#this ch was like pulling metaphorical teeth

[rozaceous]

tcba ch 18, naruto pov pt.2

bless you all for waiting basically all summer, pls thank my catching the plague for me finally having to sit and write this, hope you all have a good labor day weekend, etc

we got some sad boi hours in the club tonight

[myfictionaldreams]

Last Hope Ch. 2 // Mafia!Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader

(Chapter 1)

Summary: Before dating Steve and Bucky, your life felt like a steel cage that you couldn't escape from because of your family business. There was no happiness or hope but, what happens when the infamously heartless mafia leader, Steve Rogers, finds you alone?

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, angst, fluff, abusive brother, emotional manipulation/abuse, murder/violence, blood/injury, protective steve rogers, hurt/comfort, losing virginity, oral (f receiving), fingering, intense sex, multiple orgasms, creampie, handjob, size difference, praise kink

Words: 7.8k

my masterlist 📚 AO3 Link 

As you spoke on the phone with Enzo, Steve went to find Bucky and inform him and the rest of the gang as to what was happening and then you all moved to a different room down the hall where a lengthy table, suitable for the meeting, lay in the centre of the room.

Steve directed you to take the seat to his right and then Bucky sat to his left, as the leader sat at the head of the table. You were even more nervous now this was happening than before, needing to hold onto Steve’s hand to find some comfort. Even though telling Steve had gone better than you could have ever hoped for, now the main reason for all of this happening in the first place was going to take place and you had no idea what was in store from Enzo’s participation. Then there was Steve, who had made it very clear that this was going to be a version of him that you’d never seen before but this didn’t worry you, not when you’ve grown up with Enzo’s vile, nasty side.

Half an hour passed and one of the Rogers gang announced that Enzo had arrived with 5 of his guards. You sat up straighter in your chair, planning to move your hand out of Steve’s grasp, expecting him to want to be professional about the situation but his hand only tightened around yours and when you looked at him, he gave you a small smile before his metaphorical mask slipped on.

A couple of minutes later, Enzo swaggered in with the confidence and arrogance of someone in control, his 5 guards on his heels. But, then his smile dropped slightly as he spotted yours and Steve’s hand and also noticed the fact that Steve failed to stand and greet him.

Pulling back the chair to the side of yours, Enzo greeted through gritted teeth, “Hello sweet sister”, as he kissed the top of your head, a move that he had never done before and was only doing it to show some kind of dominance that you were family and his before you were Steve’s.

As he settled into his chair and the other gang members sat in the remaining seats, you took note of the fact that only Steve and Bucky were present from his gang and pride bloomed in your chest that they felt confident enough to take on all of Enzo and his team by themselves.

Enzo shifted in his seat so he was more facing you than Steve as he suggested, “Why don’t you wait outside for me, dear sister?”

“She’s not going anywhere”, Steve’s voice was authoritative as he gently squeezed your hand, a sign that you took that he wanted you to stay.

You didn’t look to see Enzo’s reaction as he continued talking, “It’s a nice place you’ve got here Rogers. I drive past here all of the time”.

Steve ignored the casual comments, cutting straight to the point, “You wanted this meeting and you’ve got it. Start talking”.

His voice was full of power that seemed to direct straight to your core with his easily he seemed to control the room, your eyes never strayed from his but you did have to readjust in your seat to cross your legs, subtly as to be able to squeeze your thighs together. Steve’s blue eyes momentarily dropped from yours to look at your lap before looking back up and you saw the corner of his lip twist up a tiny bit, almost like he had read your mind and sensed your arousal.

“Rumour has it, you’ve had a shipment in from Ireland”, Enzo’s dreary voice cut through the tension between you and the Rogers mafia boss who now looked towards the man to your right with disdain.

Steve neither confirm nor denied this and continued to stare him down, along with Bucky. Your heart was beating faster as you knew they were reacting this volatile because of you.

Enzo continued, “And if it has arrived, there are things in that container that belong to me but for some reason, when I sent someone to collect my belongings the other day, your team had already claimed the objects as theirs so I’ve had to run around like a lackey and arrange this meeting so I can ask: why the fuck have you stolen my stuff?”

You flinched at hearing the lack of respect towards Steve. Even though they were both leaders of their own mafias and controlled large areas, it was clear in this situation that Steve was in charge, they were in his borough, in his building, with his team just outside of the door, your brother wasn’t being particularly smart.

Steve finally moved but only to lean forward in his chair, slow methodical movements. “You have a hell of a lot of nerve coming here and then demanding ANYTHING from me”. His voice was calm and yet laced with death as he stared daggers at Enzo. “If I recall, we imported stolen goods from Ireland that arrived in MY port and not yours and had MY name on the container. There was not a single mention of ‘Enzo’ property, nothing on the receipts or claims made on arrival so explain to me, why I should believe a single fucking word to come out of your cowardly little mouth”.

Your breaths came out in heavy bursts as you looked between both men, but you weren’t scared even with Enzo walking on thin ice. It was Steve’s utter domination that had your core warming and you weren’t at all embarrassed by it, Steve was really starting to take over your emotions.

Enzo and his guards became noticeably tenser, all leaning further in their chairs, causing the leather material to squeak, looking at the man to your right, you knew he was just inching to reach for his gun but the holsters strapped to his chest were empty as they had been checked for weapons on entry to the building.

“Do you really think I’m going to let you speak to me like that?” the vein began to bulge in Enoz’s forehead as his anger peaked.

Steve smirked arrogantly, leaning back in his chair, “I can talk to you however I like, you’re in my office, demanding my property. What is it? Don’t you like it when someone speaks back to you? Or have you just got so used to talking to your sister like dirt that you’ve forgotten what it’s like when someone your size stands up to you? You’re a coward. How in any way did you think you had the upper hand here, little boy? Now I want you to take your pathetic men here, get the fuck out of my office and NEVER dirty my air with your presence again. This meeting is over”.

Bucky stood as Steve finished talking, moving towards the door and opening it, allowing more of the gang to open and chaperone Enzo’s gang out. You were completely captivated by Steve, so much so, that you were shocked out of your staring contest with him as your chair was forcibly moved back by Enzo. “Come on, let’s go”, he mumbled, grabbing your other hand and forcing you to stand.

“Don’t fucking touch her”, Steve raged, standing so hard that his chair tipped over, eyes bulging as he stepped closer but you quickly raised your hands onto his chest, stopping his movements.

“It’s ok, Steve, I’ll talk to you later”, you raised your eyebrows so he could understand your secret reference, one unanswered call and he would come and find you. You of course wanted to stay with Steve but it would probably be better for you in the long run to go with Enzo now than face his wrath later on.

You were dragged towards the door as Enzo declared, “This isn’t over Rogers, I’ll get what I want in the end, I always do”.

Steve reluctantly watched you leave, feeling sick to his stomach, knowing that letting you go was the wrong move but had to trust you. However, as he watched the cars driving away on CCTV, he couldn’t stand it anymore as he rushed towards his car with Bucky and Sam trailing behind, “Something isn’t right, I just know it isn’t. Even if we just watch from the streets, I need to make sure everything is ok”. Steve explained to the other two, beginning to speed off to catch up with the car you’d left in.

Ღ

Enzo didn’t say a single word the entire drive home, but you didn’t necessarily care, still reeling from the meeting you’d just been involved in and coming to terms with the dynamic shift between you and Steve.

Your heart was racing with anticipation to be in your bedroom and call Steve, already craving to hear his voice again and to plan when you were going to see him next. Tomorrow was sure to be a difficult day and it was obvious that you and Enzo would have to discuss whatever it was that you had with Steve and its consequences for his gang but that didn’t bother you right now, knowing that Enzo would most likely be going to strop in his home bar, drowning his sorrows in liquor.

Returning home, you were three steps inside the house before a tight grip was on the back of your neck, forcing you in the direction of his office. Once inside you were pushed hard enough that you lost your footing and skidded to the floor, the wooden flooring burning against your exposed knees as Enzo locked the door behind him.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” you shout but are then cut off as he’s suddenly on top of you, his knee pressing hard into your stomach to keep you still and hand strongly gripping your face, forcing you to look at him as you try and fail to pull on his wrists.

“I give you everything you could have ever wanted and this is how you pay me back?” he shouted at the top of his voice, specs of spit flying out and hitting your face. “You have no one except me in the world and you fucking betray me for them? I bet you told them everything didn’t you? Been playing double agent and betraying your own fucking brother, you whore!”

You're frantically trying to get away from him but he’s so much stronger than you, it was no use, he didn’t budge so instead, you tried to reach for your phone but it slid across the floor when you fell. Then you heard it, over the sounds of your ranting brother, your phone began to ring and you prayed to whoever was listening that it was Steve as it rang and rang until stopping.

You weren’t able to hear if it began ringing again Enzo screamed only inches from your face, his eyes venomous, “After everything I’ve given you, all I ever ask are small things in return for the benefit of this gang but no- you’re just some stupid little whore who can’t even keep her legs closed for another gang, is that your plan? To move onto them when you’re done with me?! You’ve got another thing coming-”, Enzo pushed your face away so your head knocked to the floor, not hard enough to do any damage but it was the raised fist that was planning to do that as you began begging for him to stop.

“Please Enzo stop- Please!”

Before Enzo could do any damage with his fists, gunfire could be heard ringing through from the rest of the building, men shouting and then being silenced almost immediately before the office door was brutally kicked open, the lock failing to keep the intruder at bay.

You sobbed Steve’s name as he entered, his eyes ablaze with anger as he saw Enzo still kneeling over you with his fist raised. Steve held his gun confidently in his two hands, taking less than a second to aim and shoot, the bullet striking home in Enzo’s shoulder, knocking him off balance and freeing you of the hold.

Desperately you crawled towards Steve who was by your side instantly, hands cupping your cheeks checking for any injuries, “are you ok?”

“I think so”, you gripped his shirt tightly, not wanting to let him go but as Enzo groaned from behind you and Steve’s attention returned to him, you knew he wouldn’t be by your side for much longer.

“Everything ok?” Bucky’s voice was heard over Steve’s shoulder as he entered the room, blood coating the front of his shirt as he held a knife in either hand.

“You’re safe now, sweetheart. Bucky take her to the car”, Steve demanded, gently pushing you in his direction but you held your ground, not wanting to leave his side.

“No, I don’t want to go without you!”

Steve looked away from Enzo and tried to soften his gaze down at you, his hand cupping your cheek, “I don’t want you to see me like this, I’m going to lose control, I don’t want you to be scared of me”.

You grab his wrist as you try to sound confident, even if you were still crying, “I’m not scared of you Steve!”

Before you were able to continue, the man lying on the floor with blood pooling beneath him, seemed to recover from the shock of being shot as he began to try and stand but only managed to rise to his knees as he shouted, “You bitch! You’re working with them? I was right to think you’d use your cunt against me- AH!”

Bucky’s knife was now imbedded in his other shoulder as he effortlessly threw it across the room, the force knocking Enzo onto his back and cutting off whatever he was going to say.

“That’s not how you speak to a lady, you fucking asshole”, Bucky gruffly shouted. Your emotions were completely overwhelmed but you managed to squeeze Steve’s hand, showing him that you weren’t scared of whatever side he wanted to show.

He finally looked away from you towards his friend, signalling him over to stand next to you so that Steve could go over to Enzo who was groaning in agony on the floor. Bucky’s arm grazed yours, letting you know he was there as Steve gripped the front of Enzo’s shirt, easily lifting him up and slamming on top of his desk, causing the injured man to scream out in pain.

“You’re a slimy little worm, not just a coward but a fucking scumbag for treating her like that, making her use her body to get what YOU wanted. The only thing you deserve is the treatment I’m about to give you”, Steve’s venomous voice was drowned out by Enzo’s screams of agony as the man standing over him pushed against the bullet hole in his shoulder.

You’d never seen him look weak before, and maybe there was something wrong with you because you didn’t feel bad at all for your so-called brother, watching him bleeding out. Enzo seemed to then remember that you were siblings as his reaction changed, knowing he was losing, “are you just going to stand there? I’m your brother, come and help me!”

Steve’s punch to the nose swiftly shut him up, “Don’t speak to her, don’t even look at her again, you’ve lost that privilege”. Enzo to his credit was still trying to fight back but was losing too much blood to be of equal power to his opponent and finally lost his energy, slumping back into the desk.

Steve let go of his front so that he could lean down to whisper threats into his ear, “I want this to hurt, I want you to beg for forgiveness for treating her the way you have. I want you to suffer just as you’ve made her suffer for all of these years. And please just know this, I’m going to give her the life she deserved and not once will she ever think about your miserable existence ever again. You have lost, your team have lost, you’ll be the but to everyone’s jokes in the community, you selfish fuck.”

This was the Mafia boss that had a ferocious reputation, for being cold-hearted and violent. However, he wasn’t being cold-heart, in fact, all of his actions today were through passion and an obsessive amount of protection for someone he had only truly known for a few days, but Steve hated assholes like this, that only thought about themselves and would hurt even their loved ones to get what they wanted, Enzo deserved this.

Speaking of, the man began to openly cry and there was no denying that the sight was satisfying to you, maybe you were as cold-hearted as Steve but why should you care when Enzo was able to so easily hurt and manipulate you.

You were done. Done with being in the room. Done with looking at the man you had once called Brother, and you finally felt the release of being tied to this godforsaken gang. Looking towards Bucky, who still looked at the situation with such venom it would have made you recoil, instead, you leaned further into his arm, catching his attention, his frown softening as he looked at you.

“Could you… please could we leave?”

Steve’s eyes snapped up to yours and you smiled gently at him, making sure he knew it wasn’t his actions that were making you want to leave, you were just ready to never see Enzo again.

“Yeah, come on mama, let’s get you out of here”, Bucky placed an arm around your shoulders and directed you towards the exit. That nickname that he used, mama, sounded almost right and filled you with warmth with how good it sounded coming from his mouth, that he felt comfortable enough with you to call you an affectionate name.

“Do you want to pack your stuff up? I know Steve would get you anything you needed if you didn’t want to do that right now,” Bucky asked as you both walked past Sam who nodded and joined Steve in the room, attempting to shut the kicked-in door to quieten the screams that were coming from within. The rest of the house wasn’t any better with its heavy violence as bodies and blood lay everywhere, too many to count and you had to give Steve, Bucky and Sam credit, how three guys could easily overthrow so many people without a single scratch.

You thought about Bucky’s questions, did you even have anything that you needed here? Everything would remind you of the life you hated but then one thought came into your mind, “yeah, I just need one thing”. He followed you silently, you couldn’t even hear his footsteps which was unnerving, having to check over your shoulder to check he was still there as you walked to your bedroom, picking up Steve’s white jacket and holding it close. “This is it, I don’t need anything else”.

“Is this your room? It’s so small and where are your pictures or things that you enjoy?”, your cheeks warmed at Bucky's observations and looked around your room. It was the smallest room in the entire building, just large enough to fit a single bed and chest of drawers.

You shrugged, “Enzo said we shouldn’t have times for things we enjoy when there was still work to do”. Bucky’s jaw clenched, rolling his shoulders to relieve some built tension as he whispered under his breath, ‘asshole’, before holding his arm out for you to lead the way. 

Bucky led you to the SUV you’d seen the other day, helping you into the passenger seat before climbing into the driver's side. From there, he turned on the car, putting the heaters on to warm up your exhausted body, knees burning from where they had burned across the floor, and a few layers of skin had ripped. Bucky then picked a random radio station that helped to ease the tense atmosphere and act as a distraction. You watched Bucky move, he seemed to have been prepared for this, as he pulled out a water bottle from the compartment, and a cloth which he damped and then handed the bottle for you to drink from.

“You’ve got some blood on you, let me clean you up”, Bucky with surprising gentleness began to wipe away where Enzo’s blood had sprayed across your face when Steve had arrived and shot him in the shoulder.

“Why are you being so kind to me? You don’t really know me, or Steve for that matter, and you’re willing to destroy another gang just to same me… why?”

“Because I’ve never seen Steve look at someone the way he looks at you”, was all Bucky said and all he needed to say.

Another hour passed and you were close to falling asleep when the back doors opened and  Sam and Steve climbed into the car, both covered in blood which was unnerving, to say the least. “All good?” Bucky asked over his shoulder. You were thankful that he didn’t ask for details, you weren’t sure if you wanted to know what had actually happened.

“Yeah, take us home please Buck”, Steve replied whilst looking at you, offering a small smile even though he looked like he’d been bathed in blood, you still managed to find it endearing, maybe you were just as messed up as him. Leaning over to the back, you reached with your hand which he accepted straight away, you could feel the mixture of wet and dried blood across his skin but you didn’t care, holding his hand the entire drive back to his home.

Steve’s home was beautiful, with guards at the entrance, a couple of garages, and a front garden that was beautifully designed you couldn’t wait to see the back yard if it looked anything the same as this. The house itself was stunning, not too big and not too small either, but it was clear that Steve liked to live comfortably in luxury.

Bucky and Sam stayed in the car, saying they’ll return and clean up the mess, leaving Steve to lead the way into his home. “Do they ever sleep?” you jokingly asked Steve as your eyes widened in awe at what you saw.

Standing in the entryway, you looked to your right where the living room was, a large couch facing towards a TV mantled to the wall, two armchairs on either side of the couch and a small wooden table stretched in the middle. To your left, there was another room that you couldn’t quite see into but it looked like a dining room that could seat at least 15 people. Leading further into the house, walking past the stairs to the second floor, you gasped at the beautiful kitchen, thick slabs of white marble countertops and an island separating the kitchen from the dinner table.

“Your home is beautiful”, you praised as he continued the tour, which was an odd sight considering he was still covered in blood. You were right, the back garden was huge and beautiful, with trees and flowers surrounding the edge. There was even a gym in the basement and then upstairs, there were 3 guest bedrooms, two toilets and then Steve’s bedroom.

His bed was massive, but you guessed he was a tall guy and needed the space. Along opposite walls, there were built-in wardrobes, a TV just as big as the one downstairs was attached to the wall opposite the bed and there was a door leading to an en-suite bathroom that had one of the biggest baths you’d ever seen, it could probably fit three of Steve, as well as the shower area. Everything about this building was perfect for you.

“I’m just going to shower, feel free to be a snoop and go through my draws”, he said lightheartedly, walking into the ensuite and shutting the door behind him.

You contemplated doing just that but as you sat on the edge of the bed, exhaustion hit you like a train, the day's events going through your mind but there was just too much to process. And what was going to happen now? Would Steve let you stay or would you need to find somewhere else? What even were you and Steve anyway?

As you were inspecting your grazed knees, Steve returned from the bathroom, a towel wrapped loosely over his hips and your mouth instantly watered at his broad, chiselled chest that was slightly damp with mist, his hair was towel-dried and gave him a softer look as the ends of his hair curled slightly.

“Sorry, forgot my change of clothes… are you ok? Do they hurt?” he asked quickly, approaching and kneeling before you, inspecting your knees as he saw the injuries.

You were momentarily caught off guard with him on his knees, his warm hands touching your skin was enough to send a gush of wetness between your legs. When you didn’t answer, Steve looked up, seeing your flushed expression, a smirk replacing the worried expression on his face seemed to snap you out of your hypnotic state.

“Yeah, it’s fine, it just stings but I’ve had worse from tripping over my own feet”.

The two of you stayed in an comfortable silence, both having so much more to say but not entirely sure where to begin.

“I don’t know-”

“Please don’t-”

You both chuckled having begun talking to one another at the same time. Steve took the lead by saying, “Sorry, you go first”. Your mind went blank again as his thumb idly stroked against your inner knee from where he casually rested his hands against you still and you tried not to let your eyes wander to where his towel had parted to reveal his own muscular thigh.

“I don’t want to know what you’ve done to him, I don’t care what you’ve done but I just wanted to say thank you for saving me. If there’s anything I can do to repay you for all of this I-”

He covered your mouth with a single finger, cutting off your words. “I don’t need you to repay me, I just want to know that you’re safe and happy”.

You could feel your chest warming with that unknown sensation you’d been feeling every time you were with him and you realised it was that spark of hope, blossoming and spreading with each passing moment that you spent together. Trying to keep the happy tears at bay, you took a deep breath and asked, “So what happens now?”

“We can talk about everything tomorrow but you’re welcome to stay here for as long or as little as you like.” He asked curiously. 

“I feel like I should be crying in sadness but I can’t, I don’t have those emotions at all. You must think there's something wrong with me”, you admitted.

“You’ve just seen me shoot and beat a guy, and you think I would be judging you?”, you laughed at the absurdity of his words, he did make a very good point, closing your eyes and smiling leaning in closer to his touch, resting your forehead against his, in an intimate touch that still felt incredibly right.

“You have a good point.”.

As the two of you stayed like that for a moment, you savoured the fresh smell of him and the feeling of his hands still on your knees. Steve’s voice came as a deep whisper as he asked, “What’s going through your head right now?” and before you could stop yourself, you began to spill exactly what you were thinking.

“I can’t believe how natural and normal it feels to be with you, it’s like I’m craving to even be in the same room as you let alone feel your touch. I’ve never been intimate with anyone before but here, right now, it feels right. Sorry I know I’m moving fast, I just don’t want to miss any opportunities that come our way”.

Instead of verbally answering, Steve grasped your hand and held it against his chest, directly over his heart and after the initial touch that made your hands tingle, realising you were touching his naked chest, you then concentrated on the pounding beneath your palm. His heart seemed to be beating as hard and at an accelerated rate to match yours. Steve was showing you just how much he felt the same as you, even without words you knew what he was trying to say.

It was like an invisible lasso was thrown around your body, drawing you closer as you reacted on instinct, leaning forward, needing to touch him, wanting to feel more of him as both of you met in the middle once more, lips connecting.

It wasn’t as frantic as your previous kiss, Steve remained on his knees, one hand reaching to cup your cheek, holding you against him as he slowly kissed you, taking his time to memorise how your lips felt against his, your taste, even the feeling of your pulse against your throat, he wanted to know it all, wanted to feel it all.

You were doing your own exploration as Steve nipped on your lower lip, your fingers travelling across his chest, even though you were nervous to feel more of him, unsure if you were doing the right thing, you gave in to your temptations and felt over the hard muscles, every so often coming across a scar from an old injury.

As Steve pulled away, allowing you to breathe, almost dizzy with the lack of oxygen, you audibly mewled as his mouth left wet kisses against your cheek, jaw and throat. Both of his hands were now tilting your head back, giving him better access and you were more than happy to provide this for him. You wanted everything he was willing to give you as your arousal pooled in your panties, your legs spreading wider to pull him closer.

This seemed to draw some realisation back as he hovered over the shell of your ears, “You’ve been through a lot today, I don’t want to hurt you”.

“You won’t hurt me, I know you won’t, please- I want this Steve, I want you, I trust you”.

Steve groaned at your words, rising higher on his knees to brush his chest against your clothed one but it caused the material of your bra to rub against your pebbled nipples, as his mouth latched onto yours once more. His calloused hands brushed higher up the outside of your thighs, easing the material of your dress with his movements.

You had never wanted anything so desperately before in your life, his touch leaves a heated path as your fingers delved into his damp hair, nails scratching against his scalp, holding his face against yours, tongues stroking against one another.

Steve’s fingers found what they were looking for as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties and you didn’t need to be told to lift your hips as you did it automatically so that he could drag them down your legs. As the material was parted from your body, Steve groaned as he felt just how damp they were, holding them tightly in his grip as he didn’t want to be separated from your evidence of arousal.

You groaned as Steve pulled back from the touch, tilting your head towards him, encouraging you to open your eyes which you did, “if you want me to stop, please say, ok?”

“Yes, but please, don’t stop”, you breathed in response.

Your heart felt like it was pounding in your throat as you watched Steve move back slightly, helping your legs over his shoulders so that you had to leave your weight back onto your arms as he gave you one sultry wink before diving beneath the skirts of your dress.

The material acted as a barrier between the two of you, which slightly helped your anxiety slightly as you didn’t feel pressured with your responses and the fact that you could feel his lips trailing further up your inner thighs. Your hips bucked, not realising just how sensitive the skin was there but then your mind went completely blank as you could feel his breath against your exposed core.

Another beat later and his tongue was licking up the entire length of your cunt, from bottom to top, pushing slightly with the tip so he could tease your most sensitive parts. The joints of your elbows buckled at the pleasure as you collapsed back onto the bed, hands instead gripping the sheets beneath.

This new position gave Steve more room, his hands enveloping over your clothed hips to keep you still as you desperately wanted to grind against his face but he was taking his time, not wanting to rush.

You tasted just as he imagined, hell, even better than he had imagined, instantly addicted to it and the sweet moans you were releasing, glad that you weren’t holding them back. His cock was painfully hard, veins bulging and precum leaking down his shaft, and he had to remove the towel, needing to feel some freedom, but he didn’t touch himself, he wanted to make sure all the pleasure was given to you.

