#this is not a withers hate page

[vampiresfromxenon]

Talked to Withers and he basically told me to stop getting distracted by Astarion (he said something about “flesh” and what not-)

KEEP YOUR BEEF JERKY LOOKIN ASS OUT OF MY RELATIONSHIP

[nikomedes]

goes on a mental journey of labyrinthine complexity, vague symbolism, and feverish thought association and emerges from my pondering chamber sweating, shaking, to respec my bg3 pc into a spear fighter

[lilyoftheviolet]

lore theorists are sooooo annoying. they wake up and try to destroy me with their analysis like what is their problem????? is violence your only option??? cant they know peace?????

[mxtxfanatic]

Bing-ge and Victim's Entitlement as Portrayed by MXTX

I was thinking about Bing-ge’s journey as an abuse victim into an abuser and how much the creation of Bing-mei is a critique on both the writing trope that creates Bing-ge as well as the societal expectations that drive it.

In the world of PIDW, one of Shen Yuan’s main critiques was about how terribly the young Luo Binghe is treated by the narrative, so much so that he views it as torture porn. From being abandoned as a baby, to being abused as a servant and watching his adoptive mother wither from sickness and die, to finding his way to Cang Qiong Mountain and suffering under a cruel shizun who then pushes him into hell, Shen Yuan finds all this unnecessarily cruel. However, Shang Qinghua knows that the trauma Luo Binghe suffers directly correlates to the enjoyment readers are meant to get out of the second half of the protagonist’s life when he becomes overpowered and primed for vengeance. Shen Yuan knows this, too, as this is the trope he girds himself with as Shen Qingqiu to work up the nerve to push his disciple into the Endless Abyss, to “earn” his happiness. However, is this a true happiness? Does the trauma justify any and all of Luo Binghe’s actions?

On the surface, Bing-ge seems happy! He is able to enact revenge on Shen Jiu—and demolish Cang Qiong Mountain Sect who acted as accomplices to his abuse—and was given narrative access to any and every woman of marriageable age who crossed his path. He is even able to destroy his world by merging the three realms with no consequences to himself. Bing-ge has seemingly reaped the twisted “reward” that having survived unconscionable abuse and abandonment from the time of his birth had sown for him, and PIDW readers were able to enjoy and defend Bing-ge’s later megalomaniacal actions directly because they had read through hundreds of pages of his ill-treatment beforehand. The worse Luo Binghe’s childhood was, the more they were willing to accept of his actions in adulthood. We see a similar thing take place in the SVSSS fandom: the reveal of Shen Jiu’s past as a child slave is used to justify his later abuse of his child disciples—children who had no hand in his trauma but who he has decided to bear the brunt of it, anyways. But Shen Jiu lived a very unfulfilling adulthood due to his unwarranted actions until his untimely death. Is Luo Binghe any different?

Enter Bing-mei: the revised protagonist who abandons revenge in pursuit of experiencing genuine affection from the only person who gave it unconditionally. No, Bing-mei doesn’t get all the girls or all the power. He does not become the emperor of all three realms and he is not an uncontested leader that all conscious beings bow to. In fact, he is very tame and controlled in comparison to his PIDW counterpart despite not having complete control of his sword that amplifies his negative emotions. But when Bing-ge slips into the world of SVSSS and discovers that, despite all of this, Bing-mei has an intact world, platonic relationships, and a shizun who loves him, he’s willing to throw it all away to experience that same life. Bing-ge is revealed to be the unhappy, unfulfilled one, because the one thing he wanted—genuine unconditional love—was the one thing that he cannot earn or forcibly take. No amount of audience hype can change the fact that Bing-ge must leave behind the happy Bingqiu couple to return to his destroyed world in his unsatisfying reality.

This isn’t just a theme in SVSSS, either; it’s present in all of MXTX’s works in how people—both characters and the irl fandom—react to antagonists and asshole characters who have experienced trauma. In mdzs: a female cultivator tries to say that Jin Ling endangering other cultivators should be forgiven “since he’s an orphan.” Jiang Cheng throws his parents’ and sister’s death around to justify being an unrepentant serial killer. Jin Guangyao cries about how much his father hates him compared to the legitimate Jin heirs that he murdered. In tgcf: Qi Rong escapes discipline at every turn because his mother had to escape with him from his abusive father, and Mu Qing’s transgressions against the marginalized are ignored because “he was poor, once.” All of these characters have their actions whitewashed both in their stories and by their fandoms at large because their defenders believe that their trauma excuses any of their subsequent behavior.

Yet, MXTX does not prescribe to this idea. Notice the pattern of how the above characters end their stories. Jiang Cheng tanks his reputation and loses the respect of his only living relative. Jin Guangyao and Qi Rong die. But Jin Ling experiences setback after setback until he adjusts his behavior, and Mu Qing had to earnestly apologize under harrowing circumstances to be forgiven. It is not characters who seek justice for being harmed who are punished in these novels but those who persevere in their entitlement to do whatever they want because they were once harmed, thereby eventually destroy any goodwill others, particularly their loved ones, had towards them. The characters who are able to contain their actions to aim only at those who wronged them or else honestly reflect on their sense of entitlement in order to change for the better become well-liked by their peers. And as for Bing-ge: his inability to change within the narrative of PIDW may have “earned” him all the material things his world could offer and the affections of an unseen audience, besides, but he misses out on true human connection and love. These are the things he can never forcibly take, because in real life, no amount of trauma would entitle him—or anyone—to those things.

[fayeriess]

⋆｡‧₊°♱༺ WILD THING ༻♱༉‧₊˚.

ellie williams x fem!reader

summary: filming a masterpiece came easy to you, despite how weak the material you were given to work with was. having to do it with someone you harbored such hate for is proving to be a little difficult. but she can simmer your spite with just a touch, can't she?

warnings: 70s au, 18+, smut, cunnilingus, fingering, sexual tension (??), mentions about the porn industry, pornstar!ellie, mentions of weed, weed usage, not proof-read

a/n: yet another reupload, haven't written an updated piece for ellie in a while but i just might after bringing back a shit ton of old works sitting in the drafts for you all to enjoy again ;)

“When I tell you that this is the best script to ever come into my hands, I mean it. But, all I’m saying is that we need some slight adjustments.” 

Glancing at the man in front of you, the twinge of hope that had developed within you just last week seemingly diminished, snuffed out with wet finger pads. You leaned back into the velvet red of the tiny seat, licking the top row of your pearly teeth, watching with low-lidded eyes as he waved his thick hands around — emphasizing how much he meant what he said. 

The sheen of sweat running down his forehead proved how harsh the heat was. More unbearable than usual as of late as the sun beamed with an orange hue through the glass pane of one of the many windows in the sizable van, mugginess forming in a thick cloud — mixing with the smoke from the lit joint between your ringed fingers. 

You crossed a leg over the other, the denim of your bell bottoms rubbing together, uncomfortably sticking to the bare skin beneath from the humidity. Guiding your fingers toward your mouth, you inhaled, listening to the crackle of the van radio as ‘White Room’ by Cream filled the tensed silence, happy toxins filling your cool mouth — the odd flavor combining with the peppermint gum that once twirled on the sides of your cheeks.

Humming, you shrugged. “Like what? Having a man fuck me instead of a woman?”  

A sheepish look came across his features, signaling that your words had made him just a tad disagreeable. You had to bite back the scoff that tried to force its way out of your mouth, shaking your head from side to side dramatically before pointing a manicured finger in his direction.

“You already know the type of shit I do, Paul.” The amused smile that painted your lips was once laced with malice. “I thought we were on the same page when you agreed to be my agent.” 

Paul was a bitter man. Then again, when aren’t men in general upset? Truthfully, you should’ve walked away from him the second you found his disgusting eyes raking up and down the expanse of your smooth legs, alcohol and a wrong impression exuding from his pores, violently washing over you in waves. He tried to chat you up but his words faltered when your eyes narrowed, the annoyance radiating off of your being at his very presence. 

As politely as you could, you told him to go fuck off — will all the disrespect in the world, of course. Eventually, he relented, but not before sliding a withered, folded paper card in your hands before leaving you to wallow alone. But alas, here you were, in the back of a fogged van on your way to film pornography. 

He put his palms up in defense, the buttons of his shirt halfway undone, giving you a visible view of curly chest hair in all its glory. Lifting the right corner of your lip, you grimaced, noting the way he frowned as soon as he saw your pained expression.

Sighing, he clapped his warm, sweaty palms together, figuring it’d be worth a shot to try once more. “I’m just putting my input out there, and -”

You interjected. “Where it isn’t needed. Thank you though.”

Narrowing his eyes, Paul waited until you sunk back into your seat, heaving out a heavy sigh before dragging a hand down his sweaty face. “Look, I know what I said about letting you do your thing with women, it’s what you’re comfortable with. But you’re audience is mainly men.” 

Bouncing your leg, you huffed, diverting your gaze to stare at something else other than him. Your nose hairs burned slightly from the scent and the stuffiness of the small area despite the small open window, it was suffocating. “Something I didn’t ask for. I do what I do for women.” 

“Obviously, but that’s not how they see it. They’re never going to see it that way. Might as well make money off of it … with someone like your audience.”

 Although he had a point, there was a part of you that could never give up on the very limited amount of queer women who enjoy what you do for their pleasure. You had once been in their shoes, scared of the consequences of touching yourself to the thought of women, guilt weighing down on your shoulders so heavily that you felt as if everyone had known exactly what you were into. It was something you had always been so cautious about — glancing at a pretty girl the wrong way, to bat your eyelashes at them as you so desperately wanted. 

The women you had been with had left you with empty sheets, and an even emptier heart, not ready to come to terms with the fact that you were exactly what they liked and not clean-shaven faces and strong-scented cologne. He was right. But, that’s not something you were willing to take with a grain of salt, nor give in like he so desperately wanted.

You took a long drag of the burning paper, reaching forward to snuff it out in the nearby ashtray on the floor before ultimately shaking your head side to side, tendrils of hair falling in front of your face, escaping the small bun you had created at the top of your head earlier. “I’ll take the risk and keep whoever’s filming with me.” 

Paul pursed his thin lips, poking his tongue out from in between to moisturize the dry flesh before nodding curtly, “Okay,” He sighed. “I guess we’re keeping Ellie.” 

At that, your eyebrows furrowed, the skin between them folding as you grew confused. The cogs in your head were overheating — and not just from the scorching heat. Paul knew your resentment toward the auburn-haired girl. Her freckled face sends the flesh of your lips to curl over your teeth in disgust for reasons unknown to everyone but you. It was a tension that always stuck like the strongest glue, hard to scrub off no matter how hard you tried.

 There was just something about her that made your heart fill with a type of emotion that you couldn’t decipher as something other than anger and spite. 

Ellie Williams.

The one person you seemingly weren’t able to get along with no matter how hard you tried. From the handful of small interactions you’ve had with the girl, she’s curt. A little bit of a bitch if anything but then again, so were you. Maybe that’s why the two of you were always going at it, words of hatred being spewed back and forth, metaphorically pushing one another’s chest, trying to see who could take things to a burning point, letting it boil over like a pot full of water on high heat. 

“I see that look on your face, mellow out.” 

You hadn’t noticed the way your nostrils were flared, the way your chest was rising up and down at a rapid pace, your breathing uneven and your hands balled into fists on either side of you. Closing your eyes, you opened your mouth to take a deep breath, letting the stale air fill your lungs before you exhaled, trying to center yourself. 

“I’m neat. Just lost my cool for a second there.” 

You glanced out the window next to him, your eyes darting to focus on any ounce of color you could spot behind the thin layer of dust that coated the outside glass. Taking in the stream of green grass that stretched as the van moved along the road, you sniffed. Paul followed your gaze, turning his torso to join your small viewing party of one. 

The rest of the ride was silent, the only sound reaching your ears, for the time being, was the quiet hum of the radio, the occasional squeak of the van when the driver would brake, and the silent mumbles that came from Paul’s mouth as he muttered quietly to himself. 

It wasn’t an ideal situation for you — having just Paul to guide you through an industry you knew only a handful about. Although the money was decent, you were thriving to achieve more with your life, looking at the porn industry as a last alternative to solve every problem that arose at every corner, chasing you down to tackle you, to beat you to a pulp. 

In a way, the green that would make its way into your greedy hands wasn’t going directly into your pockets. Instead, it was being handed to doctors at the local hospital for your mother’s care, as she had been diagnosed with some sort of terminal illness. Oh, how you loved her dearly, having been raised behind motel walls, the rent was barely paid, saltine crackers being shoved into your mouth ravenously, and inexpensive water being guzzled down your throat due to how thirsty you’d be.

 As you became older and your hair grew longer, the idea that your mother had tried everything she could with you carried on into everyday occurrences as you found yourself coming home with less than needed. It wasn’t until your friend, Jean, had come into your home, a joint and a bottle of Mateus Rose being shared between the two of you as you sat in the expanse of your small, crowded living room that you realized just how serious she was about what she was saying. 

“I know a couple of these fellas down in the city, they’re easy to convince if you bat your eyelashes a little.” She had said it as if it was the simplest thing in the world, and it was. Just for all the wrong reasons. After that, she moved somewhere deep in the valleys of Los Angeles and you haven’t heard from her since. You supposed she was doing well for herself though, having seen her in the papers a couple of weeks ago on your way to the designated filing studio for the day, stepping backward in your heeled boots, grabbing it from the stand much to the dismay of the man who was selling them. 

You were surprised, to say the least, eyes scanning across the big, bold black print. She had gotten herself in the papers for all the wrong reasons, destroying everything she had built for herself in the blink of an eye as soon as she had cheated on her millionaire husband with an even more rich, married man. You remembered the way your eyebrows furrowed in slight confusion and the ‘o’ your jaw had dropped into, the cigarette in your hand long forgotten and burning between your fingers. 

You couldn’t help but feel bad for her, your chest hurting at that path that she had chosen for herself although you weren’t one to judge considering what you were doing for money wasn’t proper either. She was on a better lane than you, trading her dingy apartment for a nice typical picket fence house in the hills, her handmade craft bracelets for pearls, and her bell bottoms for posh dresses. All that aside, she was a nice girl. 

The van came to a harsh stop, jolting forward just enough that it made you shift in your seat, and it was then that you paid special attention to the knot that had formed in your stomach. The uncomfortable feeling caused your face to scrunch up, the expression disappearing as soon as Paul looked in your direction with a smile on his stupid fucking face. 

“You ready, kid?” 

Shrugging, you licked your lips, cocking your head to the side before heaving a dramatic sigh, “I guess so.” 

Rolling his eyes, Paul nodded his head toward the doors of the van, silently telling you to join him in the outside world, figuring that fresh air would do you some good and ease the nerves along with the high you were experiencing. As the doors opened from the other side, the hairs on your arms raised from the slight breeze that the warm air brought, the sun glowing directly into your eyes, causing you to squint. 

Bringing your hands up to cover your face, you breathed out through your nose, blinking rapidly once — twice, the strain that had formed due to the light difference created a dull throb to go along with it. 

“Are you fucking serious, Jeff?” Once that voice reached your ears, you raised your head and immediately came face to face with the one person you were dreading to even glance at. She looked good, that was something you couldn’t deny. The glowing daylight behind her created a halo that made her short auburn hair shine just a little brighter, the freckles on her skin more visible in the Wyoming sun.

The expression that swirled in her green eyes wasn’t something you had the opportunity to decipher as she had turned away from you in an instant. 

Your eyes shamelessly roamed down what part of her chest was visible to you, noticing the white, collared button-down she wore; the first couple of buttons undone leaving her collarbone exposed, a thin layer of sweat forming between her sternum. Loose, boot-cut jeans hugged her hips. Her fingers looped through the belt holes causing the tucked shirt to ruffle slightly, a wrinkle embedding itself into the fabric.

Interacting with her was inevitable and you internally slapped yourself for letting something so stupid bounce across your brain. You were making an adult film with her after all. 

“Jeez, it’s just me, no need to get yourself wet.” She glanced back at you momentarily before averting her gaze once more, leaving you to narrow your eyes as you slid out of the van, stretching your legs. 

You bit back a groan at the sensation of releasing all the built-up tension and ache from sitting for so long, having come from Montana to Jackson, a grueling six-and-a-half-hour drive. The fresh air was nice, so you basked in every second of it before you would have to return to an inside setting again. 

The thought of it sent your mind reeling again, the small pang of nervousness creeping back up onto you in the form of an itch on your elbow that you scratched with your short fingernails, the skin there dry and in desperate need of hydration. 

“I’m not starting with you.” She stated, voice gruff and low as she tapped one of her polished, black pointed-toe boots on the dry dirt beneath her, the leather creasing as she did so with a cigarette in between her right fingers. You could tell she was growing annoyed, and a devious smirk tugged at the corners of your lips before you plucked it out of her fingers, putting it toward your lips to take a drag. 

From your peripheral vision, you could see her point the flesh of her lips in a frown, shaking her head slightly. It took you a fraction of a second to decide that starting a conversation with her wasn’t what you wanted to do, especially watching the way Jeff, her manager, interacted with yours, his jaw tense and teeth grinding together behind his thin lips. The sky was getting darker, the bright blue that was there mere moments ago being stained with a salmon pink, a tinge of sherbet orange below the horizon. The grass around the property was short, thriving with life, and as green as ever with different arrays of flowers, colorful and swaying in the wind.

It felt peaceful, and serene almost until the thought of what you were here for jumped out at you. 

Tapping the butt of the cigarette, you ashed it, watching as it fell an inch away from your boot, pulling it to the entrance of your lips before taking another drag, and exhaling loudly. 

Swaying slightly from side to side, Ellie watched as Paul and Jeff continued to argue, turning to you, waiting until you cocked your head in her direction at her outstretched palm. 

“What?”

She pointed a ringed finger at half of the stick still in your grasp. “Since we’re sharing now apparently, at least let me take a couple of drags too.” 

Huffing, you extended it out to her, snatching your hand back across your chest once she took it from you. “You don’t have a pack of your own?”

“Obviously not or the thought of taking yours would’ve never crossed my mind.”  Running a hand through your hair, you felt the warmness of your tongue against your bottom lip as you licked the layer of dry skin there. The silence that followed after was thick, suffocating almost until you decided with the last shred of dignity you had. “So, what’d you think of the script?”

Turning your body in her direction, you quickly scanned her up and down, taking in the way she shrugged in response before inhaling again. “It was alright, nothing worth getting excited over. Can’t expect much when it’s written by who it’s written by.”

Raising your eyebrows, you silently agreed by nodding your head, knowing exactly what she meant without her having to say too much. Troy, the man who wrote the majority of your scripts, was a creep. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that most of the men in this line of work were as weird as could be, especially when working with women such as yourself who found comfort in the arms of another woman and not a man. 

“Yeah, It didn’t make much sense but no one’s watching for the plot, I guess.” 

Ellie snorted, flicking the cigarette on the ground, snuffing it out with the sole of her shoe, and rubbing at the back of her neck with a hand after. “Yeah.” She nodded, looking off into the distance for a couple of seconds before scanning your face, her gaze lingering on your lips a little too long before they moved again. 

Standing without a word being spoken was the most comfortable silence you had ever felt in a while, so you took the peace to your advantage, your rapid heart slowing down its pace the longer you stood next to her, the wind carrying the scent of pine and cigarettes from her clothing into your nostrils, exciting your nose hairs.

The sound of soles crunching beneath stray rocks and rubble caused you to look up at Jeff and Paul through your lashes, observing how they looked at each other and then back at you. 

Clapping his hands together, Jeff pointed his thumbs over his shoulders, gesturing to the lone house on the land, his brown eyes bouncing between the two of you. 

“Okay, let’s start filmin’.” Turning on his heel, he extended the distance between you three, leaving you to catch follow quickly, the lids of your eyes shutting slowly before fluttering open again. Walking through the wide door, you found three other people gathered around a patterned sofa, their talking coming to a pause as soon as you had walked through the frame of the front door, Ellie right behind. Arnold, the cameraman seemed to be everywhere, and he was a bit of a creep if you were being honest but it was nothing you couldn’t handle. You’ve had your fair share of men being openly odd, sparking weariness within you, and raising bright red flags. Jared was the sound guy, a ribbon microphone practically always glued to the tips of his fingers every time you saw him — and that was often. 

Arnold was the first one to speak, his dark eyes swirling with happiness, a haze of drunkness in them as well. Figures. “Never thought I’d see the day where the two of you were close willingly.” 

Wiggling a finger at you and Ellie, he balanced his camera in another hand, the sound of the door shutting grasping his attention momentarily, zeroing in on Ellie when he had focused again. 

