#the complicated hand posture and gestures

[zenmom]

So I went through my old art book (should’ve kept the book that my bro threw in the toilet once somewhere safe where I would not have a memory that I put it in the bin for removal. That’s awful) and I do wish I would not find my art cringy because of that childhood grudge against that character

So yeah, she is a Candy nymph and I designed her some years ago. Surprised that I got most of her details right. Yes, her is Shuka rush, a pun on Sugar Rush. Looks like I’ll do some more digging into that book. Yaaaay me!’👋🏻😒👋🏻’. Yes, her personality is sweet and bubbly like you’d describe any character with attributes to candy.

Zenmom Origins LETS GOOOO!

[appocalipse]

doomed plans : ̗̀➛ eddie munson

you and your ex, eddie, are trying to be "just friends". it's harder than you thought it would be. | exes to lovers, suggestive but no smut, 2.2k words

"Fancy seeing you here."

His tone is jocular, but the comment is more of an understated question than a simple greeting. There's no mistaking it—he's pleasantly surprised to see you here at this party.

He looks good.

Eddie Munson looks really good.

Or maybe it's just that being around him makes you feel good, after too many weeks of forcing yourself not to miss him. "Fancy seeing you, too," you respond. "Funny how Nance forgot to mention you'd be here."

A playful glint lights up his eyes as he sidles closer, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth—and the expression is so familiar that your heart leaps before you can think to tamp it down.

"Ah, well, I have a theory about that, actually."

"Do you?"

He gives an energetic nod. You're still trying to muster a casual air, despite the surge of...whatever the hell this is that's hitting you right now; a rush of emotion that's just different enough from mere nostalgia to be unsettling in its intensity.

"I do," he says with another nod, this one emphatic. His smile broadens as he peers down at you.

Oh, Jesus Christ. His grin. The warmth of it. The conspiratorial joy in it.

"Wheeler's too nice for her own good," he informs you. "She didn't want to mention me because she knew you'd bail."

"Why would I bail if you were coming?"

"Because of... you know." He reaches out and taps your hand—just a quick gesture, not lingering, but you feel the feather-light touch of his fingertip like an electric shock that ricochets up your arm. "The unresolved sexual tension and everything."

"What?"

"What what?" he echoes innocently, batting his eyelashes at you with exaggerated sweetness. Eddie loves this game, and he plays it well, even now. "Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about. You and me."

"You and me?"

"Me and you," he says, shoving his hands into his pockets and bouncing on the balls of his feet like an eager child on Christmas morning. The taunting tone is still there, but so is something else that makes your breath catch in your throat. "Done with that yet?"

"With what?"

"Whatever it is that's keeping us apart," he says airily, and then frowns as he eyes you again. "Which, come to think of it, I don't actually know. So, hey, let's talk about that."

"Eds," you begin, then catch yourself as his face lights up at the nickname, "Don't look at me like that. We agreed."

"We did?" He tilts his head and gives you a quizzical stare. "I don't remember that."

"Yes, you do."

"No, I don't."

You just give him a pointed look.

"Come on, Y/N." His tone softens, turns low and quiet and more serious than you're expecting. "I miss you. Do you miss me?"

He's staring at you so intently that you can't bring yourself to lie. You grab your drink and take a quick sip, to stall for time, because the real answer to his question is complicated.

The beer goes down too fast. "Eddie."

"What?" He sounds innocent, but he isn't fooling you for one second.

"Stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"You know like what," you retort, trying to pretend that your pulse isn't pounding in your ears right now. "You're playing with me."

"Do you want to be played with?" he asks, dark eyes glinting again.

The playful remark makes your skin tingle with a heat that's all too familiar. It's not just the words, either. It's the way Eddie is watching you, the slight smirk curving his lips, the flirtatious shift in his posture as he leans into your personal space again, intentionally crowding you this time.

There's an answering heat in your face now, a flush spreading across your skin.

Fuck.

"You have no idea what I want," you retort, deciding that it's best to keep this exchange lighthearted.

"Bullshit," he replies. "I have a very good idea of what you want."

Eddie looks entirely too pleased with himself right now. You reach out and poke him in the chest. "And what is it that I want?"

He doesn't back away from the touch. Instead, he reaches out and pokes you back, touching your shoulder with gentle insistence as he inches even closer, until your face is just inches from his. "You want this," he says softly, gaze darting to your mouth and then back up again.

Oh.

"Don't," you say.

It's a halfhearted protest at best, though. And when Eddie raises an eyebrow, you shake your head with an exasperated sigh. You're well aware that you don't sound convincing at all. This conversation has spun wildly out of control in the space of seconds.

"Don't?" He parrots the word back to you in an incredulous tone, then pulls his lower lip between his teeth, watching you closely as he lets it slide back out from under his bite again, plump and pink and glistening in the low light. "I'm not doing anything."

Back up, you think. Move away. You shouldn't be standing so close.

You find yourself staring at Eddie's mouth for a beat too long before you look back up into his eyes. You smile. "You're going to get me all confused again."

"Good." He leans forward until your foreheads are nearly touching. "If I do it right, you'll start forgetting all those reasons you were using to convince yourself we should stay broken up."

You laugh as you shove him back a step, shaking your head. "See? There you go again."

He holds his hands up in front of himself, grinning widely as he speaks. "Look, all I'm saying is, sometimes you get all twisted up in your head about things. But, other times... well, you listen to your heart instead. You just need a little reminder that the heart is usually right."

"Oh, really?" You take another sip of beer. Tastes terrible. You wish it would at least do more to quell the butterflies suddenly fluttering in your stomach. "And who told you that?"

"Said so yourself, last summer." He stares at you with a wistful expression. "Remember? The lake. Sunset. I'd like to think you remember that day."

"Eds," you warn.

"And the night after that," he continues, his gaze turning molten now as he reaches out to smooth a stray lock of hair away from your face. "I remember every detail, I can refresh your memory if you want."

It's been too long since anyone has touched you like this, and your heart leaps as his fingertips brush your cheek. It's just an instant, gone in the blink of an eye. Still...

You really are touch-starved, though, if just the whisper of Eddie's hand against your face is enough to make you want to lean into his palm. "So, what are you suggesting?"

"Well..." His mouth twitches. "Are you going to kiss me, or should I kiss you?"

"Neither." You step back and take a sip of beer. Nope. Still terrible. "I, uh, gotta get some...air. Or something."

"Air, or something?"

"Yeah, I'm good," you mutter, setting the plastic cup down on the nearest available surface, which turns out to be a table stacked with pizza boxes. Your fingers find the wooden edge and you cling, leaning your weight into it. "Look, you need to stop doing that thing."

Eddie is watching you like a cat about to pounce on its prey. "What thing?"

"You know, the thing. The thing you do. It's very... persuasive. Very convincing." You fold your arms over your chest, because the safest course of action right now is clearly not letting him get close enough to touch you again. "And it's also not fair, because we agreed."

Eddie puts his hands on his hips and tips his head back, letting out an exasperated huff. "No, you agreed. I didn't agree to anything."

"Oh, c'mon. You did. And you know you did. We both did. It was mutual."

"Uh-huh." He makes a sound of amusement as he steps closer again. "Are you trying to convince me, or yourself?"

"I just—"

He reaches up, grips your chin with gentle insistence, and tilts your face up until your eyes meet. The world narrows until there's nothing but Eddie, who's looking at you with the same sweetly teasing expression he used to wear when he would lean over and whisper stupid jokes in your ear during class, back when you were still tentatively learning how to navigate each other, still in the shy, testing stages of that first year.

Except now, he doesn't look away as soon as you glance at him.

Now, he holds your gaze.

Now, his thumb traces your jawline.

Now, he gives you a moment to consider, before he leans in closer and presses his lips against yours.

It's not a kiss, really. Not quite. Just the suggestion of a kiss, a faint brush of his mouth against yours, a fleeting warmth that lingers for the space of a breath or two, there and then gone again.

You blink up at him, startled by the rush of heat that sweeps through you as his fingers linger on your skin. "Eddie—"

The next kiss is softer, slower, firmer. The gentle, searching pressure of Eddie's mouth on yours, unhurried and deliberate and sure, tugs at a piece of your heart that you thought was already mended, but he coaxes it into breaking open all over again.

"We...we..." You gasp, trying to remember why this is a bad idea. But the rational part of your brain is gone, shut off entirely by the little hum of contentment Eddie makes as he shifts his lips against yours. 

"We what?" His words are murmured against your lips.

Your mouth still feels like it's tingling from his kiss. You lean forward, swaying into him without realizing it. "We shouldn't—"

Another kiss. You let your eyes flutter closed, and Eddie nudges you backward until your shoulders hit the wall. 

His hands slide into your hair, fingers brushing through the strands, tilting your head back. You know you should stop him, but instead, you pull him closer, chasing the kiss when he breaks away, and, oh... his mouth is back on yours again, still slow, still soft, still measured. Not enough.

He is chuckling when he pulls back, the sound so quiet that you feel it more than hear it.

You think, This isn't fair. You shouldn't be able to do this to me. Not anymore.

The whole point of breaking up was so you could get over each other. This, right here? It is not helpful.

"Why, uh..." He clears his throat and trails off. When you open your eyes, you see him smiling down at you, flushed and disheveled, with a smudge of your lipstick on his mouth. "You've gotten really good at that."

Your hand goes up to his lips, finger swiping over the mark left behind by your lipstick. "So...you're saying I wasn't any good at this before, huh?"

Eddie bites his lower lip, his gaze darting to your mouth before sliding back up to meet your eyes again. "I'm saying we could've been doing this the whole time."

"We should stop, before...before...you know."

His nose nudges yours, a touch so fleeting it makes you want to tilt your face up to chase after it, but you stop yourself, because if you keep kissing him, you won't be able to bring yourself to stop. And that would be...bad. Definitely bad. You just can't remember exactly why right now.

"Before what?" Eddie asks in a low voice.

Your mouth, lips still warm from his, curves into a reluctant smile. "Eddie."

He's a breath away. "What, sweetheart?"

Oh, oh. You're in trouble. 

"You gotta stop kissing me," you say, as your fingers trail down his chest. He's so solid, warm under your touch. Your hands settle on his waist, and you grip the worn denim of his jeans to tug him closer even as you keep talking, trying to remember why you even wanted this breakup in the first place. "I'm, uh, working on getting over you."

"How's that going, by the way?"

"Terrible."

Eddie just laughs. "It is, huh?"

"Yeah, it is," you say. "But, see, I have a plan, and your kissing is messing up my plan. And my plan is a good one. So, don't mess it up. Please."

Eddie watches you, that fond, slightly smug smile on his lips again. He takes one of your hands in his and presses a kiss to the inside of your wrist, mouth lingering, his breath warm, eyes still on yours. "Tell me about this plan, then."

You make an indignant sound and try to tug your hand away. "It involves trying to spend less time with you, Eds. Like, you know, avoiding parties at friend's houses and all that. Gotta avoid those kinds of situations."

He presses his forehead against yours, and you sigh, leaning into the touch. "Why, exactly?"

"Because it's too... it's just too hard. It's really hard."

"I'll give you something hard, if you want," he says, a wicked gleam in his eyes.

You can't help but laugh. "You are the worst."

But maybe that's exactly what you need.

Well...that plan was doomed from the start anyway.

[munariplans]

forty, love | natasha romanoff

part 2 | part 3

synopsis: winning was everything, and losing was a sin. unfortunately, you were on a losing streak, and natasha loved winning.

natasha romanoff x tennis player! reader

word count: 4.9k words

a/n: inspired by that one scene from challengers.

masterlist

“slice forehand.”

thwock. 

“inside-out forehand.”

another thwock.

“move to the volley. hurry. your feet aren’t keeping up.”

despite the insult, the thwock lands. the ball bounces and hits right where you want it to hit. the singular drop of sweat that dripped onto the ground between your feet is not wasted, as you look up to your performance coach across the net, unamused sneer hidden behind his thick moustache. 

“not fast enough?” you quipped. 

he sighed, shaking his head. “don’t get ahead of yourself. you’re still number 2 in the state. if you want a shot at beating the princeton team, you’re still going to have to move much faster than that.”

you wiped the beads of sweat on your forehead, fixing the slightly loose hair tie, before nodding understandingly. still, you weren’t too happy at his latest onslaught of insults this past session. “you could have at least given me credit for the dropshot earlier when you came in. it was perfect.”

“perfect shots don’t get you the win. defeating your opponent does.”

he signalled that practice was over for the day, and you walked off court at the same time as he did to gather your things. the woman watching from the stands stood at that moment, and began her descent down to meet you in the locker room. 

natasha romanoff walked up behind you as you changed, the sudden feeling of her hands on your bare skin a welcomed intrusion, as you sighed into her touch. she let herself have her hands full for a minute, roaming over your muscles until she was satisfied, before settling them on the edge of your shoulders, massaging the tight knots out of them. you were still so tense.

she pressed her lips lovingly on a scar, waiting for you to finish panting at the feeling of where her hands had been. “you were great out there today.”

“coach said otherwise.”

“mm,” she let you put on your shirt, turning you around to kiss you after, “you were fighting him back just as hard. are you okay?”

you zipped up your bag then, taking a moment to avoid her question, before, “do you think i’m like what he says? what they all say…?”

natasha motioned for you to continue. “that i’m all bark, no bite, now? that i’ve lost my mojo?”

“baby–”

“–because you can tell me straight up. i can take it. you’re my girlfriend, you can tell me, i can take it.” the room had suddenly gotten tense, a stark drop to your composure that you had managed to hide so well on the court. in the locker rooms, you were angry again. you had been angry for a while now. 

“losing a few matches isn’t going to hurt your record, baby. you’re this college’s star player, you know this.”

“but losing four matches in a row is going to shatter my ego. my confidence. you of all people should know this!”

you had backed away from natasha, eyebrows raised, posture standoffish. she hated this. she hated seeing you like this. as bad as it was to say, she hated seeing you lose. it was the worst part of yourself that you let her see, when you lost. but what was she, as a partner, if not to stand by you through your career, your ups and down? she should be sharing your pain, taking some burden off of your shoulders, at the very least. 

“just last week, i let it go to break point, and i still fucking lost!” you had raised your fist at this point, nearly punching it at the steel frames of the lockers, when you reminded yourself of just the complications that could arise from shattered knuckles. your coach would never let this go. but still, the gesture was there, and the fire in your eyes remained all too dangerous. 

suddenly, you were pressed against the lockers, the weight of natasha’s body engulfing yours, as her arms came to hold you tight against herself. you were forced to embrace her back, despite your slight protests and pleas, but she was having none of it. she had wrapped you up in her tight, strong embrace, and her hands were finding themselves to bring your face towards hers, eyes boring into your own. 

“nat–”

“–last week, last week, you were against a professional, baby. a nearly retired one at that, but she was fighting for wins at the australian open not too long ago. she’s been doing this longer than you have even started learning how to hit the ball. don’t be so hard on yourself, will you? nobody, nobody else, could have gotten to where you were with her. break point is a feat in itself.”

you didn’t look convinced. but she didn’t need you to look convinced; she needed you to listen. “do you understand? you need to look at things from a different perspective, from my perspective. not your coach’s, not your teammates, certainly not that player’s fucking groupies, who were gloating about your loss all the way out of the stadium. you need to believe in yourself, as i have always believed in you. and you can’t keep going on like this. do you understand me?”

natasha’s eyes never departed from yours, her gaze firm. her hands were shaking, a little unsure of your reaction, because as far as she knew, you didn’t look like you were going to back down from a fight. either with yourself or her, she didn’t know. she certainly hoped it was at least the latter.

but then, your gaze cast downwards, you nodded ashamedly. sighing into the air, you pressed your face into the crook of her neck for a moment, the height advantage letting you lift her up, and she cooed as she let you gather yourself. 

“i understand.”

she patted the back of your head. like a mother would a petulant, but repenting child. “good. now let’s go get dinner, then a massage for your shoulders. then back to the gym first thing tomorrow morning.”

– 

natasha watched you push around your vegetables for nearly half of dinner. she knew the campus meal tickets didn’t exactly provide for five-star dishes, but she had never seen you so down like this before. it was almost as if you had become a ghost of yourself. 

“steve’s birthday is coming up soon.” she decided to change the topic, and hopefully, get your mind off of tennis for a minute. 

you gave a nonchalant grunt, finally stabbing the piece of broccoli. she steadied herself. “should we get him the pair of boots he’s always wanted? i figured we could pull in wanda and clint too, if we want to get him a bigger gift.”

your eyes were still unfocused. it was as if she wasn’t there at all. “baby.”

you looked up, half-expecting natasha to be pissed. but she only gave you a small smile. “steve’s birthday?”

“we can get him the boots. i don’t mind paying for them. but i don’t think i’m going to his party.”

“why not? your match on that day ends in the afternoon.”

“yeah, but i think i’m going to be pretty tired.” not to mention if i lose.

natasha decided not to argue with you on it. she knew enough how touchy the subject of your career already was. instead, she jabbed the last piece of corn with her fork, and gestured for your mouth to open. 

the both of you left shortly after. 

– 

in a friendly match the next weekend with the neighbouring college, you were faced up against the top ranking player once more. being a finals round, you had imagined that the crowd would be roaring with applause for how far you’d come, but when the sets began to balance after your first few strong starts and the heat of the afternoon sun began beating on everyone’s backs, the crowd dwindled out one by one from boredom and, to you at least, the possible disappointment of you losing. 

it was only expected, from a disenchanted champion. the college’s once pride and joy, the one who was once regarded as a candidate with potential to win grand slams. unfortunately, people only really like you when you win. 

but natasha stayed. and so did her friends, and your friends that she had managed to force to stay. you had gestured that they could leave if they wanted to, during the breaks, but they were afraid to even nod, or make a move, lest they wanted to be subjected to natasha’s ferocity, sitting behind them. it was almost humiliating that they stayed only because your girlfriend was forcing them to, you thought. 

thwock. a missed shot from your end.

another thwock. “out!”

by your last mistake, the crowd had only left natasha, steve, and some die-hard groupies of yours that were slowly losing hope too. so when the final set was determined by your failure to execute a passing shot, and subsequently touching the net, the roars from the other side seemed almost mocking. you had lost. 

natasha rushed down to the locker rooms again, only this time, your friends followed, and the absolute mortification that you felt, along with the pure anger and frustration of losing, overpowered any remaining sense of decency you had left. 

the moment you spotted her coming in, then the company behind her, you almost felt like the first time the instinct to shatter your racket came to you. 

“out! all of you, out!” you had screamed, not caring to be decent even to your teammates. 

“come on, we just wanted–”

“–i don’t care, out! you’ve just come in here to humiliate me, haven’t you? gloating how i could lose, even in a friendly! how shit of a player i am, now!”

the people behind natasha grumbled, but one by one shuffled out. it was better to tell you about how unfair you were being another day, not when emotions were running so high. natasha was thankful they understood. but it didn’t make what you did any less unfair.

she sat beside you as you kept your head down. “that wasn’t very nice.”

“losing isn’t very nice.”

“they meant well, baby.”

“no, they don’t.”

“how many times do i have–”

“–a ton, okay, natasha?” you looked up, slamming your drink between the both of you. “a ton of times, you have to remind me. that my friends love me, that they’re here to support me. but how the fuck am i supposed to believe that when i don’t even have anything for them to support me for?”

“your friends don’t just love you because you’re good at tennis, my love. i don’t love you just because you’re good at tennis. this is ridiculous! i can’t believe we are arguing over this, i can’t believe you think of yourself so lowly like this.”

natasha was met with a deafening silence the moment she finished her last words, her chest heaving up and down from her own disappointment. the rest of the players had filtered out, upon hearing your argument, leaving only you and her there. like always. 

your hand rubbed over your face resignedly, hands covering the beautiful eyes natasha loved loves staring into. she wanted to reach out, to pull your hands away from yourself, to even get you to answer her, to let her know that you at least believed you were better than this. but she was afraid of the answer she was going to get. 

then, she heard a sniffle, and a small, choked sob afterwards. and that was it. 

you were up standing the next second, and slinging your racket bag over your shoulder. “i’m going to the gym. i know you have class after this. don’t wait up.”

she was left there alone, the dismay and disappointment of it all weighing down on her, the moment the doors to the locker room were slammed. 

– 

i’m sorry. i shouldn’t have lashed out on you like that, i apologised to my friends, now i want to apologise to you. i love you, i’m sorry. the words didn’t seem enough. the guilt that accumulated and eventually avalanched into your heart was almost insurmountable, after the incident with  natasha. you weren’t even sure you were worthy of being forgiven, you thought as you sat in your car later that night, still angry at her, but making sure that she was safe in the short walk home from her class to her dorm. 

which was why you found yourself in the florist off campus a few days later, asking the employee what flowers best represented i’m sorry for being such a terrible girlfriend, and which flowers were most likely going to help you be forgiven. the white and blue carnations reminded you of the colours in natasha’s room. 

“how much is it?” you asked, to which the cashier then showed you the till. you cursed internally, not even knowing flowers were so expensive nowadays.

checking the contents of your wallet for a minute, you cursed even louder at yourself at the emptiness that greeted you. losing matches meant losing money, that was for sure, and it wasn’t a secret that you were mostly funding your life with prize money won from big matches in the state, with college at least funded with the athlete’s scholarship. yet another reason why i can’t keep doing this, you thought.

it was between dinner for the next few days and gas for your car, and the flowers. fuck it, skipping dinners once in a while wouldn’t hurt, and you could walk from place to place. 

you handed over your card, and began the walk to natasha’s dorm. 

when she received you, natasha noticed you looked almost like a kicked puppy, none of the anger or smugness you carried with you on and off the court. no, with her, you were soft, and vulnerable, and all-too pitiful for her love. she knows the power she has over you. she never had to worry. 

so she brought you in, allowed you to apologise, to beg at her feet, and for her mercy and forgiveness. she allowed you to worship her, taking her to her bed and whispering how much you messed up to her skin, how much you loved her when you were making her see stars, how much you thought you would hurt yourself if she ever left you when she was chanting your name over and over again, begging you to let her come undone.

– 

steve’s birthday rolled around, and natasha was once again seated in the front row for you. she never missed your matches. 

you thought she should have missed this one, when the match reached a break point and you lost again. when you had gotten so frustrated, so furious, over a careless choke that you had, that you received a punishment for smashing your racket into bits as the opponent screamed in celebration. 

she came down to sit with you in the locker room after, but it was in silence. there was nothing to say, and nothing to be said. there were tears streaming down your face, dripping onto the floor. your vision was obscured by the tears, and you would have lost yourself if not for the hand that was holding your own, firm, steadfast. somewhere along the line, she was kissing you, then slowly pushing for you to get up, and bringing you to her dorm. you didn’t really remember anything more after that, busy curling into a ball and crying yourself to sleep afterwards.

when she woke you again to accompany her to steve’s party, you felt almost bad that the ringing in your ears hadn’t gone away, and so had your misery from the match earlier. but natasha needed a ride, and you weren’t going to let her drive back later if she had been drinking for the night. 

– 

you encouraged natasha to mingle around at the party, and to not worry about you, as you stuck around your few friends for a bit. she was unsure, but you were firm, and soon enough, she too had disappeared into the crowd.

your eyes never left her after you found her again, though, leaning back into a pillar as your friend sam went on and on about his own matches so far. you didn’t have the heart, or energy, to tell him that tennis was the last thing you wanted to talk about right then. 

she was by the birthday boy, his arm slung around her waist as the both of them guzzled down cups and cups of spiked punch. their circle was closely-knit, you had always known this, but somehow, the lingering touches, and his hand slowly travelling up and down her back, was ticking you off this time. you had almost half a mind to ask steve what he thought he was doing, but you knew natasha would get embarrassed, and upset. you knew you already made her upset enough today. 

but then, sam quipped, “they’ve been awfully close lately, haven’t they?”

he must have forgotten he was talking to natasha’s girlfriend, of all people, as he continued, “steve’s on a winning streak recently. on track to become valedictorian, potentially getting drafted by the top teams next season, it’s only a matter of time before he wants someone by his side to share it with too, huh?”

“...right.”

“you know how natasha likes winners,” he hit your elbow playfully, breath reeking of alcohol and other illegal substances, “she just loves the game. i bet that’s how you got her to fall for you too.”

“not my good looks, or horrible attitude to anything outside of tennis?” you tore your eyes away from natasha for a moment to glare at sam. he chuckled. 

“i’m just saying, better to keep your girl by your side, future federer.” he disappeared shortly after, and when you found natasha again, she was laughing and putting her head on steve’s shoulder. 

instead of feeling angry this time, you were dejected, and a little bit ashamed. of course. natasha liked winners. and you certainly weren’t one anymore. 

you bit back a harsh breath, and went outside to get some fresh air when steve stole a glance at her that was far too intimate to be one of merely friends. you should have known. if she wasn’t winning with you, she was winning with someone else, somewhere else. 

that night, for the first time in your career, and relationship, you thought about retiring.

– 

but when the competition season rolled around, and the WTAs approaching, you had managed to pull yourself up in the rankings enough to secure a spot at a challengers’ round to hopefully beat princeton and start a domino effect that could lead you to participating in a grand slam. 

natasha was walking beside you, struggling to keep up as she checked your schedule haphazardly. “the princeton girl, she’s on the other side of the roster. i doubt the two of you would be playing each other unless she reaches the finals too. which…at this point…”

you didn’t want to know if she meant that you wouldn’t stand a chance of reaching the finals, or that the princeton champion would be knocked out early. you were afraid you knew the answer. 

steve had dropped her off at the stadium when you went outside to pick her up, his smug smile as he waved her goodbye, and his eyes following yours, making you want to reach over inside the car and beating him with your racket. you had to arrive earlier to discuss strategy with your coaches, and while you were more than willing to pay for natasha’s ride in, she had mentioned that steve would be dropping her off. she sounded almost excited, so you dropped the topic and went back to your practice. like you have been doing for the past few months. 

turns out it wasn’t so hard to succeed, and win matches, when you were more or less resigned to your fate that nobody was ever going to expect anything more of you from your streak of losses all those matches ago, and you had effectively lost the love of your life to some football player who kept winning, and winning. 

you were at a challenger’s round this time, so you didn't need to worry. you won, and won, and won a little bit more. 

