of action mapped out for them. Next steps for every single person in the boardroom. Future Proof’s intel matched Grant’s hunch. The government was behind the ADS disruption. Someone was out to sabotage them.

Singh’s actions were under a microscope, nobody understood why he had hacked comms, or what the hell he had been thinking at the time. And the NSA was holding him in custody without offering Future Proof any means of contacting him. Rida Singh’s actions would remain a mystery for now.

Through the dreamy haze of those past days and all the detachment Chloe Grant felt throughout the lengthy debrief, she picked up on things she hadn’t picked up before.

Valentín Ruiz’s hand was shaking the entire time, not just when Spencer looked his way.

A subtle shaking. Like she had seen with other traumatized veterans. The type they usually suppressed with drugs or booze in their downtime.

She wondered if Ruiz and Carter had been close, friends, anything. Ruiz spent most of the meeting staring at the surface of the table, scanning monitor displays and briefs without paying much attention.

A subtle shake. The sharpshooter and tracker was a smoker—sure—but she had never noticed this about him in their past weeks of working together. He had gone hours without lighting up a cigarette and never displayed any such tics before.

And when Spencer wasn’t looking his way, Ruiz did something even weirder. A weird hand movement.

Didn’t fit.

Only Grant clocked it. Ruiz didn’t notice that she had.

It didn’t even really sink in until after the debriefing, after the whole main team shuffled back out of the meeting room.

It didn’t fit.

Outside, three new faces awaited. Grant had seen them on photos on the internet, but never in person before.

Three of the most important stakeholders in Future Proof’s business. The people representing the people who were footing the astronomic bills behind the mercenary company.

Roger Cole—a wispy little man with thick-rimmed glasses and a mop of curly hair, clad in an unseeming tweed suit. Looked like a nerd, but he was serious money, backed by weapons manufacturers worldwide. He offered Grant a faint and fake smile as she passed him by like the rest of the team.

Kim Jae—a liaison to the international telecom committee, sat on a leather couch as black as his leather attire, with his expensive shoes up on the coffee table like he owned the place. He was so buried in the screen of his tablet that he didn’t even spare anybody a glance while the crew filed out of the boardroom.

And last, but not least, Lena Romero stood by one of the floor-to-ceiling windows, with the grace of a stoic empress, gazing out into the skyline of Austin. The mature-looking woman in the dark blue suit and pencil skirt was a liaison to the FIP, the International Pharmaceutical Federation.

These three figures were just one head short of the corporate world’s Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, all gathered here on the top floor of Future Proof, ready to meet with Malachi Spencer.

The CEO stayed behind in the boardroom, folding his glasses and then steepling his fingers as he waited. The Future Proof team had all poured out, riding elevators down, taking the stairs, all dispersed. Opening the stage for the Three Horsemen.

Grant gazed through the moving mass of people, watching the Three Horsemen join Spencer in the boardroom.

That’s when she understood what Ruiz had done.

He had stuck a bug underneath the table where he had been sitting. A tiny little black device, so small that nobody would notice unless they checked. She couldn’t even spot it from here, but she knew the movement, the motion of his hand, how it hadn’t fit.

A bug. A spy.

Ruiz thumbed his lips and patted himself down on the way out, looking for his pack of cigarettes in his pockets. The man with the looks of an underwear model shot Grant a sideway glance, then he shot her a flirtatious smirk.

Waiting for the next elevator down, she kept her cool. Kept her poker face up. It wasn’t really like her to respond to such a smirk, especially not from a guy who in all likelihood was a huge womanizer.

Ruiz’s eyes flashed and his entire expression fell, stopping just shy of something sad. Maybe, aside from whatever espionage he was embroiled in, Carter’s death still weighed on him.

Ruiz pushed through the doors and disappeared into the stairwell.

Grant’s haze had lifted. Replaced by something else, something creeping; something that sent a tingling sensation down her entire spine.

She was back in her element, and it offered a whole buffet of distractions from any darker thoughts. After all, Spencer had hired her out of the private sector, with a history of counterintelligence and cybersecurity.

Grant was going to find out what was going on. What the hell Ruiz was up to.

The next elevator arrived. She stepped inside.

Roger Cole, Kim Jae, and Lena Romero had gathered in the boardroom. Cole and Romero took seats left and right of Spencer, while Kim Jae paced around the room like a stag in heat.

Whatever they were talking about, Ruiz had planted a bug that would allow him to listen in.

Grant wanted to know what that was he was listening in on. And why.

The elevator doors slid shut.

[moremysteriesthantragedies]

Hello, Max

Previous (A-side) | Masterlist | Next

Trigger Warnings for unreality/dream logic, feelings of being trapped, symbolism connected to internalized homophobia, "statue" horror, body morphing, and religious (Catholic) elements.

Max squinted as his eyes opened to meet a bright, crimson light, causing him to stumble back. He gritted his teeth, straining against it and the many images that flashed through his head with the greens, yellows, and blues until his eyes could finally open once more. Yet, his vision was far from being what he would describe as clear. 

Feeling along his face, his glasses were absent from the bridge of his nose. As was his bedside table to his right, as was the bed beneath him. Inevitably, the person that had once slept beside him, angelic eyes fluttering closed and chest heaving up and down with a peaceful rhythm, was also nowhere to be found. And that fact would not change, no matter how hard he stared at the nondescript space beside him. 

Florence… 

Max stood straight up and came to a dramatic halt. He scanned his unfamiliar surroundings with a spike of urgency. 

All around Max there was a field of white. Though it wasn't a wheat field, nor did the luminescent spread resemble grass, even if parts of it were verdant. A better description, based on its shine and the true color still peeking through , would be snow. Yet, upon close inspection, the indents within its surface and around his feet indicated something much stiffer. 

Looking along, a metal object was sticking out of the carved pathway, glinting in the now dimmed lights. They must have fallen in his alarm, Max surmised, shifting through the mucky substance to make his way over. Max picked up his glasses from the ground, pushing the rounded spectacles on to finally illuminate the situation. 

Not only did his vision clear the moment he slipped them on, but it appeared his hearing had as well. He felt a popping sensation before the muffled sounds around him became as crisp as the air in Autumn. 

In the newly visible distance, dollops and cherries came into view, confirming Max’s suspicions. The substance was frosting, and what Max was standing on now was a cake. Not just any cake, a three layered wedding cake, if memory serves him correct, and, judging by the size, Max was on the very top of it. Hues of several colors shone on its surface in uneven triangles, though the backdrop was merely a layered brown. 

There was an unintelligible droning in the background that Max could not make out for the life of him, regardless of how close or far he seemed to come to it. It was accompanied by the somber notes of a piano, or, Max lifted a brow as he considered, an organ perhaps? Either way, the melody made his heart soar, so vividly able to see his lover pressing down on the keys. 

So, it’s just a dream. Max mentally sighed, putting a hand on his heart to steady himself. He hadn’t discounted the idea that he had started sleep baking in the middle of the night, smearing icing all over the kitchen floor and surfaces. With a soft chuckle, he decided this was a much better alternative.

A smile graced Max’s lips, the muscles in his back and shoulders slowly disengaging themselves. He had a trick for this. All he needed to do was blink twice and he’d be back in the waking world in an instant. He took a deep breath, counting with his fingers, one on each hand. 

One. His eyelashes collided before pulling apart again, the small hairs shining in the golden delicious light. A finger was drawn out to his right. The music in the background was beginning to reach its conclusion as he began the short count. Two. And the other was drawn out to his left.

There was darkness, and yet, consciousness did not follow. The black had simply lingered. Max’s lips and nose skewered as he opened his eyes again, only to be greeted by that same, frosty surroundings. He took a tentative step back, breath hitching in the sudden silence that had overtaken the scene. 

“It’s only a cake, Max. There’s no harm in looking around for a little bit longer,” he murmured to himself. 

As far as he knew, his next great design idea was hidden beneath that tampered surface, and he’d be amiss if he didn’t at least give it the full walk around. So, with the hunching of his back, he searched for his next point of interest. His eyes scanned around until he came face to face with…another face. 

The groom’s topper was present within the middle of the cake, though Max could not find the other anywhere. Using the indents made by both himself and an unseen second party, Max stepped towards it. The groom stood tall with a crumbling cavern just to his side, a part of the cake seeming to have melted in on itself. Max assumed that explained the missing second party, being careful not to come too close to the weak surface as he stepped in front of the lone figure. 

It was a well groomed gentleman, with an appearance so discolored even the vibrant lighting couldn’t put a dent in his overly gray tones. His dark hair was brushed back, mouth pulled into a wide smile to show off his perfectly white teeth. Something about his features and proportions felt intensely familiar, sporting slender cheeks with a sharp chin. Though any time Max tried to focus on the statue’s face, his vision began to act up again. He soon looked elsewhere, fully examining the stock still figure. 

The groom was much better dressed than Max was, the latter simply wearing a long, knitted cardigan with a plain white t-shirt, jeans, and a pair of sneakers. Max had managed to keep the sneakers relatively clean, if one ignored their bottoms, by retracing the previous steps, though it seemed the man in front of him had not experienced the same luck.

His tux had chocolate stains all over it, and Max was so focused on inspecting them, attempting to scrape the dried bits off, that he did not register that motion blur within the corner of his eyes was the moving of lips.

"Hello, Max."

Suddenly, the groom’s head turned, and Max threw himself back into the frosting with saucer wide eyes. There was no mistaking it. Even through the record static of the voice, Max had heard it too many times to play dumb. The man leaned down, giving a better view of his face, but never his eyes. 

"Why, when you see your own face do you assume harm," the man asked and Max glared at him from his crumpled spot.

Max had fallen on his side, having attempted to take a step back when he fell. His legs rested against each other, feet curling in to reach his bottom. 

“Perhaps, I should take on a more comforting form for you as well.”