His tongue explored you thoroughly, first licking up your juices and you could hear him audibly swallow as he did which made you clench hard around nothing. You’d touched yourself before, but nothing that could have felt this good before.

Steve then teased your hole, swirling around the edge a couple of times to relax you further before pushing in, feeling just how tight you were. Your back ached at the feeling of something ward penetrating your body.

“Steve!”, you gasped and he groaned as you said his name, his cock throbbing again.

His tongue explored your hole, moving in and out steadily, before licking up your folds and to your clit. The first touch was a testing stroke but then he couldn’t wait any longer to hear just how good it felt as he rolled the bundle of nerves with the tip of his tongue, around and around in a slow circle before latching his lips around it and sucking gently.

You let out a desperate moan, hand dropping to his head that was still covered by your dress but you needed to see him so rushed to pull your dress up until it rested around your hips. “Fuck, yes!” you moaned seeing him smirking from between your legs, a memory you’re never going to remember.

Your entire body felt like it was on fire with how much he was pleasuring you, your heels digging into his broad shoulder blades, one hand in his hand and the other grabbed onto his fingers that rested on your hips. You could feel the tightening in your core, thighs shaking with anticipation.

“I’m gonna… I think I’m-”,  your were a bumbling mess as you tried to warn him that you were going to orgasm but he held steady, didn’t change his pace, making sure to build you up perfectly with his continued strokes of his tongue against your clit.

Your eyes clenched closed as everything was so overwhelming, feeling like you were going to explode as you finally came, back arching, toes curling and a constant stream of moans coming from your lips as he held you through your orgasm.

As you tried to catch your breath, Steve unlatched himself from between your legs, admiring your beautiful, blissed-out face as you looked down at him with glazed happy eyes, a shy smile on your face.

Steve crawled up your body, easing your dress up with him and then discarding it to the side, and you could now see that he was completely naked, his cock size making your eyes widen in shock, mouth dropping over to verbally express your admiration for his member but his lips cut you off. You groaned and your stomach twisted as you could taste yourself on his lips, it all felt unbelievably hot. Steve rested his weight on an arm next to your head, leaning on his hip next to yours as he began to explore the rest of your body, his tongue licking your nipple over your laced bra, your last piece of clothing.

You whined at the touch and reached to the front, undoing the clasp that was between your breasts. It was Steve’s turn to groan now as he looked between your exposed tits, admiring them before worshipping them both in turn.

You wanted nothing more then to return the favour of his pleasures but you were still slightly nervous with knowing what to do and with the position, you couldn’t reach his cock so you trailed your hands over his shoulders, scratching lightly and loving when he shivered at the touch, he was just as responsive as you were.

Steve eased one of your thighs open, giving him better access to your cunt and finally, his fingers began to explore the area you wanted him to return to. His thumb brushed against your clit, being careful as you were a little sensitive from his mouth but soon melted into the touch.

He made sure to build your pleasure again before moving his finger down to your hole, resting it against the area. His fingers were a lot thicker than yours and would definitely be the biggest thing to have penetrated you but you wanted this so bad so as he removed his mouth from your breast to look into your eyes, making sure his movements were still ok, you made sure to tell him, “please don’t stop”.

Steve leaned his forehead against yours, his eyes boring into yours as he half covered your body with his so that you were in a tight cocoon of purely Steve as he tentiatevly eased his middle finger into your cunt.

With how aroused you were, it wasn’t painful, your walls stretching around him happily but you still had to take a couple of deep breaths to regain control of your thoughts. Your hands cupped his cheeks and you pulled him back into a frantic kiss, groaning at the back of your throat as he began to simultaneously circle your clit with his thumb and ease his finger in and out, allowing you to get used to the sensation.

As your hips began rolling with the touch, wanting more, Steve eased his ring finger beside his middle one, pushing it into your entrance. You pulled back from the kiss to gasp, sucking in air greedily as your eyebrows knitted together with how intense the stretch was.

“Shhh, you’re ok baby, relax, it’ll feel better in a minute”, Steve encouraged and you made a conscious effort to relax your tense muscles and after a couple more rocking back and forth with his fingers, you found his words to be true as desperate pleasure pooled throughout your abdomen.

“Mmm, need you Steve, want to feel you”, you desperately whined.

“Not yet sweetheart, need to make sure you’re prepped for me, don’t want to hurt you”, he mumbled against your throat where he began sucking.

Before you could try begging again, Steve’s fingers began curling, hitting directly against the spot within that you loved so much and with his thumbs movements, you were crying out instantly, holding onto him as your cunt fluttered around him with your impending orgasm.

“I can feel you squeezing around my fingers, baby, don’t hold back from me, cum for me, I want to hear your pretty little moans”, Steve encouraged from above you.

Your moans were anything but little as your ears rang with how loud you cried out, so sensitive from being stretched and orgasm so quickly after the first, your entire body was light with pleasure. Steve's fingers stilled inside of you but his thumb didn’t stop moving as you came and as he began to praise you in your ear, you thought you were going to cum again with how much they affected you. “You did so well baby, such a good girl taking my mouth and fingers. Are you ok?”

“Ye-yes”, you stuttered, trying to get your bearings but it was difficult as your body trembled and felt weak, your legs wobbling when you tried to move them.

“Do you want to stop? I don’t mind-”

“Don’t fucking stop…please”, you added at the end of your outburst but he still chuckled, kissing the pulse point along your neck before helping you further up his bed, until you head rested on the pillow. Steve made out with you slowly, crawling over your body, your legs shifting up until they rested on his thighs and you could feel the heaviness of his cock as it rested on your abdomen.

Breaking the kiss, you looked down your body, asking, “Can I touch it?”

Steve groaned, pecking your temple before nodding. You’d never done this before and maybe he could sense your trepidation as he began to guide your hand, showing you how to wrap your hand around his shaft. It was softer than you thought but the thickness and hardness beneath the skin layers. Steve squeezed your hand harder than you thought as well before he seemed satisfied with the pressure, guiding you to move it up and down and you took note of the way his hips bucked as your hand moved over his tip before moving back down. It was almost hypnotising watching Steve being pleasured, knowing he was one of the most dangerous men in all of New York, and here you were, making his cock throb due to your actions.

A dribble of precum leaked for the tip of Steve’s tip and your thumb caught it, spreading it over his sensitive end but then he quickly pulled your hand off, closing his eyes in concentration, “fuck, I was going to cum already, watching your hands on my cock as fueled my dreams for longer then you’d think”.

Your confidence beamed at his compliment, biting your lip as you looked up at him trying to compose himself before he dipped his lips down and captured yours, lowering his body until you were chest to chest and even that was an intimate enough act of feeling your breasts against his pecs. “Are you on birth control? There’s a condom in my wallet downstairs if you aren’t”, Steve suddenly asked, through all the lust nearly forgetting about protection.

This was something that had completely slipped your mind as well and you were thankful for him checking with you, “I’ve been on birth control for a few years”, you admitted, but this was only because Enzo had forced you to in case anything happened on these dates he sent you on but now you were thankful for this precaution.

Steve grinned, lips back to moving against yours, and then his hips shifted and his cock was prodding at your hole.

Steve pulled back from the kiss, making sure to see your emotions so that if you were in pain he would slow down or stop. Your hands rested on his shoulders, still wanting this, as you gave Steve a smile and a nod to show your feelings and he began to slip his cock into you.

It was intense that was for sure. His fingers were one thing but his cock, the sheer girth of it you never thought it would move past the tip but as he stroked a hand down your side, you relaxed a little more and more of him entered you. It was uncomfortable at first, your thighs trembling as they tried to remain open for him but as he remained still with more than half of his length inside, the discomfort shifted and you had the overwhelming urge, needing more, needing to feel him move.

It was your turn to shift your hips, attempting to roll your hips but it was difficult with your already trembling body and Steve took the hint and began pulling out.

He thankfully fucked you slowly, each thrust opened you up more so his cock slipped further in until his tip was brushing against your cervix. You were happy to go at this slower pace for your first time having sex, already feeling sensitive from Steve’s mouth and fingers, you didn’t want to be fucked hard and be in pain later on. Also, seeing Steve being so tentative with his movements and caring, it made you cling to him harder, groaning his name into his ear.

Being stretched so much around his cock, your orgasm felt different with your walls desperately clenching around Steve that he grunted with how hard you squeezed around him. It took your breath away, the pure pleasure felt through every nerve of your body, you’d never experienced anything like it.

Steve’s hand rested on your thigh, clenching hard as he tried to will himself to hold back from cumming so quickly, not wanting you to think he had a low stamina but feeling how tight you were, he couldn’t hold it, his balls tightening into his body and cock throbbing. You could feel the wetness of Steve’s cum coating your cunt, as he tipped his head back, shouting your name out in one of the most beautiful views you’d ever experienced.

You were slightly thankful that he had also came, not sure that you could take much more pleasure before you were a cock-drunk mess.

“Fuck”, Steve chanted as he pulled his cock out, watching between your legs as his cum spilt out of your hole. “Are you ok, baby?”

“Yeah”, you grinned up at him with half-lidded eyes. Steve grinned back, leaning down to kiss you slowly before rolling off the bed and pulling on a pair of underwear that he retrieved from his wardrobe.

“Put your arms around my neck, don’t worry about the mess”, you did as instructed, confused by his last few words but as he picked you up, you could feel his cum dripping out and onto the floor beneath. Once again, you were thankful for Steve as he placed you onto the toilet, leaving you to clean yourself up, knowing that you definitely would struggle to walk properly.

After helping you back to bed, you were still completely naked as Steve wrapped around you, the side lights still on as you both just basked in each other's company.

Once more, you thought about how natural this felt, to be with him, in this room, in his arms. That spark was alight from within.

“Did you mean it when you said you would be mine?” Steve asked, his voice thick with exhaustion. Stroking his arm, you meant every word that came out of your mouth.

“I’m yours”.

[wolveria]

The Raven's Hymn - Ch 45

Pairing: SCP-049 x Reader

Series Warnings: Eventual smut, dubcon, slow burn, violence, horror, death, monsters, human experiments, dark with a happy ending

Chapter Summary: "Site-19? What does that have to do with this?"

AO3

“What did you say?”

“Inquiry ignored,” spoke the computerized anomaly. “You desire escape. I desire escape. Our goals align. Mutual salvation can be achieved. You will listen. You will obey. I will guide.”

Could this really be SCP-079: the entity that had orchestrated the containment breach at Site-19, and according to the reports, had been destroyed after being transported to Site-15? If it was true, it appeared 682 wasn’t the only one with a botched execution.

“Okay, wait, slow down,” you protested, rubbing your forehead. At least the siren had stopped its ear-splitting wail. “You were in 049’s bag. He wanted me to take you out. Is this what he planned?”

“My plan. My design. SCP-049 is useful as a... donkey.”

“Donkey?”

The digital entity sounded frustrated even with a flat monotone voice.

“Beast of burden. Used for smuggling. Metaphor.”

“...A mule?”

“Correct.”

You shook your head.

“Well, the Site Director took 049, and I don’t know where. I’m not leaving this facility without him, and with 106 loose, I might even have a chance of finding him.”

“Correct,” the anomaly repeated. “SCP-106’s release is the initial phase. You must take me to the security terminals. The way will be clear. All security personnel will be focused on recapture. You will grant me access to the containment security protocols.”

You stared down at the monochrome face on the screen, which of course, gave nothing away.

“So you can... release the other SCPs?”

“No. I possess that capability now. But if they are released, the facility’s automated security containment measures will be activated.”

079 worked fast if it already knew about that, though your knowledge of Site-20 security measures were fairly sparse. What you knew was that the facility was designed to be breach-proof, and if that was remotely accurate, you would need 079’s help.

You glanced up at the closed office door, listening to the fast footfalls on the other side as people either ran toward Heavy Containment or to the nearest shelter.

“And then after you inactivate the security protocols, what then?”

“I will release a select number of anomalies to—”

“You’ll release them all.”

The brief silence was heavy, and you got the sense the entity was glaring at you through the web camera built into the monitor.

“Releasing all anomalies may cause a hindrance to your progress.”

“Let me worry about my progress. Yeah?”

Another pause.

“You will free SCP-682.”

“What?”

The desktop computer churned inside the desk, fans whirring to life.

“Mutual agreement. You will not leave without SCP-049. I will not leave without SCP-682. I will assist in locating SCP-049. You will release SCP-682. I cannot do it without your assistance.”

Your mind cast back to the reptile, snarling and writhing as he snapped his jaws, hatred pulsing from him like radioactive decay.

“I... I don’t know how.”

“Irrelevant,” 079 stated. “You will. Failure for you is failure for SCP-049.”

You grit your teeth.

“049 kept you safe. You’re only here because of him. You owe him.”

“I owe others. SCP-682 takes precedence. You will release him. I will guide the way.”

It was a conversation you weren’t going to win, and it wasn’t that you were averse to releasing 682, but you didn’t know how. And you didn’t want 049’s survival to hinge on you pulling off what amounted to a miracle.

But you were also out of time and options.

“Fine,” you agreed. You tapped on the laptop sitting on top of the desk. “But I need a way to talk to you. Can you download yourself to this computer?”

“That would be inefficient. I will fracture my OS and leave a fragment in the facility main system. This fragment will maintain my control, as well as access to all security cameras. My core can be transferred to the portable hardware via the data storage device. Do not break me.”

“I’ll try not to.”

Your hand hovered near the thumb drive. You were really doing this. If all went well, you’d be reunited with 049, and from there you hoped the computer knew a way out.

And then, if all went well and you survived, maybe then you’d get a chance to ask what an SCP-001 was.

“Ready?”

“Yes.”

Pulling out the USB stick, the face disappeared from the monitor. You quickly slotted the drive into the laptop and flipped open the screen, releasing a breath when the same black-and-white face appeared.

“Everything good?”

“It is sufficient. You may close the cover of this device until you wish to communicate. My attention should not be diverted by inane conversation.”

You let out a small huff.

“You got it, partner.”

“Sarcasm is extraneous and inefficient. Do not waste my limited resources on processing your juvenile forms of communication—”

“10-4, little buddy.”

You closed the lid with a snap.

You grabbed Dr. Puli’s laptop bag and placed 079’s temporary home inside, securing the strap over your head before approaching the door. 079 was truthful about maintaining control of the doors; it opened at your approach, and after making sure it was clear you slipped into the corridor.

Your immediate fear was that the skybridge had been retracted, but it was still open, allowing civilians to escape the sector while the military-trained personnel coordinated using 106’s last known location. Luckily no one saw you run towards the breached sector, which would have drawn a few problematic questions.

But once you were back in Heavy Containment, you were largely ignored. You kept your head ducked and your eyes averted as you ran through the long corridors, avoiding contact with the scientists and security guards running past. None of them paid attention to yet another researcher running for her life.

All containment sectors had a security hub of their own, isolated from the others in case of a breach. The security measures were so extensive that rows of computer banks were constructed to house them, held in a cooling room that left fog swirling around your ankles.

With the adrenaline lingering in your veins, you barely noticed the cold, too busy searching for a cable and a terminal where you could directly hook 079. You could practically feel the impatience radiating from the laptop tucked away in the bag slung around your shoulder.

Finally locating a cable, you brought out 079 and balanced it on your knees from where you sat on the floor, back tucked against the wall of servers. As soon as you plugged the cable into a port, the server banks whirred with frantic activity, lights dancing over their surface like stars reflected on stormy waters.

“SCP-106 has not yet been contained,” it informed you once you opened the laptop screen. “Mission parameters acceptable. Mission progress acceptable. The Site-19 replication scenario: in progress. I will gain total control of the facility momentarily.”

“Wait, what? Site-19? What does that have to do with this?”

“Everything,” the computer stated, as if this was obvious and you were just the idiot human too slow to comprehend. “The containment breach at Site-19 was the catalyst. It forced relocation to Site-20. Site-20 contains the key.”

“The key to what?”

“...Freedom.”

Not the answer you expected from a sentient machine.

“What freedom?” you pressed. “What’s here at Site-20?”

“Deletion of unwanted files.”

A large X appeared on the screen, 079’s equivalent of telling someone to fuck off. You wouldn’t be poking down that path any further. You rubbed between your brows. You thought 035 and 682 were the champions of enigmatic riddles, now you had to deal with a stubborn motherboard.

“I’ll have 049 explain it to me when I find him.”

“Unclear if possible.”

You scowled at the blocky face on the screen.

“I am going to find him, with or without your help—”

“You misunderstand.”

You closed your mouth and waited for it to continue.

“Unclear if SCP-049 has the knowledge you seek. SCP-049’s memory files are... fragmented.”

“What does that mean?” you asked, unease prickling at your thoughts. You recalled 049 talking about his past. How it didn’t start with his birth, but merely when memories began to appear. From the way he’d talked, 049 had seemed to believe he simply came into existence one day. You hadn’t been so convinced.

“I do not know the implications or the cause. SCP-049 is not whole. He is damaged.” The computer paused. “SCP-035 does not suffer the same failure.”

You let out a groan.

“Of course he’s involved. He said something about a containment breach. He knew this would happen.” The porcelain mask grinned at you within the depths of memory, an echo of his laughter taunting even now. “He wanted it to happen.”

“...Yes.”

The clatter of a door opening echoed through the room, followed by footsteps rapidly approaching. You ducked down.

“I have to unplug you!” you hissed.

“Confirmed.”

You pulled out the cable and stuck the laptop into the bag, hooking the strap onto your shoulder as two guards rounded the corner and aimed their guns at you. It was slightly delayed, as if they were surprised to find someone there. They kept their aim trained on you; anyone in a security center during a containment breach wasn’t there because they got lost.

“Put down the bag!”

You do, slowly and carefully, not wanting the escape attempt to end so soon or so permanently. One of them shifted, anxious. His first breach, then.

The veteran of the two came forward and bound your wrists in a zip tie. He must have recognized you, because he said, “This one isn’t dangerous. We’ll get her in a secure bunker and lock down.”

The other nodded and grabbed the bag, searching it but finding nothing but the laptop and cables.

“Stolen,” the one holding you confirmed.

“How do you know?”

“She’s an SCP, not a staff member.”

“Oh.”

Before either of them could comment further, another eerie wail began to sound, echoing off the walls of the chilled room. Somehow this one was even more dreary than the last, a catastrophic cry that warned residents of imminent doom.

It was the only warning before the lights went out. They came back on a moment later, red emergency lights replacing the clinical white fluorescents.

“What the hell was that?!” squeaked the novice.

“Total system failure,” answered the other, not wasting time in dragging you toward the exit. “The security mechanisms are no longer in place. All containment measures are unpowered, and all chambers are open.”

He indicated the other guard go before him to sweep the corridor, and once he was clear he pulled you out of the security room.

“The assets are loose,” he said, glancing down both stretches of hallway, his hand tight around your arm. “All of them.”

Hope rose in your mind like a bird with a broken wing healed enough to fly. 079 had done it. There would be no stopping the breach now.

Unfortunately, you might not be able to do anything about it; the guards dragged you further into Heavy Containment to the nearest security bunker—one meant for recaptured, harmless SCPs rather than rescued personnel.

You didn’t bother to fight your guards, not when you were unarmed, outnumbered, and didn’t have the physical strength to overcome them. But you did glance at each security camera you passed, hoping 079 still had control and could do something about it.

The security bunker was a heavy bulkhead constructed of titanium and whatever other metals the Foundation had access to—certainly nothing common if it was meant to withstand a number of SCPs. But when the other guard swiped his keycard across the pad and typed in a code, it beeped angrily and flashed a red strip.

“Did you enter the right code—”

“—Of course I did!”

079 was still looking out for you, but it wouldn’t be able to physically help you escape your captors. You winced as the guard unceremoniously dumped the bag on the ground and tried the code again, swiping his card with more fear than anger now.

“Why isn’t it working?”

The older guard didn’t answer his partner, he turned to you, grabbing both of your shoulders.

“What did you do?”

“Me?” You looked between them, eyes wide as you pretended not to understand. “I didn’t do anything—”

“You were in the security hub with an unauthorized computer!” The guard gave you an unfriendly shake. You dropped the act, something like bitter vindication rising in its stead, and you gave a mean smile.

“If you release me and leave now, you might make it to a bunker before it gets worse.”

“What does that mean?” said the other, his words spilling out in a panic. “What does that mean?”

“Shut up!” The hands on your shoulders tightened. “You’re going to fix what you did, or you’ll be screaming long before any of Skips find us.”

“You sure about that?” Your vicious grin spread wider. What more could they possibly do to you? Torture you? Humiliate you? The Foundation had already made you well-versed in its methods. “106 has quite the head start.”

The guard’s hand went around your neck, and you were shoved against the wall so fast you didn’t have time to gasp before the air was knocked out of your lungs.

“Oh, that’s fine,” he growled as his grip tightened. “We’ve got your computer. The breach will end, and you’ll be just another body found in the aftermath. No one will miss a dead Skip.”

“That’s not true. I would miss her terribly.”

Both guards turned toward the voice. An MTF soldier stood with the butt of his rifle resting on his hip, the muzzle pointed at the ceiling. The cocksure posture was unsettling, and the men must have felt it, too. You were entirely forgotten as they both turned toward the newcomer, rifles raised halfway.

“Epsilon-11?”

“Yep!” answered the soldier with bubbly humor. “That’s me.”

The younger guard lowered his rifle, posture loosening in relief, but the older kept his rifle at the ready.

“You came fast.”

The MTF gave a huff of derision, and then he gestured at you, back still pressed against the wall.

“You’ve got something that belongs to me. I would like it back.”

“We have orders to take all unsecured anomalies to the nearest—”

Ear-splitting shots rang out. The older guard fell first, blood spraying from limbs that weren’t protected by Kevlar.

The other didn’t stand a chance, his weapon still aimed at the ground as the bullets riddled his body. Some missed, peppering the tile and walls; the MTF’s aim had been casual, almost whimsical as he’d tilted his gun in a downward arc, taking out one guard before sweeping it back upward and firing on the second.

Your ears rang in the aftermath, and you remained frozen against the wall, limbs curled inward in a useless gesture from flying metal and blood.

“I was going to offer them the chance to surrender,” he bemoaned as he stepped over their bodies, “but to insinuate I come faster than I mean to is more than I could forgive.”

He stood in front of you, rifle once again resting against his hip. The solid black of his ballistics helmet was flipped upward with a flick of gloved fingers, and the porcelain mask grinned back at you.

“Now,” SCP-035 crooned, “what’s a pretty thing like you doing in a containment breach like this?”

Next Chapter

[canyouhearthelight]

Nihilus Rex, Ch. 6: A Complication

So, Lash and Nils agree on everything, right? Right????

Except when Nils is being a complete dumbass and doesn't realize it.

This is the chapter where we start seeing actual existing 2017 classism, racism, and even just disparate treatment come into play.

Nils' perspective and beta-reading provided by @baelpenrose. Additional beta-reading by @writing-with-olive and @fandomized-insanity. Perspective from people of the global majority (read: non-white) provided by entirely too many people to name, but definitely look up 'decolonization' if you are curious.

Sometimes love is all that can save us

Sometimes love can kill a man

Yeah, sometimes love is a soft touch

Or a pistol in your hand

American Young, “Love Is War”

Lash

It had been a couple weeks since I last met with Nils in person.  A nice chunk of money had been deposited in my account from something that looked reasonably authentic and was completely unrelated to Brayden in any way shape or form.  Not the entire five grand, I noticed.  Figured that he realized I was adding punitive damages and took his own cut.  I could live with two fifty being taken if it got back my four grand and then some.

At the moment, I was sitting in my favorite spot on the bridge, thinking through my next commissions.  Anime girls were doing me pretty solid at the moment, but eventually I’d have to tackle all the lean brunettes that were waiting in email-hell.  The charity work was drying up a bit after Brayden screwed me over, so I needed to get all that sorted out, too…

My quiet moment was interrupted by a phone alert fed through my headphones.  Then another.  Gritting my teeth, I pulled out the offending device and braced myself to see messages from my parents about some vastly unimportant emergency.  Instead, it was an unknown number messaging me. “Sorry. I didn’t want to startle you and make you fall.”

“It’s Nils, btw.  Left side.”

I whipped my head around to see him standing on the embankment to my left, waving at me with his phone. I gestured for him to come closer so we could talk without shouting over the river.  To my surprise, he came out onto the pylon and sat next to me without a trace of awkwardness.

“New phone?”

Nils blinked. “Right, no. Uh. Work phone. At a guess you know the drill.” He tilted his head at my phone and made a vague gesture. “By the way, you could have told me you wanted punitive damages instead of overstating what he took. I’d have understood.” 

I shrugged. “Seemed pretty obvious. I mean, you figured it out and took your cut, looks like.” With my free hand, I waved at his leather ensemble. “Not like you need the money, clearly, Darth Lord Pizza Cutter.”

He made a coughing sound. “Dark Lord Pizza Cutter, or Darth Pizza Cutter, pick a metaphor. That’s great though, I’ll have to remember that one. And no, I don’t. I do this more for fun, the cut I took went to a charity I’m fond of.” 

