#so watched it in increments to see whether I could stomach it

[thorinkingoferebor]

you can tell who's watched tlou ep 3 already by whether they look like they cried for several hours today

[see-arcane]

The trains go only so quick

The weather’s only so calm

For the people are all out

For celebration’s a balm

Our good friend sighs in shelter

Barred from revelry and fear

A storied local greets him

As a thunderhead draws near

Preface: For maximum effect, give, “Dracula’s Guest,” a read before proceeding.

The PDF version of the preview is here.

2

Walpurgisnacht

Munich held onto him longer than he would have liked. Had he been marooned in the place as a mere visitor he would never have opted to haunt the station rather than milling around through the celebrating streets. There was as much reveling as reverence at work due to the holiday. The far end of it, anyway. Jonathan had tucked a note on it in his schedule. Celebration meant delays even in the most sedate locales and there was every chance that this one’s might postpone his conveyance. He smiled tiredly at the shorthand, if only so he did not torture himself with looking at his watch for the third time in as many minutes.

‘Walpurgisnacht. Walpurgis Night. A holy day held in respect to Saint Walpurga, the 8th century abbess who warred with illness, pestilence, witchcraft and grim spirits. A time of grave superstition by dark and relieved gaiety by sunup with the witches and the dead all banished. The date has a predecessor in the form of the May Day festivals of old, making the time one of bonfires and fear, beauty and feasting.’ And apparently keeping the trains held up so that any wandering spirits cannot flee too far from the cemeteries.

Jonathan tucked the note away with the rest and battled with himself over whether he dared to stray from the platform or not. His train was meant to arrive at seven o’ clock, which meant that for safety’s sake he ought to be ready and waiting by six, even if the train was more likely to appear closer to eight. But the hour was now half-past five and he had taken his lunch early that day. He was down to rationing mints from their tin lest he give in to hunger and try to elbow his way through the crowded streets to find a restaurant. One that he would not even have time to truly enjoy, needing to eat speedily and flee back to the tracks. His stomach pinched him in protest. He held a fist against it to muffle a growl.

“You can wait.” He could. If there was no dining on the train, he would still make time for breakfast in Vienna. Or if not breakfast, lunch in Klausenburgh. Or… “Or I could just break and get a room for the night.” The words were a sigh. He had spied a hotel sitting in a picturesque spot near a spread of wild greenery that bled into woodlands. What was the name? “Quatre Saisons, I think,” he said under his breath. This, like the rest of his murmured commentary, was meant for no ears but his own. The festivities had left the station remarkably barren. Everyone who had traveled to or from the area wouldn’t be packing up until at least the next morning. So it came as a surprise when he heard a voice behind his head:

“You are an Englishman?”

Jonathan turned to see a man almost as young as himself peering down at him. A cluster of wild roses at his breast was the only flourish to his apparel. His expression was unreadable apart from an angle of suspicion to the brows.

“I am,” Jonathan allowed, grateful that he didn’t need to strain his tongue or the man’s ears with his fragmented German.

“You have come from the Quatre Saisons?” The suspecting angle deepened.

“No, but I was thinking I may have to book a room if the train comes too late.”

The man’s face softened at this, his posture relaxing an increment as he insisted, “The train will come late. Not too late, but still late. You must not bother with the Quatre Saisons either way.”

“Is it full?”

“Most rooms always fill in advance of these days. Inns and hotels shall all be swarmed from now until the seventh of May. But Herr Delbrück’s Quatre Saisons must not be tried. The place is not well this time of year.”

“I do not quite follow,” Jonathan said, his nose just catching the whiff of past toasts to the date on his companion’s breath. “How is it not well?”

“The land it sits with. It is bad to be near it, even after Walpurgisnacht has been and gone. There are…” the man seemed to catch himself on a word before pressing on, “…wild dogs that roam the forest and its valley. Strange souls who would take after the devils of last night, even as we light the fires against them. No, you must not stay there until at least the thick of summer. Better to try in the city’s heart if you must have a room.”

The rooms that were full of visitors already, according to the young man himself. Either way it still relied on Jonathan potentially spoiling the entirety of the client’s route as laid out and paid for from his own account. The idea of taking a room and gambling on a morning train was only a daydream. Jonathan almost said as much.

Instead, “I do not need a room, really. I can hardly risk missing the evening’s train by a minute. But I thank you for the advice, sir.” The young man frowned at Jonathan then, his eyes roaming the length of him in a searching way. “Are you waiting on the train as well?”

“I just purchased my ticket for the morning. It is better to travel by day. And to eat by it too.” He nodded at Jonathan. “You have not been in the city itself? You have partaken of nothing?”

“Sadly no. If I were here on my own account I should have liked to see more, but—,”

“The train will not come any earlier if you sit and starve.”

“Likely not. But I cannot risk wandering too far.” He regarded his luggage drearily. No, he dared not even risk a restaurant. Even the next stop would allow him only a glimpse of the city as he rushed from one point to the next. Perhaps he could find some time to wander when he reached the hotel, but not before. He clenched his belly against another snarl and popped another mint in his mouth. Only three left, but, “Would you care for one?”

The young man whispered something in his homeland’s tongue—it sounded to Jonathan like, “Better to have the leaves,”—but in English said, “I would. Thank you.” He laid it on his tongue as if it were a medicine pill. “But it is still not a supper. Take yourself away for a meal at least, Herr Englishman.”

So saying, the young man departed, perhaps for his own plate or hotel. Jonathan swallowed a sigh and put the tin away. Looking around he saw he really was the last one on the platform apart from one dozing woman playing chaperone to her family’s luggage. Her husband had taken the two sulking children back out into the streets to burn off some energy. With the surly toddlers and the brief conversationalist departed, the space felt oddly like an island. Even the clamor that leaked in from the mouth of the tracks was muted. Jonathan tried to bury himself in a book, but gave up as the text swam before his eyes.

What rest he had gotten was as thin as his last meal was distant. If he could only lay down and sleep through the hunger he might be satisfied, but that risked drowsing through the train whistle itself. He tucked the book away and took himself to the closest opening which showed the beginnings of twilight oozing over the tracks. His hand went again to the neglected journal at his heart and thought another apology at its pages. So far he’d only managed to jot his name within the cover.

“I am sorry,” he told the air. “My head is in no state for you yet.”

A sudden cold gust blew his words back. There was a rise of distraught voices from outside as the breeze whipped through. In the next moment there was a shift in the palette of the sky as a weighty cloud rolled over the last of the sun, plunging the outdoors into early dusk. After that came the pattering of hail. The last festive sounds turned to a disgruntled din before their noise was drowned entirely by the hammering on the station’s roof. Jonathan pulled his coat tight around him and wished luck out to the revelers.

Between one blink and the next, one of the latter manifested at the threshold below. She wore what would have been an immaculate costume of a bygone age if not for the burns that had assailed the fine old dress. Though perhaps that was merely a desired effect. She was likely going around as some witch or spirit who had escaped the bonfires’ efforts during the night. Between the platform’s glow and the outdoors’ new gloom she certainly possessed the half-lit look of a ghost.

The sort of ghost meant for a stage, he added to himself. She has an actress’ face.

Yes, an actress powdered and dressed to be a dead beauty. Her mouth was a full and somber curl of red against a carcass’ pallor. She carved it into a smile as she stared up at him, seemingly oblivious to the cold and hail at her back.

“Are you alright?” he asked in his stilted German. The woman only kept her faded eyes upon him. They had a pull to them that Jonathan couldn’t place. He found himself approaching the tracks’ edge before he realized his feet were moving. “Do you need help?” he added, wondering if the trouble was just a matter of shelter. The tracks were set deep and it would be a hassle to hoist oneself up to the platform’s edge.

“He tries again,” said the woman on the tracks. Possibly. Her German was almost as fractured as his own, albeit with a different inflection. “Another sent for. Another to travel with. Fast, fast, fast.” The sky growled at her words. A stage’s effects could do no better. With the thought in mind, he wondered:

Is this a performance?

Before he could ask, his stomach spoke for him. It was mortifyingly loud and the thunder’s next peal did not do enough to cover it. The woman’s expression cracked on a wider smile. She recited:

“Help, Heaven, help! who knows the Father

Knows surely that he loves his child:

The bread and wine from the hand divine

Shall make thy tempered grief less wild.”

Jonathan smiled back, glad to recall the verse. He and Mina had gone over it in the original text and the English for practice and preference’s sake. Lenore’s lines fell from him:

“Oh! mother dear mother! the wine and the bread

Will not soften the anguish that bows down my head;

For bread and for wine it will yet be as late

That his cold corpse creeps from the grim grave’s gate.”  

The woman’s grin now bared teeth. They were brilliantly white against the crimson of her lips.

“Are you meant to be Lenore?” Jonathan asked.

“Lenore sought her lover. I sought only death.” Her hand rose toward him. “Will you help me find it?”

Thunder boomed as a new wind rolled through the station like a howl. The woman’s ruined dress and hanging hair danced wildly on her, though she seemed not to notice. Jonathan went toward her, deciding whatever act she adhered to would be better performed out of the elements’ reach. His hand reached down to hers. There was a moment when their fingers brushed and Jonathan felt sick at how frozen she felt even through his glove.

In the same instant he saw the dancing of lightning without. The bolts seemed almost like a great weaving animal, snapping in closer and closer bolts along the blackened sky. Intuition tightened in his chest. Suspicion leapt to certainty. There was no time to speak—

Get off get off the tracks it’s going to—

—only to grab for her hand.

But not fast enough. Another gale of wind rushed through, this time angled in such a way that it seized and flung him back against the floor. Lightning struck in the same instant. Noise blasted his ears. It was a nigh deafening din made from the crackle of electricity dancing on the tracks and the rattling roar of a thunderclap. Under it, he swore he heard the woman scream.

God oh God oh God hospital what is the word for hospital I need the dictionary I need—

He scrambled to his feet and back to the platform’s edge. His breath stayed trapped in his chest until he looked down.

And saw nothing.

There was no woman, alive or dead. He gawped for almost a minute at the bare tracks. The hail thinned away as he stared and the thunder softened to a grumble.

How..?

“You are hurt?”

Jonathan looked up and found the dozing mother had left her heap of baggage to check on him.

“No, no, not hurt. But there was someone…” He gestured at the tracks and limped through a few lines of German before she shooed his words away with her hand, switching briskly to English. He explained the scene in full and the mother nodded with something between grave intensity and a sprightly eagerness.

“Yes, there would still be some who wander late. Walpurgisnacht is night and day. Probably she is drifting back to her tomb, sulking that she did not get company for her bier. If you had your gloves off and showed your ring she may have not bothered. Lovers who die before the wedding day, they are the greediest souls on these nights.”

This she said with great authority and Jonathan had no desire to mention that he wore no ring as yet. No more than he had any urge to voice his suspicion that the woman had been very much alive and somehow made it away from the station’s threshold before the lightning could do any damage.

The other explanation is that the woman was, in fact, a roaming ghost come to collect a new member for the graveyard. It is the time of year for such things.  

A call from the other end of the station turned the mother’s head. Father and children had come in from the storm, as had a smattering of other travelers. The train whistle bayed not long after. Jonathan looked to the tracks again as if the woman might suddenly rematerialize in the locomotive’s path. The only body that he could see was the outline of some animal at the edge of the platform’s glow. It looked like a large dog posed beside the tracks, tail still and eyes lambent. Jonathan held its stare for a moment. Then it was gone, loping off into the night.  

This. This is worth writing about.

And it was. At least once his seat had him in it and a wonderfully dense meal sat in him. He brought out his stationery pages for the cause, jotting the entirety of his time in the station up to the arrival of the train. These loose sheets were reserved specifically for storytelling and recipe preservation, the better to possibly be scrapbooked away at home. The journal still drowsed in his pocket.

Hold out for the hotel room. Almost there.

Jonathan cupped a hand to his eyes to keep out the glare as he watched the world go by in the window. The storm was left behind now and the sky was all stars above rooftops and treetops alike. A brilliant wedge of a moon shined out at him. He was still admiring the view when the steward came along to tap his shoulder. There was a smile on his face but a glimmer of anxiety in his eye.

“Herr Harker, yes?”

“Yes,” Jonathan managed before the steward produced a telegram.

“For you. Will you have another drink?”

“No, thank you.” But the glass was already stolen away and refilled before he could finish the sentence. The steward vanished in nearly the same instant, looking as if he meant to finish the bottle himself. Jonathan puzzled over this a moment before turning his attention to the telegram.

BISTRITZ.

My friend, I send all apologies to you on account of the trains and the time. We arranged our meeting during the heart of much fervor, and such will always meddle with travel. I send this in anticipation of your own frustrations with the hindered hours and my gratitude for your steadfastness. I hope it shall please you to know that the Hotel Royale has its finest suite reserved and waiting for you, and so too for the Golden Krone of Bistritz after them. May their hospitality be a balm against the troubles of a passenger at the mercy of fickle clocks. —Dracula

Jonathan marveled at the message. It was a rarity in itself to have a client who made no fuss when it came to snags that the firm had no control over. To have one who foresaw said snags and went out of his way to apologize to the solicitor himself was unheard of. And from a noble?

He added the telegram to his memoranda with a smile. 

[silentexplorer18]

Pen & Ink Soulmates: A Kakashi Hatake Fic

Summary: A partner, they said. Someone compatible with you, they said. Lies. Or the story in which you sneakily convince Kakashi that soulmates aren't all that bad.

Pairing: Kakashi Hatake x Female Reader

Warnings: Soulmate AU, Writing on skin, Minor Violence, Implied/Referenced Torture, Abduction, Minor Injuries, Serious Injuries, Hospitals, Angst with a Happy Ending.

Word Count: 12,100+

Note: For clarity, this fic occurs over a relatively large chunk of time, but it might make more sense to pretend Kakashi joins the ANBU in later teenage years (though we could pretend two high-level Jonin could talk with such maturity at age 13 if we wanted to!). Basically, I didn’t stress a timeline too much, but I hope you still enjoy it as much as I do! :)

Read on AO3 ▪ Masterlist

Hi, soulmate!

Soulmate?

Are you getting my messages?

Let me know if you want to talk.

Can you see the moon where you are?

I found the prettiest flowers today at the market. I wish I could draw you a picture of them.

Do you like flowers? I have a hard time picking a favorite.

You’d been trying. The whole connecting with your soulmate thing was supposed to be exciting and invigorating, but so far it had only left you with the bitter taste of defeat.

A partner, they said. Someone compatible with you, they said.

Lies.

Apparently whoever was supposed to be on the other end of your soul connection didn’t care about the messages you sent. They weren’t as eager to speak with you as you were to speak with them. At least, that’s what you told yourself. The alternative was much, much worse; a fate you weren’t willing to consider.

You had a soulmate. They just weren’t ready to talk yet.

So, you threw yourself into training. Every swift movement and taunt muscle, every hit target and victorious sparring session, all the work left you feeling strong and powerful. When your soulmate met you, maybe they’d regret taking so long when they saw how hard you’d been working, how skilled you’d become.

Thankfully, you had a sparring partner that liked to keep you on your toes. Kakashi had been training with you for about as long as you could remember; he was your closest friend and greatest ally as you worked to become a talented shinobi. Of all the people in the village, he facilitated and supported your growth more than anyone. You could rely on him for almost anything (except for being on time).

But there was one problem.

Kakashi didn’t like talking about soulmates. You couldn’t blame him. Deep emotional connections wasn’t a topic he wanted to dwell on, not after everything that had happened throughout his still-young lifetime. So you kept the conversation civil, even as your heart desperately yearned to talk to someone about your sudden fear of being alone, your deep, unrestrained terror that there was no partner to your soul, no body to receive the messages you delicately penned on the skin under your wrapped arms.

But apparently there was.

You learned that roughly a year later, after many failed attempts and more destroyed pens than you cared to admit.

The amount of times you’d tried to contact your soulmate had dwindled, both due to the lack of response and the influx in your shinobi duties. Regardless, you still took the time to try every once in a while.

Usually, your messages were sweet or silly. A few times, you’d merely asked if anyone was receiving your carefully written words, begging to know there was someone out there for you.

But every sensible person reaches their breaking point. And evidently both you and your soulmate broke in very different ways on the same day.

Good evening, soulmate. I didn’t do much today, but I can give you a run-down if you’d like.

It was a game you’d started a few months into your attempts at contact. Pretending someone was there was much, much easier than thinking about any alternative. So you tried your best to leave messages despite how much it hurt.

Staring at your wrist, you considered the scribble of the letters, the handwriting you only tried to make semi-nice now. That was your soulmate’s fault; you were past the point of a perfect first impression. But what to write today? What could entertain your soulmate, maybe even draw them out? You weren’t sure.

When the first inky letter swirled across your skin, your heart leapt into your throat, and your pen dropped from your hand. Your thoughts of what to write were quickly forgotten. There was someone. There was someone! There was someone waiting for you!

You leaned forward, hand clamped around your wrist to keep it steady as the words appeared on your skin.

You’re putting us both in danger. Stop writing to me.

Well, that certainly wasn’t what you expected.

After all the waiting, after all the time, that’s what your soulmate was willing to give you? Your jaw clenched, hand releasing your wrist so you wouldn’t inadvertently snap it. What a jerk.

How dare your soulmate assume you were incapable! How dare your soulmate treat you like nothing more than a hindrance! How dare your soulmate act like you were some worthless flower that would be trampled over by a single breeze!

You clicked your pen, hand pressing just a skosh too hard into your skin as you carved a message back to whoever that jerk was.

I can take care of myself.

The reply came a few minutes later.

Good. I don’t want you in my life. Leave me alone.

Oh.

Years of waiting for a soulmate, and the one to finally show up didn’t want anything to do with you? Great, just great.

You closed your eyes, hands shaking as you drew your knees closer to your body. Alone. You were alone. No matter who was destined to be by your side, nobody would be there. The tears burned in your eyes, but you tried to keep from shedding them. You were a shinobi. You were strong. You were… alone.

No, no you weren’t. You still had Kakashi and Kurenai. You had Asuma when he bothered to chat with you. You weren’t totally alone. You had people in your life to keep you company. Hell, you were even supposed to meet Kakashi for breakfast tomorrow!

You went over your list of friends in your head, desperately trying to drown out the nagging voice in the back of your mind whispering that the person who mattered most would never want you.

~

Kakashi was late to breakfast the next morning. Even later than usual. You idly wondered if he’d been called on an emergency mission while trying to keep your thin soup down.

The events of the night before rested at the forefront of your mind, making your stomach queasy with the memory of the harsh words.

Your soulmate had washed them off your arm by morning, but the message had already been branded in your mind. There would be no forgetting.

When Kakashi finally deigned to arrive, he looked much worse than usual. It was hardly perceptible to the untrained eye, but you knew something was wrong after so many years of friendship with Kakashi. He was even quieter than he usually was, picking at the cold soup you’d ordered for him.

It had been spur of the moment to order for the both of you, a decision brought on by being too wrapped up in your own thoughts. However, Kakashi didn’t comment on your unusual gesture.

For once, something went your way.

After your relatively brief and quiet meal, you offered to walk with Kakashi to the Hokage Tower, desperately craving the fresh air. He accepted your offer with a half-hearted nod, and you fell into step alongside him, trying to keep up with his impossibly lanky figure.

“You’ve been going to the Hokage Tower a lot lately. Is everything alright?”

Hummed, the sound still gravely from failing to use his voice all morning. “They’re pushing me up to the ANBU.”

You froze. The ANBU? One of the most elite and dangerous positions that a Leaf shinobi could accept? Your best friend—the talent, the protector, the lost child inside willing to throw his life away for the sake of his home, for the people who had left without him—an ANBU?

Kakashi stopped a few paces in front of you, casting a distasteful look over his shoulder at your expression.

“I can handle it. Stop fussing.”

With quick steps, you joined his side again, clenching your fist in embarrassment. “I’m not fussing. I just wasn’t expecting it so soon.”

“We die young as shinobi,” he murmured, continuing his walk toward the tower in the distance. Suddenly, the structure appeared to be looming rather than protecting, and a chill crawled along your spine.

Of course shinobi died young. All bodies gave out eventually, and shinobi would fight until that occurred, regardless of whether or not it was to their detriment (it almost always was). But Kakashi was the most talented shinobi you’d ever encountered. He wouldn’t die young, you hoped. He had so much left to live for, even if he couldn’t see it through the haze of his own pain and guilt.

The remaining walk to the Hokage tower was silent. And afterwards, you took flowers to the memorial stone. You prayed for the dead. And just this once, you begged them to look out for the living, too.

~

The day Kakashi joined the ANBU, you knew. The matching tattoo colored your bicep in sweeping increments, a sharp red rattling your heart within your chest. The reality of your situation washed over you like the worst kind of genjutsu.

Your best friend was your soulmate. And he didn’t want you.

The realization left you shell shocked for a few days, unable to even speak or look at Kakashi. Even without the contact, your mind couldn’t escape from him. However, you eventually managed to safeguard your heart as best as you could. You wouldn’t tell him yet; something within you couldn’t handle that risk of rejection, especially when it would come from Kakashi. But you weren’t willing to throw away the lifetime of friendship the two of you shared. So you put on a smile and met Kakashi at his favorite restaurant, just like usual.

“You haven’t been here for a few days,” he noted as you sat down, watching you intently. “Everything alright?”

You shrugged, fingers trailing down the side of your glass. “Yeah, just wasn’t feeling up to anything.”

It was a partial lie, one Kakashi could easily prod into if he wanted to. But he didn’t. He let you be. And you relished in the way the conversation eventually grew normal between the two of you, right up until he rose from the table, leaving you to pay the bill.

Everything was normal. But you cried again that night anyway.

~

Life fell back into the usual pattern after that. There were times that you could almost pretend the weight on your shoulders wasn’t there. Kakashi was away on more missions with the ANBU, so you were able to bury your head in your training and missions and pretend nothing was wrong. At least, you could pretend until a pen caught your eye.

The words on your skin had been so brutal, and you hoped they were just because of the pain Kakashi had endured. You hoped it came from a place of love rather than hatred; perhaps Kakashi’s intention was protection rather than cold-hearted rejection.

At least, that’s what you thought until you found Kakashi sparring with Gai.

You tried your hardest not to invade their privacy, not to listen to words that weren’t meant for your ears, like the good friend you were, but Kakashi’s voice was too sharp, too defensive, to not draw your attention.

“—but it’s a waste of time, Gai. Soulmates are unnecessary. Especially for people like us.”

“You’re hiding from your future, Kakashi. Wasting all your youthful days that you could be spending with the one who will love you as much as life itself!”

Another failed attack. The clang of clashing kunai.

“A soulmate could only be a liability to me. You know what kind of missions I’m being sent on.”

“They’re your soulmate, Kakashi. Soulmates are built to work together. They fill the cracks like the best kind of glue!”

Kakashi scoffed. There was another clang, the gentle zip of shuriken on the breeze.

“I’d never love them anyway, so it doesn’t really matter.”

“You’d say something so cruel—”

You turned away, unable to listen anymore. The pain pooled heavy in your gut. The message he’d written hadn’t been a reflexive, angry reaction. His beliefs were set in stone. He didn’t want you.

So, you held your chin up, resigned yourself to eternal loneliness, and pretended the whole soulmate dilemma didn’t exist.

If being Kakashi’s friend was the closest you could get, then you’d ignore the sting in your chest when you looked at him. You’d be his friend. Nothing more.

~

Your resolve lasted a few weeks.

There was whispering. There had always been whispering, but this day was much worse than usual. He’d been mocked, insulted, shamed. Openly. And aside from Gai, nobody had said a word otherwise. You couldn’t stand it, watching him mask the pain as much as he masked his own features. His feigned nonchalance couldn’t fool your perceptive eyes. You’d been watching too closely; you knew him too well.

Curled at your desk that night, you wrote a message on your wrist, scared of talking to him again but unable to leave him alone.

You’re a good person.

Hours passed before you received a response. It was curt, defensive, everything Kakashi carried to protect himself. You don’t know me.

But you did.

Although it was difficult to sleep, you tried your best not to toss and turn too much as you brooded over your feelings. Was it worth saying more? Was it worth risking the hurt, the rejection?

In the morning, you’d made your decision, especially after noticing his words had already been rinsed off your wrist.

Cleaning your own wrist, you wrote the message in your head a thousand times over, only hoping the words wouldn’t hurt you so much when they reached his skin.

You're a good person, Kakashi Hatake. I won't let you tell me otherwise.

~

Kakashi met you for lunch just like usual. You wouldn’t have found anything odd about the meeting, but he showed up on time. Apparently your message had rattled him enough to throw him completely off his rhythm.

Rather than comment on his early appearance, you just smiled as he sat down, choosing to dig into your meal. Kakashi followed suit, pulling out a book while he waited for his bowl.

Silence settled between you, and you let it. After all, you were trying to make the situation appear normal. The last thing you wanted was for him to figure out you were in on the secret that was bothering him. So, the two of you ate. You sipped your tea, glancing out at the people passing on the street until Kakashi finally broke the silence.

“My soulmate knows who I am,” he murmured, setting down his raman bowl.

You plastered on a smile, knowing you had to fake congratulations, had to fake knowing that he had, in fact, zero intentions of finding his soulmate.

“That’s so exciting, Kakashi! I’m glad you’ve finally found yours!”

He laughed dryly, scratching his neck. “It’s not quite like that.”

You tried to neutralize the way your expression dropped. Either Kakashi didn’t notice, nose stuck in his copy of Make Out Paradise, or he didn’t care. You bit your lip, brows furrowing before you could stop them. “How so?”

But you already knew the answer to that.

“I’m not talking to my soulmate,” he said curtly. “It’s not something that interests me.”

You shook your head, sighing softly. He’d never let anyone in, never let anyone close. Kakashi was too reserved for that, and you resigned yourself to the knowledge that he’d never care to change the fate he’d chosen for himself. For such a hopeless romantic, he had a terrible tendency to reject love.

“You’re so foolish, Kakashi,” you whispered, balancing the chopsticks on the rim of your bowl.

His eye snapped to your face. Though he appeared nonchalant, you could tell that he slightly bristled at your words. “You’re one to talk.”

“Mine won’t talk to me,” you pointed out sharply, eyes dropping to refold your napkin.

His expression softened minutely, but his tone stayed firm. “That isn’t what I meant. We’re shinobi, (Y/n). Love in our line of duty is fatal.”

Pursing your lips, you caught his eye again before dropping his stare. “Perhaps,” you murmured, knuckles straining in your lap. “But you can’t say it’s pleasant to live without love.”

He was silent for a moment as you both stared at anywhere but one another. Kakashi was ruminating under your words while you wallowed in the silent pain of listening to your soulmate openly deny your importance. It hurt, but you wouldn’t admit that, least of all not to his face.

Before he could speak again, Gai had clapped Kakashi on the shoulder, greeting him as warmly as ever.

You slipped out of the shop, enough money to cover both your meals pressed into the owner’s hand before either of the shinobi could realize you’d disappeared.

~

Although your conversation with Kakashi had stung deep within your chest, you appreciated the insights it gave you.

Kakashi Hatake was aware his soulmate knew his name. And he was terrified.

The fact that he’d brought it up at all was enough to tell you how jarring the event had been for him. That, and the way he responded at the mere notion of knowing his soulmate. He was like a cornered cat lashing his claws out in terror. He didn’t mean to hurt anyone, not his soulmate, not you. But in his desperation to protect himself, reinforce the walls he’d so meticulously crafted to fortify his aching heart, Kakashi Hatake was willing to scratch.

However, you weren’t willing to let it go that easily.

He was scared of having someone care for him. You were willing to start small in the hopes of changing that.

Along the curve of your inner wrist, you swirled the letters that would become the first of many.

Stay safe on your mission.

It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

~

Today is supposed to be cold. Wear an extra mask.

He didn’t. Worse yet, he chose to do the opposite. Although it was hard to tell, you knew his mask and undershirt were the spring/summer fabrics rather than the fall/winter ones.

The bastard was spiting you. Well, spiting his soulmate. So, unwittingly spiting you.

It was still irksome.

As the two of you wandered around the village, helped the farmers, and even took a leisurely stroll around the village perimeter “just in case,” you relished in the way Kakashi moved. It was obvious he was cold, regretting his unnecessary fashion stance.

But you couldn’t stand to see him cold.

He looked close to dropping to the ground for a rapid succession of push-ups just to rekindle some warmth. As smug as you were about watching him suffer, you weren't willing to let him perform a Gai for a small semblance of relief.

Swiftly, you unlooped your scarf, draping it around his neck unceremoniously. It wasn’t much, but the fabric was warm, and it would certainly help a little.

If only you knew how happy the gesture made him.

As the two of you walked back to the heart of the village, Kakashi walked a little closer to you than normal. And, for some reason, you didn’t really mind.

~

When Kakashi didn’t show up to lunch the following week, you weren’t surprised. You’d only just returned from a mission, and word of Kakashi’s travels had already graced your ears. He was heading to the Village Hidden in the Sand. For what, you weren’t sure. Some missions were still classified even for you.

Despite knowing how skilled Kakashi was, you still worried about him traveling alone through the desert.

The click of your pen hurt a little less when you clicked it now. It helped to know who your soulmate was. It helped to feel like he cared about you still, even when he so clearly loathed his soulmate.

Remember to drink some water today.

A few hours later, you were surprised to see a response scribbled across your inner wrist.

Yes.

Just one word but finally a positive one.

~

Rest when you can.

Kakashi stared at the words delicately placed on his wrist. His mission had taken longer than expected, and he was beginning to think his soulmate knew that.

Whoever they were, they must have been a shinobi like him. A high-ranking one, too, for them to determine the length of time he was supposed to be away for.

He’d been receiving one message per day. At first, it irritated him to no end. But now, he didn’t hate it quite so much, even if he often didn’t bother to reply. The messages were always harmless. Sometimes they were funny. Sometimes they were giving him advice, a little reminder meant—he assumed—to help him through the day.

While the sender certainly had the best intentions when sending the note, the message still left him irked. He was alone for this mission, and the sleeplessness and general strains of traveling had started to take a toll on him.

Only a day’s journey left until he could return home and try to shake the sand out of every nook and cranny of his backpack. Only a day’s journey left until he could sleep in a bed. Only a day’s journey left until he could go to dinner with the others. Just. One. More. Day.

He could make it. He had to.

~

Kakashi had been injured again.

The news swept through the village like a wildfire, and you showed up with two Make Out novels and a bowl of raman, nearly being knocked over by Gai’s comically large bouquet in the process.

Kakashi accepted Gai’s flowers with moderate amounts of grumbling and a few lackluster attempts to get him to leave. Eventually, he did, and it was just the two of you.

You filled the vase at his bedside with water, delicately stuffing as many of the stems as you possibly could inside the glass.

Kakashi watched you move around him, cherishing the silence. At his bedside, you unclasped your bag, pulling out the blindingly colorful books and the container of Ichiraku raman. After making sure the utensils were settled and there was a napkin, you turned back to Kakashi, just missing the warm expression on his face.

“You should rest,” you encouraged gently, “and eat up.”

His eye squinted playfully. “You fuss too much.”

You smiled, smoothing a shuriken printed blanket over the starchy hospital ones. It was yours, but it still smelled faintly of dogs and Kakashi and spice. Hopefully it would stave off some of his nightmares, having something that smelled vaguely like home.

“I fuss just enough. Now, don’t stay up too late reading. Some rest will go a long way.”

“You fuss too—” He yelped as you pinched his toe through the blanket, slinging your bag back over your shoulder.

“You’re lucky you have me as a friend.”

Kakashi’s expression softened, mind racing toward how close he’d come to death yet again. “Yeah, I am.”

He relished in the way that simple statement delighted you, watching the way your expression lit up.

“Get some rest,” you encouraged again, turning to leave him in the bright, quiet room.

As per your request, he did.

~

Although he listened to your advice, it was only marginally. In true Kakashi fashion, he’d talked his way out of the hospital after a measly two days of treatment.

His body needed more time, but Kakashi was always one to push himself.

Since the Hokage stalled sending him on another mission, something he both hated and appreciated, he occupied the following days in his normal rhythm. He trained privately, visited the memorial stone, and wandered the village nose-deep in supposedly trashy romance.

You’d caught him wandering around a few times, and even saw him lightly competing in a challenge against Gai.

The sight made your blood boil even though you knew it was Kakashi being Kakashi.

He had no sense of self-preservation, which wasn’t particularly helpful when you—his soulmate—were watching from the sidelines.

Did he even care that he could leave you all alone? No, probably not, your mind taunted. Kakashi didn’t care about soulmates; you knew that.

If only you could convince your heart not to care.

That afternoon, you let the letters curl across your wrist as you watched him do another training exercise with Gai, looking faintly more fatigued than normal.

Give yourself time to recover.

If he found your message, he didn’t care to respond.

~

Kakashi would visit the memorial stone in the morning; you knew how his routine worked.

He felt it fitting to visit them as often as he could, an apology for living the life they all should have lived.

You couldn’t blame him. You visited the stone often, too.

But you couldn’t today, not while you were traveling to the Village Hidden in the Sand with a scroll. So, you asked for a favor, scribbling on your wrist: Pray for mine, too, please.

He was starting to grow accustomed to your messages. A small part of you wondered if he kept an eye out for them. But that was silly. You were thinking about Kakashi. He probably was just reading his book when the words appeared, his wrist already in his line of sight.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

But it still didn’t dispel your excitement when the answer scribbled across your skin a few minutes later.

Sure.

~

He’d been taking on so many missions lately, wearing himself to the bone just to be a good shinobi. A part of you wondered if he was trying to avoid thinking about anything other than his shinobi world. That hunch didn’t stop you from worrying.