Max’s mouth opened with a question, though his lips sealed shut when the groom’s features began to change. The man’s cheeks turned into a rosy red, his lips, which were pulled at their edges to become more plump, had become much the same. The color spread to the rest of his face, including his button nose, and seeped down his neck to cover his entire body. His hair, though straight, had found a few curls here and there, color breaking through the deep hue until it was a strawberry blonde. All in all his appearance had become much softer, more rounded, so to speak. When all the changes had set in, he offered Max a tender smile. 

“So, what do you think?” 

Piercing eyes shone out through the darkness, though only for a moment. A beautiful, sea emerald. Max's blood ran cold as the memories awoke, shaking off their musty cobwebs. 

Though the groom had settled on an older version, it didn’t take long for Max to recall the boy he had crafted it from. Max could feel his cheeks begin to flush.

Max’s hand jutted up at the sensation, feeling the warmth there, before he forced himself to move. He hopped up, going over to one of the candles near the middle of the cake. He yanked it out with some effort, gripping it tight within his hands before pointing it toward Sam…whoever he was. Though the end wasn’t even lit, so Max didn’t understand the point of it. 

"I apologize for being so bold. Can you forgive me, Jude?" The man asked in a voice that rang like wind chimes. 

It echoed in Max’s ears, his eyes stuck jumping between those features before he shook his head. 

"Listen. I don't know who or what you are or what you think you are. But, if you hurt Florence, a candle through the head is the least of your worries."

The man laughed, clapping at that, the sound sharp compared to the silence. His face changed back, as if the mere act had commanded it to. The rest of the groom’s appearance followed suit. 

“I’m you, of course. Isn’t that obvious?” the man said in a loud whisper, stepping forward with his head held high, “Relax, I only wish to speak with you.”

Max could feel his arms gradually fall to his sides, flinching as the candle fell from his hands, which had become just as limp. The man came closer and closer, Max backing away. He was thankful his legs remained functional, kicking up the cake’s fragile batter until…

…Max let out a harsh yelp, stumbling back and grasping for one of the cherry stems in desperation. However, his fingertips narrowly missed it and, when he did manage to grasp one, it merely broke beneath his touch. Now, not only was the side of his cardigan covered in frosting, but his fingers had collected several bits of cream in the struggle. 

He was only saved from his ceramic doom by the man walking over. He did so leisurely, motioning towards himself with his fingers before Max completely fell back. Max found himself pushed several feet forward, managing to remain on shaking knees despite the dragging of his feet. With Max in front of him, the man grabbed Max’s hand and pulled him even closer. Max soon landed straight into the man’s chest, head shifted to his right to avoid eye contact. 

“I promise to keep things short,” the man said, wrists lifting in a sign of mock innocence. 

The man’s smile widened as Max’s body went still within his touch, the man’s hand coming up to stroke through Max’s hair. Though Max’s brain surged with warnings, the fingers lightly scratching his scalp were distinctly his own. It felt the same as using his own hand to comb through his own hair. Which was to say it was known, and passive. 

“Does that sound fair?”

Max looked up, inspecting his own, distorted face before giving a faint nod of his agreement. The man grinned, showing off his teeth before, with two accidental blinks, Max’s eyes snapped open.

[oumaheroes]

Thoughts on any other relationships? itapan, romerica, maybe pruaus? you look like the type of platonic spain and romano, but maybe those two? any other ship involving england and/or france?

I dunno if this is apparent by my silly billy blog and all of its posting, but Arthur is very much my lil bean cake and who I focus my relationship thinking about the most haha

I love me some FrUK, obviously, but also PrUK, EngBel (ugh, beloved), and EngPort as my favourites, and I have been known to go diving headfirst into other ships like scoteng, usuk, asakiku, and engita and enjoy them immensely (I just like Arthur put against different personalities and AUs and seeing how he ticks, what can I say)

Other than this, I'm not really a shipping kind of gal. I prefer found/family, friendship, historical, or something plot driven and so usually I focus on and search for these in fics as the focus. I don't know what happened to me with FrUK but it got me by the soul hairs and won't let me go, I don't think this deeply or am continually inspired by any other ship in the same way long enough to generate any true feeling. I like the intimacy and the depth of a relationship, the smoothness and the edges, so romantic or otherwise I'm a happy camper and only go rabid when FrUK is about

Characters together then, I really like the bad friend trio as an old and very layered, complicated ball of things, and I really like our boy Gilbo with Hungary (I think Gilbert's a very neat character in general). I like ScotFra (blame Senditothemoon primarily) and I like NedPort thanks to Cake. I've never been massively fond of GerIta (I think the early fandom did Italy so dirty as a character and I've never recovered), though SuFin I find cute. I was also never big on Spamano, I think Spain's personality works much more interestingly with Belgium or Ned but never with either Prussia or France alone- only in that three

Really though anon, I'm to my shame very Arthur centric and don't give much thought to characters anymore outside of the sphere he interacts with (very bad of me I know, though this does mean there's a whole treasure trove of good Hetalia fic out there for other characters for me to find)

[loosesodamarble]

A Future as Bright as the Sun and Stars

Thoughts about Morgen and Josele's wedding and their life if they got their happily ever after.

Discordia is @lyranova's oc.

..........

Thomas tries to walk Josele down the aisle but with his bad leg (hunting injury), he can't make it the whole way. Josele walks the rest of the way on her own.

Yami, one of Morgen's groomsmen, almost objects to the wedding but is silenced by William and Nacht.

Discordia, Charlotte, and Rachel (from Driftwood Desserts) are Josele's bridemaids.

Morgen kisses Josele on the lips before the priest gives the go ahead. The audience all laugh about how much Morgen adores his bride/wife.

After Josele and Morgen have their first dance as husband and wife, Josele dances with people like her father, Nacht, and Yami. William and Discordia also get a dance with her.

Charlotte is the one to catch the bouquet when its tossed but she quickly shoves it into someone else's hands. And that someone is Yami... 👀

The wedding cake is three layers: two vanilla and one strawberry. The frosting is buttercream. There's one or two pieces of Gladis' sugar art displayed at the wedding as well.

At the wedding, Josele whispers to Morgen that she suspects she might already be pregnant.

Josele moves into the Faust Manor after the wedding. She and Morgen still have their rooms at the Grey Deer base but Josele is officially part of House Faust (no matter how much Vincent and Adela hate it).

At the same time Yami and William get their own squads, Morgen would become the captain of the Grey Deer squad. He immediately makes Josele his vice captain.

Morgen is considered as a top candidate for Wizard King alongside William, Fuegoleon, and Nozel.

Morgen mostly deals with the work that's done while behind a desk. He sorts mission reports and attends meetings. He coordinates missions for the squad members.

Josele's main job as the vice captain of the squad is training the squad members. She mentors new recruits, guiding them through their first mission and then teaming them up with older members who she believes will help them grow.

Josele encourages physical exercise as well as honing one's magic to the squad.

The Aqua Deer squad thrives with Morgen and Josele at the helm. They make sure that everyone does their best in work but also encourages their Magic Knights to enjoy themselves outside of the job.

One time, someone suggested that Josele became vice captain only because she is Morgen's wife. One duel later, the person retracted their statement.

The members of the Aqua Deer and even other squads often go to Morgen and Josele for relationship advice.

Josele and Morgen sometimes get into heated discussions. And a trick that the squad members have learned to get them to calm down is to yell "Just make out already!" It embarrasses the couple and makes them think more clearly.

While their jobs keep them busy and don't make it possible to have every meal together, Josele and Morgen always have at least one meal together in a day. Breakfast, lunch, dinner, or even a snack break, they like to share their meals.

They try to have a date every two weeks. Nothing major but at least something like trip to a cafe for drinks or a walk through the manor gardens.

For their first anniversary, they took a weekend off to spend at a private beach house. No captain duties, no Magic Knight duties whatsoever, and no one else (except maybe their child[ren] if Josele's pregnancy suspicion was right).

Morgen and Josele's future kids would consist of 5 sons and 2 daughters.

They kept having sons and only stopped when the daughters (twins) were finally born. Although they would've agree to stop at 10 if the boys just kept coming.

Morgen is not the best parent at first. He has to do a lot of reading and practice with Josele before he gets the hang of it.

Bless this man. He loves his kids with all of his heart. But when he sees his firstborn right when he was fresh out in the world, he definitely loses consciousness for a few seconds. He was told there'd be blood but he didn't expect the baby to look as bad as they did.

It's through sheer determination that Morgen learns and becomes the best parent to his children.

Josele isn't perfect either. While she knows her way around kids, she's hesitant to smother them. She tends to their needs of course but she doesn't feel comfortable "spoiling" them for a long while.

Morgen reminds her that she should give their children what she lacked growing up and what she lacked was parental doting. And that gets her to change.

Each and every child would develop at least one healing spell, regardless of their attribute. Such a kind magic is in their blood.

Josele would also teach the children how to use weapons and Morgen would help them find an artistic outlet (music, poetry, drawing, anything).

Josele and Morgen are "Mama" and "Papa" to their kids, no matter how old they get.

On each of the children's birthdays, the birthday child(ren) always receive their first gift under their bed. They ask Morgen and Josele why they put the first present under the bed and the parents answer that they don't put it there.

[tearsoftime0086]

We'll Always Have Casablanca

pt 2 of 3

Characters: Steve Burnside, Leon Kennedy Summary: Steve arrives at Leon's house, expecting one thing and encountering another. Word Count: 1088 (of 4185) Warnings: Alcohol use

~~

Half an hour later, Steve was on the way to DC.  He could’ve been out faster, but he’d burned a significant amount of time putting on his concealer. It’d become a required step to pass as normal – he could attribute his weird arm veins to a genetic fluke, but the ones permanently pressing against his face were too obvious to show in public. He was a near-master at blending the makeup by now, but he’d hit a snag today.