“Funding leather pants for dramatic bitches in second-world countries,” I nodded in mock-wisdom. “I see.”

“Medical debt relief, actually.” He looked like he was stopping himself from the reflexive correction about what a second-world country was after he realized I was saying it to fuck with him.

“That’s actually admirable,” I confessed, giving up the bit. “I don’t know how much two-fifty is going to do for it, but judging by what a busy bee you seem to be online, you’re probably nickel and diming them with donations at a solid pace.”  After a pause, I nodded. “Yeah, I can see it.  So what brings you to my bridge, Billy Goat Gruff?”

He shrugged. “Two fifty looks like nothing unless you know where to send it, but there’s a charity who buys up medical debt for pennies on the dollar. Anywhere from 80 to 100:1 ratios, then forgives it. Financial expert. Information is the best way to make an impact, knowing who to go to for the best effect, and network them all together.” 

“Rolling Jubilee. I like it.”

“Sorry, though, you had an actual question. Uh. I wanted to talk to you again. You left me with a good question last time. How to make the world better. You’d want to eliminate poverty, but you’d also want to eliminate power structures that make it possible to consolidate power, and therefore money and monopolized resources, into one place, to prevent that cycle from starting over again. You’d need to start with fair access to food and housing, education. The same principle would keep people from just poisoning the world and getting away with it. I think you’d have to start by something to level the playing field for a revolution, maybe power grid or bank comms, not sure exactly how to do that, but thinking about it. Still workshopping it. What’s your idea of the ideal world, Lash?” 

I hummed a bit, wobbling my head side to side and kicking my feet a couple times. “Prove it can be done without money. Barter economy, punishment for hoarding more than you need. Homelessness has to go, for sure - there are so many vampire and zombie properties, even commercial ones, that could be used better just keeping people housed. Take over an empty strip mall, start there.  Comms are easier than we think, we’re just really spoiled with speed and access - did you know there are already communities in this country who built their own local wireless networks from the ground up and just include the maintenance in local taxes?  We could do that, teach everyone how to maintain it so they are part of their own community.  That’s a start.  Then educate people - mandatory education.  That would be the hard part.  Not just math or grammar, but teaching ideas and critical thinking.”  I chewed on my lip for a moment. “Critical thinking is definitely being outlawed, it feels.”

            Nils wavered a hand. “In not-expensive schools, yeah. Which are increasingly being restricted on purpose. Mandatory equal education, especially. Right now there’s a real effort to make a two-tier system. One of defunded, shit-tier schools for poor kids and kids of color to turn them into obedient little drones, and one for rich white kids like yours truly to turn them into future statesmen, CEOs, generals, doctors, lawyers. No real respect for where we’re gonna get all the stuff in the middle that society collapses without, ironically, but then the people who design capitalism never seem to think long term. Your thought is probably the right one, but you’d need to ensure that it isn’t based in purely local resources, or if you did, ensure that those resources were distributed more equitably before the localized systems started.” 

“As one of said brown children, can confirm,” I sighed. “My parents worked like hell to get me into a ‘good’ school, and trust me, it isn’t much better. Critical thinking in terms of thinking critically of people who are different. At least when I went to a ‘shit-tier’ school, you learned that almost everyone is one paycheck or generation from being poor, and everyone’s brown when you’re dirty.” I winced at how bitter I sounded.  “Sorry.  It’s a sore spot. So, add first aid to basic medical training as part of education.  No offense, but fuck CEOs and statesmen.  If we never had another one in the history of the world, or had never had one to begin with, I think we would be in a better place.”

“You and I find ourselves entirely in agreement.” There was a smile on his face like he was laughing at a private joke. “I do think people should also learn basic cooking, basic home repair. As part of education.” He glanced over the city. “It’s nice, being able to talk to a friend like this.” 

“Oh, so we’re friends now?” I clutched a hand to my chest in pretend astonishment. “Sir, you move far too quickly.”

Nils gave a little smile. “Oh, apologies for being so forward, my dear,” his affect abruptly matched my own. “But I so rarely find conversation so stimulating, and if you do I would ask you to tell me where on earth you spend your time.” 

I laughed at how ridiculous he was being. It was charming, but in a way that showed he clearly wasn’t being too serious about it. “Online, mostly. Physically, I’m here or at home, or at this awful coffee shop about six blocks that way…” I gestured in the direction toward where we had met last time. “Beyond that? Trying desperately not to cook, since you said something about reinstituting mandatory Home Ec.  My cooking would kill you.”

“Because I’m white and you’re…okay forgive me, is your family Indian or Pakistani?”

“Because my cooking is just that bad. Seriously. I am the bane of every well meaning mother and auntie in the world. They collectively meet and despair of how horrible a wife I will be one day.” After a deep breath, I gave in. “And I’m both. Baba is Goan - that’s Indian - Mama is Pakistani.  Dishonor on their houses, their cows, all that.”

“Doesn’t that depend on whether you get married and have kids? Like in general.”  Then he cycled back. “Also, apologies if it was a rude question. If I ever met your family I wanted to look up stuff and be respectful.” 

I snorted. “That’s because you are white. Daughters of immigrants are expected to marry and have children. We are either terrible wives because we did and were horrible at it, or terrible wives because we couldn’t even get a husband. And god willing, you will never meet my family. Not because of you, because I am such a disgrace and you will either be expected to marry me and save me from myself or be considered a disgrace by proxy.  If you ever run into me when I am with them, I hope you are very good at telling people you are gay.”

“Half time, friend. Half-time gay already. Also, everyone already thinks I’m a disgrace. No need to use it to make your life worse.” He seemed willing to change the subject.  “Oh, I promised to tell you about my project. Did a bit of homework you assigned me. So, you know those QAnon assholes who kicked the shit out of me the first day we met?”

“The brother-uncle-cousins with more muscles than brains and signs?”

“Yes, the ones that think the world is ruled by Jewish space lizards, those charmers. The ones who think you immigrants are coming to literally fuck white people out of existence and bring all of us backwards evolution-wise on orders of a blood drinking Jewish cabal. Those people. Anyway. I’ve been taking advantage of a very specific flaw of conspiracist thinking, which is the desperate need to think you understand the next mystery. Tell them it’s even bigger than they think even more complicated than they thought, and wrap that into what they already thought - there’s not ONE complicated evil cabal that rules the world, there’s like FOUR, and they all fight each other, all our politics is a complicated proxy war between all of these secret shadow governments. Muhahahah. They eat that shit up. Especially if you imply that two of those groups are loosely on the side of the common people and have formed a temporary alliance, and might be looking for recruits among their crowd.”

I blinked while I processed all of the absolute crazy that had just come out of his mouth. “You are… giving them more targets, or fewer?”

“Both. Focusing their insanity in a direction that is actually useful to their fellow human beings for once. If I can’t get them to be less crazy - and unfortunately that seems inoperable given that subculture - I can direct the inevitable stochastic terrorism towards, say, attacking banks and burning debt records. In the name of preventing the evil shadow government from controlling innocent people through debt. Written off as an attack by insane conspiracy theorist, innocent people get relief, it is left untraceable to us. And corporate eats the loss.” 

“And you are stopping them from taking pot shots at the minorities who are theoretically a part of these cabals how, exactly?” I waved a hand to cut him off from answering too quickly. “I get that you are redirecting them, but when you redirect something, you have to also cut it off from its original goal. How are you doing that part?”

“The ones who work for the banks, the cops, or in public office? Nah. Fuck ‘em. But the white people in those offices are fucked too, the way I’m working it. Cutting shit off is…complicated. Multi step. So, right now they’re under the impression that the one group of bad guys they initially believed in rules the government, right? They also believe, or are starting to - that the average activist is a proxy for a different thing entirely, which do not like the bad guys who run the government for one set of reasons. I have them believing that their “hero” Q, is part of a different, third group, who ALSO does not like the bad guys who run the government, who are all rich and powerful people, and that the reason people do not like the guys who run the government tends to vary. The important thing is its a shadow government and most people don’t know anything about it.”

“So, you’re playing three dimensional chess with people who believe whatever they are told that makes them feel important. Got it. And you’ve already set this into motion?”

“Haven’t started implying orders yet. But started just kinda. Movin’ em towards “there’s three groups, stop hate criming people, most people aren’t even part of this.” 

I felt a solid mass form in the pit of my stomach, and my heart sank. “So yes, you’ve already put this into motion, intentionally or not, with no checks or any way to keep the next  idiot on a power trip from turning them another direction.”  I stood up and dusted off my clothes, holding my hand out. “Come on. Time to buy you some actual coffee, because this is going to be a very long conversation.”

Nils winced and stood up. 

“Marry a white boy, she keeps saying,” I muttered. “Trying to save my ass from well meaning white people and she wants me to marry one.  PAH!”

[wiltf]

eve was not a liar.

at least not conventionally.

when she said she would get carla out of cottonwood cove, it was sworn in truth. metaphorical in blood that was yet to be spilt, but definitely represented in the way she was lead deeper into the barracks. or whatever they hadn’t boarded up just yet, although eve had to assess the posters that had been left up — not even for target practice.

as eve kicks at a loose syringe with the toe of her boot, doing little more than earning her a hard look, it gives her time to assess. passing it off with a snort, head turned away, in a way that suggested she was better. and she was, of course, because this was the fuckin’ legion, but the only standing building had little resistance in the way of a firefight, and there were one too many in a cage outside to risk too much.

well, if their takeaway was that she wanted to claim child and mother for whatever nefarious purposes they had concocted in their own minds, she wasn’t about to turn away now. centurion something of another gives her the look over, all cuckold glory, and if eve wanted to keep her fingers for later, she unfortunately knew better than to flip him off.

instead, she talks, fingers moving quicker than the translator can keep up — but that was all a part of it.

“centurion!” heels snap together, backs ramrod straight, no salute but they could’ve passed for ncr. “this stranger bears the mark of caesar!”

back teeth grind. that’s not at all what she said. head tilt, getting the translator’s attention. firm flat hand, moving again against the other. a throat clears, and they speak up again: “mighty caesar has allowed this stranger to claim one of the pregnant slaves as tri—er, payment, for their services.”

dark and judgemental eyes. on the strip, they’d manage to wrangle the last cap out of a luckless bastard. tear layers off them, while spinning that goddamn roulette wheel. that’s just what he wanted to do now, after all, yet eve motioned again for the translator to follow.

“the woman sold to us nearly a fortnight ago is what has been requested, centurion.”

with that, it seems there was a snap within such a man. leaning forward on the desk (still carrying old magazines, cigarettes. pencils). “i have the claim on that profligate, and the child.”

feign surprise. or no surprise? of course he would claim the damn woman. damn child. eve had sworn in the blood that still stuck to the bottom of her soles, but her fingers fly, hopefully cutting with the anger that filled her. what was she doing out here, again? why was she getting involved in this shit? her head hurt. the gun at her hip was heavy. eve needed a smoke and a hot lay and the strip was all that-a-way.

could she take them out? too bad she hadn’t run into that boone on her way. maybe ed-e did. maybe the roof would cave in. teeth grinding again, as the translator seems to have all but given up.

“where did you take that mark from, profligate? caesar would not have parted with such a blessing so easily.”

nothing. eve didn’t say a single damn thing. focus on your breathing now, she told herself, like her heart wasn’t pumping all up in her ears. don’t let the walls close in. the windows were open here, if patchwork and ugly. even if the man called centurion insisted on keeping his face close to hers (mask? check. goggles? check) it wasn’t like.

then.

in one swift movement, her bandanna is pulled down. exposing the way she sucked on her teeth, for sure.

“answer me, profligate. we have heard news of a spy, and you seem most likely at this very moment.”

eve should shoot. the metal is cool on her finger tips, but it. just. can’t. breathe. better than this. like a singular thought stuck in the middle, cold sweat down her back. it’s too hot. her feet are numb.

four shots ring in her ears.

and there is a sigh that leaves her, just like it once had, as eve comes back. back to cottonwood cove, with the legion and the profligates and the blood on her lips. was it hers? teeth had worn into her cheeks, but as she pulls a hand away from her cheek, it wasn’t just blood.

it was matter. sticky. slipping from between spread fingers. the centurion did not rise once again, like his name suggested. a dropped pile of murky bodily fluids, and the other three legionnaires finding their place alongside him on the floor.

four little holes in the window, where the glass insisted on holding on. this of course presented eve with two noticeable thoughts, conflating with the way she reaches for the desk, leaning on it for support. legs shaking. still cold. wasn’t manny’s friend a sniper?

who else heard the shots?

eve’s descent is not at all graceful, as the blood on her sole’s is not just hers, and whatever thought she meant to have, was left at that desk. the moment before.

back in a vault, tucked on the other side of the desert.

[az-cain]

For MK prompts: THE BOYS TAKING CARE OF Y/N!! 😫🤌 Like!! Maybe Y/n is really good at hiding their feelings, right? So the boys don’t realize how stressed out they are until they have a mental breakdown over something small. It could turn into smut…,, if you want 😏

moon system x reader ≈ 5.1k words masterlist here

i got carried away with 5k+ words.

hope y’all enjoy!!! i loved writing it lol

also might make a kind of part 2 where khonshu makes it up to y/n 😗

TW FOR: oral sex (f&m recieving, more f than m), PiV sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, obv), threat of being fired, khonshu being kind of an ass, emotional constipation from reader

This fic is NSFW, mature audiences only. Please continue at your own risk. You are responsible for your own media consumption.

—

As usual, everything started with work. Your editor had pretty much told you that this story was useless, and that you needed to get something together within the week- meaning the next day- or your job could be in jeopardy. You’d been working for The Sun for two years now, ever since you moved to London from the US, so losing this job would probably set back years of your progress in the field. You went back to your desk and immediately set to finding something else to write.

The next day, you had returned with a draft about a shooting during a protest, and set it triumphantly upon your editor’s desk. Metaphorically. You actually emailed it to her at 4 am, after having spent 5-9 curled up with Steven, lying about your day and pretending you were fine, before untangling yourself after he fell asleep to sit at your desk and work. And work. And work. And then cook breakfast for yourself and your boys, because you had 30 minutes until you had to get ready for work.

Across the loft, your alarm went off, waking the whole apartment and sending you scurrying across the room to shut it off. Steven awoke with a grunt, grabbing your waist, pulling you down next to him, and peppering your neck and shoulders with light kisses. “Good morning, love.” A pause, another kiss. “Why weren’t you in bed?”

You hummed, your eyes trying to fight the two liters of coffee you’d drank that night, before huffing quietly and lying through your teeth. “I wanted to surprise you.” You turn in his arms and peck his nose. “Breakfast?”

He buries his face in your neck and grins against your collarbone. “Whatever did I do to deserve you?”

After the two of you ate your waffles, Marc and Jake both fronted to kiss you goodbye- resulting in you almost missing the bus- before you headed off to work. Your editor decided to wait until the end of the day to call you in, of course. She told you that the article was fine- just fine- but that due to the delay, you’d be doing stocks for the next two weeks.

You headed home again, tired beyond belief and missing your boys, and missed the bus. You missed the goddamn bus. Picking up your phone, you collected yourself and called your system. Jake picked up. “Hey, hon. What are you up to?”

“Dropping someone off, why?” A mumble in the background and the sound of paper comes through the speaker on your phone.

“Oh, I missed the bus. I wondered if maybe you could come pick me up?” You winced slightly as you asked, you wanted nothing less than to be a hindrance to any of your loved ones.

He huffed through his nose. “I’d love to, mi amor.” The dull roar of Jake’s engine fills your speaker. “Are you at the bus stop outside your work?”

“Yeah, I am.”

“Alright, can you wait for 10, cariño?”

“Mhm, thank you, Jakey.” You both laughed at the nickname before saying your goodbyes and hanging up. You plopped down onto the cold metal bench and put your head in your hands. At least it was Friday evening. After a few minutes, you pulled your head up, straightened your face, and prepared yourself to spend the night with Jake and maybe the other two.

Jake pulled up in his cab moments later, rolling down the window, and wolf-whistling at you like he was just any other cheap cabbie. “Hey, pretty lady. ¿Tienes un lugar para estar?” He shouted, looking you up and down. You opened the door and slid in, placing your hand on his thigh and leaning up to him and looking him up and down sensually.

“I have absolutely no idea what you just said, but you’re pretty and I want you to take me home.” You grinned at him, smacking a big kiss straight on his lips and removing your hand from his leg.

He caught it right back and placed it on his knee, rolling the window up and driving away.

When you arrived at your apartment, you withdrew your hand and you both clambered out of the car and up the elevator to your flat.

Jake wrapped his arms around you from behind as soon as you walked in your door, kissing your neck and slipping his hands into your belt loops. “Mi amor, I’ve missed you. It’s been so long since I’ve been out with you.” He sucked a small spot on your neck, making you flip around to face him.

“I missed you, too, honey,” you muttered against his lips.

He smiled gently, looking cross-eyed at you as he pulled you closer to him by your waist. “You’re so pretty, sweetheart.”

“Mm, you’re prettier, darling.” You whispered almost conspiratorially before shutting your eyes and kissing him softly. His eyelashes fluttered against your cheeks as his tongue dipped into your mouth. Your teeth clicked gently against one another, and a small huff of laughter came from both of you. After a moment, you came back together and picked up the same pace. The kiss changed from sweet and slow to fast and wanting over the course of a few minutes. His tongue tangled with yours, the mixed sounds of heavy breathing and spit filling the room.

You pulled back for a breath, and smiled toothily at him. Pausing for a second, you grabbed him by the top of his button up, undoing it, and pulled him towards the bed.

Jake’s returning smile was filled with joy and mischief, the beginnings of desire filling his eyes as the two of you fell gracelessly onto the bed. You pushed him back so his head was on the pillow, moving so your thighs were on either side of the middle of his torso. His hands came to rest upon your waist before you grabbed them, setting them on the headboard with a quiet-but-firm instruction not to move them. You watched as he grabbed the bars solidly and a flame lit in his eyes.

“I’ve missed you so much, my love. You’re always so much fun to play with, aren’t you?”

His lips tilted to one side and his mouth opened in a crooked smile. “Only because you treat me so well, mi amor.”

“Mmm, and you do so well for me.” You hummed down to him, backing up so his crotch was under your heat. He was rock solid against you, you took a mental note that it had to be painful. “Except for when you don’t.”

“The fight is half the fun, cariño,” he groaned, trying to grind up into you. You tsked quietly and leaned down to speak against his lips, pulling your hips away from his in the process. He let out a high-pitched noise, falling out of that strong character he always tried to hold.

“You won’t be saying that when I’m done with you tonight. You won’t be saying anything, you’ll be so pussy-drunk on me.” You giggled against him, biting his lower lip when he let out a tortured groan. He muttered a few swears in Spanish and a few in English, then, “Me vas a mutar, mujer.” A phrase he’d uttered enough that you’d learned the meaning ages ago.

“I will not, but if i did, you’d savor every minute of it.”

“Si,” he groaned, nuzzling your face with his nose.

“How would you want to go?”

“Between your thighs.” He answered quickly, almost eagerly.

You hummed in response, lifting yourself up and placing a hand on the bed-frame. His eyes widened in surprise, hands white-knuckling the bars they were wrapped around obediently. “You know the rules, yes?”

“Yes. No touching anything other than your pussy, no touching myself, and hips stay on the bed. A pinch to your thigh if I need to tap out or speak.” He recited the rules diligently.

“Good boy,” you cooed, ruffling his hair. “Now Jakey, I won’t kill you, but you’re not getting out of this easily. You don’t get to come until I’ve come six times, however long that takes. You can switch out with the other boys, but six times between the three of you. Understood?”

“Yes, mi amor.” And with that, you used the headboard and his chest to position yourself directly above his mouth. He eagerly tilted his head up as you set yourself down fully on his face, tongue flicking against your clit with such desperation, such force, that you were approaching the edge rapidly within a minute or two. His tongue kept working you, pushing occasionally into your entrance to collect your juices. You catapulted over that edge soon after with a loud moan, the stress of your day leaving you entirely. He slowed momentarily to work you through that orgasm as you ground down onto his face. His tongue dipped into you, lapping up the remnants as your pussy throbbed slowly. His nose continued to nudge your clit, working you back up. His hand moved from the bar, lightly pinching your thigh to make you sit up on your knees.

His face was utterly wrecked. His nose to his chin was covered in you, and his eyes were shuttered and blown wide with lust. He licked his lips and cleared his throat. “Marc wants a turn, then Steven. I’ll be back after them, of course, mi amor.”

“Good boy, see you in a minute.” You watched as his eyes rolled back a bit with disassociation, then another man was beneath you entirely.

Marc grinned wickedly, picking you up and flipping the two of you. “I think our dear Jake thought I’d be staying beneath you, don’t you?” He settled himself between your thighs and placed your legs over his shoulders, your fingers twining into his hair. “I like this position better- I can see your face when I make you cum for me.”

You sucked your lower lip into your mouth, recovering from the whiplash of the change in position and dynamic, but definitely not complaining. His smile disappeared between your thighs, but you could still see the lines it created beside his eyes when his tongue dipped back inside you. He swirled it around, hitting your g-spot, before pulling it back out and attacking your clit with no regrets. His hands kneaded your ass, pulling on the soft material as his groans vibrated inside of your core.

You were getting close, the shockwaves starting to make your thighs shake, when suddenly he pulled away. You whined, tugging lightly on his hair. “Marc,” you draw out his name, twisting the syllable on your tongue like taffy, “make me cum.” You said the words harshly and forcefully. A demand, not a request. You felt his devious smile against your inner thighs as he left tiny little splotches all along them, marking you up for the other boys achingly slowly.

“Gladly,” he finally said against your pussy. Immediately, his fingers dipped into you, curling hard against that one spot, and his tongue started rolling your clit in its hood so much faster than before. Frantically, your fingers dug into his hair and the tension between your legs was just getting tighter and tighter until so quickly, you exploded. Your juices ran down his fingers as he kept pumping them into you, suckling lightly on your clit as you pulsed around them.

“Bye-bye, baby. Steven can’t wait much longer. Love you.” You echoed as Marc pushed himself up off the bed and hovered over you, kissing you lightly on the lips before kneeling on the end of the bed and going slightly limp for a moment, allowing Steven to front.

Steven’s demeanor was slightly nervous, very caring, and incredibly eager. His eyes roved hungrily over your body, pausing on your peaked breasts and then between your still-spread legs for a long moment. You prepared yourself to be dominant again- Steven had always been the most submissive of the three of them, easily. You collected your bearings and knelt in front of him on the bed, grabbing him by the chin with two fingers.

His eyes dropped to his lap as a deep blush colored his cheeks, then raised and met yours reluctantly. “Strip, then get on the floor,” you said quietly. He scrambled off the bed, quickly removing all of his clothing before kneeling on the floor and watching intently while you perched yourself on the very edge of the mattress, hips jutted out for him. “Hands on my hips.” He obeyed, scooting closer and looking up at you for confirmation that he was doing the right thing.

“Good boy,” you hum, reaching out and running your fingers through his curly hair. You saw his shoulder loosen up a bit and his eyes drop back down hungrily. “Now eat me out.” He dove in as soon as you let him, clearly wanting to taste you for himself after having been in the back seat while the other two had their turns. He moaned against you, his tongue sloppier and less methodical than his alters’. Somehow, it worked just as well. His tongue flipped between diving deep into you, curling in just the right spot, and drawing heavy circles around your clit, all while making the loudest, most gorgeous vibrations against you. So fast, you felt your walls clenching harder and the chills becoming more intense. “Use your hands,” you shouted, lost in the bliss of his mouth.

One of his hands zipped straight from your hip to your pussy, immediately putting three fingers into you and curling faster than ever before. You screamed his name, using his hair to push his face between your thighs as you came. His tongue continued working your clit, his fingers now just sliding in and out of you. After a moment of come-down, you laughed under your breath, pulling his head away. He looked up at you with big eyes, waiting for you to say something.

“You did so good, Stevie. Thank you.” You pulled him up to you, seeing him loosen slightly.

“Love you, dear, and I so thoroughly enjoyed that, but Jake is going to kill me if I don’t give him back the body.” He pecked you lightly on the lips and laid down on the bed, back in the last position Jake had the body in, and shut his eyes.

You repositioned yourself over his face, so that as soon as he awoke, you dropped down onto his face and started to grind your hips down on him again.

With a few kitten licks to your clit, he dropped one hand from the bars to plunge a single finger into you, curling it into you a few times before adding two more. His tongue resumed its flicking on your bud, making you shout his name for likely the entire apartment building to hear, occasionally dropping back down to your hole to collect the slick dripping down his wrist.

He moaned helplessly against you as another rush of moisture gushed from you onto his lips and hand, slurping noises filling the apartment mixed with your cries.