Soulmate or not, Kakashi’s actions would have worried you. He looked exhausted as he shuffled through his laundry. You’d brought him takeout from his favorite restaurant to hopefully get something other than rations in his stomach before he left on his next mission.

Who knew how long it would be before he drug himself in, requested another trip, and raced off to somewhere new. You would’ve thought he was avoiding you if it weren’t for the obvious delight in his eyes when you caught up with him outside Hokage Tower.

But there was a reason he was working himself to exhaustion. Possibly long-dead memories brought back to life that he couldn’t stand thinking about. You didn’t even want to know; you just wanted him to be okay.

A week later, you saw him walking through the village gates yet again. Back again. Planning to leave again. It was always the same, just relentlessly overkill at present. He was taking on too much, and one day he would slip up and regret it. You didn’t want that.

So you stayed behind the kiosk you’d been perusing, fingers untangling the wraps around your hand. It was a simple message, but you hoped it would help snap his mind out of whatever hole he’d buried it in.

Please don’t overwork yourself.

He didn’t respond. Not a word graced your hopeful skin.

But Kakashi caught you outside one of the stores in town and asked if you wanted to meet up for dinner that night. He would be around for a while, he said, but he was too tired to cook.

Despite trying to hold on to your resolve, a small part of you couldn’t help but hope he was staying because you asked him to. It was probably wishful thinking, but you were grateful for whatever force made him stay nonetheless.

~

I believe in you.

Kakashi scoffed at the message on his arm, printed in the spot where his glove met his sleeve.

He found it after a competition with Gai. Hardly anything worth fussing over, but his soulmate had still sent him encouraging words.

Had they been watching? Had they seen the fun (though he’d never admit it) that he and Gai had been having? Had they wanted to join in?

For a long time, he’d been able to avoid thinking about his soulmate altogether. Now, though, they’d found a way to weasel into his mind with the words swirling over his skin.

He wasn’t willing to consider whether or not he enjoyed it.

~

I worry when you’re reckless.

The message shouldn’t have stung Kakashi’s heart, but somehow it did. His soulmate was watching and worrying, hearing the stories about his travels. Whoever they were, they must have been a shinobi, too.

Were they okay with forsaking love in the name of war? Could they abandon emotions for the sake of duty? Maybe. His soulmate had never directly asked to be anything more than penpals, though even that notion was quite one-sided.

But the message on his wrist betrayed his soulmate’s strength. They worried about him. They listened for the stories and understood when something went wrong.

Kakashi couldn’t help but wonder if they were reckless, too.

If he never took the chance to know them, would he care if they threw their life away as often as he’d tried to? He wasn’t sure.

~

The next Make Out novel comes out today. I reserved you a copy at the Northern bookstore. It’s less crowded.

Kakashi didn’t understand why his soulmate was being so nice to him. Not after his harsh words at the beginning, not after his sparse replies and general lack of interest. But whoever they were, they were trying, and he had to admire that.

At first, he was surprised his soulmate was not only fine with him reading erotic novels in public but also encouraging it. But, then again, his soulmate was meant to be compatible with him, right?

There would be butting heads, of course. All soulmates lost the honeymoon stage eventually. But this seemed deeper, warmer. His favorite book in a quiet shop on his day off. It was kindness. And it felt both strange and wonderful.

He vaguely regretted not doing anything for his soulmate. Though, maybe they were okay with that. Maybe they enjoyed being alone, just like he did.

Maybe if he kept lying to himself, he’d continue to enjoy it.

But crouched in a tree a few hours later, he couldn’t shake the gratitude deep in his chest. The novel was amazing. And he wouldn’t have been able to get his hands on it if it weren’t for his soulmate’s generosity.

Two words.

Thank you.

~

Kakashi had arrived home from another long mission. Although unscathed, his clothes were a mess. Dirt and mud clung to his legs, dried blood was smattered across his upper body, and a few rogue twigs and leaves stuck to him in strange places. He needed a shower. Desperately.

But something within Kakashi was restless, and he chose to wander around the village absently.

Something must have happened for him to look so dazed and unattached, but you tried to avoid asking anything direct in public.

Instead, you hopped beside him, catching his arm with the tips of your fingertips. He hummed in response.

“You just got back, right, Kakashi?”

He hummed again. “Yep.”

“Have you bought groceries?”

“No... Why?”

“A bunch of us are going to dinner tonight. You should come. It’s been a while since we’ve all been together.”

He inspected you for a long moment, and you could tell what he was thinking. The laugh bubbled in your throat before you could help yourself. “It’s Iruka’s turn to take Gai home, don’t worry.”

He stared for a moment longer before nodding slowly. “Okay.” Another small, dazed nod. “I’ll come.”

You couldn’t hide your smile as you told him the establishment and the time. That alone made Kakashi’s mood improve, though he’d never admit that aloud.

An hour later, though, he was still wandering around the city absentmindedly. So you figured his soulmate could take matters into their own hands.

Blood in your hair? Isn’t that a bit macabre?

He replied an hour later.

No.

But the next time you saw him, he was dressed in a new uniform. Not a single pristinely white hair was out of place.

If it hadn’t been for Anko talking your ear off about her last mission, you almost could’ve imagined that you and Kakashi were on a date.

It was the closest you would get, a clean vest and all.

But when Asuma blew a puff of smoke and Kakashi glared disdainfully from across the table, any hopes of romance slipped through your fingers.

You were friends. Close friends.

And you refocused on Anko’s story in the hopes of forgetting the state of your friendship with Kakashi for the span of a few minutes.

Every little glance he sent your way certainly didn’t help.

Nor did the way he offered you the last bite of his cake as a thanks for paying for his meal yet again.

Damn, you were in deep.

~

Be safe on your mission.

His reply came a few minutes later.

Yep.

Although it wasn’t much, the gesture made you smile. It seemed almost like he was waiting for your message, like he’d been checking as he and his companions wandered down the road.

You told yourself it was wishful thinking, but the word scribbled on your wrist in his handwriting warmed your heart all the same.

~

You’d forgotten. The mission had been too complex, your mind too preoccupied. You’d forgotten to write to Kakashi.

A part of you distantly wondered if he cared, if he even thought about your messages.

He’d started to reply on occasion. It was never more than a quickly scrawled, single word response, but it was still better than the total isolation he’d given you before.

You couldn’t say it was great, or that the two of you talked as soulmates. But it was relatively amicable. And that was a much better foot to get off on than the first time he’d responded to the words you’d scribbled words across your arms.

Things were okay.

And although you had a few scrapes and scratches from your mission, that had gone okay, too.

When your team settled in a clearing for the night, tent built and fire glowing, you drifted off, too exhausted to think of sending a scrabbled love message to Kakashi.

But he hadn’t forgotten about you.

Although you assumed he wasn’t paying attention, Kakashi was one of the best ninja in the Village Hidden in the Leaves. He paid attention to everything, despite his usual nonchalance.

He noticed immediately that his soulmate hadn’t written to him.

After weeks of at least one little message per day.

And he wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he was terrified. Had something happened to you? Were you injured? Could it be worse?

The idea of soulmates may have left him feeling disgruntled, but your messages had burrowed a home in his heart.

He wasn’t ready to give you or your messages up yet.

So for the first time in a long time, he wrote a real message.

You’re late. Doing okay?

As you watched over the dying flames several hours later, an early morning guard for your teammates, you stared at his words, tracing a finger over the scraggly characters.

Late.

You knew he wasn’t talking about your mission because the four of you weren’t due back for another two days. He didn’t know your identity. That only left the messages…

Was he treating this as a check-in?

You rolled your eyes, chuckling. Leave it to Kakashi to care more than he let on.

Got lost on the path of life. You?

Kakashi stared at your message. He’d been perusing his favorite bookstore for spare copies of the Make Out series’ novels, sleeve suspiciously cuffed and waiting for a reply, when the words had swirled across his skin.

And he laughed. Warmly and purely. Because you’d stolen his line.

You knew him. And maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing if you would continue to make him laugh so openly.

Surprised with himself, he clicked his pen, words scribbling across his skin before he had the chance to doubt himself.

Glad you’re alive.

It wasn’t much, but it was a start. An admission that he wasn’t as dismayed by the soulmate thing as he let on. And you arrived home from your mission absolutely beaming.

~

You were able to catch Kakashi for lunch before heading off on your next mission with Kurenai. The food was filling, and the conversation was nice. Funnily enough, he was supposed to leave for a mission with Gai the next day. No rest for the shinobi apparently.

Kakashi waved at you as you walked away, and you smiled to yourself. Even if you didn’t have your soulmate by your side, at least you still had some connection to Kakashi. Being by his side was worth the dull ache it left in your heart.

But you would be without it for the next few days. Although you and Kurenai were leaving for no more than two days, Kakashi and Gai would probably be gone most of the week. Part of you hated when Kakashi was away, but part of you enjoyed getting to write to him more often. When he was away, you could be a little less secretive as you scribbled down messages throughout your day in the village.

But, for the time being, you’d focus on the mission at hand.

It was a standard case of bandits in the woods. At least, that was what the scroll had described the mission as. However, as you and Kurenai crept through the dense forest, something felt off.

No matter how far the two of you traveled, the quiet whisper of wind in the leaves greeted you. Despite your speed and silence, you couldn’t sense any animals or hear anything suspicious. Bandits would have left campsites or trash or, hell, even footsteps. But nothing greeted your senses, not even traces of animals. These weren’t ordinary bandits.

Your suspicions were confirmed when eight people jumped from the brush, attacking with a swiftness you hadn’t anticipated. Their presences had been completely concealed.

Kurenai lept to your left, and you lept to the right, sending three shuriken through the air to hit the nearest attacker. While your attack worked slightly, you immediately had to jump again, barely catching Kurenai rushing off through the trees.

This was the failsafe plan; if you got caught, you’d separate far enough that you couldn’t catch one another in the crossfire of your attacks.

But you were outmatched. Whoever these “bandits” were, they were extremely skilled in capturing and securing enemies. One moment, you were wielding a fire jutsu. The next moment, your vision had gone dark.

~

Capture wasn’t the only thing the bandits appeared to be skilled in. Upon waking, you’d been tied to a chair with restraints stronger than you could break. The room was dark, probably somewhere underground, and you realized you had no idea how long you’d been unconscious. Was Kurenai okay? Had she been captured, too? What did these people want with you?

None of that mattered, not when the first blow had landed across your exposed side. Whatever these people wanted, you wouldn’t give it. So, you took a deep breath, clenched your teeth, and shut out the world. Your village was valuable to you. The people there mattered to you. And you’d follow your training to the letter, or you’d die trying.

~

Whether it had been hours or days of torture, you weren’t sure. All you knew was that everything hurt, and your vision was starting to go blurry. Despite that, you hadn’t relented. No matter what they threw at your body, no matter what manipulation they tried to play with your mind, you wouldn’t budge.

At the end, at least you’d make the Village Hidden in the Leaves proud.

But there was something that was missing, something you wanted to do before you died, even if it was just selfish, even if it was just a foolish whispering of your heart. You wanted to be buried somewhere your friends could visit. You wanted everyone to know about your end, to know what had happened, to never worry that you were out there somewhere.

You wanted Kakashi to find peace in your death, not guilt.

So there was a secret you had to spill.

You slid the pen from your pocket, clicking it open as you stared at your arm. Slowly, you undid the bandages, greeted once again by blank skin. Swirling the pen across your forearm, you wrote the rough coordinates of your capture on your arm. It wasn’t exact, but hopefully it would be good enough. Then, you wrote the words “urgent note” on your fingertips and wrist, hoping that would encourage him to look. Below the coordinates, you wrote: Abducted by enemies. Not relenting to torture. Getting weak. Send help if possible. Or someone to collect my body. Look at leg later. —(Y/n).

Carefully, you rewrapped your arm, moving to roll your pant leg up. Your hands were shaking, and it was hard to hold the pen, but you had to write to him.

They said the end is coming, and I'm starting to believe them. It hurts a lot. So I'm writing to you. I know you didn't want to deal with the whole soulmate thing, but I couldn't stay away. You were just too wonderful to not stand beside. I'm sorry I didn't leave you be, didn't respect your wishes. But I wanted to be a part of your life. I'm being selfish by writing to you now, but you're the one person I've always been selfish with, so I'm not going to stop at the very end. Please don’t be upset with yourself if I don’t make it.

Your eyes were watering now, vision slightly blurry. Had they drugged you, too? Or was it just the injuries?

I just want you to remember that you’re loved. That I love you. That you deserve to be loved. Please don’t forget that when I’m gone.

Whatever else you wanted to write would not be written. Quietly, the pen clattered out of your hand, and your head slumped forward.

Time was up.

~

Your vision was blurry when your eyes finally blinked open. You were cold, but the ache in your muscles was a reassurance that you were very much alive. Alive and in a hospital, it seemed.

There was a crinkle beside your bed, and you looked up to see Kakashi thumbing through his book.

What had… You blinked, trying to recall exactly what had happened.

There was a mission… you’d been on a mission with Kurenai… right. Then… and then... you were abducted. Yes, you could remember that now. And Kakashi… you remember thinking about Kakashi. Gosh, everything was so damn hazy. You shifted, wincing as you tried to sit up.

“Hey!” His voice was cheerful, and you blinked up at him in surprise at the warmness in his tone. “Good to see you waking up!”

How had he known you were at the hospital? Had Kurenai… Wait, no. No. Hazily, you could recall writing coordinates on your wrist. They weren’t precise, so someone must have looked for you. You couldn’t remember being found. Everything after the last interrogation was too hazy… too confusing. But Kakashi had known… maybe Kakashi had looked for you.

“You made it in time?”

He hummed, closing his book with a thump. “Pakkun found you. Once I knew what to look for, I could rely on his nose.”

You nodded groggily, reaching up to rub your eyes. The ink was still on your wrist, visible due to your unwrapped arms. You’d forgotten about—

“Kakashi, I’m so sorry about the message.” You turned to look at him, eyes wide and embarrassed. “If I knew everything would’ve been fine, then I wouldn’t have—”

His hand rose, and you stopped, heart hammering in your throat. This was it. This would be the rejection.

“I’m glad I had the opportunity to save you.”

Of course. Because he wouldn’t leave a comrade behind; that wasn’t like him.

But that wasn’t the message you were referring to.

If he wasn’t going to bring up the love message, then you wouldn’t, either. “I’m grateful,” you murmured, looking down to finally see the treatment your body had undergone. There were marks everywhere, which meant Kakashi was marked everywhere, too. Marks on the soulmate that didn’t want you…

“I appreciate you waiting,” you forced yourself to say. Maybe he’d get the message and leave you alone.

Instead, he met your awkward sidestep with bluntness. “I figured we should talk.”

Your head felt like it was spinning, and you had the slightest sensation that you were going to be in the hospital for quite a while. It would be embarrassing to be rejected here; it would be embarrassing to cry in front of the nurses.

“Not now,” you croaked, hand scrabbling to grab the invisible cup of water at the bedside. Water, sake, medicine, heck, even the flower water beside you. Anything to push the lump out of your throat. Anything to avoid thinking about Kakashi’s rejection.

You were eyeing up the vase next to you as Kakashi stood, long legs moving to fill a glass by the sink. He handed it to you, assuring your fingers were pressed around the cup before he moved away.

You sent him a grateful half-smile before you swallowed the water like a shot, desperate to drown yourself in something other than your own awkwardness.

“Feel better?”

No, you really didn’t. Your head was still spinning, stomach still queasy. Whether it was from your injuries or Kakashi’s pointed stare, you weren’t sure. “I don’t want to talk about it today. Everything—” you coughed, trying to release the tightness in your throat. “Everything hurts.”

He nodded, humming low in his throat. “I’ll go get a nurse, then.”

You nodded shakily, debating whether or not you could escape from the hospital before he came back. The ache in your side told you moving probably wasn’t the best idea.

“But before I do, I have one question.”

Your head snapped to where he stood by the door, wincing as you did so. “Yes?”

“How did you find out it was me?”

You stared at him for a minute, searching his impassive face. He was one of the best shinobi this village had ever seen, and he was still impossibly clueless sometimes. Slowly, you rolled up your sleeve, revealing a roll of gauze. It was blue, unlike the starchy white medical gauze on your sides. You could fiddle with it; the fabric belonged to you. With nimble fingers, you untied it, letting it pool below your elbow on the bed.

Kakashi stared openly at the ANBU tattoo, and you watched the pieces click into place. He hadn’t even considered what a tattoo would be like for his soulmate.

“I see,” he whispered, fingers unconsciously twitching toward his covered arm. After a moment, he shook himself from his thoughts, gaze again becoming impassive. “I’ll go get the nurses.”

“Kakashi?” you called, shocked as the words left your lips. You hadn’t meant to call out for him, not yet, anyway. But he was standing there staring like you’d held up a practice dummy, focus radiating from him in waves. You had to say something. “Thank you. For saving me… and waiting. And thank Pakkun, too?”

Kakashi’s expression softened. “I will. Now, get some rest. You look exhausted.”

Though, rest was the last thing you would come close to receiving as the doctors gave you a full evaluation. Poking, prodding, and asking questions took up most of the afternoon. Although you tried your best to focus and take in all the information you were given about your physical state, your mind continually strayed to Kakashi. Did he hate you now? Did he want you out of his life? Was he waiting for you or just waiting to ask about the whole soulmates thing? You wished you could quiet the questions swirling through your mind.

That evening, you found a message scribbled across the back of your hand. Although his handwriting was still messy, it was obvious he took his time. He wanted it to be legible.

Get well soon, (Y/n).

It was the first time your soulmate had written your name on his skin. He knew you now. There was no going back to the secretive messages and hidden assurances. Everything was out in the open; Kakashi knew exactly who you were. He knew everything.

That night, you wept.

You wept for the injuries that would bar you from upcoming missions. You wept for the bitter sense of death that had grazed your fingertips. You wept for the compassionate message on your hand. You wept for the fear of being alone again.

You wept for Kakashi and all that he meant to you.

~

Between the crying and the medical evaluations the day prior, you slept well past the time you’d typically rise. Consequently, it was well past the opening of visiting hours, too.

Kakashi arrived before you woke up and tucked himself into a corner with a book. However, he read very little. Instead, he watched the gradual rise and fall of your chest, comforted by the knowledge that you were still breathing.

When “urgent note” had appeared on his fingers, his heart had nearly stopped in his chest. When he read the message printed on his wrist, the sinking sensation had only grown. Fear consumed him more than it had ever consumed him before.

His head had spun with the realization that you were in danger, that you were his soulmate. Summoning his ninkin had happened in a blur. If he was being honest with himself, everything was a blur up until the moment he found you. That moment would live on in crystal clarity in his memory forever.

There are some moments in life too horrific to forget. Finding you unconscious on the floor of a dingy bunker, pen by your side, chest barely moving, would be one of those moments for Kakashi.

The only thing more reassuring than watching you breathe was watching your eyes blink open slowly and focus in on him. He could tell you were nervous about talking to him, and he knew why. The message still hastily scribbled on both of your thighs was more than an acknowledgement of the soulmate bond. It was an admission that you loved him, an admission that you believed in him, that you wanted to stay by his side.

It was also an admission that you believed he didn’t want to stay by your side.

He really needed to talk to you.

“Good morning,” he hummed, tucking his book back in his vest. Smiling, he moved to sit on the chair beside you, feeling it was appropriate now that you were awake. This close, he could smell the antiseptic on your skin, the overbearing flowery scent of the hospital lotion, and the faintest whiff of your shampoo still clinging to your hair despite the days it had been since your last shower.

“G’morning,” you mumbled, stretching lazily. Kakashi watched your movements, chuckling at the way you arched like a happy rabbit after a nap. It was cute and endearing, a movement Kakashi had gotten used to witnessing over the years.

Shifting the other direction, you winced, body instinctively jerking back into a ball. “Ow,” you grumbled, hand moving to put a little pressure on your side. With some effort, you managed to shift into a sitting position, still moving gingerly to somewhat satiate your aching limbs. “I thought I’d feel better today, but I guess not.”

Kakashi snorted dryly. “That’s a bit ambitious, don’t you think?”

You stopped rubbing your shoulder to stare at him. “What do you mean?”

What did he mean? Hadn’t the doctors told you? Surely they would have mentioned… Were you playing dumb or did you really not know? Kakashi stared at you for a moment, scrutinizing your confused expression, before his eyes dropped. He let out a breath, then another, trying to hide the pain blossoming in his chest.

He’d almost lost you.

“You were dying,” he said lowly, gaze fixated on his gloves. “By the time we got you back, we really thought you weren’t…” he shook his head, expression dark. “The medics thought you were already gone.”

It took a moment for you to respond. The doctors said your recovery was astronomical, that you’d been close to death, but the way Kakashi described it, so somber and broken, made the reality of the situation hit home.

You’d almost died. You’d almost lost everything you held dear.

You’d almost lost him.

Glancing back to Kakashi, you found him still lost deep within his thoughts. His expression was dark, fist clenched over his thigh, over what was intended to be your last message to him.

Carefully, you reached out and bushed a hand over his clenched fist. The action drew his attention back to you. “It wasn’t your fault,” you gently offered, stroking the back of his hand once more before pulling away. “I’m sorry you had to see me like that, but it’s okay. It wasn’t your fault.”

He huffed, scooting backward in his chair. “I should have got to you sooner! Protected you! If I’d asked, you could have sent me updates. I could have prevented you from getting hurt—”

“Will you stop with the narcissism!” you chided, wincing as you swung your feet over the edge of the bed.

He met your gaze, lone eye blinking once in surprise.

“I took the mission. I accepted the consequences of it. I knew what an infiltration would be like. I knew the chances of getting ambushed. You didn’t endanger me, Kakashi. You weren’t even supposed to be on that mission.” Your voice faded, soft and overwhelmed. “But you saved me anyway.” You ran your thumb under your eyes, catching the tears before they had a chance to fall. “So claim that. Stop… I need you to stop only claiming your failures.”

He clenched his fist, unclenched it, and nodded once. For the first time in a long time, you couldn’t read Kakashi’s body language at all. What was he feeling?

Part of you wanted to reach out and comfort him, but you didn’t. He’d made space between you for a reason. And as upsetting as it was, you were willing to honor that.

After a few minutes of silence, you plucked one of the flowers from the vase beside your bed. “Did Kurenai bring me the flowers?” You smiled, brushing a finger against the petals. “She accidentally picked my favorites.”

When you looked back up, Kakashi was staring at you again, cheek barely pinking over the edge of his mask.

He could read erotic novels in public, but you made him blush.

“Actually, I brought them.”

Freezing, you stared at him in surprise. “You did? How did you—?”

He flushed again, eyes fixing on the flowers rather than your face. “You buy pots of those every spring, but they always die because you’re out on missions. And you take daisies to the memorial stone a few times a month. You leave iris for your parents, and you bring peonies and cookies for the ANBU guards when you have meetings with the Hokage. And on the second Sunday of every month you’re both in town, you hide 100 tulips around the village for Gai to find.” When his eyes snapped back to yours, your shocked expression made him grow self conscious, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “I’ve, uh, been paying attention.”

“Why?”

He gestured to the room, pretending to misinterpret your question. “It’s so dull in here. I thought a little decorating wouldn’t hurt.”

You snorted at that, impossibly undignified but oh so delightful.

Of course Kakashi would stall now that he was here.

But… no. He was usually blunt when it came to bad news. So why was he stumbling through the conversation like he’d never spoken to you a day in his life?

Your face shot back to him at the realization, and he arched a brow under your scrutiny. Could he like you? Could you have a chance?

“Everything okay?” he asked gently, tone much more serious than before.

You’d worried him.

Before you could respond, Gai burst into the room with the second largest bouquet you’d ever seen in your life.

“(Y/n)! I heard Kakashi was with you, so I figured I’d bring you some flowers on my way to challenge Kakashi to a shuriken throwing challenge!” He set the flowers—which balanced precariously due to their immense size—on your bedside table, giving you a dazzling smile and a thumbs up.

Kakashi sighed, “Well, Gai, I was just here talking to her—”

What if you had been interpreting Kakashi’s expressions all wrong? What if he didn’t like you? What if this was all his way of trying to stay friends? Although you hoped for something else, the fear of rejection clawed at your throat like a Shadow Strangle Jutsu. This was your chance. The chance to get out of Kakashi’s rejection. Gai was the perfect opportunity.

“You should go!” You chirped, smiling at them both.

“I… what?”

“That’s the spirit, (Y/n)! It would be a shame for Kakashi to waste his precious youth not enhancing his physical prowess!” Gai dropped to his hands, beginning to do push-ups on the floor of your room.

Ignoring the incredulous look Kakashi sent your way, you wriggled your fingers at his bag. “What volume are you on? I need something to entertain me while you lavish in your youth.”

Kakashi scoffed at your statement before fishing the Make Out Violence novel from his pouch. He dangled it in front of your face. “Is this what you’re after?”

You grinned, snatching the book from his hands. “This just so happens to be the volume I’ve been waiting for.”

Kakashi blinked in surprise, feeling his face grow warm again. “You read Make Out Paradise?”

You smiled sheepishly under his gaze, fingers tracing over the edge of the cover. “Really, it’s all your fault. It was so boring waiting in line to reserve that new edition for you. I needed something to do.”

Because that gift from his soulmate, that gift had been from you.

“And now you’re moving on to book two?”

Embarrassed but pleased, you grinned up at him. “I may have figured out why you’re so hooked on them.”

Kakashi laughed. Just a short huff, but still. Could you get any more perfect?

He was about to respond again when Gai grabbed his shoulder, already taking his ear off as he dragged Kakashi out the door.

You settled in with your—Kakashi’s— book, pleased for the reprieve but missing him all the same.

~

Delving into Make Out Violence was both a blessing and a curse. You lost track of time as you devoured the pages, and the story was so riveting that you barely thought about Kakashi. Though, every time you took a break, love—that sickening concept you didn’t even want to consider in reality—was at the forefront of your mind. So you dove into the novel again with renewed fervor, completely unaware that Kakashi had hopped through the open window. That is, until a warm voice interrupted your reading.

“Having fun?”

In surprise, you snapped the book shut, embarrassment washing over your expression. “A bit. How was the competition with Gai?”

Kakashi shrugged, dragging the chair he’d occupied that morning so he could sit directly beside your bed. “It was fine. Nothing out of the ordinary for Gai.”

“Thanks for the book,” you murmured, passing it back to him. “Maybe I can borrow another one of your copies again sometime.”

He took the novel, setting it down on the bed beside you, only to take your hand in his.

His hands were warm even through the gloves, and his fingertips traced over your skin delicately, as though afraid his touch would somehow hinder your healing.

“(Y/n), we need to talk.”

Despite only holding your hand, he could sense the way your entire body went rigid. “Kakashi, please—”

“(Y/n). I almost lost my soulmate this week.”

You bit your lip, trying to ignore the faint stinging in your eyes. He was right, you were being selfish. It wasn’t like you were the only one who had a terrible, terrifying week.

You just didn’t want to lose whatever you had with him.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you didn’t bother to mask the strain in your voice. He already knew how you felt about him. “We can be friends. Anything you want. I just… I don’t want to lose this. You. I don’t want to lose you. Even though I was being so selfish—”

“I read your message,” he said softly, gaze fixated on the bend of your wrist as your hand flexed in his own. “I’ve read it so many times,” he laughed, strained from holding onto unshed tears. “I’d get it branded on my body if I could. Parts of it, anyway.”

He shook his head, looking back to your face. He didn’t miss the shocked expression, nor did he miss the tears still frozen within your eyes. He shook his head again. “I can’t believe how lucky I’ve been, that it was you and you were here all along. And then you almost died and I…” He paused, gaze still tracing along the bend of your wrist.

“You..?” With bated breath, you watched his eyes, the pull of his lips through the mask, anything to give away what he was thinking.

“I can’t stand the thought of losing you. Not after how much you’ve grown to mean to me.”

Your heart thundered in your chest. Was he accepting you or rejecting you? Your breath shuddered over your lips, hand trying not to clench his too tightly. “What does that mean? For us?”

Kakashi leaned forward, pressing a masked kiss to your temple. “It means I want to take you for dinner when you get out of here. And—” he stood, letting go of your hand to walk toward the door. The sun was setting. Visiting hours were coming to a close. “Keep the book. I’d hate for you to be bored while I’m gone.”

With that, he vanished from your room, leaving you to wonder exactly what he wanted from you.

Tossing and turning that night, you couldn’t sleep, not with Kakashi’s words ricocheting through your mind. He cared about you, but he was putting distance between you. He was being aloof, just like the cautious jonin he was, but he was exposing vulnerable aspects of his soul to you.

Everything was so damn complicated, and you knew you wouldn’t be able to sleep until you’d gotten an answer to the questions burning a hole in your tongue.

It took a few minutes to sit up, but clicking the pen against your wrist had become second nature to you after so many years. You just wanted to know what he was thinking.

Do you love me?

He scribbled a reply a few minutes later, and you wondered if maybe he was just as terrified as you were, if maybe he couldn’t sleep because he was thinking of you, too.

Not like you want me to, but I could. Someday soon.

The thought sent hope skittering through your chest, but you tamped it down. He hadn’t wanted you. He still probably didn’t want you. You were a liability. You were a danger to his way of life. You were—

Ink stained your hand, trickling down your arm, as you realized the pen had snapped under the strength of your palm.

Without a way to stand on your own, you stared at the drying ink, trying to think of anything other than the fear in your chest, the longing in your heart, the nervousness bubbling under the surface.

Kakashi was stuck to the wall beside your window a few minutes later, staring worriedly through the glass.

An ink stain. Of course, he’d worried something was wrong.

He’d been awake waiting for your reply.

He’d been awake because of you. For you. The thought made you dizzy.

Silently, he slipped through the window, crouching worriedly beside your bed. Whatever pretense of nonchalance he kept up during the day, he dropped it now, just for you. “Are you alright?”

You nodded once, stiffly, mind still racing with the situation. Your friendly banter from the morning disappeared, words dried up as your emotions increased tenfold.

A million thoughts rattled through your mind, but you finally settled on one. “You told Gai you couldn’t love me.”

He cocked his head, confusion furrowing his lone brow.

“You were… it was a training day. You were talking about soulmates. And you told Gai that you couldn’t love a soulmate, so it didn’t matter if you didn’t find them…”

Your eyes were watering, and you looked away until you felt the warmth of Kakashi’s fingers circling your own. His hand clung to yours with renewed fervor, though the interaction still held the same touch of softness that it always held when you were injured. Comfort. It has always been an attempt to comfort you, a silent word of compassion. But now that he knew you were his soulmate, would his gestures hold the same meaning?

His voice, coupled with a gentle tug on your hand, had you vanishing into his gaze yet again.

“Soulmates are supposed to be your other half, right?” he asked softly. “If you’re mine, then maybe the whole soulmate thing can work out.”

Even in the moonlight, you could see the blush peeking over the edge of his mask.

You’d stood beside him through thick and thin. You fussed. You took care of him. You let him take care of you. You bought books for him, and he watched your favorite movies with you. He took you out to your favorite restaurants, and you always paid for him. You trained with the strength of a hurricane, and you always kept him mentally and physically on his toes. But no matter what, you’d both been able to rely on one another. It wasn’t romantic love, not yet, but it was the closest thing Kakashi had ever experienced to romantic love. He was close to being in love with you, and the revelation of the soulmate bond had changed those feelings very little.

He’d always been on the precipice of falling in love with you. Now that he knew you and he were destined for one another, the proposition of falling didn’t seem all that terrible anymore.

“If it’s me, you think it’ll work?”

This time, he flushed fully, pinking to the edge of his hairline. “Yeah. You’re… you’re perfect for me.”

Then, it was your turn to grow bashful under his praise. Perfect. He thought this could work because you were perfect. Not perfect in general. Not perfect to him. But perfect for him, with all of your many imperfections.

He wasn’t in love with you. He wouldn’t say it yet. But he was falling, and that was impossible to ignore.

His words left you lost in another world. All this time, he was rejecting his soulmate for fear they wouldn’t truly be his other half. But you were his other half, and he could see that now. He could love you. He could see a future with you. He could—

Kakashi’s warm voice brought you back to the present, hand still gently squeezing your fingertips. “Did you hurt your hand?”

He cares.

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head. “No, just a little ink.”

Kakashi stood, striding toward the other side of the room. He washed his hands under the sink before returning a moment later, damp rag in hand. This time, he sat on the edge of your bed, hand enveloping your own.

With slow, delicate movements, he swirled the rag across your skin, stealing the ink from your skin almost as effortlessly as he’d stolen your heart. If only you knew how easily you’d done the same.

“I was so scared you’d hate me when you found out,” you whispered. His hand tensed under your own, but he didn’t stop his ministrations. You continued, “Since I kept talking to you, both as your soulmate and myself, I was so worried you would feel betrayed.”

“I did,” he murmured quietly. “At first.” He flipped your hand, wiping away the stray trails of ink that had escaped from your palm. “When I got the message, I couldn’t believe that you’d… after all this time, it was you. And when we found you almost dead, I thought the world was punishing me again, just like everyone else…” Looking away, he began wiping the remaining ink spots off his hand, leaving your fingers to fiddle with the fabric on his knee. “But on the way back, all I could think about was the things I’d said to you. How could you trust me after I so blatantly pushed you away? How could you look me in the eye and put your faith in me when I hurt you so deeply? The fact that you’d tried to stay by my side after everything, the fact that you put your faith in me to keep you safe, after all the things I’d said to you… you never betrayed me. You’ve been by my side all this time, and I want to be by yours. Completely.”

You squeezed his knee, searching his face for any sign of illusion. “Is this real?” you whispered. “I want this to be real.”

Kakashi smiled, eyes crinkling as he took your hand. You looked dazed and happy as you stared at him; he’d never encountered anyone else so stunning.