Steve took another look at his rear-view mirror. His left cheek remained caked with three-too-many layers of concealer, leaving his skin flaky and uneven. Well, so much for looking presentable. He kept a few portable powder containers in the car – would it be worth wiping it all off and starting over?

He rolled his eyes, waiting out the traffic jam into DC. Why was he even worried about this? If he’d committed to helping Leon Kennedy out, why was he being chicken fifteen minutes before meeting him? This wasn’t an interrogation (or at least he hoped it wasn’t) – he didn’t have to try so hard.

His nervousness subsided a little when he realized the address led to the quieter, residential part of NOVA. At least the guy wasn’t trying to expose him at the White House or something – that was a good sign, right?

At a particularly long stop, he flipped open his phone to text Leon.

Im like 15 minutes away

Waiting for interstate exit to clear

Leon had been quiet ever since their initial texts at the apartment – there’d been no response to Steve’s departure message. His cell didn’t ring again until he was nearly at the address – a small place in a well-off neighborhood of DC.

g

G? Good?

He parked at the empty driveway. The house in question was inconspicuous – same beige paint job as its neighbors, a front yard that was well-kept but empty. The windows were covered with curtains, and he couldn’t see light coming out of the rooms at all. It looked like a model house that no one lived in. Steve checked the address one last time – the number and street lined up. Maybe it was a discreet safehouse.

No one responded with the first doorbell ring. Steve was starting to get a little paranoid about this whole thing, and his thumb slipped against the doorbell twice more. When that didn’t work, he went for a knock at the door.

He’s saved from the anxious waiting by the sound of heavy footsteps drawing closer. He stood up a little straighter, taking a step back. Damn, he really should’ve redone his makeup, the Veronica features were way too obvious if Leon wanted to talk about-

The door slammed open, and he was broken out of his self-absorption by the man of the hour, who… looked equally shocked to see him.

Wait, was Leon Kennedy in pajama pants?

Leon mumbled a few choice expletives and turned back around, leaving the door ajar. The stumbling figure bore little resemblance to Steve’s mental image – gone was the orderliness of America’s finest, replaced by an unkempt five o’ clock shadow and bleary eyes. It’d been five years since Steve had last seen him, but the glint in his gaze when their eyes locked seemed to have aged an eternity.

Suffice it to say Steve was utterly confused.

Leon appeared again before Steve was able to recover, holding an open flip phone in his hand.

“I can’t read the phone screen,” Leon slurred – was he drunk? – “Did I really send that text?”

Steve nodded blankly. “Yeah, that’s why I’m here,” he said, incredulous.

“Dammit,” Leon groaned, snapping the phone shut and heading back inside again. This time, Steve followed, meekly closing the door behind him. The older man didn’t stop him, instead planting himself down on the couch. The apartment was dark, with only the faintest rays of sunlight making it through the closed curtains. The strongest source of light was a small TV, flashing yellow colors over a bottle of whiskey and a half-finished glass.

Leon pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sorry, didn’t mean to send that…” he mumbled, voice quiet and not quite aimed at where Steve was standing.

“Uh, it’s okay,” Steve replied, taking a step closer to the sofa. The lumpy melted wax on the whiskey bottle was awfully familiar. “Is… everything alright?”

Leon laughed. “Fine and dandy – just enjoying my paid time off.” His head drooped, and for a moment, he seemed to slip off into unconsciousness before bouncing upright.

“Do you… want me to leave?” Steve said. He’d seen his fair share of hung over people at college parties. It’d be better to have someone watch over Leon, but hell, they barely knew each other. If he wanted him to leave, he’d try to get someone to sub in instead.

Leon’s face knitted into a dark scowl. “I called you here, didn’t I?” he said bitterly. Immediately after, he planted his face into his palms, mumbling, “Sorry. Just a text – what was it you said? An email you read…”

The world seemed to stop at his stumbling words. Steve felt the blood drain from his face. God, he remembered. The whiskey, the dumb thank you, the sob story, everything – was that why he’d called?

“Hey, you don’t have to apologize,” he said, going into sober-friend overdrive. “Can I get you some water? Do you want to nap it off? I wanna talk, but…”

Leon looked up, the sheer fatigue of his being suddenly apparent. He’d somehow managed to both bulk up and look utterly malnourished, with eyes buried deep under several layers of dark circles.

“Already tried sleeping it off,” he said, head dipping. Steve was pretty sure he’d woken him up with his arrival – it wouldn’t take too much for him to fall asleep again.  “I’ll… take some water.”

“Right,” Steve clipped, already turning towards the kitchen. “Be right back.”

It took a little too long to find a mug in the kitchen - the numerous shelves and drawers were mostly empty. It didn’t seem like Leon lived here very often, if at all – there was a faint layer of dust on every countertop. Reminded him of the good ol' freshman dorm, without the leftover pizza boxes everywhere. The routineness of everything at least calmed his nerves a little – he knew what he had to do in these situations.

By the time he’d walked back to the sofa, Leon was asleep again, leaned against the edge of the couch.

prev next

[mynumberfivethings]

i have another blog where i write fic for another fandom and i talk it out a lot w anons mostly so others will see those interactions and say something along the lines of: “oh man, i love this idea, i’d love to write it too but ur already gonna do it, so no point” but i constantly encourage them to write it anyways bc i am the type of person who loves to read and re read the SAME concept/trope over and over bc i enjoy it so much, so like, what? ten similar stories written by ten different writers? SIGN ME TF UP pls! u know? 

and the fact is, there hasn’t been a genuinely “original” idea in forever, so ya know, fuck it up ppl! it’s fanfiction! idc! 

so when ppl get mad about others writing v similar fics (as long as its not an obviously word for word copy stolen from the original work) i just cannot wrap my head around said anger? 

like, my longest WIP in ao3 rn is this tua AU im really enjoying working on and i remember being in the shower in early september one morning and getting the idea, which is basically: ooh, what if the temps commission decided to save five fifteen years into the apocalypse instead and he worked for them for a couple of years and he broke his contract at age 30 and after doing some math decided that the best way to stop the apocalypse from ever coming to fruition was to murder reggie??? but then he gets stuck raising the rest of his siblings (all of who are only 14, since in this AU he’s only been missing a year in their timeline)---and basically i had this idea and thought oh shit, this would be so cool bc there’s SO MUCH to explore, like reginalds death, five being mr. mom, grace gaining full autonomy thanks to five, pogo finally owning up to some shit, the kids realizing the extent of the abuse they suffered and getting to be KIDS! the temps commission eventually hunting five down! vanya’s meds could be addressed and everyones shock at learning she has POWERS! like, damn, the possibilities in my head were ENDLESS 

so as soon as i hopped out of the shower i wrote the general gist of the idea down in my phone notes app and left it there for like two days? only bc as much as i felt this fic calling my name i also knew it was going to be A LOT and i wasn’t sure if i was up to the task. so two days pass and i end up writing the first chapter, editing, revising, etc and i look at the final product and im happy w it so i post that bitch, and the next morning i wake up to this person complaining in my inbox that i ripped off their idea, and i looked at their fic (the titles are SO SIMILAR!! it’s a quote from season 2-”I’m the daddy”) and the summaries are also very similar, and they posted it literally two days before me, on the VERY  same day i had the idea originally and i just think its so funny bc like, BRUH, i was over here like look at me w my original ass idea, i love this AU, omg, big galaxy brained bitch over here that i am, hehehe, only to find out that our brain cells, from probably thousands of miles away connected very briefly on that early September day to come up w the exact same concept, like. damn. 

i did read their fic tho, and thankfully they took it in a v different direction and so while the general idea was the same, the stories differed SO MUCH so i was just shook, like, dude, did u even read my story??? 

BUT ANYWAY, all this to say: there has never been, nor will there ever be, an original idea, if we’re in the same fandom, i guarantee we’ve all shared ONE single braincell at some point and come up w the same fic idea, gif idea or meme idea and i think that’s fuckin swell honestly.  

[luminous-letters]

Since we're a magic less student if we were painting the roses we'd have to do it by hand and probably prick our finger

Can I request heartslabyul boys giving them a white rose and magically changing it's colour in their hands after they get banned from helping because their fingers are now full of bandages

sorry anonn, I can't write the entire heartslabyul gang since the character limit per request is 3. i hope you don't mind my choice of characters.

do request again if it doesn't satisfy you though! ^^

Skin punctured, palms encased in thick layers of bandages lest grime and paint toxins plague your injured hand. Each move of a muscle resulted in the horrible sensation of phantom needles digging its way into your skin.

Aside from the holes caused by the thorns, a deep and unsightly gash made its way across your forearm. It too needed the same, if not more, layers of bandages.

Another trip to the infirmary, you thought.

Now, back in the comfort of your own dorm, you rested your weary body. You made sure to thoroughly wash, disinfect and apply more bandages before you retired for the night. But for now, you sat on the gray cushions of your rickety lounge.

Three roses neatly sat on a makeshift vase— a taller than usual cup with water. Each rose was different from the other, reminiscent of the bachelors that offered them to you.

The first rose wasn't natural, its blue coloration set it apart from the rest. Honest work, you can commend that. Memories of an embarrassed Deuce Spade ran through your mind.

"Now...turn red!" he announced, the light in his pen flickered like a near-busted light bulb. "It's...blue?"

True enough the once white flower was turned into a deep blue, the same shade as lapis lazuli. You picked it up, careful not to prick yourself again on its dastardly spines.

"Wait! I can make another one— just give me another chance. I can prove that—"

"I like it," you chuckled, marveling at Deuce's accidental masterpiece. The rose's petals possessed a beautiful gradient from azure to pure white, akin to foamy ocean waves against the shore. "If you say so..."

"Oh wait! I forgot the pie!" Deuce panicked, quickly dashing towards the door.

"I'll be back! Just uhh— just wait for me 'kay? I promise you it's a good pie!"

You moved on to the second...rose? It looks nothing like a rose, It was more stem than rose, add the fact that the rose was slathered in still wet paint.