–

thwock. right over the net. the opponent misses and falls to her knees.

a serve that would have made williams roar in awe. thwock.

last one. the set was done if you landed this one. thwock. 

the ball landed inside the court, right by the opponent’s feet. and you advanced to the finals. 

you remembered natasha rushing down, not even waiting until you entered the locker room. she was running, running, and jumping into your arms, kissing you like her life depended on it. you spun her around, giving her a smug smile, trying to hide a bleeding heart that knew she too, was surprised that you ever stood a chance of winning. 

the crowd roared behind you. people were liking you again. but you had never felt worse. 

–

it turned out that the princeton champion had advanced to the finals, and would be playing against you, after all. there was no surprise for her, but certainly a surprise for you, as the newscasters and fans had aptly put, a grand shocker. they had all thought you had seen your glory days over. 

natasha caught you watching the latest telecast from the hotel’s television, gaze zeroed in on the anchor who was comparing your statistics over the last few games. almost perfect scores. leaving opponents with loves in sets. behind her, were the students of your college, decked out in the colour of the university and your face and initials printed on their shirts, caps, flags. all of it. they had never looked more proud. the college had even rolled out a banner in your name, in lieu of the upcoming finals. you knew natasha enjoyed all of it more than you did. 

when it came to the broadcast from princeton, the college’s president had come to give a special interview. he mentioned that he never doubted his champion from the start, unlike what your college had to go through with you. you found yourself wanting to spit at the television. 

but from behind, the sound of running water from the shower had stopped, and she had come out, in a robe and her wet hair in a towel. she saw the glazed look in your eyes, and promptly picked up the remote to shut the programme off. 

she settled into the spot beside you, nuzzling into your comfort. she had to pull your own arms off of the couch to wrap around her. you thought she must have known. she couldn’t be so stupid. she knew that you knew about her, and what she had always liked. 

but then you remembered, beyond the resentment, and grief, of the past few months, of just what she had been through with you. when you lost your very first match in college, natasha had been your friend, still. she was dating the captain of the basketball team, you remembered, but she had gone with you afterwards to walk the long way home, encouraging you and telling you that it would get better. it always would. you only half-believed her.

but then, you won. and won, and won, and won. by the tenth streak of winning, natasha had broken up with said boyfriend, and began hanging around your dorm, the tennis courts, even the cafeterias more often. she went where you went, showed up to most of your games, was the loudest one in the crowd when you secured sets. she would wait for you after your mini celebratory sessions with your teammates, and fans, and friends, all for a moment alone with you. then, she would bring you out for drinks, for dinners, sometimes the occasional walk down memory lane to her dorm. she was kind, she made you laugh, and you were on a streak. so what was there stopping you? 

you fell for her just as easily as you fell in love with winning.

to your surprise, she stuck around when you lost a few matches along the way, never letting it phase her, or you. to everyone else’s surprise, she stuck around when you twisted your ankle in your second year of playing. she had left a pattern in her wake, you see, of leaving all of her past lovers when the going got tough, or when they had simply stopped winning. it was inevitable, you thought. but no, not this time. when you fell to your knees during that tournament, screaming in agony as your ankle felt like it was folding in on itself, she was there. she was right beside the medical officer, holding you up as he inspected the injury, face looking even more panicked than yours as they wheeled you off to the hospital. 

she was there, as they wheeled you in for surgery, and wheeled you out to recover. she never left, even when the doctors told you it would take months to recover, let alone get back to playing on your level. she helped you recover, was the driving force in your physical therapy success, even became the sole reason that you returned to playing so quickly after your injury. you hadn’t wanted to disappoint her, much less lose her at all. you were too afraid of the possibility of her becoming someone else’s because of your failure in your sport.

natasha stayed through your losing streak. she never got mad, or lost her patience, with you. it had been three years now, with her. she had never lasted in a relationship so long, so had you. she had talked about getting married before, right after college, to which you had entertained, but still never gotten the full grasp of. how could she talk about marrying you, with such a reputation that preceded her? what if you had lost, would she have run off before the altar?

what if you lost tomorrow? you looked at her again, this time, and she was on her phone. she was texting your friends to make sure they came for your match tomorrow. you felt horrible.

“nat.”

she looked up. “yes?”

“tell me it doesn’t matter.” 

natasha sat up this time, her hand holding yours. she looked confused. “what doesn’t matter?” “whether i win or lose tomorrow.”

her face remained unchanged for a moment, but at the quiver of your lip, and the coldness in your hands, she broke her composure. she shook her head slowly, gaze steely. “no.”

“why not?” it was your turn to harden the look on your face. “why won’t you tell me at least that?”

“because,” she bit the inside of her cheek, “you’re the professional. you’ll tell me whether it matters or not.”

you sat up as well. “i just want to know that you’ll love me…no matter what…whether i win or lose tomorrow.”

natasha’s eyes suddenly couldn’t meet yours. she looked down, at your shirt, then away, but never back at you. you pleaded, “natasha, please.”

“no,” she remained firm, “no. i won’t tell you that, because i know you’ll beat her. you’ll win tomorrow. and you’ll go to the grand slams, you’ll be the best tennis player that’s ever played in them, and you’re going to win. every. single. one. of. them.”

“and what if i don’t? not even the grand slams, not even tomorrow? what if i come in second again, after all this time?” 

you were growing desperate, and she was growing distant. you suddenly thought that you would have done anything, absolutely anything then, for her to tell you what you wanted to hear. to tell you that she would love you no matter if you won or lost.

natasha watched as you dropped to your knees in front of her, eyes already teary. your hands scrambled to hold her shirt, her waist, any part of her. she held them back, but to stop you from reaching further. then, she held your face again, but this time, it was you that was begging for her. you looked downright pitiful.

she wiped the stray tear off your cheek. she knew what she was going to say would either make or destroy you. “i’ll tell you this instead.”

“please.”

“baby, if you lose the match tomorrow, i’m leaving you. for good.”

– 

thwock. thwock. thwock. 

princeton parried, the ball is sent to the line. you return it with ease. princeton flicks back, you work twice as hard to send it over.

your moves were clean, cleaner than ever before, aided by a brain filled with rage and a heart filled with fear. 

princeton served, out. you served, in. the advantage stood, and the crowd stood to cheer. princeton hit back, you hit harder. it was a game both colleges hadn’t seen in decades. there were talks of both of you dominating the grand slams, even possibly working together, even being the next best duo to ever hit the sport. 

break point. the ball whizzes. and finally…after all the pain, the fear, the lost matches and the weight of the world on your shoulders, it was over. 

you weren’t quick enough. princeton won. 

a/n: i just love pathetic, pitiful characters who are down so bad for natasha romanoff, is that so wrong?

[deliciousangelfestival]

I Hate It When You're Drunk - 4

Character: bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x Princess!Reader

Summary: A forbidden love between a princess and her bodyguard. They love each other deeply, but their relationship is threatened by the tyrant king's oppressive rule and their differing social statuses.

I Hate It When You're Drunk Series Masterlist

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Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

“When the time is right, we will make our move,” Bucky declared, his voice resolute.

“Finally, our time has come,” Isaac, one of the resistance members, said. He was among the many whose family had been ruined for not supporting King Leonard's ascension.

“We want justice for what we've been through!” Lucas, another member, shouted, rallying the others into a cheer.

It was a well-known fact that King Leonard was a tyrant. Though the country appeared prosperous, many suffered behind the scenes, including the members of Bucky’s resistance. Each person in this room had been directly affected by Leonard’s ruthless rise to power.

The opposition, whether politicians or civilians, faced dire consequences for resisting the king. They lost their assets, their money, and often their lives. Bucky himself was a victim.

His mother, a vocal opponent of Leonard, had disappeared when Leonard began his ascent. When Bucky asked his father about her, he only responded, “It's best if you act like she didn’t exist.”

Those words left a lasting mark on Bucky. Over time, he discovered he wasn’t the only one who had lost a family member to Leonard's tyranny. At the military academy, he met Isaac, Lucas, and others who eventually formed the resistance.

As they planned their coup, the room buzzed with intense discussions and strategies. Isaac turned to Bucky, saying, “You play your part well. If we get the king, you could easily enter the royalty since you have the princess under your palm.”

The mention of you changed the atmosphere around Bucky. He glared at Isaac. “She’s not part of the plan.”

Seeing Bucky's anger, Isaac raised his hands in surrender. “Yup, I'm sorry,” he muttered before stepping away.

Bucky harbored no love for the tyrant king, but his feelings for you were different. You were innocent, a victim of circumstances beyond your control. He had grown up close to you and knew your struggles. This coup was as much about setting you free as it was about toppling Leonard.

The night was filled with fervent planning. Detailed strategies were discussed, each member contributing to the master plan to overthrow the king.

The next day, Bucky received a call from you. “The king wants to meet us,” you said, uncharacteristically cheerful. Given your complicated feelings toward your father, it was rare for you to show such enthusiasm.

🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

The day before

“Your Highness,” the servants greeted you as you nursed a headache with aspirin.

“Yes?” you replied, glancing up from your seat.

“Your Majesty has invited you to play chess.”

Both you and the king had starkly different personalities, yet you shared a common passion for chess. You found solace in the game’s strategy, a rare escape from the burdens of your royal duties. The king, ever the strategist, enjoyed the mental challenge it provided, a way to sharpen his mind amidst his ruling responsibilities.

“Tell the king to give me 10 minutes,” you instructed, rubbing your temples.

“As you wish, Princess.”

You knew better than to keep the king waiting too long. Within the allotted 10 minutes, you arrived at his game room. The room was a relic from another era, with its only entertainment options being a billiard table and a chessboard. The air was thick with the scent of old wood and leather.

Leonard had been waiting, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp with anticipation. He gestured to the chessboard between you. As you both took your seats, the game began. The soft clacking of chess pieces and the occasional murmur of strategy filled the room.

Leonard broke the silence. “Tell me, why don’t you want to marry Cassian?”

You moved a pawn, your eyes focused on the board. “My heart only belongs to one person. If I married another, I’d be a runaway bride.”

Leonard scoffed, clearly unimpressed. He leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming against the armrest, his gaze fixed on the chessboard as if it were a mere inconvenience.

You countered with a steely resolve. “It would be humiliating for you and for me. The king of Verudian have to bowed his head in apology to another country. It would be dreadful for both you and the kingdom.”

You leaned forward, attempting to reason with him. “Just as you loved my mother, the only person who truly held your heart, I feel the same way. It’s not something I can just ignore.”

Leonard’s hand hovered over a chess piece, the weight of your words hanging in the air. He sighed deeply. “In this world, you are the only one who shares my blood. My daughter. I want the best for you.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his admission. The words were a rare glimpse into the complexity of his feelings. “I understand what’s at risk. But you can’t ignore my feelings in this. I’ve spent years pleading for your blessing, and I’ve been patient. For once, can’t you consider what would make me happy?”

Leonard’s face remained a mask of stern calculation, though there was a flicker of something more vulnerable in his eyes. He exhaled sharply as if the weight of your words had momentarily pierced through his armor of indifference.

“I want what’s best for you, not just for me,” Leonard finally said, his voice tinged with reluctant resignation. He reached for a chess piece, his movements deliberate and slow.

His hand hovered over the piece, his fingers trembling slightly as he set it down. “You have the same persistence as me, and it’s clear you’re not going to give up easily.”

You leaned forward, heart pounding. “So, you’ll allow it?”

Leonard fell silent, his intense scrutiny making you shiver. After a moment, he reached out, his hand firmly grasping the piece you had taken. He moved it decisively, and then his eyes met yours.

“If I give you my blessing, will you stop hating me?” he asked, his voice softer but carrying a heavy weight.

You flinched, momentarily thinking you had misheard. After all these years of pleading for his blessing, could this finally be the moment you had waited for?

“Father?” you asked, your voice trembling.

Leonard looked at you with a resigned yet stern expression. “You’re right. You have the same persistence as me. All you’ve ever wanted from me is to marry him.” He paused, his eyes darkening. “I’ll allow it.”

Overwhelmed with emotion, you stood from your seat and embraced him. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” you said, your voice breaking with relief.

Leonard was taken aback by the sudden display of affection. It had been a long time since you had shown him such warmth. His stiff posture softened, and for a moment, he was caught off guard by your genuine gratitude.

Finally, your prayers had been answered. The weight of the past years seemed to lift off your shoulders as you relished the moment.

“You should start the wedding plans,” Leonard said, his tone matter-of-fact.

“This early?” You asked, still glowing with excitement.

“You’ve been waiting long enough,” Leonard replied curtly. “Why delay any further?”

“Yes, you’re right. I’ll go tell Bucky right away.” You said, already eager to share the news.

Leonard nodded. “After that, have him come to see me.”

“I will,” you promised, turning to leave with a bounce in your step.

As you left to share the good news with Bucky, Leonard remained in the room, his eyes fixed on the closed door.

A low chuckle escaped his lips. He picked up the knight chess piece, his fingers tracing its contours. After a moment, he broke the top part of the knight with a deliberate snap. The shattered piece fell to the table, a dark reflection of his true intentions.

🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

Present day

Bucky could hardly believe his ears when you announced, “He finally gave us the blessing.”

He pulled you into a tight embrace at that moment, his heart pounding with relief and unrestrained joy. Every sacrifice, every tear you had shed, and all the time spent waiting culminated in this single, breathtaking moment.

Bucky’s eyes were moist with unshed tears, his voice choked with emotion as he murmured against your hair, “I can’t believe it’s finally happening. We can be together.”

The weight of the years of struggle and hidden longing seemed to lift off both of you as you walked hand in hand towards the king’s chambers. The halls of the castle, usually cold and imposing, felt warm and alive with the promise of change. You and Bucky exchanged smiles and knowing glances, savoring the rare moment of peace before facing the king together.

When you entered the chamber, you both bowed deeply. “Your Majesty,” you said with a voice full of gratitude.

Leonard looked up from his desk, his expression inscrutable but his eyes sharp and calculating. “Princess,” he acknowledged with a nod, “Bucky.”

You stepped forward, your voice trembling slightly with emotion. “Thank you, Father. I never thought this day would come. I’m so grateful for your blessing. It means everything to us.”

Leonard’s eyes remained on you, but Bucky couldn’t shake the feeling of unease. He struggled to focus on the conversation, his mind racing with questions and doubts.

Why now? He thought, Why did the king suddenly relent? The timing doesn’t feel right.

Leonard then turned his attention fully to you. “You should discuss the wedding plans further with the planners. Now, leave us alone,” he said, his tone firm yet not unkind.

You nodded, still clutching Bucky’s hand, and left the room, leaving Bucky alone with the king. The atmosphere in the room shifted as soon as the door closed behind you. The air grew thicker, and Bucky’s instincts screamed at him that something was wrong.

The once grand and regal space now felt oppressive and claustrophobic, the air thick with an unspoken threat. The golden light that had once symbolized grandeur seemed to cast long, sinister shadows across the room.

King Leonard, who had earlier appeared as a benevolent father figure, now exuded an aura of dark authority. He rose from his throne with a deliberate movement, his eyes narrowing into sharp slits of cold resolve.

The transformation was chilling; the king’s earlier warmth was replaced by a ruthless edge, a reminder of why he was feared across the kingdom.

With measured steps, Leonard approached an old display case at the room's far end. Inside was a sword—a relic of the past, its blade reputed to have ended countless lives.

It symbolized power and brutality, a testament to the king's unyielding dominance. Leonard’s hand moved with a practiced grace as he lifted the sword from its resting place, the blade catching the light and casting a menacing gleam.

“Your Majesty thank you for the blessing,” Bucky said, his voice barely more than a whisper. He tried to mask his fear but couldn’t hide the slight tremor in his tone as he watched Leonard approach. He bowed deeply, his heart pounding in his chest, the weight of the moment pressing down on him.

Leonard’s footsteps echoed ominously against the marble floor as he advanced toward Bucky. The sword, now in his hand, seemed to radiate a malevolent energy. The king’s face, once serene, was now a mask of grim determination. Each step Leonard took seemed to reverberate with the promise of impending violence.

Without a word, Leonard closed the distance between them. The sword was held aloft, its blade catching the light and casting a cold, steely gleam. Leonard’s movements were precise and deliberate as he positioned the sword at Bucky’s neck. The cold metal pressed against Bucky’s skin, sending a shiver down his spine.

Bucky’s breath came in short, shallow gasps as he felt the sharp edge of the blade graze his neck. The metal was unforgivingly cold, a harsh contrast to the warmth of his own fear. Leonard’s hand was steady, his grip firm and unyielding as he held the sword in place.

The intensity of the moment was palpable. Leonard’s eyes were fixed on Bucky with a look of icy disdain, his expression devoid of any hint of mercy.

Leonard’s voice, when he spoke, was a low, dangerous growl, each word dripping with contempt. “Do you think I wouldn’t know about your little plan? You’ve been living in my kingdom, plotting behind my back. How dare you try to undermine me.”

The words were a cold, harsh reprimand that only heightened Bucky’s dread. He could feel the sword’s sharpness pressing against his skin, a tangible threat that made his pulse race and his breath hitch.

Leonard’s grip on the sword remained steady, his gaze unflinching. The blade’s edge was a constant reminder of Leonard's brutal power—power that was both feared and revered. He was the tyrant king.

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[savannahsdeath]

thinking about dealer!ellie, but not the college-little one . . . one, that an innocent girl like you sees on a dark alley and she can't help but instinctively start walking faster. yet, it turns out, she's really a sweetheart when you give her a chance <3

warnings: daddy issues kinda ?? ellie can seem creepy at first but i swear she's not .. thats all for now

you explored the darkest part of the city, the moonlight not brightening your way at all. you felt lost.

you always defined yourself as fatherless, it was the easiest way to explain the lack of a parent — people thought he died and didn't pursue the topic. after some time passed, you started believing your own lie. deep down, in a strangled part of your brain, you knew he's alive and well. but on the other hand, he wasn't — not for you, not in your life. why would he matter?

until he contacted you. he didn't show up in person, what at first made you think that he's... well, a pussy. but you soon realised it's actually analytical and mindful of him. you could act on impulse, say or do something bad. seeing him for the first time won't be easy. he gave you some time to think, so your emotions didn't get between both of you, and couldn't ruin your relationship from the beginning.

but he could at least leave you his phone number instead of the most complicated address, consisting of, not to be dramatic but, like a hundred numbers.

"can i help you?" you heard a feminine, yet hard and raspy voice.

the unforeseen sound made you jump, your heart beating like a little bird trapped in a cage, trying to get out of your chest. you couldn't let her notice how scared you were, though. you crumpled the letter in your sweaty hand. the yellowish paper felt humid, probably soaking wet from your moist skin.

"i don't think so." your voice trembled with the first vowel but you managed to regain your unbothered, callous posture right after.

"this..." she gestured at the ground and area around you — dark buildings that looked empty, yet you felt watched, in plain sight. "this is a bad place for girls like you."

you nervously cleared your throat, deciding to ignore her opinion, and continued on walking. but you could still hear her echoing footsteps.

"i think that— you shouldn't be there. and you don't want to be there." she crossed her arms.

once you gave up and turned around, you were left surprised by how pretty she was. your expectations were— well, on a way lower level. she looked masculine and you could see the curves of her muscles through her clothes, yet you weren't feeling precarious nor apprehensive by her presence anymore.

"actually," she continued, "i know that. it's painted all over your face. one glance in your direction and i already sense the discomfort."

you sharply inhaled, the air hissing in your nostrils as you mumbled an annoyed "god" under your breath. "are you always like that?"

"no." she shook her head and pursed her lips in a thin line, before realising what you meant and chuckling. "not at all. but you should be fuckin' thankful." she untangled her arms and shoved her hands in the pockets of her jeans. "c'mon, what are you looking for?"

you pinched your nose bridge and closed your eyes with a huff, because why did she have to be so damn persistent and perpetual? but she seemed able to help you, so in a slightly complaining—dissenting tone you murmured your father's name.

and her stubborn smirk faded, her gaze shifted between you and the letter in your hand. "who are you?" she asked, emphasizing each syllable, as if she was talking to a child.

you were dubious and skeptical on what you should say nor should you admit the truth, you just shrugged. a hesitant, mistrustful raise of your shoulders, which even deepened the girl's frown, knitting her eyebrows together. "i dunno..."

"you can't be a sluuu— sorry, a prostitute" she thought aloud, actually considering this option.

"why?" your expression glowered as you scowled. oh, so your father is associated with call girls, how nice! "don't answer. whatever. just— take me to him."

"i can't." she defensively raised her hands. "you could be a... fuck, i don't know, a spy or something!"

"don't be stupid" you scoffed and couldn't help but roll your eyes. "i'm his daughter."

she gulped and her eyes widened. "daughter?..."

✧˖°

PART 2 IS OUT !!

[upat4amwiththemoon]

amelia shepherd x fem!reader that’s an intern or resident who keeps logging in hours on neuro when they aren’t really interested in it just to see amelia. and eventually amelia noticed and asked why. i don’t really have an idea for an ending but like fluff

girls

Summary: They’re so pretty it hurts.

Pairing: Amelia Shepherd x female!reader

Warnings: my medical knowledge is zero, Scout doesn’t exist

Word count: 911

a/n: Amelia is keeping the whole show together

masterlists | guidelines

“Y/N.” Amelia smiles as she sees the woman she has gotten to know well these past months. “More neuro hours, huh? Should I feel threatened you’ll take my spot as the head of neuro one day?” She grins, holding onto the tablet with all of her patients’ information.

Y/N laughs, following Amelia as they start walking. “No way. I don’t think you should be threatened by anyone.”

“I agree.” Handing the tablet to Y/N, Amelia opens the door to a room full of MRI scan images. They stand there for a moment, watching the images. “What do you see?”

Straightening her posture, she clears her throat and stares at the pictures more closely. “Uhm…a brain tumor?”

“Are you asking me?”

“No.” Y/N shakes her head quickly, turning her gaze to Amelia. “It’s a brain tumor.”

“It is.” Amelia takes down the pictures. “What do we have to do?”

“Do a biopsy to figure out what type of tumor it is.”

Nodding, she puts the pictures aside and gestures for Y/N to follow her. They walk through the hospital hallways, all the way to the patient’s room. “Good morning, Mrs Noceda”. Amelia smiles as they settle into the room. She gives Y/N a look, giving her the moment to present the patient.

“Mrs Noceda, 53 years old, came to the hospital yesterday due to multiple complications, a MRI scan was made and a tumor was found.” Y/N lists, her eyes staying on the patient and Amelia. “Today’s agenda will be biopsy, which will tell us how to proceed.”

“Does that sound good?”

“Of course, you know best, Doctor Shepherd.” Mrs Noceda has a gentle smile on her face despite everything going on.

“Then we will get you into biopsy right away. Y/N will come and prepare you in just a moment.” Amelia takes the tablet from Y/N after they walk out of the room. “Make sure we have an OR ready soon, then prepare Mrs Noceda for the biopsy.” She writes the new information down on Mrs Noceda’s file.

“Yes, Doctor Shepherd.”

“You’ll join me on the biopsy.”

Y/N’s eyes widen momentarily, but she manages to keep herself in check. “If you wish so, Doctor Shepherd.”

“If you wish so?” With furrowed brows and a confused grin, Amelia turns her attention to Y/N. “A little more excitement would be great.”

“Sorry, I truly am very excited to be in this with you.”

She doesn’t look convinced, but there’s no time to dwell on the details. “Alright. Go get everything ready.”

“Yes, Doctor Shepherd.” With that, Y/N is off to book an OR and prepare Mrs Noceda for her biopsy.

After the biopsy, Y/N and Amelia are waiting to hear back from the lab to get the results. The latter is tapping her fingers against a table as she moves back and forth on the chair. “Y/N.”

“Yeah?” Y/N is sorting through papers. They’re cases from different branches, ortho, peds, general, cardio, and so on.

“Don’t take this as an attack,” now Y/N’s attention moves to Amelia, “why do you keep logging hours in neuro? You don’t seem too interested in it. Which I don’t get, neuro is easily the best and you’re really good at it.”

”Oh.” Y/N avoids eye contact. She didn’t think Amelia would notice her lack of interest to neuro despite the many hours she spends with the doctor. “Well…” she searches for words, though it’s clear she isn’t finding any.

“Are you here because of me?” Amelia has a playful grin on her face, which changes immediately as she notices Y/N somehow becoming even more uncomfortable. “You are?”

She lets out a breath, her cheeks puffing as she nods. “Maybe.” Her voice is a quiet mumble.

Amelia doesn’t know how to answer, not expecting this to be the actual reason for Y/N’s decision to spend time in neuro. She sits up straighter, pulling the chair closer to Y/N with her legs.

“I understand if you wish me to stop doing neuro.” Y/N says quickly.

She shakes her head. “I want you to do neuro if you enjoy it. I don’t want you to be here while wishing to log more hours into something else.” Her voice is gentle and comforting. “You are an intern, and I am in a position of power,” Y/N opens her mouth, but Amelia raises her hand to stop her, “however, I would be lying if I said I haven’t gotten…attached.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” Amelia smiles when Y/N’s whole face brightens. “Don’t get too excited. All of this, whatever it is, has to happen slowly and discreetly, preferably out of the hospital.”

“I understand.”

“And you have to start logging hours into the branches you’re actually interested in.”

Y/N’s face falls momentarily, but she smiles quickly. She knows it’s for the better, she won’t become a good doctor by pining after someone while doing something she isn’t interested in. “Okay. I’ll start logging hours on other things too.”

“Good.”

“So…” Y/N fidgets with her fingers. “Does that mean we could go on a date?”

“We’ll go on a date. After we help Mrs Noceda with her tumor.”

She giggles in excitement. “Yes, Doctor Shepherd.” Amelia rolls her eyes with a grin, patting her arm before moving her chair right next to Y/N, curious with the other cases she’s studying.