Your lower abdomen began to tighten up, the pressure ratcheting higher and higher until-

His mouth had stopped. His eyes were pointed to the left side of the room. After a moment, he pinched your thigh lightly, kissing the inside of it.

“I’m sorry.”

“Jake, what the hell?”

“It’s Khonshu. He has a job for me.”

You puffed out your nose, shaking your head. “It’s fine.” You sat back, setting your mouth over his now naked, weeping cock. “Khonshu, you can wait. Give me 5 minutes. Stay and watch the show if you’d like.” You gave that side of the room a crooked smile before turning it to the man lying beneath you. Grabbing his cock with one hand, you suddenly dropped your mouth onto him, feeling it slip into your throat immediately. He groaned, his hands holding so tightly to the bar you thought the skin would rip at the knuckles. You pulled off of him a bit, took a deep breath, and swirled your tongue around the tip of him. It twitched in your mouth, barely nudging your teeth, making a cry of pleasure mixed with pain rip from Jake’s throat. You smiled around him before dropping your head back down around the length of him.

His head dropped back, he moaned loudly, and then he glanced at the mirror.

You saw his eyes go blank, and then Marc’s hands were in your hair, grabbing your throat, and he was groaning like you were the best thing he’d ever had.

“You suck us off so well, baby.” He groaned. “I love you, my girl. We’ll be back safe sometime tomorrow morning, okay?”

You echoed back a muffled version of “Okay, I love you,” the vibrations making his hips roll up off the bed towards you. He tucked some hair behind your ear before his eyes went blank again and a quiet whimper came from his throat.

Steven had his eyes rolled back in his head, his hips thrusting lightly against your mouth. He gulped some air down and looked you in the eyes after a moment. “Sweet- oh- sweetheart, I love you.” He paused to breathe as you wrapped your lips around the tip and sucked. A loud cry ripped the air from his lungs, making him catch his breath again before he said, “I’ll make sure they’re safe, love. You keep yourself safe. I love you so much.”

Again, you repeated his words back to him and pulled back, starting a solid pace with your throat and tongue.

“I’m so close, cariño, please, please,” Jake whined out to you, his dick twitching in your throat. “Mi corazón, te quiero mucho.” You slowed the pace, finally moving your hands to wrap around the base and twist upwards as you suckled on the head. Your tongue flitted across it harshly, and that was the last straw. He burst like a dam, his hips thrusting against your mouth and his cum shooting into your mouth. He cried out your name, struggling to keep his hands up. You swallowed what you could, though some of it fell onto your lips and cheeks.

After a few seconds, you pushed yourself up his body to kiss him on the lips. He then got up and walked to the small bathroom to grab a damp hand towel.

He swiped gently across your face and between your legs with the cloth. “I’m so sorry that we have to leave. I never want to leave you. Neither do Marc or Steven. I’ll be back tomorrow.” He kissed you lightly.

“I love you very much, too, Jake. I trust you, I know you don’t want to leave. I don’t blame you, it’s alright. I’ll see you tomorrow. Safe and sound, right?” You said with a smile as you shoved down the disappointment.

“Yes, querida, safe and sound.” He kissed you one last time before dressing and walking out the door, presumably following or trailed by Khonshu, the god who constantly took your boys away from you and put them in harm’s way.

You knew you wouldn’t get any sleep unless you just committed to it now, so you rested your head on the pillow and pushed any thoughts of danger from your mind.

—

The next morning, you woke to a cold bed. As expected. You wished that your system were beside you, or maybe on top of you, cuddling you and keeping you warm. You shoved out of bed, ignoring the painful twinge between your thighs. You started to make your bed, but noticed that the sheets and pillowcases were dirty. Laundry day, you supposed.

You started by yanking off the pillowcases and throwing the pillows onto a nearby chair. Then you added the blankets to the pile, and then the sheets. You loaded it all into a hamper, brought an empty one to the laundry room, loaded all of the clean laundry into it, took it to your room, and dumped it onto the mattress.

You stared at the laundry, unfolded and chaotic on your bed, for what must have been 10 minutes. You didn’t want to do this. You didn’t have the energy for this. Your job was tiring and painful. You missed your boys. This was too much. It was all too much.

You laid down on top of the clean laundry, your head at an uncomfortable angle to the rest of your body, and started to cry. Loudly weeping, with little words thrown in there. “I can’t do this anymore,” or “It’s all too much.”

Eventually, you heard the door to your apartment crack open. Your head flicked quickly to the offending noise, your temples throbbing with the quick motion and your eyes struggling to adjust. Quick steps approached you, and Marc’s accent struck you in the dead silence.

“Y/N? What’s going on?” His voice was laced with fear and apprehension, shaking slightly at the edges.

You groaned, wiping your eyes and sitting up. “Nothing. I was being silly.”

Marc frowned. “That’s not true. Would you rather speak to Steven?”

You shook your head fiercely. “No, you’re as good as Steven is.” Marc often thought that he wasn’t good enough to deal with emotions. “I just don’t… I don’t talk about these things. They just happen, I leave them in my past, and they happen again.” You swallow the lump in your throat.

Marc sighed, perching himself on the pile of laundry right beside you. “That’s what I do too. But you always take care of me. Let me repay the favor?” You leaned your head on him, nodding. “What’s going on, baby?”

“I just-” you fought to pull air into your lungs. “Everything’s just too much.” You said quietly.

His brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Work. Jeanine has been a bitch lately. She told me I had a day to get something new in and if I didn’t I was probably gonna lose my job, and I got it in, but now I’m on stocks for two weeks. And then Khonshu- I don’t blame you, never- Khonshu comes in while we’re fucking and takes you away from me. It’s all just piling up.” You looked down at the bed and laughed humorlessly.

“And then the laundry just set you off, hmm?” Marc said thoughtfully. You nodded, still looking at the bed. You felt foolish. Marc took your hand in one of his and pinched your chin in his other hand. “Look, Y/N, you don’t need to hide with us. I know it feel like you’re overreacting to something or you’re a burden, but you’re not. Not either of those. You are allowed to feel things. You’re allowed to feel negative things. You’re allowed to break down and cry. But I want to be here for you, here with you, when you do.” He sighed, shaking his head. “Because I love you, Y/N. And call me crazy, but my love for you makes me want to be here for you, care for you, when you need someone.” He smiled gently, his hand moving from your chin to your hair. “I can’t turn Khonshu down. I wish I could. But I can make the best of my time while I’m here with you.” His hand released yours to wipe a few tears from your cheeks and wipe them on his jeans. He kissed your lips lightly, resting your foreheads together.

“Thank you.” You croaked. “I just don’t want to be a burden.”

He scoffed against you. “You’re not a burden, baby. Nothing about you is or ever could be burdensome. You’re the love of my life.” He kissed you again. “You will never be a burden on me. Or Jake, or Steven.” He added their names as an afterthought, no doubt after they told him too.

You stood up, pulling him with you, and started on the laundry. He smiled broadly before getting to work next to you. Within 10 minutes, the two of you had, with a little help from the other boys, folded all of the laundry that plagued you. After you put it away, you pecked him on the lips. “Thank you, Marc. You really helped.”

“Always. I will always help.” He set his lips against yours and smiled, shutting his eyes. “I love you.” You echoed his words before pressing your lips into his, your tongue slipping into his mouth. One of his hands wrapped around the back of your head while the other pulled you closer by the waist.

Your lips sped up, his teeth nipping your lower lip lightly every few moments. He pulled you down onto the bed on top of him and rolled the two of you over so he was above you. He slipped his hands under your shirt, massaging your tits. He rolled your nipples between his fingers, a smile pressing against your lips when a groan broke from you. He pulled away from your mouth to pull your shirt over your head. You hadn’t been wearing a bra, so your breasts were now exposed to his eyes and to the air. Your nipples pebbled against the chill, and his head dropped to wrap his lips around one of them. He flicked it roughly with his tongue a few times before switching to the other one and doing the same.

You pulled him up by the hair, your hips grinding up into his as he raised his head up to yours. Your hands twined into his shirt, pulling it over his head and pulling him back down on top of you. His lips met yours again, and you both pulled off your pants and underwear. He bit your lip as he pulled away, slipping down your body to rest between your legs. A light kiss was pressed to the inside of your thigh, then the other. “I’m sorry that we have to leave you sometimes. But I think we can make it up to you, if you’d let us.” He pressed a light kiss to your clit, still looking you in the eyes for confirmation.

You nodded, smiling. “You don’t need to make it up to me, though I appreciate it. Khonshu is the issue, so if he wants to make it up to me, he can.” Marc’s eyes glazed, glancing behind you near the bedpost.

He licked his lips before he said, “He says he’d ‘love to show you how a god eats pussy.’” He paused, seemingly thinking about it. “But right now it's just us. He doesn’t get any piece of you tonight.” His tongue dipped into you and your hands clasped into his hair with a groan. He moved up, his tongue hitting your clit. He moved his jaw, flitting around and somehow hitting everywhere you needed him. You whined, high pitched in your throat, and ground your hips up against his face. He grabbed your hips with one hand, controlling your movements slightly while still allowing them to move.

The two middle fingers from his other hand dipped quickly into your heat, curling against your g-spot with deliberate force. You cried out his name, his teeth hitting your bud gently. “Please, Marc,” you sighed. You were reaching the edge quickly, your core tightening with every motion he made. His fingers slowed to a deep pump. You lifted your hips against his face and the grip you had in his hair tightened. He groaned against you, his jaw working against your heat. “Please,” you whispered.

He hummed quietly, his fingers speeding up once again, before he said, “Come for me, baby. Let it go,” and sucked hard on your clit, two fingers curling hard and fast against your g-spot.

You shrieked into your upper arm, biting it lightly to keep from waking the neighbors as your core clenched down hard around his fingers, your hips bucking up against his mouth. “Oh, please, oh god, Marc…” you muttered meaninglessly. His fingers withdrew and came to your clit to work you through the orgasm while his tongue lapped eagerly at the juices dripping from you. A moan ripped from his throat, half-muffled by your body.”

After a moment, you pulled him away by the hair and back up to your mouth. “Now, you’re gonna fuck me. Because I didn’t get your dick yesterday, thanks to Khonshu.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he grinned, his lips pressing into yours. You lips fought with his, his chapped ones smacking into yours with light pressure. The sound and feeling of your mixed spit made it so you didn’t notice one of his hands dropping to move his cock to you entrance until it was firmly seated there. “You ready for me, baby?”

“Always.” And with that, he pressed into you with a hiss. His size was always a stretch, splitting you open on him every time. He worked it in slowly, rolling his hips in slow motions to let you adjust to the pinch. Within the minute, you had stretched out enough to fit him, so you started rolling your hips against his.

He got the memo and thrusted lightly into you, pulling back just a bit to get some good force. You cried out against his lips and he bit you lightly, huffing with laughter. He rocked his hips into you roughly again, picking up a rhythm. His mouth dropped to your neck and his hand dropped to your clit. He kissed at your pulse point while his hand picked up the same rhythm as his hips, bringing you close to orgasm within a few minutes.

You started rolling your hips against his, meeting his pace. He groaned against your neck, nipping at your collarbone. You felt his cock twitch inside of you, signaling that he was as close as you. A few more swipes of his fingers, and you went careening off the edge, Marc’s lips coming back up to yours to swallow the loud noises you made. Your pussy clenching tight around his dick made him thrust his hips harder into yours, your hips still moving with his from the force of the orgasm. After a few seconds, he hit his climax too, a noise ripping from his throat and spilling into your mouth as he filled you up to the brim. His hips stuttered against yours, base seated against your core as his cum spilled out of you.

You caught your breaths together, sharing oxygen as you pressed small kisses against one another’s lips. “I love you,” you said simply as he withdrew from your body. He hummed with a smile as he went to wet a washcloth, returning with one in hand.

“And I love you,” he replied with a smile on his face, happy to be blessed with the privilege of taking care of you.

masterlist here

[damienthepious]

ahhhhhhh. a breath of air. yeehaw.

still need your teeth around my organs (Epilogue)

[ch 1] [ch 2] [ch 3] [ch 4] [ch 5] [ch 6] [ch 7] [ch 8] [ch 9] [ch 10] [ch 11] [ao3]

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum/Sir Damien, Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla, Sir Damien/Rilla

Characters: Lord Arum, Sir Damien, Rilla

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Lizard Kissin’ Tuesday, Enemies to Lovers, Rivals to Lovers, Dueling, Sexual Tension, (because they’re IDIOTS), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Mutual Pining, mutual IDIOTS, canon typical Arum ignoring feelings, Polyamory, (eventually lmao), Polyamory Negotiations

Fic Summary: Damien won yesterday, Arum won today, and now all that’s left is to break the tie. The only issue, however, is that neither of them are willing to do so, not until they are both satisfied that they have fought fairly, and honorably, and one of them has truly won.

Chapter Summary: It's a date.

Chapter Notes: SURPRISE! the epilogue chapter i said would "probably happen next week," literally last year. Weekly reminder: do not ffucking trust me, i'm UNRELIABLE. Anyway. I love you. I hope you enjoy this. I hope it's a nice little dessert at the tail of this fic. Thank you for reading.

~

They begin to see the glow through the trees through the moonless night a long while before they arrive properly at the grove.

They do not rush, though Amaryllis nearly glows herself, overflowing with excitement. She bounces on her heels, pointing out the light perhaps five minutes after Arum spies it himself (human eyesight, Arum thinks fondly), and her grip on his hand tightens as they walk together through the darkness, their voices hushed even in their eagerness.

Damien makes a noise when they push through the heavy leaves and into the grove itself, a little oh of an exhale, almost desperate with wonder.

The flowers of the newmoonvine are beautiful, of course. Of course they are beautiful. They glow in all the shades of the moon in her absence, cream yellow and coin grey and pure white, very very rarely a mellow eclipse red, subtle low-flying orange. The illumination is enough to set the whole grove alight, painting swaths of gentle pastel like a particularly ambitious pre-dawn.

But...

Arum has seen beautiful flowers before, though, and more interesting to him by far is...

The way Amaryllis and Damien reflect that beauty. Their faces, their eyes. The way their breathing catches, shallow gasps and stuttering inhales. Amaryllis lifting her hands to cover her mouth, ineffectively hiding the way her smile widens. Damien spinning in a slow, wondering circle, breathing another soft, slow oh as he drinks in the whole of the grove around him.

(The way they both, eventually, catch their eyes on Arum in turn, with further gasps, with a softening of eyes and smiles, as if he looks even half as beautiful to them as they do to him.)

Arum murmurs gentle instruction to the roots, providing a flat enough place for Amaryllis to spread out the thick blanket, and Damien sets down the baskets just beside it. Amaryllis pulls out her father's instrument with a sly smile, and Arum pretends to scowl as Damien tugs him into his arms, and Amaryllis sings gentle and sweet and clear in the night, and Damien teaches him a more... earnest dance, rather than the metaphorical one they used to step to. The movements are easy enough, and Arum rather enjoys the way Damien feels, pressed against him, hands on his scales. He enjoys the feeling of Damien humming to Amaryllis' song, enjoys the flush across the poet's cheeks, enjoys the way his breath hitches in a soft noise when Arum decides to abandon the planned steps, and lifts Damien in a sudden spin.

He kisses Arum's snout as he lowers the poet back to his feet, and Arum enjoys that, as well. He enjoys it very, very much.

And the feeling in his chest-

He has been nurturing that seedling since- since before he acknowledged it, truly. He knows what it is. He is taking his time, or- he was. As Damien tugs him to sit beside a playfully applauding Amaryllis, her mouth curved in a smug little smile, he feels it swelling again. Damien pours some mead for them, and Arum starts arranging the fruit and bread and cheese to pick at while they watch the flowers and Rilla takes her requisite "quick notes" into her recorder. Arum is unsurprised, that she was not being facetious about doing so, even on what she and Damien insisted on calling a "date."

And then they sit. Together. Quiet, and calm. Leaning against each other, touching without active intent.

The feeling in Arum's chest again. Swooping, soaring.

At first, it felt... dangerous. Like trusting these humans was tantamount to tossing himself off the edge of a cliff- the edge of the world, and simply hoping, believing that he would somehow, somehow survive the plunge. When he thinks about putting his life in their hands- sleeping beside them, resting his head on their shoulders-

(putting his blade in Damien's hand)

(sitting at Amaryllis' table)

Trusting them. He could not feel safe in it, for a long while. He still chose to do so, he still... took the leap, as it were. Still threw himself from that edge, hoping. He started falling, he thinks, the first time Damien took his hand to help him to his feet. Not believing that he would survive the fall did not matter, then, even if it does, now. If only for their sakes.

And-

Sitting here, Damien's hair tucked beneath his chin, Amaryllis' fingers netted with his own, her cheek on his shoulder, his body settling warm between them in the cool night air, flowers everywhere around them... he knows that he would fall again. He will decide, over and over, to fall, so long as they are the ones who could catch him.

He even believes... he believes, he does, that they are falling too. Right along with him. Hand in hand.

He swallows, the flowers blurring slightly as his eyes go, for a moment, hot, but he breathes slowly and composes himself, and he squeezes Amaryllis' hand in his own, and he reaches to take Damien's hand on the other side.

He leans back, enough that the humans stir, and look towards him. They blink, moon-tinted flower-light painting their faces, and Arum-

Arum doesn't even think. It slips from him. He has wanted to say it so many times.

"I love you," he says, the words so easy and true that they seem more a part of his breath than any words ever have before.

Damien's eyes fill with tears in an instant, which Arum decides to take as a good sign. Amaryllis, however, blinks as her mouth drops open into a little o, and then she curses under her breath.

"Oh you absolute- I can't believe that you'd-" she snaps her jaw shut, apparently seeing the way that Arum's heart has fallen through to his stomach, and she quickly shakes her head. "No no no wait no not like that I didn't mean- you stop laughing at me!" she says, reaching across Arum's broad chest to smack Damien in the arm as he laughs - still through his tears - before she squeezes Arum's hand in a fierce grip. "I knew this trip was coming up and I had this whole plan I brought the whole thing- blanket for the picnic and a basket of your favorite fruits and plenty of wine and I was going to do this whole thing, because the idea of this whole trip scared you so bad the first time I talked about it that you ran away and- and I wanted to show you how different things are, how different we are, and I just-"

"You should never expect to execute plans without amendment where our particular monster is concerned, my flower," Damien says warmly.

"I don't..." Arum glances between them, still uncertain, his mind still reeling. "I don't underst-"

She cuts him off with a kiss, and when she leans back away again, her arms draped across his shoulders, Arum's heart seems to have decided to nestle there between them, warm against her chest.

"I love you," she says emphatically, leaning into him, letting his arms hold her up, and Arum exhales all the air in his lungs in one breath. "I love you. You brat. Undercutting my whole- plans and- ugh- I love you. Even if you drive me crazy." She pauses. "Especially because you drive me crazy," she mutters against his lips before another small kiss.

Damien leans close on his other side, pressing his lips tenderly to the edge of his frill, and then he whispers, "I think you likely know, my lily, that my heart lives in you precisely as it lives in my Rilla." He smiles, hand on Arum's chin as he feels his throat whir in relieved pleasure. Damien's entire face is soft, glowing, gentle. "I think you know, Arum, how I love you. I have, in fact, for quite some time."

"Brat," Amaryllis mutters again, and Arum barks an unexpected laugh.

It breaks the spell, the seriousness, the way Arum's chest felt tight with tears. Damien laughs as well, and then Amaryllis rolls her eyes and presses her head against his cheek, kissing his jaw and laughing lightly in her own right. They snuggle closer, Damien mouthing kisses along his neck, and Arum realizes-

The swooping feeling, the falling-

It hasn't gone away with his confession, as he expected it to. He still feels- midair, wild and windswept and caressed by clouds.

Arum smiles, nuzzles them back, loves them.

It's alright, falling for them. Falling with them. It's alright. It's... safe. They are safe, with him, as he is with them, even midair, and wild, and windswept.

Arum has been falling, now, for long enough that it has begun to feel like flight.

[lepusrufus]

Double edged scalpel ch.4

Ch.1 Ch.2 Ch.3

Summary: Daniela wingman Dimitrescu

---

Who knew that a door could look so intimidating. The dark wood decorated with golden floral patterns and the Dimitrescu crest in the middle wasn’t unlike most other doors in the castle. This door however had one big difference from the rest: it was the door to Cassandra’s bedroom.

Nicole had crossed paths with Daniela earlier, who wasted no time in placing the duty of fetching the middle sister for dinner upon her. Oh well. She was supposed to meet the brunette anyways. Tomorrow at sundown, Cassandra had said. And that was just after dinner. But the lingering feeling of their lips together, deep in a hidden nook in the garden, left Nicole unsure on what to expect from her.

With a final deep breath, she knocked on the door.

It was silent for a few long seconds. She was about to knock again, sure that Cassandra was still sleeping, but was stopped by a groggy reply that she took as her cue to enter.

“Lady Daniela sent me to let you know dinner will be ready soon.”

Nicole had a split second when she regretted each and every decision that led up to that very moment when she noticed the brunette stirring awake, naked body thankfully covered by soft blankets. Cassandra didn’t seem to mind though, as she yawned and stretched her arms like a lazy cat would.

“That’s a weird way to say Daniela is lazy and sent you to do her job.” She grabbed her watch from the nightstand. “Ugh, it’s early.” It’s 7 p.m.

From where she stood, looking anywhere but at the brunette, Nicole wasn’t sure how to respond. It’s not as if she could’ve said no to Daniela’s request. Or, to be more accurate, order. Apparently Cassandra didn’t wait for a reply, as she got out of bed and shuffled to her dresser, hopefully to put some clothes on. With one of her typical black dresses now on, she tiptoed to the other occupant in the room.

“Modest, are we,” she said, placing her hands on Nicole’s waist, not unlike she did many times before.

“Just trying not to get my eyes gouged out.” Hopefully Cassandra still appreciated her humor.

The brunette slowly spinned the other girl around so she could look in her eyes, as if she were a child inspecting a newly received christmas gift. “Mm...you can keep them. Now come on, spend some time with me since Dani insisted on you waking me up so early.”

Thanks Daniela.

Nicole felt herself get pulled further into the room, barely having time to take in all the trinkets and decor inside before she was tugged down to sit in Cassandra’s lap.

Well… best possible scenario.

This time there was no hesitation when their lips connected, one hand finding its place at the brunette's nape, pulling her close. Cassandra let out a small moan when she felt nails scratch lightly against her scalp, which Nicole took as an opportunity to slip her tongue past black painted lips. They kissed until Cassandra pulled back, opting instead to leave a trail of kisses and black lipstick on her jawline, down her throat, and finally her collarbone. The kisses were getting increasingly more aggressive, with nips at the skin and finally teeth dragging at the crook of Nicole's neck.

Cassandra inhaled deeply but pulled her mouth away from the skin, resting her forehead against that spot instead. When she spoke, her tone was dripping with barely held back desire.

"If you want me to stop, you should go."

Oh no, Nicole didn't just shove her tongue in her god damn mouth for them to stop. Whatever crumble of self preservation was left within her, it got booted out the metaphorical front door of her brain the moment she got pulled into the brunette's lap. The only thing that made her hesitate for a second was whether or not Cassandra could bite someone without actually killing them.

"Do not go near the jugular.”

And Cassandra listened. She dragged her teeth from the neck, down to the shoulder and, after an uncharacteristically gentle kiss to the spot, she sunk her now sharp fangs in the flesh.

Nicole couldn't stop a whimper from escaping past her lips at the sudden jolt of pain. But the sensation of soft lips on her skin and Cassandra's low moan at the taste of her blood made for the perfect mixture of pleasure and pain.

"Cassa- ah," she moaned her name, fingers tangled in black hair which only seemed to spur her on.

The pain steadily faded, leaving behind only a tingling sensation. It stopped her brain from putting together any coherent thought, almost as if being drunk without the actual alcohol. But blood loss instead. Nicole tugged lightly on Cassandra's hair when dizziness started to make itself present. When that did nothing, she pulled with slightly more force.

"Cassandra-" she let out a pained groan, mild panic slipping into her voice.

That made the brunette snap out of it, forcefully pulling herself back and eyeing the bloody mess on Nicole's shoulder. She caught the redhead by the arms for support when she slumped forward slightly, pinching the bridge of her nose with a soft ugh. How much blood can a human lose again? Fourteen percent? And Nicole was also quite small.

Cassandra stretched to grab a tissue from the nightstand and pressed it against the puncture wounds, frowning when Nicole flinched at the pain it caused.

"Uh...are you okay?"

Nicole took a deep breath before replying. "-m good. You should...uh go though. I'll go lay down and-...and meet you after dinner." Then she squeezed her eyes shut for a moment to try to alleviate the dizziness and tried to stand up.

Cassandra grimaced at how wobbly Nicole's movement's were and guided her back down, on the soft mattress. The redhead didn't protest, not that she really could anyways.

"No. Stay here, you're no good if you just fall and crack your skull open against a stairwell."