"Hey, hey~ If it isn't my favorite campus cryptid!" Ace hollered from across the hall, the lazily prepared flower in hand.

"What's that?" you ogled at what Ace was carrying. "A rose, duh. Did the medicine turn your brain to goop or what?"

"That's a rose?"

"Not the point, see what I did there? Anyways, got you this," he tossed you an expensive-looking bottle, decorated with shell patterns and pale purple.

"Prick."

"Touché, MC, touché."

Oh.

"Now before you tell me off," Ace seemed to read your thoughts, "I bought it," he waved the receipt in your face.

"It's a healing ointment, I can apply some on you if you like~" Ace playfully wiggled his eyebrows.

"I'm touched, but I can manage just fine."

"You must be fun at parties," he sighed.

Now the third rose was perfect. Trimmed and brightly colored, it was nothing but astounding perfection in every inch.

"To offer you just a rose would be unprofessional," Riddle offered you the rose first before handing you a box, "I prepared this myself, mind you."

"I apologize for my oversight and lack of supervision. This whole ordeal would've been prevented if I'd only been more cautious."

Inside the box was an appetizing serving of red velvet cake, its appetizing scent beckoned forth your tiny Behemoth— Grim.

"No oyster sauce this time?"

"I've already memorized the recipe, its better than last time. That, I can assure you," Riddle was smug. "Seriously, I'd choose Advanced Alchemy over baking any day."

"Let's dig in then!" NRC's resident weasel announced, clawing at the delectable treat.

A sigh escaped Riddle's lips, "Wash your hands— er, paws, at least."

[erythrum]

𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝑬𝒏𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓

𝙋𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜: 𝘙𝘢𝘧𝘦 𝘊𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘰𝘯 𝘹 𝘱𝘰𝘨𝘶𝘦!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 | 𝘑𝘑 𝘔𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘹 𝘱𝘰𝘨𝘶𝘦!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜: 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘢,𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦,𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴,𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨,𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵,𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵𝘵𝘺 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵,𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦,𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘫𝘪𝘢𝘳𝘢,𝘳𝘢𝘧𝘦𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘶𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘣𝘰𝘺 𝘪𝘧 𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘢 𝘨𝘶𝘯 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘮 (𝙨𝙢𝙪𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨,𝘰𝘳𝘢𝘭 𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘦&𝘧𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨,𝘷𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘴𝘦𝘹,𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘬)

𝙖/𝙣: 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 @outcrbcnks ,𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘣𝘪𝘵 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦 𝘐 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥 :)

𝙒𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩: 5.3𝘬+,𝘣𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘦 𝘶𝘱 𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘣𝘦 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯𝘦

𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘙𝘢𝘧𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘺/𝘯, 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘥𝘰 𝘵𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘨𝘰

✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵

Find the gun, find the gun y/n. It was all I could do to keep me calm down in the sewer, the disgusting sewage the covered my body in a thin layer made me nauseated. Kiara was ahead of me leading the way down the tunnel. The light of the drain was coming in to view. Almost there.

"Kie, I think I might throw up," the smell was making me gag.

"God this is fucking awful, why did we let them convince us to do this?”

“If you remember correctly, we are trying to find a damn murder weapon,” I might have said that a bit too demeaningly, but to be fair, I couldn’t ignore the way my boyfriend looked at her. The hardest part was pretending like I didn’t know what was going on.

“Whatever, let's just find this damn thing and get out of here,” Kiara said.

We eventually found our way to where the sewer met the storm drain on the street above. Searching felt like a waste of time, I don’t know why I thought it was a good idea to get involved in this bullshit, but I guess dating JJ came with its ‘perks’. Which happened to include searching for a fucking murder weapon at the bottom of a sewer.

I dragged my hands as deep as I could under the nasty water, trying my hardest to keep my head above water.

“People are so shitty,” Kiara said, disgusted by the trash that easily could’ve been recycled sitting at the bottom of the basin.

“Guys! I think I found something,” she held up something that was definitely not a gun, something dead. It elicited a yelp from her throat, definitely not good.

“Is it Gavin? Is it a body?” The sound of JJ emanated through the drain. That was when I heard the water coming.

“Kie, somethings wrong,” she was so caught up on the poor animal she failed to notice the water beginning to flood in.

“Oh shit!” She was starting to panic. Not good not good not good.

“Guys get out of there!” The voices of JJ and Pope slowly being drowned out by the rising water.

Kiara began climbing up the ladder leading to the drain on the street. Adrenaline was coursing through my body as I climbed behind her, the water closing in on me.

“Push Kie!”

“I am y/n, it's too heavy,” the drain was our only escape now. The water was at my chest, inching closer and closer to my neck. The adrenaline made my body act on instinct, but I also couldn’t keep myself calm. It felt like my body was numb as I tried to pull myself up the ladder, closer to Kiara.

I couldn’t keep my head above water now as it rose up above my head. I took the largest breath I’ve ever taken in my life and prayed that JJ and Pope would come lift the drain. Struggling for air was the worst experience I’d ever felt, I couldn’t hold it any longer. The water filled my lungs, it went black after that.

The boys were pulling as hard as they could on the drain. The combined strength of the two alone just wasn’t enough. But someone else had heard the screams of the two girls and came barreling down the street to help.

Pope had a look of horror on his face as Rafe Cameron himself began pulling on the drain as well. The three of them together much more easily pulling the manhole off and onto the street. Water came flooding out as JJ pulled Kiara out, she was sputtering the disgusting muck out of her lungs, begging for air.

“Kie, Kie! Are you alright?” JJ asked.

“She’s still down there,” she struggled to get out, still filling her lungs with clean air.

Rafe was in panic mode, he nearly dove into the water, reaching his torso as far down as he could. He had to find her. He had too. Rafe's head below the water and into the drain, reaching out for her. After what felt like hours, he felt something, grasping on with all his strength and pulling her body out of the sewer.

"Fuck, Pope! She's not breathing, Pope, I swear to god you better know CPR," Kiara was screaming, still in the arms of JJ.

Rafe began pumping his fists down on her sternum in a steady rhythm. All hell broke loose when he plugged are nose and connected his mouth to hers, blowing air into her water filled lungs.

"What the fuck are you doing!" JJ viciously pulled Rafe from her body, throwing him back onto the concrete.

"Saving her fucking life asshole," Rafe pulled himself back up, rushing back over her and continuing to do what her boyfriend could not. He pushed another breath into her lungs, pleading with himself that she would survive.

That was when y/n began coughing up the sludge lodged in her lungs. She was nearly throwing up her lungs as Rafe stared at her, a look of relief washed over his face. He was the first thing she saw when she came to. Then she saw JJ, clinging onto Kiara in a way she'd always knew would happen.

"Y/n! Fuck I'm glad you're oka-," JJ tried reaching out for her.

"Get the fuck off of me JJ," y/n pushed him back, disgusted yet not surprised by his actions. She had just been brought back from the dead and it felt like he didn't even care. The one person who did care was supposed to be her mortal enemy. A million thoughts were trying to process in her head all at once. Having no idea what to do, she picked herself up and began walking as fast as she could away from the group. On her heels was that same kook, the one she hated, the one she couldn't keep off her mind, the one who ruined her life, the one who saved her.

Y/n only made it 30 feet before hunching over and resting her hands on her knees as she heaved onto the sidewalk. Rafe had chased after her, now pulling the drenched hair from around her face. Once she had emptied her lungs of the filth, she only had one thing to say.

“Get the fuck away from me Rafe,” she said, still hunched over. He stood in shock, not knowing what to do next.

"At least let me take you home, for the love of God I literally just pulled you out of a sewer." She hesitated for awhile, finally recognized the car she had been throwing up next too. It was Rafe's truck.

The truck was filled with nothing but silence as they drove, y/n ignoring every word Rafe said. They had been driving in a giant circle around the island with no destination for hours. Finally Rafe pulled over on the side of the road, hazard lights on.

"Listen, y/n, we can't stay in the car all night, and it seems to me like you don't want to go home, I can take you back to Tannyhill, you can take a shower and get cleaned up, we have a guest room, stay the night if you'd like," Rafe said, hoping she would say yes. Y/n let out a deep sigh before speaking.

"Fine," it was all she could muster up. Her heart was hurting. Y/n had come to the realization that her boyfriend instinctually went for Kiara, and that she would always be his second choice. She never wanted to be a second choice, she wanted to be the only choice.

His house was enormous, probably bigger than any she had seen on figure eight. Rafe hopped out of the truck, racing over to the passenger side door to let her out. He led her into the massive home, before arriving at the guest room.

"There's a bathroom through that door, I'll bring you some clothes to wear," he said. She barely let him finish before bolting towards the bathroom door, locking herself in. She laid her back against the door, wondering how in the world she ended up here. It took a moment to take in the beauty a bathroom could hold. She'd never seen anything like it. Marble floors and brilliant gold detailed fixtures. It was easily the nicest thing she had ever seen. Finally, she reached her hand to the shower faucet, turning on a beautiful cascade of water. There was nobody in the world she believed needed something so fancy. Y/n stripped out of her muck caked clothing, tossing it onto those beautiful floors. Stepping into the waterfall was exactly what she needed.

Meanwhile, Rafe ran upstairs, grabbing whatever he could out of Sarah's closet. He ran over and over again in his head what to do next as he raced back down to the guest room. Leave the clothes next to the door? Wait for her to come out of the shower? Before he had a chance to decide, y/n came out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around her body. Rafe had a look of shock in his eyes, he never thought he'd see the girl he couldn't keep off his mind here, in his home.

Rafe stuck his arm out, holding the clothes just in front of her. She looked Rafe up and down before gently reaching out for the clothing.

"Thanks," that was all she said before turning around and locking herself in the bathroom again. Y/n struggled to hold her tears in, knowing what she would have to face in the morning. It wasn't an easy decision, but it needed to be done.