[makethatelevenrings]

Day 6: Boot Worship w/ Simon Riley

i work until 11pm so pls enjoy and let me know ur thots

Kinktober Masterlist

“Lieutenant.” The greeting is brusque and brief. “At ease.”

Your foot slides out, hands clasping behind your back as you acknowledge his order with a small dip of your chin. Simon sits back from the stack of papers he had been bent over and he takes in the sight of you. Stress lines your eyes, your jaw, your shoulders. You hide it well, but not from him. Never from him.

“Close the door, lieutenant. Lock it.” Your body moves on autopilot to comply with his orders. When the metal bolt slides smoothly into place, you turn around to face him once more. He’s still seated. Large and foreboding, Simon Riley nearly took up the whole length of his desk with the broad width of his shoulders. He leaned back in his chair and regarded you carefully.

In the field, he was your equal. He was the muscle and you, the brains. You kept the team on track, fielded information, and analyzed the data. The two of you had entered the military at the same time but drifted apart during those few awful years when he became Ghost and you became John Price’s top intelligence officer. When you reunited, it was rough and bumpy. He wasn’t the Simon you knew. You weren’t the bright-eyed young woman he had kissed behind the barracks. You clashed, much to Price’s dismay, and rarely spoke outside of tense briefings.

A mission gone wrong threw you headlong into danger and Simon followed without question. The two of you spent a week in a Siberian cabin and when Soap, Gaz, and Price were able to extract you, they found the two of you the same but different. The bond between you had snapped back into place. Where you two had been deadly before, together you were now lethal.

It was that connection between the two of you that made you so easy to read in Simon’s eyes. He saw the tension, the need for release. He nodded at you once and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Who do you need right now?” You wanted to sigh at the confirmation. He would help you. Hell, you don’t know why you were wary or questioned if he would. Simon would move heaven and hell for you.

“Ghost, sir. I need Ghost.”

His throat bobbed with a heavy swallow before he nodded once, his face impassive. When he spoke, his voice was a little rougher. A little more commanding. To anyone, it would have gone unnoticed. To you, it spoke volumes.

“Get on your hands and knees,” he ordered. You sank to the ground gratefully. Your shoulders were already relaxing under his command. Ghost turned in his chair and gestured for the empty space under his desk.

“Crawl. Like the little bitch you are.”

You preened under the degradation, your mind already growing fuzzy on the edges. You slipped under the desk and his gloved hand came down to fist in your hair, holding you in place. He made sure to look you in the eye, the only part visible from his balaclava, and you swallowed at the molten brown eyes that met yours.

“You tap out if you need to,” he said softly. You nodded against his almost painful grip and he released you before settling back in his chair and spreading his legs. You assumed he would pull his cock out, maybe fuck your face a little, but he surprised you when he tapped the toe of his boot on the ground.

“Hands behind your back. Clean them.”

You swallowed roughly against the sudden dryness in your throat. You looked up at him with a question in your eyes and he responded with a level stare that held a question in response. You two had tried plenty of things in your complicated, twisted dynamic but this was new. He was giving you a chance to back out. He could find something else to pull you out of your head.

No. No, this was something you wanted. The idea of posturing yourself below Ghost like this caused something to loosen in your chest. You bent down, gathered the spit in your mouth, and spat it onto the leather of his boots before dragging your tongue across it.

You should be revolted. Years of training and education only to place yourself on your knees before a man and lick his boots clean. It was disgusting, degrading, and it made your body burn in a way you had never imagined.

Your mind slipped away into that fuzzy, warm place that you craved. All of the tension in your body leaked out of you as you finished with one boot and eagerly switched to the other. Your nose brushed against the rough fabric of his fatigues and you inhaled the bitter, acrid scent of motor oil, cigarettes, and sweat.

What would everyone think if they knew their top analyst was just a little slut for the Ghost?

When you were satisfied with your work, you sat back and nodded up at Ghost. He grunted in response. “Hands flat on the ground. I need to check your work.”

You slid seamlessly into the stance he demanded and he roughly settled his boot on your back, inspecting your work. He set one foot down and then raised the other. Ghost let out another grunt, agreeable this time, and you felt him lift his other foot off of your back.

And then a gentle hand, free of gloves this time, touched your cheek and brought your gaze up to meet his. This wasn’t Ghost anymore. Simon studied your face and nodded to himself. He patted his thigh and you climbed up, fitting yourself into his lap.

“Good girl,” he murmured. His thumb stroked a path along your jaw and you shut your eyes at the delicate touch. “Ready to talk about it now?”

“You put on a clean pair of boots,” you croaked out. “You knew I would come.”

“You didn’t eat lunch,” he noted. “Figured you were having a bad day.” His hands slid down to your waist and he pulled you up and onto his lap. “Pilfered some food from the canteen for you.”

You hadn’t noticed the small collection of snacks on the corner of his desk, but now they caught your attention. One of your hands wrapped around his shoulders and the other went to rest on his mask. Simon nodded and you pulled his balaclava down, fingers tracing the scars that he kept hidden behind the fabric, and pressed a kiss to his lips.

“Thank you,” you whispered. He dipped his chin and kissed your palm. Simon never knew what to say to your gentle words and praises. The two of you were an enigma to the outside observer. But it was easy to explain.

You were whoever he needed and he was whoever you needed. It just worked.

[queenshelby]

Our Little Secret (Part 31)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Infidelity, Age-Gap, Birth, Complications

Moments later, Cillian joined the others in the dining room and, after you were finished feeding Mara, you followed suit.

Everyone sat down at the table, exchanging polite greetings and small talk. Your mother was still upset, but she refrained from saying anything more hurtful. Instead, she focused on making pleasant conversation with Siobhan and Cillian's other sister Sian. 

As time progressed, Cillian's mother rose from her seat, carrying a steaming dish to serve everyone. "Dig in, everyone!" she encouraged, gesturing at the array of delicious food. "We can all eat now," she announced cheerfully.

"Siobhan, why don't you start passing out these plates?" she suggested, handing a stack of dishes to her daughter. Siobhan obliged, distributing the food among the guests. The aroma wafted enticingly through the air, tantalizing their senses and drawing their attention to the feast laid out before them.

"This smells amazing, mum," Cillian praised, serving himself generous portions of the delectable dishes. "You've outdone yourself once again," he complimented sincerely, watching his mother beam proudly.

"Thank you, Cillian," she murmured appreciatively while Frank rolled his eyes for reasons unclear to you. 

Cillian and Frank then shared another round of heated glares, their tension escalating with each passing moment. Neither one of them uttered a word to one another, but their body language spoke volumes. Their rigid postures and clenched jaws hinted at the animosity brewing beneath the surface.

"Would anyone like some wine?" Cillian's mother asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence, causing Cillian to nod. 

"Are you alright?" she then added worriedly, her gaze darting between Cillian and Frank.

"Of course," Cillian assured her, forcing a tight-lipped grin. "Just tired," he lied smoothly, reaching for his glass of wine. 

"Well, babies do that to you, Cillian," his mother laughed kindly, patting the hand he rested on the table. "You need to pace yourself because it will get worse," she then chuckled, her gaze flitting between him and you.

"We will," you promised, meeting her sympathetic gaze. "We seem to be working well as a team so far," you added, attempting to lighten the mood.

Cillian nodded, flashing a brief smile before returning to his meal. The group fell silent, each member consumed by their own thoughts as they savored the scrumptious food. The air buzzed with an undercurrent of tension, but the palatable dishes successfully managed to divert their attention from the simmering hostility.

Despite the occasional strained laughter and forced smiles, it proved somewhat challenging to maintain a cohesive conversation and, at around 9 o'clock, after a few more glasses of wine, Cillian's mother called it a day.

"I think I should get some rest before tomorrow," she said, yawning widely before she left the dining room and, as soon as she did, your mother and Frank looked at each other, rose from their seats and disappeared into separate rooms without saying a single word, leaving you, Cillian, Siobhan and Sian sitting there awkwardly.

"Don't worry," Siobhan tried to console you, her hand squeezing your arm comfortingly. "Tomorrow will be better," she then smiled encouragingly, causing Cillian to shake his head in disbelieve.

"This is ridiculous," he groaned, rubbing his temples. "I didn't expect that we would have to deal with such nonsense when we came here," he lamented before walking towards the living room in order to confront them both.

"They are behaving like children," he said, his jaw muscles bulging visibly. "Frank especially," he then added bitterly while Siobhan and Sian exchanged knowing glances.

"Just give them some time to process this Cillian," Siobhan reasoned patiently though Cillian merely shrugged in reply.

"They had nine months to process this," he argued stubbornly, crossing his arms defiantly. 

"I understand, Cillian," Siobhan consoled sympathetically, her tone gentle and understanding. "You're frustrated right now--"

"I'm beyond frustrated," he cut her off impatiently, his brows furrowing in agitation before barging off to find them.

"You'll only provoke them," Siobhan called after him, her words falling on deaf ears.

Sian sighed heavily, shaking her head in exasperation. "Why does everything involve drama in our family?" she moaned despondently, casting a sorrowful glance at you.

"Fuck, I feel like I am at fault," you sighed, biting your lip nervously. "If I hadn't gotten involved with Cillian in the first place, none of this would have happened," you lamented, staring blankly at the empty wine glass on the table.

"Y/N," Siobhan said to you, patting your hand. "We all do dumb things sometimes, especially when we are in love," she assured you fiercely, her unwavering gaze conveying a certainty that suprised you.

"I am not in love with him," you lied, your voice trembling slightly. "It was a short-lived and stupid little fling," you dismissed it, biting your lip nervously. "We weren't really serious about it," you insisted, although the truth was much different. 

"Sure, if this is what you want to tell yourself," Siobhan replied, offering you a comforting smile. "But, in any event, what I am saying is that you aren't responsible for other people's reactions or behavior," she emphasized, her gaze lingering on you thoughtfully. "Cillian and you seem to be happy enough with whatever arrangements you have in place so your mother and Frank will just need to let it go and deal with it," she concluded resolutely, her voice firm and unwavering.

You sighed heavily, mulling over her words carefully. She made sense, but you couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt for inadvertently causing turmoil within Cillian's family. 

"You are right," you admitted reluctantly, your voice barely audible. "Cillian and I are content with our arrangement and if my mum doesn't want anything to do with her grandchild then that's her loss," you determined, swallowing thickly.

"Exactly," Siobhan agreed wholeheartedly, her gaze locking onto yours just as Cillian appeared again, sighing heavily.

"I give up," he muttered, throwing his hands into the air dramatically.

"I told you there was no point talking with Frank when he gets like this," Sian reminded him, watching him with a raised eyebrow.

"Well, he's got to learn that the relationship between Y/N and myself is not his business," Cillian growled, shaking his head in frustration. "He can't control everyone's life," he added before barging upstairs. 

Cillian was visibly upset, his anger and irritation plainly evident in his tense posture and stormy gaze. You watched him disappear upstairs, his footsteps echoing loudly against the hardwood floors.

"I will be back," you told the sisters before following Cillian and, as you approached the bedroom in which Mara had been sleeping, you could hear Cillian speaking softly to your Babygirl. 

"Shh, it's okay my perfect little girl," he cooed, his voice low and soothing. "Let's just get that nappy changed, shall we?" he told her, seeing that, clearly, it was this time of the night for her. 

"Do you want me to do this?" you asked quietly as you opened the door of the bedroom, observing Cillian cradling Mara lovingly.

"No, I've got it," he replied, looking up at you briefly before tenderly laying Mara down on the changing table. "I actually enjoy this part," he explained, his voice soft and soothing. You watched him closely, admiring how adeptly he navigated the task.

"Really? You enjoy changing dirty nappies?" you queried skeptically, arching an eyebrow in disbelief.

"Really," he confirmed, his lips quirking upward in amusement. "I mean, it's something I can do, you know. She won't let me bottle feed her and she most certainly won't go to sleep for me anymore," he then explained, chuckling slightly. "She prefers you to do it," he continued, grinning broadly at you.

"Well, I do have the mother's touch," you winked while Cillian disposed of the used diaper into the bin, before he grabbed a fresh one and placed it on the changing mat.

"Or maybe you're just naturally gifted Y/N. You are amazing with her," Cillian said honestly while putting a new nappy on to her and taping it securely before he lifted her up in his arms. "Ready for mommy to feed you again?" he then asked your baby sweetly while she gurgled happily and kicked her legs in excitement.

You took her out of his hands, kissing her forehead affectionately before responding to Cillian. "I guess the only real difference is that I have got the goodies and you don't," you joked lightly, watching him chuckle softly.

"You are perfect with her Cillian and you are most certainly perfect with me these days," you admitted quietly, feeling Cillian's gaze lock onto yours. 

"If I was really that perfect, then I wouldn't have made you come here with me," he retorted, his gaze flickering across your face. "I mean, with the way Sarah and Frank are acting, this is far from ideal and I am sorry for making you come. You deserve to be treated so much better," Cillian apologized, his gaze boring into yours.

"Cillian, you didn't make me come here," you countered, your gaze flickering across his face. "I chose to come with you, remember? It wasn't an obligation," you pointed out, watching him consider your words.

"You are something else, you know that?" Cillian murmured, his voice hushed and filled with emotion. "And I think that l am actually in love with you, Y/N."

You paused, studying him intently. His confession caught you off guard, his words painting a vivid image of his inner turmoil. "Cillian," you breathed, your heart pounding wildly in your chest. "I think I may be in love with you too," you confessed hesitantly, blushing profusely.

His breath hitched sharply, his gaze locked onto yours. "Really?" he gasped, his eyes widening in surprise.

"I have been for a while but things were just too difficult between us. You then met Amanda and dated her for a while and I figured that my feelings for you were unrequited so I tried to ignore them,” you confessed, blushing deeply. "I never expected that things would change," you added, squirming uncomfortably.

"Things have definitely changed," Cillian agreed, his gaze burning with intensity. "Or maybe they haven't, and I was just trying too hard to ignore how I felt as well," he sighed wistfully, reaching out to cup your cheek affectionately.

"So, what are we going to do now then?” you asked cautiously, your gaze fluttering across Cillian's face. 

"Well, we could work things out. We could be a proper family, move in together and give this relationship a shot," Cillian murmured, his words stirring a warm flush in your veins. "You, me, Mara and, occasionally, Max," he added, his gaze piercing into yours. 

"You know what? That sounds absolutely wonderful," you exhaled, smiling brightly. "I want that, Cillian," you confessed fervently, your voice trembling slightly just as Cillian finally leaned in and captured your lips in a passionate kiss.

To be continued...

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[writeriguess]

The late afternoon sun cast a warm, golden glow over the bustling city streets. The air was crisp with the scent of autumn leaves, and you could hear the distant hum of traffic, mingling with the chatter of passersby. Your footsteps were steady as you navigated the familiar path to your favorite coffee shop, the one where you often found solace with a book in hand or a steaming cup of your favorite brew.

As you approached the entrance, a strange sensation washed over you. It was as if the world had suddenly slowed down, and for a brief moment, everything around you blurred. You shook your head, trying to clear the odd feeling. With a slight hesitation, you pushed open the door, the little bell above it chiming cheerfully.

Inside, the shop was a cozy haven from the busy world outside. The smell of freshly brewed coffee enveloped you, and the soft murmur of conversations provided a comforting background noise. You made your way to the counter, your eyes scanning the familiar menu even though you knew exactly what you wanted.

“(Y/N), right?” The barista’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts. You blinked, surprised that he remembered your name.

“Yeah, that’s me,” you replied with a smile. “I’ll have the usual.”

As the barista prepared your drink, you glanced around the room. The coffee shop was moderately full, but one figure caught your attention. A man sat alone at a corner table, his posture tense and his gaze focused intently on a small notebook in front of him. He seemed oddly out of place amidst the relaxed atmosphere.

There was something familiar about him, though you couldn’t quite place it. His dark hair was slightly tousled, and his brow was furrowed in concentration. He looked like someone who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, yet there was a certain intensity in his eyes that drew you in.

“Here you go,” the barista said, handing you your drink. You thanked him and made your way to a table near the window, still unable to shake the feeling that you knew the man in the corner.

As you sipped your coffee, you tried to focus on the book you’d brought with you, but your attention kept drifting back to the stranger. Finally, your curiosity got the better of you. You gathered your courage and stood up, making your way over to his table.

“Mind if I sit here?” you asked, gesturing to the empty chair across from him.

He looked up, his expression one of mild surprise. For a moment, he seemed to be assessing you, as if trying to decide whether to let you into his world.

“Go ahead,” he finally said, his voice low and measured.

You sat down, feeling a mix of nervousness and excitement. “You look like you’re deep in thought,” you observed, trying to break the ice.

He let out a soft, humorless chuckle. “You could say that.”

“Anything you want to talk about?” you offered, even though you knew it was a long shot. He didn’t seem like the type to open up easily.

He looked at you for a long moment, and you could see the gears turning in his mind. “What’s your name?” he asked abruptly.

“(Y/N),” you replied. “And you are?”

“Five,” he said, as if that was all the information you needed.

“Five? That’s an unusual name,” you commented, intrigued.

“It’s a long story,” he said, his tone suggesting that he wasn’t keen on sharing the details.

You nodded, deciding not to push him. Instead, you took a sip of your coffee, savoring the warmth. “So, Five, what brings you to this little corner of the world?”

He hesitated, his eyes flickering with something you couldn’t quite identify. “I’m… trying to figure some things out,” he said vaguely.

“Sounds complicated,” you replied, leaning back in your chair. “I’m a pretty good listener, you know. If you ever want to talk.”

He looked at you again, this time with a hint of curiosity in his gaze. “Why are you so interested?”

You shrugged, offering a small smile. “I don’t know. You just seem like someone who could use a friend right now.”

For the first time since you’d sat down, a genuine smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. It was small, almost imperceptible, but it was there.

“Maybe,” he said, almost to himself.

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence, the kind that didn’t need to be filled with words. You could tell that Five was a man of few words, but there was something about him that intrigued you, something that made you want to know more.

“So, what’s in the notebook?” you asked after a while, nodding toward the small book in front of him.

Five’s expression shifted, becoming more guarded. “Just… notes,” he said, closing the notebook and tucking it into his jacket.

You could sense that he didn’t want to elaborate, so you didn’t press the issue. Instead, you decided to change the subject. “Do you come here often?”

“Not really,” he replied. “But it’s… nice. Quiet.”

“Yeah, I like it here too,” you said with a smile. “It’s a good place to think.”

Five nodded, his gaze drifting out the window. The afternoon sun had dipped lower, casting long shadows across the pavement. For a moment, he looked lost in thought, and you wondered what kind of burdens he carried.

“Do you believe in fate?” he asked suddenly, turning his attention back to you.

The question caught you off guard, but you considered it carefully. “I think… I think everything happens for a reason,” you said slowly. “Even if we don’t understand it at the time.”

Five’s eyes searched yours, as if trying to gauge your sincerity. “What if you had the power to change things? To fix mistakes?”

“Depends on the mistake,” you replied. “But I think it’s important to accept the things we can’t change and learn from them.”

He seemed to mull over your words, his expression unreadable. “What if the stakes were higher? Like… saving the world?”

You raised an eyebrow, wondering if he was being serious or just philosophical. “Well, I guess if someone had that kind of power, they’d have a huge responsibility. But it’s also important to remember that no one can do everything alone.”

Five didn’t respond immediately, and you got the sense that your words had struck a chord with him. There was something almost haunted in his eyes, as if he carried the weight of unimaginable burdens.

“I’ve made a lot of mistakes,” he said quietly, almost as if he were confessing something. “Things I wish I could undo.”

“Everyone makes mistakes, Five,” you said gently. “But it’s what we do after that matters. How we move forward.”

He looked at you, and for the first time, you saw a flicker of vulnerability in his gaze. “What if I told you I’ve been moving forward for a long time? Longer than you could imagine.”

You tilted your head, trying to decipher his meaning. There was something almost otherworldly about the way he spoke, as if he were carrying the weight of centuries.

“I’d say you must be pretty tired,” you said softly.

A small, rueful smile crossed his lips. “You have no idea.”

Another comfortable silence settled between you, and you could feel a strange connection forming between the two of you. Despite the mystery that surrounded him, there was something about Five that made you want to know him better, to understand the man behind the guarded exterior.

“Thank you,” Five said suddenly, breaking the silence. “For sitting with me.”

“Anytime,” you replied, smiling warmly. “I’m here whenever you need someone to talk to.”

He nodded, his expression thoughtful. “I might take you up on that.”

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the city in a warm, golden glow, you felt a sense of peace settle over you. You didn’t know what the future held, but you were glad you’d taken the chance to reach out to Five.

For the first time in a long while, Five felt something stir within him—a glimmer of hope, a flicker of warmth in the cold, dark world he’d been navigating for so long. He didn’t know what the future held, but for the first time, he found himself wanting to find out.

Days turned into weeks, and the encounters with Five at the coffee shop became a regular occurrence. Each meeting was like peeling back another layer of the complex man who had somehow become a fixture in your life. Despite the guarded nature he often displayed, there was a certain comfort in the routine you had built together.

One chilly afternoon, you arrived at the coffee shop to find Five already seated at your usual table, two cups of coffee in front of him. A smile tugged at your lips as you approached.

“Are you trying to bribe me with caffeine?” you teased, taking a seat across from him.

“Just thought I’d save you the trouble of waiting in line,” Five replied, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips.

“You’re too kind,” you said with mock seriousness, before taking a sip of the coffee. It was exactly how you liked it, and you couldn’t help but feel touched that he remembered.

The two of you fell into an easy conversation, discussing everything from mundane topics to more personal ones. Over time, Five had started to open up to you, sharing bits and pieces of his past—though always leaving out the more fantastical elements. You knew there were still many things he wasn’t telling you, but you didn’t push him. You had learned to be patient, to let him reveal what he was comfortable with in his own time.

“Have you ever wanted to just… disappear?” Five asked suddenly, his tone more serious than usual.

You looked at him, surprised by the question. “Disappear? Why would you want to do that?”

“Sometimes it feels like the world would be better off without me,” he admitted, his gaze distant. “Like I’m just making things worse.”

“Five,” you said softly, reaching across the table to gently touch his hand. “I don’t believe that for a second. You’re not a burden to anyone. You’re important.”

He looked down at your hand, his expression unreadable. “You don’t know the things I’ve done.”

“I know enough,” you replied firmly. “And I know that everyone deserves a second chance.”

Five was silent for a long moment, his eyes locked on yours. There was a storm of emotions swirling behind his gaze, and you could see the battle he was fighting within himself.

“Why do you care so much?” he asked finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Because I see something in you that’s worth caring about,” you said simply. “Because I believe you’re a good person, Five, no matter what you’ve done.”

He looked at you, his eyes searching yours for any hint of doubt. When he found none, he seemed to relax slightly, as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, his voice filled with sincerity.

“Anytime,” you replied with a warm smile.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Five allowed himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t beyond redemption. That perhaps, in this world filled with chaos and uncertainty, there was a place for him—a place where he could find peace, even if it was just in the small moments he shared with you.

As winter settled in, the coffee shop became a cozy refuge from the cold, a place where you and Five continued to build your strange, yet comforting friendship. The more time you spent with him, the more you realized just how much he meant to you. He was more than just a mystery to solve; he was someone you genuinely cared about, someone you wanted to see happy.

One evening, as snow gently fell outside, the two of you sat by the window, watching the world turn white. There was a peaceful silence between you, the kind that only comes when two people are truly comfortable with each other.

“Do you ever think about the future?” you asked, breaking the silence.

“Constantly,” Five replied, his tone thoughtful. “But the future is a tricky thing. It’s never set in stone.”

“I guess that’s true,” you mused. “But what about your future? What do you want it to look like?”

Five was silent for a moment, as if contemplating the question. “I want to make things right,” he said finally. “I want to fix the mistakes I’ve made.”

“You’re already on the right path,” you said gently. “You’re trying, and that’s what matters.”

He looked at you, his expression softening. “What about you? What do you want for your future?”

You hesitated, thinking about what you truly wanted. “I guess… I just want to be happy. To find someone who makes me feel like I’m not alone in this world.”

Five’s gaze intensified, and for a moment, you could have sworn there was something deeper in his eyes, something that mirrored your own feelings.

“You’re not alone,” he said quietly, his voice filled with a rare vulnerability. “Not anymore.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and you felt a warmth spread through your chest. “Neither are you, Five. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

He didn’t say anything, but the way he looked at you spoke volumes. There was a connection between you, one that had grown stronger with each passing day. It was as if, in each other, you had found a kindred spirit, someone who understood the complexities of life and the importance of second chances.

As the weeks went by, the bond between you and Five only deepened. The more time you spent together, the more you realized that you had fallen for him—hard. It wasn’t just his mysterious nature or the way he always seemed to be one step ahead of everyone else. It was the way he made you feel, the way he looked at you like you were the only person in the world who truly understood him.

But there was also a lingering fear, a worry that your feelings might not be reciprocated, that perhaps Five saw you only as a friend. You weren’t sure how to approach the subject, and the idea of ruining what you had was enough to keep you silent.

One evening, as the two of you sat in the coffee shop, you found yourself lost in thought, your gaze fixed on the snow-covered street outside. You didn’t notice Five watching you, his expression unreadable.

“Something on your mind?” he asked, breaking the silence.

You looked at him, startled. “Oh, I was just… thinking.”

“About what?”

You hesitated, unsure how to answer. But before you could say anything, Five spoke again.

“You’ve been quiet lately,” he observed. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” you replied quickly, not wanting to burden him with your feelings. “Just… thinking about stuff.”

“Stuff?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, you know… life, the future… that sort of thing,” you said, trying to sound casual.

Five didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t press the issue. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, his gaze never leaving yours.

“You’ve been good to me, (Y/N),” he said quietly. “Better than I probably deserve.”

“Don’t say that,” you said quickly. “You deserve happiness just like anyone else.”

A small smile tugged at his lips. “You’re too kind.”

You shook your head, feeling a surge of emotion. “I just care about you, Five. I want you to be okay.”

For a moment, Five looked at you with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. It was as if he was searching for something, some sign that would tell him what to do next.