When he had opened his shit-hole of a mouth again, you had tuned him out, eyes locking onto the hardwood beneath your shoes as he explained the little plot of the short movie. Ellie was to play the ‘man of the house’ as Troy had called it, and you were the stunning wife of course, having to cook a pretend dinner and prep the dining table for a romantic night for two before the stares and touches grew heavy with need. The sex scene would take place on the island countertop in the kitchen after you had finished washing dishes. 

Filming was difficult, with time being lost from the handful of times that you and Ellie had bickered about hand placements and the way you were supposed to feverishly lock lips, which had everyone in the room in a sour mood, the negativity spreading within you as Ellie had kissed you harshly during one scene, knocking her front teeth into yours. You had yanked your head back, running your tongue across your left tooth as it throbbed slightly, not intending to shove her as far as you did, and of course, that action elicited a bunch of curses from her and a small ‘fuck, I’m sorry it was an accident.’

In hindsight, your response should’ve been a little more respectful considering that she had apologized but as she put her lips to the skin of your neck, right below your ear, it swirled out of your mind, the words that rose out of your throat being a jumbled mess of moans as she sucked at a certain spot. 

The dull throb between your thighs made you wrap your legs around her waist, creating more friction as the material of her jeans rubbed deliciously against your clothed clit. If there was one thing about Ellie that you were certain of, it was that she knew how to touch a woman, to get them flustered, to have them writhing under her touch, to make them want more.

“So beautiful. Why are you sittin’ all shy, baby?” It was as if everyone else in the room had disappeared, disintegrating into thin air, the camera a couple of feet away from you forgotten as you stared at her, chest rising and falling quickly as your heart started to beat rapidly against your ribcage. Whether that was part of the script or not was something that crossed your mind for a couple of seconds as you stared at her lips, shaking your head a moment after.

“M’ not shy.” 

Grabbing the apples of her cheeks with the palm of your hands, you cupped her face, bringing her lips closer to yours once more, your hot breath mixing with hers as you desperately clutched the back of her shirt into your fingers, knuckles growing white as your nails clawed crescent shapes into her back.

Ellie hummed against you, pulling her head back, a string of saliva stretching between the both of you before she wiped at it with the back of her hand, the way she held eye contact the whole time causing you to rub your thighs together. “Mhm, not shy but very eager.”

It was a low whisper that brought the hairs on your arms to raise slowly, the warm feeling of her fingers tapping the fat of your thighs evoking a small, unintentional whine from you. 

You didn’t care if this wasn’t a part of the script, and neither did everyone else in the room as they all waited with bated breath, their bodies rigid and tension-filled, waiting for your response. 

“Only this eager for you.”

It was true. Your experience with her was by far the best of your career and she didn’t even take unbutton your pants yet, leaving the slick that had pooled in the center of your pants, staining the crotch area, your cheeks developing a rosy tint at how embarrassingly horny you were. 

The freckled girl noticed this, a smirk pulling at her mouth as she leaned closer to you, green eyes fogged with the desperate need to please you, to have you screaming her name until you weren’t able to do so. The hotness of her breath, as it passed through her teeth, made you shudder, your manicured fingers going to rest at the waistband of her jeans, right above the small of her back. 

“You have no idea what you just started, sweetheart.” 

With that, she hastily reached for the button of your jeans, popping them open, her fingers guiding themselves onto your bare cunt, air passing through your teeth as you hissed, the coolness of her ringed fingers coming in contact with your warm flesh. 

The dry chuckle that passed her lips was laced with humor, your lack of underwear surprising her although it wasn’t written on her flushed face. “And you aren’t wearing anything else. You’re trying to reel me in, huh?” 

“Ah, shit.”

“So wet and I only just started touching you.” She drawled, her left arm wrapping around your waist to scoot you to the edge of the green laminate countertop, placing the pad of her thumb on your bud, moving it in slow circles. You clenched onto nothing, bucking your hips into her hand, urging her to press down harder. 

She complied, working her finger against you so roughly, that the slight pinch of pain one of her many rings caused as it skimmed across one of your folds spiraled into pleasure. She rested her forehead against yours, the tips of your noses touching as she continued to please your aching cunt. Biting down on your lip, a muffled moan escaped causing your jaw to grow tense at the knot that had formed in the expanse of your stomach. 

“Does it feel good, baby?” 

Nodding your head, you lifted your hips, helping her tug your jeans off fully, exposing the smooth, moisturized skin of your legs, the scratchy denim pooling at your ankles. 

Ellie removed her hand, the sudden rush of air on your exposed flesh causing an involuntary arch in your lower back. The heat of her green eyes burning at your lower half had sent adrenaline coursing through every vein in your body, even more so when you had whined. 

“Such a pretty pussy.” 

Her praises had set your skin on fire, the aching throb becoming unbearable, your arousal leaking from you once more as she shoved a finger inside of you with the help of your wetness, one of the tight rings stretching you out just an inch more. One of your sweaty palms slapped against the counter, the back of your head coming in contact with a wooden cabinet, a small ‘thud’ accompanying the action. 

Without warning, she started pumping the lone finger in and out, flexing in between your walls, enjoying the expression on your face — the way it contorted with pleasure when she’d hit a certain spot inside of you that had you silently mumbling with closed eyes, curses spilling from your lips in a low chant.

Your hard nipples were visible through the thin shirt that covered your chest, and she couldn’t stop her other hand as it weaved its way under the end of your shirt, flicking one of them harshly, a sting of pain in its wake. “Fuck.” You sighed, breath stuttering as you felt another finger slide past your hole. 

With flared nostrils, you cocked your head to the side as her lips started to suck at your neck, teeth grazing across your throat, a thin layer of saliva snailing up your neck as the skin grew red and raw, the blood cells beneath rising to the surface at the suction. 

Your entire body was hot, flushed with sweat as she pleased you as if you were the last person she’d ever have the privilege of laying her godly hands upon. You were growing addicted to her touch — as wrong as it was because your dislike for her was starting to lessen just a bit. Her fingers felt amazing, the way they curled into you, not too much but not too little that it didn’t satisfy you when it was the exact opposite. 

In truth, you almost didn’t recognize the sensation that came to you as it had grown foreign to you, along with the butterflies that would flutter within your stomach as other’s touches had rendered you numb. Not Ellie’s though. Never hers. 

With that one lingering thought, a sob rippled through your throat as you clenched tightly around her fingers, the muscles in your stomach flexing as you came, legs shaking around her frame. 

There wasn’t any time to waste, camera film was expensive after all. 

You were numb, breathing heavy and hair disheveled, eyes wide and lips parted as Ellie sunk to her knees, curling her hands under your thighs only to rest them on your lower stomach, a trail of hot, sloppy kisses being left behind starting from your knee. 

When her warm tongue cupped over you, you were a goner, toes curling within the space of your boots, the sound of her lapping at your juices sinful as she sucked greedily. 

Internally slapping yourself, you concluded that all the past bickering and sexual tension throughout the many seasons all led up to this — the best head you had ever received in your life and she had just swiped her tongue once. 

“Please, please.” You begged pathetically, hands weaving through her short auburn hair, tugging to one side harshly, causing her to moan against you. 

“Please what?” She cooed, urging you to use your words even though you were a sobbing mess. 

“Please let me feel you, I want your tongue.” 

The smile she gave you was lazy, and devious as the flesh of her lips pulled back into a smile. 

“All you had to do was ask, darlin'.'”

[utterlyotterlyx]

The Fox and The Fawn

High Lord Eris x Rhys!Sister!Reader x Azriel

Part Eight

Summary - Eris and your court grapple with the realisation that you left in order to protect them, whilst in Velaris, it becomes clear that you aren't as clueless as you seem.

Warnings - angst, depression, slight fluff, mentions of wing clipping, manipulation, slightly possessive Eris, unhinged Rhys, soft Az and Cass.

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven

The morning light drifting through the pulled back curtains was the catalyst of Eris' groan, he threw an arm over his face to shield himself from the pale yellow light fluttering through the room, a room that felt off somehow.

Frowning, Eris removed his arm from his face, squinting through his sleep-ridden eyes to peer at the person who was supposed to be curled into his side, head resting on his chest, and palms idly drifting over his skin. No one was there.

Had the night before been a dream?

Had he not basically confessed his love for you whilst you confessed that despite the distance that separated you, that you had knowingly chosen to soothe him Under The Mountain despite your own pain?

Eris tugged on that golden thread in his chest, wincing as it withered back to him, shivering in pain within his soul. Rubbing the spot over his heart, Eris realised that the bond hadn't snapped for you like it should have, like he thought it had.

Throwing the sheets from his frame, Eris' gaze darted about his former chambers, searching for any sign of you. He inhaled deeply, expecting your scent to flood him, but found his heart in his hands when only the faintest of trances of you lingered in the air.

Before Eris could truly lose his mind, he glanced toward the vanity, to where a singed square of parchment lay propped up against a bottle of perfume with his name delicately inscribed on the face.

He didn't need to read it to know what it said, but he had to, he had to see it for himself.

I can't let him hurt you. I'm sorry.

The page had wrinkled and darkened in places, and droplets of your tears stained the parchment in his fingers. The words on the page told him the answer to his previous thought, that the bond hadn't fallen into place for you, which in a way was better, it meant that everything you had felt and admitted was because you wanted it, not because you felt like you had to accept something.

Shuffling sounded from below, a smash of glass and a screech for Nesta, he moved to the noise, quickly fixing his briefs from the night before around his waist, his bare feet padding against the wood as he headed toward the commotion.

He heard Elain's words, he heard her mutter something about her vision, about snow-capped mountains and the dress that had vanished from its place draped over the mirror in your room. Red shrouded his vision like thick mist, his entire soul was threatening to rip itself apart, hating itself for not only letting you get away, but for also for not being able to feel you.

Every single fibre of his essence was searching for you, holding onto any speck of your scent that lingered in the air. He didn't even see Lucien through his haze, he only focused on the one person who knew for certain where you had gone.

Eris knew, but he needed to hear someone else say it.

The fox prowled ahead, fists clenched and eyes low, his molten bronze pools swimming with tamed fury as his soul remembered the touch of your lips against his, how you tasted of midnight skies and honey, it was peaceful. It was perfectly you. Dark but beautiful.

Nesta had frozen in place, the eldest Archeron surprisingly void of any words. Apparently you hadn't told a soul, that much was clear from the shock and hurt on their faces.

“Where is my mate?”

Eris’ palms lay flat against the countertop, the same one where he had held you only hours before, kissing you and telling you how badly he wanted to be worthy of you. It dawned on him that throughout that entire conversation, from your joint confessions to the kiss that confirmed everything he already knew, to sleeping in the same bed, you had already known that you were leaving.

Pain and sadness radiated on Elain’s features, her bottom lids pooled with unshed tears, and she fell back into Lucien who had crossed the room after Eris had brushed past him, “Wait, your mate?” Nesta took a step forward, her eyes growing wider as her mind span with the news.

Eris hummed softly, his eyes still cold and stoic, “I thought it had snapped for her last night, after we spoke, after the kiss,” his gaze softened slightly, “She’s gone back, hasn’t she?”

Nodding, Elain answered, “Yes. In the night,” after Eris had fallen asleep with you wrapped up in his arms, leaving him to wake up alone with a spot beside him void of life.

"Hold up. Your mate? Since when?"

Eris rolled his eyes at Nesta, running his hand over his face, "I think I've always known, but it was Under The Mountain when I accepted it. When she was walking the halls singing to herself," when in actuality you had been singing to him.

None of them could be angry or upset with you, you had done it to protect them, to make sure that they stayed alive and safe, away from any form of war or conflict.

“I can invoke the Blood Duel.”

It wasn’t an act that was taken lightly. The Blood Duel was a rarity, but it was also made for situations just like the one they found themselves in. Rhys thought that you were unmated, it was his main argument of focus, but he had no idea that your mate was itching to tear him apart. Eris could invoke it, and maybe, just maybe, Rhys would have no choice but to honour the bond and set you free before it was too late.

Lucien inhaled sharply, “She wouldn’t want that.”

“I can’t leave her there, Lucien.”

“We won’t,” Nesta moved to stand before the arched window, peering out at the pond which was shimmering in the sunlight, glittering even, “If I know her well, which I do, she wouldn’t have gone back without some kind of plan in place. That woman is the best tactician that Prythian has ever seen.”

“Why wouldn’t she tell us?”

Nesta turned to Elain who was equally as confused, they had left Velaris to follow you blindly, they were devoted to you, “She didn’t want us to get caught up in it,” a guess, but probably true. Nesta turned to Eris, “Don’t invoke the Blood Duel yet. I know it’s not ideal but maybe she knows what she’s doing.”

They could only hope that Rhys’ greed would glamour his senses, “And if she doesn’t?”

Eris couldn’t imagine it, what they’d do to you in that prison of a city. That other part of you had retreated each day, the darkness bowing to the warmth and light of him.

Nesta felt Ataraxia call to her and she flexed her digits in return as if she was holding it, “Then we go to war.”

“It’s for your own good, y/n.”

Rhys was waiting with open arms the moment you had stepped up to where Autumn met Winter, Azriel must have told him of your movements.

Your heart ached in your chest, everything was screaming at you to turn back and find another way, but you had to protect them from the monster stood before you.

The winter chill caused you to shiver, the skirt of your dress tugging you backward, willing you to move away, to go back to where you were safe and loved, “Promise me that you won’t hurt them.”

Smiling, Rhys extended a hand toward you, “If you cross that line, they will be spared.”

“Promise me. Promise me that you won’t hurt them, and if you do, the price will be your life.”

Rhys wasn’t stupid, he knew what you were doing, “I promise,” a familiar burning coiled up your right forearm and you glanced down to see a fresh tattoo inked on your skin, “Now, come.”

A shuddering breath moved through you, you stepped over the threshold into Winter and his hands were on you immediately. They were cold and calloused, there was no softness or love in his touch, just pride to have won.

“I apologise,” you frowned slightly, “I had to take some precautions.” Before you could ask about what he had done, you felt cold rings lock around your wrists and neck, you felt the power evaporate from your body, and you fell to your knees.

Clawing at the collar moulding with your flesh, you whimpered, “What is this?”

“A gift from a friend,” Rhys crouched down to your level, taking your chin on his fingers, “I told you that your power was unnatural, now you can’t use it at all.”

The voices in your mind had wailed, they screamed in protest as the power of the collar consumed them, the air fell still and you felt weak, almost mundane as Rhys’ power pulsed around you, relishing in being the strongest thing to now walk the earth.

“It’s a blessing,” he cooed to you, ignoring the cries coming from your lips, you tried to hook your fingers under it, to rip it off of you, but you had no strength, and the collar was already embedded into your flesh, “We can be happy,” his eyes shimmered and yours dimmed, “No more fighting.”

Drowning. You were drowning and no amount of air that you were gulping down was saving you. You were lifted from the ground and cradled to a cold chest, and all you could do was glance backward at the border, at where Autumn called to you before the world before your eyes vanished in a swirl of colour and you found yourself looking upward at a sky full of stars.

Nothing felt real.

Every step he took filled you with dread, you recognised the incline of the path, you’d know it with your eyes screwed shut. Shuffling entered your ear shot as well as the sound of gasps, you were sure you must have looked tiny in his arms, your face was stained with tears, your skin had gone pale, your eyes had darkened and stared blankly downward to your hands bundled in your lap.

Black veins snaked from the stone cuffs melted into your wrists, angry and poisonous, devouring you with each passing moment.

“Az. Take her will you?”

The room stiffened, but the Shadowsinger moved to you, he slid you from Rhys’ grip and held you delicately. The change of your scent was undeniable, and Azriel was sure that Rhys commanded that he take you so that he didn’t have to smell Eris for one moment longer than he had to.

Velaris could do nothing to soothe you, the looming mountains could only watch sadly as Azriel carried you to your room at the River House, the stars blinkered away entirely at the solemn atmosphere that coated the city in your silent fury. The princess had returned, but she was powerless, a lone bunny stalked by wolves.

Cedar used to be your favourite smell, but all it did was make your stomach churn and twist in agony, everything inside of you wanted that scent to be one of pine and cinnamon, they wanted it to belong to the person who had never been afraid of you even when you had given him every reason to be.

The knots in your shoulders writhed, your scars screamed as your power depleted, but you couldn’t bare to soothe it, it was the only thing you could feel aside from nothing.

“It’s alright, y/n. Everything is going to be okay,” Azriel kicked your door open as softly as he could, and his heart shattered into a million pieces when a single look inside sent you struggling against his embrace.

Nothing had changed, it looked the exact same as it had the night you had left, like it was waiting to you.

“Please, don’t do this. Take me back to him. Please.”

You knew that he couldn’t defy Rhys so openly, so foolishly. Azriel set you down on the comforter and knelt before you, his fingers drifted along the edge of the black stone collar, where the stone met the newly marred flesh beneath it, “I didn’t know that he was going to do this, I swear.”

So that explained the gasps. It wasn’t due to just seeing you in the flesh again, it was because of the collar and cuffs burnt into your skin. None of them knew of what Rhys had planned to do, that being to drain the life from you bit by bit, starting with your power, until you bent to his will and became his submissive monster.

Hazel connected with your own, and Azriel saw nothing but a wilting rose inside of you, broken with no chance of springing back to full bloom. Sat before him was a shell of the woman he used to know, and he had dealt a hand in your state, contributed to it, and it disgusted him.

“Get away from me,” your words struck him like Truthteller had become lodged in his heart, you had never asked Azriel to go away, you had always welcomed him with open arms and soothing words.

But the captured animal in front of him wasn’t y/n anymore, it was the frightened creature that Rhys had plucked from the forest and condemned to a life of solitude.

“Please, y/n-“

“Don’t say my name,” your eyes welled, “You don’t ever get to say my name. You’re not him, you don’t get to call me that.”

Hold on.

A shudder flew up your spine, the first bit of comfort you had experienced in what felt like a millennia, “Get out.”

Sighing, Azriel rose to his feet, he knew that there was no consoling you, no words that he could muster to make the situation better. As soon as Azriel left the room, closing the door with a soundless click, you found yourself staring out of the window at the stars that used to lull you to sleep but were now glowering in warning.

The valley sang with golden light, it drifted along the streets where childish laughter blossomed, it should have been comforting, but nothing about the moment was good. Nothing about Velaris felt safe. Gone were the days where you would stroll along the Sidra with Azriel by your side, gone were the days of harmony.

Hugging your knees to your chest, your mind floated elsewhere, wondering how Nesta, Elain, and Lucien would react once they realised that you had left. How hurt they would be by your abandonment. And Eris, you were sure that he would be feeling the worst out of them all, wondering why his words and admissions weren't able to convince you to stay.

All that mattered was that they were safe, protected by the bargain inked upon your flesh.

The reflection in the window wasn't of anyone that you recognised, she was pale, her eyes a shade of almost onyx bar the circle of wildfire in the irises, black veins protruded from the collar embedded into the flesh of her neck, her hair was loosely strewn over her shoulder. The life had been sucked from her soul and she had been left empty.

"Don't think about it," a shaky whisper racked through your body and you hugged yourself tighter. You couldn't allow yourself to crumble at the pain and grief, "You can do this. They're safe. You can do this, for them."

For Eris and the Autumn Court, for your friends, for the continent, you could confine yourself to Velaris if it meant sparing them all.

Time passed, time where the world beyond the window darkened and the golden hue of the valley evaporated into the night air, and it was during that time when another soul deemed itself worthy enough to find you.

You didn't feel him at first, for you were too dumb to feel anything, all of your fae senses had depleted, you couldn't feel anything. It was as though Rhys had locked you in a prison of darkness, where no feeling resided, where there was no knowing of who was coming to see you or what was coming next. A prison of solitude that even the fire couldn't touch.

Cassian sucked in a harsh beath as he stepped into the room, the entire space was freezing, soft whisps of air flew from your lips, and you shivered on the bed as you held yourself tightly in your arms. The Lord of Bloodshed crossed the room, perching on the edge of the bed, wincing when you angled your body away from him.

In that moment, Cassian knew that Rhys had lost his gods damned mind.

"I'm sorry," he wasn't looking to you, no, he was peering out of the window, wondering at what point life had gotten so fucked up. Anger bubbled inside of him as the stone collar around your neck sang with the power it had trapped inside of it. A monumental act that proved exactly how far Rhys would go to contain you.

"Is this how it's going to go? Rhys sends you in one by one to apologise, do you think that's going to wash away everything that's happened?"

Heavy eyelids greeted him just as the scent of you mixed with another had the moment he had stepped foot into the room. "Rhys doesn't know that I'm here."

Interest piqued, you glanced to him, noting the slouch in his shoulders, the messily thrown together low bun on his head, how his wings drooped lower than they had before, you noted the paled hue to his skin and how he sat with his elbows resting on his knees and staring at the floor, "Nesta misses you. She says she doesn't but I know that she does."

"Is she alright?"

"She's safe. I made sure of that."