Before he could stop himself, he leaned forward, brushing a masked kiss over your forehead, then your eyebrow, and finally your cheek. The pressure sent sparks across your skin, and you squeezed his hand a little bit tighter.

He hovered over your lips, breath ghosting across your skin through the durable material of his mask. You leaned forward, nudging his nose with your own. It was a silent message that you wanted his affection as much as he craved yours.

His breath puffed against your lips once again, and his voice, barely audible, filled the minuscule space between you. “Would you mind closing your eyes?”

Instantly, you complied, proving to him yet again how lucky he was to have met you. You put your faith in him time and time again, and he promised himself in that moment under the moonlight that he would do everything he could to be as compassionate a partner as you had been for him.

One of Kakashi’s hands released from yours, and you faintly heard the brush of fabric against skin. Your stomach fluttered as you felt his breath on your face again, warmer and closer than before.

And then his lips caught against yours, a gentle press against your tingling skin. His hand cupped your cheek, and you melted against him. The scratchy blankets and the faint hoot of owls faded into the background. Everything seemed to disappear except for you and Kakashi and the oh so delicate kiss between you. From the brush of his lips, so soft and tentative against your own, you sighed, leaning into him even more than before.

He groaned when the two of you pulled away. “I can’t believe I waited so long for that. Make Out Paradise really doesn’t do it justice.”

Make Out Paradise also hadn’t prepared him for the way his heart would race at the sound of your laughter.

“Are you sure?” you asked, reaching toward your bedside table. “Surely there’s a good passage in here somewhere.”

If it meant more time by your side, Kakashi was willing to spend an eternity searching the pages with you, stealing kisses for every paragraph you skimmed through.

~

In the morning, the nurses were alarmed and horrified to find Kakashi Hatake laying in your bed, one arm wrapped gently around your side, masked nose nuzzled into your neck. On the other side of you, his fingers brushed the cover of a well-worn Make Out Violence novel.

It was indecent, a break of protocol, and, most of all, a shameful mockery of their hospital security. But when you woke to find Kakashi’s nose tucking a little closer into your neck, a mumbled “good morning” slipping into your skin, neither of you could think of a more fitting way to wake up. For the two of you—soulmates, real soulmates—the scenario was somehow perfect.

He wasn’t one to care about looking indecent. You could certainly get behind that.

You welcomed sappy, romantic gestures. Kakashi was willing to privately oblige.

Yeah, you both thought, the soulmate thing could definitely work out.

Masterlist

A/N: Don't mind me casually fandom hopping again. This fic has taken ages to finish, but I'm so excited with the result! I have several more Kakashi fics currently underway, so I hope to get a few of them finished sometime soon! Have a nice day! :)

[tammy-two-paws]

Tall, Fat, Confident, Teasing Sora pt 2

“Yeah, I want another round if you don’t mind! I’ll have an extra large of the first one, two double-big bowls of the third one, and just gimme all the dessert you’re willing to give, thanks~”

This was it, Riku was officially going to die here, and it was all Sora’s fault.

He had been watching his previously twink-like, shorter childhood playmate for the last who-knows-how-long do essentially nothing but eat, eat and eat. Wedged between the wall and his now extra big, extra fat, extra gluttonous friend, Riku had seen meal after meal disappear down Sora’s throat and into his gurgling, groaning gut, small moans and hums of appreciation leaving Sora as he gorged on the veritable feast he was ordering as his thick, chunky arms jiggled with every forkful and spoonful and plate and bowl of food he brought to his greedy maw, his double-chin jiggling at the near constant deluge of food.

The now shorter one between them had never blushed as hard as he currently was, and certainly not for so long, and he was starting to feel a bit light-headed, though whether that was from the blush, his raging boner that hadn’t desisted even for a moment, or because it was slowly getting more and more cramped in his tinier and tinier corner, he couldn’t say. What he did know however was that Sora had just barely started to enter the realms of being full… Again.

Which was horrifying for Riku’s wallet, but almost orgasmic for his constantly peaking arousal.

Sora had already needed to wedge himself into the booth, his boulder of a belly pressing against the table before them, bulging both above and below it as his gut stretched across his lap. Sora had let his hands rest on it for a moment, the appendages sinking into the soft flab as Sora rubbed his stomach through the tight-as-sin shirt.

Then Riku looked up at Sora’s face, (Stars, he still wasn’t used to how he had to look UP at Sora of all people) and he found the same shit-eating grin from before stretching over Sora’s round face as he clearly noticed where Riku’s attention was. “Man, you really like what you’re seeing.” He chuckled, eyes glittering with glee at the flaming blush that reappeared on Riku’s cheeks, the shorter boy lowering his eyes before blushing even harder as his eyes took in the way Sora’s hand was grabbing onto his flabby flank, jiggling the gut the best he could. “Well,” Sora continues, the unholy glee on his face blazing even stronger as he patted his gut, sending ripples through it as Riku swallowed dryly, “get ready to see way more of me~”

Riku didn’t expect to see exactly that. Okay, that was for the most part a lie. He did expect Sora’s already bulbous belly to start bloating and bulging out even further during the meal, his stomach stretching out further and further, pushing against the table harder and harder for every dish as he became more and more stuffed as a haze of delirious contentment would fill his blue eyes like they had done many times before in Riku’s memories of their past.

What he didn’t expect was for Sora to lean back after every feast-worthy round of grub and rub his glutted stomach tenderly with a dazed grin, looking like a stuffed, satisfied hog as his shirt rested above the overfilled orb, before what Riku could only describe as a strange-feeling, unknown tingle of something jittered around Sora.

Which is when Riku got to see Sora’s body fatten up right in front of his very eyes. His stomach receded slightly, going from a fat-yet-bloated mass into a fatter than before ball of adipose, a good extra inch or two of blubber coating his middle. His flanks spilled outwards even further, getting incrementally closer to Riku, the sound of fabric tearing filling their booth as the sides of the shirt slowly split upwards. Sora’s incrementally thicker arms didn’t hide how his moobs ballooned a tiny bit bigger too, the shirt looking more stretched than ever over the two mounds of flab, the garment almost looking see-through with how thinly stretched it was becoming.

“That was a good appetizer.” Sora sighed, a content air surrounding him even as he shifted in his seat a bit, Riku suddenly noticing how his ass and thighs were taking up a tiny bit more of their shared booth-seat.

Riku was about to interject, to tell Sora that this might not be all that great of an idea after all, he really was, but then Sora slung his arm to his side and pulled in Riku, and all complaints died on his tongue as he felt himself sink in a tiny bit more than earlier, the tactile proof of Sora’s newly-gained weight short-circuiting what was left of his.

“Wanna see me destroy this shirt, Ri~ku?” Sora already knew the answer he would get, especially with the way he was playing with Riku’s clear arousal surrounding his growing form. So when Riku whimpered out a “O-Of c-course…”, Sora squeezed him against his fatty body one more time before grinning widely at him. “Good, ‘cause I would have done it anyway!”

[mintjamsblog]

Does Alfie ever demand that Tommy calls him Sir?

Okay, this is so late, (I'm sorry, I have sat on this answer for literally weeks). It also answers another ask I seem to have lost/deleted, which simply said 'sub-drop?' So, here you go, it turned into 1600 words of smut, I'm afraid. (Set in my Mistakes AU, but can be read without that background).

Subdrop

"How many fingers Tommy?"

Tommy lifts his head but it drops back immediately.

"Tommy, love, how many fingers am I holding up?"

"Ten," Tommy says, without even looking. "Everyone has ten."

"Alright, love, up we come."

It's no wonder, really, Alfie has toyed with him mercilessly for — he checks his watch — fuck, well over two hours, has brought him to the brink of orgasm over and over again, watched his face flush and his thighs tremble and his stomach contract in anticipation of the release he's repeatedly been denied.

Tommy's so fucking pretty when he lets himself go (when he's made to let go) and Alfie, well, he's always been a sucker for pretty things, ain't he? Beautiful things.

Tommy finds it so hard to relax that once Alfie gets him loose, persuades him into handcuffs or a spreader-bar or, immobilises him somehow, his inclination is to make the most of the situation, to wring him out like a wet towel, count every last drop of resistance as it splashes onto the floor — a puddle to be licked up and savoured (metaphorically speaking, of course, there's no way Tommy's licking anything off any floors with his arms and legs fastened securely to the straps of a leather sling).

The silly boy still approaches these scenes as if they're a test of his fortitude rather than a willing exchange of power and trust. And that's fine, mostly. A click of his fingers or a safeword could end it all, but Tommy'd far rather grit his teeth and pretend he don't want this at all. Alfie can allow that for a while, can give him something to bite down on until he's too far gone to care about giving a voice to his plight.

Usually it takes some impact to get Tommy to give up his sounds. He needs to be pushed past some physical threshold. A firm hand, a paddle, a whip — they each make him sing different notes, eventually, but always the same fuckin' undertone. Anger. Whether Tommy's angry at Alfie (likely) or at himself for needing this (even more likely) is neither here nor there. Tommy has plenty to be angry at; the world ain't always been kind to him and he's even less kind to himself.

But anger, well, it's corrosive innit? Useful when controlled, maybe, when mastered effectively and released into the world in small bursts that serve a purpose; to warn or threaten or reinforce the hierarchy. But not when it seethes in your blood, pumps through your heart and into each artery like slow-acting poison that seeps through veins and capillaries, reaches the tip of every extremity, hides beneath every thought. That sort of anger, the sort Tommy lives with, that anger needs to be let. Like blood.

Not that Alfie's some antiquated physician restoring balance to the humors. Nah, he fancies his particular form of therapy's far more effective, even if his tools are barely less crude than the old-timers' scalpels and leeches. Alfie prefers to mix things up, to intersperse the blows of a bullwhip with the soft, wet heat of his tongue; to lash Tommy with a folded belt, then hold his cock like a delicate creature he's trying to stroke back to life. He'll pinch and tease and whip and probe until Tommy rails and rages, fists balled, teeth bared, every muscle pulled taut as tension wire. Eventually he'll scream at Alfie, at himself, at the universe, then let the breath shudder out in increasingly shaky increments, like he's tumbling down the stairs.

The journey to that point is best travelled slow. Given time, Tommy's tight grunts and growls always soften into something looser, gentler, pain still evident in the pitch of his voice, but threaded through with desire and resignation and something else entirely ... an underlying need to give up or give in. To please, Alfie flatters himself.

That medley of sounds, the unwinding trajectory of 'em, awakens some possessive creature in Alfie. He can feel it uncoiling inside him, muscles sliding and flexing as he drives Tommy towards an apex neither of 'em can see — a pinnacle of endurance or restraint beyond which Tommy simply is. Or maybe isn't. Beyond which he is merely a consciousness, untethered from any worldly woes and oblivious to the sensations of his own flesh. Or perhaps oblivious to anything but the sensations of his own flesh. Either way, Alfie knows to watch when the sounds turn animalistic, when the groans are so low and feral that they peter out into breaths. Into nothing. Into rolled-back eyes and gaping mouth and climaxes so molten they look more like pain than pleasure.

"Come on love, that's it, down we come."

It's a struggle getting Tommy out of the sling, he's too exhausted to cooperate, to untangle his own limbs from the leather, so Alfie releases the two lower straps and pours him out like water. Like water he slips through Alfie's waiting arms and pools at his feet on the floor.

"Up you get," Alfie says, hoisting him under the arms, and up Tommy comes, unsteady but obedient in his altered state of mind.  Alfie braces him for a moment, waits for Tommy's body to harden, for a flicker of conceit to return to those down-cast eyes. Now is when Tommy should swipe a hand down his face, curse under his breath and huff an almost laugh, a poor disguise for self-consciousness, but a sign he's aware at least.

But Tommy offers no such reassurance, regains none of the control that usually washes back as soon as he's up on his feet. He's deep, Alfie realises. Deeper than usual.

He whispers into Tommy's ear, small praises that have no place in any moment other than one such as this. His fingers run down Tommy's back, tracing small paths through sweat that's turned cold, an attempt to distract and reassure, but already he knows it's too late. He's left it too late. He can feel the distant vibrations and knows they'll soon take Tommy's legs.

By the time Alfie gets him onto the bed, onto his side, the trembling has tipped into shivering, a violent reflex that even the finest goose-down duvet fails to subdue. Alfie curses himself for missing the cues, for pushing Tommy too hard. "S'okay," he whispers, "you were beautiful."

But Tommy is straining against the hold, against Alfie's leg wrapped over his own. "I need ... I'm gonna be sick," he says, and throws himself into a sitting position with a violent retching sound. The purge that follows isn't from his stomach, it pours down his face in scalding tears that drench Alfie's waiting hands. Tommy throws his arm up and buries his eyes in the crook of his elbow, taking frightening gasps after every few breaths.

"Come on, now," Alfie says, entirely at a loss. Sure, he pushed Tommy hard tonight, but it seemed like what they both wanted. Needed. "Please, don't," he whispers, hands searching beneath Tommy's forearm to thumb away some of the tears. He wants to tell Tommy he doesn't mind, he can cry as much as he likes. Alfie don't see this as victory; Alfie's not him. But he says nothing, afraid of dredging up ghosts as he coaxes Tommy back down to the mattress, runs fingers through his hair, holds him tight against his chest and lets him cry himself out till the tap runs mercifully dry.

"Why?" Tommy says, eventually.

Fucks sake, why what? Why anything? Why do they do what they do to each other? Why does Tommy allow it? Allow Alfie to pull the meat from his preverbial bones? Alfie's asked himself the same question often enough. Not why does he do this, exactly, he's well past shame over that, but why did he get this lucky? Why does he get to do this with Tommy? To see what no one else sees?  Why did he push him so hard tonight? Why did he think Tommy could take it?

"Why did you spend so long ... you know ..." Tommy sniffs, "when there's nothing in it for you?"

Alfie pulls Tommy out from his chest enough to look him in the eye. "Nothing in it for me? Are you fucking kidding me, Tommy?"

"You didn't even come," Tommy says.

At that, Alfie grabs Tommy's arm, fumbling to open the top button of his jeans and force Tommy's hand inside. "There," he says, in his sternest voice. "Nothing in it for me, hmm?"

"Oh!" Tommy says in surprise.

"Yeah, oh, you blithering idiot. Twice. No fuckin' hands."

He watches Tommy swallow, feels fingers flex through the undeniable evidence soaked right through Alfie's boxers.

"Why?" Tommy asks again.

"Why what Tommy? Why does God allow famine and pestilence? Why do good people die? Why didn't I meet you ten years ago, hmm?"

"Why did you fucking come?"

"Because you’re sexy as all burning hell, aren't you? Turn me on like a switch."

Tommy curls into him tighter, buries his face again, and it dawns on Alfie that he really and truly doesn't get it, does he?

"The first time, right, you wouldn't lay back." He keeps his voice low, strokes Tommy's perfect little ear. "I'd fingered you till you were leaking all over your stomach, all over the marks I'd left with the flogger. You should've been way past defiance by then, but you just kept trying to sit up ... your mouth hanging open, like you were trying to fuckin' kiss me." Tommy burrows further still. "So I slapped you," Alfie continues. Maybe that was a bit cruel. "And you only tried even harder. Lay your sinful tongue on your lower lip and strained up out of the sling." Alfie's hardening again at the recollection, at the way he'd thought Tommy was acting, playing the little minx, struggling to reach forward with his wrists and ankles bound to the straps above him. Only Tommy'd never appear so needy, not in his rightful mind, wouldn't chase Alfie's mouth like a newborn pup seeking out its mother's teet. And he'd gazed at Alfie through half-lidded eyes, in that way he had no right to do, like Alfie was the only face he knew in the entire unholy world, like Alfie could fuckin' save him, reach inside his body and take all the pain away, maybe, or make it ten times worse. Like whichever option Alfie chose Tommy'd fucking let 'im.

"And?" Tommy says, when Alfie falls silent. God, he really doesn’t remember, does he?

"And I leant down and kissed you, you silly boy. And I came in my pants, like a teenager."

Tommy makes a wet sound that could be a huff, or could just as easily be more tears.

"Weren't my fault," Alfie adds, defensively. "Your mouth was so fuckin' soft, despite what I'd done to you. And you. You mewled like a Siamese kitten..."

Tommy squeezes him, through his pants, seemingly soothed by the hard line he's holding, proof, perhaps, that Alfie is part of this.

"And the second time ... the second time ... fucking hell. Right at the very end. The last time you came. You looked so fucking fucked-out, love," Alfie's hands are roaming now, sliding over the marks he's left all over Tommy's skin. He seeks out the curve of Tommy's throat, presses kisses there. "All the fight gone out of you. Covered in sweat and welts and come, so exhausted you were trembling ... and please, you kept saying please." He cups the back of Tommy’s head, pulls him closer still. "And I didn't know what for. And I kept asking you, please, what, Tom? but you wouldn't answer. Couldn't, maybe. Too far gone to know." He bites gently on Tommy's ear, at the little crease where it joins his jaw, the tiniest sign of age on his otherwise youthful face.

Tommy's hand is working now, struggling to find its way beneath the fabric of Alfie's underwear. "Then what?" he breathes into Alfie's ear.

"And then you said please, Sir."

Tommy's hand stops dead at that.

"I ... I didn't--"

"S'alright, love, you were under, weren’t you? Too fuckin' deep to know." And there might be a tiny part of Alfie that wishes that weren't the case, that would like to hear that word on Tommy's lips again, but not at the risk of a drop. Hurts too much to see Tommy so upset.

He removes Tommy's hand from his trousers and laces their fingers together, pulls them up high enough he can kiss every sticky knuckle.

"You want me to clean you up, love? Tommy barely shakes his head; his fingers clench around Alfie's hip. "Okay, in a little while then."

Ain't right to feel so tender about being stuck to someone with come. To like the smell of their sweat so much you don't wanna wash it off. Hell, he'd sleep like this all night, in jeans and boots an'all, if it gives Tommy the reassurance he'll so surely claim he don't need.

[binunus]

relax | rocky (m)

a/n I’m sorry this was a little late! school is really picking up and I had to keep writing it in increments––and also because I literally went back and forth thinking about whether I wanna write this as a oneshot or as a bullet fic bc my brain literally short circuits thinking about rocky. but I hope you like it love!

{request: Hey, hope you're doing well!! If you're taking requests now can I ask for a sexy night with rocky like he is the husband and he came home exhausted and you know >.< Or you can choose whatever plot you wantI really love your writings love you alot (｡♡‿♡｡)}

→ pairing: husband!rocky x fem wife!reader

→ genre: smut

→ warnings: say it with me ladies and gents ~thigh riding~, oral (male receiving), marking/biting, light hair pulling (both!), spanking, dirty?? talk?? surprise impreg kink! oops i said it, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it everyone), rocky being sexy as fuck like do you know the love shot cover video of rockjinsan? imagine that rocky being your husband.

→ word count: 2.5k ____________________________________________

Your POV

It was just a regular night for you. You cooked a quick dinner for yourself after coming home from work, knowing that your husband probably wouldn’t be back until later. After washing the dishes and cleaning up the kitchen a little bit, you poured yourself a nice glass of wine and took a seat in the living room, turning on the television as you propped your feet up on the coffee table. 

About one and a half glasses of wine later, you heard the jingle of keys by the front door, your head turning just as your husband walked in, slipping off his shoes and going straight to where you were on the couch. You smiled softly as he laid his head in your lap, letting out a huge sigh once he got comfortable. You quickly downed the rest of your wine, reaching over to place your glass on the table before your hands went to his hair, combing through all the tousles and knots from his hours of dancing. “Hey, love.”

“Tough day at the studio?” You asked to which he nodded. Minhyuk was a choreographer at a very famous dance studio. He’s been working there for nearly five years, and by now he’s one of the most sought out choreographers for most idol groups in the industry. 

“No one was getting the choreo today, no one. Is it me? Like is my routine the problem?” He asked crossing his arms in frustration. You shook your head, immediately refuting him, “No fucking way love, you’ve been dancing ever since you could walk. Maybe they’re just having a hard time getting it because you’re too good.”

He laughed, turning his head so that he was facing the tv, kissing the skin of your lap in the corner of his mouth. The two of you begin watching the latest episode of the kdrama that was on screen, your attention switching between the the television and Minhyuk. You could tell that today particularly exhausted him, his body not even moving an inch from its position since he laid down.

At some point, you stopped paying attention to the kdrama, finding that looking at your husband was way more interesting. You always found Minhyuk the most attractive when he was dancing, and just the way he looked right now in a muscle tee and sweatpants? Your mind was straying far from innocent and fast.

Minhyuk was oblivious at first, too engrossed in the drama to take mind of your arousal. It wasn’t until you tugged just a little harder on his hair that he had an idea of what you were thinking of. He smirked just a tiny bit, waiting for you to make the first move. You tried to be subtle, easing him into the idea because you knew how tired he was, but of course he saw right through you––how he could not? you two were married.

“You know, love? You’ve been really stressed lately with this new choreography.”

He turned his body so that he was facing you, eyes meeting yours as he smirked, “yeah?”

“I think you need to relax, babe.” You said, the switch of pet names an indicator of the change in your mood. The grip you had on his hair tightened, Minhyuk practically had to stop himself from groaning out loud. But instead of playing along, he only hums, closing his eyes innocently. “You’re right love, let’s call it a night and go sleep now?”

You frown and poke his forehead, whining at his teasing as he let out a laugh. “Minhyuk, you know what I mean!”

He grinned, his smirk coming back as he opened his eyes to look at you. “How will you help me relax, baby?”

You shrug and make the movement to get up, causing Minhyuk to do so as well. You smile at him, hand ghosting past his waist as you grab your wine glass and put it in the sink. You return back to where he was on the couch, taking his hand and leading him to the bedroom. Immediately, Minhyuk sat down at the head of the bed, his back leaning against the frame as he spread his legs in waiting. 

“I’ll do all the work love, just sit and enjoy.” You said, your cute smile doing nothing to hide the lust that was swimming in your eyes. Minhyuk stared at you intensely as you made your way onto his lap, barely giving you any time to situate yourself before catching your lips in a fiery kiss.

His hands are everywhere feeling your skin, riding up your shirt, grasping at the flesh of your thighs and your ass beneath the ends of your shorts. You’re not faring any better, gripping his arms, fingers running along his abs, tugging on his hair. You felt like you were on fire, the temperature of the room rising quickly.

You feel the stir of his cock underneath you, biting his bottom lip as you started to grind yourself down his lap, causing him moan into your mouth. You both remove each other’s shirts in a haste, lips only separating to pull the fabrics over your heads. 

Minhyuk’s eyes briefly flickered down to your exposed chest, his hands immediately going to grope your breasts. You whined when he takes your nipples between two fingers, tweaking the buds harshly. Your kisses start to trail down his jawline, working on his neck as you continued to move your hips over his crotch. 

By this point he’s fully hard, bucking his hips up to meet your movement because God he needed any sort of friction. Minhyuk groans hotly as you pull his hair to the side, your teeth simultaneously biting into the skin of his shoulder. He hands migrate from your chest to your ass, nails digging into the flesh and no doubt leaving crescent marks in its wake. 

Reluctantly, you pull away from his neck, slight gasps leaving your mouth as you meet his eyes. You are both so turned on at this point and you’re positive that Minhyuk could easily slide in with no resistance. And as much as you’d rather get to the main event because the feeling of your cunt sticking to your panties was getting pretty uncomfortable, you had a job to do: this night was for your husband to relax.

You moved to get off Minhyuk’s lap and started pulling his pants down. Thank God he was wearing sweats because you know that he doesn’t wear any undergarments when he’s wearing sweatpants. As soon as you removed the confines of his pants, his cock sprang up, a light slap sounding as it made contact with his stomach. You almost drool at the sight of it, your hand immediately wrapping around the base and jerking him off.

“Fuck, baby please.”

You chuckle, man you loved hearing him beg. Still, you weren’t planning on teasing him for much longer, letting some spit fall from your lips and landing on his cock. You rubbed your thumb over the slit of his head, watching as he let out a small moan before taking him into your mouth. 

Minhyuk cursed, seeing you going down on him, his cock filling up your pretty mouth was always one of his favorite sights. Debatably, he loved your mouth almost as much as your pussy. Not wasting any time, you hollowed your cheeks out, letting his cock in until your nose was buried in his pubes. 

Desperately, he bunched your hair up in a makeshift ponytail, gripping it tightly in one fist as he watched you blow him. Minhyuk threw his head back in pleasure as you deep throated him, the slight burn in your scalp only a motivator to keep you in place, holding his cock snugly in your mouth as you swallowed around his length. It was in these moments that you were thankful for your lack of gag reflex.

You breathed through your nose, blinking away the tears that built up in your eyes as you started moving your mouth at a faster pace. Flickering your eyes up, you moaned at the male above you. You could tell he was getting close; the grip he had on your hair tightened, his abs were visibly contracting, his eyes screwed shut, and his moans increasing in volume. 

You lived for this moment. You ignored your obvious lack of stimulation, the ache in your jaw, and the tightness in your chest from the lack of oxygen. It would all be worth it once Minhyuk reached his release. 

In a sudden, your husband let go of your hair and quite literally pushed you off of him, trying to catch his breath as he looked down at you, brushing his hair out of his face. “Baby the only place I’m cumming tonight is in your pussy, c’mere.”

You pouted only briefly, really wanting to see him come undone by your mouth. But you couldn’t deny the way your core clenched at his words, already removing your shorts and panties before climbing back on his lap. 

He hissed, teeth biting into his lower lip as he massaged the skin of your waist, “Fuck y/n, I can feel you dripping.”

Minhyuk moved your body slightly so that you were fully seated on one of his thighs, a whimper leaving you as he flexed his quads. “Ah Minhyuk...”

“Make yourself messy on my thigh baby, you know what to do.” He smirked, his voice raspier and several octaves lower than before. You felt a shiver run down your spine, the heat in your stomach building as you started to rub yourself on his thigh. Minhyuk flexed whenever you least expected it, the defined muscles of his quads making just the right amount of contact with your clit. 

He wrapped a hand around his length, lazily running it up and down as he watched you get off in his lap. You were so fucking hot, your eyes shut in pleasure, hands gripping his shoulders as you tried to reach your orgasm. His thigh was practically soaked, your arousal dripping down to the bedsheets.

You almost lost it when he started bouncing his leg, burying your head in the crook of his neck as you let out a wrangled moan, your legs squeezing around his thigh. Minhyuk panted, easily lifting you up and back to his center, bottoming out in one go as he entered you. 

The two of you let out synchronized moans. No matter how many times you’ve had sex, you could never get used to the way he filled you up so well, the burning stretch of your walls adding onto your pleasure.

“Fuck,” He cursed as you started to lift your hips, moving them up and down his length at a leisurely pace. Minhyuk tried his best not to take over, and instead kept his hands firmly on the sides of your asscheeks, squeezing the flesh as you fucked yourself on him.

His lips went straight to your neck, painting your skin with bruises as you alternated between rolling your hips and up-and-down movements. You whined, clenching your core tightly as you suddenly slammed down onto his thighs, the slap of skin resonating in the bedroom.

Minhyuk let out a loud groan at your action, unable to hold himself back as he bucked his hips and started thrusting up into you at a faster pace. You gasped, unable to keep up with his speed, eventually letting him take control as the upper half of your body leaned onto his for support.

One of the many things you loved about your husband was that he had a dancer’s hips, and he definitely made sure to use it to his advantage in times like these.

Minhyuk grunted, one of his hands coming down to give your ass a sharp slap as he rutted into you. You keened, moaning in his ear as he repeated the action. He always did that when he was close, your walls squeezing him impossibly tighter with every spank he delivered, the skin of your ass on fire.

The loud squelch of your cunt was almost embarrassing, but it only drove Minhyuk closer. Your hands fisted his hair, pulling at the ends by his nape as your felt your orgasm approach. His mouth opened in a moan, furrowing his eyebrows as one of his hands slipped in between your bodies and rubbed at your clit.

You body jolted in his hold, “Shit, Minhyuk I’m so close.”

He smiled devilishly, “Yeah? I’m gonna fuck some babies into you, love. You want that?”

You could only nod, your cheeks blushing and stomach flaring at his words. You connected your lips in a messy clash of teeth and tongue, your mind going blank as you felt the band of your orgasm snap, the vice like grip of your cunt squeezing him to his high.

Minhyuk let out a throaty moan as he painted your walls white, his thrusts starting to slow down as he kept you locked on his lap, making sure that none of his cum leaked out as you milked him of every drop.

Your body grew limp on his chest, your husband wrapping his arms around you as he rubbed your back. After a couple minutes, he laid you down gently on the bed, only now pulling out his cock which turned flaccid. You winced at the sudden empty feeling, but then let out a moan of surprise as he shoved two fingers in your entrance. “Baby! Sensitive!”

“I’m just making sure you take all of my cum, love.” He chuckled kissing your stomach, “One of my swimmers is our future baby.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, “I can’t believe you said your swimmers.”

“Do you want me to say sperm?” He asked, arching an eyebrow as he delivered a particularly hard thrust of his fingers, causing you to jolt in overstimulation, “Ah.”

After keeping his fingers plugged into your hole for about a minute, Minhyuk crawled up from where he was between your legs, giving you a proper kiss as he laid down next to you. 

“Thank you love, that was a good de-stressor––even if I did do most of the work at the end.”

You clicked your tongue, lightly punching his stomach as you grimaced, “I tried to do it, but you just had to take control, didn’t you?”

“I’m kidding,” He laughed, limbs draping over your body, “I couldn’t resist, you were too sexy.”

“Uh huh,” You nodded, shifting so that you were entangled in his arms. You hummed, face buried in his chest as you kissed his collarbone, “I love you.”

Minhyuk smiled, caressing your hair as he pulled you closer, feeling the most content and worry-free at this moment than he has in a while.

“I love you too, y/n.”

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

2-6-21

[foilfreak]

BEAUTY AND HER BEAST: Chapter 9 (temporary 1-2 week hiatus being taken from his fic, click ao3 link and read end notes to find out why. I WILL BE COMING BACK!!!)

WARNING PLZ READ BEFORE CONTINUING: This fic is rated NSFW and contains graphic depictions of things some people may find disturbing or alarming, including, but not limited to: violence, gore, unhealthy family relationships, Oedipus complexes, gratuitous amount of pornographic literature, ableist language, physical, mental, and emotional abuse, etc. If you are someone who does not enjoy fiction with these elements in them, then I suggest you refrain from reading this, because this fic will have all that, and probably a lot more. So, this is your first and final warning to turn around and go somewhere else if stuff like this just isn't your vibe, because from this point forward, your emotional wellbeing is in your own hands, and I will not be accepting blame if you disregarded my warnings and ended up reading something you didn't like. Idk why I feel compelled to write one of these despite this being Resident Evil fanfic, but I figured I'd cover my ass just in case.

(AO3 link below)

Despite the shrill echo of Nadine’s terrified voice being something Salvatore has prepared himself for since before the young woman even arrived in the reservoir, the real thing was still somehow 100 times worse than he could have ever imagined it being.

Chaos followed as Salvatore frantically left his hiding spot, crawling across the floor as quickly as his mangled body would allow, as a loud crashing sound vibrates the whole room once Nadine’s body finally lands, quite uncomfortably I might add, on the hardwood of the floor. The sudden frantic and terrified swinging of her arms following Salvatore’s verbal slip knocked the poor woman off balance, sending her right back down to the floor for a second time.

Staring at the writhing figure of Nadine from the other corner across the room, Salvatore sniffles pitifully to himself as tears cascade down his face. Oh how appropriately cruel, that the universe wouldn’t even give Salvatore the decency of a proper meeting with Nadine, much less a chance at friendship and even less at anything past that. It makes perfect sense that this would be the way Nadine found out how disgusting and pathetic he is. Sitting alone in a dark and dingy room, watching old romance films because he has no one of his own to hold and love like the men in the movies do, and eating entire blocks of cheese all on his own, because nothing pairs with unending loneliness like the tang of sharp cheddar and the horrible stomach ache that follows it.

Putting his hands up to cover his face, a final effort to hide himself away from the beautiful woman’s gaze, Salvatore merely sat in his new corner, his shoulders shaking with sobs of agony and his body trembling in fear as Nadine’s gaze finally locked on to him, and him alone this time, in the dark silence of the room.

“H-Hey… are you alright? I’m sorry I yelled like that, I didn’t mean to startle you like that, but you suddenly spoke up out of nowhere and it scared me half to death” The soft voice from across the room asks, causing Salvatore to pause in his moment of self-loathing. Did… did she just ask him if he was alright? Wasn’t he the one who was supposed to ask her that?

“W-what…?” Salvatore chokes out, peering out slightly from behind the cover of his hood in confusion. The sight he’s met with is one that steals his breath away, much like the first time he laid eyes upon the stunning beauty this tiny woman held. However, unlike their “first” meeting, that took place back in Mother Miranda’s lab, this time there was no metal pod separating the two, Salvatore realized, as the sight of Nadine, slouched tiredly on the ground barely a few feet away from where he cowered in the corner, registered in the mutant man’s mind.

Next, of course, came her actual appearance. Black strands tousled messily across her forehead framed her round face and golden eyes perfectly. Her long white dress bunched up around her upper thighs, revealing the curves of her large, but muscular legs, that had previously been obscured by the material of her dress. Slouched shoulders and heavy breathing caused the material of Nadine’s nightgown to slowly inched its way down the front of her chest, not exposing her necessarily, but definitely revealing more and more of her lusciously plump breasts with every harsh up and down of her shoulders.

Tears continued to fall from Salvatore’s eyes even as saliva began to fill his mouth and his fear and self-loathing slowly gave way to the growing fire beginning to kindle in the pit of his stomach. The sound of his muffled sobs of anguish and arousal escaping from behind his hands causes Nadine’s face to immediately fall, agony replacing the previously wild look her face held.