“I care about you too,” he said finally, his voice so soft you almost didn’t hear it.

Your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, and you didn’t know what to say. The silence stretched between you, heavy with unspoken words.

Finally, Five broke the silence. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to say this,” he began, his tone hesitant. “But the truth is… I think about you. A lot.”

You felt a blush creep up your cheeks, and you looked down at your hands, unable to meet his gaze. “You do?”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “More than I probably should.”

There was a vulnerability in his voice that you had never heard before, and it made your heart ache. You looked up at him, meeting his gaze, and for the first time, you saw the fear in his eyes—the fear of losing something he hadn’t even realized he needed.

“I think about you too,” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper.

Five’s eyes softened, and he reached across the table to take your hand in his. His touch was warm, reassuring, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

“I’m not good at this,” he said, his tone apologetic. “I’ve never really… done this before.”

“Done what?” you asked, your voice trembling slightly.

“Fallen for someone,” he admitted, his gaze locked on yours. “But I think… I think I’m falling for you.”

Your heart swelled with emotion, and you squeezed his hand gently. “I’m falling for you too,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you was charged with emotion, and you could feel the weight of everything that had been left unsaid.

Finally, Five broke the silence. “I don’t know what the future holds,” he said quietly. “But I want to find out—with you.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you nodded, unable to find the words to express how much his confession meant to you. Instead, you leaned across the table, closing the distance between you, and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

Five responded instantly, his hand cupping your cheek as he deepened the kiss. It was a kiss filled with all the emotions you had both been holding back—passion, longing, and the promise of something more.

When you finally pulled away, you were both breathless, your foreheads resting against each other as you smiled through the tears.

“Whatever happens,” Five murmured, his voice filled with determination, “we’ll face it together.”

“Together,” you echoed, feeling a sense of peace settle over you.

In that moment, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them with Five by your side. The future was uncertain, but for the first time in a long while, you felt hopeful.

As the snow continued to fall outside, blanketing the world in a pristine white, you and Five sat together in the warmth of the coffee shop, your hands entwined, knowing that whatever the future held, you would face it together, hand in hand.

[moonshynecybin]

short fic (~1000 words ish) i wrote inspired by @kingofthering's wonderful fake dating au which you can find here ! go read it... anyways thinking about valentino and anger and his love languages and his insane little brain and PERFORMANCEEE and fame being a nightmare. anyways:

“And so my question, I suppose, is about your previous comments about Marc— would you say that you’ve put your feud behind you?”

Vale feels Marc shift from one foot to the other, his shoulders tensing under the lazy stretch of Vale’s arm. He’d tucked him there as soon as they’d entered the room, hoping the physical contact would sell it a bit more— give the two of them something to fall back on in front of the press— make their answers more convincing. Pictures sell faster than words, in his experience. But he shouldn’t have worried, Marc’s media training is a well exercised muscle, and his usual wide smile is pasted across his face. He’s good at this, but Vale may be the only person in the room who can tell how nervous he actually is, his slight change in posture and the rigid line of his jaw giving him away. Valentino is not exactly at ease, himself. It's the first time in quite a while that a press conference has made him feel like he was about to vomit.

Camera flashes light up in a dazzling flurry, pulling Vale back into the present. The entire room is holding its breath, paying careful attention to their answer, dying to know how two of the biggest stars in motorsport went from hating each other to being photographed together with one of them on their knees in the span of a calendar year. Sharks smelling chum in the water.

So Vale makes himself laugh, open and gregarious. Does what he does best— make it into something funny. Something that can’t touch him. Bring everyone else in on how hilarious it is, how absurd. Because if he thinks about it too long he feels like smashing things. He cannot fucking believe the nerve of this reporter. Cannot believe he has to do this. Cannot believe that Yamaha had asked him to let Marc do this alone. Cannot believe he thought about letting him. Cannot believe they’re pretending that they’re— that they—

“I would hope so! It would make being together very difficult otherwise.” He says, light enough to be a joke, gesturing between Marc and him. Marc’s hand tightens on his waist, catching against the smooth fabric of his Yamaha shirt. It’s the first verbal confirmation of what they said in their joint press release— that they’ve been dating. That they are together. That sometime in the off-season they’d reconciled and fell in love.

Of course, that’s not exactly what happened. It’s just harder to explain to the world that the sex you’ve been having with your rival 14 years your junior has been— well. Decidedly closer to something like hate sex than the kind of sex you have with a person that you’re in a committed relationship with. And that a lucky paparazzo had simply been in the right alleyway at the right time. And that Marc and him had barely been on speaking terms before the photo had hit the front page of every major publication in the world.

So here they are.

“And what about last year’s championship? Do you still hold the same opinion about Marc and Jorge Lorenzo's actions at the end of the year?” Another journo asks.

Vale pushes down the wave of emotion, hot and tense—embarrassed—that crests in his chest when he thinks about last year. That’s not what he’s here to do. He grits his teeth, instead. Keeps on smiling. He turns a little, uses the height difference between him and Marc to smile down at him, face close to his, and really sell it. The perfect couple. He winks back at the press.

“It sounds like you all want me to sleep on the couch!” He tries, and the tension in the room breaks, laughter tittering up from the press corp. A bomb defused. “No no no no, Marc and I, we are fine. We are better than fine, even! We are—“ He looks back at Marc, still too close, and pauses when he sees something complicated and delicate playing over his face. Something a little too real to be acting. But Marc quashes it when he sees Vale looking, and turns back towards the room, grin huge and polite. Vale’s words catch in his chest and tangle there for a moment, coming out a little stilted. He covers it with a theatrical shrug and a big smile. “We are good.”

As the press laugh, Marc’s shoulders unspool where they’re pressed against Vale—and he can tell Marc is relaxing, a little. Letting out some of whatever breath he’s been holding. It’s clear that what they’re doing, what Vale is saying, it’s working– the press swaying back to their side as they absorb the news, the shock of the two of them together. The picture they make.

Vale rubs a thumb over the bone of Marc’s shoulder. He's warm. 

Marc starts to speak. “You know, that is in the past. Valentino and I…” He searches for the words in English, brings a hand up to fiddle with his ear– one of his nervous tics. “We had a not so good relationship at the end of last year. But in the off-season, we talk. And learn to separate on-track and off-track. It is good between us.”

And Vale just about can’t stand that, even though he knows this is the plan. He can’t very well smooth this photo thing over and air his grievances at the same time. Doing this is the path of least resistance, he remembers. He tells himself. The one most palatable to the masses– him and Marc, united. Love overcomes all, he thinks bitterly. 

A journalist picks their head up.

“So it’s serious between you two, then? This is for real?”

Vale looks at Marc again, watches the slight flutter of his eyelashes, blinking as the question hits him. Vale wonders what he’s thinking about. If he’s wondering why they’re doing this, now in front of the whole world. If he’s asking himself how they let it get this far. Wondering why he got to his knees in that alleyway when Vale had told him to. Why he’d raced Vale the way he had the entire second half of last season. 

Marc’s smile dims, just for a second, and Vale pulls him closer.

He crushes the instinct to crack a joke just for Marc, to make him smile for real. To ask him why he’d had that look on his face a moment ago. To ask him to come to his trailer later just to– talk. Not to strategize with their PR teams, with their families. To just– be. Like it was before.

But that’s just not the kind of lives they lead. That’s not possible.

Valentino turns back to the press. Smiles. Lies.

“It’s real.”

[xelasrecords]

Secrets and Sacrifices

Han Jumin x Reader

NSFW

Jumin and you make sacrifices for the RFA. You don't know how much more you can take, but Jumin does not plan to let you out of his sight.

Secret Ending AU where the secrets drag on and relationships are more complicated.

TW: depression, self-harm, controlling behaviour

Words: 2.8k

Masterlist Read on AO3

Your friends are laughing around you. The restaurant lighting has dimmed, and the lambent glow from the candle on the table illuminates their happy faces. All of you are tucked into a padded leather sofa in the corner, the live music playing behind you.

You echo their laughter. It's the appropriate response.

Seven is sharing an outrageous tale, and Yoosung is his enraptured audience, constantly nodding and asking follow-up questions. Zen chides him for believing everything Seven says but still laughs along. Beside you, Jaehee reaches over you and sets the empty plates aside in anticipation of Seven's dramatic gestures.

Jumin is impervious to the racket. He swirls his wine and watches the advertising screen outside the window, the billboard flashing bright in the evening. His grey eyes are glazed, unfocused. He's missing V, you're sure. That's all he does, aside from worrying about you. Waits for V to contact him.

Languidly, you lay your head against the cushion. This should be a pleasant dinner, but there's a damper placed on your emotion valve. You've lost the means to conjure the excitement you once felt. The knowledge of missing them is not the same as feeling it.

You look down at the corduroy skirt that has ridden up to your waist, exposing more than half of your thighs. You dig your nails into them. Five seconds and release. Little scythes are imprinted on your skin. There, a feeling. You swipe your fingers through the indents with dull fascination.

Today is one of the rare days when you are cleared to venture outside without compromising security, but showing up here feels like a farce. You're playing puppet to prove that you're fine before being corralled back to Rika’s sterile shoebox apartment.

Jumin and Seven's dutiful little puppet, that's what you are.

When you glance up, you can feel the weight of Jumin's attention on you, intense gaze shifting from your lap to your neutral face.

You don't feel guilty. He will find out anyway.

You drag your skirt down and straighten your posture, the band sitting around your hips again.

"Is everything well?" Across from you, Jumin's smooth baritone voice rises above the peals of laughter and the increasingly loud music.

The chatter halts as your friends turn to you with a concerned expression.

You crack a smile. "I'm all right. Just tired." Jaehee squeezes your hand, and you pat hers with reassurance. The friendship you foster with this little group is built on thin ice, and long cracks have been crawling across the surface. "Let's go back, I have work tomorrow. So do all of you."

Seven's shrewd eyes flash at you before he grins widely at the others. "Except for Yoosung!" He pokes Yoosung's side, which earns him a light punch on his shoulder.

"A wise decision," Jumin says. "Everyone should get some rest."

"Easy for you to say." Zen glares at him. "I don't think I can sleep a wink tonight. My skin is ruined from all my lost beauty sleep." He sighs and turns to Seven. "Is there no progress on V's secret files?"

Seven pouts and shakes his head. "I'm still trying to break through the encryption walls, but Jumin can give me Elly to boost my motivation!"

Zen instantly sneezes and curses while Jaehee hurries to pass him a napkin.

An agent with a lifetime of diversion training. You hold back a scoff.

Jumin, Seven, and you are only shrouding yourselves with more secrets because you are determined to reach the same goal: Don't let harm come to the RFA. Don't share any information unless it's crucial. Not even Jaehee. Not yet. Let them live in the almost idyllic bubble as long as they can.

For a split second, Jumin seems as if he's about to scold Seven for the deliberate mispronunciation of his cat's name, but he shakes his head and calls for the bill instead.

Jumin has changed. You wonder how much he has to pay in unravelling V's secrets. If selling his peace is worth the members' peace. But you know what answer he would give. It has never been a matter of choosing for him. He will always protect the RFA.

He will always protect you.

Along with the others, you file out of the restaurant through its gilded swinging doors. Jumin immediately arranges their transport home and reminds them to inform their arrival in the chatroom. You pretend not to see Seven exchanging a calculating look with Jumin, his mask briefly slipping. You wait for your turn, but it never comes.

You have anticipated that, though.

Jumin places his hand on your lower back, his dark hair in slight disarray from the wind. You shiver. His touch still has the power to hold you together just as it has the strength to pull you apart. "Driver Kim is already on his way. You won't have to wait for long."

You nod and stare out the parking lot. Surveillance disguised as an act of chivalry. Since Seven stopped trusting V's contingency plans and revealed your address to the members, he and Jumin have worked together to keep you safe as you help them clean up the mess V left behind.

A familiar black car pulls up before you, and Jumin holds the backseat door open. You climb in, greeting Driver Kim before giving him your address. Jumin enters after and sits so close beside you that his trousers brush against your bare leg.

You press your thigh against him a little more.

Jumin gently caresses your knee, but there's a frown on his face. "Your address is already saved in my car navigation. Did you forget that?"

You have honestly forgotten. Thoughts slip around you these days. Try as you may to capture them, it's as if you have to squint through a lattice window to make out the memory fragments and piece them together. You get away with it most of the time, the fact that you struggle to pay attention.

But Jumin always pays too close attention to you.

"I remember now." You shrug.

Jumin isn't inclined to drop the matter. "I have picked you up more than once. If there's any problem with your memories, you should get it checked out. I will arrange a doctor's appointment for you."

"You're blowing things out of proportion."

The car starts to move. Driver Kim has polished his pretence of not hearing your conversation. He taps the radio screen, and a soft murmur floats through the small space.

Jumin's hand on your knee tightens into a grip, but not firm enough to hurt. "You have been forgetting a lot of things."

"Not when they're important," you say. "I won't compromise our mission, so lay off me. I can forget things. I'm human." You huff out a tired sigh. "Don't you have more things to worry about?"

His voice is constricted. "Do not presume other matters are more important than you."

"V?"

He draws his hand into his lap. "Both of you are of equal importance."

You stare out the window, yellow street lamps and glass towers sweeping past you. You're going back to a place that makes you want to scratch your skin loose. Your freedom is restricted to the apartment and wherever an RFA member accompanies you.

"I've watched the romantic drama you recommended," Jumin says after a few moments. "You're right, I did like it. It's curious how the man is always there to catch the woman when she falls. The distance and his human speed should've made it impossible."

At another time, you would have smiled at his endearing fascination and proclivity to pick apart a mystery until he understood it inside out. Now you glance at him without emotion. "Dramas operate by their own logic."

Jumin tries for a smile. "Nevertheless, it was sufficient entertainment to unwind after work. I must thank you for that."

"I'm glad it helped."

He shifts his body towards you. "How would you feel if I attempted to catch you when you fell?"

You purse your lips. "I won't fall around you."

"But if you do?"

You try to ponder over it, but it's like trying to break through rough currents that threaten to swallow you. The effort is exhausting. "You might not be fast enough," you say. "You're not armed with magical drama abilities."

"Then being there with you at all times would solve it." There's a hint of finality in Jumin's tone.

Of course.

You rest your head against the window, the glass cold against your temple. "That sounds impractical."

"It is better than watching the people I love lose themselves because they're too stubborn to ask for help."

Your lips tug up in the tiniest smirk. "Interesting. Han Jumin feels more than me. I never thought this day would come."

You glimpse at him, but he doesn't seem offended. How disappointing. You're right at the centre where his emotions are concentrated. You thought that would have included his anger.

"I would say it's concerning," Jumin says. "I know how that emptiness feels. If what you're experiencing is worse than that—"

"You'll force me to get treatment?"

His hands curl into a fist in his lap. "I'm not fond of coercion, but if you pose a danger to yourself, then I will do what I must."

You can't keep the irritation out of your voice. "Of course. Thank you for caring."

"I always care." Jumin's fingers hover near your cheek, and you think he's going to touch you, and you wait for him to—but he drops it to his side.

"And look how it ruins you."

Jumin dips his chin sharply. The shadow in the car obscures his expression, but you can make out the lines of exhaustion in the corner of his eyes. There is only so much he can put up with before it eats at him, always bracing for tragedy to befall everyone around him.

You're not supposed to be on the list of the people he wants to protect.

"Loving you doesn't ruin me. It's the best emotion I have ever felt." He runs his hand up your arm and pauses at the slope of your shoulder. "So let me care for you. Don't go. Don't go as far as V has."

You can't wrap your head around the driving force behind Jumin's obsession for your survival. You don't even care as much. It probably has something to do with how you can see right through him. He's attached to the validation you can offer him. You make him feel like a person. You're the only one who sees him as he is, now he can't let you go.

"V is your closest friend. He'll come back to you eventually."

"He won't," Jumin states flatly. "Rika is all he sees, and his range of vision has pathetically narrowed. You needn't bother with consolations. I know where my place is on his priority list."

Pressure burgeons within you like a fist thrusting into your ribcage and twisting your lungs. You hold on to the sensation, thankful to still be able to feel certain pains for Jumin. You wind your hand around his tie and press your lips somberly against his. He tastes of matured grapes and sweet memories long gone.

You have loved him until it ruined you too.

Jumin hooks his arm around your waist and pushes you against the car door, his other hand moving around the back of your head to soften the blow. His fingers trace down your ear and jaw before tilting your chin up and deepening the kiss.

His hand slides up the back of your thigh and toys with the lining of your panties. You hitch your leg up, allowing him to slide between you as he presses himself harder against you, his breathing harsh against your parted lips.

You can feel his need for you between your legs and you wish to satiate him, but it's as though your limbs and nerves are molten lead. You can burn him up with a single touch and you do it without feeling anything.

You want him, but the desire is cerebral.

Jumin pauses and pulls away when he notices your lack of fervour. He opens his mouth to apologise, but you grab his arms, feeling the lean muscles beneath the suit, and shake your head.

Not your fault.

He searches your face, then nods. This has happened before.

You don't know how you reached this point. You keep losing things that you can't afford to lose and you're tired of it. Your freedom, your fundamental need for Jumin. You don't know how to protect your senses from atrophying.

He smooths down your crumpled hair and blouse, murmuring, "I had expressed my wish not to be consoled, yet you still went against me."

"This is the only time I don't have to obey you."

Jumin stills. "I am not trying to restrict you."

"So if I ask you to stop monitoring my schedule and chaperoning me, either by yourself or someone you personally approve of, would you?"

He brushes your swollen lips with his thumb. "Can you promise me you won't get yourself killed if I decrease the security?"

"I promise." You straighten his tie to align it with the buttons and trail your fingers up his chest.

Jumin seems to consider it before shaking his head and chuckling. "You're a good liar."

You grip the lapels of his suit. "It's not up to me if the hacker decides to attack me."

"But you won't put up a fight either."

You let your hands fall and avert your gaze to the blur of passing cars behind him.

Jumin sighs. "It's only until we dissolve Mint Eye and you are safe from the threats that brought you here. Perhaps you would be happier and less inclined to throw self-preservation to the wind."

You clench your jaw and dig your nails into your thighs. Your life is getting smaller and smaller each day. There will always be another condition from him as your condition gets worse. Jumin will not stop. As long as the fight against Mint Eye goes on, you will always be under his extreme surveillance.

Jumin means well, you know it. You wouldn't have survived this long if he and Seven didn't force you to.

You carve your nails in with all your strength, clawing until they break your skin, but there's no blood. It's always harder when you mean to do it.

You don't want to be fixed all the time. Sometimes you want to shatter into pieces. Sometimes you feel safer when you're small.

"I can't breathe, Jumin," you say, desperation seeping into your voice.

He flicks his eyes down and wraps his hand around your wrists in an instant. "Stop doing that. Stop hurting yourself."

"This?" You laugh. "It's nothing more than you and Seven have been doing to me. I've always been willing to help you two with your plans, however immoral they are. I'd do them myself even without you. But I never gave you permission to track me like a prisoner."

His gaze turns hard. "You wouldn't let me if I asked."

"I'm the unhappiest I've ever been and you don't even care." You try to pull your hands away, but he won't budge. "You don't want me to be happy."

 "I deeply apologise. I never mean to cause you pain." His face contorts with guilt. "Please hold on a little longer. It will be over soon. V will provide us with an explanation, and things will return to how they were."

"You're naïve if you think it's that easy. This is not your drama with a fairytale happy ending."

"If I don't harbour hope in everyone's stead, what chance do we have in surviving?" Jumin says, and lets out a ragged breath. "We will get through this catastrophe. You can depend on me if you can't find the strength to go on. Just—stay with me. Do not leave."

You think you should cry. You can feel an emotion bubbling, blistering but never quite reaching its boiling point. It's frustrating. Breaking down under pressure is one of the most human things to do, yet the most you can muster is observational agitation.

Love changes things. He loves you and you're paying the price for it. 

You look at him with deadened eyes. "You have never made leaving possible, Jumin."

"Good," Jumin says, his voice terse. He doesn't let go of your wrists.

You sink into your seat, deep into the corner where the lights do not reach. There is a kind of loneliness that has grown into a corporeal shadow inside the cavity of you.

You yearn to make its existence known to someone.

You have no one to tell.

-

Footnotes:

I couldn't flesh these out due to fic length, but I want to get them out there anyway: 1) Reader isn't in therapy because Jumin and Seven aren't well-versed in mental health and Jumin thinks he's enough to fix her for now. She just doesn't care. 2) Jaehee is excluded from the secret subgroup because reader takes over her role in task execution and more.

I... didn't mean to write a dark Jumin or include canon plot elements. I feel like my fics lately are a "how dark can I make this" challenge. The initial idea was just Jumin being there for a lonely reader and it'd be wholesome and comforting, but it got worse through each draft. It had been satisfying to write.

I'd hoped my first fic with the big cast would be one where everyone's personalities are prominent, but apparently, I had to write it from a depressed reader's POV so everything is warped and muted instead. Maybe next time.

There's a paragraph that I reworked from my now inactive IG writing account c: I guess it's not plagiarism if you're copying yourself?

I like it when my MCs are a lil manipulative xoxo

The header concept is Jumin's obsessive surveillance, shown through the clear box tracking his eyes while the rest is blurred, and the toxic intimacy of how Jumin is the one who yearns more but they're separated by a thin yet impenetrable barrier. I was so happy that this clip fits my vision, with an Asian man at that! It's hard to find good free stock footage of Asians. And tap the GIF for better quality.

[redcoralpot]

Acula (2) - Daryl Dixon x Male Reader

Sophia’s end had hit Daryl hard.

Angry and filled with as much grief as the rest of you, he pulled himself away from the group. With Hershel’s sharp deadline looming over your head, you seeked him out, not wanting to end your acquaintance with the cold hunter.

--

This chapter was long overdue, and a very dialogue heavy one at that!!! An extended version will be posted soon on coralpot (AO3).

Warnings: Mentions of death, violence, brief mentions of homophobia

Tag: Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: 1.36K

-

Embers filled the sky as a small fire crackled, not too far from the farm. The flames highlighted the pinched face of the man beside you, neither speaking. No words, no shuffling; you could barely hear Daryl breathe. Not even the smoke could compete with how the events of the past day weighed down the air in your little campsite, nor the trivial feelings of something so complicated.

“You can’t stay out here forever, you know,” you sighed, pointedly looking at Daryl.

He finally speaks, ever the man of few words, “Says who?”

“Logic.”

“You ain’t my mother.”

“Don’t forget which man dragged you out of that forest,” A twinkle of humor shone in your eyes, “Dixon.”

“Pfft.”

Your posture slumped into a tree, the awkward atmosphere finally calming to a soothing, familiar lull. Bark scratched up your shirt, moss leaving smudged, green marks with it. The rotten taste of burning corpses still lingered in your mouth, and you shook your head with an ironic giggle.

“You know, this is the most I’ve gotten out of you lately.”

“Wonder why.”

His gruff tone stomped out the laughter inside, “Isolating yourself isn’t gonna help.”

“Bein’ all friendly ain’t gonna bring her back neither!”

“I understand that, but you know that she wouldn’t want you doing this.”

Silence.

“C’mon, Daryl, talk about it.”

His outburst did not deter you, only making you more concerned as you reached out to gingerly touch his shoulder. Daryl flinched and hissed under his breath, seeming to debate pulling away. You rethought your action, realizing just how weird it must have come off as. A man, touching another man, in such an intimate environment? He looked like the type that wouldn’t take such a gesture well, more like an insult to their high-regarded masculinity. You yanked your hand back, wanting to hide, run away, do anything but face the man in front of you, only for it to be forcefully stopped. 

Daryl had an expression that told you to shut your mouth, sliding your palm back on his shoulder. He felt warm, but stiff under your fingers. His face was turned away from you, and no matter how you twisted, Daryl’s features were stubbornly hidden from you. Eventually, in a boat of silence you built for yourself, you gave up. Tapping your foot, you rubbed small circles into his back, hoping to relax him enough for him to return the stare.

“Whenever you’re ready, man.” The softness of your voice surprised you.

He fidgeted with the folds of his pants, “Dunno.”

“Elaborate?”

“Don’t know where to start.”

“Do you want me to help or do you want time?”

“Kinda wanted you to give me somethin’ to work with.”

“That’s fine with me.”

…

“Say, earlier,” you exhaled, “were you helping out with the fires? I didn’t see you.”

“Nah, couldn’t.”

Your eyebrows raised, and his fidgeting worsened, “Couldn’t?”

“I couldn’t see that shit.”

“Why?”

“It made me sick;” he hesitated to elaborate, “I… failed her. Couldn’t make myself see that grave they were diggin’ for her.”

You nodded, not able to do anything more. Daryl must have felt the movement on his back stop, because he mustered up the courage to look up at you. Beyond the usual sharp hues, a certain semblance of vulnerability laid, shattering the blue. In this frozen position, you absentmindedly thought about the fact that you never had this good of a glimpse into his eyes before.

“Well, are you gonna say somethin’?”

The fire must be warming your cheeks, “Uh… yeah?”

Daryl shrugged your hand off, quickly closing off. A quick pang in your heart was shoved down as you finally got a hold of yourself, your mind racing as you tried to think of a better response.

“It wasn’t your fault, Dixon.”

That certainly hadn’t been what he expected, “It was.”

“How was it your fault?”

“Coulda’ searched more, harder.”

Your hand was allowed back on his shoulder, “If anything, out of anyone, you’re the last to blame here.”

Daryl didn’t respond, facing away from you again.

“Daryl, look at me, please.”

Like a pouting toddler, his shoulders lifted and he slowly slid his body 90 degrees in your general direction. After an unimpressed glare from you, he corrected himself and stared at your nose. It was good enough.

“You were out there searching for that little girl almost every single day, even though you didn’t know her all that much personally. The only time you took a break was when you were shot, for fuck’s sake!”

“Least I coulda’ done.”

“You did more than the men encouraging you that it was a lost cause.”

“If it ain’t my fault, than who’s is it?”

“Whatever the hell’s infecting people, that’s what.”

There was a certain heaviness in his voice, “Couldn’t’ve let her die, me and Carol both were sure of it. It still happened anyways.”