Unlike you, you seemed to say, and your eyes confirmed the message.

"If it helps, none of us knew that Rhys was going to do this. Feyre is horrified."

"It doesn't help me at all actually, but thank you for wasting your breath."

It was astounding how a voice could be so vacant, like the last of the autumn breeze before the winter pierced through it. Cassian wanted to know more, he wanted you to tell him about Nesta, about everything you had found, but he knew that you wouldn't tell him, because you no longer trusted him or saw him as anything but one of your captors.

"Did you know that he threatened to kill her? All of them?"

A low growl emitted from him, "He told me of the others," and left out the threat on his own mates life, "That's why you came back. To protect them from him."

"When are you going to realise that the real monster is the one that lurks under your own roof and not the one who ran away to be free of it?"

The silence was enough, Cassian wasn't blind to the information, his hard gaze softened and he tentatively placed a hand on yours, his rough fingers coiling around trembling bone. You wouldn't survive whatever Rhys had planned for you, you were going to die in Velaris and Cassian would have to stand there as Rhys explained to the world how the darkness had consumed you.

It would be Cassian who would have to stand across from his mate and the people you had come to recognise as your true family whilst Rhys told them of your demise. He could see their faces in the forefront of his mind.

"I think I already am," no one could deny how the ways of the Night Court had shifted since you had chosen to leave. Rhys had become a feral beast prowling in the night on his hind legs, obsessing over the thing that had run away from him. "I'll find a way to get you out of this."

Cassian rose from his perch without another word, his calloused fingers slid from your own, and he left. Silence fell on you, but you looked back to the reflection in the window, to the woman that was undeniably you, and smirked.

Playing too many games might get you in trouble, Fawn.

Rising from the comforter, you drifted over to the glass, lifting the latch and opening it a few inches, allowing the songs of crickets and rippling waters to flow to you.

The rich tone of the voice made you shudder, and you could have sobbed at the sound, at how close it felt to the shell of your ear, so close that the ghost of his breath fanned over your shoulder.

I wondered how long it was going to take you to figure it out.

You could hear his smirk through his words, Nesta. A pause. Are you alright?

Swallowing hard, you replied, I'm holding on.

You're not going to tell me what he's done, are you?

No.

The stone of the collar shone in the moonlight, the shrillness of the night air brushed along it and cowered at the ward placed on its surface.

Has he hurt you?

Finding your reflection, you exhaled shakily, struggling to find the mask you had become so accustomed to wearing, Yes.

The place that you had folded Eris into began to unwind, Y/N.

I can do this, Eris. I can survive one last performance.

Eris was no doubt pacing the length of his bedroom, hair wild and eyes simmering with leashed violence. It was a blessing that Rhys was clueless to the carranam bond between you and Eris, a bond that not even his collars could touch or absorb, it was other-worldly and transcendent, something moulded to your very soul, not your power.

Pushing the rumbling pain back inside of you, channelling it to be something much more monstrous, you felt the talons of your other mind rise from the well inside of you, water sloshing over the edges and flowing through your veins like a disease.

It was the only way to do what you needed to do, what had been so masterfully done before. The mask settled onto your features and you rolled your shoulders, welcoming the monster back to the forefront of your essence, grinning at the demon that had come to say hello once again.

The kindred spirit. The one who pitied you enough to instead harmonise with you rather than take over entirely. The one who gave her power to you to wield, who was now shaking angrily inside of you by the mere act of having such power stripped away.

You have set the stage so well, my pure thing. The talons scraped against your mind, breaking through the cracks and seeping into the emptiness inside of you. Let me take it from here, let me tuck you away into the brightest part of us where no one can hurt you.

Did they really believe that you had no idea what Amarantha had done to you all those years ago Under The Mountain?

It had been your greatest kept secret.

Smiling, you let the Queen take control, you let her guide you to the warmest place of you, where the people you loved most rested and you watched on as a bystander as she got to work.

The monster wasn't just you and never had been. You shared your body and consciousness with a queen of sorts, a demon contained in a small onyx stone that had been sewn into you whilst your body had tried to heal itself from the clipping of your wings. And instead of taking over completely like it should have, instead of devouring you, the demon sought to mould with you, it sought to become one with you, and you had let it.

And all you could do was hope that there would be enough of you left to bring back once you were both done.

Authors Note

Also realised that I really need to update my master list oops xo

Enjoy! Love you all 🫶🏻

Taglist

@mybestfriendmademe @jesskidding3 @rosewood-cafe @fandomarchiveilyd @brujitafantomatico @crazylokonugget @mai-adaptive-dreams@magicstrengthandcourage @acourtofmoonlightandstars @ysmttty @lilah-asteria @circe143 @xyzmeh @paleidiot @namelesssav @amberlynn98 @acourtofbatboydreams @azrielsmate3 @ivy-34 @mp-littlebit @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @ifonlyiwerefiction @pirana10 @donttellthecats @padbaeamidla @oucereeng @andreperez11 @demonicbusiness @megscabinetofcurios @superspideyparker @usernamesarelies

[yuellii]

summer's in the air, heaven's in your eyes

𝐘𝐎𝐔’𝐑𝐄 𝐀 memory from innocent times; or, in which they fell in love with you prior to becoming a fatuus

feat. childe, la signora, scaramouche, dottore

note. reader’s gender unspecified, ajax & reader are kids in his part only ( he was 14 when he fell into the abyss )

CHILDE. ajax

Whether it was summer or winter, spring or fall, you could never tell from your surroundings alone.

Hailing from Natlan meant you were so used to the heat all the time, and your classmate Ajax always called you “the sun” for standing out so much in the snow. You were the only one who shivered, the only one who wore such thick coats; and yet, he’d still argue that you were warm like the sun itself.

On your twelfth birthday, he gave you a scarf. “It’s red and warm, just like the sun, just like you!”—that was what he said with the toothiest of grins, and perhaps you teased him about the color of his hair in return.

But he was right; it certainly was warm, and now the red tint on his face made him feel like he would always match you. He, with his bright orange hair; and you, with your bright red scarf. Maybe it was the preteen years that still have him a childlike joy, but if the sight of you wearing the scarf kept giving him this fluttering feeling, then he’ll take it.

Although , for some reason, the days seemed a little brighter now whenever your face was buried in your scarf during school days. Mornings seemed a little warmer when you offered to share your scarf with him. Afternoons seemed a little sunnier when you walked with him home from school.

Maybe, this was what your hometown in Natlan felt like. Or, maybe, everything was so cold without his sun to melt his young heart into a puddle by your shoes.

And now, looking back, with the ends of this red fabric all worn and stretched around his neck—he still thinks it looks just like you.

⎯ ✧ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

LA SIGNORA. rosalyne

Perhaps it was an over-speculation on her part.

Perhaps, you weren’t as bad as she initially thought under this lovely morning light, or with your sweet perfume clashing well with the withering books of the akademiya library. And perhaps, maybe you weren’t a rival in her thesis if your hand felt so nice atop her own ( even though you were reaching for the same exact book ).

“You’re also researching liquid flame?” you perked up, sending her the most nonchalant of glances that made her flustered you even remembered her. The question implied you had no idea she was writing the same topic as you were for her thesis—it implied that you really had no malicious attempt against her at all. Suddenly, she thinks she doesn’t hate you at all, with your hand still over hers on the book, even after the nights she spent obsessively studying to finish her paper before you do.

“Yes,” she says, and there’s quite the chance she forgets how to speak properly. But her senses spike the moment you smile in such a supportive way, completely void of any rivalry to writing the same paper.

Then out of nowhere, she finds herself at a table with you, hunched over this singular book—and perhaps this is the first time she struggles to focus on the words on the page. Because you’re so smart, and somehow even more attractive than she formerly realized, she may think she’s diseased with an admiration she had not even researched before.

The feeling is akin to what she’s read in romance books, but she never had time for it back in Mondstadt or even here in the akademiya. It’s a bit sickening, but it makes her feel so light in the head in this lovey-dovey way she wishes would stay forever. Being so close to her, hunched over a book like this—she can’t wait to see you at your next class together.

⎯ ✧ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

SCARAMOUCHE. kunikuzushi

“So many lavender melons!” he laughed wholeheartedly once he saw the pile of the purple fruit on the floor.

And he laughed with his whole chest, smiling with his whole face—so full of joy that he could trick anyone into thinking he was born with a heart. When he knelt down in front of you, too, the human excitement on his face was ever-so present and clear as day, even as the fabric of his hood fell over his eyes.

“You know, my hair was made from lavender melons,” he eagerly shared, nothing but everlasting enthusiasm in his gaze when he tilted his head back up to look at you.

Show him even the slightest bit of interest, and he’ll ramble on for days. So you simply asked, “Your hair?”

“Not my hair specifically,” he began to explain, “but the color—the dye!” And when he pulled his hood back, you couldn’t help but stare. He looked just like your archon, even the same length of her hair. How could a doll so perfectly made still act so human? “At Konda village, there’s a traditional art to turn the fruit skin into dye. My mother used it for my head,” he almost smiled to himself.

It’s pretty, you could always tell him that again. But of course a man-made set of hair was pretty, for he was more perfect than human. So you bit your tongue, instead moving across the lavender melon pile to sit next to him and grab a few strands of his hair. It was so long, so smooth… “Have you ever thought of cutting it?”

“Huh?” he perked up. A sudden look fear stuck onto his face for just a moment, and you worried you might’ve said something wrong. “Cutting it…? Like, short?”

You only hummed in affirmation.

He stayed silent for a moment, but you didn’t know if he was pondering or close to crying. “Will it… make me look less like a girl?” You were quick to understand the true meaning of this.

‘Will it make me look less like my mom?’

“Yes,” you smiled. He practically threw himself into your arms in excitement.

⎯ ✧ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

DOTTORE. zandik

Intelligence was so attractive.

And intelligence in mechanics was even more attractive.

That was his standard, at least. The name Zandik was already widespread and known throughout the akademiya as the one to avoid, as he is on the brink of suspension. It was kind of annoying, being well into his studies here but still being threatened with getting expelled before he could even achieve his massive breakthrough.

And you were there, too. You, who he somehow secured a date with tonight. It was odd, really, how you accepted his proposal so easily. Well, to him it wasn’t odd—but to the rest of the student community it surely was, simply because he’s the weird kid.

But regardless, he took pride in this. And he was going to take you to his most favorite place in all of his home nation: The gigantic ruin guard robot sitting at the mountains south of Sumeru.

He was a type of person that didn’t realize he rambled on too much, but he was also someone that didn’t like being shut up, either. It took a certain type of patience just to not throw him off—and unbeknownst, you either had that patience, or maybe he just liked you enough to look past it.

But it was odd, it really was. How he caught himself staring at you as you were so deeply etched into your work at the akademiya’s mechanical lab. He swears he’s never seen you before, and that’s how his obsessive, hyperfixated researching leads him to find that you’re a new student who doesn’t even know of his name or his deeds at this school.

And though he’s never cared for reputation, it somehow feels so relieving, like for once in his life he cared about someone else’s thoughts on him. And, ah, it was almost time to pick you up. He hoped you liked robot gears in the shape of flowers.

pre-fatui harbingers will always have my heart 💓

[crazyunsexycool]

Between the pages of a journal

Pairing: Stucky x 40s!Reader

Summary: You had been in a relationship with Steve and Bucky up until the time they went off to war only to lose them both. Years later when Steve and Bucky have reunited the receive the letters and journals you had written. Through them they learn about your life without them.

word count: 6.0k

Warnings: character death, the blip/snap, implied domestic violence, major angst, some fluff... let me know if I forgot something.

A/N: Not really sure how I feel about the ending but over all I loved writing this and I hope you like it too.

Steve stood with a bouquet of your favorite flowers in his hands as he looked down at the slightly dirty headstone. One that sat towards the back of the small cemetery with your name on it. His fingers trace over your name after placing the flowers down. The date of your death mocks him. It was the day he woke up. The day that he had come back to life was the day yours had ended. In fact the difference had only been a few hours from the time that you closed your eyes for the last time and the time he opened his. 

On good days Steve was grateful for that. You didn’t have to watch him walk back into your life looking as he did all those years ago while you were stuck in a bed, withering away. Wishing you had been able to live the life they had both promised you. On bad days he hated he didn’t get to say goodbye. But he had already been through the process of seeing someone he loved die when Bucky fell off the train. He wasn’t sure he would be able to do that with you. It had been you who begged him not to go. The fear in your eyes when Bucky got his orders still haunts him and it doubled when he told you he had been accepted. Now all that Steve has is the headstone with your name on it to grieve for both of his greatest loves. And he did it often.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hope. 

Something Steve hadn’t felt in a long time. It bloomed in his chest the longer he looked at his long lost love. But just as quickly it faded.

“Bucky?” Steve stood in the middle of the street. Chaos erupting all around as he looked at the brunette with confusion and concern. 

“Who the hell is Bucky?” 

Just as quickly as he was there, Bucky was gone. Steve tried to look for him but there was no use. He had been arrested along with Nat and Sam. 

If there was one single word to describe Steve Rogers at the moment it would be determined. As much as it hurt that his oldest friend and lover didn’t recognize him. Steve knew he had to save Bucky. If not for him than for you. It was one of the promises he made to you the morning he left. He would keep Bucky safe and they would come back home to you. At least now he could keep half of the promise. 

The next time Steve would see Bucky it would be in a helicarrier. Blow by blow Steve tried to remind Bucky of who he was, what they meant to each other. In the end Bucky walked away after saving Steve. Still it was better knowing he was out and free than knowing that he was still under hydra’s control. 

It would take some time but eventually Steve would find Bucky once again. With time and help, Bucky was free of hydra’s control and they slowly rebuilt their relationship. Soon Bucky began to remember you as well. 

Now Steve didn’t feel so lost or so alone. The ache of loss was still there but it was made easier when he was able to turn in bed and find Bucky asleep next to him. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There were many things Bucky and Steve needed to adjust to in the modern times they were now living in. Being able to love each other without fear of being persecuted was a liberating experience. So they found themselves walking hand in hand on a beautiful Saturday afternoon through a small park in Brooklyn. The same park that the three of you frequented when you didn’t have anywhere else to go. 

You always packed a picnic and your journal, Bucky always had a new book to read out loud and Steve always had his sketchbook and pencils. There was one specific tree the three of you preferred to sit under. It was close to a small pond with the best shade and it was surrounded by bushes which afforded you the privacy the three of you craved.

 While to the outside world it looked like you were being chaperoned by Steve while on a date with Bucky, the reality was that you were dating them both. This little corner of the park allowed the three of you to be free to love, touch and kiss each other as you wished. 

It was this tree that provided cover for the three of you so long ago that Steve and Bucky came to look for now. Where Bucky carved your initials in the trunk within a heart. They hoped the tree was still there and they were gladly surprised that it was, initials included. The only difference though was the fact that there was a wrought iron bench in the once cleared space. Steve and Bucky make their way over.

“Y/N, would have loved to have a bench here.” Steve commented as he sat down. 

Bucky hummed in agreement as he inspected the small plaque screwed into the armrest. 

“Steve, look at this.” 

The blond leans over to look at the inscription. His breath catches in his throat.

‘Til the end of the line. 

A couple of tears hit the small plaque. Steve’s chin rests on Bucky’s shoulder and his arm wraps around the latter’s waist. They both just take a moment to look at it and appreciate that you had taken time and money to have this placed here in their honor. It felt like fate mocked them now that it was them that used this bench to remember you. For the remainder of their time in that park Steve and Bucky talk about their past, especially about you. 

“Remember when she chased Tommy Phillips down the street with a broom?” Steve chuckled but it took Bucky a moment before he smiled.

“He kept following her home, right? Always tried to ask her out whenever we weren’t there to walk with her.” 

“She ran right by me and only stopped because that cop was on the corner.”

Their smiles fade after a moment. 

“I wish she were here. She would definitely love all this shit.” Bucky said as he waved his hand around vaguely. 

Steve moved closer and gave Bucky a quick chaste kiss on the cheek before resting his head on Bucky’s shoulder. The blond took a deep breath before looking up at his love through his lashes. 

“It’s rude to stare.” 

“Well it’s not my fault you’re handsome.” Steve’s compliment makes Bucky blush. 

“There’s something I want to talk to you about.” 

“What is it?” 

“I think it’s time we go see her. I know she’ll want to see you.” 

Bucky looked up at him with a pained expression.

“What if she hates me?”

“She would never. She’s called me everyday since she heard you were alive.” 

“Ok, we’ll go.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Are you sure I look ok?” Bucky asked as the couple stood in front of a door waiting for someone to answer their knocks. 

“You look great baby, and trust me she’ll just be happy to see you.” 

Steve had cupped Bucky’s face with his hands and leaned in to give him a kiss. 

“What the fuck is going on here?” 

They parted at the voice.

“Hey, watch your mouth.” 

“I can say the same about you James.”

A staring contest happened until Bucky looked down.

“I’ve missed you, Becca.” Bucky said as he looked at his younger yet older sister. She was shorter and her hair was fully gray. The wrinkles were evidence of the time that had passed but the mischievous glint in her eyes told a different story. 

She opened her arms and her brother gladly accepted the embrace. 

It had been a shock to Bucky to learn that he had one living relative. Well one living sister, he of course knew of the kids all three of his sisters had but he couldn’t seek them out. Mostly for safety but truly he kept his distance because of his guilt. Who would want someone like him in their family? 

When they finally pull away from each other in a hug that felt that lasted years and seconds at the same time, Becca cupped Bucky’s cheek softly. Her thumb moved back and forth on his cheek as he leaned into her touch. This time her eyes were full of tears and relief.

“I’ve missed you too. Now come in, we have so much to talk about.” She had grabbed Bucky’s hand like she did when she was younger and they had to cross the street. 

They made their way into Becca’s cozy living room and sat down. Steve took the armchair while Bucky and Becca sat together on the couch. The latter started telling both of them everything they missed after they had disappeared, from meeting her late husband to her children and grandchildren. There were tears and laughs exchanged. 

“I think we should head out Becs. But I’ll come by again soon.” Bucky promised as they all got up and headed towards the door. 

“You’re both welcome anytime.” 

They stop at the door, Bucky and then Steve hug Becca. Before the door is opened Becca speaks up again.

“Oh I can’t believe I almost forgot. I have something for you.” Becca shuffled along into the hallway and opened a door to a closet. “I’ll need your help Buck.” 

He walks up behind her and she points towards two boxes high up on a shelf. Bucky pulls the first one down and hands it over to Steve before grabbing the second one. 

“What’s in here?” Steve asks, his curiosity piqued.

“Letters and journals. They all belonged to Y/N. She wrote the letters whenever she missed you and you know she wrote in her journals all the time.”

Bucky and Steve looked at each other and then back at Becca.

“Why did you keep them?” 

“Because she asked me too. The day she passed, I was with her and she asked me if I could hold on to them. Maybe someone would want to know about the love she had for both of you. It broke my heart when it was announced you were back.” She turned to Steve. “She would have loved to see you one last time.” 

“What happened to her?” 

“I’m surprised you didn’t ask earlier.” 

“We never stop thinking about her but it hurts to know she isn’t here anymore.” Steve says with a sad smile.

“When we were informed that you were both gone she was a wreck. Ma forced her to move in with us so that we could be there for her. She would stay up in your room for hours just writing. We could hear Y/N crying for hours on end. This was just her way of coping.”

Both men thanked her again and they were gone. On their way to their shared apartment in Brooklyn they didn’t really talk, each of them holding a box under their arm. It was heavier than anything they’ve carried in the past. It was all that was left of you.

They didn’t know it yet but their heart would break with every single letter or entry of your journal they read.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

March 10th, 1945

My love,

I received your letter last night. I’m so sorry you had to go through that alone. You know Bucky wouldn’t blame you, and neither do I. But please, if not for yourself than for me, take care of yourself. I don’t care that you have that serum, don't do anything reckless. We’ve already lost Bucky, I don’t know if I’d be able to live knowing I lost you too. 

I know you think the Barnes’ hate you but they don’t, they’re just as worried about you as they were about their son. They know how much we love Bucky and they can’t wait for you to come back home. 

I love you so much. I can’t wait to see you again.

Love, 

Y/N

P.S. I’m with you til the end of the line.

Steve tried and failed to swallow the lump in his throat, the tears won as they slowly trailed down his cheek and onto the aged paper. It was a response to the letter he had sent you, telling you about Bucky’s death. He felt so much guilt then, still did from time to time. Once Bucky was free of hydra’s hold he reassured Steve he wasn’t to blame. 

Steve was sure you’d blame him too. But the return to sender stamp with the date on the envelope the letter had gotten to him too late. It was just a day after he had crashed the plane into the ocean. Now decades later you gave him peace. Somehow he felt that it wasn’t fair. 