“N… N-no. No no, please don’t cry. It’s alright. I-I-I’m not going to hurt you… I mean it… see… I don’t have any weapons on me” Nadine says hurriedly, standing up and doing a spin to show that nothing that could pose potential harm to Salvatore was hiding between the folds or frills of the thin garment. “See! Nothing to hide.”

Salvatore merely closed his tear soaked eyes and shook his head, the motion moving his whole body along with it. “Nooooooooooo… y-you d-don’t… under-s-stand…”

“What do you mean? What don’t I understand?” Nadine asked, kneeling back down to the ground, moving slightly closer to Salvatore than she was before, a terrifyingly genuine look of concern and worry etched into her beautiful features.

The mutant man fought back a wave of nausea and choked on a sob at the angelic sight. Hoards of hormones equating to despair and arousal battle within the hellish confines of Salvatore’s brain. The mutant man was filled with so many mixed emotions that he genuinely couldn’t tell if he wanted to tear himself apart until not a scrap of evidence of his existence remained, or if he wanted to just spring forward and consume the delectably dangerous morsel that sat so prettily before him, like an octopus latching itself upon the almighty great white shark as it just passes above their home, pulling the now helpless and unsuspecting predator down into the depths of a true monster’s domain.

“Hey, come on now. It sounds like you’re having a hard time breathing. Why don’t you come out of the corner where the air’s a little fresher, ya?” The young woman coaxes gently, moving ever so slightly closer to Salvatore as she speaks. The movement does not go unnoticed by the hooded man, nor does the way it pushes her dress even further up her already decently exposed thighs, but with little ability to stop Nadine’s incremental advances, Salvatore merely buries his face into his hands, blocking as much of his disgustingly bloated maw as he possibly could, even as the young woman attempted to change her angle to get a better look at him.

“P-p-please… jus-just stop!” Salvatore commands, suddenly filled with a wave of confidence that abandons him just as quickly as it arrived. “j-j-j… j-just… g-go… please…”

A light mist has become visible in the light reflecting off of Nadine’s eyes, the young woman looking truly saddened by the strange man’s utter rejection of her. Whether it was out of pity for Salvatore’s sake, or fear of her own impending isolation should the likes of Salvatore even reject her company, the hooded man could neither tell, nor did he really want to know.

“Well that’s not a very nice thing to say to someone trying to be your friend now is it? I might not look as normal as I used to but I’m not here to cause any trouble” Nadine scolds lightly, her voice strong, though even Salvatore can detect a slight wobble. “But… if you can give me a valid reason why I should leave, then… then I’ll do it, no questions asked.”

A valid reason? What other reason did she need than to get away from him?

Salvatore takes a moment to wipe away some of the tears that coated his face, slightly peeking out to look at the younger woman once again before speaking. “Y-you… you can’t… s-stay here… th-this place… it i-isn’t… isn’t g-good enough f-for you… it’s… i-its not w-worthy… I-i… I’m… n-not worthy… of you…”

Nadine shifts slightly closer once again, a pained look cut into her face like a raging storm cuts through large waves out in the open ocean. Her whole body was a sea of turbulent waters as she gingerly reached her hand forward, slowly but surely inching her way closer to Salvatore, until her wine dark fingers just barely brushed against the thick, rugged fabric of his overcoat.

Silence befell the two mutants, permeating the room with tension so thick and heavy Salvatore thought he might suffocate.

The cornered man could not bring himself to look up as Nadine’s delicate fingers gently latched on to the article of clothing covering his wretched and disgusting form. Salvatore shuddered as he prepared himself for what was inevitably to come once Nadine removed his overcoat: the biting cold of the surrounding area pinching and nipping at his thick, but sensitive flesh; another shrill shriek of fear and terror that would pierce him to his very core; the sound of Nadine, beautiful, gorgeous, perfect, immaculate Nadine, fleeing not just the underground tunnels that had lead her to discover this place, but also the reservoir, never to be seen again.

Salvatore wouldn’t blame her for this choice, of course. After all, it’s what he would do if he found himself trapped with a wretched creature as grotesque and pitiful as he himself was. Death wasn’t an option Salvatore had the luxury of entertaining, but he never blamed others if they chose it over him.

He would too, if he could.

Despite his earlier expectations, the hand on his coat never moves to take the garment off the trembling man, instead, moving to gently run along the side of Salvatore’s head, down his shoulders, before resting itself softly, but firmly, along the area of growths that covered the small of his back. After taking a moment to allow the violent trembling of Salvatore’s body, in response to the young woman’s gentle caresses, to calm down to something more manageable, Nadine slowly lifts her left hand and rests it on the opposite side of the hunched-over man’s head, yet she makes no move to try and take his cloak off or remove his face from his hands.

Stillness and silence return for a brief moment, almost as though Nadine were waiting for Salvatore to raise objection to her advances and stop her, as if he had the power or control to do anything but cower in the corner and cover his growing excitement in shame. With no explicit objections voiced, the hands resting gently around Salvatore began to slowly pull him toward Nadine’s body.

“Come here” Nadine’s soft, heavenly voice commands lightly, as Salvatore’s body does as instructed with no resistance whatsoever. A broken sob of humiliating arousal escapes the hooded man when he gently falls forward into Nadine’s lap, her arms quickly moving to wrap around and hold the hooded man against her soft, warm, and strong body.

“Shhhh, it’s alright. There’s no need to be so worked up. You have nothing to be afraid of, here” Nadine coos soothingly, as her hand gently caresses his thin, leather covered arm.

Salvatore cries pitifully as the painfully comforting words and actions make him want to vomit from overjoy. “Y-you… you d-dont unders-s-stand…” the hunched man weeps, his voice slightly muffled by his knees as he continues trying to hide his face by shoving it as far between his legs as he’s physically capable.

“What don’t I understand? Could you explain it to me?” Nadine asks, patiently holding the sobbing mess of a man firmly against herself as he collects himself enough to answer.

“I-it isn’t… you… th-that I f-fear…” Salvatore begins, trailing off as another wave of cold dread and fiery desire collide violently somewhere deep inside the hooded man’s chest.

“What is it that you’re afraid of then? If not... me?” The young woman’s angelic voice questioned, the slightly fearful and worried tone of her voice toward the end of her question, as if what Salvatore thought of her was even worth her precious time to worry about, made the mutant man’s stomach wretch sickeningly.

“I-I… I f-fear… oh god-” Salvatore began, before promptly shutting up and shoving Nadine as far away from him as he could from that angle, throwing himself to the floor, on his hands and knees, in the opposite direction just as a wave of acidic bile forces its way from the confines of the man’s mouth and out onto the floor in front of him. His own hideous reflection stares back at him in the growing puddle of stomach acid once he’s done.

A spiteful reminder from the universe of what he was and why he lived the way that he did.

Drunkenly reaching his hand forward to smear the vomit puddle around so he at least didn’t have to look at himself AND sit in his own filth while he gathered the energy to get up and wash off in the lake, Salvatore missed the way Nadine’s eyes narrowed in confusion at the man’s clumsy movements, before suddenly widening as she realized what the hooded man was doing.

“No, wait! Don’t touch that, it’ll only make you feel worse if you fiddle around with that nasty stuff” Nadine says hurriedly, as she rushes forward to take Salvatore’s moving hand in her own and presses it firmly against her bosom to prevent the man from playing around in his own throw up. She gasps in shock and her grip tightens around Salvatore’s hand, as though she’d suddenly remembered something important she’d forgotten about and Salvatore’s hand had brought it back to her conscious mind, before shaking her head and pulling herself from her thoughts.

“Oh, you poor thing! Here, let me wipe your face for you, and try to take deeper, slower breaths while you’re at it. You’ve managed to work yourself into such a panic that it's no wonder you’re throwing up all over yourself.”

The room is spinning far too fast and in far too many different directions for Salvatore to really be sure what’s going on, however the feeling of Nadine’s skin pressed against his own as she tenderly raised the edge of her pristine white dress to wipe away the lines of green acidic bile that had been left on Salvatore’s lip, was a sensation of euphoria unlike anything the hooded man has ever felt before in his entire life.

Not even Mother Miranda’s own embrace felt quite as… ‘brutal’ wasn’t the appropriate word to use based on its true definition, but in that instance it's the only word that Salvatore can think of to describe how intense everything around him, Nadine especially, feels at the present moment. Her touch, her scent, her warmth, her weight, her firm grip around him, the constant rhythmic thrum of her heart beat against his cold, bony hand, all of it was so intensely brutal that it was a wonder how the combined effect didn’t beat him into the floor. It was too much for Salvatore to handle all at once, and yet he knew that if the kind angel sitting next to him retracted so much as a single one of those sensations, he’d lose himself to insanity like careless swimmers lose themselves to sudden rapid currents.

Salvatore threw up 3 more times before his stomach finally allowed him the relief the hooded man had desperately been craving. The floor was an absolute mess by this point, but thanks to Nadine, who’d managed to keep his upper body upright the whole time, Salvatore hadn’t made nearly as much of a mess of himself as he normally did, though that still didn’t fix the primary problem that had resulted in all that vomiting.

“There we go. That must feel a lot better, huh?” Nadine asks calmly, pulling Salvatore in to rest against her chest once again, his face still turned downward and away in avoidance.

Although Salvatore does not grace her question with a response, the hooded man has long since given up trying to get away from the young woman, at this point just allowing her to move him however she pleased, taking in as much of her kindness and affection as he possibly could, before she inevitably hightails it out of here, of course. It was only a matter of time, at this rate.

“You know… you’re a lot bigger than I expected you to be” comes a sudden declaration from Nadine, breaking the silence that had permeated throughout the room and immediately pulling Salvatore from his dejected whimpering.

“I mean… I suppose I should have expected that, especially since most middle schoolers are taller than me, nowadays” the young woman continues with a lighthearted chuckle, “but you looked so small and stump-like from all the way up in that stupid pod that I couldn’t help but be a little surprised when I felt you had arms and legs. You could have very well had a snake for a body for all I knew and I still don’t think I’d have been as surprised, though this huge coat you're wearing certainly doesn’t make getting a good look at you very easy.”

“Th… that’s th-the point…” Salvatore mumbles, though seemingly more to himself than anyone else.

“Really? And why is that?” Nadine asks curiously, clearly having heard the older man’s muttering.

“I-if… if you k-knew me… you’d know… th-the answer to that q-question” Salvatore replies sadly, fresh tears beginning to prickle along his lower lid, threatening to spill over as the depressing reality of his meaningless existence makes itself more than obvious.

He was a filthy monster who deserved to spend the rest of his life alone and miserable, because why would something as unholy as him ever be worthy of anything else?

“Oh, now I don’t think that’s true at all. After all, I’d like to think I know you pretty well, and I still want to see what you look like” Nadine counters, her words shocking Salvatore beyond belief.

She… knew him? How? When? In what ways? What?

The only other time they’ve ever interacted was back in Mother Miranda’s laboratory. While the hooded man supposed his gifts could be aiding in Nadine’s surprisingly positive impression of him, he hesitated to call receiving a dress and a necklace from a random stranger “knowing” someone. How on earth could she say she knew him when, for all intents and purposes, they’ve only just met?

“B-b-but… h-how… how d-do you k-know… m-me? Y-you have… t-trouble… seeing… d-dont you? D-did… did y-you see me… b-back in the l-lab?” Salvatore asks, tears belonging to an unspecified emotion once again beginning to fall as a hand moves to gently grasp at the bones lining the top of his hood.

“Unfortunately no, I wasn’t able to get a good look at you before, hence why I was trying so hard to catch a glimpse of you earlier. You are, however, right in the assumption about my eyesight. I have severely impaired vision, yes, but it's manageable with a strong enough prescription; not that I see myself getting to an eye doctor anytime soon for a new pair of contacts. But even without my contact lenses, I can still make out general movements, as well as general shapes and colors, pretty easily from far away, it's just fine details from a distance and darkness that give me the most trouble. My vision is actually perfectly normal so long as whatever I’m looking at is within a few feet of me. If I looked down right now, I’d probably be able to see your face normally. Do you hide your face away from everyone around here?” the young woman asks curiously, gently pulling the dark fabric of the hood back, slowly revealing Salvatore’s face to the dim light of the room, even as her gaze remained locked on the wall behind them.

“N-not… e-everyone… th-there’s a f-few… who… who I sh-show my f-face to… regularly” Salvatore chokes.

Really?” Nadine asks, “like who?”

“M-my… siblings.”

“Oh, so you’re not the only one around here then? Are your siblings here in the reservoir?”

“N-no… th-they live… in o-other places… of th-their own… a-around the v-village.”

“Wow, so there is more of this place to explore, then!” Nadine states excitedly. “I’d love to get out and see more of the area for myself at some point, though I doubt that’s very wise given the amount of howling I’ve heard the past few nights and the fact I don’t know my way around this area... though, even if I did, that memory is probably long gone along with the fucking rest of them… not that I would have wanted to hold onto them anyways, I don’t think.”

Salvatore’s attention is caught by the last bit of Nadine’s statement, confusion filling him over what the younger woman could possibly mean by what she’d just said. “‘G-gone along w-with the rest o-of them?’... W-what… d-does that… what d-do you m-mean?”

Nadine remains silent for a moment as she continues to absentmindedly stroke the side of Salvatore’s head, the hooded man unable to tell what she could possibly be feeling right now without risking exposing his face to her.

Thankfully, Nadine resumes speaking before Salvatore loses patience and gets too risky. “My memory of the life I had before waking up in that damn pod is foggy at absolute best, but I don’t need my memories to know that I wasn’t very happy with my previous life and that I was actively trying to get away from it somehow. What exactly was I even running from and where was I going? Who knows, and frankly I don’t care to relearn it either. I do think it's quite funny that you were talking about me needing to go somewhere else because this place isn’t good enough for me though, because honestly, even if I could somehow get the hell out of here, it's not like I’d have anywhere else to go. Getting away from the shitty life I had before is probably how I ended up here to begin with, though if I’d known this was how things would end up I might have reconsidered throwing it all away so suddenly.”

Had it not been for Mother Miranda being there for him throughout the years, Salvatore would probably think much the same way as Nadine about the whole situation, but having Mother meant he always had a purpose and a goal to work towards, so it didn’t matter that Salvatore couldn’t return to his old life. What shocked the deformed man the most however, was the fact that Nadine appeared to not only already accept the fact that she couldn’t go back to her former life, but seemed to actively be searching for something, anything new to try and fill the void that had been left behind by the life she’d, more or less, willingly gave away to come up here.

Could… could this mean…?

“Thankfully my ability to make new memories doesn’t seem to have been fucked up at all, which I’m quite happy about since I'll be needing to make a lot to fill in the empty spaces in my brain. We met for the first time in the underground laboratory I was being kept in, though I suppose it was less ‘meeting’ and more ‘seeing’ for the first time, but… still. I don’t know why you were there, or who was with you at the time, but I remember waking up just before you were about to leave. There were a couple others who’d come, before you, to look at me and a couple others for some reason, but you were the one who stuck out the most, to me. You were… special!”

Shock and dumbfounded awe nearly choke the life right out of Salvatore. He could barely comprehend a single word the young woman was saying to him, yet he clung to every heavenly syllable she uttered like they were the foundations of the word of god itself. The pain and agony he normally felt due to his cadou mutations momentarily paused, slowly weaning from its usual constant thrum to a dull numbness that felt surprisingly euphoric in all it’s nothingness.

“S-special? Me?” Salvatore breathed, almost unable to believe the words, even as Nadine hummed in affirmation of their truth. “B-but… how…?”

The giddy chuckle Salvatore’s mundane question pulled from Nadine shook the deformed man to his very core. Her girlish laughter rattles violently around inside the deformed man’s head, playing the sweet, holy tune over and over again, like a broken record that Salvatore would happily go insane listening to for the rest of eternity if he could.

“Isn’t it obvious? I’d have assumed you knew exactly what you were doing with how sweetly you talked back there, why it's almost criminal how suavely you stroked and tugged at the strings of my delicate heart. All the others were so rude, boring, and/or annoying that I thought I might die if I ended up stuck with one of them, but then you came in and swept me right off my feet. It was like nothing else I’ve ever felt before and immediately told me that you weren’t like all the others, you were a kind man and if I ever ran into you I could tell I’d be able to trust you…” Nadine trails off for a moment. “When I learned that we were being moved out of containment and onto our “permanent homes”, I hoped and prayed that I’d be lucky enough to end up wherever you were, but I didn’t want to get too excited until I found out for certain.”

“Th-then how did y-you know… it-it was me?”

“How could I possibly not? You set yourself apart from all the others right out of the gate. I'm honestly shocked you don’t remember it yourself. But there's not a single doubt in my mind that I know exactly who you are… er- well, I suppose a more appropriate way of putting that would be “I know exactly who you are to me”, not that what other people say or think has ever really been something I’ve taken with more than a grain of salt” Nadine giggle beautifully, smiling kindly as she cradled Salvatore’s hoodless, tear soaked face against her, like he were the most precious thing she’d ever laid eyes upon and wanted to hold and protect him until the end of time.

Unable to look away any longer, Salvatore allows his head to rise from his knees until it settles upon the face of the woman currently cradling him in her arms. Her gaze remained turned away from Salvatore for a moment, though for some reason the hooded man had a feeling that it was more out of respect for him and his boundaries than a lack of desire to see his face.

What a strange thing, to be treated with more kindness, love, and respect from a complete stranger than from the majority of people you interact with.

Salvatore wanted to cry when Nadine’s golden eyes finally lowered to him, her face slowly shifting downwards until their noses were little more than an inch apart from one another, though whether his tears were from agony or ecstasy, even he couldn’t properly tell at the present moment. Only one question was on his mind and the deformed man would stop at nothing until he got an answer for it.

“W-who… who am I-I… t-to y-you?” Salvatore asks, his voice barely above a whisper as he forces himself to stare directly into the endless pool of honey yellow swirling around in her irises, wanting-no… needing to know, to see with his own two eyes, what exactly he was to this woman, and whether that answer would spell endless disaster for him and his deep seeded desires, or be the key that unlocks a world of possibilities almost as endless as the spheres of gold that Salvatore finds himself unable, or rather unwilling, to tear his gaze from, lest this be the first, and last time he ever be blessed enough to see them from this close.

A long moment of silence passes as Nadine returns Salvatores gaze, the fondness of her expression only growing as she lowers her forehead to rest against his, a soft, almost breathlessly enamored expression that he’d only seen on black and white screens cast toward men eons more pleasant to look at than he was, slowly spread across her perfect face as she finally answers Salvatore’s question.

“You’re the lovely man who held my hand!”

[kimjongdaely]

Eternal [Chapter 10]

Vampire!AU

Pairing: Baekhyun x Reader

Warnings: Language, violence, abuse, sexual situations, abortion, mention of suicide

Summary: You’re not sure how to deal with your current situation. Your owner, Byun Baekhyun, isn’t helping with the stress. But what happens when you find a risky solution that might just solve all your problems?

Prologue [M]│Chapter 1│Chapter 2│Chapter 3│Chapter 4│Chapter 5│ Chapter 6│Chapter 7│Chapter 8│Chapter 9│Chapter 10│Chapter 11│ Chapter 12│Chapter 13

You feel the world stop around you. You look at Sehun with wide eyes, exhilaration filling you to the brim, electrifying your nerves, the sound of your heartbeat drumming in your ears.

You gesture quickly for him to enter the room, letting him sit down on the bed next to you. “Are you serious? How?”

He nods, then bites his lip, looking around nervously as if he’s afraid of being overheard. His face is serious. “You have to keep it between us though. Don’t let Baekhyun know.”

You frown. “Why? What exactly did you find?”

He takes a deep breath, looking down and fiddling with his fingers. “It’s not exactly…a fool-proof way. And it could potentially go wrong. I’m afraid if Baekhyun finds out, he won’t even attempt it.”

The exhilaration is replaced with worry now. “Tell me how first, and then I’ll think about it.”

“Well, I think I found a way to turn you into a vampire like us.” He says. “If we can somehow merge your blood with a vampire’s, I think it can work, since our blood has special properties. In small doses it could heal wounds, while large doses can be used as poison. If we can just get the amount right…”

Your eyes widen. You’re beginning to understand what he’s insinuating, the question like lead on your tongue. “You can potentially bring me back to life?”

He nods. “Or rather, preserve your life before it ends completely. Of course, there might be aftereffects. You might not be human anymore, but you’d be alive and so will the baby.”

You furrow your brows, thinking about it. It’s plausible. Also risky, but if you were to slowly increase the blood intake in small increments, you can avoid getting poisoned, at least.

You also understand why Sehun doesn’t want you to tell Baekhyun. If there’s a possibility of you becoming a vampire…you’re not sure he would be happy with that. Baekhyun doesn’t like his life as a vampire, he doesn’t want to live for an eternity, and surely he wouldn’t want that for you either.

Or maybe…maybe he would be happy? To spend eternity with you and your baby?

Uneasiness churns in your stomach, and you place a hand over your baby bump to calm yourself.

“You can think about it.” Sehun says. “You don’t have to make a decision right now. I think it would be best to do it when you’re in labor, there’ll be a small window where we can try to do it.”

“I’m worried about Baekhyun.” You admit, chewing your lip. “He’s working tirelessly to find a way to save both of us and I know he probably won’t die from fatigue but…” You frown at the floor.

“I know.” Sehun pats a hand on your knee to comfort you.

“And what if there’s aftereffects?” You continue. “For the baby? Right now it’s half-vampire, half-human. But if I were to turn into a vampire halfway into labor, what does that mean for the baby? Does it become full-vampire?”

You shake your head. “There are so many questions and…I’m scared.”

Sehun has an odd expression on his face, something like sadness—which you can understand—and…disappointment? “I get it. Don’t worry about it, I was just giving a suggestion. Maybe we’ll find another way.”

He stands up to leave, offering you a reassuring smile but it’s tight. Deep down you feel like there isn’t another way. You have to accept the risks or result in death.

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose as the door clicks shut, leaving you in darkness.

Baekhyun sighs, leaning back against his chair. He closes his eyes, honing in on Thorn, and even through the wall he can hear her gentle breaths, the steady beating of her heart. Faintly, he can even hear the baby’s heartbeat.

It’s still such a strange thought for him. He has a baby coming. He’s going to be a father.

What does that even mean? He doesn’t have the slightest inkling on how to act, what to do. He’s never taken care of anyone before; his brothers certainly don’t need his help with anything.

Will he be a good father? Or will he…

He sighs again, pressing his clasped hands against his forehead.

If the baby looks like him at all, he might want to kill it.

He can’t banish the evil thought. Can’t pretend it never occurred to him. If Thorn were to die during labor…if the baby comes out healthy and grows up to resemble either of them in any way, Baekhyun doesn’t think he could bear it.

It’s just…too much.

Which is why he’s determined not to let Thorn die. He knows how much she loves this baby, even if he can’t understand. He knows she would hate him if he were to hurt the baby in any way. She’d come back to haunt him for eternity.

And he knows that he won’t be able to stop himself from acting rash and violent if anything were to happen to her. So she can’t die. Definitely not.

But he’s been searching high and low for months now for a way to save her. He still comes up empty handed. He has a few potential theories that could work but…he’s skeptical about trying them.

He taps his pen against his notebook, focusing on the name he wrote down a while ago. He had left this idea hanging, his mind going numb when he thought about it too much.

But now that he’s revisiting it, maybe…?

He stands, chair scraping against the wooden floor as he hurries out the room. He walks down the hall, knocking on his brother’s room, quietly since he’s probably with his Pet, who must be asleep at this time.

The door opens slowly, Jongdae’s face poking out. His brother furrows his brows in surprise when he sees Baekhyun. “What’s up?”

“Can we talk?” He tilts his head towards his room and Jongdae nods. He closes the door quietly behind him, following Baekhyun back to his room.

Once Baekhyun closes his door, away from listening ears, he gestures for Jongdae to sit down next to him. “How’s it going with your Pet?”

A smile blooms on Jongdae’s face as he sits. “Pretty good. She seems to be completely over what happened with Victoria. She’s very affectionate.” Jongdae gives Baekhyun a sly wink.

“That’s good to hear.” Baekhyun says, strangely stiff and Jongdae frowns.

“So?” He raises a brow. “I doubt you called me over just to ask me about my Pet.”

“I wanted to ask about Victoria.” Baekhyun says, and Jongdae tenses. “Back then, you watched her die, didn’t you?”

Jongdae’s face darkens as he stares at his hands. “Yes.”

“You were sure she was dead?”

“Absolutely.” His voice trembles and cracks, eyes glazing over when he says, “I held her in my arms and she...was gone.”

“Then when she came back,” Baekhyun says carefully, looking right into Jongdae’s eyes, “she was certainly revived, wasn’t she?”

Jongdae hesitates, then nods. “What are you getting at, Baek?”

“If a vampire can be revived, is it possible to turn a human into a vampire?” Baekhyun asks, his hands clasped tightly together until his knuckles are white. “Since vampires have incredible self-healing capabilities and near-immortality—to be able to even bring a vampire back to life—perhaps if we used a vampire’s blood, we could save a human from the brink of death as well.”

“Whoa, whoa.” Jongdae waves his hands to slow Baekhyun down. “I don’t know how Victoria was able to come back to life…but you’re suggesting someone fed her blood to bring her back?”

“It seems like the only logical answer.”

“Who would’ve done that?” Jongdae frowns. “And why? Why Victoria?”

Baekhyun sighs. “I don’t know. I’m still piecing things together. I just want to know what you think, and whether it’s worth a try.”

Jongdae takes a moment to mull it over, tapping a finger against his chin. “Certainly, it’s a logical idea. It could be possible. But isn’t it too risky?”

“Yeah.” Baekhyun sighs. “There’s no knowing the effects on her body and the baby’s…and it’s hard to calculate just how much blood we’ll need.”

“Well we shouldn’t scrap the idea just yet.” Jongdae says. “Maybe we can expand on it and find a better solution. I think a vampire’s blood could be beneficial to her.”

“Yes, maybe.” Baekhyun falls into deep thought.

“Still.” Jongdae leans back on the chair, brows furrowed. “Who do you think revived Victoria? What are their motives?”

“Someone who has a grudge with you?” Baekhyun suggests. “Someone who knows about her, so it can’t be a human, since it happened so long ago. It must be a vampire as well. Perhaps a rival clan.”

“But what good would bringing Victoria back do?” Jongdae frowns. “She only wanted to be with me again, and tried to kill my Pet. She wouldn’t have done anything to the clan.”

“That’s true…” Baekhyun frowns. “Found anything on your patrols lately? Any new suspicious deaths or activity?”

“None noteworthy.”

“Strange.” Baekhyun looks down as he tries to think. “If it’s really someone who wants to cause trouble for us, there’s no way they would stop there. They should’ve made a move by now.”

“I agree.” Jongdae stands, offering Baekhyun a nod. “Let’s meet up with the others for a meeting soon and talk about this. I think the older hyungs may have a better idea of what to do. Yixing might have more knowledge about the blood transfer idea.” Jongdae hovers by the door, before turning and giving Baekhyun a small smile. “Good luck with the pregnancy.”

Baekhyun feels a sharp pang in his chest. “Thanks.”

You wake up to a body pressed gently against your back. You smile, turning and finding Baekhyun’s sleeping face. He looks so tired, dark circles under his eyes and his skin even paler than usual.

Pressing a hand to his cheek, it’s freezing. You frown. Has he been feeding properly? He’s cut back his feeding frequency, but could it be that he’s stopped altogether in order to spend more time researching?

You lean up to kiss him softly, feeling him stir against you, his eyes snapping open. You feel guilty for waking him up, even though he probably just got into bed. It’s been happening more ever since you became pregnant, but it’s still unusual for him to sleep with you like this. “Sorry, go back to sleep.”

He mumbles something, pulling you as close as your baby bump allows. His breath is cold against your forehead and you shiver. “I’m okay. How are you?”

“Good.” You can’t help the smile that grows on your face. You try your best to warm him up by wrapping your arms around him and pressing even closer to him. “Baby kicks in the middle of the night sometimes and I have to go to the bathroom a lot, but I’m happy.”

“That’s good.” He sighs against your hair, and you feel him relax. “What time is it?”

“It’s ten in the morning.”

He let’s out a soft groan. “Go, get some breakfast. I’ll be sleeping.”

“Alright.” You push yourself up, pecking him on the forehead before heading to the kitchen. You’ll be sure to let him sleep for a few hours at least.

Baekhyun blinks awake, finding a sliver of sunlight creeping in from the small gap between the curtains. That tells him it’s still daylight, he hasn’t slept nearly enough. He can hear some laughter downstairs from the Pets, Thorn’s voice standing out to him the most. He guesses it’s around mid-afternoon.

He pushes himself groggily out of bed, stumbling back to his own room. Though it’s comfortable in Thorn’s room, he finds himself too thirsty when he stays in there too long. She just smells so good.

He eyes the bed and wonders if he should get some more sleep. But he had a strange dream that gave him an unusual idea, something seems to click inside him, so Baekhyun chooses to sit down on his desk.

Baekhyun scribbles into his notebook again, history books and medical books open, scattered about on the desk and on the floor. He hadn’t bothered cleaning anything up. Talking with Jongdae last night cleared up some of his thoughts. Vocalizing them really helped him think, and hazy dream he had making a sliver of anxiety begin to brew. He churns ideas and theories and crazy speculation in his mind, scrawling them down in hopes to find some sort of coherency in all this mess.

And finally, he writes down a name that makes his mouth dry, his hands tremble.

Surely it’s not true. Surely he’s just being paranoid, anxious about the pregnancy and about Thorn’s fate. Surely he’s mistaken somehow, and picked up the wrong hints. Yes, that’s right. There’s nothing to make him speculate. No reason for this person to do such a thing.

But deep down he feels so uneasy.

He writes it right under Victoria’s name. He circles it, draws an arrow upwards, connecting their names and then by the side writes, “blood research?”

Could it be?

Thank you so much for reading Eternal. From this point forward, the remaining chapters can only read by paid members on AFF.

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A/N: I know a lot of you will be disappointed with this. The thing is, I want to receive something in return for my hard work. No matter how much I ask for comments and reblogs, they all go unheard. So I’ve decided this is the best course of action. Please, please, if you like my writing, please consider giving me monetary support so I can keep writing without starving. Thank you sincerely, and I’m sorry.

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[sohotthateveryonedied]

Living is Harder

Read here on AO3!

Summary:

Tim drops the knife like it’s white-hot. Oh, god. Oh, god.

Tim did this. He was...he didn’t mean it. He didn’t. He would never. But the man was on top of him and Tim couldn’t breathe, and...he didn’t mean it.

Tim is walking home from Steph’s house, his light-up Sketchers the only things illuminating his path through the Gotham night. He stayed out later than he planned, utterly captivated in the Among Us tournament he and Steph were playing against their Titan friends all the way in San Francisco. (And Tim would have gotten away with the murders too, if it weren’t for that meddling Bart Allen who stared Tim down every time he killed a player, watching it happen but never reporting until Tim finally cracked from the shame and called an emergency meeting on himself.)

Tim rode in Steph’s car on the way to her house, but forgot that it would mean he’d be without a ride home. Steph offered to drive him back to the manor, that she doesn’t mind losing a measly hour of sleep, but Tim insisted he didn’t mind walking. Besides, it’s not like it was a lie. Sure, it’s Gotham, which means Tim can see drug deals going down on street corners and the occasional drunkard puking into a trash can, but Tim feels at peace here.