It was possibly the best sleep she had ever gotten. The satin pillowcases soft against her cheeks as she slept, the warm comforter encasing her. No interruptions or pogues banging on her bedroom door for her to wake up. Just peaceful sleep.

Y/n laid awake in the bed, sunrise creeping through the curtains, dreading the next few hours. She left the massive home as soon as possible, sneaking out at daybreak, making the nearly hour long walk back to the cut.

Rafe found no trace of her left behind, everything was in its place just as it had been before y/n occupied the room. She couldn't have gotten far.

He caught up to her in his truck, she had only made it maybe a quarter of the way to her destination. Wearing Sarah's clothes he had lent her, she fit right into the neighborhood. She kept her head held high and determined to ignore him.

"Y/n, what the hell are you doing?"

"Fuck off Rafe," she shoved her middle finger towards his window as he drove along side her.

"So I save your life, let you sleep at my house, lend you Sarah's clothes, and now I can't offer you a ride?"

"Correct, I don't need your help, the only thing I know you to be good for is hookups and rebounds," she said rather matter of factly. He couldn’t lie to himself, hearing her say that made his heart hurt a little bit.

“Whatever, there's a party at Topper’s tomorrow night if you’re interested, but I’ll go ahead and guess your answer is a no,”

Y/n stopped in her tracks, causing Rafe to slam down on his breaks. She finally turned to look at him, a smile growing on her face.

“You’re absolutely whipped.”

Rafe hesitated before driving off, this girl left his head spinning in circles.

Once she reached the cut, y/n made a B-line for the chateau. Finding the rest of the pogues wasn’t hard, they were usually out back up to whatever shenanigans they had planned. JJ especially came up with bad ideas, somehow convincing the rest of the group that they would work. Y/n rested her body against a doorway, finally making eye contact with JJ, then nodding her head back gesturing for him to follow.

They creeped back towards the front of the shack, still trashed from the hurricane.

“Jesus, where were you y/n? I was worried sick that fucking kook hurt you,” JJ hugged her, squeezing as tight as he could. When she didn’t return the enthusiasm, he knew something was wrong.

“What’s going on?” He questioned.

“Listen JJ, this, us, it’s not going to work,”

“What the hell are you tal-,”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about JJ, I've seen the way you’ve looked at her for months, you’re always going to choose Kiara over me, always. I am not a second choice. I know what I saw.”

“Did that kook get into your head or something?” She was sure the others could hear them now.

“It’s not about that JJ, I was fucking drowning and you didn’t even try to help me, I’d probably be dead right now if it wasn’t for him!”

“Oh so it is about him huh? Did you have fun last night curled up in figure eight? Wait wait, I see, he didn’t get into your head, he got into your pants instead didn’t he?” Y/n didn’t know how else to react, slapping him square across his face.

“Don’t you dare, fucking accuse me of that, or I swear to God JJ,” she could barely hold back the anger boiling her blood right now.

“Its over. Done. Have a nice life.” Y/n ran as fast as she could out of the chateau, tears pooling in her eyes, looking for any escape.

The next 36 hours were a daze, and before y/n knew it, she was getting ready for a kook party. What does a girl even wear to a kook party? A nice sundress? Little black skirt and a crop top? How fancy is this supposed to be? In the end she decided to wear a sleek black dress, knowing she would stick out like a sore thumb, regardless of what she wore. Being likely the only pogue in the middle of hundreds of kook's, it wouldn't matter.

Meanwhile, Rafe was already at Topper's house, making preparations for the oncoming chaos.

"Boys, if you see a little y/h/c pogue try to walk in here, let her in," Rafe said, handing each a $100 bill. The two door boys nodded their heads in understanding.

The easiest part was over, now y/n just had to get there. She didn't even know where Topper lived, well, figure eight obviously, but where? Actually, that's a stupid question, just follow all the BMW's and audi's driven by reckless teenagers.

Y/n knew something was off when the two kids stationed at the door let her through without question. Fucking Rafe. He was surely already here, and she was questioning what in the world led her to make the decision to come here tonight.

Rafe found her in the kitchen, downing shots of tequila.

"Didn't expect to see you here y/n," he slid next to her, pouring himself a shot as well.

"Didn't think I'd be here either, I have much better things I could be doing right now," she snickered back.

"So how'd it go when you got back to the cut?" Rafe asked, knowing something had changed.

"Well, I dumped JJ, so I am officially a free woman," she said, downing her next shot.

"And you're taking it well, obviously," he laughed, smiling as he watched her take the shot with ease. In true y/n fashion, she flipped him off before grabbing the bottle of tequila and disappearing into the house. He watched the way her dress clung to her hips as she moved, now more than ever aware of the ache he felt.

Only fifteen minutes had passed before Rafe went looking for her. Searching through crowds and empty rooms, finally finding a door on the second floor that was cracked open. Not locked out, but not to be unfound. He poked his head through the door, not seeing much at first, until his eyes landed on an open window. The cool breeze of the ocean drifted into the room. He climbed through the window and out onto a small section of the roof overlooking the backyard.

As soon as she saw him, she knew there was no escape.

“Ugh,” y/n rolled her eyes, taking another drink from the bottle she had smuggled.

“Excited to see me?” Rafe said as he settled onto the roof.

"How did you guess?"

"Just the fact that you even showed up, your actions speak for themselves," he said rather confidently.

"Do they now? Because it seems to me like you're the one who is stalking me," she let out a giggle.

"Well, I still need Sarah's clothes back,"

Y/n shoved his shoulder, the both of them laughing as she did.

"Mhm, I don't know, I think I look pretty good dressed in kook," y/n passed him the bottle now, he accepted her offer. He had to think long and hard about what to say next, his heart beating relentlessly in his chest.

"More than pretty good," there was a silence between the two, both reading into what he said.

"Y'know, I don't even know who I am anymore."

"And by that you mean?" Rafe asked.

"On this island, it's always kooks or pogues, no in-between, and I thought I was a pogue for the longest time, but I never quite, I don't know, fit in? It sounds fucking stupid, forget it."

"No no, it's not, I feel like we're actually having a conversation, not just bickering at each other, and it's, it's nice," his voice was becoming shaky now. She took a deep breath before continuing.

"I think I'm just in a rut, I don't know what I'm supposed to do with myself. All I ever did was for JJ, I gave him everything,” he understood the magnitude of what she had given him.

“And now that we've broken up, I have this new freedom that I don't know what to do with, it was the first relationship I'd ever been in, and at this point I don't even remember how to be single. I hate to say it, but I feel like he took everything I gave him for granted."

Rafe smirked at his thoughts, knowing exactly what she needed.

"Oh what's so funny?” She said.

“You desperately need a rebound.”

“I do not!”

“You do, and I know the perfect guy for the job.”

“And who would that be exactly?” Their witty banter had turned to flirtation, and they were now physically closer than ever. Rafe had his hand cupping the side of her head, fingers tangled in her hair, leaning in closer to her. Her breathing has quickened as his face came closer to hers, knowing what he was insinuating.

The connection of their lips sent shockwaves through her body. It was the first thing in a long time that felt like it made sense. They disconnected for a moment, staring longingly into each others eyes for permission. A sense of understanding overcame them as their lips smashed together once again. Rafe's hand moved lower down to her neck, tracing his thumb to the other side and giving a light squeeze.

"Rafe I, don't get me wrong, I want this, but I don't think it's a good idea right now."

"You're right," he whispered as a whirring noise approached in the distance.

It was maybe thirty minutes past 11, the sound of an approaching boat caught their attention. They both looked at the boat coming to dock on the Thornton's boat dock. Rafe and y/n climbed back into the home, recognizing the boat pulling up to the dock. Rafe raced out the back door, y/n steps ahead of him as anger and adrenaline rushed through her body. She ran down the dock, ready to fight the boy hopping off of the boat.

"JJ, please explain to me why the fuck you are here right now, and it better be a good reason or I swea-,"

"Y/n please, I just need to talk to you okay? I've been thinking about the other day and I just needed to-,"

"Not good enough JJ, you had your fucking chance, got it? I never want to see you again," she had tears of anger streaming down her face, that was when Rafe lodged himself between the argument.

"You heard her pogue," Rafe said threateningly.

"What are you gonna do about it huh?" JJ pushed his hands against Rafe, knocking him back only slightly, Rafe stood solid.

"What am I gonna do?" Rafe shoved him back with all his strength, knocking JJ onto his back.

"I'm only going to say this one time for you," Rafe crouched down, grabbing fistfuls of JJ's shirt.

"Stay," he landed to first punch.

"The fuck," and the second.

"Away from her," finally the third, then forcing him back onto the ground in a sheer competition of dominance. Crowds had gathered around the commotion, watching the kook and pogue battle it out. Y/n felt a sense of relief, someone had finally chosen her.

"You already fucked her didn't you?" JJ struggled to spit out, coughing on the blood lodged in his mouth. Rafe promptly pulled JJ up by his shirt, making sure to look right into his eyes as he made his next threat.

"Stay off figure eight, or so help me God JJ, I will kill you." Rafe tossed the boy back onto the ground, watching as he struggled to pull himself back to his boat.

"Show's over everyone! Get out!" Rafe said, the crowd watching dispersed over fences and into cars, not wanting to face the same fate.

She was the only one who didn't leave. Y/n watched as he came closer to her, pulling her into an embrace.

"I'm sorry y/n, that asshole deserved it,"

"Thank you," her tears were staining his polo as they held each other.

"Also, neither of us are in any shape to drive, so what's the plan?" She asked.

They made the short walk back to Tannyhill, ending up in the same rooms they had been in the day everything changed. When morning came she stayed in her bed, enjoying the comfort she felt in this home. The sudden knock on her door awoke her from her daze.