You were silent as you waited for him to continue, “Seein’ the grave, seein’ the smoke, smelling what she was damned to, it set in. What the hell am I supposed to do now?”

Suddenly, how you stank from the bodies was made obvious to you. Even some of the rotten smell had gotten on Daryl, and with his recent confession, that wasn’t the best thing. Your bag was carelessly slung over your lap, forgotten in favor of comfort. It’s possible that was making the stench worse, you were sure.

As you moved the bag, planning to throw it off to the side, you got a whiff of something that was most certainly not charred, diseased flesh. Quite good, actually. Earthy. The smell took you back to the moments after Andrea shot down Daryl, and he was delivered to recover in a tent. He had been knocked out cold, and despite how Hershel insisted that there was no need to worry, you still had the unsatiable urge to help. Unknown to old Hershel, you stole herbs from his tea cabinet, hoping to make a medicinal tea. Alas, with all the drama of the barn, Sophia, and Daryl’s stubborn nature, you never had the chance to give them to him.

“I have an idea,” you spoke, pulling out the variety stashed inside.

“Huh?”

Daryl flinched towards your hand as you took it away, laying out all the different plants on your thighs, “You said the smell made you feel worse, yeah? I know I stink of it, don’t lie, so I thought these would help.”

“You scavenged these? When?”

“Nah, I stole them from Hershel. Choose your pick; don’t tell.”

He scoffed, rubbing his hands to warm them before hovering over the herbs, thinking hard about the choice. Soon enough, he selected a few stalks of rosemary, holding them gently in his palms. Your choice followed, immediately gravitating towards the lavender, and you set the rest away. 

“You know what to do?”

The only response you received was a quick nod of his head, and he rubbed the stalks in between his hands harshly before rubbing them over any part of his body he could reach. Chuckling, you did the same, making sure to pay extra attention to key spots, such as anywhere you touched the corpses with. You would need to wash your clothes with Maggie come morning.

Afterwards, you both threw the mangled herbs into the deep forest, and Daryl stared after them. From this angle, you could see the burgundy scab ripping across his temple. Whether it was the sight or the late night temperature, a chill ran down your spine, and it was then that you realized just how much time you lost with him. 

“What do you say about heading back to camp? It’s late.”

Daryl looked like he wanted to protest, but thought the better of it, “Fine.”

You got up from your seat, brushing dirt and grass off of your aching ass. The other man had a large stain on the back of his pants from the contents he sat on, but you supposed it wouldn’t be too evil to let him discover that on his own. Slinging your bag over your back, you reached out to him, even as he stomped out the fire.

“Ready?”

-

[spaceistheplaceart]

Body Swap - How Do I Talk Like That? Part One

can you tell I got a little lazy on this one? aha

masterpost

Summarized ID: Reigen cleans up his appearance and tries to teach Mob about customer service. It makes Mob nervous and he's not quite getting it. Then, the customer comes in.

FULL ID UNDER CUT:

(I'll be referring to Reigen in Mob's body as Reigen and Mob in Reigen's body as Mob.)

A short compilation of Reigen fixing his appearance. He brushes his hair to the side, buttons up his PJ shirt, rolls up his sleeves, and sprays some deodorant under his arms. Then, he comes out of the bathroom and asks: "Well? How do I look?" Mob is reading a book at his desk, and Dimple is looking at Reigen.

Reigen stands with his arms out, waiting for a response. Dimple says: "You're still a kid in PJs, Reigen." Reigen looks to the side and clicks his teeth. "Tch."

He comes over to Mob, who is still reading a "how to" book. He leans over his shoulder. "So, you think you're getting the hang of it?" He asks.

Mob replies: "Not really. It looks complicated."

Reigen asks: "Which part?"

Mob points to a page, his finger is blocking some of the text. "Well... It says phrasing is important, and it ggives an example, but I don't see how this is rude."

The page reads: "Writing is very important. The key is nuance. How you phrase your sentences can make... difference between sounding... you care, and sounding like... of a jerk.

"You have to log out first."

"logging you should... that problem!"

Reigen puts a finger to his chin in thought. "Well, Mob, using 'you' in a request can sometimes be seen as rude, like you're ordering them around." He points to the page. "Also the tone of it. See how it's a period and not an exclamation? That makes it come off coldly."

Mob looks up at Reigen, sweating a bit. He's tense, but his expression is still stiff. He looks back down at the book. "Then, um... Tip #10 says to solve problems in new ways for each customer? I'm not sure I could exorcise spirits in..." He looks to the side, thinking. "Uh... for you to... I mean..."

Reigen interrupts: "Ignore that tip, we aren't doing that."

"Oh." Mob responds. There is a sweatdrop on his cheek. His eyes are a bit wider.

Reigen puts a hand on Mob's shoulder, his other gesturing as he speaks: "The main thing you gotta worry about today, Mob, is just trying to finish the sale. Be polite, figure out his problem, get the where and when... and then help him select a package! After that, It'll all fall into place."

Dimple says: "You're making him nervous."

Reigen leans over to look at Mob's face. He does indeed look a little nervous. Reigen asks: "You'll be fine. You've watched me work enough years, right?"

Dimple responds: "I don't think he's been taking notes, Reigen. He's got a whole life to worry about, why would he be watching YOU so intently?"

Reigen puts his hands on his hips. "Fine! Alright, alright, I'll just teach you a few things-- stepping stones, really. The basics."

He waves his hand. "Ok. Posture. Stand up, Mob."

Mob stands up. Reigen waves around his hand again, the other in his pocket. "Great! See, look at that, you're as straight as an arrow! Already, you've got a basic nailed down naturally!"

"Oh, Thank you, Master." Mob says.

"Now try giving your best smile!" Reigen beams, giving Mob an example of a nice smile. There are sparkles around him. The smile is cute! "Like this!" He says.

Mob tries to mimick it, but the smile is creepy. All his teeth are drawn in, and his eyes are squinted nearly shut. He's sweating and there's a wrinkle on the corner of his mouth. "This?"

Reigen looks unsure. "Ah... could use a bit of... improvement."

"You look like a serial killer." Dimple says bluntly.

Reigen glares at him and smacks him with the back of his hand. He drops his hand and stares in shock at Dimple. "Wait, did I just touch you?"

Dimple hides behind Mob's shoulder, glaring at him and sweating. "You do that again and I'll kill you."

Reigen looks at him deviously. There's a sparkle beside his head and his mouth is curled up into a cat's smile, much like a :3. He stretches out, dropping the expression, and cracks his knuckles. "Alright. as I was saying..."

We see the silhouettes of Mob, Reigen, and Dimple, as Reigen talks to Mob for a while.

"You think you got it?" He asks. Mob looks down at him, expression blank. "...Yes."

He sits down, and Dimple floats over with a mocking expression. "Don't worry, Shigeo! All you have to do is be good at talking and read the room. You're super good at that, aren't you?~"

Mob glares at Dimple, sweating and annoyed. "No, I'm not. But Master is counting on me, so--"

Reigen pinches his brows together. "Mob, Mob! Adding all this pressure will just make things worse!"

He places a hand on Mob's shoulder and looks him in the eye. "I have complete faith in you?"

Close up of Reigen's face. He looks very nervous, indicating that he probably does not have complete faith in Mob.

Mob looks at him through his brows/hair. "... Thanks."

The door opens, both of them turning to look at the source of the noise.

We see on the top of the head of the client, who has side swept hair and is coloured red. Dimple smirks from the top left corner of the panel and says: "Showtime."

END ID

[five-rivers]

School Bus in the Ghost Zone

AO3

@jackdaw-sprite @dekalko-mania

.

Vivid green mists and clouds swirled together in the distance, providing a backdrop for free-floating purple doors and spidery knotworks of impossible architecture.  A few tiny, gleaming lights might have been far-off island-cities, anglers, spectral stars, or other, stranger things.  Nearer by, occasionally obscuring these sights, was a junkyard's worth of derelict cars.

Danny had seen scenery like this before.  On occasion, he had even admired it.  Vistas like this one were stunning, powerful, alien.  They sparked wonder and curiosity.  They sang to his soul that they were home.  Or, at least, his core seemed to think that.  

At the moment, he was feeling none of that.  The principal emotions he was currently experiencing were exasperation, annoyance, and horror.  But, then, he'd never viewed the Ghost Zone through the dingy window of a school bus before, either, so that might have something to do with it.  The panicking students might have also contributed.  

Another person might have been wondering what cosmic entity they had annoyed for something like this to happen to them.  Mr. Lancer certainly was, judging by his hunched posture and the trembling of the hands over his face.  Danny, however, kept a running list of the godlike beings he had angered, and considered himself an expert on the subject.  In his experience, they tended to be more upfront about their intentions.  

This was just bad luck.  

Which meant that Danny was instead mentally asking why his luck was this bad, and, more to the point, if there was a way to fix it. 

"Hey, Danny," said Tucker, nudging Danny's elbow with his own, "are you just about done disassociating?  Because I think Dash is about to go Lord of the Flies on Mikey and Ricky.  Or maybe it's the other way around.  It's kind of hard to tell."

"Yeah," said Danny.  "Is that the one with the cannibalism?" 

Tucker shrugged.  "It wouldn't surprise me."

"Right.  Okay.  This is fine.  I can deal with this."

"I mean," said Sam, leaning over from the other bench with a sort of pinched look on her face, "I think you're the only one who can."

"Gee, thanks, Sam."

Tucker gave him an awkward thumbs up.  "You've got this.  Hopefully soon.  Before there's a murder."

Danny nodded and crawled out over Tucker into the aisle.  The whole Lord of the Flies thing was an exaggeration, but it was getting to be a mess.  

"Hey!" he shouted.  "Hey!" he repeated, putting a little ghostly emphasis into it this time.  "Do you want to keep freaking out, or do you want to go home?"

"There's no going anywhere!" said Dash, waving his hands in a broad gesture that stopped just shy of backhanding both Kwan and Dale.  "The bus is floating in nothing!  There's nowhere to go!  The second we step out, we'll drop!"

"And we're out of fuel!" wailed the bus driver, Mr. Kennedy. 

"Why are we out of–?  Actually, that doesn't matter.  First off, gravity doesn't exist in the Zone unless you think it does.  Or unless someone else is thinking it does for you."

"Which isn't relevant right now!" interjected Sam. 

"Yeah. That gets complicated.  Point is, if you left the bus, you'd float.  Like the bus is."

A soft ohh rose up from the other students.  

"Mr. Fenton," said Mr. Lancer, "are you suggesting we leave the bus and try to travel across the Zone?"

"No, we don't have to leave the bus," said Danny.  He really didn't want to attempt to give his classmates the 'how to fly in the Ghost Zone while human one-oh-one' lecture.  Which he didn't have.  Because he'd never had to do anything like that.  

"What do you mean?"

"Well, there are, like, twenty people here.  If we expect it to go hard enough, it'll go."

"Are you serious?" asked Mr. Lancer. 

"Yeah.  Why wouldn't I be?"

"But there's no gas!" repeated Mr. Kennedy. 

"We were driving just fine half an hour ago!" snapped Star.  "What happened to it?  Don't tell us you've just been putting your foot down all this time!"

Mr. Kennedy moaned.  

"Hey, be nice to him!" said Hannah.  "He only just moved here, so he's probably more used to stuff like aliens."

"Oh, god, are there aliens, too?"

"No," said Danny.  "No, there are not."  Not in Amity Park, anyway.  

"There are psychics, though."

"No," repeated Danny.  He'd thank her very much not to spread the 'psychic bladder' rumor to yet another person. "Sam, can I have one of your spare folders?"

"Sure," said Sam, rummaging in her backpack for a moment before offering up an empty blue paper folder.  "This one okay?"

"Perfect," said Danny.  He walked to the front of the bus, scooting sideways past the people who just felt the need to block the aisle even though they had plenty of room in their seats.  He opened up the folder and placed it down over the dashboard.  “There.  Now the gas doesn’t matter.”

“It kind of does.”

“No, it doesn’t.”  He turned back to the rest of the bus, hands on his hips.  “So, here’s what’s going to happen, we’re going to make the bus go.”  He looked at the driver.  “And you’ll steer us.  And we’ll be able to get wherever we want to go.”

“And,” said the bus driver, “we’ll go where?”

Danny twisted to look out the bus windshield and pointed at a spindly limb of the architecture conglomerate. “There.”

“Why there?” asked Mr. Lancer.  

“Looks like the best place to get directions.”

“What?” exploded Dash.  “You don’t know where we are?  He doesn’t even know where we are?  Why are we letting him tell us where to go?”

“Well, Dash,” said Danny, very much put in mind of a similar conversation he’d had with him the previous year, when Youngblood and Ember had kidnapped every adult in town, “have you been here before?  Has anyone?  Has anyone else even been in the Ghost Zone?  And, no, the time the whole city was transplanted doesn’t count.  No?  No one?  Just me, Sam, and Tucker?”  He was sort of wondering why Valerie wasn’t speaking up during any of this, but that was a problem for later.  “Great.  So.  Despite having been in the Ghost Zone before, I haven’t been in this particular part.  I haven’t even been to every part of the state.  This is an entire dimension.  That shouldn’t be all that surprising.  But, the Fenton Portal is kind of a big thing.  I should be able to get directions to it without any trouble.”

There was silence.  

“What?” said Danny.  “What did I say?”

“What’s the Fenton Portal?” asked Star.  

“It’s, well, you know,” said Danny, rubbing the back of his neck.  “The portal my parents built.  I know, it’s an embarrassing name, but that’s how they name all their stuff.”  And it wasn’t even the most embarrassing name.  

“And when did this happen?”

“Ages ago,” said Danny.  “Summer before freshman year.  Shouldn’t this be, like, common knowledge?  That’s when the ghosts started showing up, after all.”

More silence.  

“Did… did you guys not know about the portal?”

“Are you saying your stupid parents are the reason ghosts started showing up in the first place?” demanded Ricky, leaning over the seat in front of him, fingers gripping the cheap green vinyl like he wanted to tear into someone’s throat, preferably Danny’s.  

“Uh,” said Danny, now understanding the danger he was in.  “I don’t know…?”

“Let’s just focus on getting home for now,” said Sam.  “You can sue the Fentons for reckless endangerment or whatever later.”

Danny glared at her.  Sure, that was helpful for now, but later?  Later, it would be a problem.  

Mr. Lancer cleared his throat.  “Mr. Fenton, how do we expect this bus to move?”

“You just… do it.  I mean, come on, it’s a vehicle.  An automobile.  Whatever.  It’s supposed to move.  That’s it’s whole thing.  It’s not like you’re expecting it to fly or anything.”

“We kind of are, though,” said Hannah.  

“Hush, you.  We’re powering this through vibes.”

“This is just like the Magic School Bus,” said Mikey, excitedly.  

“Yeah, sure, whatever floats your bus.  Just… Close your eyes and expect to move.”

Danny walked back down the rows of seats.  Where had Valerie been sitting?  Ah, there she was, staring out the window, hands clenched in her lap.  Did she have some kind of Zone-related trauma Danny didn’t know about?  It wasn’t like he knew everything she got up to as Red Huntress…  He tried, but he just had too many of his own problems to be constantly on guard for hers.

“Valerie?” he said, not too loudly, not wanting to startle her.  

She turned her head towards him ever so slowly.  At the center of each of her pupils was a tiny, glowing, red triangle.

Valerie, Danny realized, hadn’t been in the Zone since Technus replaced the suit she got from Vlad with something a little more… integrated.  

This was a problem.  

“Uh,” he said, “you okay?”

“I don’t know,” she said, her hand absently tugging on her scarf.  

“Okay,” said Danny.  “Okay, um.  Are you experiencing any weird urges?  Or is it, like, too much sensory input?  Or something else?”

“Sensory.”

“Cool, cool,” said Danny.  “It’s…  Can you…”  He lowered his voice.  “Can you turn, like, the input on your suit down?”

“I don’t– How do you know about that?”

The air was filled with the sizzling tension of Valerie preparing to call her suit.  Or something.  Danny didn’t think she’d attack him while he was Fenton - they might be exes, but Danny suspected she missed him in the more conventional sense, and not the marksmanship sense - but who knew what else she’d do while under the influence of… whatever this was.  

“Cool,” he said, backing away.  “Well, you just work on that.”  The bus lurched underfoot.  

“Just like the Magic School Bus!”

“I’m going to go up front and direct things,” he said.  He looked at Sam and Tucker and tried to make significant eye contact with them.  Shouting out that there was something wrong with Valerie felt like a jerk move, so friendship telepathy it was!

He didn’t think it worked.  

“Mr. Fenton,” said Mr. Lancer, getting Danny’s attention, “I don’t mean to cast doubt on your judgment, but…  Why do you believe we can find directions there?  I don’t see any signs of life.”

“Well, you wouldn’t.  It’s the Ghost Zone.  Get it?”

Mr. Lancer stared blankly at him.  

“Man, tough audience.”  He shrugged.  “I guess I don’t know that anyone is there.  But we can just keep going until we do find someone.  It’s more polite than opening doors.”

“Polite…?”

“Yeah, I mean, each door leads to a lair, but that’s, like, someone’s private, personal space.  Other people aren’t supposed to go in without permission.  Ghosts get really touchy about it.”

“What Danny means is that he almost got his head bitten off by an angry toddler,” said Tucker.  

“They were definitely bigger than a toddler,” said Danny.  “But, yeah, we’re not exactly capable of fighting, so… polite is the way to go.”

“I see,” said Mr. Lancer.  “I don’t suppose you have any of your parents’ weapons with you?”

“Mr. Lancer, we were going to the courthouse.  You told us there was a metal detector and that we shouldn’t even bring pocket knives.”

“Yes,” said Mr. Lancer, and behind his eyes Danny could see every time his parents had disregarded such simple rules.  Loudly.  Repeatedly.  “Well.  I had to ask.”

“I have a pocket knife!” said Dale.  

“Iliad and Odyssey, I’m getting too old for this stuff.”

Danny considered patting Mr. Lancer on the shoulder, but decided against it.  “So,” he said, “I’m just going to go back to my seat until we get there.  Yep.”  He shuffled back and crawled back across Tucker to huddle next to the window.  

“Okay, how screwed are we, do you think?” asked Tucker.  

“I don’t know,” said Danny, quietly, “but I really don’t recognize anything around here.  As long as we can get to somewhere I know in a reasonable amount of time, it should be fine, but…”  He shrugged.  “Infinite Realms.  There are no guarantees.”  He raised his hands.  “I’m not a miracle worker, here.”

“Great,” said Tucker.  “At least we came with food.  We can leave the cannibal episode for later.”

“I still don’t think that book had any actual cannibalism in it.”

“I think that none of the three of us managed to read that stupid book,” said Danny.  

“Mr. Lancer is literally like ten feet away.”

“I think he has bigger problems.”

The bus slowly moved through the floating car graveyard, occasionally bumping into one of them when the bus driver misjudged the distance.  Ever so gradually, it pulled up to the side of the architect’s nightmare.  

“Okay, Fentonio, now what?”

Danny had sort of hoped a ghost might come out to investigate.  They hadn’t.  In fact, the place seemed as deserted as the floating junkyard.  Which meant that Danny now faced an uncomfortable choice.  He could get out and go look for someone, leaving everyone else in the bus without his protection.  He could recommend that everyone get out and they could go look for someone together, which would basically be an open invitation for chaos.  He could just tell the driver to go somewhere else.  

The little lights that could be cities, or stars, or anglers twinkled at him.  

Ugh.  None of these were good decisions.  

“Hey,” said Sam, “beep the horn.”

Or they could do that.

“What?” asked the driver, startled.

“We don’t really want to go out there,” explained Sam.  “Which means we need someone to come here.  If there is anyone.”

“Yeah,” agreed Danny.  “Do that.”

The driver pressed the horn tentatively.  They all watched the structures intently for any sign of movement.

Something knocked on the opposite window.  Everyone startled badly, rushing away from the unexpected noise.  

“Hi, there!” said a ghost in a bathrobe.  A plastic duck rested on their head and they held a loofah on a stick like a scepter.  “Are you fellas lost or something?”

Danny rushed over to the other side and pulled down the window.  “Hi, yeah, we are, a bit.  Do you mind giving us directions?”

“Sure!  I know this place pretty well.  My lair’s just right over there.  Trying for the perfect bath, you know?”

Danny nodded solemnly.  “Baths are important.  But, uh, do you know where the Fenton Portal is from here?  The permanent portal to the material plane?”

“Can’t say I know where that is from here.  Never been all that much interest to me.”

“How about Elysium?  The Far Frozen?  Hunter’s Blind?  The Time Locked Lands?”

“Woah, woah, kiddo, I can only answer so fast.”  The ghost rubbed his chin.  “I got some medicinal soaps from the Far Frozen that one time; it’s not too far away from here.  Gonna take a moment to really remember, but while I’m thinking, can I ask: why are you up against this old bulldozer job if you’re wanting to get to the Far Frozen?”

“Thanks,” said Danny, relieved, “we were hoping someone could help us in there–” he jerked his head back towards the building mass, “--but I guess not, huh?”

“Oh, no one lives there,” said the ghost.  “It’s full of tarantulas.”

“Tarantulas!” shrieked Paulina.  

“Don’t worry about it, they’re probably harmless.”

“These ones’re pretty venomous, actually.  And huge.”

“The directions, please.”

“Alright, alright.  You young whippersnappers, always rushing around like you were still alive.  Alright, then.  First, you want to follow the Star of the Solemnity.”  He pointed at one of the points of light.  “After a while, you should see the Arson’s Arcade.  Big place.  It’s on fire.  Hard to miss, even if it isn't on the direct line to the Star of the Solemnity.  From there, you can follow the Burning Road to Dis–”

“Isn’t that also on fire?”

“Sure is.  Leastwise, it’s hot there.  Dis is within spitting distance to the Brass City.  From there, you drop through the Steam Curtain to the Boiling Sea.  Triple Point is somewhere around there, and that’ll take you to the Lands of Ice, right enough.  Far Frozen is in there, somewhere.”

“You call that close?” asked Hannah.  “That’s like… at least five different places.”

“Yeah,” said Danny, “maybe, but now I know where we are, and I can get there faster.”

“Oh, no, kiddo.  Shortcuts are never worth it.”

“It’s not a shortcut.  Besides, I don’t think that any of us would, like, survive going through the steam curtain.”

“Ah, cold cores then, huh?  I’ve always preferred warm water myself.”

The problem was more that the Steam Curtain was supposed to be scalding, and all of Danny’s classmates were made of flesh.

(No word on Mr. Lancer, who was occasionally rumored to be a literature-loving robot, or perhaps a vampire.)

“Yeah, something like that.  Thank you so much for your directions, they really helped.”  It was doubtful that the word ‘help’ was a trigger for the ghost like it was for Danny, but he hoped he got the meaning across regardless.  

The ghost’s face crinkled.  “No problemo!  I needed some time to plan out my next bath, anyway.  Good luck getting where you want to go!”  The ghost flew away in the general direction of their lair.  

“Well, they were nice,” said Danny.  

“That’s great, kid,” said Mr. Kennedy, his hands gripped around the wheel so tight that all of his knuckles were completely bloodless.  “Now where do we go?”

Danny pointed left, almost ninety degrees from the Star of Solemnity.  The ectoplasmic mists were ever so slightly grayer in that direction.  “That way.”  

“Why, what’s over there?” asked Star.  

“Casper High.  Probably.”  His mental map of the Ghost Zone was very good, at this point.  It wasn’t perfect.  

“You think the school got sucked in, too?” Dash said, mockingly.  “We were miles away.”

“Yeah, I know.  But the school has an ectoplasmic mirror because of all the deaths back in the fifties.”

“It’s true,” said Tucker.  “There were a whole lot of deaths back in the fifties.  Kind of scary.  I think I would have just closed the school.”  He tapped his lower lip.  “In retrospect, though, the way they keep the school open no matter what ghosts throw at it.”

Star frowned.  “What if you’re wrong?”

“Then we’ll probably notice before we get there, and we can try the ‘set ourselves on fire’ route.”

“I think we can do without that,” said Mr. Lancer.  “Mr. Kennedy, would you–”

“I’m going, I’m going,” said Mr. Kennedy.  They began to putter forward.  

For the first hour or so of the journey, things were quiet.  But the nature of the Time Locked Lands meant that even their outer fringes tended to be well-populated.  Ghosts were, after all, the kind of person to whom living in the past appealed the most.  

Even more unfortunately, some of those ghosts were people Danny knew.  

“Oh my gosh,” said Hannah, pointing out the window, “is that Ember?  I love her music!”

“Fans?”  Ember smirked, the expression clear even from this distance.  “I don’t mind if I do.”

She struck a chord and the bus vibrated.  

“Go faster!” shouted Danny, even as half the students started to chant Ember’s name.  “Go faster!”

“I can’t!” sobbed Mr. Kennedy.  

Danny put his hand against the side of the bus and extended his ghostly aura as far as he could without transforming.  He’d done things like this before, with the ecto-skeleton and the thermos, pushing enough of his will into technology to make it do what he wanted.  

The bus sped up.  But not enough.  

“Taking me on a tour?  Alright, cool bus, let’s see about a different tune!” 

A wave of chilled air passed over Danny, and the other students yelped and squeaked as the metal parts of the bus became painfully cold.  The one thing Danny, as an ice core, could counter…  He might have been impervious to it, but the others weren’t.  

“What now?” yelled the bus driver.  “Engines don’t work when it’s this cold!”

Danny thought about yelling at him that the engine didn’t matter, they weren’t even using it, but decided that would probably be counterproductive.  

“Valerie!” said Danny.  He hated throwing her under the bus (hopefully not literally) but one of the two of them literally had secret government organizations trying to kidnap him to dissect him, and it wasn’t her.  If she couldn’t do it, then he’d act.  “Do something!”

For a second, he thought she didn’t hear him, too entranced by whatever her suit was doing with the ectoplasm, but then red and black circuits pulsed into being all over her body and suddenly there were guns.  A lot of guns.  

“Ah,” squeaked Danny, thoroughly intimidated.  