It brings him back to his early days of climbing fire escapes, tailing Batman and Robin under the cloak of night in the hopes to get just one more photo for his collection. It was a simpler time with fewer psychotic clowns—back then it was just the one, and all he did was tell shitty jokes and occasionally tie Robin up over a swimming pool filled with Jokerized sharks. Nowadays it’s all grotesque murders and creepy masks made of human skin. Where’s the showmanship? Where’s the pizzazz? Disgusting. Deplorable. Lazy beyond all reason. Tim is insulted by the lack of artistic ability in these new Jokers, and you may quote him on that. Regardless, Tim takes comfort in knowing that if something did go wrong, Cass is patrolling somewhere a good five blocks ahead. Maybe he can track her down and pick them up some corn dogs. He’s currently in the Red Hood’s territory, but whether Jason is around at the moment is a gamble at best. His schedule is harder to tamp down than a solid answer on Ted Cruz: Zodiac Killer. Jason might not even be in Gotham right now; he could be in space for all anyone knows. Sometimes Tim feels like Jason is more of a feral cat than a brother, which isn’t too far off, really. Tim happens upon an empty beer can on the sidewalk in front of a boarded-up store that he’s fairly certain used to be an adult film shop. Good ol’ Gotham City. He stoops down to pick up the crinkled can like the good samaritan he is and drops it into a trash can at the mouth of a nearby alley. He wipes his hands on his jeans, designer style be damned. That’s when Tim is grabbed from behind, a hand reaching up to cover his mouth and muffle his shout. He’s pulled into the alley and pushed up against a wall, the bricks digging into his back and knocking the breath from his lungs. Shit, shit, shit. How could he have been taken by surprise so easily? It’s hard to make out his attacker in the shadowed alley, the only discernible features being dark eyes and bared yellow teeth—never a good sign. Tim’s hands are pinned together above him in a strong grip, practically wrenching his shoulders from the sockets. He tries to scream, but the man’s disgusting hand presses harder against his mouth. Tim freezes when he feels the poke of a knife at his throat, digging into the skin just below his Adam’s apple. “Make a sound and I’ll gut you,” his attacker says, his voice a low rumble. The stench of cigarettes and alcohol assaults Tim’s sinuses and makes his stomach roll. He’s going to have to be careful about this. Robin could get out of this hold in five different ways with varying degrees of injury to the opponent, but a civilian couldn’t. Even if the only witness is a low-life scumbag, he shouldn’t run the risk. Better to wait until he’s at the point of no return to bust out the Robin moves. Instead, Tim goes for the oldest trick in the book and knees the man in the crotch, hard. It has the desired effect and the grip on Tim’s wrists slackens, the man dropping him with a grunt. Tim ducks out of range and makes a run for it. If he can just get to the street, he should be home free. Even in Gotham City, there are always witnesses to help out a poor, defenseless teenager under attack. Tim almost makes it to the sidewalk when he’s grabbed by the hair, crying out as he’s thrown violently to the ground. Then there’s weight on top of him, pinning his shoulders to the dirty ground under his back. Tim fights, kicking out and delivering purposeful hits under the guise of a panicked struggle. “You little shit,” the man spits. He’s still got a hold on Tim’s hair, which he uses to slam Tim’s head against the pavement so hard that Tim goes blind for a good ten seconds, his head spinning. The back of his scalp feels wet, and he hates to think about what bacteria must be lurking on the ground beneath him. The knife clatters somewhere to Tim’s side and he’s almost relieved until a hand wraps around his throat, cutting off his next breath. Instinct plunges him into panic, choking on the lack of air and scrambling to get a hold on his attacker. Scratching, kicking, desperately trying to loosen the grip crushing his windpipe. “You didn’t have to make this so difficult,” the man tells him. His body presses down on Tim’s smaller form, keeps him trapped against the unforgiving asphalt, and this is it. This is the point of no return he’s been waiting for, but now Tim is here and he can’t do anything about it. Not even Robin could get out of this without a weapon, and Tim has none. He’s powerless. The creep releases Tim’s hair with a whisper of, “Don’t move.” Before he can do anything more with his newly freed hand, though, Tim’s body is thrown into action faster than he can comprehend moving at all. The world goes hazy, time itself turning to molasses. Absently Tim feels muscles flex, sees shapes move in front of his eyes, but someone else might as well be controlling Tim’s body while he’s locked in the backseat, missing the entire ride. One minute Tim is on his back with the creep on top of him, and after a chunk of time that Tim can’t remember participating in, he’s standing against the alley wall with something clutched in his hand. Tim blinks back the fog, but it lingers. He looks down and studies the way his fingers clasp the handle of the knife. That can’t be right. He wasn’t holding a knife before. Tim comes back to his body in increments, a stop-motion reel. First there’s a stinging ache on the back of his head, blood soaking into the back of his shirt and plastering his hair against his neck. His gaze slips from the glinting knife to the blood that covers his hands, warm and sticky. Then he catches a shape on the ground in front of him and Tim’s breath catches in his throat. The man from before is on the ground now, his eyes closed and blood spreading from a stab wound directly over his sternum. Tim drops the knife like it’s white-hot. Oh, god. Oh, god. Tim did this. He was...he didn’t mean it. He didn’t. He would never. But the man was on top of him and Tim couldn’t breathe, and...he didn’t mean it. Tim staggers back until his back hits the cold brick wall, his pulse pounding in his ears so loud the entire city must hear it. He just stabbed a person. He just killed a person. The one rule he’s supposed to follow, the one thing he promised never to do, and he just did it. Without even a second’s hesitation. He took a life. What is Bruce going to say when he finds out? Tim’s legs are made of jello, wobbling in warning until they give out entirely and he slides to the ground, knees pulled in close to his chest. His hands are still covered in blood. A dead man’s blood. He should...he should do something. He should act. First-aid, stop the bleeding, do whatever it takes to help in case there’s a chance. Tim doesn’t move. He doesn’t even try. His limbs have been replaced with rubber, his brain with slush. He just killed a man. In the back of his mind he knows he can’t go home, not like this. Not covered in another man’s blood. Even if he tried, Tim isn’t sure he’d make it two steps without collapsing into a puddle of whatever emotion is making him feel as though he’s rotting from the inside out. His family lives by a code, would sooner die themselves than take a life. Bats don’t kill. Tim doesn’t kill. Tim killed. His fingers shake as they take out his cell phone on autopilot, and the screen is cracked at the corner from when he was slammed into the ground. That’s going to cost money to fix. Tim gets blood on the screen, smudging over his contact list and warping the names. He finds the one he’s looking for and puts the phone to his ear. A ring. Two rings. A click. “This had better be important,” Jason says. Tim swallows. “Um. I—um.” He can’t take his eyes off of the body, lying there still as a corpse. Because it is a corpse. “My...head isn’t working. It’s—something is wrong. With me.” “Are you high or something? Because if you are, I’ll fucking kill you.” That does it. What little resolve Tim held on to cracks in one clean split and a sob bursts through. He covers his mouth with his elbow, choking on gasps. “Jay, I—it was an accident. I swear to god, I didn’t mean to. He was...it wasn’t...I didn’t mean to.” There’s a creak on the other end, maybe Jason sitting up in his chair. Or maybe he just sat down. Maybe he closed a door. Too many things in the world are creaky. “What the hell are you talking about? What happened?” “He’ll kick me out. He’s gonna take Robin away from me.” Something slams—definitely a door. “Kid, tell me where you are.” “I don’t know. It was—” His brain isn’t working. For the first time in his life, logic and reason escape him and Tim’s mind pushes into overdrive, drags him deeper and deeper into oblivion. Bruce is going to find out. He’s going to find out and he’s going to hate Tim for the rest of his life. Bruce doesn't like murderers. “Goddamn it. Tim, listen to me. Can you do that?” It takes a moment, but Tim manages to get out an affirming noise. “I’m going to track your phone and come get you. Don’t move, got it? Stay right where you are. I’ll be there soon.” Jason hangs up, leaving Tim alone again. He drops his phone back on the concrete, uncaring of potential breaks. It’s already been cracked. “He’s going to kick me out,” Tim repeats to the empty alleyway. ------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tim is cold by the time Jason arrives. Or maybe he’s been cold this entire time. It’s hard to tell. “Fuck,” Jason swears as he takes in the scene before him. The body on the pavement. Tim, huddled against the alley wall, his eyes glazed over as he stares at the body like a horror movie he can’t turn off. Jason isn’t wearing his helmet, just a domino mask. He takes it off when he kneels in front of Tim, makes Tim meet his eyes. “Hey, kid. You with me?” “I killed him.” The words taste acrid on Tim’s tongue, sour. “Don’t worry about that now. Are you hurt anywhere?” Tim doesn’t answer. The back of his head stung before, but the pain is muffled now. Everything is muffled. “I killed him, Jay. I’m a murderer. Bruce is...I’m not supposed to kill. Robins don’t kill. They don’t.” His chest is tight, getting tighter by the minute until it feels like every breath is being sucked in through a tiny straw. “Tim, breathe,” Jason tells him. He puts his hand on Tim’s shoulder, and that helps a little. Gives him something to latch onto. “You’re in shock. Try putting your head between your knees.” Tim does, stares down at the dirty pavement between his sneakers. His eyes linger on an old fast food receipt. It has droplets of blood on it. “I don’t know what happened, I really don’t. He was—it was an accident. He was on top of me and he had a knife and then he was choking me and...I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t breathe, so I just—I just moved. And now he’s dead. I killed him. What am I going to do?” “It was self-defense,” Jason says, as if the answer could really be so simple. “If you hadn’t acted, he would have hurt you. Maybe even killed you. You did the right thing.” “No, it’s—” Tim picks his head up, digs his nails into his knees to keep himself above the fog. “No. I took a life. I’m guilty. I can’t—there’s no coming back from that. There isn’t.” How can he live with himself after this? Does he even deserve to? “What, so you would rather be dead than have to tell Bruce you took a life? Seriously?” “Yes.” There’s no hesitation, not even a pause to let the words soak in. Jason sighs, and Tim is too far gone to decipher what it means. He squeezes Tim’s shoulder once and stands, goes over to the body still lying on the ground. (As if a dead man would go anywhere.) Jason crouches down and takes off one of his gloves, presses two fingers over the man’s neck. After a moment or two, he lets out a breath. “He’s still alive.” Tim’s breath hitches. “Really? Are you sure?” “Pulse is thready, but he’s not dead.” All of the air leaves Tim’s lungs in one huge whoosh, making him lightheaded. “Oh my god. That’s…” That’s good, right? It’s a good thing. It should be a good thing. “Yup. That’s one hell of a relief.” Jason straightens up from his crouch. He reaches into his jacket, pulls out a gun, and fires it into the man’s head. “Jason!” It happens so fast that Tim doesn’t even have the capacity to think about the blood and brain matter splattered over Jason’s clothes, Tim’s shoes, the cracks in the alley’s pavement. “How could you—” “What? It’s not like he was going to walk it off or anything.” “We just—” Tim’s stomach churns. It feels like he’s going to be sick. “We just killed a man.” “No, I killed a man.” Jason holsters his gun, then kicks the body in the side for good measure. “You, however, are off the hook.” “What are you talking about? I stabbed him.” The knife is around here somewhere. That’s evidence. Proof of what happened tonight, what Tim did. What Jason finished. “And I shot him in the head. One of those is worse than the other.” “But I—” “No,” Jason snaps. He lowers himself to look Tim in the eyes. “You didn’t. Kill. Anyone. Got it? I killed him. Your slate is still clean.” “There’s a body. Evidence. I still did this.” Jason grabs the bloody knife and tucks it into his jacket. “No, the Red Hood did this. He cornered the guy in an alley, stabbed him, then shot him in the face. That’s what happened.” Tim shakes his head. “You can’t. You can’t take the fall for me.” “I’m not. I’m the one who killed him, right? I’m just taking responsibility for my own actions, which nobody is going to look twice at because this is the third one this week.” Jason takes Tim by the arm, pulling him upright and keeping him steady when he wobbles. “What about Bruce?” “We’ll tell him the truth. That you got attacked by some creep, I killed his slimy ass like he deserved, and then I let you crash at my place for the night to make sure you were safe. That’s it. Understand?” Tim isn’t sure if he does or not. He’s too numb to attempt puzzling it out, but he does know one thing he can say. “Thanks, Jason.” “Don’t mention it. Just try not to puke on me until we get to my place and I’ll call us even.”

[fraink5-writes]

From Darkness Into the Lantern Light - Chapter 2

Another week, another chapter... How exciting~! 

Thanks, of course, to the great @leio13 for everything she’s done to polish up this story!

Summary: Once upon a time, there was a cold-hearted queen. Although the Tsaritsa, as she was called, possessed her own divinity, she coveted the powers of the other Archons. Aiming to steal the Geo Archon’s gnosis, she sent her strongest warriors to Liyue Harbor. But just when Rex Lapis was almost defeated, he escaped to another vessel, that of a powerless baby, and was swept away to a hidden tower for his protection.

Many years after the great fight, the young and ambitious Harbinger, Childe, arrives in Liyue to grant the Tsaritsa’s desire, but, on his search for the Geo Archon’s gnosis, he ends up tangled in a mysterious man’s dreams to see Liyue Harbor’s Lantern Rite.

This chapter can also be found on Ao3 here. Without further ado, please enjoy!

Childe yawned. He had been keeping guard by the window while Zhongli pulled himself together. True to Zhongli's words, not a soul passed through the area. How boring.

The true object of Childe's curiosity was, of course, Zhongli himself—although Childe dared not watch him directly while he was so on edge. He had made thousands of laps around his tiny tower home, futzing around with every little thing. 

What little information Childe did know about Zhongli painted a strange picture. Most notably, the man had never had a haircut in his lifetime. Although Childe was certainly not an expert in hair care, letting it grow out indefinitely had to have more downsides than up. Underneath all the hair, though, was even weirder. Zhongli had let slip that he had never encountered another person since he came to the tower, which was starting to seem like a very long time. Given the virtual non-existence of passersby and Zhongli’s paranoia, his outrageous statement appeared like a plausible fact. Unfortunately, due to their contract, Childe could no longer ask about either of these mysteries.

But they were, nevertheless, exploitable. If Zhongli distrusted the entire world, all the better for Childe, his only ally. In pernicious Liyue, even Childe could be a hero, and ultimately, that feeling of gratitude and indebtedness would be paid back with critical information. 

Well, at the end of the day, Childe did not expect Zhongli to have any pertinent information on his target, so perhaps forging trust with him was not necessary. Even still, Zhongli’s fearfulness worked to Childe’s advantage in yet another way: he could be free of him sooner. After all, how hard could it be to scare this man into wanting to turn back? Whether or not Zhongli could tell him something of value was insignificant compared to the pressing need to recommence his search for Rex Lapis. 

“Hey, you almost ready to go?” Childe, reminded of his impatience, called out.

“Not yet.” Zhongli was standing by a chair he had already revisited 20 times.

“At this rate, you’re never going to wanna leave!”

“You’re right. Sorry.” Zhongli came slightly closer, still armed with his pan.

If there was one thing Childe couldn’t handle about Zhongli, it was his aura. Despite the absurdity of his paranoia and weapon choice, under his demeanor, there was a vague, latent power that kept Childe on his toes. This man’s a potential threat.

“You’re going to bring that?” Childe asked.

“I don’t know what else to bring.”

“Right.” Childe sighed into his palm. “Let’s just get going then. Oh yeah, where are we going exactly? You didn’t say.”

“Liyue Harbor.”

Childe’s hands dropped to his side. His stomach capsized in its own digestive juices.

“I want to see the annual lanterns.”

As all his thoughts jammed in his skull, not a single one made it to Childe’s lips. It’s okay. It’ll be fine. This is just a special challenge to see how fast you can get him to turn around. “Yeah.” Finally, Childe snapped to his senses. “Great, so where’s the exit?”

“I’m unsure.”

“What do you mean?” Asking that question was not unlike juggling a bomb before it explodes, hoping to lessen the impact.

“I’ve never left this tower before.”

BOOM

Luckily, Childe had time to dig his feet in the ground, lest the explosion bowl him over. Another statement that provided no real answers, only more questions—too many questions to be worth pondering over—and he couldn’t even ask for the answers. At the core, however, one overarching question throbbed in his mind: how did Zhongli even survive?

Not one to show his weakness, Childe posed a joke instead. “So, you couldn’t even find one during your many laps around?”

“No, unfortunately, but I did have an idea. If I hook it up here, by the window, we can use my hair to climb down.”

Childe’s brain overheated and shut down. That was fine. Thinking only seemed like a detriment in this situation. Much like a fight, it was time to rely solely on instincts. 

Although it was Zhongli’s idea, he appeared reluctant to let Childe hold his hair, but finally he handed him a section with a wince. Conversely, after all that had happened in the day, Childe didn’t even hesitate to tie himself up in a hair harness and jump out of a high-up window. While Zhongli mustered the courage to jump down, Childe inhaled the crisp air surrounding him. This was his last moment of freedom.

***

Zhongli was surprised at the speed with which the mysterious man, Childe, freed himself from his hair; Zhongli hadn’t even the chance to jump down yet (although, he was aware that he was taking a long time). Finally, he took a breath, closed his eyes, and jumped. He was less afraid of death and more afraid of betraying his obligations, his deal with that woman: his mother.

As far as he could possibly remember, Zhongli had always lived in that tower. He spent most of his time in complete solitude, but it wasn’t a lonely existence. He enjoyed immersing himself into books, absorbing all the information they had to give him. Whenever he was reading, he was always filled with a slight nostalgia, which his mother once simply explained, “Maybe you’ve just read too many books. Aren’t they all starting to blend together?” But that wasn’t remotely true. Each book stood out vividly in his mind.

This, however, was the first time he would physically step foot out of his tower. The gentle compression of the earth under his feet set his heart aflutter with excitement and trepidation. Although tiny particles of dirt were displaced in a cloud by his movement, the ground beneath was an unbudging solid. Yet, despite its sturdiness, the ground had already powdered a thin veneer of dirt on the soles of Zhongli's shoes. 

As Zhongli stared at his feet, the residual dirt morphed into evidence of a crime; there was no way this dirt wouldn't leave a trail when he returned to the tower. Then, his mother would undeniably know that he had broken the "contract" of their living conditions.

While Zhongli and his mother had never officiated the terms of their coexistence, they had abided by them in mutual understanding since Zhongli could remember: so long as Zhongli was obedient and never left the tower, his mother would provide for and protect him. It was only natural.

If Zhongli's mother were to discover he had left, she would have every right to be angered by his unjustifiable betrayal. She had cared for him all these years without fault. To leave was an act of ingratitude, a suggestion that she had not been good enough, when she, in fact, had. But worse still, what if she returned before Zhongli? How much would she fret and worry over his selfish decision? A display of lanterns he could distantly make out from his window was not worth her suffering. Maybe it was better if he went back and pretended this little exit never happened.

But it was already too late to completely erase the evidence of his departure, in which case, Zhongli had no choice but to look forward. Besides, he was probably old enough to make this decision. The contract, although unofficial, had no end term, but it surely couldn't last this long. Zhongli had already reached a maturity where he could take care of himself. As it was, as he grew older, the length and frequency of his mother's trips had grown incrementally. She trusted him on his own. The only difference was that now he would also be taking an excursion.

Zhongli’s own journey started on the other shore of the lake. While he was in his tower, Zhongl had not appreciated the movements of the water: the gentle lapping against the sand and the harsh crashes against the small cliffs. At the center of these interactions was the same lake with the same calm waves. Near the shore, the crystalline blue water refracted shallow shadow patterns on the sand, but as the water grew deeper and murkier, the ground disappeared altogether. As short a distance as the lake seemed to span, it was nevertheless insurmountable.

Zhongli couldn’t swim. As he stared across the waters to the other shore where plants and slimes coexisted, he realized that swimming was just a small obstacle. On the other side, there would be creatures and people that Zhongli wouldn’t be able to handle. He could hardly imagine what was out there. Zhongli was trapped by the dirt which soiled his shoes and the water which would engulf him.

But, it wasn’t all hopeless nor unknown. There was one factor Zhongli had not yet factored in: Childe. Unlike Zhongli, Childe was experienced in travelling and in society as a whole. Zhongli was not exploring on his own; Childe would guide him. From that perspective, most of Zhongli’s fears were trivial. 

However, Zhongli’s greatest fear was Childe himself. The man’s entire presence was a mystery. Both his arrival and motivations were dubious. Although he carried himself casually (probably a pretense to make Zhongli lower his guard), Childe seemed dangerous and unpredictable. Zhongli questioned the intentions of every move he made as he tried to stay ahead. In fact, the contract was the only thing which made their cooperation possible. The contract not only assured that Zhongli would achieve his goal, but also that when it was all over, he would be safe from Childe. The contract was written in such a way that even if Childe were to ask about his hair for his treasure, Zhongli could escape without worrying about his secrets being spilled nor Childe coming after him. 

Well, it couldn’t hurt to ask about Childe’s target before they set off. “Childe,” Zhongli called to him as he fidgeted with the mask in his hair. “What exactly are you looking for?”

"Do you have to ask that already? Let's save some of the fun for later, shall we?" 

So he's employing the privacy clause for a matter as simple as this?

Childe's constructed smile quickly vanished. "Well, I suppose I should tell you something. I'm looking for a treasure beyond human imagination, something worthy of a goddess."

Just as Zhongli thought, he could not trust Childe at all. Though Childe wouldn't say, Zhongli knew what he was after, and he wouldn't let him have it.

Childe must have noticed Zhongli's scowl because he quickly forced another laugh. "Hey, don't worry about it for now. Your job right now is to keep your eyes open and enjoy the world!"

If that's all there was to it, Zhongli could certainly manage this journey, but he'd be keeping his eyes on Childe first and foremost.

[ofxwordsxandxletters]

Worship

Series: Wynonna Earp

Disclaimer: The pairing and plot are mine in this work of fan-made fiction off of which no money is made. 

Pairing: Hollirey

Rating: Explicit overall

Choosing to wear something lacy for Doc’s pleasure, Bobo Del Rey is not expecting just how things turn out...and to be fair neither is Doc Holliday...

Author’s Note: So in re-posting this, I decided to go ahead and put both parts together and do some editing so there is more to this story then the separate parts posted before. I hope that it is still as emotionally satisfying, however. This is probably one of my favorite Hollirey Fics. 

*~*~*~*~*~*

Worship

He’d decided against giving any indication of what he was planning mostly because after thirty minutes of typing, deleting, typing again only to delete on his phone told him there was no way he’d go through it if the other knew something was up. As it was, he was pretty sure everyone knew he was feeling some sort of way. Good thing the Revenants in the compound knew better than to either point it out or heaven forbid ask him about it.

Bobo is sort of wondering when he’d lost his mind enough for what he was planning and knew that at anytime he could change said plans. That was also a perfect reason not to warn someone; then you don’t have to cancel and explain yourself.

Somehow, he makes it through the day without needlessly making someone bleed or having a nervous breakdown (not that he’d ever admit to being close to the second) as well as not changing before he heads out. He knows the Revenants know where he’s going; it’s not a secret between either groups but no one says a thing (mostly because the last person who questioned his activities ended up outside the line for five hours). “Don’t kill anyone who won’t regenerate,” is his parting warning before he heads in the direction of Shorty’s.

And one John Henry Holliday.

Except the closer he actually gets the more he can tell it’s nerves and he’s almost turned around four times before forcing himself to park in the parking lot fingers tight around the steering wheel. “God fucking dammit,” he mutters, “This is hardly the most surprising thing I’ve managed to do so why is this so fucking difficult?” Deep down, he knows why. It’s a sort of vulnerability that tended to get him hurt by others. “Guess here’s the point of no return, huh? Let’s see how in you really are, John Henry Holliday.”

He could survive losing the man. He could. Because it wasn’t anything close to being love. It wasn’t. It was not.

It still takes ten minutes before he steps out of the car and heads for the door before managing his familiar swagger inside. “Evenin’, Waverly,” he greets watching her freeze behind the counter like a deer in the headlights before calming by increments.

“Bobo,” she says before managing a small smile (a hard won victory for him) and adding, “I’ll go and get Doc.”

“Take your time, I’m in no rush,” he answers simply as he takes a seat at the bar ignoring the way the material shifts and rubs as he makes himself comfortable. This was not something he was used to; what lay hidden beneath the tight jeans and he was really and truly beginning to wonder if he should just slip back out and leave citing some emergency before the other got into the main room because…

“Well, look who it is. They were startin’ to take bets on whether or not you were actually coming in.” Doc’s voice is light and teasing but he still feels his tension coil tightly.

“Long day,” he manages, “Was debating not giving them the pleasure of my company and then decided that it would be a shame to deprive them of it.”

“Just them, huh?”

Bobo finds himself slowly relaxing into their easy banter. “Why, John Henry, is that you admitting that you might actually like my company?”

The male makes himself comfortable on the stool beside him before reaching and pulling him towards him without preamble. The feel of his lips against his has Bobo groaning low in his throat at how easy the other male makes it seem to just touch him in public or at all actually but that was insecurity rearing its ugly head and he tries to push it away as he leans forward to deepen it letting himself reach and grip the other’s arm.

Breaking it, he finds himself watching the other’s eyes fill with heat like the promise of a coming storm. Bobo knew how it was that most everyone got trapped by this one’s gaze. He wants to say something but the male reaches out to lightly brush his fingers along his jaw and he finds himself chasing the contact leaning into the touch.

He’s quite a bit distracted by the gentle, soft touches so he nearly misses when in the midst of leaning to kiss at the corner of his mouth a finger undoes the button on his pants and slips in.

He feels Doc freeze immediately and tries to keep his fear to a minimum. “Are you…” The finger shifts slightly making Bobo fail to keep from squirming slightly and pray no one was seeing this but the breathed, “You are” has his full attention.

“Y-yes?” It comes out as a question loaded with too many ways this could go wrong. And he feels the other withdraw panic starting to take hold. “Henry…”

His face is cupped and he’s pulled back into a kiss; just as gentle and sweet that has his toes nearly curling. It was this soft sweetness that tended to leave him breathless and strangely pliant for the other to do with as he would and Bobo was strangely addicted to the way it felt. “Let’s take this somewhere more private,” he murmurs as he rises and extends a hand eyes holding heat and wicked intent.

He’s almost embarrassed by how quickly he takes the offered hand and lets him tug him for the stairs. Being brought into the other’s room is nothing knew; but there was something heavy in the air as Doc shuts the door and locks it before turning towards him. “You are wearing lace?”

He feels the heat spreading along his skin. “Yes,” comes the reply and he struggles to keep the sharpness out of his tone mostly from how much he was regretting this if the other disapproved, “Look, it won’t happen again I just…” He’s pulled forward again and kissed before he can get through whatever the rest of the defense would be.

And it’s while he’s kissing him that Doc maneuvers him in the direction of the bed and releases before giving a shove that sends him sprawling more out of surprise than anything. “John Henry…”

“Quiet,” the other commands as he moves so that he’s straddling over top of him, “I want to see what you’ve deigned to wear for my viewing pleasure.” There is something warm in his tone, almost hungry that has Bobo slowly letting himself relax against the mattress.

Doc shifts back before tugging him up enough to divest him of his coat and shirt beneath it letting his fingers run down his chest and abdomen taking his time to undress him, almost unwrapping him. He crouches down and removes his shoes and socks letting his fingers brush along the arch grinning at the sharp intake of breath and the warned, “John Henry…”

“I do love how you growl my name,” he murmurs before shifting up and lightly drawing the zipper down before shifting it open to reveal light blue lace stretched over his skin. “Well, now this is a surprise. His fingers lightly brush over the material and Bobo’s head lolls back as his breathing sharpens. “Definitely like that, too.” He tugs the material down before tugging him up so he can get the pants down and off before he lets his gaze fully take him in standing in nothing but the lace underwear.

Bobo has never felt like he’s on display in such a way before and he watches the male take him in slowly, leisurely before gazing back up at him, eyes tumultuous now more than before. “Somethin’ like this begs to have time taken since you did make yourself so very pretty for me, Robert.”

There was a time he would have snapped at the man for daring to call him that but that was before he’d learned to crave the way it rolled off the other’s tongue especially in that low, husky tone. That mixed with the compliment has him very willing to let the man do what he wanted. Any and everything the man wanted.

It was dangerous and he knew better but he wants it more than he wants to argue or worry so he merely lets himself get comfortable on the bed splayed out before beckoning him towards him. And that would be all it would take for Doc to rejoin him, his knees on either side of him as he leans and presses another hot kiss to his mouth. It is brief, almost too brief but it’s made tolerable when the dark haired male moves down kissing lightly at his jaw and tracing his lips and tongue over his throat which is bared willingly for the other. His breathing hitches when the male’s mouth finds all the spots he knows to be sensitive and he lavishes slow attention; the soft brush of lips, the light nip of teeth, and the soothing moist heat of his tongue and mouth map him out slowly, lazily. He takes special care and time on his nipples until Bobo is squirming and whining and he can feel the bastard’s smirk against his skin as he continues playing him, winding him up.

And then he’d move lower; abdomen and stomach getting the same treatment; leaving reddened marks that would most likely fade by the morning before he ends up kneeling between the other’s spread thighs and he gazes down at him, lips curving. “Beautiful,” he breathes softly, “You, Robert, are more beautiful than a man has the right to be.” His fingers lightly brush over the thin fabric stretched taut over his straining cock. His lips curve, “You should don such things more often as they look incredible on you.”

He swallows thickly. “W-wasn’t sure you’d approve…”

Doc’s eyes meet his and his grin widens. “Oh, Robert,” he murmurs huskily before bringing one of the man’s hands to his pants and pressing the palm there, “Oh, I approve most emphatically. You are stunnin’. Hell, the next time you should wear a pair and just your coat.”

Color dusts more across his skin before he manages, “A-as much as the ego stroking is nice...could you, maybe, you know, stroke something else?”

“You always were so impatient. Some things deserve time to be taken. And some people deserve to be savored.”

“Henry…”

“Robert,” he murmurs as he reaches to allow himself to at least remove his pants and boots this time before he rejoins him on the bed letting his body press down so he can rock his hips slowly making the other groan and arch to meet him. “Mm, like that. Such a beautiful, needy thing you are tonight. I approve,” he breathes before nipping at the male’s neck and continues, “So just trust yourself to me and let me show you what you’re truly worth.”

Months ago, Bobo Del Rey would have known better than to allow it; a life of lessons to never let another man have him vulnerable or open. But that was months ago and somehow this unrepentant bastard had managed to undo decades of his own walls with little more than a smile and the way he treated him. Maybe it was desperation or the need for contact...or maybe there was enough left of Robert Svane to be still ridiculously romantic…Whatever it was, he chooses to jump head-first off the ledge and hope for the best. If he was wrong it wouldn’t be the first time he’d plunged to his emotional death and he’d probably survive it. Probably.

Forcefully telling the fear that it had nothing to do with this man or this place, he manages a quiet, “I think that you are overstating my value here, John Henry.”

“No,” comes the firm response as the other brings his fingers along his face again, “I am surely not, Robert. You are worthy of so much; friends, family, a home, even love.”

“And you?” He cannot believe he asks this because it was so stupid, so desperate sounding, too honest, too presumptuous, too...

“If you want me, Robert, you have me. I’m all in when it comes to you and I will not fold no matter how bad it gets.”

He has to close his eyes a moment at that. The words are balm for some of the more broken pieces in him. He takes a slow, deep breath before opening them hoping that there wasn’t too much showing even though he’s sure that’s a useless want at this point. “I...do...want...that.” You, was the correct albeit unspoken word. But he can see in the softened smile and the way the other leans to press his forehead against his that he hears and understands the truth of the statement.

“Mine,” comes the quiet claiming he so desperately needed, “You, Bobo Del Rey, you Robert Svane, are mine. And I am a possessive and territorial man.”

Bobo wants to protect himself with some snarky remark about him getting to possessing said territory but that could come later. For the moment he merely brings his arm up to loop it around Doc’s shoulders and shift slightly so that he can kiss him and ignore the fact that his eyes were hot and wet because there might be tears. Actual tears.

Of course John Henry breaks the kiss too soon for his liking and lightly brushes his thumbs along the damp skin. “You deserve the world.”

“D-don’t say such things or we’re not getting very far tonight.”

“We have the time, Robert. We have all the time it takes for me to prove you deserve good things. The very best things.”

“Henry…”

“Robert,” he murmurs softly letting his hand slide between them to brush over the thin fabric making him squirm and breathe sharply, “You will believe me one of these days.”

“F-fuck...c-could we just...a-ahh...o-ohh...do-do that,” comes the groaned out plea as he applies more pressure to his groin. It has Doc chuckling gently as he curls his fingers as best he can and stroke slowly making him rock and his arms tighten as he presses his face in the crook of his neck as he pants and moans against his skin.

“Such a lovely reaction, darlin’. I do so love how you respond to me.”

He wants to get more demanding and less pliant but there is something about the affectionate praise he gets when he lets the other go at his leisure that Bobo is far more addicted to and so just closes his eyes and rests back against the bed beneath him. He’d offered himself up for this anyway.

And John Henry Holliday, much to his immense surprise, had yet to disappoint him so he’s very sure the man will make it worth his while to just let him take his time. And maybe he could let himself have this without protest; let himself be savored in this way without making too much of it. Without wondering too much about what it might cost him in the future. He wasn’t Wyatt Earp. Thankfully, his wandering thoughts are corralled very quickly when Doc’s next move is to slide his fingers under the very edge of the lace and brush against hot skin that has him jerking as pleasure jolts down his nerves and a sharp, ragged sound escaping followed by a choked, “Please, fuck...please…touch me...” “Oh, I have every intention of doin’ just that,” comes the reply, “Trust that above all else; that I have every intention of making you know that every bit and every part of you is mine, Robert Svane. No one else’s. No one else gets a chance at what’s left of you because it belongs to me and I will guard it most fiercely. And guard you as well.” He wants to tell him not to say things like that because it was ridiculously sentimental at best and a lie at worst but he can’t speak through the fact that his goddamn throat is tight with everything he’s feeling at the moment, everything this man makes him feel and more than that; makes him want from him. “Henry…” The word comes out in a mix of warning and plea and he cannot rightfully figure out which or what it was currently asking for because it was all he could manage to force out. 

And John Henry Holliday, damn the man, smiles that goddamn soft, tender smile that broke every wall and failsafe he’d tried to make so that he was never in his life foolish enough to let some fool man mean something to him like this with all the force of dynamite before murmuring “I’ve got ya, darlin,’” as he finally draws the lace off of him leaving him bare against the bed.

His breathing sharpens and he lets himself splay for the other’s view. It wasn’t like Doc hadn’t had him naked before but there was something about how he felt tonight of all nights that made it more intimate in some ways that he felt more exposed and vulnerable. But even though he’s not sure he likes the way it makes him feel; the way Doc’s eyes drink him in and the sheer approval in those dark blue eyes is more than worth it.

“You have seen me naked before,” he finally gets out something untensing at the way the other just gazes over him.

“Yes,” comes the easy agreement, “It’s one of my particularly favorite activities as it were; staring at the sheer expanse of you.”

“I would much prefer if you touched more and looked less.”

Doc chuckles at that. “Oh, I am sure you do. But as I said; there are things and people who are best savored. This and you are definitely in that category, Robert Svane.”

He lets his eyes close at that and slides his arms behind his head in a silent show of surrender. Bobo had always preferred sex to be fast and somewhat rough; less emotions more baser needs. Doc had learned that it was because gentle, loving, and intimate affairs tended to leave him open and terribly raw.