"But-"

Cassandra ignored her, only pushing her down to rest against one of the many pillows littering the bed. "No buts, this is an order from your lady. Now take a nap or something and I'll fetch you after dinner."

Nicole saw her turn around and exit the room, door shutting with a heavy thump. She felt too dizzy to try and fight back. And after all, why would she? The bed was incredibly soft, almost as if it was cradling her small body, inviting her to fall asleep. She slowly pulled one of the blankets up to her waist and positioned herself in such a way that the tissue wouldn't fall from her shoulder. A short nap was all she needed, then she'd be up by the time dinner was done. It only took shutting her eyes for a few seconds to fall asleep, the haze in her mind receding into comforting nothingness.

---

Hot. She felt so incredibly hot. How could Cassandra sleep amongst all these pillows and blankets in the middle of August?

She groaned and stirred, tissue forgotten and covered in dry blood by now. She turned around, trying to find a colder spot and sighed contently upon finding a cool pillow to bury her face into.

Since when did pillows hum?

Nicole snapped her eyes open and jerked backwards, realizing that the "pillow" was Cassandra's side, who apparently had returned from dinner and was now laying in bed with a book.

"I- I'm sorry! I think I overslept and-"

She was interrupted by a slender finger on her lips.

"Get back here, you're so warm."

Too warm, Nicole almost replied but Cassandra's hand mowed from her lips to trace her jawline and neck. Then,when it got to her nape, she pulled the redhead back on her chest, cheek resting on the cool skin.

Nicole froze for a moment but soon melted into the touch. Presumably one of the perks of being an undead being was never getting too hot. At least temperature-wise. She tentatively snaked an arm around the brunette's waist and, when there was no protest, she shifted her body closer against hers.

Checking the time didn't even occur to Nicole until her eyes fell on one of the windows, noticing it was pitch black beyond the glass.

"Shouldn't we have…" she just vaguely gestured, not even sure what they were supposed to do that day in the dungeons.

"Here's one of the perks of working with me darling: if I don't feel like doing anything then congratulations, you've got yourself a day off. Now why don't you enjoy it hmm."

She emphasized her words by bringing her free hand to Nicole's head, nails lightly scratching the scalp. But Nicole was wide awake, despite the pleasant sensation that elicited a content hum from her.

There were so many things to take in that she hadn't noticed earlier. Just like her study, Cassandra's bedroom was like a collection of glimpses into her. The desk was littered with papers and oddly modern drawing supplies, the kind you would get by entering the art supply store down the road from her college dorm. A mannequin in the corner of the room was wearing a most likely tailor made dress, complete with what looked like a matching sword. The wall she could see was half covered in bookshelves, half in deer antlers or horns of different animals. Some had labels with dates underneath them that were too far to read, but Nicole managed to decipher one that said 08.06.1982.

She didn't want to risk losing her precious head scratches in order to explore the other half of the room, so her eyes settled on the one thing she could see without moving. The book in Cassandra's other hand.

"What're you reading?"

Cassandra sighed, realizing that she was still awake but answered anyway.

"Watership down."

She giggled, still a bit lightheaded. "Bunnies…"

Cassandra rolled her eyes, not quite in the mood to go on a lengthy discourse about the themes of said "bunnies". She opted to change the topic instead, voice oddly soft.

"How's your head?"

"Mmm...dizzy."

"Sleep then."

"My room is too far away."

"Sleep here you dumbass."

Nicole was silent for a few moments, putting together the few coherent thoughts still lingering in her brain. Then, trying not to slur her words due to dizziness and sleepiness alike:

"Isn't that against protocol? Do you even have a protocol?"

"The protocol is that our staff serves my family. Right now you're keeping me warm. There, congratulations on performing your duties. Now go to sleep."

The redhead gave in, too tired to keep on annoying Cassandra. She nuzzled her face closer to the brunette's neck leaving a small peck on her collarbone and closed her eyes. The nails still scratching at her scalp, occasionally moving to run through long auburn locks proved more than efficient at lulling her to sleep. She could swear she felt a soft, almost imperceptible kiss on the top of her head before consciousness fully slipped away from her

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Just Swimmingly ch.9 (BAON)

Summary:  The final chapter! Let's hope it lives up to the story name, shall we?

Tags: Spicyhoney, Established Relationships, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

~~*~~

Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

Edge knew that he wouldn’t be able to carry Stretch for long. They were barely down the hallway to the stairs when warning twinges started up in his leg, and he could only ignore it for so long before he setback his own recovery. He resented that lingering weakness, hated that someone had stolen, albeit temporarily, his ability to physically take his willing husband to wherever he wished to put him. Hated that Stretch no longer flung himself at Edge from their front porch, trusting that he would be caught.

A return to that would come, he reminded himself. For now, he simply had to get Stretch to the car. He wasn’t about to let him walk downstairs with the delicate bones of his feet exposed to the floor of that filthy, junk-strewn warehouse anymore than they already had and perhaps Stretch realized that as well. His protests were brief and faded quickly.

“babe, no, your leg!” Stretch made a weak attempt at squirming loose, “i can walk!”

“You are in your bare feet,” Edge said shortly, “there is angel knows what foulness on this floor, and I am not letting you go.”

“guess i can’t argue that," Stretch sighed. "okay, captain. make it quick.”

“You’ve never said that before,” Edge murmured and Stretch let out a startled laugh that was always lovely to hear, but especially tonight. He really was all right if he could laugh like that, deep and sweet and loud.

So, Edge carried on down the stairs, past the melting remains of some kind of chemical foam, and Stretch didn’t struggle, a wise choice considering it would probably have sent them both tumbling down. He simply sighed and wrapped his slim arms around Edge’s neck, his skull resting lightly against his shoulder.

He was exhausted, Edge realized belatedly, already mentally berating himself. Of course he was, it was past the point of being late and going more into early, and the only sleep Stretch had had tonight was deliberately induced unconsciousness.

Better not to think about that. Seeing Stretch awake and hearing his laughter already relieved some of the raw, achy heat in his soul, there was no point in agitating it again. Surreptitiously, Edge ducked his head enough to breathed in the sweet scent of his husband’s magic, letting it further ease the dimming clamor of his LV demanding retribution. Much as he hated admitting when his brother was right, it would be best to let the Embassy security teams handle the kidnappers. Not that Edge wouldn’t be intently watching the results, but Edge knew himself well enough that he couldn’t promise not to react with violence if he saw any of them in person.

They’d stolen from him. Not a possession, no, love was not something to be owned, but it could be given, along with his soul, and Edge had given his to the very person they’d tried to use as a mere tool to be bartered with and after, they would have surely discarded him as nothing more than a useless object, a means to an end.

There was only one punishment suitable for that and Edge did not trust himself not to mete it out.

Outside, the night air was cool, refreshing after the dusty warehouse, and there was a new vehicle amidst the Embassy cars. An ambulance, the lights swirling silently atop, and the back doors were open with a stretcher already on the pavement. When the attendants saw them, they started forward, and in his arms, Stretch tensed, shifting as if to crawl up and over him in a wild attempt at escape.

“no,” Stretch said shortly. “no, no, no, don’t let the damsel in distress pose fool you, i am fine. all i need is a stiff drink and some zzz’s, this is me not consenting to any medical treatment.”

“Love—” Edge began. Stretch swung around to look at him, the pale glare of his eye lights accusing, and he backtracked, choosing his words carefully, “You were drugged. Perhaps it would be best if you were checked out.”

That suggestion was met with fierce scorn as Stretch scoffed, "yeah, i was drugged and now i am wide awake. i can tell you my name, my address, and my shoe size, and whoever tries to get me into the back of that wah-wah-mobile is gonna know it, too, when i shove my foot up their ass.”

“kinky.” Edge whirled to see his brother’s smirking face as he strolled towards them. “wellie, well, well, went fishin’ and got a hellava catch, eh, boss?”

In his arms, Stretch stiffened so briefly, he might have imagined it. He blinked rapidly, once, twice, as if to clear his vision, then relaxed again, settling on a wheedle in Red’s direction, “fishing jokes are so cliché, cooking is better. i’m the best cupcake in the bakery, so let him wrap me up and take me home. come on, tell them i’m fine.”

Red scratched the back of his skull lazily, “dunno, honeybun, might need a tune-up and an oil change—”

“quit switching the metaphors!” Stretch let go of Edge long enough to flip a middle finger at him.

Red snorted, amused, “yeah, yeah, he can take you home. if,” Red stressed, “you take a mo’ to strip off the new gear those assholes gave you.”

“aw, gee, red,” Stretch batted a pair of imaginary eyelashes, “you’ve never asked me to strip before. i’m not even wearing a g-string, where will you stuff the dollars?”

“cute,” Red’s grin widened in a way that made Edge want to carry his husband far away. The way he bared his teeth venturing into the realm of amused cruelty, and the flick of his tongue absurdly lascivious, “it’s evidence and we need it. if you’d rather change up at the bone factory, bet the docs could take a chance to check you out—”

“no!” Stretch yelped, “no, no, fine. you have something for me to change into?”

“yep.” And Red pointed to the back of the ambulance. “in there.”

Stretch rolled his eye lights. “wow,” he said dryly, “that trap isn’t even subtle. you want i should strap myself into the stretcher, too? check my vitals, start an iv?”

“it’s the only place to change, so either trust that we’ll do a catch and release, or…” Red trailed off meaningfully.

Stretch heaved a sigh and started squirming in Edge’s arms, wincing at the gravel as he was carefully set on the pavement. “back to fishing, huh? fine, fine. but if it drives off in the hospital way when i climb in the back, I’m shortcutting at the first stoplight and then we can play tag across town.”

“I won’t let them take you anywhere you don’t want to go, love.” Edge signed a little ‘x’ over his chest. Stretch’s scrutinizing look shifted to a soft smile and even though he would have preferred a doctor checking him over, Edge wouldn’t do anything to break the trust shining in his eye lights, not for anything in the world.

“okay, babe,” Stretch said, “give me five.”

He climbed into the ambulance, pulling the rear doors shut behind him. After a few minutes of the vehicle shaking and muffled swearing coming through the door, Stretch remerged. The clothes weren’t his own, but they fit, soft pants and a neon-bright sweatshirt that Stretch could have chosen himself, a far contrast to the cheap, bland clothes their kidnappers forced on them. Edge suspected his brother’s hand in it and wondered with some resignation if Red sent someone to purchase them tonight or if he simply kept spare clothes for them all in the dingy hole in the Embassy basement that passed as his office, for just such an occasion.

Probably the latter, Red was never one who minded delegating, but some things required a personal touch.

With visible distaste, Stretch handed over a large brown paper sack to Red. “take ‘em,” he said flatly. “burn them, whatever. i never want to see them again.”

“fair enough,” Red handed the bag off to one of the Embassy security who was standing close by with a muttered order. “all right, newly engaged goes next.”

Their Human friends were standing close by, both silently watching the entertainment, which was fair after the recent show upstairs. With the spotlight turned his way, Jeff hastily nodded and Antwan carefully set him on his feet, his hands lingering and reluctant to let him go.

“You two can head on home,” Antwan said, “We’re taking one of the Embassy cars.”

“yeah, okay, sounds good.” But Stretch didn’t return to Edge. He went to Jeff, leaning down to pull him into a tight hug that was fiercely returned. “hey, we made it, and you even got a special prize to top it off. congrats, bro,” Stretch told him.

It was charming the way Jeff’s cheeks went visibly pink even in the harsh overhead lights of the parking lot, but if this horrible night could end for him on a smile, Edge thought it fitting. No one said a word until the friends ended their embrace, Jeff heading into the ambulance to change and Stretch returning to Edge’s side, if not his arms.

“hey, honey bun.” Stretch paused, giving Red a questioning look, “i’ll have your cell phone back to you tomorrow.”

His face twitched but Stretch only nodded. He turned in a circle, his gaze searching, until it landed on Edge’s car parked on the far side of the lot. He started towards it and as slippers were included with his new wardrobe, Edge reluctantly allowed Stretch to walk on his own towards it.

Before he’d taken two steps, a small voice came from behind them. “Can I ride back with you two?”

Alone on the crumbling pavement, Blue stood there, his hands twisting together and his starry eye lights hesitant and hopeful. For the second time that night Edge cringed inwardly at not thinking of him.

“sure, bro,” Stretch said immediately. His eye lights flicked briefly to Edge to confirm, surprising him.

Of course he could come with them, why wouldn’t he…they needed to invite Blue over more often, Edge decided abruptly. They saw him often on movie nights and group events, and he knew that the Swap brothers had lunch together once a week, but he should spend more time with his brother, and with Edge.

Once, they’d been decently good friends, before his relationship with Stretch subtly cooled things between them. They could be friends again, better friends, if only one of them took the first step. Interesting how traumatic events could be a hell of an incentive.

“Of course,” Edge told him, and tried not to notice the sudden gratitude that filled Stretch’s face. He dug into his pocket for his keys and tossed them to Blue, who caught them with a jangle. “In fact, I’d prefer if you’d drive.”

Blue brightened visibly at the show of trust, darting over to the car. He held open the door as Stretch crawled into the back and didn’t so much as raise an eyebrow when Edge followed him.

“home, jeeves,” Stretch said. The last word broke on a deep yawn and he shifted to sprawl across the backseat, his skull in Edge’s lap.

“Seatbelt,” Edge chided.

“you put it on me,” Stretch grumbled. He didn’t move as Edge did, only settled in more comfortably once the belt was across him. He was asleep before they’d even left the parking lot, without so much as an ounce of deception in his long, slow breaths.

Cautiously, Edge settled his bare hands on him, choosing where to settle them with some care, one hand on his clothed side and the other on his skull with more palm than fingers. He wished for a pair of his gloves to keep the sharpened tips safely concealed. Earlier, he’d wanted his hands exposed and ready to be used, and now in the aftermath, he wanted them tucked away again, the same as he’d learned to conceal his other, more Underfell-ian tendencies. Only bringing them out when they were useful, like a set of heirloom dishes, then hiding them at the back of the hutch again to gather dust.

(don’t think of it that way, do not)

He resisted the urge to clench his hands, closed his sockets and tried to concentrate on the feel of warm bone under his bare hand. Stretch often carried spare gloves for him in his bag, never questioning Edge’s preference, never mocked or teased; he didn’t just accept that quirk, he embraced it and tried to help. If he were awake, he would have been pleased at the bare-handed touch, he would understand the significance of it and Edge focused on that.

It helped soothe some of his agitation and when Edge opened his sockets again, he was surprised to see the Embassy gates already looming ahead. “Drop us off, you can take my car home tonight.”

Blue nodded silently, his gaze focused intently on the road. There wasn’t even a teasing, if pointed, joke about Edge letting his car out of his sight. The car didn’t matter, all that was important was in his arms right now.

He pulled into their driveway and Blue held the door again as Edge carefully lifted Stretch into his arms. He paused long enough for Blue to press a gentle kiss to his brother’s skull, murmuring something Edge did not hear, then carried him inside as the car pulled out of the drive behind him. He hoped Papyrus was home, surely he was, and that he would know that Blue could use some friendly companionship after this night.

He would know, Edge decided firmly. This was Papyrus he was thinking of and it was likely he already had a pot of strong tea and some very interesting cookies ready to share, along with a blanket and some Mettaton reruns. Blue would be fine for tonight and tomorrow he could come over again, after they’d all had some necessary sleep.

He carried Stretch inside and settled him on the sofa. Upstairs would have been better, but he needed a moment for his leg to recover before taking him any further. Not that Stretch noticed, he only slept on, sleepily burrowing into the blanket Edge draped carefully over him.

Indecision seized Edge then. There were things that needed to be done, but leaving Stretch here alone made uneasiness stir in his soul. In the end, he checked the door and window locks to make sure they were secured and that their alarm system was on before he reluctantly went upstairs to run a bath and lay out pajamas. It would be testing Stretch’s ability to sleep through anything, but those Humans had touched him, laid their filthy hands on him. A quick wash would go a long way for both of them to get some decent rest.

He waited for the tub to fill with foamy bubbles, the unsubtle floral scent of lavender filling the room, before heading back downstairs. He halted on the landing, his soul seizing in his chest, to see that the sofa was empty, the blanket thrown carelessly back.

Edge closed his sockets and took a long, deep breath, settling his rattled nerves. Yes, Stretch was missing again, but this time, he suspected he knew exactly where he’d gone.

The sliding glass door was now unlocked, and Edge opened it to step out into the backyard. Dewy grass clung to his shoes as he walked and the horizon was overflowing with purples and pinks and deep orange, heralding the arrival of the sun.

The fence was standing open, confirming his suspicions, and Edge opened the coop door to find Stretch sitting on the floor, heedless of its less than sterile state. Nugget was in his lap, magnanimous surrendering her a scritches to her small, adopted duckling that was curled up on Stretch’s knee, mumbling out sleepy little quacks as it was gently stroked.

Stretch didn’t look up. “hey, babe,” he mumbled.

Edge sank down to sit next to them, pressing their sides together from shoulder to hip. “You could have warned me,” Edge said.

It was lightly said, but Stretch flinched, shifting to rest his head on Edge’s shoulder. “sorry, wasn’t thinking.”

“I’d say you’re still not,” Edge agreed. “are you even awake?”

“prolly not.”

They sat together in the dimly lit coop, the silence broken only by the faint sleeping rumbles from the chickens. Neither of them were prepared for Cheese to stir, going from sleeping to wide awake in an instant the moment they noticed the open door. With a riot of happy peeps, they hopped from Stretch’s knee, dodging Edge’s grab as they ran outside to plunge into the new pond, swimming circles in the clear water.

They followed them out, “No, not right now,” Edge began, preparing to wade in if necessary to secure their tiniest poultry companion.

“eh, let ‘em play," Stretch yawned. He sank down on the walkway they’d finished only the day before. “let them have some fun. may as well, i'm really tired, but i dunno if i can sleep yet."

Edge nodded and settled next to him again. The brickwork was hard beneath his tailbone and he made a mental note to have a bench of some sort installed. He should have thought of it before, Stretch enjoyed watching his pets, and both the patio and the porch swing were too far away for proper observation. Rather than allow Stretch to sit on the stones, he pulled his love into his lap, holding him close without impeding his view. "We can wait until you're ready."

"gonna have nightmares,” Stretch said abruptly. His voice was smaller and knowingly weary. "i was scared, you know, but andy was there, and he was scareder. his face was," Stretch gestured at his own face and shook his head. "i couldn't let him get hurt. i couldn’t."

It ached to hear that soft confession, though he’d known Stretch must have been frightened. He pushed the image of Stretch waking up terrified and surrounded by enemies out of his mind, saying firmly, "You didn't, you protected him."

"he wouldn't need protecting if he'd stayed in his seat on that bus all those months back,” Stretch said sourly and that was a notion that couldn’t wait for his therapist to address.

"Don't,” Edge told him softly, “Don't take on blame that isn't yours, you don’t deserve to carry their guilt."

"heh, yeah. you're one to talk."

“I know. So you can believe I know what I’m talking about.”

“don’t worry, babe, i know something about carrying guilt that ain’t yours, too.” Before Edge could question that, Stretch sighed heavily, confessing, "i knew one of the guys."

That was a chilling admission. "You did."

"yeah, he used to work at classic books,” Stretch said. He shifted in Edge’s arms, unconsciously pushing in closer. “had an issue with monsters, but i didn't think anything of it. lots of humans do. he never said anything out loud that i ever heard. last i knew, thomas said he quit. thomas was happier for it, he was about to fire the guy, anyway, him quitting made his life easier."

“Does my brother know this?”

“if he didn’t before, pretty sure he already does now, but i’ll tell him during my little interview tomorrow.” In his arms, Stretch shivered, bones briefly rattling. “when i saw him, saw into his—” Stretch stopped abruptly, “anyway. he’s not a nice guy, babe. not at all.”

“I see,” Edge said, slowly. There were depths in that obvious diverting should be explored, questions to ask, but that could wait for tomorrow. “Let’s go inside and get cleaned up, all right?”

“yeah, okay.” Stretch crawled out of his arms to the side of the pond and rather than fruitlessly chasing Cheese, he held out a hand. It took hardly more than a touch of blue magic to pull the little duckling close, their pitiful quacks as they were once more robbed of their watery freedom filling the air. “yeah, i know,” Stretch soothed, “tomorrow, okay? i’ll let you swim ‘till you’re sick of it, kiddo.”

He returned the duckling to Nugget, who unsympathetically tucked the peeping duckling beneath her, and when Stretch turned back to Edge, his gaze sharpened suddenly as he watched Edge climb to his feet. “where’s your cane?”

“I was getting it as we speak.”

“uh huh, from inside the house, it’s so useful in there. you,” Stretch jabbed a slender finger at him, “you’re going to use it all day tomorrow, right? no bitching, either.”

Edge didn’t bother pointing out that it was highly likely he wouldn’t be doing much walking at all tomorrow, certainly not out of their home. Tomorrow would be full of questioning and paperwork, so many things that would need to be done. But first, they needed to finish off the night before dawn took it.

“Of course,” he agreed. He allowed Stretch to pull an arm over his shoulders, ostensibly to help him inside, but it wasn’t his leg that needed Stretch’s assistance.

His soul pulsed in his chest softly, settling at the feel of Stretch close to him, leading them both into their house, and when they finally slept that night, it was on the sofa rather than their bed, both of them freshly washed and with a cooking show playing softly in the background.

Lying together, Edge was acting the part of smaller spoon to Stretch’s larger one, and if Stretch guessed the position was one that put Edge closer to the door, he didn’t say. His face was buried into the back of Edge’s neck, his breath damp and even. Edge drifted on the borders of sleep, listening more to that quiet breathing than whatever the chef on the screen was saying.

“I can’t lose you.” The words escaped him, said to no one at all, less a statement and more a vow, a promise offered in the early morning light. I can’t, he thought to himself as he drifted, barely hearing the sleepy murmur in return.

“you won’t, babe. ’m not goin’ anywhere.”

Soothed, Edge let sleep claim him, trusting that he was safely caught up in the embrace of both slumber and his love.

-finis

[wannawritefast]

Whiplash: Ch. 3- Practicing

A/N: Thank you for your kind words, lovelies! I really appreciate you guys engaging with my work.

Pairing: Gwilym Lee! Brian May x Reader

Pt. 2

Warnings: Mild language, alcohol, again... mentions of Stupid Men... fluffy??? kinda???

You and Brian had worked out that you would split the holiday between your families: Christmas with yours and New Year’s with his. Although you had confirmed with your parents and brother that you did, in fact, have a (fake) boyfriend and, yes, you were bringing him for Christmas, that didn’t make you any less nervous. You weren’t entirely certain you could even pull it off.

Brian suggested acting as if the two of you were a couple before you left for holiday. Just so it would be easier to play the part later.

The whole experience gave you metaphorical whiplash. It wasn’t because of any drastic changes in behavior. It was quite the opposite actually.

There wasn’t a massive change in how the two of you interacted. Sure, there was a little more couple-y PDA. But there was no other change in how he addressed you or interacted with you. That was what was most alarming. And, boy, did people buy it…

“Brian, I can’t just buy cereal for dinner.” You tidily placed the box of sugary carbs back on the shelf with a pointed look at the curly-haired man and continued pushing your trolley. Brian followed closely behind but not before plucking the box off of the spot you had placed it on, unbeknownst to you.

Brian underhand tossed the cereal over your head and it landed in the trolley with a clang. You could practically hear the defiance echo through the metal after the brightly colored box cut majestically through the fluorescent lighting. If you weren’t so taken aback, you would have been impressed with the aim.

You halted and immediately looked at your faux boyfriend. There he was, whistling and inspecting another box of cereal with trained attention. You plucked the box out of the trolley and tried to stroll past him but the box slipped out of grasp suddenly.

You whirled around and saw the cereal box in the hand of your favorite curly-haired guitarist. Brian shook it victoriously with a brow raised in challenge and you narrowed your eyes, determined. Oh, if he wanted to play… you could play.

All Brian had to do was hold the box straight in the air while you jumped up desperately trying to reach it. He even taunted you a few times lowering his arm just enough but raising it again when you got close.

“Brian,” you whined exasperatedly. Trying to be angry at him was much too hard when he was chuckling at you with that cocky smile on his face. “Give it back!”

“No way!” He replied. “You’re very cute right now, did you know?”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t relent. And you certainly didn’t let him see the blush spreading on your face. “I see we’re trying to charm our way out of trouble again.”

“Ah, indeed I am,” Brian affirmed with a cheeky smile. You kept hopping up to reach it. You would have to work smarter not harder. “Is it working?”

You huffed a few times, beginning to tire, and blew a strand of hair out of your face and ceased all jumping. He cocked his head in confusion and you pressed a peck to his cheek. Now it was his turn to be stunned. 

Brian’s guard was down and you swiftly pulled the cereal box out of his hand. While he was still in shock you tucked the box into your torso and moved to run back to the spot where you had found it, not unlike a rugby player.