That night Bucky held Steve close. Placing soft kisses on his cheek and whispering sweet nothings in his ear. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Normally when they didn’t have missions or early training both men loved to stay in bed, pretend the time they were living in wasn’t real, that you’d walk in through the door at any moment and take your place in between them. That your lips would search for theirs and your hands would roam their bodies as gently but demanding as they did before. 

This time when Steve woke up the spot next to him was empty. He got up and walked toward the living room, the closer he got the more he could hear small sobs and sniffles. When he rounded the corner he found Bucky sitting in the middle of the room. Letters and journals sat open around him. Bucky was currently reading a journal and when he heard Steve’s footsteps he looked up. His eyes were rimmed red, it was obvious he had been there a while. 

“What are you reading?” 

“Nothing.” Bucky held the notebook close to his chest. 

“If it’s nothing then I should be able to read it too.” 

Bucky shook his head as his grip on the journal tightened. He averted his eyes when Steve sat beside him and held his hand out. Reluctantly the brunette moved to hand the notebook over but stopped. 

“You have to remember she was grieving when she wrote it.” 

May 3rd, 1945

 What did I do to deserve this? We were supposed to be planning the rest of our lives. Now I have to plan two funerals. The only thing in those matching empty coffins was my heart. 

What am I supposed to do now? Everything I had planned was with Steve and Bucky. 

 I hate not knowing what comes next and I hate them for making me love them. How could they do this to me? How could they leave me alone?

Steve put the journal down and sighed. He remembers going to the cemetery and finding the headstone that was being removed with his name on it, the one to his left was Bucky’s. He’d never allowed himself to put too much thought into what that must have been like for you. Mostly because he would break his own heart thinking about you mourning them alone. He knew it wasn’t fair and there was nothing that he could do to make it right. 

After that day they became obsessed with your writing. There were years worth of it but they decided to pace themselves. Instead of sitting down and reading for hours they instead decided to read one letter and one journal entry a day. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

July 4th, 1945

Dear Stevie,

Happy birthday my Love. I miss you so much but I find some comfort in knowing that at least you and Bucky are together somewhere, hopefully looking down on me. I went to the park today for the first time since you both went off to war. It’s not the same without you here but it was a beautiful day, you would have liked it.  

I signed up for an art class and it went as well as you would expect. Everything at my station, except the canvas had paint on it. Even my dress. But I think you’d be proud that I went for it. The little painting I managed to make is hanging up in the living room next to yours. If only we had convinced Bucky to paint something I would have a perfect set. 

I’ll never stop loving either of you.

Y/N

P.S. I’m with you til the end of the line.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Through missions and long days of training recruits, both men carried some of your writing with them. As time went by they noticed your shift from grieving to trying to survive. It was a journey for them reading your struggles in your everyday life. Steve and Bucky would be lying if they said they didn’t have a favorite letter or journal entry. There were some that reminded them of the happy young woman they had fallen for. Those were the ones they carried with them. 

****

Bucky had been through a difficult mission. He had been confronted by his past again and he was putting his walls up as he sat away from the rest of the team on the jet. Some of the others tried to talk to him but he just kept quiet and his eyes fixated on the wall ahead of him. Sam quietly walked up to him and placed an envelope on the seat next to him and walked away. That caught Bucky’s attention and he turned to see his name in your handwriting. He picked it up and opened the envelope as carefully as he could until he was able to retrieve the piece of paper out. 

August 25th, 1946

Dear Jamie,

I took the girls to Coney Island today. I know they wished you could have been here with us. Becca and Elizabeth finally convinced Mary to get on the cyclone. It reminded me of when you made Stevie go on and he threw up afterward.

 They had a great time. Maybe next time I’ll try to win something for them at one of those game booths but I’m not as good at them as you.

It was nice to be with them. They’ve grown so much in such a short time. You’d be so proud at how well they’re doing. Elizabeth has started reading all of your books and Mary is starting to like science more. But Becca looks the most like you and she’s taking the role of protective big sister very seriously (wonder where she got that from?). I promise to keep an eye on them since they like getting into trouble from time to time. 

I love you so much,

Y/N

P.S. I’m with you til the end of the line.

Bucky smiled as he imagined poor little Mary on the Cyclone. Then his smile got slightly bigger as he recalled the day you had mentioned. You had been so mad at him for making Steve get on. But it didn’t take much to get on your good side again. 

Bucky finally looked back up, his eyes meeting Sam’s. He nodded in a silent thanks to his teammate.

 It was no secret amongst the Avengers that both men had been in love and dated the same woman at the same time. No one really said anything, except the occasional joke from Tony. Sam and Nat took it upon themselves to ask them questions about you, especially when they seemed to be having a hard time at work. At the mention of your name they could see how the super soldier’s demeanor would instantly change. 

Their shoulders would drop, a small smile would appear on their lips but it was the sense of longing Nat and Sam saw in their eyes that really let them know you meant more to them than being just some girl from their past.

~~~~~~~~

They had been more than halfway through your journals and letters when they finally found another interesting entry. There was both a sense of relief and a bit of jealousy as they read it.

June 18th, 1950 

I’ve met someone. I’m still not sure how I feel about it but he asked me out on a date. Johnny Richards is his name and he seems kind. Becca has tried to make me say yes that Bucky would want me to move on but I’m not so sure he would, ha! He’d probably pout and cross his arms over his chest and give me his puppy dog eyes to convince me to not go out with him. 

Steve looked up to find Bucky sitting exactly how you had described him and he smiled. 

I think I’m going to say yes though. He’ll never be Steve or Bucky but I think I deserve to find some type of happiness. We’ll just have to see how the first date goes. 

They read the rest of that journal quickly. Your entries talked about how your dates with Johnny were going but mostly they compared him to them. Steve and Bucky weren’t even sure you realized that you were even doing it. With everything Johnny would do for you, you would write down how Steve and Bucky would have done it instead. They found it odd however that the journal was left incomplete. It prompted them to start looking through both boxes again only to come up empty handed. The one thing they did realize was that journal entries picked up in a new notebook with the year 1952. 

“That’s almost two years missing.” Bucky finally said after rechecking everything. A sinking feeling in his chest the longer they searched only to find nothing. 

“We can ask Becca tomorrow. We should get some rest.” 

~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning both men head over to Becca’s home hoping to get some answers. However when she opens the door she isn’t surprised to see them. She dreaded the conversation she was going to have with them but she still ushered Steve and Bucky into her living room. 

“What happened to Y/N between mid 1950 and 1952?” Bucky asked, not bothering to sit down. He feared he already knew the answer.

Becca sighed as she reached into the pocket of her robe and produced another letter. She held it out for Bucky to grab. “You should sit.” Is all she said.

December 24th, 1951

Mr. Barnes

Please help me. He keeps hurting me and I don’t think I’ll survive the next time.

Y/N

The writing was sloppy and in the corner there was a faded brown spot. Through tear filled eyes Bucky looked at it closer. 

“Is this blood? Becca, is this her blood?” He looked up at his sister with rage and a pain in his chest nothing would ever be able to get rid of. 

Bucky and Steve had sacrificed their life only for them to find out that their girl had been hurt and they weren’t there to protect her. They hated themselves. Steve more than Bucky because Bucky had been drafted, he didn’t have much of a choice but Steve? Steve had done everything he could to get into the army. He left you alone and for what? 

“When daddy read that letter he was enraged. Called up some old army buddies and they handled it. But Y/N, she was broken in more ways than one. When they got to the house he had beaten her so badly she could barely move. She was in the hospital throughout the new year. When she was released we brought her home again. Then she never left. Y/N took care of Ma and daddy ‘til the day they died.” 

Steve was fully sobbing now. No matter what he would have done, one of the people he loved would end up hurt. If he hadn’t  signed up for the experiment with Erskine, you wouldn’t have been hurt like this but Bucky would still be in with hydra. 

“You can’t blame yourselves.” Becca sighs. “If she could see you now, see that you’re alive and together, that you saved Bucky from those monsters she would be so happy.”

“She suffered the rest of her life because of us. Was she ever truly happy after this?” 

Becca looked away from her brother with a small frown on her face. That was all the confirmation they needed to know that you had never found happiness again. They left without another word to Becca or each other.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Steve and Bucky didn’t speak for a while. Anger rolled off of them in droves. The issue was that neither of them knew who that anger was directed at. Was it at themselves or each other? The war, the draft, the serum, or the son of a bitch who dared put his hands on you. 

Their relationship suffered, missions almost failed, they were more reckless than usual and it went on like that for weeks. There was no lecture from anyone on the team that could make them see that what they were doing would get them or their teammates killed. 

Steve and Bucky had one moment. A single moment when they realized that they weren’t to blame. They apologized and forgave each other for being cold and distant. It’s not what you would have wanted. Just as they were getting back on track Thanos happened and Steve lost Bucky all over again. 

~~~~~~~~~~

5 years later

The team had one chance and they took it. They defeated Thanos. Now Steve has another. He checks himself over again and smoothes out his hair. The day was beautiful just how you said in your letter. Everyone was already celebrating the 4th of July. But as Steve stepped out of the alleyway all he could think about was the conversation he’d he’d with Bucky before he left on his mission to return the stones.

“Don’t do anything stupid until I come back.” Steve said with a smirk.

“How can I? You’re taking all the stupid with you.” Bucky replied as he brought Steve in for a hug. 

Steve pulls back slightly only to connect his lips with Bucky’s. 

“Make sure you find her and make her happy. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be alright.” 

“Don’t worry Buck. Everything will be alright.” Steve smiles before heading up to the platform. 

“I love you.” 

“I love you too, Bucky.” With that final word Steve disappears.

Now here he was just a block away from the park he’d frequented when you were all together. All of the stones were back in place all he needed to do was find you. And that he did. You were sitting on the bench here and Bucky frequented. All of your attention was on the letter you were writing. Steve could recite it from memory now. 

He took a moment to admire your form. You were wearing his favorite dress. The one he bought for your birthday right before he left for the war. Your hair was pinned back the way you loved. Steve smiled, you were more beautiful than he remembered. He finally gathered the courage to step up to you and hoped that this would go well. 

“Is this seat taken?” 

“Yes it is.” You respond without even looking up.

“Are you sure I can’t have a seat kitten?” 

Your head snapped up in the direction of the intruder. His voice had been familiar to you but it couldn’t be who you thought it was. His eyes were so familiar to you but it wasn’t possible because the owner of those beautiful ocean blue eyes had died. Still the sense of familiarity made the ache in your chest lessen and the same of your lover slip from your lips.

“Steve?” 

“Hi sweetheart.” He said as he sat down next to you. 

With hesitant movement you brought your hand up to his cheek. Steve closed his eyes and leaned into your touch. 

“Am I dead?” 

The question made Steve chuckle. “You’re not dead, kitten, I’m really here.” 

The answer made you start to sob uncontrollably and your tears made Steve tear up. He pulls you into a hug and tries to soothe you as best as he can. After some time you finally pull away and look at him. Steve kisses your forehead, then your cheeks and finally presses a long awaited sweet kiss to your lips.

“How is this possible?” You say in between hiccuped breaths. “You died. You-your friend Howard, he showed up and told me everything.” 

Steve takes a deep breath and explains everything from waking up in the future to traveling back in time only leaving out the part about Bucky.

“So are you staying?” You look up at him through your still wet lashes. 

“I can’t stay-“ 

You pulled away from him and stood up. Heartbreak and anger rolled through you.

“Why would you come to see me if you’re leaving again? This is so cruel. Do you know how much I’ve cried for you? Since the moment you left to become a lab rat. It wasn’t fair then and it’s not fair now.”

“Hey,” Steve stands and cups your face. “I would never leave you again. I came to get you, if you’d like to come with me.” He pulls out a watch from his pocket. 

“What about the Barnes family? I can’t just leave them too.” 

“I think they’d be happier knowing you’re with me and Bucky.” 

A small gasp escapes your lips as you look from the watch to Steve who’s smiling. 

“Bucky? How is that possible?” 

“It’s his story to tell.” 

“He’s not dead?” 

“Nope. He does think that I left him to stay here with you though. But I think we deserve to be together again. So what do you say?” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The platform comes to life again a minute after Steve had left. To Bucky’s surprise and slight disappointment Nat appears. He disguises his heartbreak behind a smile as Nat walks down and hugs Sam and then him. 

“Glad to have you back.” He whispers into her ear. 

“Glad to be back.” 

“Come on, I’ll buy you a beer and tell you everything you missed.” 

“Buck, aren't you going to wait for Steve to come back?” Sam stopped him.

“Nah, I’m going to grab a drink with a friend. You can come if you want.” 

“You’re a jerk, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told. Now let’s go.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bucky got home late. He had been trying to avoid the emptiness. Not only in the home he used to share with Steve but the empty feeling in his chest. It was the punishment he deserved or so Bucky thought. To live the rest of his life alone with only the thought of your and Steve’s happiness. He could make due with that. 

Bucky sets his keys in the bowl by the door and takes off his jacket. His thoughts were elsewhere so he didn’t immediately pick up on the fact that he wasn’t alone. Still, he was quick and he pulled the gun he always had on him out. 

“You can put the gun down, Buck.” Steve stepped out from the darkened office door. The streetlights filtering through the windows provide the only source of light. 

“Steve? What are you doing back?” 

“Did you really think I’d leave you alone?” 

“But what about Y/N?”

“She agreed with me.” Steve smirks.

“What are you-“ Bucky’s words die on his as you step out from behind Steve. “Y/N.” He said your name as if it was the most precious thing in the world. 

Bucky’s steps were slow and heavy, as if the world itself sat on his shoulders. You met him halfway way with arms wide open. Bucky fell at your feet, his arms settling around your hips and his head resting against your stomach. 

“Oh honey.” Your body shook as Bucky cried against you. All you could do was run your fingers through his hair. “It’s ok. We’re together again baby.” 

You managed to get on the floor with Bucky and cup his face and press multiple kisses over his face. 

“I missed you, doll.” Bucky says between kisses. It’s frantic and uncoordinated and desperate. 

Steve joins you both on the floor wrapping his arms around each of you. There are more shared kisses amongst the three of you. Someone eventually gets up and pulls the other two along with them. The first night the three of you stay awake just talking and catching up. You tell them things that aren’t in your journals and they tell you about living in the present. Reluctantly Bucky tells you part of what happened with hydra. You can see the guilt in his eyes and all you can do is comfort him. 

The sun is barely starting to rise when the three of you finally fall asleep in each other's arms. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

When you did wake up you were disoriented by the room you were in until you remembered where you were. The bed was empty but even back in the past both boys were early risers. You fixed your hair and changed before walking out to find Steve and Bucky. As you neared the living room you heard more than two voices talking animatedly. 

“You still haven’t told us what took you so long.” A man said as you got closer. 

Steve opens his mouth to answer but his whole face lights up when you turn the corner and stand at the entrance of the living room. The reaction caused Steve’s friends to turn around and look at you. 

“I was picking someone up.” Steve says. 

“Please tell me you’re Y/N.” The woman had asked and you smiled and nodded. 

“Y/N, this is Nat and Sam.” 

“I have so many questions. Especially about Bucky.” Sam said as he stood up. 

Before he could even stretch his hand out to greet you properly Bucky came up from behind you and wrapped an arm around your waist and glared at Sam. He had flowers in his hand which he presented to you. 

“Thank you honey.” You kissed his cheek before turning back to Sam. 

“Let me put these in water and I’ll answer all your questions.” 

Bucky groans as Sam gives him a shot eating grin. You chuckle and when you come back you move to sit down. Eventually Steve and Bucky sit on either of you as Sam and Nat ask you about what they were like back in the day. 

With time this would become a routine until you met everyone on the team, including Howard’s son. They had questions and you had the answers. You were sure to include all kinds of stories, especially the embarrassing ones.

 It hadn’t gone unnoticed how much more relaxed and happy Steve and Bucky had been. Bucky smiled more and was more open with others. Steve had handed over his shield to Sam and was starting to enjoy his free time. Bucky was still required to go on missions but it was ok. Whenever he came back from a mission you and Steve doted on Bucky. From having his favorite movie on or playing his favorite songs and dancing in the living room to cleaning him up and cuddling in bed. Life in modern times wasn’t always easy for you but fortunately Bucky and Steve were always there to help you. 

You still wrote in your journal and on occasion letters for your loves for them to find. The entries were vastly different from what Steve and Bucky had first read. Your journals remained an ode to the love you had which transcended decades and heartbreaks and loss. Now they reflect your joy, love, hope and happiness. The love you had for each other grew with each passing day and you were able to build the home the three of you always dreamed of. 

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[s-4pphics]

let the rain sing. 3 (a.a)

OHHHHH WHO UP FR😨😨

wc;cw: 3.7k, dadsbestfriend!abby, lawstudent!oc, large age gap (oc is 25, abby is mid 40s), abby is bi<3, weed, alcohol, dubcon, footsie lol, angst :(

You haven’t seen or spoken to Abby in a month, and you were dying. 

It wasn’t even due to your insomnia, which came as a shock to you in the beginning. Your exhaustion was overcrowded by shame since your last encounter with her. A self-loathing deep in your gut that nearly puts you in the ground when you recollect on your aloofness. 

You forced yourself to neglect everything but coursework to wither your desire to call her and beg for forgiveness. It was December, and you were scavenging to get most of your revisions for your thesis complete before February. You were almost forty pages deep, but you couldn’t even relish your successes due to your overworked brain conjuring up visions of a dripping wet, crying Abby. 

Your short minutes of sleep were dominated by images of her: laughing, smiling, crying in pleasure under you, but none of the enjoyment lasted. Even in the heavy moments you two shared in your subconscious, you were always jolted awake by her screaming about how much she hated you, how you used her because you're selfish and controlling and mean. 

She never said those things to you outwardly, but you knew she felt it whenever she saw you during the late hours of the night, even more so now after your last fight. You felt like a terrible person; you are a terrible person. And you looked the part. 

The dark, heavy bags under your eyes returned, skin dry and wrinkly from frowning, crying, and stressing from school. You were glued to your laptop, clinging it to your side everywhere you went like your life depended on it. Like you would completely lose all connection to reality if it parted from you. You couldn’t separate from it.

Even when your parents would come knocking on your door asking why you didn’t eat dinner with them, your eyes bored into the bright screen, the sound of your mom’s cheery voice almost sounding like blaring alarms in your head.

Your dad made your favorite, baby! Come eat!

Your father. 

You could barely bring yourself to look him in the eye anymore. You make sure to avoid eye contact when he speaks to you, turning your head down when he holds you close. You missed his laugh lines and gentle smile, but you just… couldn’t. Every time you slipped up and met his delicate eyes, you saw Abby’s. 

So full of affection and softness: their eyes felt like a warm embrace, constant and comforting. Your father always got more affectionate during the holiday season. 

Your heart hurts whenever you think about Abby during this time of year. 

Was she lonely during the holidays? Is she close with her family? You were embarrassed how little you knew about her personal life. Her attempts to bond were always stopped by hot kisses, wandering hands, your desperate pleas for shut eye. How could you be so heartless to someone as kind as her? She invited you into her home, expressed her trauma, provided you with an outlet to release your tensions, and you stole from her with greed. 

You brought your hands up to your burning eyes to rub them before grabbing your phone. You unlocked it and scrolled down to you and Abby’s abandoned messages. Remorse slammed into your gut, the slew of abby i need you please and her replies of Okay. Come over anytime :) made nausea stir in your gut. 

You should leave her be. Leave her alone. Leave her alone, leave her alone, leave her alone—

But your selfishness was too strong, and your efforts to avoid her couldn’t hold any longer. Your fingers moved before your brain could stop them, the sounds of your unclipped nails tapping against your screen. Your eyes hurt so badly. 

You sent your message before you neglected it completely. 

i’m so sorry Abigail. 

Regret sat heavy in your chest like an anchor. 

You hoped she would forgive you someday. 

Mariah Carey interrupted your hour of slumber. Fuck her and your life. 

You angrily threw your blanket off your body and dug your palms into your eyes. Sometimes, the purity of your dad aggravates your soul. 

He always loved Christmas Eve more than Christmas day. You still remember when he went behind your mom’s back and snuck your Bratz Doll set into your devious, stubby hands after Eve dinner when you were seven. 

Mama’s gonna be so mad at you! 

Meh. She’ll never know if you don’t snitch!

Your irritated inhales were swarmed with the smell of savory meats and sweet pies. You were going to eat well later, at least. 

You reached over to your nightstand and grabbed your phone off the charger. Abby never replied to you, but she did open it. Your heartbeat sped up; She must’ve really despised you, and you couldn’t blame her. 

You hoped she has a great Christm—

“ALL I WANT FOR CHRIIISTMAAAS IS YOUU— “

Your father’s joyous shouts interrupted your wishful thoughts of seeing his close friend again. 