Hence this entire situation, he supposes. Doc could always read what he needed to hear, to have done to him better than anyone he’d met. If there was a talent here; it was that John Henry Holliday could read someone too goddamn well. And what was more was that he clearly likes finding all the secrets he still held like it was some great discovery. And honestly, it reminded him that he was still very much Robert. And he still very much wanted to be important to someone. In fact, he wanted to be important to this man above all else. So if fate or whatever celestial asshole was out there making a mess of things for no damn reason could just give him this small favor, this tiny thing: it would be to keep John Henry Holliday.

It could not be too much to ask at this point.

The bed dips as Henry rejoins him making himself comfortable between his spread thighs. His fingers lightly brush over the length of him, lips curving into a look of satisfaction as he squirms and arches wanting more friction, more of something against hot skin. “F-fuck...c’mon...would you do more than that?”

There is that moment when he knows his partner could continue; John Henry made teasing a man a sport and was very, very good at it. However, he sees the moment the other knows now is clearly not the time to do that and his fingers tighten just enough to have him arching as a groan slips past his lips. It’s halting almost rumbling as want is very much getting the better of him though he’ quite displeased when his partner’s next move is to withdraw the hand completely. Light blue eyes, more gray than blue, blink at him and he goes to make something of a demand of the other when he watches him shift so that he can settle himself between his thighs, Bobo’s legs resting over his shoulders. His lips part as he’s very much not sure what the other thinks he’s doing and his thoughts come to a screeching halt when he feels the male’s lips against his skin again. It’s an almost embarrassingly squawking breath that escapes him as he tries to wrap his mind around what Doc’s actual actions are.

He’s pretty sure he’s told him, numerous times, something along the lines of “kiss my ass” but he’d never actually taken a moment to wonder how that would go in a literal sense. “He-Henry,” he struggles to get out, “Henry, wh-what the fuck are you…” The tip of his tongue flicks out and his head nearly snaps back at the fleeting of it pressing against the rim of his ass. That’s what he was doing. His breathing staccatos sharply and his fingers grip the sheets as he tries to decide if this was way too much or just right and he watches blue eyes glint mischievously before the other presses his tongue in deep and has his back arching as a sound escapes too close to a wail for his own liking and he presses his palm over his mouth because there was no way he was trying to explain that sort of noise to anyone who might hear it. The chuckle against his skin doesn’t make him feel any better about the situation though the fact that his hips shift towards the bastard instead of away gives him up for enjoying it. Warm fingers cup his hips as he presses closer, licking at him deeply.

Bobo soon finds himself unable to get a good rhythm as Doc alternates from deep satisfying presses of his tongue to light, teasing licks at the clamping opening and it’s as maddening as it is pleasurable. Finally, he rescinds his hold on the sheets with one hand and brings it into the male’s dark hair. “F-fuckin’ eat me out l-like you mean it,” he demands voice more plaintive whine than growl, “F-for fuck’s sake...H-Henry…”

The other of course has to withdraw enough to murmur, “What part of me savorin’ you makes you think this is gonna be done at your pace, darlin’? If I want to spend the rest of my night eatin’ you out just like this then you’re just going to have to accept that.”

He wants to argue, protest, or tell him where he could stick his intentions (whatever those may be) but can only choke because at that moment Doc leans before lewdly sucking at his rim and shoving his tongue in deep in a certain direction that has him rocking violently. His fingers tighten in the other’s hair breathing sharp and reedy. Damn this man and all the ways he used to just wreck him.

That he delighted in finding them was something else for him to think about at some point because he is not used to someone being this giving in pleasure or this interested in what he liked enough to experiment. The next slow lick has him panting and squirming. "H-Henry...f-fuck...please..."

Of course Doc ignores him clearly enjoying the way he was responding to him. Bobo is sure all it would take is a sharp jerk on his hair to get the other to change his tactics but there is too much of him that wants him to keep doing this: to keep touching him in such an intimate and tender manner so he releases his grip and returns his fingers to gripping the sheets.

The coiling heat and pressure intensify the more Doc learns where and how to press his tongue, lips, and to lightly drag his teeth and Bobo is taken off guard when an orgasm peaks violently from this alone leaving him momentarily breathless. Doc gives him a satisfied, pleased look murmuring, "Now this is definitely something I need to do to you more often."

He feels his face flush from the husky tone and slight embarrassment. "W-was that strictly necessary?"

"Maybe not," comes the easy response before Doc would make a show of drawing his fingers along the spatters of semen decorating Bobo's skin and then licking the digits clean. The Revenant let's his eyes fall closed with a soft groan.

"Henry..."

“Robert,” he teases back before his tone would go serious again, “You deserve to be treated to everything a man can enjoy being done to him. Ain't nothing wrong with it.”

“You do realize…”

“He,” Doc interrupts knowing just where this was going, “was the selfish sort not particularly concerned about what things any of his bedmates would have wanted nor would he have been willing to change that. I'm not him. Not even close. So I'm going to teach you how a man should be to someone important to him.”

“But what do you get out of it?”

Doc chuckles softly. “Darlin’, I get to feel you squirm and hear you whine and taste you so deeply that I know I’ll be the only one with that pleasure. Trust that I get a lot out of finding what you enjoy havin’ done to you.”

Bobo is pretty sure he's flushing at the words and tries not to be embarrassed though the fact that he still could be embarrassed is a new one to him. The orgasm has him more pliant and he merely watches as Doc moves to grab a familiar jar and returns to him. Half-lidded eyes watch as he unscrews the cap and dips his fingers inside before settling himself so he can start to slowly open him up. The familiar pressure and stretch has him groaning low in his throat as he lets his eyes close to enjoy the sensation of being stretched. His breathing sharpens and he arches fucking himself on the male's fingers deeply. “Hnn...fuck...there!” he pants out as Doc's fingers crook stroking his prostate. The process would be slow as Doc makes sure he's more than ready before withdrawing his fingers which Bobo doesn't particular like but as he opens his eyes, he's granted the sight of Doc undressing fully. His tongue flicks between his lips at the sight of  all of him. “See somethin' ya like, darlin'?” “You know it.” Doc chuckles softly as he climbs atop the bed and lightly spreads his legs wider for him to settle between. “Good to know,” he murmurs voice going husky as he shifts and presses into his heat, “Ahh, Robert...” Fingers interlock with his own, their palms pressed against each other as Doc pistons his hips dragging a ragged sound from between his lips as all the right spots within him are hit. “A-ahh...f-fuck...y-yes...like that…”

Doc’s lips curve upwards clearly pleased with his response though the sharpened breath he takes is just as satisfactory for Bobo himself to hear. “D-Definitely like the way you feel ‘round me, darlin’; hot and tight and perfect,” comes the low approving groan from the other as his blue eyes go half-lidded in pleasure.

A low, pleased rumble escapes him as he presses his hips up to meet the other’s thrusts delighting in the feeling of being stretched and filled as the heat coils in his lower stomach. He lets his eyes close, inviting the sensations to intensify until it’s all he can focus on; the feel of John Henry laying claim to him.

The shifts of his partner’s hips go from the mix of slow and gentle and fast and sharp to almost desperate as he feels him shake and knows that the same coiling heat intensifying in him is doing the same in the other. He shifts his hips upwards pressing himself as tightly against the other’s body despite the angle because he wants this; wants to feel him reach his peak.

There is something so satisfying to Bobo about making him lose that much control. And it is that and more when he feels the male start to shudder and the breathing is harsher, reedy. And it's not long until a sharp exhalation proceeds the feel of him spilling in him, fingers tightening reflexively as he does so. It's enough; the hot spill, the harsh panting and the jerking spasm that has Bobo hitting another orgasm himself. He lets his eyes flutter as he feels the other slip from him and withdraws from the bed. While Bobo dislikes the loss of warmth and closeness, he is sure that it'll be worth it because he does not like the thought of falling asleep sticky as he was no matter how pliant and nearly sleepy he is. So of course, he's not surprised to see Doc with a washcloth as he returns to him.

The cool rag feels amazing against his skin and he gives a low sound of contentment, eyes fluttering. The soft smile isn’t missed before John Henry joins him on the bed at his side, fingers lightly stroking along his stubbled jaw. He nuzzles against the touch content and happy to just be here with this man. “Thank you,” comes the soft murmur, “For showing me this side of you, Robert.”

Reaching, he brings the others hand close and presses soft kisses along the digits in response with a soft hum reverberating in his throat. It earns a chuckle before John Henry would settle at his side arm curled around him.

It’s when he knows the other is asleep with his evened breathing and the low snore that he murmurs to the dark, “I should be the one thanking you for taking this so well. For handling me so well. I do love you. So much. Don’t you change, John Henry Holliday.”

Maybe, one day, he’d tell the man all of this aloud. 

[sadlittletiger]

Hey friend. Do you enjoy anyone with Arias?

Heyyyyyyyy. I like Arias! I wish we could have gotten him in a game.

So, I had a chapter planned for our semi-abandoned story “To Be of Use”, in which Wesker considers... letting go of his business partner, Excella, and bringing on brand new pharma-terrorist, Glenn Arias. Glenn climbs aboard Wesker’s yacht just before the events of RE5, and a wild, evil threesome ensues. So I guess I could pair Glenn with whoever?

Here’s a little bit of that:

April 2008.

It was a beautiful Tuesday afternoon when Jill met the man who should have killed Albert Wesker.

She was laying on her stomach, dozing in and out of dreams, under the brilliant Tunisian sun.  Sea birds called and turquoise water lapped at the hull of the yacht.  She shaded her eyes and watched a large fish bob up and down in the gentle waves, it’s great mouth gulping at a piece of driftwood.  It was an idyllic Mediterranean day - the warm breeze fairly humming with a lazy kind of possibility.

A motor approached - she heard it before she could see it.  It was a speedboat coming out to them from the distant, hazy coast.  She sat up, tying the straps of her bikini top behind her neck.  Her breasts felt heavy and hot, throbbing in protest at being pressed beneath her and now restrained by the bathing suit.  She looked down past the red scarab, past the blinding diamond necklace, and studied her deep cleavage, frowning at the latticework of thick blue veins that ran like a ghost highway under her skin.  She would need him soon.

As the boat drew nearer, Wesker emerged from the cabin below, his open shirt billowing in the breeze, his feet bare and bronzed on the gleaming white deck.  His hands moved to the pockets of his sailing shorts, and he nodded to his majini who gathered at the railing on the side of his boat, ready to help their esteemed guest aboard.

She watched Wesker.  He was every bit the fateful captain, staring off at the horizon on the helm of a beautiful yacht.  

He was Ahab… chasing his own murderous whale.

Only the whale’s name wasn’t Moby Dick.

It was Glenn Arias.

——-

Mr. Arias was a rising star in the world of bioterrorism.  His reputation for cruelty almost surpassed Wesker’s, which was impressive to say the least, and he was rumored to be developing a multi-stage virus that would effectively put the rest of the major players in bioengineered warfare out of business.  Forever.

At 35, almost fifteen years Wesker’s junior, he was thought to be worth something just shy of a billion US dollars, and his list of clients might have included a few first world governmental bodies.

Regardless of whether any of it was true, he had enough of an aura to pique Wesker’s interest, and that alone struck fear into her.  Wesker himself had grown quite restless in the past few months, imagining that his partner, Excella Gionne, was actively plotting his downfall.  Jill hadn’t noticed much of a shift in Ms. Gionne’s behavior or her cool temperament towards Wesker, even after the diamond incident.

But perhaps she was planning his demise.

Good for her, Jill thought.

In the meantime, Wesker was quietly seeking a new business relationship, one that might be looser with its purse strings, one that might be more forward-thinking than an old guard like Tricell… one that lacked any semblance of a moral code.

He hoped to find what he was looking for in Glenn Arias.

______

“Beautiful rig.”

It was the first thing Jill heard Arias say.  He had a bright, confident voice, not in the least villainous - nothing like Wesker’s cultivated rumble.

She watched as an athletic man jumped off the speedboat, pulled himself up the steps to the yacht, his hand out.  At the top, Wesker shook it, one quick, professional pump and then a well-practiced release.  

But Arias… oddly enough… pulled him into a hug.  He thumped his back twice, as if they were old friends meeting after a long absence.  

Jill held her breath, the corners of her mouth threatening to turn up in a smile.  

Wesker stood very still, his spine rigid with shock.  “Thank you,” he managed.  

———-

Despite the presence of company, she found herself in the usual position at Wesker’s feet.  The handcuff around her right wrist jingled against the leg of his stately chair.  She felt Arias’s heated gaze on her every time it made a sound.  She stared at the golden tassels that decorated the edge of the velvet pillow she reclined on.

Wesker had at least had the decency to put her in a lacy chemise at the dinner table.  She reminded herself, bitterly, to be grateful for any allowances, no matter how small.  Just months earlier, Wesker would never have granted her clothing during leisure.  Her… emotional acquiesce was paying off in increments.

Arias studied her, his chin in his hand.  “Do you mind if I speak to… ?” he asked from the other end of the table, his lips turning up into a sly smile.  He gestured, as if he was unsure of the appropriateness of using a pronoun on Wesker’s pet girl.

Her jaw clenched.

“Of course not,” Wesker replied.

The fire in the glass hearth flickered and cracked behind Arias.  “Hello, sweetheart,” he greeted her directly for the first time since he’d boarded the boat.  Condescending, but warm.

She took a deep breath and raised her gaze to meet their guest’s.

“My God… those sad beautiful eyes…,” Arias said in a hushed voice.

Jill glanced up in time to see Wesker smiling mildly, almost proudly, at her.  He reached down and gently adjusted the diamond necklace.  It felt like a dog chain around her throat.

“Does she talk?” Arias asked.

“Yes.”  They answered in unison.  

Arias raised his eyebrows.  “And you two… communicate, through the device on her chest?”

“Something like that,” Wesker said, leaning back in his chair.

“I’m sorry to pry… but this is just… so fascinating,” Arias continued, almost excitedly. “The whole thing.  So you hear his voice?  In your head?”

She regarded Arias, unblinking and cold.  “Yes.”

“But you have free will?”

She lowered her eyes.

Wesker waited a moment before he spoke for her.  “She has… negotiated free will.”

“Negotiated free will.”  Arias turned the words over slowly.  “No disrespect meant, of course, but what good is a slave —“

“She’s not a slave,” Wesker interrupted him.  She felt herself start at his words.  Her body, of its own accord, seemed to draw closer to his legs.  He looked down at her, his hand coming to stroke her face.  He cradled her jaw.

Arias rubbed his mouth, silenced.

“Absolute obedience was never the goal… not at all,” Wesker went on carefully, and he stared at her as if he was speaking only to her, only for her.  “There will always be… parts of her I cannot reach.  I will try though.  And we will suffer passionately in two separate bodies, for eternity.”

[evien-stark]

✧I Need You✧ Chapter 150

It was difficult to tell what time it was when you woke up. Sometime well past morning, that was for sure. As awareness seeped back in, you became first vaguely and then very knowingly aware of Tony still dreaming away next to you. Turning on your side, as gently as possible, it became a very tough call whether to stay there and fall back asleep with him or… 

Well. You stayed. For a few moments. Admiring the peacefulness just rolling off of him. Moments like these were so rare. Maybe, if you were lucky, you’d be able to just return to it. But in your overt carefulness in not waking him up, sliding off to the side in small increments so as to not shift the weight of the bed, and then… sticking one leg out onto the floor and… then the other… 

Almost in the clear. Until very quickly you were reminded you’d had sex (...more extremely passionate love making than anything, for sure) all night in heels, fallen asleep in heels- still were in heels, and your underwear still wrapped around one of those long points caught up your other foot as you tried to move. After that it was all over. You went down in a weak-kneed mess (maybe last night a little to blame, as well) with a very undignified yelp. 

From your spot on the floor you saw Tony shoot up, suddenly very awake and very nervous. He looked the other way first, and you had a real chance to make your position a little less terrible. But… as he turned the other way and spotted you in your heap on the floor, his sleepy grin turned sunny and he crawled to the other side closest to you, lying flat with his arm dangling over the edge. “You alright there, honey?” A genuine question while also being somewhat amused. 

“Nothing hurt but my pride.” Having to sweep up said feelings as you made extra sure of all your limbs and then stood again, stretching out the new kinks in your muscles. 

His sudden stare was felt. “An easy fix.” A warm intimate air hit the room rather quickly, and when you stopped limbering up, you caught his gaze. “You know… that’s a very good look on you. I think you should wear it more often.” No shame as he fully admired the sight in front of him.

Just you in heels. Hm. You could only imagine. Both the thought and the way he was looking at you pooled a slight heat to your cheeks- if there hadn’t already been one after being caught in your fall. A different sort of heat, though. “Knock it off.” Waving a dismissive hand at him and then turning around. 

“Do you really want me to?” A great question.

And the obvious answer was no, of course not. But instead of giving in to him, you turned that little wave into more of a hook. “What I’d really like for you to do is follow me into the shower. Please.” Half turning to look at him over your shoulder. 

“Gladly.” Eager as ever, as he shifted the covers aside and got out of bed with much more ease than you had. “...are you gonna wear the heels in there?” 

“I’m gonna roll up a newspaper and smack you, is what I’m gonna do.” 

“Okay, but I’d like you to answer the question, too.” 

The two of you were left in a battle of smiles before making haste off to a steamy shower. 

                                                             ---

On your fourth day in Paris, you and Tony got up early. Walked along the Seine river just as the sun was coming up. Around nine AM, the two of you got back to the hotel. The breeze on the balcony as you sat was warm. At nine-thirty, Tony emerged from the penthouse kitchen with two perfectly brewed and prepared cups of coffee. He sat beside you, watching the passers-by on the streets below. 

And then. At nine-forty-three, everything stopped. Or rather, perhaps everything started again. 

His phone vibrated in his pocket, which was a huge vacation no-no, but the pattern of the vibration was telling. And when he pretended to ignore it, sorry look on his face, JARVIS spoke anyway. “Sir, ma’am. I am sorry. I know you are both on a do-not-disturb protocol.” 

Tony picked his phone up out of his pocket and held it up with a very dissatisfied look on his face. “Then continue do-not-disturbing, JARVIS.” 

Ignoring him completely, JARVIS continued. “I have received an Avengers Priority One signal from Ms. Romanoff. Shall I put her through?” 

You and Tony looked at each other for perhaps too long a time. But eventually you put your cup of coffee down, and let your gaze drift lower, too. Disappointed. Deeply. He sighed. “You already know the answer to that, seeing as you broke protocol.” 

“My hierarchy orders are very clear-” 

“JARVIS. Just put her through.”

Tony was annoyed. You were upset. JARVIS had been trying to defend himself, or maybe protest that he wasn’t the one at fault here. He was just a program. It wasn’t his fault. No. It was that your personal life took a backseat to superheroing. And that was just the way it was. Whether you liked it or not. And you very much didn’t. 

Though a video screen went up on hologram, only Nat’s voice came through. “I’m sorry. I wouldn’t bother you if it wasn’t important. I already called the others. But the both of you are closer.” 

This wasn’t Natasha’s fault, either. Everyone seemed to feel like they were putting you out. But it was just the world you lived in. You shook your head, even though she couldn’t see it. “It’s fine, Nat.” It wasn’t. But that was neither here nor there anymore. “What’s going on?” She must have had something serious happen. Most anything she could take on by herself. So if she was calling you...

“I hijacked some Hydra higher-up’s personal jet. I’m headed into Port Sudan to meet up with one of their top scientists and her three-hundred or so Hydra army. Armed to the teeth with powered Chitauri-Hydra hybrid weaponry. She was supposed to be demoing a new big weapon today. I thought we’d drop in.” 

Tony sat back a little, resting one leg up on the other, putting a hand on his knee. “This the base we’ve been looking for?” You felt like you already knew the answer to this. But if it had been a yes, at least that would have made the bothering worth it. 

But of course… “No. No gamma outputs in that sector. Bruce has something promising, he said. But we can deal with it after this. I’ll drop you coordinates and we can gather. Have a little fun before the rest of the cavalry finds their way here.” 

She wasn’t asking permission. She wasn’t asking if you wanted to do this. This was a mission, and you’d do it whether you liked it or not. You’d only had four days- barely- alone with Tony. And already… You tried not to let the tone of your voice slip in a way that would take it out on her. “We’ll see you soon, Nat.” 

“Copy that.” 

Reaching up, Tony flicked the screen out of the air, ending the call. The coordinates dropped in another chirp literal seconds later, but neither of you looked at them. You were busy looking at each other. He looked just as unhappy. “We go, clean up, and come back. Don’t even have to check out.” A little too optimistic about this. 

This. This right here was the life you knew the two of you were destined to live. Forever. Scraping for teeny-tiny moments in time with each other before duty called the both of you to the battlefield again. There was a pit in your stomach, and a sure knowledge in your heart. “Let’s check out anyway. Just in case.” 

She had said Bruce had some information. Since she’d called all Avengers, he and Tony would link up. And that would be it. Much as Tony seemed sad about these developments, and as much as you did believe he wanted to do the superhero thing as quickly as possible and return to pretending the two of you could have a life… it wasn’t what was really going to happen. You knew that. 

And making him accept it… that was tougher. Because he really just turned this terrible shade of blue. He’d been trying to make all these promises to you, maybe even to himself. About some grand life where this wouldn’t happen. It hadn’t even been a week before reality had crept back in and made him an unwitting liar. 

“Sure, honey. Just in case.” 

                                                            ---

You had LUNA put the suit into auto-pilot once the coordinates were loaded in. The rest of your immediate attention was put into reading the mission briefing that Natasha had sent. The Avengers were a couple hours behind the both of you, and with the suits, you and Tony would make it there relatively quickly- at least a lot quicker than the rest of the team currently over the ocean in the quinjet. 

It was the whole reason she’d called. Maybe if you’d vacationed somewhere further away than the team…

A useless, petulant thought. One that annoyed you more than anything. This was your duty. You had to see it through. Not the least of which because Natasha could be in trouble. She was facing what sounded like a literal army all on her own. She needed backup. You were Avengers. This was your job. 

Dr. Delora Jensen. An angry looking woman with a tight lipped smile and even tighter drawn back black hair in her profile picture. One of the rats that had escaped the so-called sinking ship. And the more of them you dug up, the more you started to feel like the whole exposing of both teams hadn’t been worth it in the end. There just seemed to be so many of them. Endlessly. When would they all be caught? When would they all die out? 

She’d been transported to several hotspots. It may have very well been that the Avengers had been on her tail the whole time. She was one of the brilliant minds capable of salvaging the Chitauri weaponry left over from the war and making it into formidable weapons. ...well, not was anymore, seeing as Nat knew she was doing a weapons demonstration later today. One of your favorite things. There was no telling how dangerous she was. Or her army. 

Natasha had apprehended two Hydra higher-ups who were scheduled to see what she’d made a breakthrough on. So that was two less to worry about. Two out of a whole army and one mad scientist… and you could have been ignorant to the whole thing on a sunny balcony in Paris. 

“You still going over the notes?” Tony asked this already knowing, for sure, that you’d finished some time ago. Really, what he was asking, was what you were thinking about now. And if you wanted to talk. 

“No.” Your clipped response got a wince from you. This was in absolutely no way Tony’s fault. It just was. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay.” 

“It’s not okay.” You didn’t want to become another Jessica Jones. Weary of the world and its ills. Pushing everyone away. Tony didn’t deserve that. You didn’t want to be that person. “I just… I wanted more time. To pretend we were normal.” It wasn’t like you needed to tell him. 

He felt the same way. A soft pang knocked at your heart. Light sadness. Yes. The both of you desperately wanted a life. ...you also desperately didn’t want to have that conversation again so soon. Even if you had more evidence to your cause now. You didn’t want to be right. You wanted him to be right. To prove you wrong. 

Yet there the both of you were. In your Iron armors. Flying to take out a Hydra nest while you were supposed to be on vacation. You’d murdered a mind-controlling villain not even a week ago. Tony had been shot in the crossfire maybe a week ago. Yet there the both of you were. Charging into battle again, so soon. 

How did it end up like this? 

“Yeah. Me, too.” His resignation probably hurt the most. 

                                                            ---

Natasha had commandeered an abandoned watchtower a mile out from the base. From what it looked like, they’d removed whatever operation had been hiding out there and moved in fairly quickly. Their perimeters were tight. Soldiers were patrolling the compound- several large warehouses with about five tanks spaced out between buildings. It was a little after 11AM when you and Tony marked her location and dropped in on a slow descent. JARVIS and LUNA did their jobs watching the blind spots so the both of you could get in undetected. 

“LUNA get me a headcount.” “Yes, ma’am.” 

Deactivating the helmet, you came over to Nat’s side as she was half leaned on the edge of the open wall frame. “You guys made good time.” 

Tony took up her other side. “That’s why you called us, if I remember correctly.” 

LUNA got back to you, “There are three-hundred-and-twenty bodies on the property, ma’am.” 

Natasha gave a little shrug with half a grin. “I was pretty close.” 

You couldn’t help your annoyance. “Where are they all coming from?” 

Crossing her arms she gave you one of those coy looks. “Well, you know what they say… chop off one head and… blahblahblah…” 

“Blahblahblah is right.” Tony was a little more than miffed. “You figure a plan of attack yet or do you need us to find a soft spot? We need to get moving.” 

She moved out of her stance, placing a hand on her hip. “You don’t wanna wait for everyone else?” 

You just gave her a look. “If you wanted to wait for them, you wouldn’t have called us.” Though you did manage a light smile. This wasn’t her fault, either. There was no need to get rude with her. 

“You’re right. I like this a lot better. No need for a discussion. Just right down to business.” Turning back towards the open wall, she put her hands on it and then perched herself up on the ledge. “Shall we?” 

Although you also were extremely keen to start and finish this as soon as possible, it wasn’t really too smart to just charge into battle without a formation plan. “Tony and I will start with the tanks and draw fire.” There was no way the two of you could head in unseen any closer than this. “It’s unlikely they have commanders sitting inside them. While we draw their fire, you charge on the rush-up and we’ll meet somewhere in the middle.” 

Tony made a little clucking noise. “Any read on this big Chitauri weapon the doc’s got cooking up?” Oh. Right. That. That probably was a problem to consider. 

Natasha grinned. “We came for a show, didn’t we? Let’s see it up close for ourselves. I’m sure you’ll have a few pointers for her.” And with that she backflipped off the edge and then caught herself on the railing and made her way down to the ground. 

As the two of you looked after her, Tony turned to you with a raise of his hand. “You know, I’m beginning to think everyone on this team has a diva streak.” 

At this you couldn’t help the little snort, the fond roll of your eyes while you reached up to re-engage your helmet. You then put your hand on his shoulder. “Oh, honey. You’re not allowed to make that comment.” 

You jumped into action, taking flight on heavy thrusters, with Tony right behind you. Easily the both of you spread fast over Natasha’s location as she was still rushing up to the compound. There was no hiding the sound of two Iron suits heading Hydra’s way, and within moments the warning sirens started blaring and bodies started pouring out of the warehouses. 

Your HUD went into full combat display, ticking up body-counts and signatures, listing off all your energy outputs, keeping up with your two allies- and of course, a small window of Tony’s on the lower display. He was quick to pull out in front of you. “I’ve got the two on the right if you wanna take left. We can co-sign the center.” The tanks, he meant, and he quickly rolled off from his straight line to veer. 

“I’m on it!” Fully engaged now. Whether or not you wanted to be here (and you didn’t) was no longer a consideration. You were here. Guns were firing. People were trying to kill you. The battle was on. That was all that mattered. 

Tony had fired three times on the first tank he’d locked on to, with nothing much to show for it. “Shell’s are pretty tough on these things.” 

While you were busy dodging and weaving heavy gunfire, the lightbulb went off. “Let’s make like turtles then.” In a quick drop, you rolled out of the air and came to a landing hard on your feet. With both hands up, you fired a blast underneath one of the tanks, knocking it completely upside down. The explosion drew extra benefit when the radius knocked a few soldiers out of the way. With the underbelly exposed, you fired off a heavier concentrated shot. 

On your side, Tony mirrored your movements. “PETA would like to have a word.” 

Natasha’s voice perked up just as you flipped your second tank. “I’m closing in- and I really hope you don’t go around flipping turtles in your spare time.” The sound of her taking out a few combatants paired very nicely with your groan. 

“Let’s not spread rumors. Or PETA really will call me.” You’d just cleared your second tank. Tony was just starting in on his- and that’s when you noticed the turret on your shared middle turning towards him. “Tony you’ve got incoming!” Not quite enough of a warning, as it fired a weirdly colored energy blast at him. 

His grunt cut clear across the channel as his head knocked around while his suit spun out of control for a few seconds before he regained control. He was just starting to speak as you took off in a boosted sprint for the middle tank. “Watch those shots- they sap energy- JARVIS I know- think this is what the doctor had for show and tell?” 

“She’ll have to bring something else.” Hands poised you detonated an explosive right underneath the tank as it had just turned to fire on you, but you won out the quicker victor. However once it was knocked on its side, instead of delivering the finishing blow, you decided to let yourself get a little personal. With a vault up and over and then another landing just on the side you banged on the top. Probably glad he wasn’t about to die in a fiery explosion, the soldier inside threw open the lid with his hands up. One of which you promptly grabbed, yanking him clear out and tossing him several yards away into the desert. His screams faded into the distance. 

Honestly, how dare he. 

“Now, honey, that’s not very nice.” Tony was teasing. But you were a little beyond that. 

Holding your arm out to trigger your wrist projectiles you sent a few whistling into the cabin and slammed the lid shut again. Quickly you jumped into flight up and away as the entire thing blew from the inside. “I’ll try to go a little easier on them.” A saccharine lie with a smile to match aimed at his display window. 

JARVIS spoke across the network. “The quinjet is approaching. Fifty miles out.” 

Natasha sounded only slightly out of breath. “So the cavalry arrives finally.” 

“More like backup. We’re pretty much finished here.” Tony’s tone was very dry. 

And maybe at this point all of you should have learned not to tempt the universe. Because just as the three of you had laid out half the army and the quinjet finally breached the vicinity, Dr. Jensen herself burst out of the leftmost compound, holding what looked like… well… some sort of backpack with a wide muzzled hose attached to both her arms. She aimed it up at the all too obvious target. And even more obvious than that was her war cry. “HAIL HYDRA!” 

The shot went off in a quick focused burst, hitting the bottom of the jet, sending it into a tailspin. This felt vaguely familiar. So much so that you broke formation from your teammates to- well- go get the rest of your teammates. Trying to zip underneath and dig your hands into the machinery to stop its fall, you struggled. “Who’s driving?!” 

Clint was the one that answered. “Well if that’s your welcome, we’ll just turn around.” 

The landing was rough but a lot less rough than a crash. It might also not have helped that you sort of shoved the jet off of you. Very suddenly it felt like you were choking. The air was thick. And familiar. 

And… 

Angry. 

Steve’s voice came first- “We’re in code green- I repeat- we’re in code-” 

About all he had time to say as Hulk ripped open the side door with a roar and jumped out overhead. Natasha sounded only marginally worried. “Guys, is that gonna be a problem?” 

Hulk was already dead center of the compound, ripping people apart. Thor stuck his head out of the hole in the jet. “We were called into battle. It seems more a solution than a problem.” 

Tony made a circle flyby, probably checking on you and the team without saying as much, and then zipped straight back after his rounds. “Let’s cut the chatter and get to work. Eyes on the doctor dual-wielding the vacuum cleaner.” 

Clint scoffed. “You’re one to talk.” 

Once the rest of the team had climbed out, you all gave each other a brief nod and rushed back into battle. Putting down the soldiers with the lesser weaponry wasn’t too much of a problem. Jensen became the main issue. The gun was much like the tanks, draining energy as much as it fired it back in quick, dangerous bursts. Which was a problem when she aimed it at both you and Tony- grounding the both of you in heaps while LUNA and JARVIS gave out several warnings. 

The team tried to converge on your location as she stood just over, and then fired on them, too. Frustration took up hot residence in your heart. “We have to circle around. You’ll never get her from the front!” The problem was her line of defense backing her. Willing to die just to keep her protected. 

She raised her weapons to fire on Steve. “Hydra now wields weapons of the gods! You’re no match for us!” 

Tony’s sarcasm projected out. “What is it with everyone thinking aliens are gods? When did this start? Thor? Got any ideas about this one, buddy?” 

He raised his hammer. “Just one!” And then brought it down, summoning a lightning strike at her. When she threw up her own hands to fire back, the energy that clashed caused a shockwave that threw everyone back. 

As Jensen stood, she aimed the weapon at Natasha next. “Like I said you fools- you’re no match for me.” 

The whiz of an arrow caught your audio feed. Almost imperceptible. Clint spoke just in time with her backpack imploding. “You know. I really doubt that.” 

She was thrown to the ground face first, shrieking- some parts terror but mostly just terrible pain. The team edged in on her in a tight circle. You were tired, more than anything. Though you did catch Natasha bumping Clint’s hip with hers. “Is that an I-owe-you? Or was that a repaid debt?” 

He shrugged. “I’ve lost count.” 

Looking up, Jensen started growling, fist beating on the concrete. “How… I had greater power than all of you…!” 

Tony held up his hand, repulsor charging. Only in warning, you were sure. Just in case she was thinking of trying anything else. “I think your math’s a little off on that one, doc. I’d be happy to double check your work. If you ask nicely.” 

Steve was panting as he laid a hand on his hip. The sound of metal screeching hit the air just as you put the good doctor in a nice pair of handcuffs. He made a vague gesture at Hulk, who was busy ripping up one of the warehouses. Literally. “Is someone gonna deal with that?” 

You let your shoulders lower. Really just tired. “He’s a person, you know. Not a that. And if you’re asking me-” 

Natasha cut you off. “I’ll go.” The team all turned towards her. A little… puzzled, to say the least. “We’ve been working together. I came up with code green, in case anyone cares to remember.” Said with such sureness yet flippant at the same time. Not waiting around for a chorus of questions or naysayers as she took off in his direction. 