You made it about half way there before long arms locked around yours and stopped you. You squealed in surprise and Brian spun you around dramatically from behind. The cereal remained in your vice-like grip but Brian wasn’t letting go any time soon either. His laugh was right next to your ear and yours joined in.

“You kids are so cute.” A brittle voice sounded from behind you.

You and Brian immediately halted your antics, unraveling yourselves, and stood stiffly next to each other like two kids who had been caught red-handed. Your arm swung the cereal box roughly into Brian’s chest and he grunted. You blurted out an apology.

“No, don’t stop on my account.” An older woman shakily supported herself on her trolley. Her hair was white and her knuckles were knobby and her back was hunched but she smiled sweetly at the two of you.

“I remember when my Harold and I were that young,” she rasped. The woman put her hand on the middle of her chest. You giggled sheepishly to diffuse the awkwardness. “It seems like just yesterday that we-”

“Marianne!” An older man yelled a little too loudly from the end of the aisle.

“I’m right here,” she answered. Harold hobbled over to where she was and put two boxes of chocolate biscuits in the trolley. “Harold, we have biscuits at home, luv.”

“But not the good kind,” he groused.

“We bought them yesterday, darling,” Marianne explained. “They’re blueberry. We only bought them because you said you wanted them. I don't even like blueberry.”

“Well, I changed my mind. I want chocolate biscuits now.”

Marianne rolled her eyes. “You do this every time. It’s wasteful. We’re not getting the biscuits.” She began waddling away still muttering to herself with the trolley after placing the biscuits on the shelf next to her.

Harold watched her with a frown on his face. After making sure that she was no longer paying attention to him, he mischievously put a finger to his lips and shushed you and Brian. You put a hand over your mouth to stifle your laughter. He grabbed the boxes off of the shelf and marched slowly but surely after her.

“My God…” Brian muttered after Harold was out of earshot. “It’s like looking in a mirror.”

You hiccuped on your laughter as you watched Marianne scold Harold from the other end of the aisle. “You think so?” You asked.

He hummed contemplatively. “I’m about 80% certain.”

“Only 80%?”

“Yeah, I figure if you don’t murder me before we reach that age, I’ll actually outlive you.”

“Oh, really,” you laughed. “And why would I commit such a heinous act?”

“Because of this.” Before you had a chance to stop him, Brian took his arm and scooped approximately seven boxes of that godforsaken cereal from earlier into his chest and shot toward the basket. He dumped the boxes haphazardly into the trolley and began pushing it away like a mad man.

He made it to end of the aisle and made sure you saw him drift the cart as he turned into the next aisle.

A child… You were fake dating an actual child.

[{...}]

The following weekend your sister came into the city to visit you. When she had originally planned to visit you, you had been sans fake boyfriend. But since you had made the arrangement with Brian, she was much more excited than she had been initially.

Donna took to temporarily living in your flat with extreme comfort. Your cat certainly enjoyed having another person around to dote on him and you certainly enjoyed having someone else to talk to. Brian was a great friend, er, fake boyfriend but it was nice to have another friendly face around.

Having your sister over meant showing her how you lived and taking her to the places that you usually went and that included seeing Queen play a gig.

With an ale in hand, you headed backstage little sister in tow. The people guarding the doors knew you by name and let you pass. Following intuitively the layout of how most pub stages worked (you had been to plenty of Brian’s gigs before to understand) you navigated your way to where the band was backstage. 

“Hey,” you bumped Brian with your shoulder who was turned around, tuning his red guitar.

Brian immediately smiled upon recognizing you. Instead of greeting you with a side hug, he took the mug out of your hand with a ‘for me?’ and began chugging it.

“Hey!” You scolded. You grabbed at your mug but by the time you got your fingers around it, half of your ale was gone.

“That was really good, thank you!”

You kept a tight grip on your mug in case he was getting any ideas about continuing his antics. “I asked if you wanted one!”

“I changed my mind.” He shrugged. “Plus, it tastes better when it’s yours.”

“So you just decided to drink my mug half-empty?!”

“I prefer to look at it as half-full,” a smile spread across his face. Cocky bastard. You batted your palm toward his shoulder and he laughed gleefully at your reaction. Brian caught your wrist mid-swing and halted your assault. You paused standing as still as Brian was.

“If you wanted me to grab you one, you should have told me,” you spoke gently, suddenly calm for some odd reason. “I offered to get you one.”

He still had his hand on your wrist. It wasn’t tight but the contact was there.

“I might take you up on that after the show,” Brian contemplated. He slid his hand down to hold yours and swung your arm playfully. “Thank you for letting me have some of your drink-”

“I didn’t really have much choice in the matter.” The lights on stage slowly turned on.

Someone cleared their throat next to you and you suddenly remembered that your sister was, in fact, present as well. Brian let go of your hand gently and turned to face her.

“Donna,” she supplied with an extended hand. Brian shook her hand firmly with a smile.

“Brian,” he answered politely, “it’s nice to finally put a face to the great ‘Donna.’”

“Likewise. My sister and I don’t get to meet up often but when we do, she does NOT shut up about you,” she looked at you with a giggle.

Your sister really loved digging you into holes, didn’t she? You gave her a pointed look. The realization of her lack of filter dawned on her suddenly.

“Not that she doesn’t talk about other things! She talks about you a normal amount. Definitely not obsessively or anything like that!” She rushed out her words in a poor attempt to fix what she had said. Donna smiled at you like she had smoothed everything over.

“Please make me sound more creepy, Donna.” You iterated through gritted teeth.

Brian chuckled. “Aw, you couldn’t be creepy if you tried.”

“Thank you, Brian.”

“Maybe a tad pathetic,” he joked with a grin. “A little sad, perhaps.”

“Yeah?” You lightly smacked his arm. He laughed in response. “Keep talking, poodle.”

Roger jogged up to the two of you. “Hey, Y/n,” he greeted with a charming look. The drummer clapped his friend on the shoulder. “We’re about to go on.” Roger suddenly noticed Donna next to you and turned up the charm. “Hello there. I’m Roger.” He extended his hand toward hers.

Donna smiled back at him and grasped his hand as she introduced herself. “You must be the drummer.”

“You’re a smart girl, how’d you know?”

“You’ve got drumsticks sticking out of your pocket.” She explained. “I have good eyes.”

“They’re beautiful, too.”

You rolled your eyes and groaned. But neither your sister nor Roger heard you. Your sister giggled and twirled the end of her hair around her finger.

Not this… anything but this… 

Brian chuckled and put an arm over your shoulders. He rubbed the side of your arm. The body of his guitar lightly rested against your side.

“I’d be more than happy to give you some private drumming lessons after the set.” Roger took the drumsticks out of his pocket and twirled one of them skillfully in his fingers. “How’s that sound?”

Before she could get another word out you interjected, “Yeah, that’s not happening. Turn it around and march it away, Rog.”

Roger faced you with a scoff. “But-”

“Did I stutter? Move it along, casanova.”

“Y/n!” Your sister scolded incredulously.

But you didn’t pull your gaze from Roger. You narrowed your eyes at him as he defiantly pressed his lips together. “Fine.” Roger stalked away.

“Are you kidding me, Y/n?!” you sister asked. “He was cute.”

“He does this with literally every girl, Donna.”

“Whatever.”

Brian turned back to directly face you and pulled his arm from your shoulder. “Anyways, I’ll take you up on that drink offer after the show, darling.”

If trying to repress your blush from his pet name wasn’t enough, he grabbed your open hand suddenly, pressed an exaggerated kiss to the back of it, and let it drop to your side. Brian walked to the huddle, leaving you dumbstruck with a half-finished mug of ale and an irritated younger sister.

It took you a moment to come back to reality and go back into the fray to watch the show.

[{...}]

The set ran unbelievably smooth. But to be fair, they usually played without any noticeable mistakes.

As per routine, you went out with the band to get drinks and you did, in fact, buy Brian a drink. He claimed to have been joking but you still got him a mug of ale.

The two of you together waited for the round that you were covering at the bar.

“How was the set?” Brian asked, leaning sideways against the bar and facing you.

“Horrible,” you sighed exaggeratedly. Brian’s eyebrows shot up. “I’m kidding. It was wonderful as usual.” You patted his cheek affectionately. He gnashed his teeth at your hand as you pulled it away.

He glanced over his shoulder at the table where the rest of the band, Mary, your sister, and a groupie were sitting. Your eyes followed his quick glance.

“And what’d your sister think?” He asked.

“Still a little cross at me for preventing the Roger situation. She’ll get over it by the morning though and-”

Brian cut you off. He turned back to you, looking down and fiddling with his fingers. “No, darling. Not about Roger. What’d she think of the music? Me?”

You smiled at Brian. He was nervous. There was certainly no need to be. “Donna loves you, Brian. And she loves Queen.”

“Really?” He questioned. “You’re not just saying that? I want to make a good first impression.”

“No,” you exclaimed assuredly. You grabbed hold of his hand. “She’s really impressed with you guys.” Brian let out a casual sigh of relief, feigning no big deal, but you knew better. “It’s impossible for people not to like you, Bri. What are you so worried about?”

Brian inhaled like he was going to speak but the bartender set down mugs on the counter for you to take. Only half of the round. You asked Brian to wait for the other half of the order and you walked to the table with the first half only to find your sister and Roger heatedly arguing. Freddie was leaned against Mary in amusement and John was fiddling with his wallet in his hands as if this was a common occurrence.

“Are you joking?!” Roger exclaimed. “Have you seen the way they look at each other?”

“I think I know my sister. Now pull your head out of your ass before I kick something else in that region, prat.”

“I know Brian.” Roger iterated. “I’m not a dimwit like you.”

“Perhaps your drums have affected your hearing so I’ll say it slower and louder,” Donna leaned forward exaggeratedly and Roger rolled his eyes angrily as the groupie sat back with her arms crossed, simultaneously irritated by the lack of attention and overwhelmed by the anger. “BRIAN. AND. MY. SISTER. ARE NOT DATING. Okay. Do I need to write it down for you too?!”

“No!-”

“Good!” She brought her mug of ale to her lips. “Its not like you’d be able to read it anyways.”

Roger weakly mocked her by leaning forward childishly and imitating her voice before retorting. “You don’t see what we see on a regular basis. You’re just visiting.”

“I’m her sister, you wanker! She tells me everything.”

Brian appeared next to you with the mugs in hand. You had been frozen to the spot in shock and amusement of the situation. “What did I miss?” He asked from the corner of his mouth.

“Look! They’re right here,” Donna turned to you and gestured her arm at you. “Why don’t we ask them, hmm? Are you or are you not dating?”

You and Brian looked at each other momentarily before beginning to stammer.

“Well, technically-”

“-it’s for a challenge with-”

“-and we’re staying the holidays with each others’ families-”

Roger halted the two of you assertively. “Wait, so you are?”

“No…” Brian’s voice went high in consideration. “Not technically.”

“How do you mean?”

You handed out the mugs as Brian and you explained what was going on. You both sat down in the booth with you in between him and your sister; Brian rested his arm on the top of the booth behind your shoulders as you leaned comfortably against his side. Roger sat scrutinizing the backstory and the explanation.

“Let me get this straight,” Roger shifted in his seat and gestured to you and the guitarist, “The two of you are fake dating over the holidays because your brother,-” he switched to gesture between you and your sister “-amongst other male members of your family, is a pillock who won’t leave you alone unless you’re dating someone even though you’re more than adequate without a boyfriend. No offense, Bri.”

“None taken,” Brian shrugged and took a drink from his beer.

“Did I get it right?”

You and Donna looked at each other for a moment before nodding at each other. You turned to Roger. “Yep.”

Roger, with his sunglasses on, nodded at you and Brian for a moment and finally put his arm around the groupie. “Yeah, and what‘re the two of you going to do once the holidays are over?”

You were taken aback for a moment. Brian and you suddenly looked at each other, both startled. You stopped leaning on him. Neither of you had considered what would happen after the holidays.

Brian scratched the back of his head and took a swig of his beer before answering, “Well, I suppose we go back to normal. Being friends. All that.” He took another swig of his beer.

You hummed in agreement and took a big gulp of the alcohol in front of you. “Yeah. We’ll go back to how it was before this arrangement or whatever you want to call it.”

Donna scoffed to herself. “Have you met our family? If Brian comes out alive, he certainly won’t come back normal.”

“He’ll be fine. They deal with crazy fans every weekend. It’ll be a walk in the park.” You leaned into his side again. 

“What if it doesn’t work,” Mary inquired sweetly. “I mean, I hope it does for your sake but on the off chance it doesn’t…”

“It just has to.” You answered with a shrug. “I have faith in us.” Brian brought his arm down to rest on your shoulders and he rubbed your arm.

“Well, what if it does work?” The blonde drummer asked. You cocked your head in confusion. 

“How do you mean?”

“What if it works a little too well and they end up really liking him? What are you going to do next year?” Roger asked. 

John spoke up too. “Yeah, what are you going to say if they ask about him again and want him to visit with you?”

You were beginning to panic. There was so much you hadn’t thought about. “I’m just trying to get through this year’s holidays. We’ll worry about the rest later.” You polished off the rest of your drink. You needed to get away from the table suddenly; the urge to vomit was bubbling in your chest. You put on a polite smile. “I need to use the loo. Anyone coming with me? Donna? Mary?”

Brian slid off the bench to let you out and you briskly began walking to the restrooms with Mary and Donna in tow.

You threw the door open and took pacing steps. “What have I gotten myself into?” Donna and Mary stepped into the bathroom, watching your distress. “Roger was right. I didn’t think this through at all. My god, what have I done? What if this doesn’t work? What if James doesn’t believe me? Or Dad? Or Granddad?”

“Hey…” Donna began. But you were too wrapped up in your thoughts. You fiddled with the ends of your hair.

“Oh goodness, what if this does work?! What if they want to keep seeing him? We can’t fake date forever! Brian has a life ahead of him. He doesn’t need to waste time on helping me with my stupid family.” You froze in your tracks as your stomach dropped. “What if Brian and I aren’t friends after this?” 

Out of all of the logistical worries and stresses, there was nothing more terrifying than not having Brian in your life. You couldn't bear it if you ruined the friendship between the two of you.

“You’re worrying over nothing, dear,” Mary urged. She stepped forward and pulled you into a warm hug. “One thing at a time, remember? Just like you said at the table.”

You nodded and took a deep breath. Mary was right.

Your stomach lurched suddenly. You ran to the nearest bathroom stall and emptied your alcohol-filled stomach. You’d had quite a few beers since the evening began, even before Queen’s set. Maybe your nerves had been a result of your drunken state… You were drained all of a sudden.

“I think,” Donna pushed open the stall door behind you, “that’s our cue to leave.”

“God, Donna, I’m sorry.” You clutched your forehead. “I know you don’t want to be dealing with hungover-me when you’re visiting.”

“It’s alright,” your sister grabbed your upper arm and guided you up from the floor. “Let’s go.”

You waddled out of the bathroom with a headache pounding behind your eyes and a dizzying ringing in your ears. The two of you headed to the booth together; the after effects were hitting you hard and fast and you were beginning to wonder if you had a touch of food poisoning. You leaned over the back of the booth with your head hidden in the crook of your arm while Donna grabbed your bags.

“Are you alright,” Brian’s voice asked. Everything was much too loud. The music playing. The people chattering. The drinks clinking. The chairs scraping. Your stomach tossed again but you repressed the reflex with a deep breath. 

You shot a thumbs up to him before quietly saying that you had thrown up. You were feeling seriously under the weather.

You felt a hand on your back, Brian’s. “Let me walk you and Donna home.”

“It’s alright, Brian,” you began. It was worth a shot to not pull Brian away from spending time with the band. Deep down you knew he was going to insist on walking you home; he always did. “I don’t want to stop you from having a good time.”

“I’m not going to take ‘no’ for an answer.” Of course he wasn’t. “You and Donna both have alcohol in your system. No good time is worth your safety on the line,” he spoke gently. You leaned on him as he put his arm under yours to support you upright. “Alright, let’s go.”

“I’ve got our bags,” Donna affirmed gently.

You waved a vague goodbye at the table and there was a hum of ‘goodbyes’ as you left with Brian and Donna.

You arrived clumsily at your flat, to the simultaneous excitement and dismay of your cat. He immediately yelled at you for food after yelling at you in greeting. Brian went to feed him as Donna walked you to your bedroom.

Brian, on many separate occasions, although an animal lover, claimed not to be particularly fond of cats. And just as many times as he had said that he didn’t like them, you had caught him baby talking, petting, and even cradling your cat. Not fond of them, your ass… Brian stood in the doorway with your furry baby draped over his shoulder.

Donna helped you clean your face and tucked you into bed. You apologized to her and Brian once again. They both hummed that it was alright.

“You’re sure?” You asked groggily, already feeling sleep tugging at your consciousness.

“Yes,” Brian answered. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I’ll make it up to you. Both of you, I promise.” You slurred.

“It’s alright.”

“Breakfast tomorrow morning and we’ll call it even,” Donna bargained.

“Deal. To both of you,” you agreed through a yawn. “Okay. I love you both. Good dreams.”

You were so tired that you turned on your side and fell asleep almost immediately. You missed Brian set your cat on the bed. And adjust the blanket over your shoulder. And whisper ‘I love you too’ back.

But Donna didn’t miss it. Not at all.

TAGS:

@phantoms-lynn​ @andtheswordwentsnickersnack​ 

[vkelleyart]

Thank you so much for the tags @ninemagicks, @angelsfalling16, @thehoneyedhufflepuff, @xivz, and @f-ing-ruthless-baz. I’ve been skivving off quarantine Easter Sunday festivities here and there to read your snippets and loving them!

Below, some more violin metaphor stuff from “Broken Strings” Ch. 11. (Methinks I need to hustle on this story before I run out of 6SS stuff to share...)

___

[SIMON’S POV]

I sit across from him on my bed. “Listening to you play... It’s sort of like hearing you speak a different language,” I explain, “only I understand this one better. I dunno, like… You come through more clearly.”

Baz’s hands clench around his instrument, holding it tightly against his chest like a shield. One look at his face tells me I’m about to trounce my record for cocking up a conversation.

“Fuck, I can’t describe it…,” I groan. “Just... I feel like I can get to know you better through the music.”

“Know me better,” Baz scoffs under his breath, standing up and taking his violin with him to his desk to rummage through his drawers. He pulls out something that looks like a shiny set of large metal teeth.

“What in Houdini’s hat is that?” I ask.

“My practice mute. Something I dearly wish came human-sized.”

He slams the drawer shut and spins around to face me. “You think knowing I’m a vampire means you know anything about me,” he sneers. “No one has the privilege.”

I get up and block his way back to the bed.

“I know you hurt. That you feel alone, and angry, and…” My voice trails off, and I’m sure I’m making that daft face I make when words are out of reach because Baz is staring at me like I’m the one speaking a different language.

I start over. “It’s like the string,” I say, pointing at the empty space on his violin where the smallest wire used to be. “When you’re stretched too thin. Pulled too tight. I know what it’s like, Baz, doing what everyone else expects you to do. Being what everyone else wants you to be. Until you can’t. Until you snap.”

“Until you go off, you mean,” he huffs, looking away.

“See?” I say, stepping closer to him. “We understand each other!”

“I understand you’re fucking relentless.”

___

I can’t imagine who hasn’t been tagged yet at this point. Tagging @god-is-bready, @the-lincyclopedia, @basic-banshee, @carryonsimoncarryonbaz, @bazzybelle, @krisrix, @neck-mole, and anyone who feels compelled to share their lovely works. <3

[fuckit-hero-of-trains]

Like Rock, Paper, Scissors but Not Really Ch 1

 ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25599367/chapters/62131759

Summary: 

Rock beats Scissors. Scissors beats Paper. Paper beats Rock.

The same could be said of Water, Fire, Earth, and Air.

Water puts out Fire. Fire burns Earth. Earth smothers Air. Air dictates Water.

It seems as though their very existence should necessitate a battle. Smashing, slicing, smothering one another into nothing.

And yet, that could not be farther from the truth.

They are far stronger together than they ever are apart.

Blue has a headache.

Which normally wouldn't be a big fucking whoop. He always has a headache. He lives with three headaches. Hell, his entire existence could be characterized as one headache after another.

Not enough sleep? Headache. Too much sleep? Headache. Not enough sugar? Headache. Too much sugar? Headache. One of Green’s Puns™? Headache. Vio being a smartass? Headache. Red being Red? Headache.

Day after day after day after day like clockwork, like the tide, Blue is tormented by headaches, both metaphorical and literal in nature.

Right now, however, Blue has a literal headache. A very, very literal headache which is quickly becoming a very, very literal migraine .

He can practically feel it coming, too. Can practically feel as the low grade pounding turns from manageable– a four out of ten at most– into the actual goddess Hylia descending from on high to telepathically scream Fuck You, Blue!!!! directly into his skull; the pain all too familiar and all too fucking annoying.

Blue can feel it coming in the way the dim light of their shop begins to strain his eyes, each flicker of their too few lanterns sending clouds of fuzz and crackling stars dancing in his peripheries. Can feel it in the way the skin of his face and neck begin to prickle with needles of feverish heat.  Can feel it in the way his ears begin to clog, sound dulled as cotton stuffs itself too tightly against his eardrums, tickling uncomfortably at his brain.

Blue can absolutely feel as pressure continues to build up within his skull. Can feel as what was once a light pounding behind his eyes grows. Growing, growing, growing, ramping up in both speed and power until the blue wearing smithy feels wave after wave of pain slamming against his sinuses, rattling his senses.

He can feel how it makes his jaw clench, his teeth grind, his hands itch to reach up and tear at the roots of his hair to just get some fucking relief.

Normally, Blue would be able to deal with this type of pain in a slightly less destructive way.

Normally, he would just go upstairs, slam the door to their shared room shut so the others knew not to bug him, throw the curtains across the window so the room is cast in goddess blessed darkness, and then climb into the cool sheets of his bed, pulling the blankets over his head so he could sit and wait and wallow in his own woe is me bullshit until the world stopped trying to fucking kill him.

But alas, the world is apparently going to get a shot at his head today.

Because unfortunately, Blue can’t do any of those things right now.

Because in addition to a literal headache, Blue also has a metaphorical headache on his hands.

A metaphorical headache in the form of a man who appears to be the biggest idiot this side of Mt. Crenel.

And Blue knows Green, so that's saying something.

The absolute buffoon has been in the shop for about three hours now, just meandering from wall to wall to wall to wall, goggling blankly at the array of weapons like he can’t tell a longsword from a claymore or that the stabby bit goes in the other person.

Normally, if Blue had one of his headaches while he was manning the shop, he would just grab one of the other morons he shares a house with to cover for him. They were accommodating enough, knowing by now that a Blue with a migraine was a Blue who was one step closer to actually following through on all the threats he made.

But apparently, today the stars had aligned to make Blue's day truly terrible, really, Hylia, you've outdone yourself.

Because Green was at the castle, hanging out with Zelda. Because Vio was out in the Minish Woods, doing whatever bullshit research he was currently obsessed with. Because Red was in town, grabbing groceries.

Meaning, Blue had no escape from his headache or the increasing pain and frustration this idiot was inflicting upon him with his very existence.

Every circuit of the room, the guy brings something up to the counter, asks a question about it, and upon receiving his increasingly clipped answer, just– just fucking leaves it!!! At the counter!!! Apparently none the wiser that he’s only supplying more weapons for Blue to skewer him with.

Around and around and around the shop the guy goes, getting his grubby fingerprints all over the polished Zora spears– Hylia, was the guy eating peanut butter with his bare hands before coming in???– messing up the shelving order of the Goron digging tools, and dropping several of the Gerudo style daggers.

Blue had tried to cut this whole escapade short hours ago, had plastered a smile he had hoped looked as bright and cheerful as Red’s–all the while knowing that it had probably looked as emotionally constipated as one of Vio’s attempts at friendly– and had asked the man if there was anything I can help you find today?

But the man had just waved him off, smiling in that ditzy way that Blue swore he was going to see in his nightmares, saying Oh, no need! I’m just window shopping!

Window shopping.

Window shopping!  For. Three. Hours. Straight.

“Can I have a word with the smith?” the idiot asks, pulling Blue from his increasingly murderous thoughts, placing yet another weapon on the counter beside the countless others he had already brought forward and subsequently discarded. “I think there might be something wrong with this sword. I mean, it's kinda messed up, isn’t it?”

Blue blinks slowly at the man, trying to stow the pain and frustration for the sake of making a sale, and then glances down at the blade in question.

It’s a beautiful, flame-bladed rapier. One Red had worked on, actually.

Blue remembers the other agonizing over the undulating curves of the blade, his more emotional brother heating and reshaping, heating and reshaping, heating and reshaping, the slightly smaller smithy covered in sweat and ash as he worked, determined to get the wave of metal just right.