The irony of it all. 

You tiredly hobbled downstairs after brushing your teeth. 

You admired your parents' decorative abilities: the stair railings were wrapped in green and red ribbons; they hung up stockings and fairy lights over the small fireplace and covered the small tree in the corner of the living room in their DIY ornaments. 

You followed the sounds of pots and pans clanging together in the kitchen as your parents sang along to the lyrics booming from the speakers. Their backs were turned to you, but you could see them taste-testing soups and the corners of desserts as they shared small kisses. Your heart fluttered at the sight; they’re so in love.

You made yourself known, calling out over the tunes, “Y’all are up early.” 

Both their heads whipped around to face you, instantly brightening at your disheveled sight. 

“Girl, it’s noon,” your mom called out as she returned to her stirring of the large pot. Your dad trotted over to engulf you in his arms and planted kisses to your head. You made sure to keep your eyes on the wall in front of you. 

“Merry Christmas, babygirl,” he said into your ear. You were overcome with warmth, then swiftly blinded by guilt. Tears jerked in your eyes, but you blinked them away with urgency. 

You cleared your throat and huffed a laugh, “It’s not Christmas yet, bonehead.” 

You felt a playful pinch at the back of your neck as he laughed, “Keep talkin’ trash and you’re not eating.” 

You shook your head and pulled away from him, catching a small glimpse of his mischievous grin. You would’ve broken at the sight, but you swiftly brushed past him and into the kitchen to make you a quick bowl of microwaveable oatmeal. You heard your dad bolt up the stairs with a shout of BRB!

“And what are you doing.”

You turned to look at your mom, who was watching you grab a bowl from the cabinet with her hands on her hips, soupy spoon in hand. 

Your brows creased, “What, mom?” 

She looked at you like you had two heads. “You’re gonna ruin your appetite, baby. We’re all eating soon.”

You blinked blankly, “… So I can’t have oatmeal?” 

“No, you can’t have oatmeal. Did your dad not tell you the plans?”

“Uhh… no?”

“That man, I tell you," She shook her head in exasperation, “We’re having a little Christmas party. Everyone’s bringing stuff and we need to eat everything!” 

Your heart stopped in your chest at the mention of a party. You almost dropped the ceramic bowl on the floor when your arms lost strength. You tried to hide the anxiety on your face, but your mom’s gaze felt like it was piercing through you. 

No. No, please—

You set the bowl on the counter harder than you should have, “W-Who’s… Who’s coming?” 

She furrowed her brows at you and spoke in an obvious tone, “… All our family? Me’n dad’s work friends, some neighbors. The usual.” 

You nodded and turned towards the cupboards with a pounding heart. You felt lightheaded and your mouth went dry, your throat closing at the thought of seeing Abby. You knew she was coming; You've never seen her say no to your dad. She never even denied you and you were practically strangers. 

You were certain you were going to pass out—

“What’s the matter, baby?” 

You flinched at your mom’s gentle hand on your shoulder. You looked at her, and she looked just as confused, just as concerned as you would expect. You noticed a glint of intensity in her gaze, and your breath caught in your throat. 

… Did she know? There’s no way she knew. She couldn’t know. She didn’t, she didn’t—

“I… I just feel faint. I don’t know what happened.” 

Her eyes widened in shock, “Maybe you did need that damn oatmeal. Come here, baby. Come sit.” 

You could barely get words out, but your mom guided you to the dining table and ushered you to sit before running to get some water

“One bowl of oatmeal wouldn’t hurt, I guess,” She said with a sigh, handing you an ice-cold bottle from the fridge. You never choked down water that quickly in your entire life. “Cinnamon apple or maple?”

You gulped and garbled apple before getting more water in. 

You weren’t thinking about fucking oatmeal. The thought of eating suddenly made you sick. 

You were seeing Abby much quicker than you expected, and there was nothing you could do about it.

Your quiet neighborhood was bustling. 

You were peeping out the window from the living room couch to distract yourself from your oncoming doom. Bundled-up families were making their way through the snow and onto lit-up porches, children were smiling and jumping in piles of white ice, and everyone had ugly sweaters under their coats. 

The sight was precious, but all you could think about was Abby, the image of her at your parents' front door making you want to flee. 

… Your parents were busy all day. Maybe they wouldn’t notice if you stole your keys from the kitchen counter and drove off until the guests drunkenly laughed home—

“Girl, why aren’t you dressed! Everyone will be here soon!”

Your eyes shut in nervousness at your mom’s tone. You released the hold you had on the blinds and got up off the couch. You caught a glimpse of the ugly Christmas sweater she wanted to match with you, holding yours up in both hands. You grabbed it and moved to walk up the stairs, flinching at the playful slap she gave your ass. You ignored her as she ridiculed you for being late, your heartbeat rattling your ribcage. 

… Here goes nothing. 

The sun was setting as you nervously sipped your second glass of wine, watching your family and friends prance all over your home with joy. 

After greeting all your guests, you took a seat on the couch next to the door, completely on guard as you poured more maroon liquid into your glass. You assumed sipping would calm your anxiety, but your tipsiness only added to your stress. You were thankful that your family respected your observance so you could isolate during these gatherings. 

Ugly Christmas sweaters were a theme for your block evidently. Everyone was decked in garb that had corny punchlines and ridiculously bright green and red sleeves. Your favorite cousin even had the nerve to show up in a Merry Litmas sweater riddled with marijuana leaves. Your mom, aunt, and uncle tag-teamed cursing him out at the front door. 

Your friends loved coming over when your pothead cousin was present; They never missed an opportunity to hotbox in his car. You want to join them so badly. 

Your youngest aunt had gotten tired of hearing songs about Santa, propping your youngest cousin on her hip and queuing the entirety of Tina Snow. Your mom smirked deviously as your father grabbed the shot glasses and Tequila from the cupboards. 

Your home was jumping an hour later. Everyone had migrated towards the kitchen, rotating between pouring up and sneaking tastes of your mom’s homemade sweet potato pies on the table. 

Your dad’s work friends trickled in one by one, but there was still no sign of Abby. A hole opened in your heart, and you accepted that she wasn’t coming. That your apology wouldn’t be enough to amend your relationship. 

You caught a glimpse of your remarkably high cousin waltz into the snowy backyard, and you moved on autopilot. You made your way through the dancing crowd, avoiding the scene of your dad grinding on your mom and grabbing your coat off the rack. You pushed the back door open and shivered at the cold, catching the sight of your cousin rolling up at the patio table. 

“Yo.”

He jumped and turned to face you, his eyes light pink and a lazy smile appearing on his face at the sight. 

“Don’t sneak up on me like that. What’s up.”

You shrugged and grabbed a seat in front of him, sighing heavily as you sat. “It’s crowded in there.”

He nodded along with you, sealing his blunt with a smirk on his face, “Your new friend’s fine as hell. With the red antlers— “

You cut him off with a sharp glare, “Don’t you fucking dare. Leave her alone.”

He furrowed his brows at your tone, “Damn, my bad. I didn’t even say shit.”

“You don’t have to. Whore.”

He let out a loud laugh, his Santa hat covered head flying back as he pulled his lighter out his pocket. You watched him spark the end of his blunt before puffing from it, exhaling the smoke in a spherical cloud that floated near your face. 

He wordlessly passed the blunt to you, and you accepted it, bringing it to your lips and pulling from it for a while. You felt the dull burn in your lungs as smoke filled your mouth before exhaling. 

“You got better at that. Shit.”  

You looked up at him and shrugged again, “I’ve been practicing, I guess.” 

You puffed from the lit blunt again before passing it back to your cousin, watching him mimic your previous actions as you breathed out the carbon.

He exhaled the smoke as he spoke, “How come? Is that why you look like trash?”

You glared at him, but he didn’t care, continuing, “Have you been sleepin’?”

You hesitated before quietly denying. 

His eyes widened at you. “Bro, what the fuck. Do your parents know?”

You shrugged sheepishly as you looked down at the frosted glass table, reaching for the blunt. 

He passed it to you as he shook his head, “You need to go to the fuckin’ doctor and get that checked. Have you been using aids?” 

You couldn’t help the huffed laugh that escaped you, Abby’s ribbed dick and blushing face popping into your mind. 

“Somethin’ like that.” 

You took one last good pull from the blunt before passing it back to him, your body relaxing into the cushioned chair. You watched your cousin shake his head as he pulled from the blunt. 

You two caught up as darkness consumed you, giggling at the nonsensical ramblings about his new job as a Uber driver and how much he hated living near a university. 

You couldn’t stop fucking laughing. You didn’t know how much time passed or what your cousin was talking about, but you felt light. Like the frigid wind surrounding the two of you would send you flying; You haven’t felt this joyous in months. The twinkling lights that surrounded the back door shined like stars; Everything looked so pretty. Maybe you should start smoking again—

The back door was pulled open, and it snapped you out of your colorful trance, your youngest aunt’s head poking out. 

She whispered harshly to the two of you, nodding towards your cousin's roach in his hand, “Can y’all put that shit out so we can eat?! Hurry the fuck up!”

She turned back inside with an aggravated eye roll, leaving the door open so that you could both follow her back into warmth. Your cousin stubbed his blunt out on the floor as you stood from your seat, making your way inside as you watched everyone line up for their plates in the kitchen. 

Your heart stopped and your gut swirled with nerves and want when you saw the familiar form standing by the speakers, talking to your dad. You should’ve never fucking smoked, why the fuck did you smoke—

Your head was rushing as you took in Abby: hair in two braids that were covered by a pink Santa hat, and a black and white ugly sweater covered with reindeers pooping. She was smiling as she listened to your father’s tipsy rambles, laughing as he waved his arms around in excitement. Her laugh swallowed you in slow motion, sounding like jingle bells and filling your heart with… something heavy and unfamiliar. You always thought her laugh was cute and she has the prettiest smile—

“You good?”

You jumped and gasped harshly as your cousin's voice came from behind you. You nodded in a rush, halting your gawking before scurrying over to the dining table and grabbing a paper plate. 

Try not to look fucking high! You’re not even high! Abby came, Abby came, Abby came. 

Your mind was racing as you filled your plate with baked mac and cheese, nearly dropping the large scooping spoon on the floor when your aunt asked why you were taking so long. 

You look high, you idiot! Don’t look high—

Your nose was filled with the familiar scent of roses, and you whipped your head around to see Abby retreating back to the dining table with a filled plate and wine glass in her hand. She smelled so fucking good—

“Bruh, you’re tweaking. Go sit the hell down.” 

You looked over and saw your cousin with a plate that was nearly identical to yours: a giant pile of fucking mac and cheese with some wings next to it. You want fucking chicken, too!

You walked past him and grabbed you some from the foil serving tin before making your way over to the table and Abby was fucking looking at you and there was an open seat in front of her, oh fuck—

You probably looked so fucking high when you plopped down in the vacant seat, tearing into your macaroni. 

You kept your head down, face deep in your plate.

Every time you looked up, Abby caught your gaze. 

The table was filled with drunken converse, your parents and uncles arguing over who would die in the Hunger Games first… you think. What the fuck did you smoke? 

… Abby is so gorgeous. Have you ever told her that? Probably not. 

You’ve been studying her face for what felt like hours as you chowed down your food, watching her sip her wine, watching her watch you. It made your heart race and your fingers twitch as they rested on the table. 

You were hyper aware of every move she made: every shuffle in her seat, every fiddle with her fork, every minuscule response to your dad from across the table before her eyes flickered towards you again. You couldn’t read her expressions, but there was something in her eye that terrified you. Maybe your assumptions about her hatred towards you were true. Your behavior ruined everything. You were never going to see her smile or laugh or sleep again—

The brush against your leg made you stiffen. 

Your eyes immediately flickered towards Abby: she was conversing with a work friend that you didn’t recognize, chuckling into her glass as she beamed with excitement as she listened to the tale. Another brush against you, nearly pressing into your limb. Your nipples hardened.

You shuddered with a heavy sigh, and you felt a foot slowly glide up your knee before traveling back down to your ankle, catching on your sock. Your tummy was in knots. 

Abby finally paid you some attention, reconnecting your eyes. The sparkle in her eyes sent a tight twist in your gut. It was playful and mischievous and full of want. You shuddered again when she wet her lips, her tongue peeping out of her mouth and brushing against the glass.

“You okay?”

You jumped at your aunt's voice from next to you, and you nodded stiffly. Abby's foot traveled up your leg again as she watched the interaction between you and her. 

“You sure, babe? You look sick— “

You shook your head and turned to look at your aunt’s concerned face, “M’okay. I’m just tired.” 

“You look it.” 

You could see Abby adjust in her seat, her feet going up your knee and inching up your thigh. Your legs closed around her fuzzy sock covered foot on instinct, your core clenching as your aunt palmed your forehead. 

“You feel hot, babe. Maybe you should lay down for a bit?”

You could see Abby smirking behind her glass. You hate her, you hate her, you hate her—

You exhaled sharply, “Okay— “

A sharp gasp cut you off when her foot shoved between your shut legs, the bottom of it pushing into your clothed, drippy cunt. Your clit jerked with need as you shot up out of your seat, almost tripping as your chair clattered to the floor. Everyone’s conversation stopped, eyeing you with concern as they asked what was wrong. Abby was still smirking, sipping in silence. 

“Sorry, m’good. I’m gonna… gonna lay down for a sec.” 

You turned away before you could hear your family’s arguments, your youngest aunt asking your cousin what the fuck he put in that blunt. You bolted up the stairs and shut your door, trying to ignore the wetness between your legs. 

You’re horny as fuck. You’re never getting high again. 

You heard the party pick up after some minutes before a ding came from your pocket as you paced around your room. 

You clumsily pulled it out and read the message from Abby, the coil in your gut reigniting as guilt filled your chest. 

You’re not forgiven. :)

damn this took forever my fault yall

next part gon b up quick omg abby backstory purr

omg first post in the middle of the night who up fr

taglistttt love yall smooches @ohlawdthebirds @fibrogirlie @unangelic-thoughts @chrry1ovr @uraesthete @gravygranules @digit4lslut @machetegirl109 @letsreadsomesins-shallwe @macaroni676 @sillygooselit @nil-eena @elliesgirlll @hi2647

prologue. part one. part two. interlude. part four.

[wmarximoff]

𝐩𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐞𝐚 | 𝐰. 𝐦𝐚𝐱𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐟𝐟

summary: because only you can make Wanda feel at home.

warnings (18+): smut, strap-on sex (r receiving), name-calling, spanking, daddy kink, slight breeding kink, choking, weed consumption, mental health issues. MINORS DNI.

pairing: stoner!emo!Wanda x fem!reader

word count: 5k

masterlist|

༺ᱬ༻

In the light of Wanda Maximoff's gaze the stars did not twinkle in flashes of silver that night – but neither they did during the night before that, or even the other night before that, one colder on the skin than the other, the light slowly fading into the dull, aged silver of the big city sky. There was no sparkle in those eyes that stared at the dark sky above her head.

The noise from the street below, the cars and passers-by and that sound of life, didn't reach up there on the seventh floor – everything blended into an amalgamation just down there, a distant and reserved experience. The sky vault was vast and absconding like a black hole that swallows everything that orbits it, and the apartment was closer to the sky than to the earth. The stars were there as they always were, but each twilight was duller than the previous one.

Not that Wanda wasn't used to a kind of internal calluses, but even the unlit night sky reflected the mood of those dead eyes in a somber emerald green, which didn't see the brightness of the world around her – eyes that didn't see anything else, as in a kind of trance, a willful blindness of blurred faces.

Even if the night had been serene and peaceful, a veil of moonlight draped over the metal of the rings spread across the lengths of her fingers, there would still be no glow that could pierce the shrouded bubble around Wanda's hunched silhouette, who smoked a long, white cigarette with a yellow filter, placidly seated in a chair with withered legs made of dark and solid plastic – the apartment's balcony was as modest as a boat that can only hold two or three people, and a group of four people would not fit there even squeezed against each other, with their elbows and shoulders touching as if inside a crowded elevator.

The Bronx apartment was small, the best a couple of college students with a part-time job could afford on the lowest paycheck. For a pair of twins like that, it was almost like sharing the visceral walls of the same uterus again.

Sokovian literature accompanied her open just above her pale thighs joined together, who was only wearing light denim shorts on that tragic New York summer night, warm and dry. This one, however, was a small book in a soft cream cover, scarcely more than a hundred bound pages—a crowded metric of Cyrillic letters in uniform stanzas; poems in a language reminiscent of her native tongue, her mother's favorites. Wanda hated poems and she hated her mother as well.

But sometimes, as if in a sardonic torture, it was necessary to conjure up that ghost of the past, foreboding and restless, struggling at its core, because the shroud of monotony was too much in the bosom of the newfound adult life in the big city, so far from home as Wanda was. She had gone to study, away from war and famine and her mother – but poverty has to be a constant specter in a young immigrant's life, like a hidden tumor, sucking little by little.

Sometimes homesickness visited her at night, when the world was too much to bear outside her comfort zone. And then came the urge, the chest pulsing hard, crackling under her skin, seeking refuge in the idea of that creature who primarily should offer her some kind of comfort, however Wanda did not actually taste that source of support as primigenous as Pietro Maximoff, her twin brother, had done, drinking it straight from the fountain.

Pietro was sweet, a good boy and a fine son, but their mother hated her as much as only a mother can love a daughter. And Wanda loved her as much as a daughter can hate a mother.

And so she read, traced with the tip of her peeling black-painted fingernail each line of that little set of Sokovian poems, looking for comfort where she thought she could find it in those withered lines. But it didn't do any good, not when Wanda hated poems, thought they were boring and pointless. And even the cigarettes didn't help her enjoy them with an active air of a condemned intellectual, despite the fact that she loved the sweet, harsh death that smoked down her throat, quieting her since the beginning of the immature nerves of adolescence.

But it wasn't the infuriating poems or the countless cigarette butts pressed against the hollow bottom of a metal ashtray one after the other like a handful of unlit candles stuffed into the top of a birthday cake, or the memory of a monotone childhood in the Sokovian province that would fill the void in her chest, and that Wanda had always known.

Poems were boring, cigarettes were rotting her insides, and from the bosom of youth she'd yearned to pack up her things and leave Sokovia behind for good, without a kiss or a goodbye. But the dream died still in the womb – there was, far from home, a certain depressing monotony, so different from the monotony of living a life in a place where you don't want to be, imbued in the action that was occasionally crossed by long sleepless nights, in the company of stress and intrusive thoughts.

She didn't feel at home in New York, but Sokovia had never been her home either. But finding a certain degree of depressed boredom within her dream seemed worse to Wanda than the monotony of living in a house where everything looked the same. There was something wistful for her to discover that everything she'd ever wanted could be just as depressing.

There was just something wrong, something wrong with her spirits, like a piece of a jigsaw puzzle that didn't quite fit together. Maybe the world didn't spin for her the way it did for others. Maybe she just expected too much from a world that always offered so little.

“Are you smoking on the balcony again, Wanda?”

The voice came rumbling from within the walls of the small apartment, from the back of her head – a high, masculine tone and charged with that hard-talking rhythm of south-eastern European accent still limiting the pronunciation of the English words, sanding them harshly, as in a solid chant.

“I am,” was her reply, the dull tone of a corpse still harboring a soul that struggles to shed its shell, her accent sounding just as strong as his, “I kind of needed this right now.”

“Dude, you know you need to stop doing it.”

Towards Wanda then, from the profuse darkness of a living room with lights out and gushing dimness that swallowed the hand-me-down furniture placed there, the figure of a young boy halfway to finish performing the thrusting motion his elbow into the right hole of a dark blue denim jacket, new and clean, freshly pressed and still smelling of lavender fabric softener.

Wanda looked at him with emerald irises tired by poetry, from under her long lepidopterous lashes laden with smoke – Pietro, tall and strong, had tresses of his poorly bleached hair cut short, a mane of unruly hair soft to the touch, and a beard with wisps of unmade dark threads carpeting his square jaw and around his thin lips. There was something herculean about the boy; he had always been something of an athletic, if even dour, type, a hit with the young ladies their age, the twins. The Fast Jock and the Weird Girl.

“You smoke all the time too, don't be a hypocrite now, Piet. Isn’t fair.”

“It's not because of that,” snapped her twin brother in bad manner, creasing a patch of fur between his bushy brows, then adjusting the cut of the jacket to his broad shoulders as he grabbed her by the lapels in his big hands, pulling the garment forward.

Although not so close to her brother, separated by the distance of an outstretched arm, Wanda was quite capable of distinguishing the aroma of woody cologne and fresh and striking deodorant, like a walk through the men's cosmetics section in a corner pharmacy.