...something strange was going on there. She used to be utterly terrified of Hulk. You remembered those feelings, in the helicarrier, a long time ago. And now… she was going to meet him head on. No backup. ...strange indeed.

Tony’s helmet slid back, so you removed your own, next. He laid a hand on your shoulder. “What’s the next move?” Asking you because… well… 

A deep sigh escaped you. “Bruce is gonna need to take some time to even out. I’ll get us some lodging. I know you and he have to talk about the next hit. I’ll call DC while I’m at it. Have them start carting this stuff off.” Work. Work came first. It always would. 

He nodded. Solemn. “Sounds like a plan.” 

It would have been easy to just tell the team to clean up. It would have been easy to run away again. 

But that wasn’t how this worked. It never would be.  At least you had the solace of winning a battle. It was just unfortunate it was never the war.

[bunny-hoodlum]

21 Days | Chapter One

Hinata is meeting up her anon friend 'Swirly_boi'. She's about to meet up with the last person she ever thought she would.

Pairing: NaruHina

Rating: Explicit

Genre/Tags: ModernAU, Smut, Angst, Fluff, PwP

Note: The spiritual successor to my old lemon 'Unless The World Were to End' (2012).

Today her hair is as straight as she can manage it, because normally at work it's done up and iron-curled to all hell.

She can't decide whether to keep it down or up.

If it's down, she imagines his hand will pull it away to access to her neck.

If it's up, she imagines him pulling the scrunchie loose to watch how her hair falls about her like silk.

Well, it's not that silky anymore, but it sure would be ideal if he thought it was.

Her work clothes are unlike herself; ostentatious, shimmering, quite on the revealing side.

Today, despite the intentions of their plans, she would like to go as herself.

To feel like herself.

She gets way too much drunken validation as is. She'd like something honest today, much like the refreshing conversations they've had online the past eight months.

She can't figure out if they're genuinely friends. She can't imagine they could stay friends after today. It would be too weird.

Somewhere along the way, he had mentioned his dislike of being a virgin at twenty years young. And somewhere along the way he got her to admit that she too was still a virgin.

No, actually he didn't 'get' her to admit it at all. She had always been quick to soothe someone else's concerns, to bring herself down to their level or lower just so they can see they're not alone. He told her something so personal that she absolutely had to pay it forward.

But she may have oversold herself a little.

She didn't feel nearly as badly as he did about being a virgin. She always thought she'd die one. Neither happily nor unhappily.

But he didn't want to be one anymore, and she was all too available.

Did she over-commit? Was this decision actually more immoral than it was moral? Was she manipulating someone into bed?

Was she confirming anti-feminist beliefs that women are just sex objects? Or was she supporting feminists beliefs by owning her sexual willingness?

Or was she disrespecting the only friend she had left by secretly providing pity intercourse?

"How do I keep doing this to myself?" Her feet began to drag with the weight of her growing guilt.

She thought she was doing a kindness.

She always thought that.

But it never turned out the way she wanted.

She could only fear how this would end.

Still... somehow, some way, they had formed a pact: As two loveless losers, they would shed their virgin status together and rejoin the world as less of the losers they once were.

When they had the same days free, they would meet up at the red overpass in Akamori Ward, just five blocks from Love Hotel Hill.

And they were gonna…

Hyuuga Hinata slaps her burning cheeks. Even in her own mind, she can't complete that sentence. This curse of hers, of her own dysfunctional traits, has stolen every bit of patience she has left for herself.

She's tired of the way she relies on daydreams to experience flawless interaction with another individual.

She's tired of the way her body jumps and shrinks instinctively when under intense scrutiny.

Tired of the way she feels heavy and dizzy at the same time, all the time. How she would just rather sleep her life away pretending she had lived it well.

Tired of the overthinking, the score-keeping, the negative feedback loop reminding her she should have born as a spirit of seran wrap. At least then, she'd represent something useful, while being every bit as flimsy and invisible as she already is.

But this isn't how she wants to start their day together.

If he picks up on her negativity, he might change his mind. And if he's too nice, he'll go home disappointed.

Stop it! Stop it!

She gives herself another assessment.

She's no good at fashion, but she tried.

She made sure she copied the third image from her 'cute casual fashion' search to a T.

Her hair is pulled to the side so it drapes behind her right ear. She left the ends curled, afraid of damaging it further if she finished off with her straightener.

She's wearing a black pinafore jumper. The straps are pushing the breasts she used to hate so much together even more than her push-up bra is, and the buttoned front stops just beneath their swell. Her white t-shirt is simple, a ribbed high neck style.

Hopefully she looked cute enough to hide all her 'dark, weirdness'.

Her kitten heel mules clap a slow, despondent beat as she nears the red bridge.

She's an hour early because she needs the extra time to pull herself together.

And because she's the type of idiot who physically waffles.

One second, she's about to flake and then immediately ghost.

The next second, she's balling her fists and huffing with the hot steam of fresh determination.

And then she's off to flake, because status quo is her god and everything else is a danger to her mental health.

No, I'm worth it! Therefore I'm staying!

Oh but, why would I ever think that?

Because-- Because I'm also a female!

No, no, that's not a good enough reason…

Hinata drapes across the crimson rail and scratches at the paint.

There was a time when she was a part of something. Sort of.

Junior High at Konoha South.

The second years and third years all referred to them as the Rookie Nine. She doesn't know how she ended up grouped with them. At most she felt like she was an honorary member because she happened to float in their periphery just often enough.

Speaking of periphery floaters, she's starting to see hers, which means she really is getting older. The way they run away the moment she spots them is something she can empathize with. A bit too strongly, actually.

Hinata edges away from the rail, she turns to leave because anxiety has taken the wheel again.

"Hey!"

Hinata stiffens as though a bomb had exploded behind her.

"Are you 'little bird'?"

She nods stiffly. There's scratchy quality to her friend's voice, it's kind of sweet, like they still haven't fully exited their boyhood.

But it's deep enough, too. He's definitely her age.

"Were you about to leave?"

Oh god, I'm wretched. She shakes her head and steadies herself with the rail. Okay. No where else to go. Turning around now. Turning around… turning around…

Black basketball shoes, black joggers, white A-shirt, light orange cotton jacket… tanned skin, almost ruddy… blue eyes, blond--

Hinata locks up. Not because he looks better than she could've possibly imagined, but because--

"You… You moved."

Five years ago.

When their junior high days were behind them and it was time to choose: Stay and finish up at Konoha North. Or move onto a private education.

Uzumaki Naruto didn't have either of those choices.

Wait a second… She no longer sees the immense confusion on his face as she dives deep into her memories.

Exactly eight months ago…

Post: WELCOME HOME ME!

Swirly_boi: Hey, so I just got back in town. I've been in Uzushio for the past four years and I'm feeling like an outsider all over again… Anyone cool wanna show me around? Preferably a hot babe. And by 'hot', I mean H-cup hot.

What possessed her to answer him, she didn't know.

Maybe because she happened to be an H-cup?

Or because he felt like an outsider?

It had taken her two weeks of stalking his thread to work up the nerve. His audacity sure had been his downfall, for no one had taken pity on him until her. Even then, she had to convince herself it wasn't truly pity if she had been curious all along.

But it all made sense now.

Flames crawled from the pit of her stomach up to her face.

Her head craned slowly down in little increments, as each and every conversation they had collided to the forefront.

She had told him… so many things… so many… embarrassing… lurid things…

She turned round to run, but his big warm hand clamped down around her wrist.

For her, it was like red hot iron brand searing her skin open.

"Whoa, Hinata?! What's your problem?!"

It's as if some primitive error code in her brain is going off: 'You're rejecting Naruto-kun. You're rejecting Naruto-kun. You're rejecting Naru--'

Hinata squeezes her eyes shut before allowing her wrist to go limp. She swallows and side-eyes him.

He's more than a head taller than her now. He's wearing his hair all short and clean cut too, that it's not even fair. Her inhibitions are nothing against the might of his good looks.

And yet his good looks are strained by the hurt pinching his face.

She doesn't know how to feel. Happy that she incited such a reaction? That she matters somehow? Awful that she made him feel even more like an outsider?

Awful. Her mind and her heart chooses to feel awful. As always.

"W,Welcome home… Naruto-kun…"

Continue on AO3

[miss-madeline-beiste]

Moving Forward | 9/20/20

Tagging: @miss-madeline-beiste​ & @faithhudson​ Location: Madeline’s suite Date: Sunday, September 20th, 2020 Summary: A calming scene followed by a conversation about wants, needs, and the future.

Fae's stomach churned a little as she approached Madeline's door, but that was a common thing since she'd quit drinking.  That made it impossible to know whether it was nerves, a bad lunch or the incredible urge to drink something, anything, that would make her feel good.  Truthfully she was excited for the night - to kneel for a while, something to occupy her mouth and her mind, and just let herself try to find some kind of peace.  The talk that would follow...well, that was more disconcerting.  Fae wasn't sure just how intense it would be, what they were both willing to say and not say, and what it would all mean in the end.  But it was a talk that she wanted to have, and one she hoped Madeline was as invested in as she was. The door had been left unlocked for her, so rather than kneel she knocked and quietly let herself in.  "Good evening, Miss."

Madeline turned toward the door when she heard it open, and she smiled at the sight of Fae letting herself in. She liked that a lot, for reasons she didn't want to allow herself to think too much about. She was both excited and nervous about the conversation they were planning on having, but she didn't want to get too far ahead of herself. The gentle scene while they watched some TV would be a good introduction to the evening. "Hi, Fae," she said brightly. "Go ahead and put your bag down in the bedroom--you can take the guest room if you'd like, or you can join me if you prefer. Take your shoes off and get comfortable, and then join me back out here when you're ready, okay?"

Fae's memory was getting better, at least incrementally, but she still tried to pay careful attention to instructions when they were given.  Her mouth moved slightly as she repeated them to herself, and once they were firmly in her head she smiled.  "I'll join you if you don't mind, Miss.  I'll be right back."  Fae turned the full force of her grin on Madeline before heading into the master bedroom.  Her bag was placed gently down in the corner and she set her shoes down as well, considering for a moment before unzipping her bag and swapping her jeans for a pair of sweats.  If she was going to be kneeling, jeans didn't seem like the best idea.  That done, she returned to the living room.  "All set, Miss."

"Good girl," Madeline said, noting with a smile to herself that Fae had swapped out her jeans for something a bit more comfortable. She was wearing a sundress with a cardigan herself, taking advantage of some of the last few warm days of the year before fall truly started. She grabbed a pillow from the other end of the couch and set it on the floor by her feet. "Come kneel in front of me, Fae," she told her, sitting up straight as she waited for the Switch to join her.

Those two words had begun to feel like a compliment of the highest order, and Fae knew that it spoke volumes about her status as a Switch and what it was that she really wanted.  Taking a moment to appreciate the sight of Madeline in a nice dress, Fae couldn't help but smile at the way she set down a pillow to make kneeling easier on Fae's knees.  She didn't know a lot of Dominants, but the difference in attitude between them could be startling.  "Yes, Miss Madeline," she agreed, moving into position and settling on the pillow.  "I hope you've had a nice day so far?"

Madeline automatically reached out and began to stroke her fingers through Fae's hair once she was down on her knees in front of her. God, would having this beautiful woman submit to her ever get old? She smiled and gave her a nod. "I have," she said. "The best part has been texting you, though. How are you feeling?"

Fingers in her hair was a sensation that Fae loved more than just about anything, and she tilted her head into the touch to enjoy it a little bit more.  "You're very sweet to me," she blushed.  "Today's not a bad day.  I'm shaky, but it's not so bad that I can't do up buttons and stuff, so I call it a win.  I'm craving, for sure, but I'm not thinking about it every second."

Madeline listened carefully to Fae's response, glad that she had taken the question seriously rather than brushing it off as a simple greeting. "Well, let's get a bit of a distraction started so you can hopefully relax some, okay? Now, I want to try out that gag that you put in that basket for the auction tonight." She leaned forward and grabbed it from the coffee table and held it out for Fae to see. "Remind me what your safe gestures are?"

"That sounds nice, Miss."  Fae was looking forward to trying out the gag, and the distraction that it would provide her.  "I'm ready for it.  I think this is going to be a good experience."  She studied the gag for a moment, nodding her agreement.  'One finger on the left hand for a break, a peace sign if I need to immediately stop what we're doing."  She held up her index and then added her middle as well, demonstrating both of the gestures to be sure she was being clear.

Madeline nodded as Fae showed off her safe gestures, and she repeated them herself. "Good girl," she said, "thank you. If you don't have any questions, I'd like you to go ahead and open up for me so I can get this situated on you."

Fae smiled easily.  "You're welcome, Miss.  And no questions, I'm good."  Settling her shaky hands at her sides, she tilted her head back a little and opened her mouth to accept the gag.  She was ready, and prepared for what would come next.

Once she was sure Fae was ready, Madeline brushed her hand down through Fae's hair one more time before placing the gag in her mouth. The front of the piece stretched out widely over her cheeks, and Madeline made sure it didn't cut in too harshly as she strapped the gag in behind Fae's head. She gently pulled a few strands of hair out from underneath the strap where it looked like it was pulling, and then she sat back to look at the sub in front of her. "How's that feel?" she asked. "Thumbs up if it's okay, one finger if it's not."

The ball on the inside of the panel gave Fae something to set behind her teeth, allowing the full panel to rest against her face.  It was bigger than she'd expected, covering from just under her nose down to her chin and a good amount of her cheeks as well, but it wasn't uncomfortable - just new.  Madeline's care and attention in making sure her hair wasn't trapped was good, and she nearly smiled before remembering it wouldn't look like anything.  She took a deep breath through her nose, making sure she was set, and gave Madeline a firm thumbs up.

Madeline felt her heart rate slow as she immediately relaxed at the sight of the thumbs up. Gags were a new concept to her, and knowing Fae felt okay so far made a big difference. "Good girl," she praised, petting her hand across the top of the Switch's head again. "Go ahead and turn to the side for me so that you can rest your head on my lap and see the TV screen. Once you're settled, I'll put something on for us."

Fae leaned into the touch, smiling behind the panel even though she knew Madeline wouldn't know it.  Turning her body on the pillow, she settled onto her knees again once she was in position and laid her head on the Dominant's lap.  Once she was set she offered another thumbs up, giving Madeline the go ahead to put something on for them.

Madeline appreciated the second thumbs up. They hadn't discussed a safe gesture to mean green, go ahead, but they were clearly on the same page here and that made her feel a lot more comfortable in her Dominance. She rested a hand on the Fae's upper back while she flipped through Netflix until she found The Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt. "I think you'll like this, Fae," she said as she hit play.

Fae hummed softly against the leather panel, wanting to acknowledge Madeline's words and the touch of a hand to her back without having to signal.  She felt...calm.  As the show began, she let her focus leave the way that she shook, the way that she craved something to drink, all of it.  The only sensations that were important were the feel of leather against her face, the soft ball between her teeth, and the hand on her back.  It felt a little liked what meditation was probably supposed to feel like.

Madeline let Netflix autoplay through into the second episode after the first one ended. They were short enough that she wasn't concerned about it being too much for Fae, and she hoped that the other woman was enjoying the show as much as she was. She'd seen it before, of course, but it was still just as funny the second time. As they watched, she focused half of her attention on Fae's body, both looking out for any signs that she was uncomfortable and taking the opportunity to rub her back, neck, and head gently. It was a simple gesture, but one that reminded them both that they were there together. When the credits came up on the second episode, she hit the pause button before it went into a third one. "All right, Fae," she said gently. "Head up. You've been such a good girl for me."

The show was as funny as Madeline had made it sound, and Fae made occasional chortling noises that were muffled by the gag in place of laughter.  For the most part though it was like a wave, washing over her as she tried not to focus too hard on any one thing.  The gentle motions of hands against her drew out more tension from her slight frame, and gave her an anchor to ensure that she didn't drift away entirely.  The end of the second episode had escaped her, but when Madeline spoke up she moved to comply, lifting her head but not turning her body - she'd only been ordered to do the first part.

Madeline smiled down at Fae and reached behind her to undo the buckle of the gag. "Easy," she said as she carefully pulled the gag away from Fae's face and mouth. Once it was out, she set it aside quickly, making a mental note to clean it and her end table later. She went back to petting Fae's hair, smoothing it out in particular where the strap had been. "You've been such a good girl for me," she repeated, unintentionally. "I'd like you to be where you're most comfortable right now, either on your knees or up here next to me. Your jaw's probably going to be a bit sore for a while now."

Ducking her head a little to allow easier access to the buckle, Fae let out a soft groan as she opened her mouth to let the ball pass between her teeth.  She hadn't felt it while she was kneeling there, but with the gag removed she could definitely feel the strain that had been involved.  Madeline's repeated praise made her flush with pleasure, and the attention to her hair was never going to get old.  There was still a slightly dazed feeling in her mind, like she wasn't quite awake or asleep, and a contented sigh escaped her lips.  "Thank you, Miss," she murmured.  "I'll stay kneeling.  May I put my head back on your lap?"

Madeline had been sure Fae would choose to join her on the couch, so she was very glad she’d given her the option to stay kneeling. “In just a minute,” she replied. She grabbed a bottle of water from the coffee table—a reusable one with a built-in straw—and held it in front of Fae’s mouth. “Have a few sips of water for me first, and then you can put your head down and tell me how you’re feeling.”

Fae sipped from the water, surprised to find herself more thirsty than she'd expected.  If she'd been thinking more clearly it probably could have been blamed on the gag, but that was a level of clarity she was missing just then.  "Thank you, Miss," she nodded, waiting for Madeline to set the water down before laying her head in the Domme's lap once again.  "Floaty," she began with a murmur, looking for the right words to explain her mental state.  "Just a little bit disconnected.  Not in a bad way, but like..." Fae trailed off, a bit frustrated that the words wouldn't come.  "Like things aren't bothering me.  If that makes any sense."

“That makes perfect sense,” Madeline said, her hand seeming to land back on Fae’s head of its own accord. Before she even realized she was doing it, she was running her fingers down through the other woman’s hair once more. “Let me know if you start to feel more grounded, or if the floating starts to feel not so good. Otherwise, we can just sit here and relax a bit, hm?”

Letting her eyes flutter shut, Fae let out a soft noise of approval as Madeline's fingers worked in her hair once again.  It was a gesture that felt good, and right, and helped her stay in the submissive mindset that the kneeling and gag had helped create.  Fortunately she understood Fae's point, because she wasn't sure she could have made it make more sense, and Fae nodded against her lap.  "That sounds nice, Miss, thank you."

"You're welcome, Fae," Madeline said encouragingly, still running her fingers through her tresses. It felt good to just sit here with Fae at her feet and her head on her lap. It felt right. She didn't know what that meant for the conversation they were going to have once Fae felt more herself again, but she hoped it was a good sign, at the very least.

Fae didn't know how long they sat like that.  It was a passage of time that went almost completely unnoticed, as she let herself fly free in her head for just a little while.  Only when she began to feel the ache in her knees and her jaw did she realize that she'd come down from her high.  "May I join you on the couch now, Miss?" she asked softly.

Madeline let her hand run through Fae's hair one last time after she heard the question, but then she pulled her hand back to give the other woman some space. "Yes, you may, Fae," she said, shifting to get more comfortable once Fae's head was off her lap. She grabbed the water bottle again and held it out for her to take. "A few more sips of water, please."

Fae nodded.  "Thank you, Miss."  She sipped from the water, sighing contentedly as she put it back.  Her knees popped a little as she stood, but fortunately she could go straight from there to the couch, resting alongside Madeline with a smile.  "That was a good show.  Just as funny as you said it'd be."

Madeline lifted her arm up to drape it over Fae's shoulder as she settled in next to her. "I'm glad you enjoyed it," she said. "It's been ages since I watched it the first time. We can watch more anytime you want."

Snuggling into Madeline's side, Fae smiled.  "We'll make a regular thing of it.  Maybe when I get back from meetings.  Did I show you my fancy coin?"  It was just a token for 24 hours of sobriety, but she wanted to show it off anyway.

"When you get back from your meetings sounds perfect," Madeline agreed. "I think that's a perfect time for something light and funny." She turned to look at Fae's face and shook her head. "You did not. Do you have it here with you?"

"Definitely.  Those things get pretty heavy, so light and funny would be a nice change."  Her face lit up a little.  "I do!  Let me go grab it for you."  Fae scooted into the bedroom and dug through her things, emerging with the coin and a triumphant smile.  She handed it to Madeline as she took a seat again, snuggling close.  "Twenty four hours sober."

The proud look on Fae's face when she handed over the coin just about did Madeline in. She felt tears spring to her eyes, and she was glad that Fae sat down again with her so quickly. "That's such a huge deal, Fae," she said, her voice wavering just a little from the surge of emotion inside her. She examined the coin, front and back, and then pressed a kiss to the top of Fae's head. "I'm so proud of you," she said as she handed the coin back over.

Madeline's shaky voice made her wonder if she'd done something to upset the Dominant, but the kiss a moment later seemed to put paid to that idea.  "Thank you, Miss," her cheeks reddened a little.  "I know it's only twenty four hours but it's a start, right?  If I can go that long without messing up then maybe I can get the next coin too."

"What's the next one?" Madeline asked, having recovered her poise with Fae back in her arms again. "And I know you can do it, however long it is. It's like Kimmy said--you can do anything for ten minutes. You can do anything for twenty-four hours, too, it seems!"

"I think the next one is thirty days," Fae frowned.  "Which is a lot harder than the first one, so that seems unfair somehow.  But I think I'll try that, and focus on the ten minutes.  Trying to do a month in 24 hour chunks would be too much."

"Ten minutes it is, then," Madeline said, already making a mental note to create a special chip for 1 week. Fae deserved more positive reinforcement than having to wait almost an entire month. In the meantime, she grabbed the water bottle and handed it over again. "A little more water," she said gently. "How are you feeling? Would you like a blanket?"

Fae accepted the water bottle, draining the last of it in a few big gulps.  The gag had definitely left her a bit more dehydrated than she expected, but that was good to know for the next time.  "Actually I'd love a blanket, Miss.  I don't know why I'm a bit cold, but maybe from staying in one position for so long..."

Madeline guided Fae to sit upright before getting up to grab a soft, fuzzy, sherpa throw blanket from a basket across the room. She brought it back and draped it across Fae's body, and she grabbed the empty bottle of water. "I'll be right back, Fae, okay?" she said before going to refill the bottle. She brought one back for herself as well, and before long, she was settled back in next to her. "Drink some more water if or when you feel like it," she told her. "Are you feeling any better now? It's not uncommon for a sub to need to cozy up after a scene."

"Mmm," Fae hummed as the blanket was laid over her.  She hadn't realized just how much she needed it, and she snuggled into it as completely as possible.  "I'll be here, Miss," she promised, not even making a joke.  "Much better, Miss, thank you.  I think the extra time on my knees with my head on you went a long way to making it better.  It wasn't even bad, really, I just felt kind of spaced out."

"You're adorable, Fae," Madeline said before she could stop herself. She smiled at her before lifting the blanket to shift her legs beneath it, too, making sure not to take enough away from Fae that she'd get exposed to the cool air around them on her other side. "Are you feeling more like yourself now, then?"

Fae chuckled.  "There aren't many people who've ever called me that, but I'm happy that you're one of them."  She contentedly shared her blanket, nodding at the question.  "Much more, Miss.  For good or bad, I'm back in my head now.  If we wanted to do that again sometime, though, it was nice to be out of it for a while."

"Well, anyone who isn't saying it out loud is certainly thinking it," Madeline teased. "But any time you want to get out of your head like that, I want you to speak up and let me know--though I know I don't have to worry about you speaking up for yourself. That's one of the things I really appreciate about you, Fae."

Fae snorted.  "I think you confuse your high opinion of me with other people's, Miss, but I'm glad you think so."  She nodded, a smile lighting her features again at the compliment.  "I don't know any other way to be, I don't think.  If I don't speak for myself, nobody else is going to."

Madeline smiled to herself. Perhaps Fae wasn't wrong about Madeline thinking everyone else had the same opinion of the other woman as she did herself, but that was neither here nor there. She was just glad to make her smile. "One day, your Dominant will speak up for you, too," she pointed out, surprising herself at how smooth this transition might end up being after all.

"That's true," Fae conceded.  "That is part of the job, or at least that's what they tell me in Switch 101."  She'd still never really experienced the urge to play on that side of her mark.  It could be done, she'd done it with DJ and Fauna, but it didn't feel as right.  As natural.  Being on her knees for Madeline or Evan had felt a million times more like the person she was meant to be.

Madeline hummed in agreement. "The right Dominant for you will make sure you're taken care of, all the time," she said. "That doesn't mean that they'll walk all over you. It just means that they'll support you and protect you while you give the same back to them through your submission."

Fae stayed silent, trying to make sure that Madeline had the time and space to talk without interruption.  It wasn't easy for someone like her, but she made the effort.  "And do you think I can do that?  Be the kind of submissive that someone deserves?"

Fae's question made Madeline frown and pull the Switch closer in against her side. "I know you can do that, Fae," she said firmly. "Your submission... it's a wonderful gift, every time you choose to let me experience it. I'm grateful every time that you do."

Fae cuddled up a little closer in response.  Madeline had a ton of faith in her, more than she felt like she really deserved, and it was overwhelming sometimes - in the best of ways.  "I'm glad to hear you say that, Miss.  Because I'm always happy to give it to you.  You make it feel like it's special to you."

"That's because it is special to me," Madeline responded. "I'm not a Domme who enjoys ordering around reluctant submissives. I expect titles and basic respect, of course, but I don't see the enjoyment in making someone submit to me who doesn't want to. I really appreciate that you want to give yourself over to me in scenes. I know it's not something that comes easy to you, Fae."

"It's not," Fae shook her head.  "But it's made easier with people who I know respect me.  And people who know all of me.  It's easy to know someone's good parts and like them.  You've seen my shitty parts.  And you like me - but more than that, you treat me with respect.  That's the thing that blows me away about you.  And you're a good Domme, Miss.  In my humble opinion, at least."

Madeline found herself blushing at all of Fae's compliments. "Thank you, Fae," she said. "You have no idea how much it means to me to hear you say that. I know how hard you've been working to try to improve yourself, and you've been doing such a good job. You even got your 24-hour coin!" She grinned brightly at that. "I just want to do my best to treat you just as well as you deserve."

"You're welcome, Miss," Fae smiled.  "I'm only speaking the truth, that's all."  She glanced at her coin, trying to take in all that it represented.  "It's a start," she nodded.  "And I hope you know that you always have.  Always."  Madeline never made her feel less than, never made her feel like the hopeless drunk she often considered herself.  She'd always taken Fae's wants and needs into consideration, and never talked down to her.

"It's a start," Madeline agreed. "And hey, look. You've gone ten minutes a few times now since you arrived here. It's already dark out." She nodded toward the nearest window to the outside. She licked her lips and stared out into the branches of the trees outside her window for a short while before continuing. "So... Fae. What have you figured out it is that you're looking for in your Dominant in the future?"

Fae looked out the window, blinking.  Time had actually gone by pretty quickly, it felt like, and she hadn't had to struggle too hard.  "I guess I have at that, Miss."  She was content to stay silent as long as Madeline wanted, and only perked up again when she asked a question.  "It's a tough question, Miss, but I think it's supposed to be.  I don't...the actual D/s side of things isn't as crucial to me, if that makes sense.  I want someone who's going to treat me with respect, like a person.  Who knows about all my shit, and isn't bothered.  And who I can count on to keep me safe no matter what we're doing.  Those are sort of my three needs."

Madeline focused in on Fae's words as she spoke. This was an important conversation for both of them, and she wanted to make sure she heard everything Fae was saying--and everything she might not be saying, too. "I would say that all three of those are very good qualities to have in a Dominant for most submissives," she pointed out. "Though, obviously, not every Dominant is going to be able to meet all of those needs. How do you feel about living a D/s lifestyle, though? Being a submissive all the time, in public and in private?"

Fae nodded.  She knew there weren't going to be a lot of "right" Dominants for her, because she was a lot to put up with and doing so required a certain level of patience that not everyone possessed.  But they were, she thought, the important ones.  "I don't have practice living the life," she admitted.  "But here's the thing.  I don't want to be somebody's toy.  I don't want to walk around on a leash, stuff like that.  Because I can't do that.  What I can do is call someone by a title, do what they tell me most of the time, and do my best to be good company."

Madeline frowned to herself, not sure she was understanding Fae properly--and not liking what she was hearing if she was. "It sounds to me like you're not really interested in much submission at all, Fae," she said, trying to keep her voice light and curious. "Would you say that's true? That you're only looking to submit to the extent that it makes your partner happy?"

Fae shook her head.  "No, I'm sorry, that's...that's not what I was trying to say.  I meant, like...you see people walking submissives on campus on a leash, and it just looks like they're property.  I don't want to be property - I want to be a submissive person.  The submission part I like, but I need practice at it.  Like...what we did here tonight, you and me, with me kneeling and gagged?  I liked that.  The scenes we've done?  I liked those.  I will do stuff like that anytime as long as the person I'm with is a person who treats me like a person.  It's like when we go to town and you order me to leave the bar.  I've never fought you on that, and that's part of what submitting means to me.  Letting you take control."  She frowned.  "Am I making any sense at all, or should I start over?"

Madeline's heartrate started to slow a bit as Fae responded. The way she described it this time helped, and she nodded a bit. "I think that does make sense," she told her. "So what I'm getting--and tell me if I'm wrong--is that there are forms of submission that you do like and enjoy, but it has to be with a Dominant who makes you feel respected and protected? Do you think you would enjoy any sort of pet play as a scene, or does that seem to be too property-like to you?"

Fae was glad to hear that she'd found a way to explain herself, because it wasn't always easy when it came to this kind of thing.  "Exactly," she nodded agreement.  "It's the respect that lets me put myself in another person's control."  Without that there was no trust, and without trust she couldn't give herself over.  "No, I think pet play could be fun.  I haven't taken any classes for it or anything but I think wearing some cute ears and a tail would be a good time."

"I've done a bit of pet play, and it can be a lot of fun," Madeline said. "Maybe sometime soon we can try it out together, hm?" She reached up to run her fingers down Fae's hair once more, and she tucked a strand behind her ear. "So that's one thing that's an absolute no for your future claim--being treated like property. Are there any other things you definitely don't want in your future claim, Fae?"

"I'd like that," Fae smiled, soft noises of contentment on her lips as Madeline played with her hair.  That was such a good feeling.  "Other things I definitely don't want...to be...what's the word?  Restricted?  In what I do.  Like, I'd still like to be able to work outside the house and go out for dinner with friends if that was something I wanted to do and I'd earned it.   I'd follow whatever rules I had, of course, and only do those things with permission, but I wouldn't want claimed life to be like a prison.  And..." she hesitated a little.  "I know how dumb this sounds coming from someone who warred against my Mom and Stepdad's relationship for so long, but I wouldn't want a claim without love in it."

"I wouldn't either," Madeline replied. Her own parents' claim was a good example of a claim full of love--for one another and for their children. She knew her mother had been part of a claim that may have had love in it at one point but that was based on fear, and she never wanted that for herself or for Fae. "Love is an important part of a claim for me," she said. "And I can't imagine restricting a submissive that I love, other than as a punishment or for their own good--which is something that I would discuss with them and we would hopefully come to an agreement on."

Fae 's smile was growing increasingly bright as they talked.  Madeline had always done a good job of understanding the things that she said, as well as the things that she didn't, and helping her realize when a word or concept had eluded her.  "I'd say we're really on the same page there," she nodded, wracking her brain for anything else that might be worth mentioning in her wants and needs.  "I think those are the important ones for me, Miss.  That, and to be claimed by someone who's willing to come to meetings and go on this journey with me."

Madeline felt like a weight had been lifted from her chest. We're really on the same page there. "Everything you said is very reasonable," she told her. "And very realistic, too. You deserve a claim partner who is going to do all of those things for you and more." She paused for a moment, reaching for her water bottle to sip from it and buy herself a moment of time. "What about... physically, Fae? What do you need physically with your Dominant?"

There was a lot of room in a conversation like this for things to go sideways, but to Fae's pleasure they hadn't had that happen just yet.  The longer they talked, in fact, that better it seemed to be going.  "And you deserve someone who can be the submissive you deserve, Miss.  Who can give you the things that you want."  The question wasn't one she'd expected, although she realized she should have.  "If you mean sex, Miss, here's the thing.  I've had lots of sex.  For lots of reasons.  So that people would buy me drinks, or give me a place to stay.  I've had it because I like it.  And sometimes I've had it because I had a drink or two in me and wanted to feel something."  She sipped her own water, clearing her throat.  "So I don't have requirements.  If I'm with someone who likes sex as much as I do, cool.  If I'm with someone who isn't, I'm more than capable of taking care of those needs myself."

"Thank you, Fae." Madeline could never bring herself to speak about sex as bluntly as many of her classmates seemed to do. She didn't consider herself a prude, and she was quite happy for everyone who had a nice, healthy sex life. That just... wasn't her. She'd known coming into the institute that it would likely cause her some issues when it came time to find herself some submissives, but she'd always remained optimistic that there would be other people out there like her, ones who didn't need or even want sex with their partners. "What about no sex at all?" she asked, her uncertainty coming out in the tone of her voice. "Would you be comfortable doing that entirely on your own or with someone who wasn't your Dominant?"

Fae had assumed for some time that sex might not be something Madeline was into, for whatever reason.  She didn't need to know what that reason was, nor did she need that to change.  She wanted to give the question an honest and thoughtful answer, and so she paused for a moment to consider it.  Would a relationship without sex bother her?  Finally she nodded, keeping her eyes fixed on Madeline.  "I would.  Be comfortable, that is.  As long as my Dominant could allow it happen with others without it causing strife in the claim.  Because if it was going to cause jealousy, then it's something I could handle on my own.  I'm good with toys."