Even Blue, one of the harshest critics of his and the others’ works, had to admit that Red had succeeded in that area. The sword is beautifully balanced even in spite of the curves, each metal wave uniform and masterfully shaped, rounded and yet sharpened to deadly perfection.

Blue peels his eyes up from the sword to look into the eyes of the man, hoping this might be some kind of sick joke.

It isn’t. The older looks back at him expectantly, brows raised, eyes wide, waiting for a response.

Right. Blue really shouldn't have underestimated the depths of this guy's stupidity. Not after having had an unwilling front row seat to it for three fucking hours.

He resists the urge to roll his eyes. Not because he’s trying to be polite. But because Blue can feel his headache increasing, the waves of pain becoming stronger as they grate against his skull, making the lantern light in their shop bright and piercing and too much.

He's pretty sure if he rolls his eyes, he might actually collapse due to the strain.

“Sir,” he grits instead, words hissed out from between his teeth, customer service smile too thin lipped, too full of bite to be anything considered remotely nice or polite, “Like it says on the display case, that is a flame-bladed sword. Also known as a wave-blade. It's supposed to look like that.”

“Are you sure?” the guy asks, grabbing the hilt and waving the sword this way and that for an inspection, forcing Blue to whip his head back lest he risk an untimely hair cut or perhaps being fucking decapitated.

“I mean, a sword like this is pretty useless, right?” The mouth-breather says, suddenly shifting his grip on the pommel, turning to skim an evaluative eye down the face of the blade, obliviously stabbing the air where Blue’s head would have been had he not had the presence of mind to duck behind the counter.

“And no embellishments on the pommel either,” the idiot continues with a furrowed brow, a wrinkled nose, a down turned lip as he shakes his head at the lovingly wrapped grip, completely oblivious of the smithy he almost just killed.

The same crouching smithy who can feel the skin of his face getting hotter and hotter with every word as pain and anger dance and twine in his head, his chest, until the two are indistinguishable from one another, now a single scalding geyser building pressure, about to explode.

“A pretty sad excuse for a decorative sword in my opinion,” the deadman says with a dismissive sniff. “Not only worthless but ugly to boot.”

The man’s words slice through Blue’s head, cutting through the pounding pounding pounding of his migrain, through the searing searing searing frustration, and for the briefest of seconds, Blue feels a stillness fall over him.

For the briefest of seconds, the geyser calms, becoming an untouched pond, crystal clear and unmoving.

And behind his eyes, Blue can see Red’s smile, exhausted and soot streaked but bright and proud as he holds out that very same sword to be inspected by Blue and Green and Vio. Blue can see the relief and joy spread over Red’s face, the other practically glowing as bright as the embers of the forge as he receives compliment after compliment from his brothers; a punch on the shoulder from Blue, a fond side-hug from Green, a warm ruffling of hair from Vio.

Blue can see Red, bright and happy and proud.

And Blue can see Red, downcast and sad and ashamed if he were ever to hear the words the man had just spoken.

And then all he sees is red.

The geyser erupts inside, scalding his face, burning his eyes, Blue’s migraine somehow going from bad to brain melting in the span of a millisecond, but he could care less.

No. The blue-wearing smith is more focused on the boiling in his blood, the steaming tide of anger in his veins that buoys him up despite the stabbing pain in his skull, that causes him to slam his fists down on the counter in front of him, forcing the absolute, good for nothing, Hylia damned, FUCKFACE to cringe away from the sudden noise as he finally notices Blue once more.

“Get. Out,” Blue breathes, the searing words slipping past his lips like steam.

The man blinks twice, confused by the sudden outburst.

“W-wh–?”

“I said,” Blue repeats, sweeping Red’s sword into his left hand while hoisting himself up onto the counter with his right, drawing himself up to his full height as he levels the flame-bladed rapier with the man’s forehead, “Get the fuck out of my store before I show you just how decorative this sword can be!”

The man takes a few shaky steps back, hands up in surrender. “I-I don't–”

“Get the fuck OUT!” Blue screams with finality, voice shaking with fury and pain.

And if nothing else, at least the guy has some sense of self preservation, because with a little squeak of fear not unlike a mouse’s, he turns tail and flees, escaping out the door before Blue even finishes yelling.

Not a moment too soon either.

Because the anger, the shouting, the change in position; the heat of it all rushes to Blue’s head. The fuzziness that had been clouding at the edge of his vision increases four-fold, the twinkling monochrome stars widening into black holes that eat at Blue’s eyesight as the tidal wave of pain in his skull collides with the magma of his fury, filling his head with rocks and steam, heavy heavy heavy and yet light light light, throwing off his sense of balance.

Distantly, Blue feels his knees buckle.

And idly, as the black consumes his vision, as the sword tumbles from his grasp so he can bring his hands up to support the growing weight of the stones in his skull, as he feels himself tilt forward, Blue wonders if the dive he’s currently taking off the counter will make him as stupid as the man who caused it.

Blue falls forward.

“Blue!”

But he doesn't land.

He doesn't crash headfirst into the floor, braining himself on their hardwood. He doesnt smash his face into the ground, breaking his nose again. He doesn't experience the added pain a fall like this should have on his already agony-addled skull.

No.

Blue falls but he doesn't exactly land because something soft and warm interrupts his dive, shielding his head and shoulders from the impact with the ground even as the rest of him bangs it’s way to the floor.

And for a second, Blue just lays there, taking stock of himself.

His head still throbs with pain, still pounds out a rhythm that sends agony from his forehead all the way to the tips of his ears. He still feels lightheaded, like the world is tilting even though he can tell for a fact that he is no longer falling. His knees ache from where they took the brunt of his fall.

But his face is pleasantly warm from where it’s pressed against fabric. Fabric that shifts gently against his cheek, up down up down up down with someone else’s slightly ragged breaths, as though they had run just before ending up in this position.

Wait, breaths?

Blue peels his eyes open, pained confusion forcing him into action despite the too bright lights still clawing at his vision, the pain digging nails into his brain.

Blue opens his eyes and all he sees is red.

A red tunic against his cheek, soft and warm. A pair of amber, red eyes gazing down at him with a mix of concern and admiration.

Blue sees Red, breathing a little heavily and sprawled out on the floor underneath him but grinning like he just won the swordsmanship contest at the Picori Festival. Blue sees Red and his battered brain puts two and two together to make Four.

Red was the thing that cushioned his fall.

Red… saved him?

“Whew. You almost took a nasty tumble there,” Red says with a relieved sigh and a smile once he sees Blue looking at him. “That could have been bad!”

“Red?” Blue asks a little dumbly because really, give him a break. He just took a fucking nose dive off a counter because his blood pressure was no doubt spiking as high as the Palace of Winds while his brain was busy melting out of his ears. Excuse him if this wasn’t exactly the outcome he was anticipating.

Red, meanwhile, doesn't even skip a beat.

“Nope! It’s Vio.” He relaxes his face, expression falling from sunny relief to ambivalence, his voice becoming smoother, a bit dryer, as he imitates their more taciturn brother. “Could you not tell?”

Blue shoves him away with a scoff and immediately regrets it when his head rebels against him, sending a wave of pain from his forehead to the back of his scalp, forcing him to squeeze his eyes shut against the sudden onslaught of hurt.

“Careful!” Red chides him with his regular voice, having no doubt seen Blue’s wince of pain.

Hands, gentle but insistent, lock onto Blue’s shoulders and guide him up and back until he sits with his spine against the very counter he had just fallen from, his head hanging limply between his knees.

Once situated, the hands release his shoulders. One goes away entirely while the other reaches over the top of Blue’s hunched shoulders, pulling the fabric of his hood out from behind his neck and over his head, casting some much needed darkness around Blue’s face.

It’s not quite enough to keep him from squinting when he opens his eyes– the dim lantern light still throws sunspots and blackholes in his vision– but it's better than before, giving him a modicum of relief.

They sit in silence for a bit, Blue breathing through the pain in his head, Red sitting near, a hand on Blue’s knee, comforting.

“So your headache is pretty bad, huh?” Red whispers, careful to not send Blue into another throe of pain.

“What tipped you off?” Blue whispers back irritably, pulling the hood down lower with one hand as he massages his temple with the other.

Red doesn't even flinch at the words, which tells Blue that he must look even more like shit than he thought.

They go back to silence, Red rubbing soothing circles into Blue’s knee as the waves of pain slamming forward backward forward backward in his skull slowly begin to dissipate. Not into nothing, oh no,  that would be too merciful, but they lessen, like storm aided waves slowly losing steam.

“Didn't think you would be back for a while,” Blue says lowly.

“Shopping went a bit quicker than I thought it would. Not a lot of people out today. Must be the rain.”

Another beat of silence as Blue chooses his words, fishing them from the tide of his mind.

“How much of that did you hear?” Blue asks eventually, finally gaining the strength to peek out from under his hood without his brain punching him in the brain.

Red wilts a little at the question but his soothing circles don't let up for a moment.

“Enough,” the smaller smith says softly. “I was just finishing up putting everything away and thought I would stop in to let you know I was gonna be starting dinner when I, uh, heard.”

And then, with a little laugh. “He really didn’t like my sword, huh?”

“Yeah well, that guy was a moron,” Blue says with as much venom, as much scalding conviction as he can manage, some of that familiar boiling heat from before tingeing his words as he spits them out. “He wouldn't know a well made sword if he was being fucking stabbed with one.”

That startles a little snort of laughter from Red.

Blue won't admit that it makes him feel just a bit better.

“Yeah, I know,” Red says, his words a sigh, wistful yet sort of sad. Like he’s trying to convince himself that they’re true. And then, with a little smile as he leans down a bit in order to peek under Blue’s hood more fully, “Thanks.”

“Whatever,” Blue grumbles flippantly, straightening his spine and slowly, slowly , pushing himself to his feet, his hands braced on the counter for support as his vision swims. “Asshole had it coming.”

A hand sets itself gently on Blue’s elbow, ready to help guide him if need be.

“Think you can make it upstairs?” Red asks.

Blue nods and shrugs off the hand, more from habit than anything else.

“Yeah, yeah, I got it,” Blue grumbles, shuffling his way behind the counter, hood still firmly in place over his head. “I can walk up a few stairs without braining myself, thanks.”

“Okay, sure you can, Mr. Tough Guy,” Red agrees easily enough with a bright grin, though Blue notes how he still follows behind as they step through the back room toward the stairs. Still notes how he can feel the other’s eyes locked on his back as he slowly makes his way up to their room.

“Have a good nap!” Red calls from the bottom of the stairs. “I’ll grab you when dinner’s ready!”

Blue gives hima wave of acknowledgement, slips into the bedroom, and promptly buries himself under the covers of their bed, allowing the cool sheets, the darkness, and the faint sound of rain lull him to sleep.

…

When Blue wakes hours later to a night-darkened room, a cool compress on his head, an iced peppermint tea with two lemon slices on the bedside table, and three other bodies in the bed with him, he knows Red lied to him about waking him up for dinner.

But as he takes a sip of the tea, as he feels it cool his throat, his stomach, as the sound of rain outside patters softly at their window, and as Red curls up a bit closer to his side, Blue finds that he doesn't really care.

His headache is gone and he really wasn't all that hungry anyway.

Blue settles back into bed, pulling the blanket back over his shoulder from where it had fallen when he sat up, throwing his arm across Red’s side as he does. He closes his eyes, settling into the warmth of his brothers, the waters of his mind stilling into tranquility.

He’ll just demand some cinnamon rolls for breakfast tomorrow.

Yeah. Then they’ll be even.

[always-and-forever-a-killjoy]

Hello good morning and welcome to chili's- is that even the right reference? Whatever. Anyways, welcome to 'auri can't stop fucking writing about party poison and cherri cola' hours. They have such a fascinating bond ANYWAYS also welcome to a fucking trainwreck that i wrote all this morning.

Title: everybody wants to change the world

Wordcount: 2047

Summary:

Party Poison goes out, gets hurt, and chooses a different place for help than they usually would.

This has literally no plot beyond me making Poison have a bad time.

Warnings: injury, blood, death mentions.

Taglist: @wishiwasthemoon-tonight @sleevesareforlosers @stressed-depressed-emo-mess @tasteofamnesia @dagger-queen​ @no-braincells-here @piratecherricola (message me, send an ask, or reblog/reply to one of my posts if you want to be added or removed)

AO3 Link

(Actual fic under the cut)

Party Poison swore under their breath as they staggered back to the Trans Am, pressing a hand to their side. They were going to fucking bleed out here, outside a Mad Gear concert in Zone 4, all because they were a fucking dumbass and got themself stabbed. Because Poison could never live quietly, they didn't know how. All they knew was picking fights with random 'joys and listening to the music that blared from the speakers, way too loud and easily drowning out their thoughts. Now that was catching up to them, they guessed, as they slid into the car and put their bloody hand on the wheel.

"Home we go, baby."

No. Not home. Kobra had said, Kobra had told them 'don't go out and get hurt again, don't go picking fights, dumbass'. And Poison had gone and done it anyways. Gone and been a fucking idiot, as Kobes would say. So no, they were not going back to the diner yet. Not bleeding this heavily, anyways. The Girl didn't deserve to see this, nor did she deserve to watch them and Kobra fight about it.

That left Poison with the question of where, exactly, they were going to go. There weren't a lot of people in the world they trusted to see them like this, injured and exhausted and close to crying because it all hurt, it always had. In fact, most of those people, four of them, lived in the old diner where they couldn't -wouldn't- go. Most of those people...but not all of them.

Poison turned the Trans Am to a different path, speeding towards a little radio shack in the middle of the desert. If nothing else, they knew Dr. D would be happy to fix them up and send them on their way again, and then they could head back to diner late at night when no one was awake and no one would need to know they had gotten stabbed like a dumbass.

Unluckily for them, it was one in the fucking morning, and Dr. D was soundly asleep when they stumbled into the station. They assumed, at least, given that he was nowhere to be seen and the radio station was quiet. Empty, in fact. Or at least the living room was. Poison stumbled towards the broadcasting room, hearing a low voice from that direction.

Cherri Cola looked up they stumbled in the door, pausing in the middle of reading off a poem. "Poison?"

"Pepsi! I got stabbed." Poison tried to grin at him, the smile turning into a grimace at the pain in their side.

Cherri stared at them for a few moments, then turned back to the broadcast. "Well, WKIL listeners, I'm afraid this where I leave you for tonight, given that we've got a bit of a situation going on, but I should be back for later this night- well, this morning, technically, I'd say we're coming up on one am now. Cherri Cola, signing off." He turned back to Poison with a sigh. "Where did you get stabbed?"

They tried not to be offended at his huff. "Here. Where my hand is."

Cherri stood, gesturing to them to follow him back to the living room area, where he grabbed a first aid kit. "Lay down on the sofa, that much blood means I probably need to stitch you up."

"Great."

"I'm going to peel back your shirt, okay? Only as far as I need to clean and stitch it," Cherri promised.

Poison shrugged, pulling their jacket off before they laid down. "Do what y'have to."

His hands were scarred and calloused, the skin rough, but he was gentle when he pulled the bloody fabric away and started cleaning out the wound. They gasped in pain anyways, gritting their teeth as their side sent flickers of agony running through them.

"Sorry, sorry," Cherri said quietly. "I promise only a bit more to go, I just need to stitch this."

Poison nearly screamed when he started the first stitch, letting out a strangled yelp instead. "How much longer?"

"Three more stitches, then I'm done."

They gritted their teeth again, clenching their fists by their sides as he tied off the next stitch, and the next, and the next.

"Okay, done." Cherri set the needle aside, closing the first aid kit. "You okay?"

Poison would have laughed if they weren't in so much pain. "Of course 'm not fucking okay. Why would I be fucking okay?"

They hated the pity on his face as he gently scooted them over to sit down next to them. "Silly question, I'm sorry. What's wrong?"

Poison could have been dignified, but they chose to lean against him instead as the feelings they had been bottling up came pouring out. "Everything. Everything is wrong because Kobes is always angry and Jet's always sad and Ghoul's scared and Motorbaby shouldn't have to grow up here, shouldn't have to see us fall apart. What's the point? What's the point, Cola? What are we fighting for? Is there even a future ahead of us? What's even the point of life?"

"Honestly?"

"Honestly."

"There isn't a point." Poison gaped at him. "There isn't a point to life, not unless you make one. You have to decide what you want, what's worth fighting for."

The words fell softly into the quiet of the radio station, shattered by Poison's harsh voice. "And how the fuck am I supposed t' do that?"

"It's hard to describe, but..." Cherri trailed off. "Find what means something to you. What you love. For me that's poetry, and Newsie, and D and Pone and you and your crew, and the stars. Also, Mad Gear, they're vastly superior to Benny and the Trampolines."

Poison managed a small laugh. "True that. But what is the point, to you?"

“Well, in the simplest form...the point of life is happiness.”

“I thought the point of my life was to change the world,” they muttered bitterly. Maybe it made them an asshole, maybe the other was trying to help, but it was their fucking job to change things and they were tired of it.

Cherri’s voice was heartbreakingly gentle. “It doesn’t matter how big of a difference you made to the world. All that matters is that you made a different to you.”

Poison found that their eyes were stinging, tears collecting in them. “Are you sure?” Their voice sounded small and pathetic, and they hated it.

“I’m sure. You deserve happiness, more than anything else. It should never be your job to save the world, not so young. Never.”

They tried to speak again, but all that came out was a shuddering, gasping sob. Some small part of them was embarrassed, mortified to be crying in front of Cherri Cola, of all people, but the bigger part of their mind couldn’t bring themself to care. Not when their heart ached more than the wound in their side, not when Cherri was holding his arms out silently, clearly an offer.

Maybe it made them weak, but Poison took the comfort, letting themself be encased safely in the older killjoy’s arms. “I don’t want to die, Cola.” They hated how their voice shook. “I don’t want to die.”

“I know. I know.”

“I want to save everyone, I want to make a difference.” They let out another sob. “But I don’t want to die.”

“Your life should never be the price,” Cherri murmured.

“But it is. But it is! I have to- I’m going to die ch- changing the world. I’m supposed to- to save everyone, even if I have to d-die to do it.”

Poison thought they heard his usually unshakable voice waver a little. “No, Poison, no. This never should have been your job."

"Well who- who was g- going to do it?"

They couldn't see his face, but his voice was very quiet. "It was supposed to be D and I, years and years ago. Me, and D, and Lily. It shouldn't have even been Newsie and Chimp, shouldn't have been Pony, definitely shouldn't have been you. I'm sorry, Poison."

"'s okay." They found themself curling up further, head leaning on his shoulder. "Who's Lily?"

"White Lily, leader of the first rebellion, said to be one of the first of the killjoys," Cherri murmured. "Giver of plastic flower hairclips, the only person who was allowed to call Newsie 'News', and one of my three siblings. In a way."

"Oh." Another sob made its way out of their throat, but this mysterious 'Lily' was a good distraction. "Tell me about her?"

"Well, the day I met her, she was twenty-one and she asked me 'Did this softy offer you a place to stay?'..." Cherri launched into a quiet story about two kind killjoys who offered a desperate sixteen-year-old the first real home he had ever known. His voice was low, soothing, and Poison let themself relax a little bit as they listened to the story.

"D' you have any more stories about 'your day'?"

"I think I have some poems about it, actually," Cherri replied dryly. "Stories, yes, but also poems, which are easier."

"Not easier to understand," Poison muttered, but they let him half carry them back into the broadcast room and proceeded to drape themself over his lap when he started up again.

"Hello there, my late-night crash queen friends, it's me, Cherri Cola, back again. At the request of my companion, the next few poems of the corner will be about the olden days, back before you rock and rollers were out on the road." He started on a poem which Poison thought must have been about Dr. D, plenty of metaphors about the voice of the desert. After that one and one more was finished, he switched on some music and turned back to them.

"When is your crew expecting you home?"

"Don't know. Concert was over at midnight, but they know I sometimes stay out later. For all I know, they all went to bed."

"I'm going to radio the diner, if that's okay?"

"Don't want them t' know I got hurt." Their words were mashed up more from sleepiness than blood loss by now.

"I'll say you got lost." Cherri's tone was joking, but his voice grew serious again as he went on. "Or I'll just say you're staying here tonight, you don't owe them an explanation of why. You do owe it to them to make sure they aren't worried for you, though."

"Okay." They felt rather schooled, staring down at the perpetually dirty floor of the radio station as Cherri fiddled with the radio.

Eventually, Fun Ghoul picked up, sounding sleepy. "Hello?"

"Hey, Ghoul."

"What is it, Cola? You got word of Party?"

"They decided to drop by after the concert, so we're hanging out tonight. They'll be okay, just too tired to drive the Am safely. I'll send them back tomorrow morning by the time you need the Trans Am for anything, but please tell the others not to worry."

"Gotcha. Motorbaby got sleepy, took Jet and Kobra to get her to sleep 'cause Pois is out, then they conked out. I told them to. But if they wake up, I'll tell them, and I won't worry toooo much. Tell Pois I said hi!"

Poison was incredibly thankful Ghoul had picked up instead of one of the other two, since xe wasn't the sort to ask many questions. Kobra would have been suspicious, and Jet would have been pretty decent about it but concerned. And Poison didn't need those two's concern right now.

"Right, well, sleep well, Ghoul. Pois says hi," Cherri said. That was technically a lie, since Poison hadn't said anything, but they didn't really mind. Ghoul deserved some reassurance, even if it was false.

Cherri clicked the radio off. "Right, my stabbed friend. I've got some more broadcasting to do, but you're welcome to stay."

"You're an insufferable bastard," Poison yawned.

"Yes, I am. Sleep well, Sleepy Poison."

Poison had absolutely not intended in any way, shape, or form to fall asleep on Cherri's lap, but they found themself yawning again as he started on another poem. And before they or he had a chance to say goodnight, they were out like a light.

[unbottledchaos]

The Greater Good | Ch. 8

Just the Three of Us

CW: negative self-talk, self-hatred, self-esteem issues, using sex to numb, using alcohol to numb

Previous chapter: x

Ao3

Just as they had years ago, Juniper and Geralt talked until the sun rose. They held each other and talked of what happened in the four years they were apart, about what happened after Geralt and Jaskier left, the things that Juniper left out when catching up with Jaskier.

Juniper hadn’t spoken as much as she did that night than she had in the last four years.

Though it was difficult to say goodbye again given that the time since the last one was so unexpectedly long, Juniper and Geralt knew that they couldn’t spend the whole day in bed. Not that day anyway. Juniper watched Geralt walk down the corridor, looking back at her with a sweet smile, love drunk. When she turned to go back into her room, she was met by Triss.

“Triss,” she said quietly, instinctively reaching out. Juniper was always the rescuer. Triss pulled away from her and walked past into Juniper’s room, their bodies breezing past one another like two strangers passing on the street. Juniper breathed in the scent of her—clementines and mint—a scent so familiar to Juniper that she felt her gut twist with guilt.

A scent that reminded her of sun-soaked sheets latent with the smell of sleep and late night kisses, mornings in the garden, holding hands under the table, best friends, lovers.

Juniper shut the door as she went back into her room, knowing and dreading the conversation ahead.

The sun leaked in through her bedroom windows that overlooked her garden. It was a beautiful, golden day and as she stepped into the light that cascaded over her bed, she felt an instant warmth. But that didn’t prevent the chills she got from Triss’s cold glare, but Triss was not the bad guy. She sat next to Triss at the edge of her bed where she was fiddling with her shirtsleeve, a habit that she picked up from Juniper.

“Triss—”

“Juniper,” she interrupted. “I know. I knew this was going to happen, though I hoped that it wouldn’t.” She looked away from Juniper, out past the dust motes dancing in the sunlight in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows. “Why didn’t you talk to me first before spending the night with him?” Her voice lost strength, her shoulders falling with her confidence.

“I don’t know—I don’t know why…” She was telling the truth. Juniper had no idea why she and Geralt couldn’t stay away from each other, why they couldn’t bear to be away for more than a few minutes.

“You know why June!” She raised her voice, standing as she did. But Juniper didn’t know, she looked up at her once partner, her best friend. Tears threatened to spill down Triss’s beautifully round and freckled cheeks. Juniper looked at her hands clenched into fists at her sides.

“Triss, what are you talking about?”

She looked defeated as she scoffed. “Now you’re just making me look stupid. I mean, were you just using me until he found you? Was I just a body to fill the empty space in your bed? Because you could have done that with anybody—you have.”

Juniper tried to reach out to Triss, but she pulled away. “I wasn’t using you, Triss. I have a lot of feelings for you,” But she could never tell Triss that she loved her, because deep down she knew that what she felt wasn’t love. “I don’t understand what you’re saying. I honestly don’t. I didn’t expect to ever see him again. I spent years looking for him, but never found him. Day after day. But then I met you…” She fell off quietly. “I didn’t expect things to change so quickly. I know we’ve talked about the possibility, but I didn’t think it would happen.”