“The neighbors will complain about the smell again and you know we don't have the money to pay another fine. Miss Harkness will be the first to complain, you know she always does. I'm not going to pay anything now, I don't have a penny left in my pocket. You'll have to manage to pay that fine if she complains again. And you’re the one doing the talking this time, not me.”

“Miss Harkness hates me,” Jadish eyes rolled in their sockets, a twirl of scorn, “She will complain about me every chance she gets.”

“Just put this shit off, c’mon.”

“No.”

“Wanda.”

But Wanda yielded to the stern blue gaze of her older twin brother, and with a single flick of her right wrist, she pressed the burning end of her cigarette against the bottom of a red tin ashtray placed just above the small table next to her, imagining that that piece of metal blurred by ember ash and toasted smoke was the pointed face of the middle-aged landlady, owner of profuse brown locks and a big pearly smile, who was always carrying in her arm a white rabbit, old and fat, almost similar to a puffy domestic cat.

“Okay, are you happy now?”

“My pocket certainly is, yeah,” the boy with the unnaturally pale hair muttered under his breath, before turning on heels shoved in white sneakers and turning his back on his sister, sitting in the high chair on the balcony.

“And why is this house so dark, eh? Turn on some lights every now and then, Wanda. We’re not animals living in a cave. This looks like one of those vampire movies... you're in your vampire phase again, is that it?”

The single lamp on the ceiling of the room had been turned on by Pietro's indicator pushing the plastic switch up, a beam of pearly white light coming from inside the house, passing through the tall sliding glass doors and bothering Wanda's irises, acclimated to the darkness of a dull night, in a corrosive ardor that incited her to squint her eyelids and crease her brow like a nocturnal animal exposed to the artificial light of a car lantern on the road, hiding her face behind a curtain of thick long, dark hair in a back-necked motion.

Then Wanda, her pale face exposed to the plastic light of the ceiling lamp, suddenly became aware of her brother's state – the newly acquired jacket still smelling of the clothing store, the sneakers clean with soapy water, the collar of the shirt all perfumed and his hair well combed, the ends of his beard well trimmed, he all spotless and smelling good. And a crease of curiosity crept between her dark brows, because Pietro's usual state consisted of basketball shorts and an alternation or two between a pair of baggy shirts that he didn't wash all that often.

“Why are you so dressed up like that? That jacket is new,” she got to her feet then, the soles of her bare dusty feet hitting the cold balcony floor before stepping onto the warm floorboards inside the house, “Are you going to some job interview or something?”

“Job interview on a Saturday night, сестричко? Pff, yeah, I'm going out with a girl. You know, like actual normal people do on their free weekends.”

Pietro looked at her with a mischievous little smile broken at the corner of his thin lips, calling her “little sister” in his native language as he always did when he was purposely teasing her, treating her like a little girl, a silly girl and so ignorant of the lives of adults they should have at the end of that time in life, in a youth encapsulated in the advent of adulthood, which in all its layer of social shyness could never have considered the fact that the brother was going on a date.

And Wanda's brows furrowed for a bit, a thin squeegee of embarrassing embarrassment tugging at the pit of her stomach, her ego vaguely insulted by that childishness insinuated by Pietro – because indeed it was Saturday night, a hot and sultry night of summer in the Big Apple, and the young twin had organized no program for herself but reading pages of Sokovian poetry until her brain became an overworked illiterate while she smoked the ashes of her meager existence, interspersing the two actions between sips here and there of red tea that would eventually cool down and spill all over into her cup. College life hadn't been as kind to Wanda as it had been to Pietro, after all.

“But,” she muttered in a tight voice, brows still pinched together, “But I thought today we were going to—”

“Man, to tell you the truth I'm already well short of time,” the guy then pressed the pad of his right thumb against the side of the cell phone he fished out of the back pocket of his dark jeans, unlocking the device's screen in a flash of white glow next to his apollonian nose, which kind of hinted at the structure of her own.

“Damn it, it's almost half past eight – Monica will kill me if I'm late again. Just... you don't have to wait up for me, right Wanda? If anything, just give me a call,” and Wanda followed him with her eyes, her mouth still half open in a dead sentence, when Pietro's right fingers closed around the tin handle of the front door.

“Побачимось.”

And so Pietro was gone, the door closing with a metallic click behind him without the real expectation of a not really necessary answer from his sister, the parting word already echoing from the corridor outside. He never expected a comeback, it's true. And once again Wanda found herself alone, prostrate like a dead plant in a red clay pot in the heart of that apartment with its withered bare walls and warm floor, sulky and damp during the sticky seasons of heat and cold and bitter in the seasonal blows of winter.

Before the height of her stomach, her right fingers fit into the crooks of her left fingers, her fingertips fidgeting with the handful of silver rings dotted there, twirling them, pressing and pulling them around the spans of her fingers. The dark nail polish on her thumbnail was scratched, but she didn't care about it that much.

Pietro didn't come back for something he hadn't forgotten, but Wanda continued to stand at the door like the most faithful of dogs, as if he were going to open the door and say he'd changed his mind, opting for an evening washed down with salty buckets of popcorn and classic American sitcom along with his little sister's company. But there wasn't that. Nothing happened minutes later. From the kitchen faucet, dripping water trickled into the aluminum sink at a broken, faintly vertiginous rhythm. A fly tinkled its little fluttering wings around the lamp above her head of dark hair.

And then isolation took hold in Wanda who caged the oxygen inside her lungs, as if that house and its walls were nothing more than a bulwark that segregated her from the outside world to that door through which her brother had left her, as if the small apartment in the Bronx was her own cocoon of the social, an abode that harbored a being unworthy of sunlight, a being similar to her.

Wanda found herself trapped in a dilemma as much as she was trapped inside her own home, her body and her mind. She was tired of being hemmed in by the ceiling and floor of the apartment, and she could no longer bear the thought that with Pietro far away, as far away as he was now, being the social animal he always was, Wanda would have to be haunted by the company itself.

Without him there was just her, alone and aimless, like a shipwrecked man floating on an old, swollen piece of wood in a vast ocean where sky and sea met on the horizon, no sign of life nearby, the water so deep and dismal that you couldn't see the sand at the bottom. Just her, floating alone in the dark.

And, together from the pillars of their maternal womb, that primary cradle shared between the two twin children, Wanda did not feel that in fact she had been born to be just her, to live a life as reclusive as the experiences of today's hermit that were available before her, and despite her assertion to her brother that solitude was good for her reclusive spirit, the caliber of her involuntary anthropophobia gave an anxious squeeze to the core of young Wanda Maximoff's chest.

Solitude pleased her, but she only evoked a profuse disgust at the idea of loneliness, of isolation. Wanda feared being alone with her own thoughts.

“Fuck it.” Her peach lips curled into a long thin, taut line.

With the fingers of her right hand, Wanda searched for something in the pocket of her thin burgundy knit jacket, her black nails cut short, then slipping lightly over the half-dented pack of cigarettes also placed inside to, finally, hook against the material of her phone with which cigarettes shared space inside the cut in her pocket. She picked up the device with a certainty born of the anxious restlessness that gushed in the walls of her pharynx.

Wanda then reached for it with a movement of her elbow, bringing her phone close to the round tip of her button nose, unlocking the device's screen with the help of her right thumb. And, without hesitating to dive into that cluster of digital apps, she did what she had to do – what everything in that pitifully withdrawn situation in which she found herself in her own social exile compelled her to do, the digits of her fingers pressing the glass screen, typing on the digital keyboard.

hey can you come over?

piet is out

And then, after a second or two, a new message typed by her quick fingers flashed.

i don't wanna be alone tonight

The emerald eyes, profuse and dull in their clear irises, screwed up in anticipation of the answer like a faithful waiting for a sign from their god, staring at that little speech bubble as long as she could.

The folds of Wanda's fingers pressed against the edges of the poor phone, the loops of her rings scraping against the dark plastic. Just waiting, anticipating, fingers curled, anxiety bubbling in scarlet bubbles inside her stomach. And then, a prompt response popped up in the chat shared with that other number.

Of course I can go.

I'll be there soon, Wands .

She took a long, deep gulp of oxygen that rushed in and inflated her lungs in a refreshing release, excarcerating it right away. The muscles in both her shoulders softened into the red hooded jacket she wore – there would be no more loneliness to swallow or tears to shed. Soon you would be there for her. And it only took an interval of fifteen minutes for Wanda to open inwards the door that Pietro had closed behind him twenty-five minutes before, with a hard movement of her right elbow taut against her ribs.

That was how her gaze moved in midair so that, in such a way, it clung to your expectant eyes, which intuitively sought her greenish irises as soon as the door was opened to the inside of the apartment – and there you were, you, standing in front of her door, standing in the long, deserted hallway, staring in mutual care at Wanda's grim-faced face; the chiseled arch of her brows, the delicate lines of her button nose, the well-defined arch of her mouth and high cheekbones.

Opening the door at that moment was like opening the way for all loneliness to go away, because then you were there, there for her.

“Hey,” your lips curled into a chaste smile, “Hey, Wands.”

“Thank you.”

And then, desperate, tormented by a ghostly worry, Wanda, speechless from any verbal response to her affable greeting, walked towards you with a long-winded expression on her pretty, lightly made-up, cigarette-scented face, wanting nothing more than her girl in her own arms.

And she cupped both sides of your face between the warm palms of her hands, bringing her lips to you which she padded with her own mouth in a necessary clash, feeling you uplifted against her body, overwhelmed with her own miseries, just trying to feel nothing but you.

Your lips collided then, her hands holding you close, her rings feeling like little cool spots on the skin of your cheeks, such a disparate awareness of Wanda's warm, caring touch. There would be no better touch in the world for you than the one that displayed all the affection you knew Wanda had for you – a symbolic pair of hands on your cheeks, not only to feel you, but also to hold you and worship her. To prove she knew you were there for her like no one else would be.

“Thank you.”

Wanda muttered in a breath of hot air brushing against the pulps of your lips, still feeling the ghost of your warm lips against hers, a delicious tingle running across her tongue, tasting of ecstasy – lids closed, your foreheads touching almost shyly.

“Thank you, Y/n.”

“I'm here now, Wanda. I am here for you.”

Her warm fingers caressed the skin of your cheeks, instilling a placid serenity in her body. Short nails, coated in black nail polish, traced invisible lines across your cheekbones. Wanda reeked of melancholy and fear like the back of Marlboro cigarettes. And she kissed you once more, and then again and again, interspersing the kisses between little whispers of thanks, declarations for the void to hear. She continued until the automatic lights in the hallway went out.

ᗢ

Puddles of fabric were the pieces of clothing abandoned on the bare wooden floor like helpless stray animals. When Wanda looked up, the movement was conducive to her becoming aware of the erratic pattern where one fold of wallpaper stuck to another on the wall in front of her. It was a rather threadbare wallpaper, derived in the most accurate sense of the word from a faded red wine red that had been there before she moved into that apartment. Her orientation perspective was choked and restrained at that point – her fingertips seemed to enjoy the feel of warm flesh pressed against them, soft and firm at the same time.

Even though her vision was clouded, splattered on her lepidopterous eyelashes by drowsy droplets of a soft intoxication, she saw herself, as if able to smile to herself, lightheaded, her eyes dark green like moss – she was high because you had smoked a joint together some time ago, on the balcony (your elbows brushing and she looking at your glow under the starry sky, because no star would shine brighter than the twinkle inside your irises when Wanda looked at you, hiding the world around you two behind a foggy layer of smoke).

A thick bead of sweat formed above her temple, in her dark hairline, pouring down the length of her pale face until it dripped from her chin, just past the sharp bulge of her left cheekbone. A drop that landed on the arched back below her.

“F–fuck, daddy! Daddy!”

A high-pitched sound vibrated through the room's four red walls—the crack of a slap delivered against your skin, a smack that Wanda made sure to mark on your bottom in euphoric readiness, her fingers in pink welts on your skin, because something in her always delighted to press the bruises with which she bestowed you, ever making your flesh her possession. She loved to mark you, to make your body her perfect picture, the masterpiece of those hands that yearned for her warm skin.

“You're a fucking bitch,” she snorted in a hint of a harsh accent, “My bitch. My favorite bitch.”

“Daddy's favorite,” you repeated in a voice choked with weed and pleasure, and an electric shiver runs down Wanda's spine.

The shudder cost her a break in her rhythm and roughness and rhythm, that long scarlet silicone strap sliding to reach inside the wet folds of your pussy, but you didn't realize it, not how she did it – after all, your face plunged into the pillowcase that emanated the sweet aroma of Wanda's shampoo, the folds of your fingers hooking on the sheets that reeked of her woody perfume, as if submerging in a red mist that she referred to so much, you wouldn't have noticed that her hips wobbled once.

It was like being swallowed by her everywhere, and so you screamed, howled like a bitch in heat – and Wanda appreciated how loud you could be. Claiming her name, how good she, only she, was able to make you feel, and that you were close. Definitely close. In muffled pleas begging daddy to go faster and stronger, deeper and harder towards your womb – and behind the strap she felt her own clit every time the tip of the toy thrust into your cervix.

An indecency was arranged in your closed eyelashes when Wanda looked at you from behind, both of you being without any clothing to cover the length of your bodies as you were, as naked as the day you were born as she fucked you from behind. And at that moment, a welcoming warmth radiated from your broad-shouldered body, and for Wanda, it was like seeing herself integrated into a puddle of torrid sunlight, fulfilling her need to have you close; her arms wrapped around you from behind, her bare breasts pressed against the pale skin of your back, her feeling you there, belonging to her, moving with her.

“Daddy– please! Please wanna cum– I wanna–”

Entranced in a flash of wild desire, feeling Wanda's deft hand move across the skin of your abdomen, being smoothed by the eager digits of her left hand's clever fingers wandering southward down your body, into your tasteless hips, your mouth throbbed lewdly.

“Daddy!”

Her face was hidden in the contour of your neck, in the shoulder joint sprinkled with sloppy bruises, so that Wanda would be able to nibble, from there, a fresh patch of warm skin, easing the burning and tingling that came from the act with the tip of her tongue; her greedy nose tangled in a few profuse locks of your sweaty hair.

Your throat flexed, spilling out a breathy needy moan that pulsed against the line of your teeth. In sync your bodies moved on top of the mattress of her bed, back and forth.

“I wanna come on you,” she gasped, “I wanna mark you as mine. I'll paint your fucking womb white with my load, baby. I’ll break you until no one can use you but me. You're my fuck hole – mine, mine, and nobody else's.”

“Y– yours! I’m yours, daddy, yours!” But there was a hitch in your speech, words squeezing into your throat when Wanda's five right fingers closed against the outline of your neck, screwing into your skin like a thick rope. Saliva seeped from the corner of your lips, down into your chin.

 The roar that bloomed through a crack in her lips had been a husky murmur. As her right hand was busy squeezing your neck, her left was busy plucking the pulsing nerve between your legs—so needy, an urgency growing in your bones and flesh, yearning for the ardor of her figure. Wanda, who unfolded to you with such care and mastery, her inhuman touch burning over your skin.

Her fingertips brushed your fine wet, rough pubic hair, and Wanda took a deep breath, her chest rising heavily and falling lightly, snorting a breath of warm air against the hollow of your ear—the scorching skin of her torso girding itself against your spine, who saw yourself as being able to feel the two swollen nipples pressed against your stinging shoulder blades, her thick her cock still straining your insides in a continuous, harsh back-and-forth.

“Fuck,” her tongue flicked against the roof of her mouth, followed by a curse in her native language, “You are mine, Y/n, you’ll always be mine. Mine. No one else is going to have you but me, fuck, I– I'll make sure of it, I, I'll come on you. I'm going to stuff you so everyone knows you're my bitch walking around with my cum leaking out of you.”

Your ecstasy compelled you to choke on a groan coiled in your throat, and at Wanda's speech you rolled your hips back, fucking yourself in her cock, begging for more, as debilitating when against something as simple as a touch, a simple touch of ethereal fingers, despite the strap that widened you from the inside. Wanda was the only one capable of tearing your brittle body to pieces if she wanted to, and even the vaguest idea made her blood boil in her veins.

“W-Wanna cum,” was a moan from you, your brows meeting furrowed across your peach flushed face; you sounded a little dizzy in your rambling speech, pressing your fingers against the sheet.

“Wanna cum around daddy's cock, wanna–”

“Fuck, I'm gonna come inside your greedy little cunt, gonna– fuck, Y/n!”

Before her you came in a rush of nasal groaning – harsh and confused. Screaming for Wanda, pressing your ass against her hips, shaking. But she buried herself back in you one or two more times before she did it on her own – your walls quivering and tight, familiar and pleasant enough before Wanda plunged her orgasm inside you. And in such a way that she did it, as if just being inside you was what was needed to untie the knot at her primordial apex, then a hand below her navel.

“I'm fucking coming inside you!”

She couldn't actually do it, not the way she really wanted to, but it was enough to feel that familiar tightening in the pit of her stomach when she was there, in that position, that characteristic sting of orgasm digging in her belly. Wanda withdrew from you, your glittering liquid glistening around the strap that the dark harness fastened to her waist, and, with her head seeming to weigh more than the rest of her body, Wanda toppled forward, landing on the slats bed next to you panting, in which the chest rose and fell with an impressive weight.

“Fuck… fuck.”

Her lids squint over the heavy gaze, the world dimming for a second, awareness slipping away. Eyes closed, the room immersed in a puddle of accentuated silence. Then a minute passed. And two and three. There was a click of the spark wheel of a lighter rolling against the stone, gas coming out and paper burning. Wanda's nostrils were filled with a hissing odor of burning grass, smoke reaching her. Her eyelids fluttered open.

With your spine leaning against the wallpaper behind the bed, you, sitting there, were lost in the red – the remnants of the summit ascended in a moment of pleasure smeared the inner sides of your thighs, like a ghost of what was once the climax of the carnal act in which they were so vividly engaged. Swallowing a lit joint between your fingers, Wanda never found you as beautiful as she did at that moment, high and fucked, light for the orgasm and the weed.

“You… are really mine, aren't you?” she asked in a grim voice thread, that accent rolling between the words she alluded to.

You looked at her, “Of course I'm yours. Just as you are mine, silly.”

She just looked at you, silent as she could be.

“Give me a hit,” one hand reached out, reaching for what you held. To disconnect from the world and just feel you.

But, holding the rolled cigarette between the extension of your fingers, Wanda realized that an idea took place behind your empty eyes. You then pressed the commission of your lips around the joint, inhaling that dense smoke to the core of your lungs before, then, reclining your face in front of Wanda, who was still lying down.

The ends of your hair grazed her left nipple as your wet lips met, and you let the smoke trapped in your lungs slip into her open mouth before finally kissing her, her tongue slipping between your teeth, her left fingers tangling in the hair above the nape of your neck, holding you close. When you broke apart, Wanda blinked in ecstasy – your noses were almost touching again.

“You're not going to leave me, are you?” was a sigh against your lips, “You won't abandon me, Y/n.”

“I won't,” you smiled, “Because I love you, Wands. I love you. You know I'll always come when you call.”

And then Wanda looked at you. She looked at you as if it were the first time she had seen you in her life – as if she were discovering you again, understanding you once more, realizing that with you there was no loneliness. In the same way she did every time you surprised her. Wanda understood that as long as she had you, you to indulge her, you to love her, there would be no homesickness left to feel.

“I love you too,” she whispered, “I love you too, Y/n.”

She knew she loved you, in that moment, because she didn't belong in New York or Sokovia - in that moment, she just belonged in your arms.

[builtbybrokenbells]

Gold Dust Woman | vi

Y/n quickly learns how to atone for a mistake that she was not aware she ever made.

Read part five here

Pairing: jake kiszka x f!reader, sam kiszka x f!reader

Word Count: 18k (sorry 😭)

Warnings: SMUT 18+, unprotected sex (borderline hate fucking 🫣), oral (m!receiving), oral (f!receiving, face-fucking, fingering, choking, impact play, degradation, praise, edging/orgasm denial, overstimulation, dirty talk, dom/sub, touch of bratty sub, sex in a semi-public place, possessiveness, jealousy, love triangle themes, swearing, touch of sadness/angst, but this is mostly just porn with a hint of plot. Sorry if I miss any!

hello everyone, it’s so wonderful to be back 😁 thank you for all of your kind words so far 🫶🏻 please enjoy, be kind, and don’t mind any grammar mistakes! this very is lightly edited

Three days. It had been three long, gruelling days since you had heard a word from Jake. Worse than that, it had been three days since you had even heard a faint whisper of his name, or a withering idea that he still existed on the same realm as you. No calls, no texts, not even a glimpse of him in public, hidden away in a corner of his most favourite stores. Not even a wisp of hair blowing as he rounded a street corner. No likes on social media posts; he was not even lurking in the comment section of mutual friends pages. He had ceased to exist, and as much as you liked to pretend that it didn’t bother you, it was excruciating. So much so, that you’d found yourself withdrawn from the normal day to day routine, floating through with no real enjoyment. You were constantly checking your phone or getting excited when you heard a notification, only to be crushed at the realization that it wasn’t him. You found yourself absentmindedly checking for him in every room you entered, every street or store you found yourself in, and every single time you left the house.