Valerie fired through the bus windshield, shattering it into a thousand tiny pieces and blowing Ember far into the distance.  

That was the plus side.  On the minus side, the bus no longer had a front.  

“This is okay,” said Danny as Valerie sat down heavily.  “This is okay.  Valerie, are you okay?”

“Fine,” she said.  “I’m… fine.  What… Oh my gosh…”

“Miss Gray,” said Mr. Lancer, “I thought no one had any weapons…”

“Well,” said Valerie, recovering some of her usual sharpness.  “It’s not like I advertise that I’m–”

“Red Huntress!” gushed Mikey.  “That’s so cool!”

“That’s not my name,” said Valerie.  

“It’s not?” asked Mikey.  

“It’s not?” asked Danny.  

“I’m not a superhero,” said Valerie.  “I’m a ghost hunter.  I don’t have a code name.  That’s stupid.”

“Code names aren’t stupid,” said Danny and Mikey together. 

From the expression on Valerie’s face, Danny thought she must be wondering why she’d ever dated him.  

But that wasn’t important right now.

“Okay,” he said.  “Okay, we’ve got rid of her.  No more name chanting.”

“But E–”

Sam slapped her hand over Hannah’s mouth.  “No,” she said.  

“So, we can just keep going.”

“The front of the bus is gone.”

“Mr. Kennedy, we’re flying.”

“But it’s gone.”

“We weren’t using the engine anyway!  You were out of gas!”

This, of course, caused a commotion.  

“Listen, do your best to believe we can go,” begged Danny.  “Please.”

With that, they limped forward.  Slowly.  Painfully.  

But even at that speed, Sidney Poindexter’s version of Casper High loomed into view, as black and white as ever.  

The bus creaked to a stop.  And then the wheels fell off.  

“Come on,” said Danny, desperately.  “Just a little bit further.  Please.”

It did not go further.  

“The wheels are gone,” said Paulina.  “It can’t go without wheels.”

“We weren’t using them,” argued Danny, futilely.  “We’re floating.”

It didn’t work.  Which left the next option.  

“We’re going to have to fly there, then,” he said.  

This did not go over well.  Danny ignored the protests like they ignored his logic.  

“So, Sam and Tucker, can you get the lunches and stuff from the storage underneath?  Everyone else, grab your own stuff.  Uh… Val?  Can you use your hoverboard?”

“Huh?” asked Valerie, blankly.  

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

Valerie slowly passed a hand over her face.  

“I think…” she trailed off.  

“Can you, I don’t know, shut the suit off or anything?  Or maybe there’s a Ghost Zone mode?”

“No,” said Valerie.  “I just need to… calibrate.”

That sounded like a lie, but Danny wasn’t sure how far he should press.  “Okay, then.  So.  Here’s what’s going to happen…”  He trailed off, not actually sure what would happen.

Making plans was hard.  

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” he tried again, “Sam and Tucker and I are going to…”

“We could try pulling the bus,” said Tucker, “or pushing it.”

“We’re already doing that.  We can’t compete with this many Debbie doubters.”

“Isn’t that Debbie downers?”

“I can make it alliterate however I want.”

“You actually used that word correctly,” said Lancer.  “Oh, Elements of Style, we’re really in it now…”

“Can we… ferry them over, maybe?” suggested Sam.  “One by one?”

“Or maybe we can get everyone to hold hands and we can make a human chain,” said Tucker.  “Pull everyone across.”

Star cleared her throat.  “Is no one going to mention the creepy monochrome Casper High?”

“Oh, yeah,” said Danny, “that’s where Poindexter hangs out.  Sidney Poindexter, you know?”

Hannah perked up.  “You mean the school cryptid?”

“He’s a ghost.”

“Evidence suggests–”

“He’s a ghost,” repeated Danny, more forcefully.  “Please.  I think I like the human chain better.”  If they got attacked, Danny could push intangibility through the line in a pinch.  “I’ll go first, since I’m the best flier, Sam, you’ve got the end, Tucker…”

“I’ll stabilize people stepping off,” said Tucker.  

“Great,” said Danny, walking to the ragged front end of the bus and stepping off.  He floated easily, comfortably.  “See?  Easy.  Perfectly safe.  Val, you want to come next?”

“No,” said Val.  “I think I need to just… Sit here, for a little while.”

“Okay, cool,” said Danny.  “Paulina?”

Sam glared at him.  Hard.  

“Ugh.  Fine.  You would make an excuse to hold my hand.”

Danny blushed.  “If you don’t want to… Uh… Mikey?”

Mikey shook his head vigorously.  

“I will go,” said Mr. Lancer.  He stepped up to the edge.  “This is what a teacher does, this is what a teacher does, this is what a teacher does, they go before their students.  This is what a teacher does, they go before their students.  This is fine.  This is what a teacher does–”

Danny grabbed Mr. Lancer’s elbow and pulled him off.  He linked Mr. Lancer’s elbow with his, so neither of them would float off unexpectedly.  

“Okay,” he said, “so… Who’s next?”

Very slowly, and with a lot of cajoling, the rest of them lined up until they were a single line of people stretching into the green.  They didn’t even get halfway to the school.  

“Now what, Fengenius.”

“How do you come up with those amazing nicknames, Dash?” asked Danny.  

“It’s my idea anyway,” said Tucker, who had wound up between Sam and Valerie, who was still looking off.  “Danny’s going to pull us forward.”

“Yep,” said Danny.  “Just think light thoughts, or whatever.”

Again, slowly, because Danny wasn’t sure how hard some of his classmates could hold on, they drifted towards the school.  However, unlike the bus, Danny did get there without his wheels falling off.  He didn’t even misplace his shoes.  

“We made it,” said Mikey, making a show of kissing the ground.  

“Now what?” asked Ricky.  

“Now,” said Danny, “we see if we can get across here.”  He walked up to the doors.  

“Is that safe?” asked Mr. Lancer.  “This isn’t the real Casper High, after all.”

“It’s real enough,” said Danny.  “Just… try not to look like the kind of kid who gets bullied.”

Dash and the other jocks puffed out their chests while Paulina applied a fresh layer of makeup.  Problem was, to the shades that resided here, they were all weak and unfashionable.  Heck, even Sidney could beat Dash into the ground.  Speaking of which…

“Try not to look like bullies, either,” Danny added.  “In fact, try and fly under the radar.”

“Maybe we could wait outside,” said Star.  

“Uh, in the open?” asked Danny.  “Inside, at least we’re in a lair.  Ember won’t attack us there.”

Probably.  He didn’t know how Ember and Sidney got along.  

Sidney’s Casper High looked a lot like the real one.  Obviously.  Same layout, same crappy lockers, same weird paneling on the walls…  It was easier to pick out the differences, like the light fixtures and the handles on the doors.  Even the smell was the same.  Mostly.  It was just a little smokier, a little more citrusy.  

It must have been during classes, because the halls were empty.  Faint murmurs of sound came from behind classroom doors.  

“Hey!  You’re supposed to be in– Oh!  It’s you, Ph–”

“Fenton, yeah, I know,” said Danny, rubbing the back of his neck and desperately hoping that Sidney got the hint.  

Sidney fidgeted with his hall monitor badge for a second before his hands dropped back to his sides. “What are you all doing here?” He asked.  

“We fell through a natural portal and got stranded,” said Danny.  “I was wondering, hoping, really, that you might have something that can take us back to Amity?”

Poindexter shook his head.  “Sorry,” he said, “that mirror was about it, unless you want to try, well…  I don’t think you would.  It’s kind of long.”

“I don’t know,” said Danny, “I think we might try anything, if it was reliable.”

“Eh, I guess it’s up to you, but sometimes you can get across if you stay in my locker for as long as, you know, I was.”

“You mean when you…”

“Crossed over that first time, yeah.”

“Yeah, okay.  We’re not doing that.”

“Didn’t think so.”

“What are you two nerds talking about?” asked Dash.  

“Death, mostly,” said Danny.  “Please put two and two together.  Please.”  He turned back to Sidney.  “Do you know of any way we could get passage either to the Fenton Portal or the Far Frozen, then?”

“Maybe?” said Sidney.  He shrugged.  “I’m not really connected, though.”

“I know,” said Danny, “but I can work out things to pay people with, after.  I keep my promises.”

“Okay,” said Sidney.  “Er, we’re about to have our lunch period, so maybe the rest of you go to the cafeteria, while I show Ph–”

“Fenton.”

“While I show Fenton the dovecote.”

“The what now?”

“The dovecote.  For the carrier pigeons?”

Tucker’s mouth was hanging open.  “What century are you from?  Who uses carrier pigeons?”

“Phones don’t work in the Time Locked Lands!  You have to make do!”

There was a loud, ringing sound, and, yep, even the bells were the same.  

… When was the last time Casper High had been updated?  At all?  Yikes.  

A mass of teenaged shades poured from the classrooms along with harried looking teachers.  

“Just follow them,” said Sidney.  “They’ll steer you right.  Come on, Danny!”

Sidney pulled him away.  

“They will be safe, right?” asked Danny.  

“I think so,” said Sidney.  “Everything here has been a lot more peaceful since, well, you know.  You haven’t been here since then, I guess.”

“Yeah,” said Danny.  Funny thing about trauma is that generally you didn’t want to return to where it had happened.  Danny was bullied.  Sidney had been tormented.  “Didn’t think I’d be welcome, I guess.”

Sidney’s eyebrows went up.  “No welcome?  When you defeated the worst bully of all?  When you sealed away Pariah Dark?  Of course you’re welcome!”

“Thanks,” said Danny.  They came out onto one of the school roofs.  Perched on in a corner was a rectangle of color.  The dovecote.  It was a wooden box a few meters on each side, painted powder blue with gold and green trimmings.  

Danny had suspicions.  

“Did you… Get this from Dora?” he asked.  

Sometimes, with all the weird skin colors, it was hard to tell when a ghost was blushing.  Sidney, though, was definitely blushing.  A lot.  

“Uh,” said Danny, not ready for his guess to return anything but vehement denial.  “Good… for you?  Congratulations?”

“It’s not like that!  She’s just really nice.  And she likes the dances the school puts on now and again.”  He flew over to the dovecote, still blushing furiously.  “But these are from her kingdom, so if I tie one on, it should get to her in just an hour or so.”  He smiled.  “Better than snail mail, right?”

“Yeah,” said Danny, giving Sidney a thumbs up.  “And you’re okay with us just being here?”

“Sure!” said Sidney.  “You’ve got to go to classes and all, though.”

Danny blinked.  “Is that a joke?”

It was not a joke.  Especially not three and a half hours later when they all stumbled out into the courtyard.  

“Well,” said Danny kneeling in preparation for laying down and pretending the world didn’t exist, “to be fair to us, all of these people have had fifty years to refine this stuff.”

“I want revenge,” said Hannah.  “How do you get revenge on a ghost?”

“You don’t,” said Danny, not wanting to give her any ideas.  

Then, something blocked out the meager light from one of the television-static-like strips in the sky.  Overhead was a huge, pumpkin-like carriage pulled by scaly, draconic-looking horses.  The door swung open, and a set of stairs that went from the door to the carriage to the ground - a distance of over two stories - unfolded.  Princess Dora flew out and down the stairs, not touching them even once.  

“Oh, Sam,” she said, throwing out her arms.  “When I heard you were stranded, I just had to come.”  She hugged Sam.  Sam, gingerly, hugged her back.  

“How are you doing, Dora?” asked Sam as Danny forced himself to get back up on his feet.  

“Oh, marvelously.  We’ve finally gotten the plumbing to work again since our last course correction put us back in the Time Locked Lands.”  She shook her head.  “I can’t understand why my brother wanted to stay there, stay in that time.  Oh, I know it was for the sake of his power, but, truly, modern things make everything so much more convenient.  And how are you, Sir Daniel, Sir Tucker?”

“We’re good,” said Danny.  

“Yeah, except for being stranded.”

“There is that.  Can you help?”

Dora surveyed the other teenagers.  “I believe so,” she said.  She looked back up at her carriage, then at the students again, clearly comparing sizes. “I’ll have word sent back for two more carriages, then I can take you to the outskirts of the Far Frozen.”

“Not directly to their village?” asked Danny.  

Dora shook her head sadly.  “No, no.  I’m a hot core.  I wouldn’t do well in the Far Frozen, not any more than you would do well in Dis or the Burning Lands.”

“Sure wouldn’t,” said Danny.  “Would you believe, someone tried to give us directions through there?”

Dora shook her head.  “I’m sure they meant well.  Now, where is Sidney?”

“He said something about chess club?”

“Oh, excellent.  We can finish our game from last time.  It shouldn’t be long until the next carriages come, though, so prepare yourselves.”  She floated back up towards the carriage.  

“Uh,” said Hannah, “who was that?”

“Princess Dora,” said Danny.  “You remember the time we had a beauty pageant at the school?  And the organizers turned out to be ghosts?  Kidnapped Sam?  That whole thing?”

“Vaguely.”

“Well,” said Sam, “Dora’s brother, who we shall not name, was basically forcing her to run that thing.  But while I was kidnapped, we bonded, and talked a little about gender equality and praxis.  That kind of thing.  Then she deposed her brother.”

“Yeah,” said Hannah with a little fist pump.  “Feminism.”

“We helped,” said Tucker.  “We helped a lot.  Did you hear how Danny and I were called sir?  We’re knights.”

“Technically.”

“All knights are technically knights.”

“Our position is more ceremonial,” clarified Danny.  “A lot more ceremonial.”

“Still knighted.  Still knights.”

“So am I,” said Sam.  “What’s your point?”

“I don’t know that he has one.”

“We helped!  That’s my point!”

Danny shrugged.  “It’s okay if she likes Sam better, really.”

“And she’s dating Poindexter?” asked Dash.  “When she’s a princess?”

“Yeah, I guess.  It’s not, like, official as far as I know.  But they like each other.”

After that, well.  They were still experiencing massive mental fatigue from Sidney’s classes.  No one spoke for a long time.  

“Don’t your parents think ghosts are mindless or something?” asked Paulina.  “Why is their math so hard if they’re mindless?”

“They’re not mindless, that’s how,” said Danny.  “Really simple, that.”

“But the ones we get in Amity–”

“Are the people looking for trouble, usually.  You wouldn’t say Phantom is mindless, would you?”

Valerie, who had been lying quietly on the grass, shot straight up.  “You never told me how you knew I was ghost hunting,” she said, accusatorily.  

“Your first suit didn’t disguise your voice,” said Danny.  “Plus, whenever you were after Phantom, you yelled at him about how he ruined your life.  Which was why you started dating Tucker that one time.  Because you thought Phantom ruined your life, I mean.”

“Which I was totally okay with, by the way,” said Tucker, shooting her two thumbs up.  “If you ever change your mind about that breakup, I’m still here and still fine.”

“I’ll pass.”

“So… are you feeling better?”

Valerie shrugged.  “I’m… getting used to it,” she said.  Which wasn’t really an answer.  She laid back down.

If they didn’t get home soon, Danny would have to push it.  But not yet.  

Dora came back out before too long, a faint flush in her cheeks.  “Alright,” she said, clapping her hands together, “I can take you to your portal, now.  If you will follow me.”  She returned to the stairs, and the class followed.  

They were apprehensive about going up them, and Danny didn’t blame them.  They didn’t seem terribly stable.  But they should know by now that the laws of physics here were different than they were at home.  If the flying bus didn’t clue them in and all.  

But Danny, Sam, and Tucker didn’t have any such hesitation, and they started up almost at once.  

Which made it all the more awkward to get down when Valerie tipped over and started convulsing.  

“Stay back, everyone!” said Mr. Lancer, who knelt and turned Valerie on her side.  He pulled her scarf off, revealing angry red and black lines creeping up her neck.  “Mr. Baxter, give me your jacket.”

Dash stripped it off of himself without objection and tossed it over.  Mr. Lancer folded it and put it under her head.

“Does she have fits often?” asked Dora, one hand over her mouth.

“No,” said Mr. Lancer, “she doesn’t.” 

“Sam,” said Danny, “I think Casper High had a nurse back then.  Do you think–”

“I’m on it,” said Sam, who took off running.  

“Um,” said Danny.  “We might have to– Um.  Dora, which is closer, Technus’s lair or the Far Frozen?”

“Mr. Fenton–”

“The Far Frozen have doctors who can treat humans, and Technus is the one who gave her that tech.  One of them will probably be able to help.”

Because he could no longer be sure that just getting back to the real world would fix this.  Also, if anyone saw this, the secret government agencies might decide to dissect Valerie after all.  

Danny was a horrible friend and a horrible hero.  No wonder Valerie broke up with him.  Even if that was sort of unrelated.  

“Danny!” shouted Sam, jumping down the steps two at a time.  An elderly ghost trailed behind her.  

“Oh, dear,” said the ghost, passing Sam.  “Oh, dear.  We can’t really do much for seizures.  How long has this been going on?”

“Only… maybe three minutes,” said Mr. Lancer.  He wiped sweat away from his face.  “Or– Shorter?  I don’t know, I haven’t been keeping track.”

“That’s fine, dear,” said the elderly ghost.  “Like I said, there’s not much to do about seizures… But she should get to a doctor soon, if this is her first one.”

Before too long, Valerie started to still, the shaking slowing, then stopping.  

“Miss Gray?  Valerie?  Can you hear me?”

“Uhghh,” said Valerie.  “Hnmn.”

“Valerie,” said Mr. Lancer, “you just had a seizure.  Please, can you hear me?”

Valerie opened eyes that glowed faintly red.  “I c’n hear you,” she said.  She sat up, slowly, and rubbed her eyes.  

“How do you feel?”

Valerie blinked slowly at the ground and didn’t respond.

“Valerie?”

“Hm?”

“How do you feel?”

“... Bad,” said Valerie after a long moment.  

“Alright, dear,” said the nurse.  “How about you and I get you a change of clothes and your friends and teacher talk about how to get to a doctor.”

“I’ll go with you,” said Sam.  

“Me, too,” said Star.

“Dora,” said Danny, “do you know where they are, compared to here?”

“I– Yes.  Yes.  I do.  Technus is closer, I believe, although I’ve only seen his lair once and he’s often away…  We can go there, first, and then the Far Frozen.  I can even send a messenger to alert them.  One moment.”  She flew away, to where the carriage’s drivers rested.  

“Okay,” said Danny.  “We’ll have to help Valerie get in the carriage, but–”

“Mr. Fenton, forgive me, but shouldn’t we return to Amity Park?  The doctors there might not know much about ghostly diseases, but they are human doctors.  Wouldn’t it be better?”

“You remember the ghost bug?” asked Danny.  “Remember what happened then, what happened after.  Except it’s just one person who can be disappeared and there’s no cure in sight.  You know what I mean?”

Mr. Lancer covered his face with his hands.  

“She has to be better before we go back.”

“Alright,” said Mr. Lancer.  “We’ll go see this Technus and these Far Frozen people, but… we can’t stay long.”

“Right,” said Danny.  There was, after all, everyone else to think of.  And ectoplasm wasn’t exactly nutritious for humans.  “Of course.”

“I’ve sent the message,” said Dora as she returned.  “Hopefully, they will meet us at Technus’s lair, or when we are on our way.”

Valerie and the others came back out.  Valerie was walking slowly, dressed in a gray blouse and greyer skirt.  They helped her up the stairs into the carriage, and she promptly fell asleep.  

Danny worried.  

Danny worried as they flew through the green to Technus’s lair.  He worried as they parked in front of it.  He worried as Technus, frowning and wearing a bathrobe - what was it with ghosts and baths today? - opened his door and came out.  

Then he acted.  

“Hey!” he shouted, leaning out of the carriage door.  “Your stupid suit is making my friend sick!  You’d better be able to fix it!”

“Your friend?  The shouty girl?”

“Valerie!”

“Yes, yes,” said Technus.  “Valerie Gray!  Shouldn’t you two be dating?  I put a lot of work into that!”

“We broke up,” said Danny.  “Fix.  It.  Or.  Else.”

Technus cackled.  “Oh, you crack me up, ghost child.  Your threats are so tiny and cute.”

“I will end you!”

Technus continued to chortle.  “I’ll look at your little friend.  Just a friend, hm?  Maybe you’ll get back together?”  His bathrobe liquified and turned into his usual long white coat.  “Move aside, move aside.  Hm.  That’s interesting.”

“What is?” asked Danny.  He gazed at Valerie nervously.  She was awake, now… but she hadn’t responded to anything.  Not even Technus picking up her arm and dropping it.  

“Programming I didn’t put there!  I did decide to make it adaptive, but this is really extraordinary.”

“Can you fix it?” asked Danny.

“The technology?  Of course!  Am I not Technus, master of all things electronic and beeping!  And this is electronic!  And beeping!  But you should bring the girl to your icy friends afterward anyway.  I’m not great at bodies.”

“Great,” said Danny, relaxing for the first time since Valerie collapsed.  “You fix it, then.”  He collapsed into the nearest seat.

“Uh, Danny?” asked Mikey.

“Yeah?”

“Isn’t this one of the guys Phantom fights all the time?”

“Yeah?  So what?”

“You were threatening him?”

“So?”

“Hush, children!  You’re harshing my vibrations!”

“Don’t question it,” said Danny.  

“Yeah, Danny obviously works for the CIA,” said Hannah.  “Get with the program.”

“Never insult me like that again,” said Danny.  

“CHILDREN, I AM WORKING!”

They fell quiet.  

“There,” said Technus after another several minutes passed.  “That should do it.  It had adjusted to a lower ectoplasm setting, and when you moved to the Zone, one of the filter breaks was overloaded and burned out.”

“Is that it?”

“There were a few other things, but they were no match for I, Technus!”

“Why isn’t she waking up, then?” asked Lancer.  

Technus shrugged.  “Beats me.  That part isn’t electronic.  Or beeping.  I don’t do chemical reactions.”

That was, Danny knew, a blatant lie.  What Technus didn’t do was biology, which was fair enough, honestly.

“Well, thanks,” said Danny.  “But we should go, now.”

“Does this mean you won’t chase me down when–”

“Goodbye, Technus.”

Technus slunk out.

“Mr. Fenton,” said Mr. Lancer, “dare I ask why you would chase down a ghost.”

“No,” said Danny.  

“No?”

“No.”  He got up and sat down between Sam and Tucker.  They both gave him incredulous looks.  He shrugged at them.  He’d panicked.  ‘No’ was the best he could come up with.  Sue him.  This was stressful.  

Dora rapped on the wall between the carriage interior and the drivers, and they were off again.  

“How long is it to this ‘Far Frozen?’” asked Mr. Lancer.  

“A few hours from here, I believe,” said Dora, “but distances can be treacherous here.”

“Is it cold there?” asked Mikey.  

“Oh, yes.  It’s the coldest place I’ve ever been to.  But don’t worry.  They have an outpost on one of their satellite islands.  It’s quite comfortable there.”

“I didn’t know that,” said Danny.  

“Yes, well, it’s my understanding that you and your friends generally fly directly to Iceheart.”

Although everyone’s attention had already been focused on him and Dora, it now sharpened greatly.  He sunk down in his seat and focused on not turning invisible.  

“You three,” said Mr. Lancer, “how often have you been here.”

“Again,” mumbled Danny, “the portal is in the basement.  And there was the time I was kidnapped…”

“The multiple times you were kidnapped,” corrected Sam, hurriedly.  

“And the time Sam was kidnapped,” added Tucker.  “I avoided being kidnapped.”

“No, you didn’t,” said Danny.  

“I thought we agreed that time didn’t count.”

“No, we didn’t.”

“We did.”

Before they could get into a sufficiently distracting ‘yes we did’ versus ‘no we didn’t’ argument, Mr. Lancer intervened.  

“Do your parents know about this?”

“We’re teenagers, Mr. Lancer,” said Sam.  “We don’t tell our parents anything.”

“Besides, my parents think all ghosts are evil.”  Danny shrugged.  “I don’t want them to try and hunt down my kidnappers and shoot people like Dora instead.”

“But Dora… Kidnapped Miss Manson.”

“We’re friends, now,” said Sam.  “We got over it ages ago.”

“Sam is my very best and very first friend,” said Dora.  “We correspond frequently.”

“Ah,” said Mr. Lancer.  

“And even Technus isn’t that bad.  The catfishing aside.”

“Do I even want to know?”

“Probably not.  He plays Doomed, too, you know.”

“Hello the carriage!” called a voice from outside.  

“That must be the Far Frozen, coming to meet us,” said Dora.  

“Great,” said Danny, opening the door.  Sure enough, one of the Far Frozen’s high-tech skimmers was pulling up alongside the carriage as they slowed down.  The skimmer pulled a large trailer with a red cross, a rod of Asclepius and other symbols of healthcare emblazoned on its side.  “Thank goodness.”

“Are those… yetis?” asked Mr. Lancer faintly.  

“Yes!” said Hannah.  “I knew bigfoot was real!”

… Danny decided to let her have that one.  

“They’re some of the best doctors in the Zone,” said Danny.  “They helped me before, too, when I was hurt.”

“Mr. Fenton, I’m becoming more and more concerned about what you get up to outside of school.”

“Sorry,” said Danny.  “But it’s Amity Park.  I’m sure everyone has some scary stories to tell.”

“Not like that, we don’t,” said Ricky.”

“Yeah, but you don’t have the hell-portal in your basement,” said Tucker.  “That changes things!”

There was various muttering, mostly on the theme that the portal shouldn’t exist and Danny’s parents were crazy.  They weren’t exactly wrong.  

The two Far Frozen doctors approached the carriage, and Danny saw, happily, that Frostbite was one of them.  He waved.  

“It is good to see you, young one,” said Frostbite. “I understand you have a patient?”  He stooped down to peer in through the door.  “Can you send them out?”

It took more maneuvering than it probably should have to get Valerie to the door, but they eventually did, and Frostbite had her lie down on a floating stretcher, which they pushed over to the ambulance-cart.  

Danny followed, hopping over and hoping none of his classmates would do the same.  He was close enough, here, to help if something went wrong, but he’d probably be able to talk to Frostbite a little more freely if it was just him and Valerie.  