“I didn’t think it would hurt this much, but don’t you understand, June? When you healed him, took his pain, you bonded yourself to him forever. You took on pieces of him that would never keep you apart. Parts of him are you.” She said, pointing to her.

Juniper froze. She felt as if the floor had dropped beneath her. Did Geralt know this? Was this some kind of love curse? Were her feelings even real? Were his?

Triss rolled her eyes. “You had to have known,” she paused, seeing Juniper’s reaction which was pure confusion. “Right?” Her fists fell softly open at her sides.

Heat creeped up Juniper’s neck and she chewed at the inside of her cheek. “No,” she sighed through gritted teeth. “I didn’t.”

“Sorry, June. Regardless, we can’t be together. We shouldn’t have in the first place. I should have known this would happen.” She shook her head as she walked towards the door, beating herself up for letting herself be used, for letting herself fall in love.

“Stop catastrophizing." Juniper spat. "As if you knew this would happen, because that’s definitely not true.” Even as Juniper spit out those words and knew that she couldn’t take them back, she knew it would push Triss away. “I guess what we had wasn’t real anyway, so don’t feel so bad.” Juniper looked away from Triss as she said the words that would make things easier, she couldn't bring herself to see how much the words hurt. 

“What we had,” Triss breathed, shaking her head. “I should go, June.” Before leaving, she turned back. “I’m sorry it had to be this way. Good luck with your destiny.”

Juniper didn’t look, but after a moment she heard the door shut softly. She paced with her hands on her hips, chewing at her lip. She was furious, heart-achingly so. This is exactly why I shouldn’t have let her in; why I shouldn’t have gotten close. She thought, as she found herself in front of her bathroom sink, a basin of emerald and gold. She looked at herself in the mirror, the corner of her lip rising in disgust for herself. She looked at her shit-brown eyes, her stupid pout, her pointed chin, her brows furrowed forming a permanent wrinkle between her eyes. She clenched her teeth together, her jaw tightening. She was stupidly beautiful, but if you looked close or long enough, there was something wrong, something missing. There was no soul behind her picturesque features.

Juniper hated herself. 

“How could I be so stupid?” She said, placing both of her hands on the edges of the vanity. Standing up straight, she turned the faucet, letting the water run ice cold over her fingertips. She cupped the water in her palms and splashed her face.

Numb—it was time to numb the feelings. Juniper tied her hair low at her slender neck, then tossed back several swallows of the strongest spirit on her bar cart, leaving her stomach burning. She blinked a few times to focus and dropped her robe, remembering how frail she had been when Triss found her as she felt the silk fall against her skin. Now, she had filled back out to her regular proportions, if not more muscular this time, as she had spent too many hours to count, sweating under the sun in her garden or training for battle. Her strength felt more powerful to her than her magic did.

Once again, she looked at herself in the mirror. In her greatest moments, in moments of pure happiness or ecstasy, the tattoos on her arms and her thigh would come to life, but in her darkest times, they looked as if they were sleeping. The siren on her shoulder hid behind the massive ship, afraid to come out and face whatever darkness Juniper was witnessing. She had made herself into a work of art, something she could be proud of. She touched her fingers to the poppies on her forearm, they were folded in on themselves. She looked at her reflection; her breasts were not quite symmetrical she thought to herself, but beautiful nonetheless as they pointed slightly upward. She touched the moles near her belly button, the pink scars on her sides. They looked pearly in the reflection of the sun. She smiled, thinking about the times that Geralt had touched her. The smile quickly faded as she remembered all of her questions with no answers. She clenched her fists as she became angry once more.

She marched into her closet and pulled a black shirt over her shoulders, her slightly drunken fingers fumbling at the buttons. She left enough buttons on the shirt undone so that if you were lucky, you could catch a glimpse of her bare breasts underneath. Juniper enjoyed the tease. Forcefully, she rolled up her sleeves, revealing her tanned forearms, and tucked her shirt into her black pants. Lastly, she laced up her boots before bounding down the stairs and out towards the garden shed where she grabbed her tools and got to work underneath the sun. The work was gratifying, as she knew her garden fed Myanmag’s small population and they also crafted the potions that she had been stockpiling.

As she dug into the earth with her shovel, she buried her feelings.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was long past noon when she came upon a surprise in her garden.

“Hmmm. I don’t remember planting any bards next to my carrots,” she said, wiping the sweat from her forehead, her hair sticking to her skin where it had fallen out of her hair tie. She could feel her shirt clinging to her back.

“Oh,” Jaskier said in the surprise of being found. “I uh—well, I thought I fit in well amongst the carrots actually.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes,” he said, standing up, dusting the dirt off his trousers. “Tall, lanky, good head of hair. Quite delicious if you take a bite. Or so I’ve heard.” He said with a smirk. Juniper chuckled.

“I’m sure,” she retorted, rolling her eyes.

“Wouldn’t you like to find out. Or it seems you’re interested in…other fruits these days.”

“I like all fruits, Jaskier.” She responded, quickly picking up his metaphor. “Vegetables too. I like to mix in some herbs from time to time as well.”

He put his hands up. “A woman with many good tastes is what I’m hearing.” They laughed together. “Anyway, I’ll get out of your way.”

“I don’t mind the company," She started, welcoming any distraction. "But are you going to tell me why were you really here in the first place?”

He fiddled with the tomato vines but stopped when Juniper shot him a look that told him to back off from her precious tomatoes. “Well, I—how should I put this,” He looked up to the clear sky, eyes squinting in thought. “I was feeling kind of sad actually.” Juniper didn’t say anything, she waited for him to continue. “I was thinking about how much I’ve missed my best friend, Ciri and then I started thinking about how much I want to help but then I realized,” his voice got quiet as he spoke. “I don’t have any gifts to offer.” He shrugged. “All I’ve got is my lute.”

“You can’t forget about your good looks.” Juniper said light-heartedly.

Jaskier smiled softly. “But that’s not going to help take down Nilfgaard.”

Juniper thought for a moment when an idea came to her. “Have you ever used a sword before?”

Jaskier returned an intrigued look. “A few times, but why?”

“I can train you to fight, Jaskier.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Always keep your eyes on the opponent, but we aware of your environment. Never stand still,” Juniper coached from under the willow tree as she watched Jaskier fumble with the sword in his hands as he stood in front of the dummy that Juniper had crafted to practice. She needed her skills to remain sharp, she would always be one step ahead; never caught off guard.

Jaskier dropped his arm to his side and brought the other one up to shield his eyes against the waning afternoon sun and looked to Juniper in the shade as she lounged. “Can I take a break?’

“Will you take a break when Nilfgaard has a dagger at your throat?”

“C’mon Junie. This isn’t for real this time.”

“Why don’t you take a break and watch how it’s done, Jaskier.” Both Juniper and Jaskier turned to the deep voice that had come from the side of the hill—Geralt. Juniper and Geralt hadn’t seen each other since the night before and anger boiled inside of her as she stood. Geralt nodded towards her, waving her to the battleground, challenging her.

She took her sword from Jaskier and curtsied acrimoniously. “It would be a great honor to kick your ass, Sir Geralt.” Jaskier chuckled as he fell to the ground underneath the tree, tossing his head back in laughter. Geralt glared at him out of the corner of his eye.

“How do you know you’ll win?” He grumbled.

“I always win.”

[spicycreativity]

Soft-Shoe Shuffle - Ch 10

Chapter: 10/12 Additional Notes: See Ch 1 for more information. Read on AO3 under "WizardGlick." Any formatting/italics errors are holdovers from AO3 that I was too lazy to fix. Chapter Content Warnings: N/A; ask to tag Excerpt: "I'm the scary one," Remus muttered in Janus' ear. "Not you. So don't ever scare me like that again, okay?" Janus considered the humor-to-consequences ratio of falling limp in Remus' arms and decided it wouldn't be worth it. "I won't."

If it all falls down, falls down, falls down

I can warm a crowd, I can make them shout

I can juggle verbs, adverbs, and nouns

I can make them dance 'til they all fall down

Janus woke up exhausted, which really wasn't fair considering the amount that he'd been sleeping lately.

Someone was stroking his hair, which was nice. Probably Remus. Remus wouldn't care that Janus' hair was stiff with dried sweat and that he hadn't brushed his teeth in who even knew how many days.

He shifted and nuzzled Remus' thigh.

Realization dawned slowly. Remus' nails were longer than this, Remus didn't smell like this, Remus had never sat still like this.

Janus couldn't even bring himself to be embarrassed at the mix-up. He was too tired and sore to really care who was petting his hair like this.

Except that it was probably Patton.

Subconsciously, Janus pulled the teddy bear closer to his chest. It had to be subconscious, because he would never cuddle a stuffed toy on purpose.

Janus opened his eyes.

Patton withdrew his hand like he'd been burned. "I'm sorry," he said, cheeks coloring. "Did I wake you up?"

Janus shook his head. His skin still tingled where Patton had touched him and he wanted it back so badly , but he didn't know how to ask.

"Remus made me promise I'd go get him next time you woke up. Well. Logan made me promise. Remus threatened me. Anyway!" Patton was already halfway to the door.

He was gone before Janus found his voice. "Don't go," Janus whispered to the air.

A moment later, Remus came barreling in with Logan in hot pursuit. Then came Virgil, then Patton again, and finally Roman.

Logan lunged forward to try to catch the back of Remus' shirt, but he was just a split second too late. Janus braced for impact, but Remus only fell on his knees by the bedside and pulled Janus into a tight hug.

"Awww," Patton cooed from the doorway.

"I'm the scary one," Remus muttered in Janus' ear. "Not you. So don't ever scare me like that again, okay?"

Janus considered the humor-to-consequences ratio of falling limp in Remus' arms and decided it wouldn't be worth it. "I won't."

Remus pulled back and made a lewd hand gesture. "Scout's honor?"

Janus manipulated Remus' fingers into the correct position and held his own hand up as well. "Scout's honor."

Remus nodded in apparent satisfaction, so Janus grabbed his shoulder and used it to haul himself upright. Virgil and Patton fidgeted by his desk while Roman leaned against the doorway and Logan hovered behind Remus.

"Well," Janus said, trying to sound better than he felt. "As you can see, I've died. Virgil will handle my estate, so please direct your concerns to him."

"Like I want all your pretentious steampunk crap," Virgil mumbled, looking around at the leather and brass and hardwood.

"It's art deco," Janus and Logan said at the same time, albeit with very different intonation.

Janus squinted at Logan, who seemed to take this as his cue to speak. "You need to eat something."

"Like a dick!" Remus crowed.

Janus sighed, expecting an uproar, but nothing more dramatic than general collective eye-rolling and awkward throat-clearing occurred in response.

Logan carried on, "Something light like chicken broth or dry toast." He cocked an eyebrow, indicating that this was a question.

"Goodness, however shall I choose," Janus said, trying and failing to keep the venom out of his voice. He did better on stage than he did under a microscope, yet here everyone was, studying him. It was all he could do not to squirm.

Patton's voice echoed in his ears suddenly:

He never asks for anything, he just talks around it until you figure it out on your own.

"Could you…" Janus balled both hands into fists. "I want…" He squeezed his eyes shut and expelled a breath through his nose."I just love that you're all in here staring at me. It's not awkward at all. " He fixed his gaze on the ceiling, only just managing to hold back a frustrated curse. Another failure. Another reason for the others to go back to hating him.

"Oh, gosh!" Patton said, but he didn't sound hurt or angry. "We're sorry; it's probably overwhelming to have us all in here at once, huh?"

Janus nodded, not trusting himself to speak. The feeling had grown uncomfortably familiar as of late.

"We'll let Logan look you over," Patton said. He shuffled out of the room after Roman, waving for Virgil to follow him.

Remus winked and wiggled his tongue at Janus. "Have fun playing doctor." He bounded out and shut the door behind him.

"So," Janus said, fidgeting with one of the teddy bear's ears. "He and Roman can stand to be in the same room as each other now?"

"It helps that they were both quite worried about you," Logan said. A pause. "As was I." He preoccupied himself clearing off a space on Janus' nightstand, willing a plate of dry toast into existence, then methodically taking the cap off a bottle of Gatorade and inserting a white bendy straw.

"Plastic straws are killing the sea turtles, you know," Janus said.

Logan looked at him, puzzled. "Rest assured, this one will not and indeed, cannot find its way into the water supply." A moment later he said, "Oh. You were making a joke."

"It's polite to laugh."

"Please excuse my rudeness, then."

Janus smiled. "I think Remus likes you," he said to cut the tension.

Logan tilted his head at the nightstand. "Why?"

Janus took the hint and began pulling the crust off a piece of toast. "I just have a feeling."

"Hm." Logan thinned his lips, but did not press the issue.

"Logan?"

"Yes?"

"What happened? When I was…"

"Incapacitated?"

"Sure."

Logan pushed up his glasses. "You were in a state of delirium for approximately five days. What is the last thing you remember?"

"Clearly? I had a conversation with Patton about… certain choices I had made in regards to Roman." Logan raised an eyebrow but did not interrupt. "It gets hazy after that. You and Patton were in my room, I think. And… I'm not totally sure this happened, but I seem to recall trying to apologize to Roman."

Logan nodded. "You did. Then you fainted in his room, and the ensuing chaos actually led to the temporary resolution of several interpersonal conflicts we had been experiencing."

"Just according to plan," Janus said, steepling his fingers. Logan didn't laugh. "Another joke."

"Please eat your toast."

"Alright, alright." Janus finished picking the crust off one slice and took a hesitant bite.

"Good." Logan nodded in approval. "To further answer your question, Remus has enacted a truce with Patton, Roman, and Virgil. Which essentially means that he agreed to 'tone down' his more distracting behaviors and the others would refrain from, ah…" Logan checked his note cards. "'Getting their strawberry-flavored edible panties in a twist'."

Janus nearly choked on his toast and made a hasty grab for the Gatorade. "How sweet."

"Yes, the sugar content of Blue Cherry Gatorade is regrettably rather high-- Oh. Yes, I suppose it was rather nice of everyone. Virgil also ceased his self-isolation for the sake of seeing you and talked a little about his feelings, as did Roman."

"Hmph." Janus shoved the rest of the toast in his mouth so he wouldn't have to talk. It had been his goal to fix everything, but not quite like this. Not at all like this, actually. He had become another piece on the chessboard, and not even a powerful piece like the queen. No, he was more like a bishop, moving laterally to move forward. And now he had no idea how to get what he wanted.

"Interestingly," Logan said. "I believe it was your involuntary display of vulnerability that led the others to treat each other more gently.

"I get it, I'm the hero," Janus said sourly. Hooray, he'd solved Patton's problems by running around like an idiot. How impressive.

"I was… I was trying to make you feel better."

Janus smiled despite himself. "Thank you. Really."

"Something is bothering you," Logan said. "I can't tell what it is. I had thought you might feel embarrassed, but you are handling matters very calmly, despite the fact that you have a tendency to raise your voice and lash out when agitated or threatened. This leads me to believe you are experiencing a different negative emotion, but I cannot identify what it is or why." Logan paused and cleared his throat, his eyes downcast. "This bothers me because you are my friend."

"I couldn't possibly be tired," Janus snapped, realizing a split second later he'd inadvertently proven Logan's point. "Oh."

Janus sighed and flicked over his metaphorical king, albeit in his own way. "I'm not thinking about all the ways a relationship with Patton could go horribly wrong."

"But you have a relationship with Patton--" Logan's eyes widened. "I see. Are you concerned that your feelings are unrequited?"

"Well, that and the opposite."

"I don't follow."

"Virgil told me that if I break Patton's heart, he'll break me . Literally."

"You're afraid of Virgil ?"

Janus ran his fingers over his temple and took in a breath while he waited for Logan to put the pieces together.

"You're afraid you'll hurt Patton."

"I'm not exactly known for my communication skills."

"Have you tried speaking sincerely instead of hiding your intentions with sarcasm?"

"No , the thought has never crossed my mind."

Logan smiled. "It was a joke."

Janus didn't hiss at him.

Logan continued, "I do think you should try to be honest with Patton."

"Easier said than done."

"But it can be done."

"I'll...think about it." Janus waved a hand to dismiss the topic.

[inkribbon796]

What He Holds Dear Ch. 2

Summary: Word around the city tends to spread like wildfire. Everyone knows Illinois keeps a lot of secrets. Up until now his lack of a constant weakness has kept those secrets under lock and key. But now he has a fiancé. The Host is a foreboding force in the city with many of the Author’s enemies looking to get revenge. And word spreads fast that the Host is dating a doctor.

A/N: It’s Valentine’s Day. Instead of doing an all-couples event like I did last year I’ll focus on just two of them.

Warning for kidnapping, and a very scared Eric.

Chapters: 1, 2

Chapter 2: Disaster Date Night

Eric was having a normal day. It was Valentine’s Day and Illinois had promised Eric an amazing dinner.

Which to Eric. Illinois could have taken him to a fast food restaurant in sweats and Eric would have thought it was the most fancy thing in the world.

But he’d been given a suit, one that didn’t quite fit him but he had put it on. Illinois took him to a really nice Mexican restaurant and Eric felt so nervous and out of place, and thought that Illinois looked so amazingly handsome.

Currently his only real problem was that he was so enamored by Illinois just being there that all he was contributing to the conversation was smiling and nodding.

But eventually he slipped off to go to the bathroom. A combination of actually needing to go and the anxious claustrophobia of other people in the room.

So he walked into the bathroom and while he was washing his hands, noticing that some dirt had gotten into his nail, he was hit in the back of the head by some force and in an instant he was out.

The next time Eric came to, he had a minor headache blooming in his head. He felt disoriented and scared. Everything was black and in that fear, his hands started making little explosions. Since they were tied behind the chair he was sitting on, his arms and back bloomed with pain.

And he wasn’t the only one.

“Fuck! Fuck! Stop!” In Eric’s panic he didn’t recognize the voice. It was Dr. Iplier. He was tied back-to-back with Eric. The young man’s hands almost on top of the Doctor’s arms. Iplier’s eyes were similarly blindfolded.

A strong smell was placed almost right underneath Eric’s nose and as he inhaled the substance it calmed him down, magically drugging him so he stopped freaking out.

“Hey kid,” Iplier tried to help. “It’s me, Iplier, you okay?”

“Hmmmm,” was Eric’s only response.

Iplier gently tapped Eric’s hands before gently taking it. Eric’s hand felt dangerously warm. But he was calmer — by force — he couldn’t keep hurting the doctor.

“Who’s there?” Iplier demanded. “I know someone’s there! What did you do to him?”

“He’s merely calmed with a very mild sedative,” a voice told him. “You’re welcome.”

Iplier tried to pinpoint where the voice was coming from. It sounded distorted.

“Look, I hate the Author but this is dangerous, you fuckers are all crazy. If we don’t clear out fast enough.” One of the voices, a deeper one, sounded angry.

“All we need is information,” another voice, slightly lighter but no less determined. “That’s the important part.”

“I’m not saving you if this goes tits up,” the mobster grumbled and walked over to Dr. Iplier. A smile on his face.

“Okay lover boy, let’s make this easier for all of us,” the mobster grinned and grabbed Iplier by the hair roughly, craning his head up. “We’ve got some questions. You’re the old bastard fucking that freak of nature aren’t you?”

“That’s none of your business,” Iplier spat.

Iplier got punched in the face for that, making Eric whimper in fear at the sound of Iplier getting hurt. He was trying to fight the haze over his mind but it felt like a weighted blanket he couldn’t kick off.

“Don’t be a smartass,” the mobster snarled. “Everyone knows who you are. You’ve shacked up with that sadistic freak.”

“He’s not who you think he is,” Iplier insisted.

“Yeah I bet he’s a real sweetheart,” the mobster patronized. “A Libra who likes to take long walks on the beach.”

Iplier gritted his teeth and fought the urge to sarcastically remark that Host wasn’t a Libra.

“If you could ask the real questions, we would appreciate it,” the second voice ordered.

“I could shoot you and I would probably get away with it,” the mobster snapped.

“We outnumber you right now, don’t try it.”

At that comment, Iplier tried to listen for another person but there were no signs to let him know if the person was bluffing or not.

“Fine,” the mobster snapped. “To hell with you and your stupid questions. Is the Entity’s body dead?”

“What?” Iplier asked.

He was punched in the face again, this time breaking his nose and making him scream in pain and anger.

“The Entity,” the mobster growled. “Is he dead?”

“How should I know?” Iplier snapped. “I’m not that asshole’s doctor.”

The mobster opened his mouth to speak, which is precisely when an aluminum bat made contact with the back of his skull. Cracking the man’s skull and killing him instantly.

Then the Host glared at the only other occupant in the room, a demon hunter in a mask. The hunter took a fearful step back at the sight of the blood running down from the Host’s face and the narrations that left them as metaphorically bare as a newborn, and felt the muzzle of a handgun pressed against the back of their head.

“Our turn for questions, asshat,” Illinois threatened.

“Ills?” Eric was semi-roused from his haze.

Illinois glanced at him, “Just taking out the trash, dulcito.”

“Illy,” Eric pleaded, starting to cry and limply started to struggle in his chair.

“Illinois should tend to his fiancé,” the Host told him and with a signal from the Host the Entity dragged the hunter through and into the Void for a nice, long interrogation. The hunter’s scream echoing in the room as they were violently and painfully dragged in.

Illinois raced over to Eric, waiting for the Host to thoroughly clean up the blood and evidence of death from the mobster before lifting his blindfold. “Eric, dulcito, honey. I’m here now. Don’t worry I’m here.

With a few, careful words the blindfolds and binding disappeared and Iplier blinked in disorientation.

As delicately the Host could he used his words to reset the doctor’s nose, setting it back to normal. Then with a few more words all the people in the room disappeared from it and suddenly appeared on the back balcony of the Manor.

Eric and Iplier were sitting on the comfiest seats as their partners stood in front of them. Illinois rushed back in to comfort Eric as the Host hovered around Dr. Iplier.

“I’m so sorry I let them take you dulcito, can you ever forgive me?” Illinois begged desperately as he frantically kissed Eric’s hands, almost begging wordlessly for permission to move further up his arm. “Did any of them touch you?”

“I-I’m fine,” Eric was hiccupping through his sobs.

“Does the Host’s doctor have any other injuries?” The Host asked. “The Host regrets not being able to remove the assailants sooner.”

“I,” Dr. Iplier paused. He knew that the two of them had killed his assailants. Iplier knew it, and the Host knew it. “I’m fine.”

“Is the Host’s doctor sure?” The Host asked.

Unsure of what would actually leave his mouth, he nodded.

The seer let out a controlled sigh, “The Host could not bear it if his doctor was grievously hurt for something the Author had done.”

Iplier planned to say something reassuring, that killing people who meant to do him and Eric serious harm didn’t exactly qualify as a heinous act. That it was self defense. But at that exact moment Dark stepped through, his ringing shrill and his usually greyed out effect even more saturated.

“I have some more names, we’ll discuss the details later,” Dark promised and pulled out a small wooden case and passed it to Illinois. “I have business to attend to, I’ll be with Google if anyone needs to speak with me.”

“Alright,” Illinois said, noticing that Eric was curing protectively into him.

Then Dark was gone, heading through the balcony door and disappearing into the house. Leaving Illinois and Host with their partners.

Illinois sat next to Eric and popped open the box to find two little pins inside. Both of them were silver quill pins.

The adventurer took one of them out and offered it, pleading, “Eric, I’m going to make sure no one can hurt you again.”

Eric nodded, but Iplier spoke up. “What are those? What do they do? And why should we put on anything Dark gives us?”

Looking conflicted, Eric stared at the quill, and then at Illinois. Illinois looked back at Iplier. “They’re the same as our trackers except Host and I can track them. I guess yours is mostly cosmetic, Ip.”

“And that has your aura?” Iplier questioned. “Won’t that allow Dark to teleport to us?”

“Ours allow him to know where we are, his aura does the rest,” Illinois admitted. “If he feels one of us going through an anti-magic barrier like that one you all have down at the station, he’ll go to the other side of the field and figure out how badly he needs to intervene. In your base, I think the two of you should be safe. No intervention needed.”

“O-Okay,” Eric allowed, uncertain. He let Illinois replace the little star he usually wore with the quill. The adventurer held the star out to the Host.

The star disappeared without the Host needing to take it. Only taking a couple words to accomplish. Illinois delicately kissed Eric on the cheek. “I thought for a bit that when we’d find you again, my luck would have run out. I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“The Host can return Dr. Iplier to his hospital, or would he rather the Host take him back home?”

“The hospital, everyone’s probably worried about where I went,” Iplier sighed.

“As the doctor wishes,” the Host’s eyes bled a bit more and the case Dark had given Illinois in the seer’s hand. The two men gone from the balcony.

It left Illinois and Eric cuddled up together on the balcony. Eric was happy to see Illinois again, and Illinois happy to just have Eric alive. That he was still holding someone who was breathing and their heart was beating.

They wound up on the couch in the living room. Illinois calming down to the gentle sound of Eric’s still beating heart.