The agony of missing him extended far beyond the simple fact of the matter. It leeched into every aspect of your life in the most twisted and rotten ways. Simple pleasures no longer existed; the beauty in song sounded with less comfort, colours in paintings a little less vibrant, sugar a little less sweet. Sure, life would go on indefinitely, but it would be miserable, at least for the foreseeable future. Or, until he decided to grace you with his presence again. You braved the storm the only way you knew how: with a smile on your face, and no hint that anything was wrong in the first place. But, no matter how wide you smiled, or how sore your cheeks were from faking it, it never seemed to diminish the residual ache in your chest.

In truth, Jake was not the only one that disappeared. You had spoken to Danny only a number of times, which was incredibly unusual. He was busy in the studio, refining his drum work for the last touches on their album. When he wasn’t doing that, they were rehearsing for their upcoming tour. If that was finished, they were stuck in interviews and meetings. You knew he was genuinely busy, and in no way would he ever use it as an excuse to ignore you, but it did suck. He was your best friend, your home away from home, and missing him may also have had an effect on the way you missed Jake. You were lonely, and that was one thing you despised more than anything else in the world. Your stubbornness was stronger than your hatred of isolation, only worsening the suffering. Instead of reaching out to anyone, you waited until they had time to come back around. Your nagging fear of being forgotten about was brutal, and the more time that passed, the more you felt like it was crushing you.

At first, you chalked up Jakes absence to work, the same reason Danny hadn’t been able to visit. The first day it worked, but about halfway through, you thought the lack of communication was quite curious. By that evening, it was evident he was ignoring you. By day two, you were sure you’d permanently ruined your relationship with him, and by the third day, you were certain he hated you. You were not sure what the fourth would bring, and you were anything but eager to know. You had faith in him, wanting to ignore your brains incessant speculation on his behalf. You knew Jake to be sincere, and there was no way he would have spent those days with you playing house just to drop you the next day. That’s what you repeated to yourself, hoping that you were correct. Hoping that today would be the day his name graced your phone screen.

Your relationship with Sam hadn’t seemed to progress, either. Sure, you both texted, although dry by times. He’d confessed his utter enjoyment of the night you spent wrapped around each other, and you had too. He was scared of vulnerability, knowing he cared for you far more than he originally thought, and how dangerous that was. You were scared, too, because you felt the same, and his seemingly sudden withdrawal of interest had hurt you. You were both scared of getting hurt, without the realizing that you already were. It was much like anticipating a gunshot after getting stabbed. He had taken you out on a dinner date the day prior, albeit with an air of casualness. It was still nice, filled with laughter and small jokes, but didn’t stem any further than a make out session in his car, similar to the likes of two horny teenagers.

You thought you should take Jakes absence as a sign to pursue Sam. You were falling for him, even more than you were before the weekend full of events. You enjoyed everything you had done together, and knew that it was likely the right choice to make. Perhaps Jake had pulled out of the race, realized that it was foolish and wanted to put it to a civil end. Still, there was a part of you that wasn’t done with him, yet. Still craving him, aching for his touch and his love. Even if you attempted a relationship with Sam so soon, it would end in just as big of a disaster. So you waited, hoping that Jake had just stopped for a breather rather than changed course completely. It was feeble, but it was the only thought that gave you any type of comfort in the three days you’d gone without him.

You went to work Monday and Tuesday with little motivation. You felt bad about your lack of interest in your clients, but they never really seemed to notice. They were there to record music, not get a round of applause every time they completed a solo. Despite that, you still held some guilt over the distant nature you had clung to, realizing that it was very out of your character to be so uninterested in your work. Wednesday was no different. You crawled out of bed feeling like weights were tied to your ankles. You wished you could stay, hide under the protection of the blankets and sleep away the hollow feeling that was residing inside you. You showered and dressed yourself with your eyes half-closed, floating through the morning like a phantom of yourself. Toast was the only thing you could choke down, and you had stopped to get an extra large coffee on your way, just to motivate you to make it to lunch.

Your first two appointments were a daze, nothing memorable and a struggle to sit through. When the bands left, you apologized for your lack of energy and made a promise to have their samples ready by the weekend. Secretly, you were grateful they had only booked short sessions rather than an entire day, just so you could have a moment alone. Before lunch, you locked your office door and chipped away at paperwork you had long forgotten about. Once the stack was much less daunting, you did some work on the audio clips patiently waiting in your queue. By the time noon rolled around, you were all but hungry and more than ready for your inevitable return home. Thankfully, the receptionist had taken it upon herself to grab you a sandwich and a coffee when she stepped out. It gave you something to pick away at while the afternoon dragged on.

You were not dependant on Jake. You knew that if a few more days passed, the debilitating loss would resolve into a residual sadness. Sure, you would miss him, but it would be less catastrophic than it felt in that moment. What shook you to your core was not his disappearance, but the lack of communication beforehand. For him to be so involved, certain that you were what he wanted, and then gone without a trace. It gave you whiplash, falling for him so fast and then having to question if he ever existed at all. You wanted him, and it was obvious, but you were not willing to chase after him if he was showing such a blatant lack of interest in you. He had turned you into a complete fool for him, but you were desperate to cling onto your last shred of self-respect.

A knock on your door sounded, making you fight back an eye roll. Apparently, the busy sign that was glowing outside the room was easy to ignore. You stood, removing your headphones and pausing the clip on your laptop. You unlocked the knob, slowly turning it and revealing the disturbance. Your grumpy expression quickly changed once you registered who was on the other side. You stepped out of the way, inviting him in wordlessly. You closed the door behind him as he moved to take a seat on the couch.

“Rockstar finally had some free time in his schedule?” You smiled.

“Was in the neighbourhood, thought I would stop and say hello.” Danny answered, leaning back into the cushions. “Seems like I’m not the only busy one. Receptionist said you weren’t taking any walk-ins.” He chuckled.

“So you charmed your way up here?” You teased, sitting back down in your chair.

“You know me too well.” Your heart warmed at his soft smile. “She’s kind of automated. Told me that as soon as I said your name, recognized me when she finally looked up.” You nodded along with his explanation, agreeing with the observation.

“Yeah, she kind of has to be. People are pushy, we’re a popular spot. Gets her through the day.” You shrugged. “You guys not working today?” You addressed them all as a group, itching to ask about Jake, but knowing it was better not to. He shook his head.

“No, took a day to just relax.” You could tell he was lying. It was always easy to tell when Danny was lying. He wasn’t looking at you, he was fidgeting with the loose thread decorating the ripped fabric of his jeans. You watched him, wanting to catch his eye so you wouldn’t have to verbally pry the truth from him. After a moment, he looked up through his eyelashes, regretting the decision almost immediately. When he met your knowing stare, he cracked immediately. “We were, this morning.” He admitted. “We decided it would be best to take the day and regroup tomorrow. Didn’t get much done.”

“Why not?” You asked, genuinely curious. Usually they worked really well together. In your time of knowing them, they never seemed to lack in the productivity department. He avoided the question at first, unsure of how to answer it. After a while of uncomfortable silence, he shifted in his seat and fully turned to you.

“Jake has been fucking insufferable.” He sighed. Just from the sound of his tone, you could tell he wasn’t there to question you. He was a friend who needed to rant, and his options were limited due to the relations of his band mates. You let out a laugh, finding his blunt words funny. You knew that if Danny was willing to put it like such, Jake must have been horrific to be around. “Have any insight?” He asked, hoping for an answer.

“I haven’t talked to him since we went to brunch.” You admitted. It seemed like once the words left your mouth, it clicked in his brain.

“Your choice, or his?” You shifted under his gaze.

“Him, I think. I haven’t really reached out, either, I guess.” It was a lie; the separation was for certain Jake’s choice, and you had spent the first day blowing up his phone. You thought maybe that you had driven him even further away with your initial inquires.

“So he misses you!” Danny laughed, teasing you almost instantly. Your cheeks burned red, embarrassed at the idea and wishing he would keep his voice down.

“Shut up!” You scolded, but you couldn’t help but feel relief at the idea Jake was suffering, too. “If he misses me so much, he can come and see me!” But your argument was not heard over the sound of his laughter. He was worried there was a blowout, one that had left you both confused and angry. Instead, you were both playing the immature game of ‘who’s going to text first?’ He had to admit, the knowledge did make him feel better, knowing that one of you was bound to give in, and likely very soon.

“You guys are ridiculous!” He said, taking a long breath to calm himself down. Your childish anger was only adding more humour to an already funny situation, fuelling his hysterics even further. “For the love of god, talk to him before he goes crazy. Before he drives all of us crazy.”

“He started it!” You attempted to justify your lack of reaching out. “I tried at first, and he didn’t answer. He can drive himself crazy all he wants, but I’m not chasing after him.” You crossed your arms over your chest, eyebrows furrowed in frustration. Danny shook his head, a grin eating away at his face.

“What are you, five?” He chided. “Please, for my sake, just invite him over or something. I cannot handle him anymore.”

“Is that the only reason you came to see me?” You questioned, trying to change the subject.

“Obviously not!” He defended. “I wanted to see you.”

“Mhm,” you rolled your eyes. “If you’re here to see me, then I would appreciate no further comments on my love life, please.”

“Fine, but if he doesn’t cheer up soon, I’m going to go insane.” He warned, but there was an evident tone of humour in his words. He fell into a silence, thinking hard about how to word his next question. “How’s your Jake-stinence going?” You raised an eyebrow in inquiry, not quite sure what he meant. “Like abstinence… but from Jake. Get it?” You turned towards your desk, eyes landing on a blank sheet of paper. You grabbed it, crumpling it in your fist, and threw it at him. It bounced off his forehead and tumbled into his lap in a graceful manner, resulting in him shooting you a look of shock. “Not good, I take it. You’re as grumpy as he is.”

“I said no talk about you-know-who.” You pointed a finger at him in warning.

“Okay, okay.” He conceded. “He’s been demoted to Voldemort status.” He promised. You both shared a wordless stare, but eventually dissolved into a fit of giggles.

“I missed you.” You finally cracked, shedding the tough exterior. All of the turmoil you had been feeling from the last few days seemed to melt away. Danny had the ability to make even the worst situations seem bright just with his company.

“I missed you too, bug.”

The two of you chatted away, mostly just mindless and lighthearted conversation, but it seemed to satiate the ache that had been permanent for the past few days. You worked away, happy that you didn’t have any more appointments so you didn’t have to worry about cutting the hangout short. Somewhere along the way, you’d even managed to find your appetite. You finished the sandwich your receptionist had so graciously given you. By the time four o’clock rolled around, you were almost completely finished with your work. With your new spark of energy, you figured a little more time would get you ahead of the pile of procrastination you had accumulated.

“I think I need to get going.” Danny sighed, regretful for having to leave. “I think you-know-who’s brother is on his way to my place.” He said as he checked his phone.

“He’s also you-know-who.” You corrected.

“How are we going to tell the difference between them, then? At least call them Thing 1 and Thing 2, or something.”

“That’s the point. We aren’t going to be talking about them, remember?” You reminded him. He gave a slow nod, knowing that you wouldn’t stick to your word. As much as you hated discussing your problems, he always had a way of getting you to talk.

“You leaving soon, too?” You shook your head, motioning to your desk.

“I think I’m gonna stay late. I have a few things I need to get done before the weekend, and I’m feeling up to it, today.” You explained, receiving a nod in return. “Thanks for coming. I always love your company.” You smiled.

“It was my pleasure, bug.” You stood to give him a hug, unable to resist the temptation. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you tightly as a silent apology for not seeing you sooner. You rested your head on his chest, eyes closed in bliss. The comfort you were surrounded in was impenetrable, more than you’d felt since you had your brunch date with him. “Call me if you’re bored later, I’m sure we can find something to do.”

“Sounds good to me.” You said, reluctant to let go. Eventually, you parted with him and bid a small goodbye. Once he disappeared through the door, you collapsed back in your chair.

You took a moment to decompress from the company before turning back to your laptop screen. You knew the rest of the staff would be heading out around four-thirty, so you called down to the front desk to let them know not to wait up for you. You took your phone out, checking to see if Jake had messaged, just in case. When you were met with a blank screen and a sinking feeling in your stomach, you turned on some music to fill the stale air. You worked away, finding your productivity lessen without Danny around. Still, you persevered in hopes that it would distract you from the creeping loneliness that was catching back up to you. The thought of returning home to an empty house was gut-wrenching, and you didn’t want to bother Danny and Sam in fear of intruding. Work seemed like the best option for you, and work you did. It distracted you enough that you almost missed the second disturbance of the day.

A gentle knock sounded on the door, which you thought was quite peculiar. You looked at your clock, noting that it was around the time everyone was headed home. You figured it was either the receptionist stopping by to bid a goodnight, or Danny coming back because he forgot something. You turned to the couch, eyes scouring the cushions to see if there was a forgotten phone or wallet, but there was nothing out of the ordinary. You thought it must be a coworker, as Danny likely would have noticed something was missing long before now. Another knock sounded, a bit more imminent than the last, breaking you out of your internal brooding indefinitely. You weren’t sure why you were stalling; maybe because you had no energy for another social interaction, or perhaps because you were determined to get the work finished. You figured you shouldn’t let whoever it was wait any longer in case it was something important.

You stood, making your way towards the door. Before you could open it, another knock came through. You had to admit, the persistence did strike you as annoying, but you tried not to let it bother you. When the door swung open, revealing the source of the disturbance, you were certain your heart stopped beating for a moment. With wide eyes, you took in the sight, drinking in every detail and finding yourself speechless. Three days was not a long time, but it seemed like an eternity to you. Somehow, in the lesser half of a week, he only seemed to present even more beautifully than he did in the days before. The desire to be with him was unfathomable when he wasn’t accessible, but now that he was within an arms reach, it was tormenting you worse than it ever had.

Jake stood, wordless with a shadow of indignation dancing in his eyes. Simple clothes, just a t-shirt and jeans, with his hair loosely hanging over his shoulders and his sunglasses decorating the neck of the shirt. His simplicity was astounding; it didn’t matter what he was wearing, he was always gorgeous. His cologne was like a punch to the stomach, something you didn’t realize you even missed until it was shoved in your face. It felt like an addiction. You bargained for days that you could go without him, live life without the comfort of his company. The minute he showed up, as soon as he became available, you knew you were lying to yourself. A lifetime without Jake could be enjoyable, sure, but never completely fulfilling. All of the contempt for his actions, the anger you had felt over his disappearance was gone in an instant, replaced with the undying urge to reach out and touch him, for him to touch you.

“Long time no see, Gold Dust Woman.” His tone was flat, the nickname that usually held an air of adoration was cold, now. He was angry, and Danny was correct about that, but he was mad at you. If the reunion went well, you made sure to note that you would never ignore him again, intentional or not. More so than anger him, it seemed to hurt him, and that was something you never wanted to do.

“Jake,” you breathed, still finding yourself unable to move from your position. You wanted to reach out to him, to invite him in, but you couldn’t seem to conjure the strength to do it. That feeling was partially reliant on the idea that he did not want you to. You were caught in a standoff, neither of you wanting to be the first to move, but both of you needing each other more than words could express. Your gaze drifted over his face, features so alluring and inviting. For a split second, his eyes caught yours. It shook you to your core, making you want to fall to your knees and grovel at his feet. In that moment, you would do anything to feel even a fraction of the love in his touch that you had experienced before. Even if it was angry, a shell of what it was the few days prior, it would be worth the world and more.

As if the eye contact sparked the same realization in him, he stepped forward without warning. His hands landed on your hips and he pulled you into a kiss. Your arms shot up, wrapping around his neck and pulling him closer. With one kiss, he managed to silence every worry before it even had a chance to surface. Without breaking apart, you both stepped into the room a bit further. He kicked the door shut behind him, not willing to take the chance of someone interrupting. It was a messy show of desperation, his hands wandering to any available part of you, making up for lost time. When you finally parted, your lips were swollen and you were fighting for air.

“You disappeared,” you stated, chest heaving in attempt to catch up on the lack of oxygen.

“Good observation.” He muttered, not having the heart to ignore you any longer, but it was evident that he wasn’t interested in talking. His hands were already wandering under the hem of your shirt, begging for you to let him slip it over your head. As much as you wanted to deny it, to stop him for a moment to resolve the problem before jumping straight to sex, you couldn’t. The feeling of his hands on your skin was exhilarating, satiating the craving that could only ever be solved by him. You lifted your arms, complying to his request with no hesitation. Once your shirt was discarded, he turned and locked the door, just as a precaution. “Got here just in time. Receptionist was leaving, told me you were still up here.”

“Surprised she let you in.” You responded, feeling the sting of cool air attack your bare skin.

“Didn’t want to. Calling you my girlfriend really persuaded her.” His gruff explanation was paired with the action of him pushing you towards the couch. He said it with such simplicity, like it was a completely normal title and he had no problem announcing it. It made your stomach churn, the knowledge that it was a lie stinging a little more than it should have. You didn’t have time to dwell, because once you reached the sofa, he made quick work at sitting down and pulling you into his lap.

You adjusted easily, straddling him like it was the most natural thing in the world. His fingers snaked around to your back, unclasping your bra and throwing it to the floor alongside your shirt.

“Why the hell were you ignoring me?” You question was followed by a sharp gasp; he’d already buried his face in your chest and pulled one of your nipples into his mouth. The sensation caused an involuntary grind of your hips against him. His actions were only gentle for a moment, the tender care he showed you initially was quickly replaced with his annoyance. Cautiously, he sunk his teeth into the sensitive bud, eliciting a hiss from you. Your grip on his bicep tightened, shocked at the suddenness of his action. You could already tell that his intent was not to cater to you. He was pissed off, so much so that it had taken three days for him to recover enough to punish you for it.

You had no idea that his unanswered calls would get under his skin so badly, and if anything, you thought it was quite childish. Three days of complete silence over a bruised ego seemed a little extreme. Perhaps his frustration was bleeding in to you as well, causing a spark of anger towards him. “Answer me.” You snapped, unable to find a sympathetic bone in your body. The harsh words hit him the same as if you punched him in the face. He broke from you, eyes immediately shooting up to your face. There was a fire blazing behind his pupils, the muscle in his jaw tense with annoyance at your demand.

“Shut up.” He spat, no willingness to answer questions about why he withdrew. His eyes lingered for only a moment before pulling you into another kiss. You could feel the rage radiating from his skin; it was laced within his kiss, bleeding into your mouth and knotting around your throat. The sensation was electrifying, so good that you didn’t even notice that it was killing you. In that moment, you hated him, furious that he refused to tell you why he left, but you were so in love with the feeling of his hands that you couldn’t stop him. You were aching for relief, but it was far beyond sexual gratification. His absence hurt you for reasons much bigger than sex, even if you thought it impossible to communicate it. As much as you wanted to ignore it, to give in to his demands and burning touch, you couldn’t.

“I can’t,” you pulled back, breaking free from his spell. Even as the words came out of your mouth, you wanted to take them back. The temptation of Jake was greater than any other force you’d ever felt before. “I can’t have sex with you unless we talk.” The first wise decision you had made since the beginning had finally surfaced. The lack of malice in your statement struck him differently than your previous comments. For a brief moment, he paused. You had hurt him, undoubtedly, but he finally realized that he had hurt you, too. The defensive nature you had both previously adorned was beginning to crumble away. When he looked into your eyes, his heart ached at the harshness he had greeted you with.

The crack in the wall slowly spread, branching into all directions. The sound was deafening.

Instantaneously, the truth seeped through the weakened defence, settling in your bones and taking over; the game you were playing with each other evolved into something much greater than casual sex. You cared about each other, enough so that whatever happened had caused genuine pain. You were invested enough to be hurt, and now you weren’t sure how to slow down. “We can talk while we fuck.” He bargained, less aggressive than his initial stance. He was still angry, but it had dissipated the moment he saw you. Now that he was touching you, aching to be with you the same way you were, it was residual rather than overwhelming. He didn’t want to admit that his request was due to his need for you, still unable to jump over the barrier limiting him from being vulnerable. He wanted to talk, to work out the situation and go back to the way things were in the first few days, but his need for communication was minimal compared to his need for you.