"Hey, I uh, brought breakfast," Rafe said, holding up the bag of breakfast burritos. Y/n patted the empty place on her bed, inviting him to sit down. They sat and ate in silence, unsure of what to say to one another. Once finished, she ended up snuggling her head into the crook of his neck, arm tossed across his abdomen. Rafe wrapped his arm around her and they stayed there for awhile, simply enjoying each others presence.

Rafe placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, rubbing his thumb across her shoulder at the same time. Y/n looked up at him from her spot on his chest, moving herself up so their lips connected. The kiss was just as good as she had remembered. Rafe began deepening their kiss, pulling her in by the waist with his free hand.

I had woken up. For the first time in a long time I felt it. How it felt to be the only choice for someone, to be at the top of someone's priorities. Feeling his hand pull my waist into his sent lightning through my body, and I've never wanted anything more in my life than right now. I threw my right leg over his hips, anticipating to climb on top of him. I brought my hand up to the back of his head, threading my fingers through his hair.

"Think it's a good idea?" Rafe asked.

I simply nodded my head in response, bringing my mouth back to his. His hands began tracing further down my body, grabbing at my hips as he pulled me in closer. I got the message. I threw myself over him, sitting perfectly in his lap, hair hanging almost in his face. We reconnected and the speed at which we kissed quickened. My arms had snaked behind his neck, my entire body resting on his, legs straddled across his lap.

He was surprised when I removed my mouth from his, only to begin trailing kisses down his neck, towards the collar of his polo. He sat up, leaving room for him to pull his shirt up and over his head. I pushed him back down into the bed as I trailed lower and lower. Reaching the spot I needed most, I unbuttoned his pants, pulling them as far down as I could. He was already hard, clearly anticipating this when he walked into the room an hour ago.

I began leaving kisses down his clothed dick, teasing the throb. But I myself was too in-need to tease for long. I pulled his boxers down, revealing the eager member. Wrapping my hand around him, I pumped it a few times, leaving light kisses all around him. The taste of him spread in my mouth as I took him in. His hands pulled my hair back as I sucked on him, the pace of his breathing becoming more of a pant. One of my hands grasped onto his hips as the other pumped him in sync with my lips.

A shock ran through my body as he flipped me over on the bed. Rafe nearly ripped my shirt in half when pulling it over my head. He sat over me for a moment, taking in the sight of me like he'd been waiting to for so long. Just after, his hands came to either side of my head, propping himself up as he began kissing down my neck, surely leaving bruises. Moving lower to my breasts, he continued, tugging and pulling at the straps of my bra. He was now resting his entire body on me, his elbows at my sides as he started massaging my breasts through the fabric.

"You can take it off, you know," I said.

That was all he needed to hook his hand underneath me, tugging at the clip holding me together. Rafe popped it off with ease, not that I was surprised. His mouth attached itself to one of my nipples, teasing it with his tongue. The cool air hitting the wet spot he left behind causing me to gasp. Meanwhile, he had been rolling the other between his fingers, sending arousal between my thighs. The sensitivity rolling between my hips was begging for more.

Rafe's hands began trailing lower down my body, his mouth not far behind. The ache in my core was growing more and more with every inch he passed, until finally I felt a finger graze over my shorts.

"These need to come off," it was more of a question than a statement.

I nodded, because I needed more. He slid the shorts off of my legs, tossing them onto the ground, leaving my panties on full display for him. Then his mouth moved to my thighs, starting closer to my knees, slowly moving in towards my center. I could feel every breath he made against me, and knew he was just as in-need as I was. It felt like ages before he finally made contact with my core. His lips left kisses over my clothed clit, at this point I was begging for more.

He knew too, knew how much I needed him right now. The wetness soaking through my underwear as he played with me through them, thumb massaging little circles around my clit. My legs shuddered as he did, needing to desperately to be released. His fingers latched underneath the waistline of the fabric, and he pulled them all the way down my legs, exposing every inch of myself, and discarding them on the floor.

I was absolutely soaked, and he had barely even touched me. I could barely imagine what I’d be like once he had. When his fingers finally returned, I was a mess. He was eager too, not even waiting because I was already ready for him. His middle and ring finger teased my entrance, before plunging deep into me. The gasp that came out of my mouth was the loudest I’d ever had, causing my hand to close over my mouth in response. But Rafe didn't care how loud we got as his mouth came down to me, his tongue flicking at my clit, fingers beginning to thrust in and out.

My hips were rolling, legs shaking as the combination of his mouth and fingers pushed me closer and closer to the edge. Whimpers came out as his free hand was grasping onto my stomach, thumb tracing circles below my navel. I tugged at the sheets around me, needing some sort of grounding as he continued fucking me with his fingers. My pussy was aching for more, begging for something bigger to ease the ache.

"Rafe, I need you inside, like right now," I struggled to get the words out. But he wouldn't let up, he was determined. His fingers were moving faster and faster and his mouth was lapping at the wetness of my pussy. I couldn't take it anymore, and my legs closed around his head, squeezing as I came.

I barely had time to recover before Rafe was on top of me, lining his cock up with my entrance, then pushing himself all the way into me. My walls clenched around him as I tried to adjust to his length, but he wasn't waiting. Slowly he began thrusting in and out, plunging himself deeper each time. He reached down to kiss me as he pounded me, hand wrapping around my neck and squeezing.

"Fuck," I squeaked out.

It only got better when he threw my legs over his shoulders, they were nearly at my chest. He pounded into me at a hard but steady pace, and it was driving me to the edge once again. The whimpers coming from me were more than enough to tell him to keep going.

"You like that princess?"

"God, yes Rafe, harder," I pleaded.

He listened, but it was taking a toll on him, his breathing was now broken and unsteady as he thrusted. I could feel his body beginning to tense up on top of me, he was getting close. It was my turn now.

I used all of my strength to flip him onto his back, my legs on either side of him as I began riding him. Rafe's hands came around to my ass as I repeatedly moved up and down on him. Then I laid down on him, arms behind his neck for support as his arms held onto my waist tightly. Rafe propped his legs up for support and began thrusting into me harder than he ever has. The feeling of my walls clenching around him as he pumped into me, using me as a toy.

"Cum in me Rafe, please," but it wasn't a question. I nearly screamed as he released inside of me at the same time I came. We stayed that way for a few moments, simply taking one another in as our breathing steadied.

Finally, I slid off of him, releasing the tension of him inside of me. I could feel his cum leaking out of me as I laid on top of him. I could go to sleep right here if I wanted to. His hand laced into my hair, playing with the ends of it.

"I still need Sarah's clothes back," he laughed.

"Don't think so, consider it the start of my kook wardrobe,"

"To going full kook?" he asked.

"To going full kook."

✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵

[boytouya]

𝙏𝙤 𝙉𝙤𝙞𝙨𝙚 𝙈𝙖𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜

words: 1.2k

warnings: none!

a/n: this is for @jream-23 !! thank you for the request shawty🥰 it was very fun to write!

summary: your hair covers most of your face, and seeing it for the first time blinds hanta and katsuki in their short moment of clarity.

Sero’s hair, a jet black mullet that went to the base of his neck and the tips of his ears, was almost as distinguishable as his elbows. However, your hair, full enough to cover most of your face, very easily puts his to shame. It was ironically fitting for their band, so no one asked many questions concerning it. The hero in training strums his pick against the strings of his electric guitar once, twice, three times before deciding he’s happy with the way it sounds. An explosive blond with an even more explosive attitude shifts in his seat, a leather stool that stays with his drum set. There’s a thin layer of sweat clamming up his skin, but he pays it no mind as he rises from his seat and places his drumsticks down.

They had a band- shared with you, Kaminari, Mina, and Kirishima- that strictly produced covers of their favorite songs. It wasn’t anything big, just something to pass the time. Just something to remind them that they were kids. That it’s okay to be kids. And that was enough for them.

“Where’d your boyfriend go?” Sero teases, the tips of his ears shifting into a complementary shade of pink before he can even fully get the sentence out. The truth is, they both liked you. You were fun to be around, you balanced them out. There was something about you that made their mouths run dry, made their faces flare up as if they were sitting in a sauna; there was something about you that made Sero’s leg bounce just as fast as his heart when he saw you. Katsuki noticed it first, even whilst he lay in the midst of his own contraption of adoration for you.

“My boyf-? You idiot!” The blond shouts, his shoulders raising up to his ears as he clenches his fist and demands Hanta “shut his trap.” Katsuki doesn't blush, but he does leave the secluded area of the gym before anyone could get a good look at his face. Sero follows behind him, mirroring his footsteps until the duo makes their way back into the common room. He’s cackling the whole way there, teasing the boy with vermillion eyes until he explodes in his face. Literally.

The bickering is squashed before it could even think of coming back up again the moment they actually look in the room. You look incredibly comfortable sitting on the couch, your cheek squished against the pressure of your palm. That’s not what has them gawking though. The two always knew you were handsome. From the moment Kirishima introduced you to the group, they knew you’d have their hearts squeezed between your fists. It was scary, liking someone you haven’t even seen the face of so much. Then again, they fell in love with your personality, and looks were just extra toppings on the cake.

Buckets full. Your hair was pushed back, and there weren’t even words that could truly describe you. At first, it was hard to believe it was even you. There was reoccurring warmth that spread from their chests to the entirety of their bodies, it seeped out through Sero’s toothy smile and Bakugo’s hard eyes. You had never seen them so bright. It was only closest compared to a moth that found light after years of solitude and darkness. Though they were young, it was still easy to place this emotion. It was overwhelming, it festered and grew in the earliest hours of the morning to the latest hours of the night. But they knew what it was, they knew what it felt like. The happiness, attraction, undeniable pull that lead them back to you could only be engraved in their minds as love.

In simpler terms it was a big, fat crush. It was completely, utterly, and indubitably certain. It was unwavering, the embodiment of sticks and stones.