Madeline gave Fae a little nod of encouragement, but that was the most she was able to do. How did other people talk so openly about sex? She felt completely comfortable with Fae, and she would always be honest with her, but this topic of conversation was something she was fairly sure she'd never be capable of having without her stomach trying to tie itself up in knots. "That's... relieving to hear, Fae," she said. "I don't... For some reason, I don't find sex enjoyable like other people do. It's-- I don't know. It's not something that sounds pleasurable to me. You should know that up front."

She wasn't normally the sort of comforting person who would be good in this sort of conversation.  But Madeline had opened up and told her something deeply personal, and Fae planned to treat it with the respect that it was due.  "To be a hundred percent honest, Miss Madeline, I'd sort of figured," Fae's smile was gentle and encouraging.  "This is the longest I've ever known anyone who didn't ask for, or make moves toward sex, so I kind of figured it wasn't something you wanted.  You've been very honest with me, and I will be honest with you too.  I don't need you to explain it, or give me a reason.  I'm not going to assume that you don't find me attractive, or think that you're frigid or some stupid thing like that.  It's a part of you, like your hair or your eyes, and I wouldn't ask you to change any of those things."  Fae licked her lips.  "If we went forward together, then all I'd need from you is a promise that I could still get kisses on a regular basis.  Nothing more than that."

Madeline blushed--honest to god blushed--at Fae's comment. She had known in the back of her head that it probably wasn't going to be that big of a surprise that she wasn't into sex. Most people here seemed to fuck like rabbits, and someone not participating in sex like that would stand out like a sore thumb. "I don't know why I don't like it," she said before clearing her throat. "It just... isn't something I like. I don't understand it. I wish I did. Kisses, though... that I can definitely do." She felt a little more relaxed now, and she pressed a soft kiss to Fae's cheek.

Madeline's blush was perhaps the most adorable thing that Fae had ever seen, and it took a lot not to comment on it - but she didn't want to seem as if she was making fun.  "And that's fine.  You don't need to know, Miss.  I don't know why I don't like anchovies, or left turns, I just don't.  You don't need to explain it.  You just need to tell me that's how it is."  The kiss made her smile.  "Then that'd be just fine by me."

"Thank you, Fae," Madeline said, though she wasn't sure she was able to get enough emotion into her voice to show her just how much the acceptance meant to her. She pulled her close, resting Fae's head on her shoulder and her head on top of Fae's. "How do you feel about having another sub around?" she asked after a few moments of simply enjoying the other's existence.

"Of course, Miss.  You're so welcome."  She leaned against the Domme, taking those quiet moments to contemplate everything that could potentially lay ahead of them.  They hadn't actually said the words yet, but she was fairly certain they were agreeing to pursue a future together.  There was a part of her - a big part - that was sure she didn't deserve that, but Madeline had told her over and over that she thought otherwise.  And while Fae was aware that her path wouldn't be smooth, perhaps it would be easier together.  "A double claim, you mean?" she gave that a moment's thought.  "I think it would be selfish of me to say I have to be the only one you care for.  You've got a big heart, and I think there's lots of room in it for two.  I'm not going to pretend I'd be great at sharing you, at least right away, but I'd learn."

The way Fae slipped from a hypothetical future claim into speaking specifically about belonging to Madeline made her heart flutter. She'd done her best to keep the conversation focused on a generic Dominant and a generic claim, though she knew she'd spoken a bit about herself recently. Yet hearing Fae speak so clearly about being Madeline's sub was an absolutely wonderful feeling. "I've always pictured myself with two submissives," she explained. "I know that's not for everyone, though. And I wouldn't want you to agree to a double claim with me or with anyone else just because you don't want to be selfish. That's one thing you absolutely should be selfish about, if you want it to be just you and your Dominant, Fae. I don't want you compromising on that. It's not fair to you, me, or the other sub."

Fae nodded, wanting Madeline to know that she was listening.  "I never pictured a future until pretty recently, Miss.  I always figured at best I'd join the 27 club and at worst I'd make it to thirty and go where all the unwanted go."  She nestled further into Madeline's shoulder.  "So I've never really considered whether I'd be in a double claim.  How that would make me feel.  And truthfully, I still don't know.  Here's what I do know: I would be happy to try.  If it turned out that I couldn't live like that, I would be honest.  But the only way I'm going to know anything is to try it.  I won't turn my nose up at anything without at least making an effort."

Madeline was surprised to find herself petting Fae's hair again without noticing that she'd started to do so. "You're destined for so much more than either of those options," she said firmly. She would see to that. There was no way she'd let any of that happen to her, no matter what happened between them. "I think... it sounds like you'd like to try this. Us. And seeing where we go from here."

When Madeline began to stroke her hair once more, Fae let out a contented sound.  She didn't know why it felt so good, but she wasn't interested in examining it either - it felt good, and that was all that mattered.  "I'm glad that you think so, Miss."  The words from Madeline's mouth weren't unexpected, but they had power and weight and Fae had to pull away, just a little, to make sure they were looking eye to eye as they were spoken and responded to.  "I would," Fae agreed.  "I know there aren't any guarantees, but I think this could be something.  As long as it's what you want to, Miss Madeline, and you don't feel pressured in any way."

Madeline was almost overwhelmed with emotion as she looked back into Fae's eyes and gave her a bit of a nod. "I don't feel pressured," she told her. "I hope you don't, either, Fae. I... quite enjoy taking care of you, and the moments I've been happiest the past few months have been the ones when you're entrusting yourself to my care. I don't know if you understand just how precious those moments are to me." She smiled softly. "I think that this could be something, too."

"I don't," Fae promised.  This was a point in her life that she'd never imagined reaching.  She hadn't lied or exaggerated when she'd said that she fully expected to be dead or a slave by thirty, and imagining the sort of feelings that were surging through her now would have been impossible even a year ago.  "Not at all."  She took a breath to try and ground herself, wanting to be sure that she spoke her mind with clarity.  "Those moments have meant a lot to me too, Miss.  It sounds corny to say it out loud, but you're kind of my hero.  You got me here."  She smiled brightly at Madeline's declaration, leaning forward unprompted to press a soft kiss to her lips.  "Sealed with a kiss," she chuckled.  "I'm afraid you're stuck with me now."

Madeline laughed in surprise at the kiss, but she leaned forward to take a second kiss. They were short and sweet kisses, but they were exactly what she needed right now. "Sealed with a kiss on my end, too," she said, her smile bright on her face as she looked back Fae. "You got yourself here, Fae. I'm just here to offer you support and protection. But you're the one doing all of the hard work."

She hadn't expected Madeline to return the kiss, but Fae smiled widely in response.  She was dealing with a happiness that was overwhelming, in a very pleasant way.  "I needed a reason, though," she shook her head.  "You gave it to me.  You put your faith in me, no pun intended, and treated me like I could do this.  I don't think it would have happened without you."

"I treated you like you could do this because I could see that you could do this," Madeline told her. "I may have given you a nudge in the right direction, but you did this on your own. You deserve a lot more credit than you're giving yourself. I'm here to help you along the way, but your successes are your own, Fae. Don't forget that."

Getting emotional wasn't in Fae's wheelhouse, or her comfort zone.  But there was no denying that she'd been on a remarkable journey since arriving in Lima, one that had changed not only the person she was but the person she wanted to be.  And Madeline had been a remarkable part of that story.  Eyes welling up at last, she leaned closer and buried her face against the Domme's neck.  She held a lot in, and maybe it was time to let some of it go.

As Fae's head landed against Madeline's body, she placed a comforting hand on the back of it, holding her in place against her. "I'm so proud of you, Fae," she murmured. Holding her like this felt good and right and like they were starting on a journey to somewhere perfect. "And I promise you, I will do everything in my power to support you and protect you and keep you safe."

Fae took in the words, empowered knowing that Madeline would stand behind her whether she failed or flew, and let herself cry for a while against the Domme's shoulder.  It would have embarrassed her on any other day, but she needed the emotional release in that moment, and she only pulled back again when she was sure she had some kind of control over herself.  "Sorry," she murmured, laughing around the lump in her throat.  "Guess things kind of caught up with me."

Madeline didn't know what was going through Fae's head right now or what was causing her tears, but she did know that she felt honored that the other woman was allowing herself to feel this here with her--and that she was able to take some comfort in Madeline's presence, too. She simply held her and let her get it all out. "You have nothing to apologize for, Fae," she said, hooking a finger under her chin to guide her to look at her. "Do you have words for what's going through that beautiful head?"

Eyes red-rimmed, Fae met Madeline's gaze without hesitation.  "I think it was just...letting go of some baggage, Miss.  Being able to kind of sit back and realize that I'm so incredibly lucky.  How far I've come and this new journey we're going to take, it's just a lot of good things and I don't think I've really sat down and let myself feel all of it until just this second.  So when it hit me it kind of all hit me at the same time."

Madeline gently swiped her thumb underneath each of Fae's eyes in turn, wiping away the remnants of the tears that she'd just released. "You really have come so far in just the few months I've known you," she said, "and you're going to go so much further from here. I'm really glad you want me around to support you through that, because I can't wait to see who you are a few months from now... even a year or two from now."

Fae let her eyes shut as Madeline wiped her tears away, a smile ghosting across her lips.  "Hopefully whoever I end up being is still the person you want to have in your life, Miss Madeline.  Because I know future me isn't going to have changed her mind about wanting to be in it."  It was cheesy, but she was pretty certain it was the truth.

Madeline smiled at Fae. "I won't hold it against you if I end up not being the sort of Dominant you want long-term," she said, her insecurities about her sex issues surfacing once more. "But let's try this and see where it leads us, hm? We'll take it one day at a time, and hopefully, we'll have a lot of days together ahead of us."

"I don't think that's possible, Miss.  You've never given me any reason to think I'd change my mind, and there's nothing about you I want to change.  But you're right.  We'll take it a day at a time, and this journey will be something we take together."  She stole one more kiss, on the cheek this time, and nestled against Madeline.

Madeline blushed softly at the kiss. She didn't know if she'd ever get used to Fae's affection for her, and part of her hoped she didn't. She didn't ever want to lose this feeling. "Come here," she said, wrapping her arm back around Fae's shoulders. "Today's been a very good day," she murmured. "I bet tomorrow will be, too."

Fae snuggled as close as humanly possible, her outburst of emotion having tired her out more than a little.  "It's been a great day," she nodded agreement.  "Tomorrow's the start of something new, and it's also going to be great.  We should do something to celebrate."

"Yeah?" Madeline asked, looking down fondly at the girl in her arms. How had she gotten so lucky to have Fae trust her like this? Whatever it was, she'd do it again in a heartbeat. "What do you have in mind, Fae?"

"Well, I've got two night passes that I won during the basket auction," Fae smiled.  "I thought we could use one of them and go out on the town.  Go for a nice dinner, maybe walk around a little and just enjoy the company, and then stay in a hotel for the night.  Something with a nice comfy bed where we could order room service and watch tv and fall asleep with each other."

Madeline smiled. Part of her wasn’t sure she wanted Fae using one of her night passes on her, but she reminded herself that they were going to try something more serious together and that it made perfect sense in that context. “You’ve got excellent ideas, Fae,” she said. “Perhaps... after parents week is over?”

Fae smiled.  "That would be great, Miss.  We can definitely do it afterwards, and make sure that you've got as much time to spend with your family as you can.  After all, it only comes once a year, right?  I wouldn't take you away from that."

“You know I want you to be a part of that this week, too, right?” Madeline asked. “I know that meeting my parents probably takes on a bit of a different feeling now, but... I would still like you to meet them, if you’re still up for it.”

The thought of it was slightly more terrifying now, but Fae wasn't going to back out because of that.  No matter what might happen in the future, she did still want to meet Madeline's family.  "I'd like that too, Miss.  I'm still up for it."

"I'm really glad you are," Madeline replied, smiling brightly at the Switch. "Both of my parents are really nice, so you shouldn't feel intimidated or anything. We just aren't going to have this opportunity for another year, and, well... I'm just glad that you're willing to give it a go for me."

"I'm happy to try anything that makes you happy, Miss.  I won't lie and say I'm not going to be intimidated, but I do want to be there with you even if I don't say much.  I'm not sure what the etiquette is when it comes to introducing yourself as a recovering alcoholic."

Madeline's fingers had found their way in between strands of Fae's hair again, and she smiled at how the gesture seemed to comfort them both in a way. "I think the etiquette really is whatever makes you the most comfortable. Your recovery is your business. If you want to share that with them, they won't think any less of you, but if you want to keep that to yourself, I support that, too."

Fae hummed softly as Madeline played with her hair.  Clearly it was something they both enjoyed, and it was nice that they had a little physical contact that made them both happy.  "I'll think on it," she nodded.  "I don't know if I want to go all true confessions on them, but if the subject comes up I won't keep it a secret, either."

"I think that sounds like a good plan," Madeline said. "I'm glad you're thinking about it, too. You don't ever have to share parts of you with anyone else if you don't want to, but as long as you feel safe, I don't think hiding is necessarily the right decision, either."

"I'm sure it'll take me some time to figure it all out," Fae admitted.  "How much people get to know about me.  Until now I've been pretty straightforward about being a drunk, but if I'm actually going to not be that anymore...maybe I don't want to tell just anyone."

"If it's relevant information, then I don't see why you shouldn't share your journey if you feel comfortable doing so," Madeline said, "but you need to do what feels best for you. Alcohol doesn't define you."

Fae's eyes welled up again, and she blinked a few times to clear them.  She was still getting used to people who saw her as something more than her habit.  "Thank you, Miss.  I really appreciate that - that you see me that way, and that you give me the chance to define myself."

Madeline smiled, tucking a stray strand of hair behind Fae's ear. "You should always feel like you have the ability to define yourself," she said, "and I don't feel like this is something I deserve thanks for, but you're welcome, Fae. I'm always here to support you."

"Not to disagree with my Domme or anything," Fae was testing the words out, and she found she very much liked the way they sounded, "but you do deserve some thanks.  You're an amazing person, Miss, and I want you to know that I think so."

Madeline hadn't expected to hear the words my Domme from Fae's lips just yet, but god, did she love the sound of them. She could get used to that, for sure. "Well, thank you, Fae, for thinking so. I'm glad my submissive feels that way about me."

Fae processed the use of "my submissive" for a second, more than a little surprised at how good it felt.  "She absolutely does, Miss,  Very much so."  There wasn't any doubt or hesitation in her voice, and she relaxed all the more against Madeline.  "I'm really happy right now," she murmured.

"Me too," Madeline replied, unable to keep the smile off her face if she wanted to. Fae was hers. It wasn't in any sort of official, legal way, but they were going to try this, and she could think of nothing she wanted more in this moment.

Fae turned a little so that she could look up at Madeline.  "Think we can head to bed and cuddle for a little, Miss?  I can make us something to eat later - or order something, whatever you'd prefer.  You might be better off getting something ordered in," she joked quietly.

Madeline chuckled and nodded. "Maybe we can get some cooking lessons together," she suggested. While she would prefer one of her subs to take care of cooking and cleaning, she didn't want to be helpless, either. She was a decent cook, but she could always learn more, and it sounded like something fun they could do together. "Let's go to bed and think about food later." She pushed the blanket off of them and stood up, holding a hand out to help Fae get up, too.

"I'd like that," Fae smiled.  "I don't make any promises about how well I can learn, but I'll give it my best."  Accepting Madeline's hand, she let herself be pulled from the couch and smiled at her Domme.  "That sounds like a heck of a plan to me, Miss."

Once Fae was up, Madeline shifted her grip so that she could hold her sub's hand as they walked back to her bedroom. She thought about changing into pajamas but decided that she'd rather just stay dressed and cuddle sooner. She let go of Fae's hand long enough to climb under the covers, and she patted the bed next to her for Fae to get in, too.

Fae contentedly followed, giving their joined hands a squeeze.  She wasn't sure why she felt a little tired, except maybe that the flood of happiness she'd felt had worn her system down.  Fortunately they could just cuddle - there was nowhere to be and nothing they had to do, and she could just curl up contentedly in Madeline's arms.  Smiling, she slid between the sheets and curled up, taking the little spoon position and sighing happily.

Once Fae was settled in front of her, Madeline settled the sheet and comforter down over her and scooted in behind her, her arm draping protectively over Fae's side. "Hi," she whispered into Fae's ear, and she let out a bit of an excited giggle at how good this felt. "Just close your eyes and rest a bit, if you can."

"Hi, Miss," Fae smiled.  Her giggle made Fae's smile all the brighter, and she cuddled in just as close as she could.  With an arm over her, she felt safe and warm and protected.  "You too, if you can.  I think we both need it."

Madeline hummed and pressed a kiss to Fae's neck, just behind her ear. "I'll do my best," she said softly. "It certainly helps knowing exactly what I'll be waking up to."

If she grinned any more widely it would be painful.  "I know exactly what you mean, Miss.  I promise you that."  She couldn't wait to wake up beside Madeline, even if her adrenaline only let her have a few minutes.

"Good girl," Madeline said softly, and she kissed her neck one more time before closing her eyes. "Rest now, Fae."

Humming with pleasure, Fae let her face turn slightly into the pillow.  "I'll see you soon, Miss," she murmured as she let herself start to drift

[mypassionfortrash]

Do More of What Scares You: Parts 10 & 11 of 11

After your night out with Freddie goes awry, you finally make a decision about the future of your relationship with Roger.

💡Catch up: 1&2 ~ 3&4 ~ 5&6 ~ 7&8&9 💡

Notes: Thank you so much for reading! I’m going to be finishing this fic for NaNoWriMo this November, so keep your eyes peeled! It’s going to be adorable.

[10/11]

Roger’s face contorted. He grasped the bedhead to steady himself as his thrusts became unrelenting. “Did he fuck you like this?” He grunted. “That fucking bartender?”

That question hurled a blade of shock through the moment. Just when you were starting to overlook what Roger had done. What you had done. All you needed to focus on was enjoying the night you were spending with Roger. It had been days since you last slept together, burdened by guilt and inability to forget. You squeezed your eyes shut, focusing on the fierceness with which Roger tried to reclaim you. You tried to block out his words.

But he was making it hard for you.

“Did he?”

Your stomach tied itself in knots with every single word he uttered. 

“Did he fuck you like this? Tell me, baby,” Roger continued. 

Something inside you snapped, sitting bolt upright and forcing him off you. His features were cloaked in hurt as he glared at you. 

“Why are you doing this?” you asked, widening your eyes. The panic began setting in, bearing down on your chest as you attempted to suck some air into your lungs. 

Roger noticed. But he couldn’t meet your line of sight. Instead, he kept his gaze trained on the sheets, shaking his head.

Your voice faltered as you repeated the question. “Roger, why are you doing this?” The rushing in your ears surged above the unease in the room. 

“It was just…I just wanted…” Roger choked, thumbing at the sheets. Then the words poured from him. “How could I compete? After everything, I’ve done? How could I possibly compete with that guy?” When he finished his excuses, he returned to looking down at the sheets, pouting as he did.

Tears welled in the corners of your eyes as you rolled them. It was perverse. The way he spun the situation. The fact that he ignored his own betrayal to lay the blame on you. It dealt you the mother of all blows. You swallowed hard, lifting his chin, forcing him to look you in the eye. “That’s been my life ever since I met you, Roger.”

You had no sooner finished that sentence, but Roger lowered his eyes again.

“What right do you have?” you questioned, your voice growing louder by the word. “What right do you have, Roger?”

It was like talking to a brick wall. You could see the heat seeping its way from his cheeks down to his chest. He heard every word, but it was as if he knew that he would never be able to say the right thing to deescalate the situation. 

Throwing your arms down by your sides in resignation, it was clear. You weren’t getting any semblance of understanding out of him. 

Being stranded here, somewhere in Washington, was at the forefront of your mind. It raced with potential escape routes, each more absurd than the last. At this rate, you could have worked yourself into tears if you remained trapped in that room with Roger. So you took action.

“I’m going to sleep in Freddie’s room tonight,” you muttered, getting to your feet. Your legs tried to buckle underneath you, but it was imperative you left. 

Roger intuited this, staying well out of your way. All he could do was watch you pack your bags and leave. He didn’t feel bad for you. He just pitied himself for driving you to it. 

The walk to Freddie’s room felt like an eternity. The floor stretched on for miles in front of you as if you were on a never-ending conveyer belt surrounded by doors. But finally, reaching the end, you got to Freddie’s room. Out of breath, with a dull sheen on your skin, you knocked frantically on the door. 

When Freddie answered, he was clad in just his robe, with clothes strewn across the room in the background. He was jovial until he read the situation. “Are you all right, my dear?” he asked, placing his hand on your shoulder and furrowing his brow. “What’s Rog done to you now?”

Being in Freddie’s company was surreal. Like being transported into another plain of existence as he imprinted the idea that nothing could hold you back on you. It made you forget Roger altogether as he thrust a flute of champagne into your hand.

“I’m going to a party tonight, my dear,” he began, flourishing his hand through the air as he returned to the full-length mirror beside the window. Then he turned to you, giving you a knowing look. “Would you like to join me?”

You nodded, draining your glass.

“Good. Open up that suitcase and let's see what we can squeeze you into.”

———————— 

Roger waited outside the tour bus, bouncing on the balls of his feet. A few moments passed, and he looked at his watch. Then he braced himself against the cold once more. Repeating the process. 

Autumn was on the way. A chill in the air descended in the darkness as he looked around. His eyes swept over the car park. Nothing. 

His bandmates had already transferred themselves from their beds in the hotel, into their respective bunks. All asleep in drunken stupors. 

But, not Roger. 

He had been awake all night, having it in his mind to barge through into Freddie’s room to resolve the situation with a grand gesture and a dramatic kiss. Unfortunately, it didn’t play out like that.

And now, you were late.

That was always his thing. Not yours.

“She’s probably already on a plane home,” Crystal reassured, throwing down a spent cigarette and stamping it out. He turned away, hauling himself on to the bus. “Come on, mate. We’ve got a long drive ahead of us! Don’t worry about her.”

Roger huffed and shivered. He knew this didn’t add up. Something wasn’t right. 

He followed Crystal inside, ordering the driver not to move just yet, before wandering up the bus. The aisle was shrouded in a pale orange glow from the streetlamp outside, and quiet snores droned out from curtained bunks containing his closest friends. He arrived at the one he was looking for. Pulling back the partition, he felt no remorse about his actions. “Get the fuck up,” Roger snarled, punching Freddie in the arm. “Up!”

Roger smashed through Freddie’s drunken haze. The previous night’s debauchery hit him like a tonne of bricks. A dull, pounding pain gripped his consciousness. 

“Up! Now! Fred!”

Freddie’s eyes snapped open, and, still under the influence, he dangled his legs out of his bunk, sitting upright. “What is it?” he yawned.

“Where is she?” Roger pressed, shaking Freddie’s shoulders. His eyes were wide, his face just inches away from his friend’s.

Freddie shrugged. “She was with me all evening, at the club. Why?”

Roger growled, nose to nose with his bandmate. “I need you to do better than that. Where the fuck is she?”

“She’s not here?” 

“No! She could be dead in a fucking ditch right now, and you couldn’t even care less!”

Cutting through the commotion, a mop of dark curls poked out of the next bunk back. Brian peered out. “What’s all this bloody noise?”

“Oh, you shut the fuck up!” Roger hissed, jabbing his finger in Brian’s direction. 

Brian just groaned, retreating back to the comfort of his six by four bed. 

“I’m sure she’ll be fine,” Freddie reassured, batting Roger away from him, making him stumble back. 

Roger glared at Freddie as if the more ill he willed him, the faster he would be able to remember where you were. “Which club were you at?”

“I don’t know,” Freddie mumbled. “I think it was called The Den or something. What does it matter? She’s a smart girl.” 

It was no good. Freddie’s best efforts were futile. There was no talking to Roger when he was like this. Freddie hadn’t even finished his sentence, but Roger had moved ten paces towards the front of the bus. He spun back around to glower at Freddie once more. 

“If anything’s happened to her, I’m holding you responsible.”

Freddie slunk towards the front of the bus to join Roger as he instructed their driver to find The Den. Freddie gave vague directions based on what he thought he saw last night in the car over there. Every time he spoke, Roger flinched. Escalated in word increments. Every single time.

Half an hour of ‘turn left, left again, right,’ had led the tour bus further into the city. Day had broken, and the streets were bathed crimson. Eventually, the bus found the doorstep of the club where, just hours prior, you and Freddie were drinking anything, taking everything and flirting up a storm with everyone in sight. The bus hadn’t even ground to a halt, but Roger had jumped out to find that the club had long since shut up shop. The street was deserted. Not a single drunken reveller in sight. Just flyers and empty bottles strewn across the pavement, spilling out on to the empty road.

He looked around, searching for a sign of life as Freddie hung out of the bus. 

An alleyway caught his eye at the far side of the building. Hope and dread twinged in his chest as his footsteps gathered momentum. Roger stared down the strip of pitch black night. A dip in a pile of rubbish bags called to him. Urging him closer. His pace slowed.

He dropped to his knees when he saw you. Pale, sickly. But still breathing. The tension in his body disappeared. Relief. You were safe.

[11/11]

You couldn’t put your finger on what stirred you. Whether it was the harsh reading light, dancing above you. Or the rumble of the bus as it raced towards its next stop. But the one thing you were sure of, was that you felt dreadful. Your insides burned with the intensity of a white-hot blaze, and your throat threatened to close, to choke you to death. And the rushing. The rushing in your ears killed the hustle and bustle outside of your six-by-four resting place. Your mind had finally made the decision to wade off into the sea, never to return.

Someone took your hand. You recognised that gentle, calloused touch anywhere. It was comforting. Grounding. It felt like home.

“Roger?” Even his name caught on the barbs in your throat. “Roger?” It was torture.

He broke into your field of vision, hovering over you. Dark rings lined his eyes. “It’s ok, my love, I’m here. I’m here now. It’s gonna be ok.”

You knew the mantra he repeated was more for his benefit. He never would never forgive himself if anything had happened to you. The weight of your own guilt piled on to your chest with every word.

You grabbed Roger’s wrist and moved it away as you hung your legs over the edge of the bunk. You slunk to the floor with a thud, you looked at him, gauging his mood. 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, attempting to pull you into a hug. 

You halted him. “We really need to talk.”

Roger sank into himself. You could see that his mind was scrambling, searching for something to tell you to make it all ok. You could see over his shoulder that his bandmates were craning their necks to observe from the lounge. Spying them, you took Roger’s hand and led him to the front of the bus. You sat opposite each other in a booth. He couldn’t meet your gaze. He looked so small. Like he was waiting to be condemned.

“Roger,” you began, struggling to find words to convey everything you felt. But it needed to be said. Gulping down a breath, you sat up straight, fully aware of how ridiculous you looked. Makeup smeared across your face, hair sticking up in every direction. Not so long ago you would never have allowed him to see you like this. It made you fixate on how far you had come. All because of Roger.

Reaching across the table, you took his hand. You never noticed how much they shook when you held them. He tried to squeeze his fingers around your own. “Roger,” you sighed again. Then it came out in one garbled mess: “Thisisn'tgoingtowork.”

Roger’s eyes were still glued to your hand, his thumb gently tracing over the back of it. He nodded. He was expecting this.

“I need to go home,” you explained, your voice cracking. “I can’t stay here.”

“I’ll help you,” he said quietly. He glanced up, still nodding. Tears had formed in the corners of his glassy blue eyes, some trailing down.

Your eyes grew at Roger’s lack of resistance. “What?”

“Listen,” Roger began leaning over the table. “I love you so much. And if this is what you need, I’m not going to stop you. I’ll buy your plane ticket home.”

You leaned back in your seat. A rush of relief hit you. But you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was letting you go too readily. “Did you really love me?”

“I still do,” Roger said, widening his eyes.

“I loved you too,” you admitted, staring up at the ceiling. “But we’re too different. It was fun for a while, though. Never thought I’d go skinny dipping with a complete stranger. Or get on a plane, halfway across the world.”

“It was nice to have something to care about. Maybe we’ll find a way to be friends after all of this. I’ve got to admit, you were a good influence,” Roger half laughed through the tears he frantically tried to wipe away. Eventually, he gave in, lurching forward to cover his face.

You couldn’t bear to look at him. Your fun, lively, outgoing Roger was a broken mess. His face in his hands, sobbing uncontrollably. You couldn’t be around him like this. 

Getting to your feet, you ran your fingers through his hair. It felt brittle and matted like he hadn’t combed it since last night. “I’m sorry, Roger.”

Taking refuge in Roger’s bunk, you waited out the rest of the ride to Seattle. You spent the journey flitting between burying your face in one of Roger’s shirts and listening intently as Roger lay blame on Freddie. You had no animosity towards him. Hell, you couldn’t even remember what had happened at the club. None of it was Freddie’s fault. But it was typical of Roger to point the finger at anyone but himself. 

It was all his fault that your relationship had gone sour.

Or was it?

Curling yourself up into a ball and squeezing your eyes closed, you hoped to ignore the onslaught of ‘what if’s’ that your mind was about to hurl at you. Your limbs became cold at the thought that maybe if you had been enough for him - prettier, confident, normal - then things might have turned out differently.

It was time to tap out for a while, you thought, flopping on to your back.

 —————————————— 

“Darling, we’re here,” Roger whispered, prodding your arm. 

Your eyes instantly opened. 

“Your flight leaves at seven,” he explained. “I’ve packed all your stuff. All you need to do is freshen up. We’ve got a couple of hours to spare.”

 ————————————————- 

Roger left you alone in his hotel room. He went to the bar to give you some time alone to gather your thoughts. You dumped your bags in the centre of the room and stood in silence, drawing in deep, laboured breaths. The one thing that kept you going was the knowledge that this particular journey was nearing its end. You would be home, away from this nightmare soon enough.

A quick shower and a change of clothes were all it took for you to feel slightly more human again.

In the space of half an hour, you were back down in the foyer, where Roger sat, staring absentmindedly out on to the street as the sun began to crack the skyline. His teeth dug into his knuckles. His foot bobbed steadily. 

“I’m ready,” you announced, standing in front of him.

Roger took his sunglasses off and stood up. “Car’s waiting,” he mumbled, picking up your bags.

“I can get those.” 

Roger was already out the door. You had to jog to catch up. 

You didn’t want a grand, emotional goodbye. You hadn’t even said farewell to Brian, Freddie or John. But that didn’t matter, you thought, trying to gather yourself in the backseat of the taxi, waiting for it to speed off, hoping you didn’t have to say another word to Roger. Your eyelids drooped closed, and your head sank back. Breathing through it.

And then Roger got in beside you. “Let’s go,” he instructed the driver.

You were in no mood for prolonging the process of leaving him. “You didn’t have to come-”

“Making sure you get on the plane ok.”

You said nothing else on the way to the airport, or as you barged through the terminal. Roger was just a heavy presence stuck by your side as you navigated towards the departure gate. You half expected him to let you go without a proper goodbye. But he grabbed your wrist, stopping you. 

“Wait.”

You turned to look at him one last time. Those rose-tinted glasses were perched on his nose. You couldn’t resist going to him, feeling a swell of sadness growing inside you. Just one last time, you delicately lifted them from his face to get a better look at his eyes. 

“Great,” he chuckled, bowing his head, “everyone’s gonna know I’m a blubbering mess.”

“I liked you better without them, remember?”

Roger smiled, sending tears racing down his cheeks. “I remember,” he said, pulling you closer. “I’m gonna miss you.”

You couldn’t help it. Your head found its way to his chest. And his arms wrapped around you. Through the rushing in your ears, you could sense his body brimming with nervous energy. “Thank you, Roger.”

————————————————— 

Roger stood hunched over the sink. A lighter in one shaking hand, a crumpled piece of paper in the other. He lost count of how many times he sparked up the lighter to torch it. He lost count of how many times he couldn’t bring himself to do it; every time his tired, glassy eyes scanned the page, he bottled it.

The show had been terrible. In Roger’s mind he managed to fuck up every single song. Whether that was through the sheer amount of booze he burned through after leaving you at the airport, or the fact that he was now a free agent, was anyone’s guess. But he couldn’t contain his hurt from bubbling over in the most spectacular and public fashion, leaving his kit strewn across the stage. He didn’t stick around for a debrief at the venue. He didn’t even speak to his friends.

Wanting to be alone as quickly as possible, he threw himself into a taxi - not a private car - and went back to his hotel, sweating and still in his stage clothes.

It wasn’t until he got back to his room that he found the note at the top of his suitcase. A dainty, crisp white sheet. Folded once. With his name spelled out in capitals on the blank side. His heart sank when he realised whose writing it was, one last reminder of her.

“Roger, I know we didn’t end things on the best terms, but I really wanted to tell you this. One last time: thank you for pulling me out of my shell. You’ve done so much good for me in the short time I’ve known you. I really did - and still do - adore you. And I’m never going to forget about the time we shared. You and I were - are - so different and for a minute it was nice to believe you and I could make this work. Life always gets in the way and I’m so sorry it did. I love you, and I’ll never ever forget about you.”

By the time he had finished reading the note, Roger found himself on the floor, his tears slicing through the words on the page. Before they could do any more damage, he balled the paper up in his fist. That was the moment he knew he had blown it.

He fell asleep like that. And now, it was five in the morning. Deacy would be rattling on his door soon for their bus call and Roger was still wearing his stage clothes. He hadn’t even showered. Or brushed his teeth. Or even tried to make himself look like he hadn’t cried himself to sleep. Instead, he lost track of the amount of times he looked from the lighter, to the paper, remembering every little detail of what had left him the day before.