“This is not something we see very often,” said Frostbite as he scanned Valerie with a wand-like object.  

“You know what it is, then?”

“Yes,” said Frostbite, gravely.  “It is an affliction of warlocks, sorcerers, and other similar sorts.  Too much ectoplasm all at once.”

“What about everyone else?” asked Danny.  “They’re all here, and it’s hard to get more ectoplasm than this.”  He waved his hands at the Zone.  

“As long as they are not consuming it, they should be fine.  If your friend here acclimated herself to the amount of ectoplasm more gradually, she, too, would be unharmed.  But it appears that the ‘suit’ as Princess Dorathea called it in her dispatch to us, was somewhat designed to absorb ectoplasm to power itself.”

“That… sounds like it should be right.  Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Not at the moment.  We have a solution to the issue, although it may take some time for it to take effect.  In the meantime, we can keep heading towards the Far Frozen.”

“Okay,” said Danny.  “Should I stay here, or…?”

“Either would be fine, great one.”

“Right,” said Danny.  He glanced down at Valerie’s blank face and then away.  “Maybe I’ll sit on the skimmer.”  That sounded like a good compromise.  

Sam and Tucker joined him a minute later, followed shortly thereafter by Dora.  

“Lancer keeps muttering to himself about whether or not to call the police when we get back,” said Sam.  

“Well,” said Danny, “I guess they do need to do something about the bus.  You don’t think Mr. Kennedy will get into trouble for it, do you?”

“No,” said Sam, “I’m more worried about you.  And the portal.”

“I can always use Vlad’s if ours gets shut down,” said Danny.  “If it can be shut down.”  He shrugged.  “It… probably should have been shut down right away.  It’s not exactly safe, and… maybe fewer ghosts will come through.”

“I don’t know,” said Tucker.  “It’s mostly natural portals, these days.”

“Yeah, but maybe they’ll think twice about getting stranded if our portal isn’t there as a backup plan.  Right, Dora?”

“It’s possible,” said Dora, “but in my experience, beings like the ones you must often deal with rarely care about consequences.”  She shrugged daintily.  “My brother, for example.”

“Valerie will be okay, right?” asked Sam.  

“Yeah,” said Danny.  “That’s what Frostbite said.  She just ate too much ectoplasm.”

“What, does her suit absorb it or something?” 

“Apparently.”

They watched the zone-scape go by.  It grew colder.  

“I wonder if they have any extra coats,” said Tucker, shivering.  

“I’m sure they do,” said Dora.  “Let’s see.  On my last visit…”  She started to poke around the hatches on the skimmer’s deck.  “Ah!  Here!”  She handed Tucker a garment.  

“Is this okay to take?” asked Tucker.  

“It’s in your size,” pointed out Dora.  

“Good point,” said Tucker.  No one in the Far Frozen was Tucker’s size, after all.

“Is there enough for everyone?” asked Danny, going over to help Dora.  

“If there isn’t, I do have a few sets of cold gear stored under each carriage, just in case.  The Far Frozen’s work is much superior, however.”

Shortly after they distributed the coats, the Far Frozen started to come into view.  First, as a pale lavender smear against the green backdrop, and then as a stunning sculpture of sweeping curls of ice, all natural… or imitation natural.  There were a few, Danny knew, that had been hollowed out or made larger to serve as watchtowers and other defenses.  

After all, for ghosts, the war against Pariah Dark had not been that long ago.  

But they did not go directly to the large, glacial island, but to a smaller, rockier one with a stone tower built on it.  The skimmer docked at the very top, and more yetis poured out of the inside, carrying various supplies.  

“It shouldn’t be much longer until your friend is awake and mobile,” said Frostbite.  “I would like to keep her for observation, but we have little in the way of human food at the moment, and I would not like to afflict your other companions with malnutrition.”  He paused.  “I believe we do have hot chocolate, however.  Would you like some?”

“I would like some, if they do not,” said Dora, shivering.  

Frostbite looked at her with some concern.  “We can start a fire downstairs.”

“No, that’s quite alright,” said Dora.  “After all, you and your people are working to preserve a life.  I will not sacrifice your comfort for my own.”

“Speaking of comfort, I should probably let the others know we aren’t getting eaten or anything.”

He did.  It went about as well as could be expected, which meant that people either didn’t believe him, cast doubt on his experience, and subtly implied that his parents should be in jail.  Or not so subtly.  

Okay, it wasn’t that bad, but he was tired.  He was allowed to exaggerate.  

“So, anyway,” said Danny, “all we have to do now is wait.  Frostbite said Valerie should be good to go, soon, and then Dora will take us back.  No more detours.”

“You seem awfully sure of that.”

“Dora can turn into a dragon. There aren’t a lot of people who would attack her.”

Of course, everyone wanted to know about that.  

“Mr. Fenton,” said Mr. Lancer, a few minutes later, “distractions are all very well and good, but you can’t run from reasonable questions forever.”

“I’m not trying to,” said Danny, who was very much trying to.  

He was full of lies today!  Who would have thought?

“Yeah, you’re just trying to make excuses for your stupid crazy parents who brought all the ghosts to Amity!”

“Hey!  They didn’t bring all the ghosts!  Spectra was already around!”

“That’s… that’s true,” said Mr. Lancer, “her application had been in for a while…”

“So, there.  Y’all’d’ve been killed by Spectra if it weren’t for my parents.  So, there.”

“What– What was that word you just used?” asked Mr. Lancer. 

“There?”

Mr. Lancer gazed at him with despair.  

“What?” asked Danny, looking at Sam and Tucker.  “What’d I say?”

“I think it was the southernism that got through.  From your aunt, you know.”  Tucker shrugged.  “Y’all’d’ve.”

“Arkansas isn’t in the south.”

“It totally is.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Is.”

“It’s in the south,” said Mr. Lancer.  “I’m going to lie down for a while, I think.”

Mr. Lancer did, in fact, lie down.  

“He reminds me of one of my tutors,” said Dora, pleasantly.  “He had to retire.  UIcers.”

“Cool,” said Danny.  

It was only a couple hours later that Frostbite stuck his head in the carriage door.  

“Young one,” he said.  

They were working hard not to slip and call Danny Phantom or great one.  He appreciated that.  

“Your young friend, Miss Gray, is awake and aware.  If you would help her over, I think that would be for the best.  She’s mentioned a hoverboard, but I think that using any of her enhancements would be detrimental at this point in time.”

Danny jumped up and followed Frostbite out of the carriage, crossing the gap between the carriage and the skimmer in a single bound.  Which might have been showing off just a little.  But he was allowed.  He then hopped off the skimmer into the ambulance trailer.  

“Hi, Valerie,” he said.  “You’re feeling better?”

She was, at least, sitting up, although her shoulders were hunched and she looked very much like she wanted to fight off Frostbite and the other doctor.  

“I guess,” she said.  Then she turned a truly toxic glare on him.  “You.  You’re Phantom.”

“Uh, nooooooo?” said Danny.  

“Oh my gosh, you are.  You suck at lying.”

“No I don’t!”

Valerie stared at him with the same sort of despair as Mr. Lancer.  

“Anyway,” said Danny, “I’m here to bring you back to the carriage.”

“I can’t believe you outed me when you could have fought off Ember at any time.”

“Well, maybe I don’t want to be dissected.”

“I don’t want to be dissected either.”

“You probably would have passed out anyway,” said Danny.  “That seizure was going to happen, Ember or not.”

“You don’t know that.”

Frostbite cleared his throat.  “It probably was.  But it is my understanding that the two of you want to return home?”

“Yeah,” said Danny.  “Come on, Val, I’ll carry you across, back to the carriage.  It’ll be like that time Skulker kidnapped us.”

“You mean, when you overshadowed me.”

“Uh,” said Danny, sweating.  “Before that.  I carried you before that, right?”

“If you drop me,” said Valerie, “I will shoot you.”

“Noted.”

Danny did not drop Valerie.  On the other hand, he did get a lot of weird looks when they came back in.  Especially from the jocks.  

… Was there something on Danny’s arms?  No?

“Thanks, Frostbite,” said Danny.  “I really owe you one.”  He kind of owed the yetis five thousand or so, but who was counting?  Not him.  

“It’s nothing, young one.  After all, you have helped us in ways we cannot repay so easily.”

There was some muttering among Danny’s classmates that he would probably have to address at some point, but that was a problem for future him.  Hopefully, far future him.  Because screw that guy.  Danny had met him, and he was a real jerk.  

“I think we all feel that way,” said Dora.  “Will I be seeing you at the regional meeting, Chief Frostbite?”

“Most likely, Princess Dorathea.  Good day, to all of you.”

“Regional meeting?” asked Sam.  

“There was a great deal of argument about what to call it,” said Dora, “but it is the regular meeting of the various heads of state of this region.  It’s something new we’re trying.”

“That sounds great,” said Sam.  “Is it like the UN, or…?”

Danny tuned them out as he sat down and leaned his head back against the carriage wall.  Finally.  They were going home for real.  This had been a long day.  

The next thing Danny knew, Tucker was shaking him awake.  “Huh?” said Danny, eloquently.  

“This’s our stop,” said Tucker.  “Come on, let’s get out.”

Danny looked around.  “No one else is getting out.”

“They want you to jump into the spinny vortex of death first.”

“Oh.  Joy,” said Danny.  He got up, stretched, cracked his spine really well, and walked to the door.  “Dora, I really can’t thank you enough for this.”

“Silly,” said Dora.  “Sir Daniel, I meant what I said when you were talking to Chief Frostbite.  The three of you have done a lot for us.”

More muttering from the class.  Then Paulina stepped forward.  

“What did you even do that all of these ghosts like you?”

“It was the feminism!” said Hannah.  “Didn’t you listen?”

“I don’t think he brought feminism to the giant ice monsters.  Why is it that you suddenly stop being suspicious about things as soon as they aren’t– aren’t crazy conspiracy theories?”  She stomped her foot a little.  

Danny cleared his throat.  “Actually, the feminism thing was Sam.  Not me.”

“So why do they like you?”

“My sparkling personality,” said Danny.  

“No, that’s actually me,” said Tucker.  “And as wonderful as this has been, I kind of want to have my feet on solid ground again.  See you, Dora!”  Tucker leaped out the door and through the portal.  

“Yeah, that’s a plan,” said Danny, also jumping through.  

“You know,” said Tucker, as Danny hopped a little, trying to keep his feet underneath him, “I’m kind of surprised that, after everything, your parents still don’t have a reliable door on this thing.”

“Shut up and don’t give anyone any more ideas.”

One by one, the rest of Danny’s classmates came through the portal, until they were all standing in the lab, staring at the mess dazedly.  

“Oh, good,” said Mr. Lancer, the last one through.  “We’re back.  Frankenstein, Mr. Fenton, is this really your basement?”

“The one and only!” lied Danny cheerfully.  He was not up to explaining the Fenton Stockades.  

“It looks like a disaster waiting to happen.”

“Waiting?” asked Danny, right before cursing his inability to let a quip lie.  He was tired.  Sue him.  

Mr. Lancer stared at him.  Danny stared back.  

“I’m calling an ambulance for Miss Gray,” he said, “and then CPS for Mr. Fenton.”

[reallyverysane]

Little Serpent, Long Shadow

Pairing: Astarion x Fem!Tav, Named Drow OC (Tav'are)

Summary: The gang saves a handsome Zhent from certain death, and are repaid with a sweet reunion and a party. Astarion is less than enthused about Tav's choice of dance partner. The tension comes to a head (finally).

Warning: Explicit/ 18+, oral (F receiving), P in V sex, fingering, angst and complicated feelings, OC canon.

Word Count: 7.9k

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

The smell of the gnoll’s blood and the burning oil of the alchemist’s fire hung acrid and thick in the air. As the smoke cleared, two grimy, blood covered faces appeared in the mouth of the cave.   

“By the gods, you’re a sweet sight!” The man’s relief flooded his voice, “I thought for sure they had us.” As his tired eyes adjusted to the light he gave Tav a salacious once-over and grinned. “Must be my lucky day after all.”

“What are you doing all the way out here? This is dangerous country.” Tav rested her weight on one leg, subtly rocking her hip out and emphasizing the pleasant curves of her figure. “It’s not a pretty sight out there.” 

“I know,” The man lamented, hanging his head and sighing. “The godsdamned beasts ambushed us and killed half my crew before we even knew what was happening. Poor fuckers.”

Tav eyed the man suggestively, an echo of the look he had given her. “Normally I don’t do rescue missions for free, but I might be convinced to give you a discount. You seem like you’ve had a hard enough day already ser…” she paused, gesturing to him expectantly for him to give his name. 

“Ah, Rugen.” He gave a mock bow with a slanted smile and a quick wink. “At your pleasure.” The man standing behind Rugen let out a long-suffering goan, rolling his eyes so hard his whole torso followed. 

“Stop flirting Rugen, my gods! Our whole crew just died!” 

“Yeah, and we’re still alive, that’s lucky. So shut it, Olly.” He flashed a devilish smile at Tav, straight white teeth catching the sun. “No use dwelling on the past, eh? Not when we all got business to take care of.” 

“Oh?” Tav crooned, slowly twisting a curl of her long silver streaked hair around a finger, head cocked coquettishly. “And what line of work are you in, Rugen?”

“I’m a trader, mostly, fine and rare goods I might add. Been traveling with this cargo all the way from Elturgard.” His posture stiffened and he drew his shoulders back, clearly proud of his work but unwilling to divulge too many details. 

She decided not to push, the fight with the gnolls had been rough, and she was in no mood to start another. 

“Is your destination far? We could escort you the rest of the way, help guarantee your luck holds.” She heard a groan from behind her, Astarion clearly annoyed she was offering their help to yet another random stranger. She shot him a glare over her shoulder before turning back to Rugan. “We could all use a break if there’s a tavern or the like at the end of your road.”

“The name of the place is Waulkeen’s Rest. It’s not far along the road, you can’t miss it.” 

Tav’s face fell, “That place is not much but ash, I’m afraid. We passed it on our way here. There were some survivors, but they had been raided by a band of drow and goblins. 

Rugan heaved a deep sigh, turning his face skyward, beseeching any who might listen. ”God’s above. Can we catch a break?” He drew his hands down his face, pressing his palms into his eyes, and squared his shoulders. “Right, well, Olly and I still need to head there and see what might be left. The spot’s hidden, down a hatch in the floor of the barn out back. By some miracle, maybe it’s all still standing and we’ll finally get to have a relaxing pint in peace.”

“Mmmm, pints.” Karlach chimed in, wistfully. “Can we go, please?”

“I owe you all a drink, to be sure, lots of ‘em. Our goose was well and truly cooked before you came along! If you come by, give this code to the doorman: Little Serpent, Long Shadow. They’ll know you’re a friend of the family.” 

Shadowheart and Wyll had silently moved behind Rugan and were nodding enthusiastically at her over his shoulder, playfully pleading. She chuckled, dimples softening her angular face. 

“Thank you, Rugan, we’ll see you there.” Tav looked up into the man’s handsome face, his strong jaw and high cheekbones accentuated by the sweat and grime of their fight. They could all certainly use a night to unwind, and what better way to do so than with the help of a tall, gruff, stranger. 

*   *  *  *  *  

Coming back to the smoldering husk of Waulkeen’s Rest, Tav worried momentarily that the fire had consumed more than they hoped. Following Rugan’s instructions she led the group, out of their armor and dressed for a night of merriment, behind the smoking ruin. To her delight she saw a few outbuildings that had weathered the fire’s heat, including a tall barn. Once inside, a tense and jumpy man ambushed them, voice cracking in his false bravado, before she recited the passphrase and was ushered through a series of basements to the opening of a massive underground cavern. 

She felt oddly comfortable in the space, the still air filled with the echoing sounds of people at work and the ever present drip of water through the walls of the cave. As the group wound their way down the earthen ramp that led inside, Astarion slid to her side, hissing in her ear. “Why, praytell, have we simply thrown caution to the wind for a night of piss beer and bad company? We know nothing of these so-called ‘traders’. We could easily be walking into a trap, unarmored and unarmed!” 

“You’re unarmed!?” She affected a tone of shocked derision and whipped her head around to him, silver curls flying. “What do you mean, you’re unarmed?” 

Before Astarion could dance out of her way, she had closed the distance between them in a flurry of skirts. He felt the cool length of a dagger press against his throat, just hard enough for him to feel without drawing blood. She grinned, looking up at him through her lashes. “My, my, you have gotten sloppy.” 

“Not quite, dear.” He raised an eyebrow, lightly pricking her side with the dagger he held to her ribs. “Seems we’re both appropriately wary after all.” He backed away from her stiffly, lifting his arms in exaggerated surrender. She deftly twirled her blade across her fingers before sliding it back into the sheath at the top of her thigh. The slits in her skirts fell open and his gaze hungrily roved over her long, muscular calf, the powerful, soft thigh, up to where the fabric met again, just below the dip where her leg met her hip. She gave him a knowing grin, turning away, the panels of fabric sliding back over each other to fully conceal the weapon. 

He stood for a moment, rooted in place, before he felt a light chuck on his shoulder. His head whipped around to see Wyll waggling his eyebrows, eyes darting back and forth between him and Tav. 

“Better close your mouth, Astarion” Shadowheart teased as she looped her arm into the crook of Wyll’s elbow and pulled him down the ramp. “Wouldn’t want a bat to fly in.” 

*   *   *   *   *

“Tav’are?! What in the hells are you doing here?” 

The voice rang out as Astarion pulled himself up the last rung of the ladder onto the outcropping of rock. Dusting himself off and looking up he watched, surprised, as Tav ran forward, jumping into the open arms of the leader of the operation. Both women were holding the other’s face, their gleeful shrieks careening off the walls of the cavern. 

“What am I doing here? You should be fucking dead Zarys!” The astonishment on Tav’s face lit her features like the sun. She held the woman at arm’s length, shaking her head and probing the human’s features. “You have to be over two hundred years old at this point! How?”

“Oh, business has been good, and when you’re the top earner for the Sword Coast Zhents, they tend to want to keep you around. They have mages back in Waterdeep that make powerful life-extending artifacts. Long as I stay useful, I stay youthful!” 

Tav pulled the woman into a crushing bear hug, laughing from deep in her chest. “I should have known you’d find a way to weasel out of mortality. You’re the slipperiest eel I ever met!” 

“Clearly, I’m not the only one! How in nine hells did you get here? How are you even on the surface?” 

Karlach and Gale were the first to interrupt the reunion, excited to meet someone who had known Tav in the days before the tadpole. As it turned out, she and Tav had formed somewhat of a partnership when the trader had met her trying to fence stolen magic items on the streets of Menzoberranzan. Tav had been running with a ragtag group of urchins, surviving by pickpocketing and petty theft. Zarys, seeing the business potential in the young scamp, had set up a regular trade of information, rare gems, and magical artifacts. Tav and her cadre of lost children had been small and unnoticeable enough to sneak unseen into the moldering estates of deposed Great Houses in search of valuables. Zarys, in turn, had provided the children with a steady stream of income and supplies, sometimes even offering them passage out of the City of Spiders to the surface. 

The last time they had seen each other was a lifetime ago, when Tav was only 80 or so. The human woman had already survived well past her lifespan even then, appearing to be no more than thirty while actually having lived over a century. 

After the warm welcome and happy reunion, the attitude among those in the cave became jubilant. The Zhents would be caving the place in within the next few days, not wanting the fire to draw Flaming Fists down on them, so it was decided there would be a proper Zhentarim send-off. That seemed to simply entail much food, drink, and music. Astarion begrudgingly admitted that their vintages were excellent, after their quartermaster Dent insisted on opening a rare bottle of Elverquisst from Waterdeep. Gale had practically sprinted across the cave at the sound of the cork popping, desperate for a taste of home. 

Astarion had to hand it to them, the Zhents truly did know how to throw a party. They had set up a makeshift bar and tables, using upturned barrels and crates for seats and long, worn planks of wood for tabletops. A few of their number were skilled with instruments and the cave resounded with the melodies of flute, lyre, and fiddle. The group’s cook prepared a magnificent roast boar, basting the glistening skin as another of the crew slowly turned the beast on a spit above the fire. There was a buoyant levity in the atmosphere of the cave, both the Zhents and their own little crew happy for a night without the worries and travails of the road. 

Still, Astarion couldn’t shake the gnawing, cold feeling in his gut. He tried, at first, to put the feeling down to his hunger. But he had fed just that afternoon on a gnoll. While they certainly weren’t very appetizing, the beast had sated his thirst for the evening. He watched, sullen, as Tav floated around the cavern, eyes bright and smile brilliant. He had never seen her this uninhibited. Her laugh came easy and lilting, rolling over him like a bell tolling. She and Zarys stayed glued to each other for a time, speaking of everything and nothing, trying futilely to fill each other in on the century that had passed.

Once in a while, he would catch her watching him back, a quizzical smirk twisting her mouth. He would nod, or raise his glass in silent toast to her, and she would shake her head and turn back to whomever she was captivating at the time. 

Karlach flopped onto the red clay floor of the cave at his feet, swaying slightly in her cups. “What is it, Fangs? Why are you so broody all the time?” She pulled her knees up under her chin, arms hugging her shins. “Can’t you see it’s a party? Get out there! Mingle! Have some bloody fun for gods’ sake.” 

“I happen to be a bit more… selective, in my choice of companion.” His haughty tone made Karlach roll her eyes and groan.

“Pull the stick out of your ass Astarion. She’s having a good time. Do you think it will help your case if you ruin it? Especially when there’s others around who would be glad to indulge her.” She looked over at Tav, who was standing close to Rugan, leaning on the makeshift bar, a mug of frothing beer in one hand and her other playfully batting at the trader’s bicep. Her deep, slate colored skin caught the warm glow of the braziers, their blazes reflected in her laughing eyes. As he watched, Rugan snaked an arm around the small of her back, leading her toward the cleared space by the musicians where Gale and Wyll already twirled, taking turns spinning each other in a drunken courtly dance.  

He felt a growl bubble in the back of his throat, limbs itching to leap forward and snatch her out of Rugan’s arms. It was a ridiculous idea, one clearly borne of too much wine, but he had to grip the arm of the crude camp chair he languished in to keep himself in place. 

Karlach sighed, standing and dusting off her leathers. “Suit yourself.” She breathed, resigned. “But just so you know, it wouldn’t kill you to take a risk once in a while. Life can be pretty great when you stop thinking so much and just let yourself be.” Her wise words were somewhat undermined by a sudden and violent hiccup that ripped out of her, but she merely laughed and turned back to the celebrations, calling to Zarys for more stories of Tav in her youth. 

Astarion needed to do something. He couldn’t sit here any longer watching that trader’s hands all over Tav as he spun her around the dancefloor. He was frustratingly nimble, leading her through complicated steps with ease, her body yielding to his touch in a way that had Astarion digging his nails into his palms. She had been quite upfront with him about her attraction, but since the day she had mocked him for his cheesy lines they had stayed relatively guarded around each other. He had found no time when he could pull her away from the rest of their group to explore further whatever it was he felt. His plan to seduce her for favor and protection was absolutely not going how he had imagined. Her uncanny ability to see past his mask to the man below had left him rattled, unsure how he should proceed. 

In another time, before their slimy passengers, he would have floated onto the dancefloor, effortlessly spinning her into his arms and cutting the Zhent out of the picture. Another woman might have swooned at his boldness, but he had a feeling she would just tell him to wait his turn. Unwilling to face the potential rejection, he slipped deftly into the shadows, unseen, to plunder the unguarded vaults in the back of the cave. If the traders were stupid enough not to place guards during a party, he might as well teach them the error of their ways. 

*   *   *   *   *  

Tav was having the best night she’d had in decades. The effervescent joy of her reunion with Zarys bolstered by lively music and stimulating company. She let Rugan lead her in one dance after another, her head spinning along with the swirling steps. Though his speech was rough and his advances obvious, he treated her with a quiet courtesy she found charming. There was no pretense with him. She knew what he wanted as if it was written plain on his face. After weeks of uncertainty and dread, never feeling like she fully understood the situations she was thrown into, it felt nice to have a clear and pleasant path laid out before her. The man wanted what so many had before, and she had wants of her own. A lascivious smile curled her lips as she imagined his strong hands, leading her now in a bouncing two-step, holding her roughly by the waist and pressing her to a cold stone wall. 

The music slowed and he pulled her toward him, twisting her under his arm and curling her in so her back was against his chest. Holding her to him, she could feel his rising excitement against her rear, and pressed herself wantonly into it, swaying with the beat. His hand slid from her waist to the front of her thigh, fingers achingly close to the place where her skirt slit. She spun away from him in a whirl of fabric, the deep navy cloth whispering over her skin. When he pulled her back in, he dipped her low, his strong arm supporting her back while he brought his mouth to hers. The kiss was fervent and hungry, his hand moving up her back to crush her to him. To the beat of the music he brought them both back to standing, lips still melding together, one hand now clasping the side of her face. 

An applause erupted from behind her, bawdy whoops and whistles from the Zhents and her friends. Blushing wildly, Tav buried her face in Rugan’s chest, groaning. He laughed, loud and unashamed, stepping back from her and taking an exaggerated bow. In an instant Shadowheart and Zarys rushed forward, grabbing at her hands and dragging her away. 

“We just need to borrow her for a moment.” Shadowheart called to Rugan “Promise we’ll bring her back in one piece.” She snorted a laugh and pulled Tav down a snaking corridor. Zarys held Tav’s hand, leading them down a steep slope to a looming wall of red stone. Smirking at Tav and Shadowheart, she walked backwards into the rock, pulling Tav’s hand. The illusory wall flickered as they passed through, and the room opened to reveal a large domed space with a massive iron elevator in the center. 

Tav gasped, dropping Zarys’ hand. “Does that go to the underdark?” Her voice was shaky and weak. 

“Yeah, but that’s not important!” She waved off the questions forming on Tav’s lips. “I’ll tell you all about it in the morning. Right now I just want the details.” 