The way you greet them is so undeniably you. They’d never noticed before, but with hair out of your face you look a lot more kissable. Perhaps they’re moving too fast, thinking too far into their future, but they’d be damned if they couldn’t at least imagine it. There was no such thing as moving too fast when you already crashed from falling head over heels in the first place. They act as if there isn’t anything worming its way into their chests, eating away at their brains and replacing it with thoughts of you or thoughts of your face. Hanta grins, throwing himself down next to you while Katsuki buries his burning hands into his pockets. They’re fucked.

“You could’ve practiced with us.” Sero says, placing all of his weight on the arm of the couch. He has to shimmy to really get comfortable, but seeing as his grin never falters, it wasn’t much of a hassle. It was an invitation, like most things he said to you were. He wanted to spend time with you, what’s so bad about that?

“You’re taking up all the space! Get your feet off the table!” Bakugo growls, pushing Hanta’s legs off the coffee table in front of you. Even though he’s reprimanding Sero for taking up too much space, he sits on your right side, which has nothing to do with where the tape-centric hero sits. It was a habit to make room for him nonetheless. Sero wants to pretend to yawn. He wants to make a move that involves putting his arm around your shoulder that is so horribly cliché. He wants you to make fun of him for it, to have Katsuki join in your teasing, but to ultimately embrace each other anyway.

In Bakugo’s head, it’s a bit different. He wants to make you laugh so he can grunt into his hand while Sero scrambles to add onto his ‘unintentional’ joke. He wants to feel your eyes on his as he pretends to be disinterested in whatever you’re talking about. But he always listens, and he always will. He wants to tell you to cut the bullshit, to just say if you’re willing to date them or not. He’s Katsuki Bakugou, the future number one hero. If he wants something, he gets it. If he wants to say something, he says it.

“Date us already, hairball!” He watches your face morph into surprise while Sero laughs at how characteristically blunt he is. He wishes his mullet were longer, it would’ve covered his strawberry red cheeks right now. Bakugou doesn’t have time to worry if he said something wrong. If he had, Sero wouldn’t be laughing. If he had, he’dve beat himself up for it before he could even say it out loud. “You gonna answer me or what?!”

“Are you for real?! Give him a second!” The blunt, honest truth was that you didn’t know they even liked you. You spent countless nights pining over boys who felt the same exact way. Happiness prances around your stomach and slow dances around your heart. You didn’t need a minute, you didn’t need a second. You already knew what you wanted to say. You liked them just as much as they liked you, and that was abundantly clear.

taglist:

@lustclubs @indigowren21 @cannedfoodisbestfood @junkwhoore @kissesdenji @sanderssidesangsttrash @i-d0g @kaito-asmr @jream-23 @princejasno @mel-bigia04 @mhasimp666 @onehellofasimp @corporeal-terrestrial @angelaturservice @shootingstars-and-burningsuns @sleepyslvt @rintarosaku

[scorchieart]

Honor Roll - Chapter 3

Honor Roll - Chapter 3 | AO3

Characters: Jin Grandet, Clavis Lelouch

(ft. Chev's right hand)

Chapter List: 1 2 3(here!) 4 5

Rating: G (no warnings)

Word Count: 2,859

A/N: So, uh... when I said this was gonna be 4 chapters I misjudged how long this scene was going to be. Decided it'd be better to split it up into 2 chapters, so now we going up to 5 total...

************************************************************************

Whatever burst of energy that possessed Jin to hasten that morning dissipated the moment he exited the library. The spring in his step that carried him through the same halls only an hour prior swapped with a growing reluctance so insistent that halfway up the stairs Jin seriously considered turning tail and heeding Belle’s initial suggestion of pleading Yves’s forgiveness. Surely whatever punishment he and Sariel had in store could be no more harrowing than waking the Brutal Beast before noon?

He opened the lid to the basket and peered inside. Three shiny rolls stared back at him, their savory sheen glinting ever so tantalizingly in the morning sun. Jin picked one up and spun it around in his hand, taking in its spherical perfection and even distribution of mouth-watering spices, as he contemplated his next steps. 

Yes, of course Belle was right. Honesty is the best policy, and it wouldn’t do the kingdom any good if their First Prince was found fibbing his way out of a predicament as nonsensical as petty pantry pilfering. Besides, he had a duty as the eldest to set an example for the rest of his brothers.

Just as Jin began to pivot his heels back to the kitchen, his vision became obscured by a swarm of what appeared to be tiny pastel-colored flies all darting towards him at once.

“Happy Spring, Jin!” called an animated voice. 

Wildly waving an arm to stop the wave of what he determined were petals from flying up his nose, Jin blinked his eyes to focus on the unmistakable figure of Clavis a few steps below. Sunlight shining in from the windows revealed Clavis’s face and attire to be caked with a thick layer of dirt that would be obscene for a member of the royal family, yet the generous smile he wore hinted not only that he harbored no concern for this fact, but rather was proud of his efforts. A somewhat-filled burlap sack sat slung over his shoulder, and from his vantage point Jin could make out the faint letters for “FLOUR” printed on its side.

Without thinking, Jin shoved the cinnamon roll into his mouth and swallowed, then leaned against the railing in an attempt to look as nonchalant and indubious as possible. “At least someone’s excited,” he half-garbled, hoping Clavis didn’t notice. “Up to no good right from the start then?” 

“A moment uninspired is a moment wasted,” Clavis replied unfazed. He adjusted his grip on the sack and Jin noticed fuzzy bits of bright yellow trickle from its opening. “And I see you are making use of your time as well. Off on a peaceful morning stroll, or perhaps, a morning rendezvous?”

“You could say that,” trailed Jin. Again, he felt his efforts would go much smoother the fewer people were privy to his situation, and though he considered Clavis a more loyal confidant than Nokto, the mischievous allure of his predicament had to potential to tip off the troublemaker and land him in an even deeper mess than he already was in. 

“Oh?” Clavis craned an eyebrow and inclined his head towards Jin’s basket curiously. “And what, pray tell, is the nature of your rendezvous? Something naughty, I’ll bet.”

“Who’s to say?” Jin said, turning back around and continuing up the steps. Best not tip him off to the kitchen, Jin rationed, and as he suspected, Clavis trailed closely behind.

“Well, I say it’s quite suspicious for you to be lurking around this neck of the palace so early. It’s almost as though you’re on your way to meet with our dear brother before he deigns to grace us with his presence.”

“You’re free to make any assumptions you want.”

“Then you’ll have no objections to me following you to your rendezvous, I assume?” Clavis said with a sickly-sweet smile.

Typically teeming with life, the swarming forest falls deadly silent as the devious leopard passes. Persistent as he is charismatic, he prowls the lonely routes in search of a playmate, one to keep him distracted lest he fall victim to his insatiable marauding desires. The adventurer steels himself for what he knows will be an onerous trial.

Jin made no response as the two rounded a corner and kept quiet as they continued down the hall. It seemed Clavis took this silence as an invitation and he began regaling Jin with the different varieties of flowers he’d hoped to see throughout the season. Jin only half-listened to Clavis’s ramblings as he focused his attention on remembering the jumbled path of incorrect turns he took, hoping they would run into something or someone more interesting to occupy the Third Prince’s voracious appetite for excitement. 

And just when I decided to do the right thing for once, Jin thought as they ascended the same staircase again.

Twenty minutes passed of the pair walking aimlessly in circles, and Jin worried he’d played it too risky looping around the same corridor three times, though Clavis appeared too engrossed in detailing the life cycle of dandelions at top speed to notice. 

“You see, first they bloom yellow and cheery, and they’re just begging for you to pluck them. But you have to wait, half the fun’s in the waiting game. Soon the petals fall off and get replaced with a bunch of these little hairy tips and they look like fuzzy lollipops growing out of the ground! But you're not supposed to eat them! No, that’s when you pick them and blow on them like candles, and then it’s like dozens of little fairies taking flight! They only grow in Jade, we’re stuck with boring old ugly daisies. But you know, next time I visit I’ll scoop a bunch and plant them here. Don’t you think that’s a swell idea?”

Jin hummed in offered agreement and stole a glance out the window; the sun was nearing its peak. If he dawdled any longer, the picnic would start and he would have to face the full brunt of Yves’s rage head on. If only he could delay it for just a little longer…

Remembering his resolve, Jin mustered up the most considerate smile he could and turned to Clavis.

“Seems a shame you should spend such a beautiful morning cooped up with me in the castle. I know at least a few of our brothers are making use of this good weather.”

“Is my company alone not enough to satisfy you?” The leopard sounds affronted, but the grumble reverberating behind his bared teeth is hungry. “So many before you have refused my generous offer of companionship, but they soon find out I am much more agreeable as a patron than a predator.”

“Oh yes, it’s so nice to see the little ones so lively early in the morning!” Clavis bounced back. “Why, I bumped into Leon on my way up here, and you’d think he was being chased by some demon with how fast he was running! Poor thing must have been starving, he almost knocked me out plowing down to the kitchens.”

Jin repressed a grimace; so Leon managed to run across town and back while he was still struggling to get a single book. Ideally, he and Belle could at least whip something up so they’d have a peace-offering when they apologized.

Suddenly, just like back in the library, a wicked idea popped into Jin's mind. He couldn’t help himself; honesty was certainly a good policy, but sometimes the allure of deception was much more enticing.

“Haha, leave it to Leon to work in some exercise even on an empty stomach! We’ve been trying to get him to take it easy, so the boys at the office planned a surprise picnic for him,” said Jin, hoping Clavis would take the bait. 

“I was invited to join, naturally, but alas, I am already predisposed for a number of bookings,” Jin continued, and sure enough Clavis whirled his head towards him expectantly.

Gotcha, Jin thought triumphantly, but he forced his face to fall to match his story. “Ahh, such is the life of the eldest, but I did feel bad for turning down Yves like that, he was so excited for the occasion. He spent so many nights coming up with a new recipe.”

Jin swore he saw a mischievous glint flash in Clavis’s eyes, but he pretended to hide his face in his hands in grief. Just one more push should do it.