Tav laughed, her momentary nausea at the thought of the elevator fading, and grabbed Zarys to her for another bone crushing hug. “Gods, you never change, do you?” Seeing Shadowheart hovering awkwardly next to them, Tav reached out an arm and pulled the cleric into the embrace. 

Zarys pulled away, beaming at her. “But seriously, Rugan? I’ll give you this much, I had no idea he could dance like that. Truly, I’m floored, but Rugan?” 

“Why?” Tav’s face fell, she was normally adept at reading people, especially those she thought to take to her bed. “What’s wrong with him?” 

Shadowheart rolled her eyes, “Ugh, he’s so cocky. He’s been wearing this smug, self satisfied look all night. Like he’s showing you off.” 

“He is.” Tav chuckled. “I don’t mind being shown off. It’s not complicated with him Shads, he’s upfront and direct.”

“He’s a pair of cheekbones with no personality!” Zarys interrupted, “The man is barely worth the money we spend outfitting him. Honestly, hun, he’s an idiot.” 

“I’m not marrying the guy!” Tav protested,”We’re here one night. Let me have fun with an idiot, at least I know he has decent rhythm!” 

Shadowheart cackled, but her eyes were searching, staring at Tav with something almost like sadness. She swallowed her laughter, voice becoming low. “What about Astarion?” 

“Is that the pale one with the moody eyes and great hair?” 

Shadowheart touched her finger to the tip of her nose and nodded. She didn’t speak, waiting for Tav’s reply, her eyes imploring. 

“I don’t…” Tav started, voice faltering. “I don’t know about him. He acts like we’re on the same page, like he just wants something to escape from all this.” She gestured at her forehead and Zarys raised a quizzical eyebrow, not knowing about the tadpoles, but let Tav continue. “But we haven’t even really kissed, and I feel like he’s been avoiding me ever since I told him I was attracted to him. I just… It’s kind of exhausting. I’m too old to play games.” 

“Wait, Tav?” Shadowheart held up a hand, “How old are you?” 

“I’m not exactly sure. Not many name-day celebrations in the gutters of Menzoberranzan, but I think around one hundred and seventy.” 

Shadowheart’s eyes went wide. “Huh, I thought for sure Astarion would be significantly older than all of us, but I guess not. Either way, you both are too old for playing games.” 

Zarys nodded vigorously. “Well, first thing’s first. If you didn’t care for the pale guy you wouldn’t care that he was being skittish. Now, that doesn’t mean you can’t go fuck Rugan for fun, but who would you rather be down here with later.” She gestured to the large, mostly empty room. “There’s some blankets in a crate over there, and I’ll leave the illusory wall up for some privacy, but you gotta cast silence if you’re going to be too noisy. This place echoes like motherfucker.” 

Shadowheart stifled a laugh in her hand. “Good to know! So Tav, who will it be? The admittedly handsome idiot who you’ll never see again, or the admittedly handsome idiot who travels with us and occasionally sucks your blood?” 

“That's what it is!” Zarys clapped her hands, the sound reverberating around the chamber.”I knew there was something about that guy I couldn’t put my finger on!” 

Shadowheart clapped both hands over her mouth and her eyebrows disappeared into her bangs. “Shit! I can’t believe I said that!”

“Oh, don’t worry about it, honey.” Zarys patted her back affectionately. “I’ve been around far too long to have qualms about shit like that. I’m guessing he’s a spawn, not a full vamp, yeah? The spawn are always so much more maudlin. Must be the whole, lacking in free will, thing. How’d he end up with you all?” 

Tav gave Zarys a meaningful look. “It’s a long story.” 

“Understood.” She watched Tav for a moment, letting the silence fall between them, curious, but trusting her to divulge what she needed to. “So, what are you actually wanting from him?” 

“Ugh, I don’t know.” Tav groaned, “Right now I really just want someone to throw me up against a wall and make me forget about the world for a while. Is that too much to ask?” 

Zarys and Shadowheart shared a low chuckle and a sly look, their eyes lingering just long enough for Tav to catch. “Ha!” She blurted, “I guess I’m not the only one who’s trying to have a pleasant evening.” 

“True.” Shadowheart demurred, “I don’t really have an opinion either way, I think you should do whatever it is that you want, but I have seen the way you look at Astarion. And the way he looks at you. You’re both disgusting, but it’s kind of cute.”  

“He couldn’t take his eyes off you all night, kid. Kept glaring behind his wineglass at you and the blonde. He slinked off somewhere when you started letting him touch your ass on the dancefloor. It’s not a big cave, though, I’m sure you could find him.” 

“Gods, I missed you, Zarys.” Tav gently knocked her forehead into the older woman’s, “Now get out of here. I guess I have some thinking to do.” She stuck out her tongue in a pantomime gag, shooing them out past the illusory wall. “Tell Rugan I had a dizzy spell and I’ll come find him later if I start to feel better.”

Zarys winked over her shoulder. “Atta girl, keep your options open.” As the two of them left, Zarys’ hand slipped from Shadowheart’s waist to the curve of her hip. Tav chuckled to herself, sitting on the cool, rough, stone, her back propped up against a wooden crate. After a few moments she rose with a deep sigh, mouth set, posture strong, to look for her idiot. 

*   *   *   *   *   

Astarion choked down bile in the back of his throat, letting the wave of nausea roll over him. He had watched Rugan kiss Tav from the shadowed door of the vault and had begrudgingly returned the stolen gear to the chests he’d found them in. Resetting the traps and fiddling with his lockpicks until he was able to latch the iron grates again from the outside, he slipped quietly away from the scene of his reversed crime. If she wanted to spend the night here with Rugan, she certainly wouldn’t appreciate a rude awakening in the morning when the Zhents found their best loot missing. He was kicking himself for how soft and precious he was being, when he turned a corner in the dark tunnel and ran face first into her. 

Tav stumbled backward and he shot out a hand to catch her wrist before she lost her balance, Feeling a stab of bitterness he spun her toward him in a mockery of a courtly dance, employing every ounce of his upper class bravado. She pulled in a soft gasp, her other hand coming up between them to press into his chest. He held their arms above their heads in a flourish, intending to spin her back out in a well practiced move. Before he could, her hand was balled in the ruffled fabric of his shirt, pulling him in and pressing her hips into his. 

“I was looking for you.” She breathed into his ear, her lips ticking his earlobe and sending a shiver down his spine. 

“Oh? You seemed otherwise occupied.” His voice was just as low as her’s, words tinged with a hint of venom. “Didn’t want to get between you and the dancing dimwit.”

“Don’t tell me you were jealous.” She teased, leaning in and brushing her teeth against his neck. “It’s not like I’d let him bite me.” She nuzzled against the crook of his neck, her fisted hand in his shirt pulling him tight against her.

“I’d hope not, darling. You’ve no idea where a mouth like that’s been.” He was drunk on the smell of her, the feel of her body against his. They had been circling around each other for some time, planets destined to collide in their orbits. The touch of her skin shot sparks through his fingertips. Still, he felt his shoulders stiffen as she pressed closer, the echoes of his past raking their claws across his back. His best chance at survival was with her, and the easy way she had yielded to his machinations was altogether positive, but his gut twisted at the thought of bedding her under false pretense. 

Tav felt Astarion tense against her, his body like a bowstring. She unclenched her fist from his ruffles, leaning back on her heel to get a better look at his face. Though his eyes met hers, he seemed hollow. Just for a moment, she saw the reflection of that familiar yawning emptiness she had seen so many times iin the mirror. Her hands slid from his chest and shoulder as she took a small step back, creating some distance between them, his hands still on her waist. 

“Are you alright?” Her face opened to him, curious and concerned, and the sincerity of it sent a jolt of fear straight through him. He scrambled to replace the mask he had obviously dropped, pulling his features into the predatory allure that had won him so many conquests. 

“Not yet,” He paused for dramatic effect, smoldering at her from under his strong brow. “I need you to promise me something.” 

“Mmm?” She didn’t take her eyes off his, boring into him with a look that brooked no deceit. He wanted to fold and retreat from her, but his plan was already taking too long, and he needed to get her under his thumb. The Zhent’s hands had been all over her, touching all the places he had thought about tracing with his own fingers. His anger flared at the memory of their dramatic kiss, the way the man had lingered, holding her to him in front of the cave full of people, staking a claim. 

Karlach’s words echoed in his head, stop thinking, just let yourself be. 

“Tav, I…” His quip died on his lips. Her heart was pounding in his ears, blood rushing hot in her veins. He tried to still the warring waves of desire and revulsion, buffeted by the storm inside. There was a part of her that saw his intentions, and yet she continued to allow him near her, feeding him with her blood and beguiling him with her body.  Their small moments together were charged with attraction, but when they sat together by the fire at camp or gossiped cattily on the road, Astarion couldn’t deny the calm that settled over him. Her voice had become a balm to his isolation. He found himself ever striving to coax a grin or a bright laugh from her lips. 

She searched his face, sensing the shift in his thoughts as his fingers tightened around her waist. Her breath left her in shallow gasps, the twisting heat in her core spreading outward as he once again closed the space between them. 

“What do you want, Astarion?” Thick with need, her question hung between them.

“I just… I don’t… “ His head spun, unable to land on a singular answer. He wanted to bed her, he wanted to drain her, he wanted to lay in the sun and press her to him, he wanted to slink into the shadows to hide from her light. But he had a plan to enact. She was in front of him, practically begging to give herself to him. He couldn’t let his inner turmoil keep him from snatching this chance and running with it. “All I want, darling, is to know that you’re here, with me, while that ogre you were toying with goes to bed in a cold bunk. Alone.” 

“I guess you really were jealous.” She cocked her head and smirked, biting her lip as her gaze drifted over his ruinous face. 

“Don’t play the fool, you wicked thing. You knew all night what it was doing to me, watching the oaf paw at you.” He leaned into her neck, deeply inhaling the scent of her, juniper honey and iron. “I practically wanted to rip his throat out when I saw him steal that kiss from you.”

She chuckled, a dark, smokey sound low in her throat. “He stole nothing, Astarion.” His grip on her waist shifted lower, clutching her hips and pressing himself into her, a territorial growl escaping his lips. “Though, you’re a rogue, I’m sure you could manage such a simple act of thievery.”

“Would it really be theft, my dear?” His body stilled, hands bunched into the flowing fabric of her skirts. His breath on her neck sent cool shivers over her skin. 

“No.” She sighed, “I suppose you can’t steal what is freely offered.” 

Her words opened a floodgate within him and he allowed himself to act purely on instinct. His lips found hers, desperately chasing the warmth of her mouth. She clung to him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, fingers twining into his curls. She felt electric against him, sparks arcing between their bodies as they crashed together. The screeching echoes of his past drowned out by the pounding of her heart. He surrendered to his need, wanting only to consume and be consumed by her. 

She whimpered a moan into his mouth as her lips parted and his tongue flicked between her teeth. The tension that had built between them finally snapping, they melted into each other, breaths coming fast and ragged. He had thought many times how it would feel to have her, warm and yielding in his arms, his small fantasies a spark compared to the inferno of reality.

 She kissed him back with a fervor that surprised and delighted him, her fist in his hair pulling him hard against her mouth. Her body rolled wantonly into him as she rose onto her toes to deepen their kiss. He groaned at the contact, his head swimming in the heady flavor of her mouth and the scent of her skin. 

Tav broke from the kiss with a ragged inhale, lids heavy and pupils blown. 

“Fucking finally!” She laughed, the sound echoing off the vaulted stone of the cave.

Astarion shuddered, hearing in her words the answer to his own desire. She took a small step back from him. He loosened his hold on her waist, unballing his fists and letting the loose panels of her skirt fall back around her feet. His eyes never left her parted, berry lips. 

“Zarys showed me something I think you’ll appreciate.” Her grin was crooked and mischievous as she reached down and pulled the skirt apart, revealing her shapely thigh. His fingers moved to brush the soft, slate gray skin, mesmerized. She playfully batted his hand away, and reached for her dagger, concealed in the swirling skirts.

“Now darling, no need to get violent, we were getting along so well.” He teased, but a small corner of his mind recoiled, thinking somehow she had lured him into a state of lust drunk vulnerability only to betray him. She merely smirked and tossed the blade over her shoulder. The dagger passed, shimmering, through an illusory wall and clattered unseen to the ground. 

“Clever.” He purred, regaining his grip on her skirts and steering her through the wall by her hips. He guided her backwards across the floor of the cavern to press her firmly against the red stone at the back of the room. Now hidden from view by the glinting enchantment, he began to pull at the fabric of her shirt, frantically groping underneath to cup her full breast in his palm. 

She moaned softly, head lolling back against the rough surface. Leaning hard into her, trapping her against the wall, he grasped a fistfull of curls at the nape of her neck. She smelled of deep pine forests warmed in the sun, of honeycomb and gin. He drank in the scent of her throat, inhaling deeply while trailing nips and kisses from her collarbone to her jaw. She melted into him, hand tugging boldly at his hips, small rhythmic cries escaping her lips and he ground into her. 

“Astarion…” Pleading, his name a ragged prayer barely audible over the sound of her pounding heart in his ears. His hand roved over her, grasping desperately at waist, ribs, breasts. She shivered under him, crushed between his desire and the crumbling cavern wall. When his fingers ran over her nipple, pebbled under the fabric of her shirt, she groaned and bucked into him. 

He captured the sound with his mouth, ravenous for the taste of her soft, yielding lips. She kissed him back, frantic, burning. They merged, breath mixing in feverish gasps. 

“Gods, you smell amazing.” He rasped, breaking contact with her lips to drag a fang lightly down the skin of her throat. She shuddered, head rolling to the side in invitation. He wanted to sink his teeth into her soft flesh and draw all of her heat into his own veins. Before he could, she dropped her hand along the planes of his stomach and her fingers found the waistband of his leathers. His arousal strained painfully against the laces, and her fingers sent shockwaves through him. Hissing in a sharp breath past his fangs he pulled away and caught the wicked glint in her lightning streaked eyes. 

Tav held his gaze as she traced the outline of his cock through the front of his leathers, delighting at the small shudders that ripped through him. She searched his eyes for a hint of the apprehension she had seen there. Her brow arched in a silent question, palm cupping his length. 

Astarion could barely think through the fog of his desire and the intoxicating bouquet of her skin, his calculated plan all but abandoned at the touch of her fingertips. He nodded, lips slightly parted. “Yes” was all he could manage before she was kissing him again, deep and hungry, her fingers pulling at the strings of his leathers. 

As his erection sprang free he shuddered, pressing himself into her, crushing her against the wall. Her hand snaked between them to grasp his cock, tip slick with need. Her touch sent sparks through him and he bucked into her fingers, a primal growl rumbling in his chest. She hitched her skirt aside, revealing the plump expanse of her thigh, and stood on her tiptoes to curl her leg around him. 

The heady scent of her arousal surrounded him. His cock in her hand, his tongue in her mouth, her body writhing against him, he nearly came undone. Breaking their kiss with a stuttering breath, he knelt, pulling her leg from his hip to rest over one shoulder. Parting the flowing panels of her skirt, revealing the deep burgundy flesh of her sex, he titled his face to her with a wicked grin. She stared down at him, her eyes heavy lidded and burning with lust. He kept his gaze locked to her face as he dragged his finger up the length of her core, watching her melt under his touch. Her eyes rolled and she threw her head back with a soft cry as he languidly drew circles around her clit. She was already slippery with want, and she bucked into his fingers, soft mewls of pleasure echoing around the cavern.  

The heat of her was intoxicating. As Astarion slipped his fingers inside he brought his mouth to her throbbing apex, lapping at the bundle of nerves there. His head spun with the taste of her, all thoughts receding as he deftly worked his tongue, drawing deep tremors and breathless cries from her. Tav moaned his name, her fingers twisting into his curls, and his cock throbbed, aching to be inside her. He drove his fingers faster, his other hand stroking himself in time. He sucked at her tender flesh, drawing her closer to her peak, her legs quaking. Her breaths came quick and heavy, her walls clenching around his fingers as her fervor climbed higher. 

She came like a wave crashing into rocks, the cascades of her pleasure tearing through her. His masterful fingers found the spot inside to drive her onward, drawing out her orgasm as she bit into her arm to muffle the throaty moan that wrenched from her. She rode his fingers, pulsating with the crescendo of her pleasure, gasping for breath.

At the peak of her ecstasy her knees gave out and she slumped, boneless, against the wall. In a fluid, practiced, motion Astarion rose, shifting her legs from his shoulders to his waist. Hooking his strong archer's arms under her trembling thighs he held her, pressed against the stone, grinding himself into the slick heat between her legs. She was still riding the aftershocks of her climax, head lolling back and small high pitched moans escaping her kiss swollen lips. When his hardness pressed against her she whined and her hips bucked wildly, her nerves on fire. 

Astarion drank in her face as she came undone, reveling in her fluttering lids, the sharp cries of pleasure spilling from her berry lips. He gripped her ass and drove her harder against him, aching to sheath himself inside her. Trembling, she fell forward onto his shoulder, she clutched him, steadying herself and slowing the rhythm of her hips. He felt her smile against the skin of his throat, a soft chuckle mixing with the small gasps still she still uttered. 

“Gods, Star…” She breathed into his neck, her legs tightening around his back and drawing him closer. Her words became a deep moan as he teased her entrance. She pulled back to meet his eyes, angling herself to take him, her gaze hungry. “I need you, now…” 

He obliged, driving into her slick heat. The silken tightness of her walls around him drew a guttural cry from his lips, his body spasming with the intensity. She angled her hips into him, allowing him to bury his cock deep within her, and moaned as she began to ride him. It was all he could do to keep his hold on her, bracing himself against the stone and burying his face in the crook of her neck. Small, muffled whines pulled from him as she undulated, each move of her hips driving him deliciously deeper into her and closer to his own release. 

Astarion fought for control within his own mind. He had imagined over and over what it would be like to finally bed his alluring companion, but in his musings he had never anticipated the way she would make him feel. He had used his body as a lure for so long he had all but forgotten what it felt like to experience his own pleasure. Now, he was all but drowning in it. 

A part of him was struggling to regain sense, to claim the upper hand and win her loyalty, but that part seemed to be losing to the greater whole of his longing. As he rutted into her, their bodies surging in time with the primal rhythm of desire, all thoughts of his plan and his past fell away. He could focus only on his need to consume her, to be one with her warmth. The sound of her heartbeat, pounding and frantic, filled his ears and drowned out the persistent, gnawing doubt that plagued his every waking moment.  

Pumping into her faster, he dug his fingers into the gunmetal curls at her nape and pulled her head back, exposing her delicate throat. Tav shuddered, rolling her hips and moaning a soft “yes”. He playfully bit her flesh, suckling on her neck, drawing her blood to the surface. As he dragged a fang along her skin he felt her clench around him, her body shivering in anticipation. The convulsion nearly sent him over the edge, his own body quaking. Tav whined into his ear, a wordless plea, and he sunk his fangs into her. The sudden rush of her blood into his mouth, coupled with the deep shuddering spasms around his cock, had him moaning and bucking, desperately trying to maintain his composure. 

It was too much to bear. As he swallowed greedy mouthfuls of her blood, his hips jerked deeper into her and he felt himself unraveling. A rasping cry tore through him as he tumbled over the edge of his pleasure, the hot coil in his core snapping with a violent release. He spent himself inside her, his cock throbbing in time with his hungry quaffs of her blood. She felt the tremors of his climax and met him with her own, the walls of her sex spasming, drawing him deeper and pulling the strands of his desire from him. In the throes of his pleasure he cried her name, a keening whine muffled by the flesh of her shoulder and bubbling through a mouthful of her blood. She echoed his wail with her own, his name a whispered moan in his ear. 

As they receded from the precipice of their ecstasy, Astarion gently lowered Tav to the ground, untangling his fingers from her hair and licking the wound at her throat clean. Her breathing was ragged, her heart racing, standing on shaky legs as he slipped from her. She leaned back against the stone of the cavern, a shy smile on her lips, her gaze turned inward. 

“Well,” She whispered, the hint of a chuckle bubbling from her. “That was…” She trailed off as her eyes swept up to meet his, her icy stare meeting his burning crimson with a jolt. He wore a look of haunted surprise. Though the corners of his lips curled in a satisfied grin, his eyes were wide and almost empty, his thoughts leagues away from where the two of them stood, bodies still heaving against one another. The affectionate warmth she felt was shot through with an icy stab of doubt. Had she misread his intentions? Had she somehow done something wrong? She tentatively brought her hand to cup his cheek and he flinched at the touch. Hissing in a sharp breath, as though her hand on his face had jolted him back into his body. She opened her mouth to ask him where he had gone, but he silenced her with a deep, soulful kiss. 

 Astarion was determined to conceal the tempest of emotions that raged within him. Her  touch had been the first in centuries that he had chosen for himself, the first he had actually enjoyed in longer than he could remember. The way her bright eyes searched his face shot a bolt of fear through him, as though she could read his apprehension. As he kissed her, tender and honest in his affection, he marveled at his dueling urges. He wanted to cling to her, desperate for the reassurance of safety and reciprocated care, while another part of him longed to dash from the too-silent cavern into the night.

Unsure of how to proceed, Astarion nearly dropped with relief when the sound of Karlach’s ale-sodden voice echoed into the chamber with a tone of bravado and challenge. Breaking the kiss and pulling away from Tav just a bit too quickly, Astarion did not meet her eyes. “As much as I would love to linger in your arms all night, dearest, I had better go. Wouldn’t want our hot-headed hellion to forget herself and accidentally incinerate one of our hosts.” He still did not meet her all too observant eyes as he bowed deeply and pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. “We really must do this again sometime, darling.” 

With that, Astarion spun away from her and retreated a bit too quickly for the casual air he was trying to maintain. Tav stood, body still humming from the exertion and pleasure, and silently watched him scamper back up the earthen hallway toward the center of the party, awkwardly retying the laces of his leathers as he went. While she hadn’t expected a long, affectionate cuddle, the sudden absence of him was jarring after the warmth of his embrace just moments before. She had caught the shift in his features, the shadow that drifted across his face as the heat of their joining cooled. 

Though Tav had claimed that all she wanted was to be thrown against a wall, now that her goal had been accomplished a sense of unease settled over her. She had made the choice to go looking for Astarion instead of rejoining Rugan, the budding affection and deep attraction she held for the vampire overshadowing the promise of mindless fun with the Zhent. Now, though, she wondered if she had made the right decision. Astarion had seemed willing and enthusiastic, but the shadow that had washed over his face at the end reminded her too much of the hollow smiles and empty words she used to ply to her clientele in the underdark. 

She would have to be careful with this one. For both his sake, and hers. 

[wardenparker]

Preview: Down the Rabbit Hole

Jack Daniels x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

When Jack accidentally shoots a civilian on a mission he takes on not only the guilt of the man’s death, but inherits his soulmate as well. To you, it’s a dream job with more perks than you can imagine - but for Jack it’s a nightmarish complication. Even more so when he starts to develop feelings.  

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“Jason Howe, 36, born in Northwood, New Hampshire on April 4th.”

Jack winces and curls his hand into a fist as he stands in front of the conference room table. Not having been invited to sit, nor to have the glass of ‘67 Statesman Reserve that Champ has sitting in a glass at his elbow. A drink that Jack desperately needs. “Champ, there was a gun.” Jack defends, although he knows it’s a weak excuse. Statesmen take out the bad guys, not hurt the innocent. And Jack’s killed a bystander who had nothing to do with anything.

"You've been off since Cambodia, Jack." And although Champ knows exactly why, it can't be considered an excuse. He looks back down at the file on the conference table and frowns, then keeps reading. "Two siblings. Parents both living. Soulmate so far unknown." The older man looks up, locking his eyes on Jack. "We're tracking her down."

“Why?” Jack demands, frowning at the mere idea. Statesman had never tracked down a soulmate of anyone before, why start now? “We don’t know who it is, or if they care.” He scoffs. “Better to let sleepin’ dogs lie.”

“I don’t blame you for not noticing.” Champ sighs and shakes his head before finally motioning for Jack to sit. The man is his best senior agent, his quickest set of reflexes, and his closest friend. Frankly, Champ is worried about the upheaval in Jack’s life lately. It’s affecting his perception on a base level, not to mention his work. “You didn’t come out of that fire fight unscathed, and your adrenaline was too damn high for the pain to get through to you.” Running one hand down his face, Champ huffs slightly as he sips from his own whiskey glass but still doesn’t offer Jack any. “The back of your right arm. Just above your elbow. You have a new mark, Jack.”

“Bullshit.” Jack spits, furious at the implication of what Champ is saying. “My soulmate is dead.” He reminds the older man, as if he wasn’t well aware. Hell, Champ was the one who had recruited Jack to Statesman, so he was well aquatinted with his backstory. Until this moment, he would have called the man a friend. Maybe his best friend, even though Tequila likes to claim that’s his title. “Been dead and gone for years. So there ain’t no marks on my body.”

“I don’t mean to say anything against her memory.” Champ holds up one hand in a defensive posture. With the other, he gestures to the large mirror on the conference room wall. “Roll up your sleeve and take a look for yourself. Ginger noted the appearance of scars from minor cuts and bruises and a small tattoo on your arm. None of these marks were found on the civilian that was killed or any of the other dead men that Gamma Team cleaned from the scene. Following protocols, we’re now tracking down any and all soulmates and searching databases for your exact set of new marks.” He knows it isn’t good news. It isn’t good for the agency and it isn’t good for Jack. But, despite it being a long shot, it is now more likely than not that someone out there shares these marks with him. And that makes her both a liability and a potential target. Whoever she is.

Fuck.” Jack hisses bitterly, his shoulders jerking as he shuffles out of his sports coat and tosses it down so he can start rolling up his sleeve. “Can’t Ginger remove it?” He demands, not wanting marks on his body. He hasn’t had any since the day Abigail died and he doesn’t want some other woman’s scars or tattoos on his skin either. He doesn’t have a soulmate and he doesn’t want one.

“Soulmate scars don’t work like that.” He knows Jack knows it, but he also understands the younger man’s distress as he tears his sleeve back to inspect his skin. “As far as Ginger’s nanites are concerned, that’s just your skin. No imperfections about it.”