“And to think, I’m always around to taste test his creations. Such a failure of an older brother I turned out to be!” he wailed, and when Clavis made no response he worried he overdramatized the last point a bit too much. But when he opened his eyes, Clavis stood in front of him beaming a compassionate smile. 

“There, there,” Clavis began, patting Jin’s shoulder. “Your efforts shall not go unnoticed. Why, you should have come to me from the very beginning!”

Jin said nothing, but held his breath as he watched Clavis readjust the hold on his sack and stare out the window.

“They’d be in the usual place, right? I’m sure I can make it if I run. And don’t you worry, I’ll be sure to tell Yves of your noble sacrifice,” he continued, walking past Jin in the direction they came, a steady stream of decapitated petals and the same yellow dust falling behind him.

Hearing Clavis distractedly mutter to himself about the different kinds of traps he could lay, Jin finally felt he could relax. This might actually work out after all. He made a mental note to suggest to Belle that they move the picnic somewhere else just in case, but for now it was just a matter of retracing his steps, getting back on track to the bedroom, procuring the book and he’d be home free. He heaved his shoulders to finally release the breath he was holding, but it came out as a mighty sneeze instead.

“Goodness, all this talk about rendezvouses and I’ve nearly forgotten my own!” 

No sooner did Jin wipe his nose did he find Clavis marching back, an even more insidious grin plastered across his face. 

“Not to worry, Jin. I’ll just pop in to give our brother a wake-up call and then be on my way. I spent all night decapitating daisies just for him!” said Clavis, and he skipped past Jin deeper into the hall. Jin tried calling out to him, but a second sneeze muzzled his words and sent his vision blurry.

No, he was so close! He couldn’t let it end here, not when he’d made it through this much.

Blinking rapidly through the haze, he could just make out Clavis’s receding figure turning a corner. Jin smacked his cheeks and bolted after him, taking Clavis’s raucous laughter and the trail of yellow dust as his guides. He pushed past several more turns, up another flight of stairs, and down a lustrously carpeted hallway, all the while shooting off sneeze after sneeze, before skidding to a halt in front of an imposing entryway, its door slightly ajar. He carefully stuck his head in to see Clavis tiptoeing his way towards the domineering four-poster bed cocooned by closed curtains, the flour sack hoisted threateningly above his head.

“If my company isn’t enough to satisfy you, let’s add a new player to the game…”

Pinching his nose with one hand, Jin launched himself and grasped the tail-end of Clavis’s coat with the other and yanked with all his might. Clavis let out a terse shriek as he toppled backwards, loosened his grip, and sent the sack flying into the air. It twirled a few times, depositing heaps of yellow dust, and Jin’s grip slackened as he watched in awe as it fell over them like a sprinkling of fresh snow, before he and Clavis were both overcome with renewed bouts of heavy sneezing.

“Hahaha – achoo! – well, that didn’t go according to plan – achoo!” laughed Clavis. 

Jin picked himself up to a sitting position in between sneezes as he examined the yellow specs more closely. Sunlight shining in through the high windows made the plush carpet sparkle with what looked like thousands of tiny stones of citrine and topaz, the stragglers still raining down from above, and Jin forced his stinging eyes to stay open as he sneezed some more to study the sight just a little longer.

Pollen. It was pollen. Clavis was lugging around a flour sack filled with flower pollen. Had Jin not been on the receiving end of the prank, he would be clapping his brother on the back for his witticism. The thought of him toiling through the fields, repeatedly shaking and collecting the precious flecks, possibly for hours in the dark of night filled Jin with a confusing sense of pride and unease he couldn’t quite explain. Although, as he watched Clavis convulse through round after round of giggling and sneezing planted against the yellowing carpet, Jin was sure no amount of outside praise would give the man greater delight at his accomplishment, even though his scheme was ultimately a failure.

It was breathtaking (pun intended), but Jin snapped back to reality when he remembered he had a scheme of his own; he’d come this far after all. He squinted through the shower of pollen and his own watery eyes until he made out a thick stack of books piled on the nightstand beside the bed. 

Setting his basket by the door and covering his nose and mouth with his palm, Jin pushed himself to stand and slowly inched his way towards the bed. There was no guarantee that his presence wasn’t already revealed, but Jin figured he’d play it safe going into the home stretch. From this viewpoint, he could see that the closed curtains surrounding the bed protected it from the onslaught of pollen, though as Jin pondered it over, it was more accurate to say the bed was trapped in a toxic den. Much of the storm was concentrated at the foot of the bed near the door, but Jin could see the particles slowly start to dissipate over to the farther corners of the room, like tiny dancers spreading out across a ballroom. There seemed to be no movement from behind the curtains, though with Clavis whooping his head off, there was no chance anyone in the castle could still be asleep.

Jin rapidly blinked to clear his eyes, not wanting to risk rubbing more pollen into them with his hands, until he was finally close enough to make out the titles of the books on the nightstand. Once more, Eagle Eyes, don’t fail me now, he thought to himself as he scanned the pile top-down.

The palm at his mouth grew sweatier as he read each spine. Some titles were extraordinarily long, some faded away to almost nothing, and some written in characters Jin could not read. Just as he felt his hand about to slip off his chin there it was. A thin green hardcover nestled towards the bottom of the heap, the words One Step Back, Two Springs Forwards shining up at him in bright gold. Jin had to repress the urge to pump his fists and shout in victory, so he steadied his breath instead. There would be time for celebrating after the picnic.

He scooted forward until he was as close to the bed as he could get without touching it, crouched slightly, and extended his free arm towards the book. Once his thumb and forefinger clutched the spine, he began the arduous process of slowly jiggling it left and right. It would definitely be quicker to pull it out using both hands, but bits of pollen started seeping into his vision and Jin didn’t trust himself to be able to suppress another sneeze without his hand-shield. He’d save that for the final tug, like a magician pulling out a tablecloth from underneath a dining set, then vanish in one move.

It felt like hours of wiggling and shimmying until the book was at last mostly freed. The mass above it swayed dangerously to one end, and Jin knew what would happen if he didn’t swipe quickly. For the second time, he took a deep breath and held it in his cheeks before removing his hand from his face and grasping the other end of the spine. Then he straightened his arms, tensed his legs, and squeezed his eyes shut, but just before he could make the big pull, a sudden tightness clamped down hard onto his wrist.

Shock drove the breath straight out of his lungs. Jin’s eyes shot open at the hand protruding from the curtains, grasping his left arm in a deadlock. It felt as though he just got captured by the undead in some horror story, save for Clavis’s continued mad laughter in the background. 

The hand constricted and Jin’s arm twitched as his grip on the book withered away, his nerves screaming out in pain, but he didn’t bother shaking it free. Doing so would be futile.

“Good morning, Chevalier,” Jin said in the steadiest voice he could muster.

************************************************************************

Tagging: @atelier-maroron

Hope you enjoyed my attempt at a cliffhanger.

Run Jin! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

Yo, not really sure how to officially set it up, but if any of y'all wanna get tagged in future updates just send me a message, I don't bite (*ﾉ∀`*)

[dancing-with-the-madmen]

Now that I'm allowed to post my GISH stuff, I hope you, oh my v. dears, will forgive some self-indulgent OFMD-adjacent picspam.

Prompt #77: Dressed as a pirate, eat a scurvy-preventing "40 orange cake" on a real tall ship (sailing vessel)... and use the snail fork. Save the orange peels! You'll need them for Item #3. Post your image to social media and tag #GISH, @sambaschutte and @OurFlagHBOMax.

Note the proper snail fork. I really hate the ones where you have to tag people on social media; it just feels so "notice me, sempai!"(derogatory). But I REALLY wanted to do this one. Samba was kind enough to heart it (I'm not on twitter at all except for GISH purposes, so forgiveness, please, if I'm mangling the terminology), but I'm going to show off the details he couldn't see here. So I set out to make this as close to an actually 40 oranges cake as possible. I doubled the cake to make 4 layers and the syrup from his recipe, and my oranges were a bit small, so that upped the orange count to around 12 for just the recipe as put out by Samba. Then, I made homemade marmalade (8 oranges) and homemade orange curd (2 oranges) and put them between the layers.

Incidentally, this recipe has the best buttercream icing I've ever tasted.

I candied another dozen oranges for decoration, and I made orange cardamom cookies with orange-rosewater glaze for decorations (another 2 oranges). So it's not EXACTLY 40 oranges worth of cake, but it's not for lack of trying.

In addition to the candied oranges and cookies decorated to look like orange wedges, I made a tryptic of the three canonical kisses by drawing on fondant with edible markers and paints. Alas, my artistic skills are kind of meh, I think it comes across who it's meant to be well enough. I made little cookie frames with edible pearls to go around them. I wish I could say the crack in Ed/Stede's frame was thematic, but it's really just that it was the first one I tried to mount, and I pressed too hard.

The topper was going to be a rice-crispie model of the Revenge perched atop a rice-crispie modeled orange with the Jiminez dagger through it, but my orange fondant went too red. I tried to correct by painting over it with the yellow glaze from my picture frames, which kind of worked, and also kind of made it look like the planet Jupiter. But then, when I tried to mount the Revenge on top, the ship started buckling under its own weight. So I nixed the orange and dagger. The ship, however, has tiny cookie versions of the crew (sadly, sans Ivan, I got to the end of my dough, and only had enough to make the little seagull blob, so I made an executive decision of whom to exclude, since Guz won't be coming back for season 2).

When I was decorating Ed, my son peeked over my shoulder and asked "Who's the Chad?" What can I say? He has excellent taste in men. Also, I accidentally dropped Roach on the table while I was decorating him, and his little arm broke off - the same one that he had to sew back on per the show. I just stuck it back on with some glaze.

So, not exactly how I envisioned it, but I'm pretty pleased with the final product. Also, it was hella tasty.