You couldn’t find a good argument to counter his proposal, so you agreed. Perhaps it wasn’t the best idea, but at the time it seemed right. When you didn’t contest, he shifted below you, keeping one hand on your back for support, and easily laid you down on the couch. You knew that sex in your office was likely not the best place, but you also knew you couldn’t withstand a drive back to your house. You could only hope that the janitors started on the first floor, knowing that you were in for one hell of a ride. He fumbled with the buttons on your jeans, barely warning you before those were on the floor, too. You were left in just your underwear, skin tingling with the frigid air. When he finally took a moment to look over you, exposed underneath him once more, he felt the crushing weight of his adoration for you wash over him, overshadowing any other emotion he was feeling in the moment. His expression almost looked pained, striking a worry within you. In truth, the pain was due to the knowledge in his brain that he could lose you, and he knew just how easy it would be. Missing you had become so difficult that he couldn’t even play into his own game anymore. He couldn’t imagine a lifetime without you if he lost the race.

“You want to talk?” He hummed, breaking out of his internal brooding almost immediately. His voice was low, dangerous almost, like the question in itself was a trap. He leaned down over you, his lips ghosting over your stomach. The light tickle of his mouth sent a shiver down your spine, so unsettling yet still so beautiful all at the same time. “To keep pretending that you don’t know what you did?” A fizzle of panic struck, unsure what he meant by the question. Soon after, regret formed at the memory of his missed calls, the ones that sounded when you were too busy buried in his brother. “I warned you, angel. Being a tease is not how you get what you want. Ignoring me, talking back, not listening…” he trailed off, mouth still barely hovering over you. He’d made it to your navel, his breath tickling the skin just above your panty line. You would be lying if you said you didn’t wish for him to continue. He wasn’t even touching you and you were a mess for him. He brought his mouth to you, a placing gentle kiss to you. It was barely noticeable, but it was the greatest gift he ever could have given you. You had no shame in the shaky breath that escaped your lips, no longer shy about the effect he had on you.

“I’m going to do the talking, and you’re going to listen.” He said, finally looking up at you. At the sight of his face, all of your morals faded away. Any idea of argument was long forgotten, and any need to contest his authority ceased to exist. You were at his disposal, completely under his command and just grateful to have the opportunity. Your pleasure was second to his; you were willing to make up for whatever you had done to hurt him, and if that meant allowing him to do whatever he pleased with you, that was more than alright. Despite his disappearance and his angry exterior, he was still the same Jake you had been lucky enough to experience before. You knew that no matter how upset he was with you, he would take care of you and your comfort. You trusted him more than you cared to admit. “Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir.” You whispered. His hand slowly connected with your cunt, the thin material of your underwear barely diminishing the euphoric feeling of his fingers on you.

“You only speak when I give you permission.” He added, making sure the rule was clear. “Unless you want me to stop or slow down.” He was quick to ensure that was understood. He looked to you, both of you knowing he wanted verbal clarification before he continued.

“Okay, baby.” You promised. The pet name seemed to cause a short-circuit in his brain, almost making him forget what his intentions were. At the sound of such a sweet word he’d been craving to hear for so many days, he considered throwing the act to the side and coddling you, admitting that he was in the wrong for letting his jealousy get in the way. The continual battle of fighting back vulnerability was exhausting, and every time he looked it you it grew harder to withstand.

“That’s my girl.” He broke from your stare, muttering the praise in attempt to distract himself from the internal struggle of wanting to love you and being afraid. His fingers were barely touching you, the pressure against you minimal, but the touch so inviting. “Need to show me that you can behave, angel. So far, you haven’t done a very good job at it.” He explained, eager to get the last piece of clothing off of you, but opting to tease you instead. He found it too easy to give in to you, to give you whatever you wanted, and he was trying to resist it. His anger was still strong, pulsing through his veins, but now it was less so to do with you, and more so due to him allowing himself to wind up in this situation all over again. He swore the last time that he would never allow Sam the chance to steal someone away from him. This time, he was certain that his head start would allow him the upper hand, but somehow his brother had bested him once more. The stakes were too high, the idea of Sam touching you was excruciating, and he feared that his own bruised feelings had given his brother the opportunity he had been so desperate to avoid.

In complete transparency, in the three days he spent away from you, the thought of letting go did surface, but not because he was willing to give you up. It was mostly because he knew the loss of you would be devastating. It was in protection of his own feelings, and ignoring your messages was admittedly one of the hardest things he had ever done. Now that he was with you, touching you, seeing you in the beautiful light that you were always surrounded with, the thought was blasphemous. Jake was in the race until the very end, until you ultimately made the decision yourself. He may have started the game with the belief he was in control, but he now he knew he wasn’t. For a moment, he believed Sam was the master, but that wasn’t true, either. You held the power, even if you didn’t believe it. The choice was yours, and all they could do was pray that it was them who would come out on top. Much like his brother, he adorned the same attitude, knowing that a brief time with you was better than never having you at all, even knowing that it might not be him you chose.

In some sense, you felt like your decision was already made. With his hands on you, his eyes burning into you, and his cologne surrounding you, the choice seemed easy. Your undeniable feelings for him were growing more by the day; his disappearance only solidified that. When Jake was around you, the decision to love him was simple. You wanted to be with him, to be loved by him, and you weren’t sure if it would ever go away. Then again, when he was gone, replaced by the company of Sam, the right thing seemed to be different, to follow your initial path in pursuing Sam. You had no idea what to do, or when to do it. You didn’t want to stay in limbo forever, always bouncing back and fourth and never able to make a decision, but the idea of losing either of them was indescribably painful.

“What are you thinking about, sweetheart?” His words shot through you like a bullet, shattering any doubt. You wanted to be with Jake, and until you had the courage to say it aloud for certain with no fear of doubling back, you would enjoy having him for the time being. You hadn’t been with him for long enough to know for sure, and that’s what you repeated in your head to bargain with your indecision.

“You,” You whispered, and it was the truth. He was all you could think about, all of the time. It was unbearable, but fantastic all the same. His fingers were still dancing over the thin fabric concealing you, giving you a taste of relief but not even close to enough to satisfy. You knew that he was going to push you until you couldn’t think straight, make you forget anything other than his name, and you were okay with it. You missed him so much that you would take anything, even if it were him telling you he hated you. Being hated by Jake was better than being nothing to him.

“Are you telling me the truth?” He asked.

“Of course I am.” You breathed, squirming beneath his heavy stare. You were throbbing, aching for him to stop teasing you and get to the point, but you bit your tongue. If you were to talk back to him, you feared he would get up and leave. You were certain he could tell how turned on you were; he was dragging it out as punishment. He noticed your discomfort, knowing immediately the cause. He could see how badly you wanted him just from your expression, and it was exactly what he was hoping for. A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, the closest thing to a smile he had given you since he showed up.

“Let’s talk, angel.” He said, slowing his movements to a stop. “If you keep telling me the truth, I’ll give you what you want. If you lie to me…” he trailed off, eyes drifting over you as he pondered the best choice of words. “You probably don’t want to find out what will happen.” He said, his smirk growing into a sadistic little smile. You didn’t like the look in his eye, but the temptation of the reward was too large to resist.

“Okay, let’s talk.” You agreed. He settled himself on his knees between your legs, leaning in close to you. He turned his head to the side, placing a few kisses to the inside of your thigh before beginning his tirade.

“You know, it’s not very nice to be a tease,” He pondered aloud, not pointing a question at you, but rather posing the statement in general. “I don’t particularly like it.” The pressure of his thumb increased, giving you small motivation to play into his game. He noticed your sharp intake of breath at the movement, clearly pleased by the sound. “Well, unless I’m the one doing it.”

God, he was insufferable sometimes.

“What were you trying to do that night?” He asked, but spoke again before you could respond. “Calling me dressed like that, ignoring my texts, talking back?” He listed a few of the injustices that you had committed.

“I wanted you to come over.” You let out a gasp as the statement fell from your lips, feeling his fingers finally slip under the fabric. Instead of rewarding you for your answer, he let his thumb hover over the spot you so badly wanted him to touch. The minuscule contact was worse than an itch you couldn’t quite scratch.

“No, I don’t think that’s what you wanted.” He shook his head, watching your face. Every detail was driving you crazy, despite how minor some were. He raised an eyebrow, wanting you to try again.

“Attention.” You admitted, which was the whole truth. Your previous answer was not completely wrong, yet purposely omitted partial truth. “I wanted you to pay attention to me.” With that, he let his thumb trace slow circles into your clit. The small action sent a wave of pleasure through you, causing you to involuntarily arch your back in response.

“That’s it, baby.” He said, the words coming out in a slur. He wanted to keep his composure, but it was difficult watching you in such a state. Your reaction had an effect on him that was much greater than he would care to admit. “You wanted attention?” He asked, making sure that your answer was clear.

“Mhm,” you hummed, eyes fluttering closed in response to his voice. You were sure you could get off from the sound of it alone.

“Did you want it from me, or did you just want someone to take care of you? Didn’t matter who it was?” He asked, his tone shifting slightly. You could tell that his anger was slowly returning the more he spoke.

“I wanted it from you, Jake.” You said, looking to meet his eyes. You meant it, but you weren’t sure he believed it. “That’s why I called you.” Another gasp sounded from you as his thumb pressed into you even further.

“And you got it,” he confirmed “you got exactly what you wanted, didn’t you?” His eyes never left your face, searching for a hint of a lie, almost like he wanted you to try your luck.

“Y-yes,” you stuttered out, feeling him slowly slip a finger into you. It was just enough for you to lose your train of thought, only able to focus on his hands rather than your conversation.

“But you weren’t satisfied with that, were you?” He questioned, voice quiet but firm. His hands felt so good on you that you almost didn’t hear him, too caught up in the pleasure. A moan fell from your lips, but he wasn’t happy about your lack of an answer. He halted his movements, violently pulling you out of the cloud of euphoria. “That wasn’t enough. You wanted more, didn’t you, angel?”

“Yeah, I did.” Your response was immediate, willing to tell him anything he wanted to hear as long as he promised to keep touching you. “I wanted you to come over and fuck me.” He resumed his pace, adding another finger to you to show his appreciation for your honesty. You let out a choked moan, the feeling more intense now that he had stopped and started again.

“I know you did, sweetheart.” He said, a note of fake sympathy ringing from his tone. Had you not known him so well, you’d almost believe it to be true. “Were you a good girl after I hung up? Did you listen to me and touch yourself, take care of yourself because I couldn’t be there with you?” His words were blunt, powerful in their simplicity, and pushing you closer to an orgasm every time he opened his mouth. You didn’t even care that his tone was thick with disrespect, slowly degrading you more every time he spoke. You had no idea where his words were leading to, but you were certainly content with the ignorance in the meantime.

“N-no,” you admitted, but the answer barely come out. You were too distracted by the knot tightening in your belly, pleading with you to let go.

“Of course you didn’t,” he chuckled, but it was not because he found the situation funny. It was a knowing laugh; he’d known the answer to the question long before he asked it, but he wanted to hear you admit it. “You never listen.” He stated, but the snarky comment meant nothing to you. He could see it in your face, the impending climax that you were so desperate for. He was almost willing to give in, to let you have the moment of pleasure, but he wasn’t feeling up to generosities. “You were supposed to do as I said, be good and play with yourself until I could come over. It was simple, but you couldn’t even do that.” He spat.

“M’sorry, Jake.” You whined, but you were too far gone to say it with sincerity. The lack of understanding on your part infuriated him, that you had no idea what he was hinting at, no idea what you had done.

“No, you’re not.” He shook his head, despite you not looking at him. He continued his movements, driving you as close to the edge as he could get you. “You’re not sorry at all.”

“I am,” you pleaded, now fearful that he thought you were lying.

“What did you do instead?” He asked, ignoring your desperate apologies.

“I-I drank, waited for you to come o-over.” You figured the half truth was better than the alternative. You weren’t lying to him, just withholding the full story in hopes to spare his feelings and keep him from pulling away.

“I told you not to lie to me, sweetheart.” He said, the low tone resonating more with a growl. You failed to realize that you were in stalemate; he knew what you had done, and there was no lie or explanation that would lessen the blow of the truth.

“N-not lying, baby.” You breathed, just seconds away from an orgasm. It was getting harder to speak, harder to think. The conversation was of no interest to you, anymore. The only thing you wanted was for him to keep making you feel good, and you were willing to say anything to get it.

“Strike two.” He warned.

“Jake, please, I promise.” You begged. That was his breaking point, no longer able to prompt you to tell the truth. He was fed up, practically radiating with frustration, and long past willing to bargain with you.

“So that’s your story? You waited for me?” He hissed, but his hands remained steady. When you didn’t answer, he chose to do it for you. “I told you to get yourself off, not to call my brother to do it for you.” He spat. Your eyes snapped open, the shock of his words paired with the threat of climax was overwhelming, sending your body into a rigid state. You were frozen, finally understanding that his disappearance was not because of a bruised ego, or anger that you had been ignoring him. He knew Sam was at your house that night, and was painfully aware of what you had done with him. You really had hurt him, but not for the reasons you previously thought. You couldn’t respond, only feeling a strangled cry of pleasure leave your lips as the burning in your stomach seemed to reach its full capacity. Before you could descend into the orgasm, he ripped his hand away from you with a scowl permanently stuck on his lips. If you’d been in your right mind, complaining would not have been your first reaction, but you were delirious after going so long without him. Finally feeling his hands again was enough to drive you insane, and losing them before you could let go was the worst feeling in the world.

“What the fuck?” You hissed, sitting upright in an instant. Normally, the crazed look in his eye would have served as a warning. Today, it was just the same as throwing gasoline on a burning flame.

“That’s what you do when you don’t get your way?” He matched your intensity, both of you fuming with no sign of backing down. “I didn’t get a call, or even a text, so I thought I’d be nice. Thought I pushed you too far, so I dropped everything to come over and take care of you, just to see that you’d already found someone else to do it? It was that easy?” The condescending attitude was infuriating enough that you thought you could reach out and strangle him without a shred of guilt.

“So that’s why you came here? To argue? To show up after three days just to fight with me?” You spat, ready to grab your clothes and kick him out. “You don’t get to be mad at me for something you started!” He reached out, grabbing your face in his hand with little care, silencing you before you could speak again.

“No, I’m not here to argue.” He said, suddenly seeming calm and rational, though the fire in his eyes did not reflect his stature. “Get up, and shut your fucking mouth.” There was no more room for discussion, and you were not willing to contest him. You stood, obliging to the command almost immediately. He stood, too, eyes scanning the room until they inevitably landed on the recording booth, perfectly soundproof and ready to house the main event. He nodded his head towards it, signalling for you to go inside. You wanted to protest, to shake your head in retaliation, but you couldn’t. His authority in that moment was astounding, something that was not a force to be reckoned with. The power imbalance was clear; he was in charge this time, and was in no way willing to compromise.

You shuffled in the direction of his eyes, walking in the booth with him hot on your trail. The sound of the door shutting behind you settled in your bones with the weight of lead, sending dread through every nerve. You had no reason to be scared; you knew he would never hurt you, but you were certain he would not be gentle. You turned to look at him, finding no comfort in the expression that he adorned. “Turn around, hands against the wall.” Was all he said. You obeyed, quickly spinning and taking a step towards the wall. You assumed the position that he requested without a word. Despite the bubble of anxiety in your chest, you were still incredibly turned on and excited for what was in store for you, even if it was a punishment. You felt him approach you, his body radiating warmth despite being fully clothed. Another rush of arousal ran through you, excited by his proximity alone. That was the thing about Jake; he didn’t have to be touching you to be able to keep his spell on you. It was strong enough just simply knowing he existed.

“I’m not here to argue, or fight, or whatever you think.” He said, voice dangerously low. “If I wanted to do that, I would have gotten it over with long before now.” You knew he didn’t want you to answer, so you didn’t. You were in much too deep to risk pissing him off further. You felt his hand ghost over your lower back, the touch soft and inviting. It felt so good that your eyes even fluttered closed, the tension in your shoulders releasing slightly. “Do you remember what I said, earlier?” You chose not to respond in fear of saying the wrong thing. “How I’m going do the talking, and you’re going to listen?”

“Yes,” you whispered, still in love with the feeling of his hand on you. He was being far too sweet for you to believe it was true.

“Good,” he said, the word short and his tone firm. “You remember your colours?”

“Yes,” you repeated, almost robotically.

“Please don’t be scared to tell me, okay?” He said, dropping the gruffness only for a moment.

“Okay,” you whispered, looking back over your shoulder to catch his eye for a moment. You wished you hadn’t, because the softness beneath the rough exterior was almost enough to make you fall in love with him on the spot. He was tempted to smile, to throw his anger to the side and hold you. As upset as he was about the situation, it did not take away his care for you, and the three days he spent away from you were just as terrible for him as they were for you. He knew if he did that, he would be digging his own grave. Instead, he continued on like the sweet second had never happened at all.

“I came here because I wanted to give you the chance to tell me the truth.” He said, your eyes still locked with his. “Told you that I’d take care of you, you’d get what you want, as long as you didn’t lie to me.” His grip on your hip tightened, fingers staring into your skin and showcasing all of the emotion he was holding within him. “Made it easy, but you don’t know how to listen.” He sighed at the end of the sentence, like he almost pitied you for what you were going to endure. “No more chances, baby. We do this my way, now. Understand?”

“I do.” You squeaked.

“I didn’t think that I was asking a lot of you, sweetheart.” He said once your head turned away from him. “Just to be patient, to do what you were told, and you couldn’t even do that for me.” You felt him remove his hand from you. Soon after, you could hear the metal clanging of his belt being unbuckled. Your stomach sank, knowing what would come next, but you couldn’t help but feel the buzz of excitement again. Jake was so phenomenal that even the thought of being reprimanded by him was exhilarating. “You didn’t care who was giving you the attention, angel. You just wanted someone to take care of that ache between your legs. You knew I’d do it right, and that’s why you called me, hmm?”

“Yes, sir.” You felt the cool leather against your backside, threatening to strike at the first wrong word or action. You took a long breath, waiting for his next move.

“Did you think he could take care of you like I do?” The possessive nature of his statement took you as a shock; there had never been a time where you had discussed boundaries, titles, or anything official. It was messy, hookups with no real promise of more but so many buried feelings that it made it near painful for everyone. From all you knew, the competition between the brothers was fierce, but expected. Jealousy was not something you had thought would surface. You pushed the thought away, understanding that Jake had not said anything extremely offhand. You chalked the comment up to his competitive nature, and left it at that. At the same time, you fought to ignore the feeling of delight that came with the thought of being his.

At your silence, the belt raised and came down on your bare ass. It was not nearly as hard as he could have hit you, but it was enough to send a shock through you. The lasting sting was a reminder to answer him in a timely fashion. “No comment?” He taunted. You could hear the smirk in his tone, almost pushing you to test your limits, but you decided it was best not to. “Did you think he could make you feel as good as I do?”

“No, sir.” Now was not the time to tell him you did not call Sam and invite him over, or that when you answered the door, you expected it to be him. He didn’t want to hear that; his feelings were hurt, and he wanted you to fuel his ego.

“Doesn’t seem like he did a very good job, angel. Not a single mark on you.” He noted. You could feel his eyes scanning you, inspecting for any signs of the betrayal littering your skin. The leather of the belt was gently tickling your backside, threatening you with punishment if you did not adhere to the rules. “Did he make you feel good, baby?” His question seemed like one of self-punishment. He would know if you were lying, but the truth was undesirable.

“Y-yes,” you muttered, feeling guilty for even saying that to his face.

“As good as I do?” He asked, his tone more pressing than before. You had no idea how to answer him, because you didn’t know. It was different, and you were unable to compare it to each other because they were both fantastic for different reasons. So, you opted to test your luck and give him the answer he wanted to hear from you.

“No, baby.” You said, trying to sound as confident as possible.

“No?” He asked, questioning your response. You were frustrated with him, unsure of the answer he wanted to hear. He seemed to pick up on every lie without difficulty, leaving you stuck with truth, even if you thought it would do more harm than good.

“I-i don’t know, Jake.” You said, honesty finally showing.

“Then tell me what you do know.” His condescending attitude was insufferable, making you realize that this game was not for any other reason than to shame you for your actions. He wasn’t catering to his own ego, or mending his own wounds. He wanted you to feel embarrassed, regretful for the stunt you pulled and the scene he witnessed. He wanted you to feel the same embarrassment he felt when he showed up only to find that Sam had beat him to it. “What happened that night, angel?”

“I was waiting for you, Jake.” You told him, more truthful than anything else you could have said. “I heard a knock on the door and I thought it was you. I was excited, thought maybe I won the argument for once. When I opened the door, it wasn’t you. I didn’t call Sam, I didn’t invite him over to spite you. He showed up.” You explained, desperate for him to know that you would never do that to him. “I didn’t even know it was him until the door was open.” Jakes movements stuttered, the belt he was taunting you with coming to a halt for a moment. He had misjudged you, and although knowing that you invited Sam inside was painful, his reaction was based off the conclusion that you called Sam when he refused to give in to you. He was mistaken, but in typical Jake fashion, he couldn’t seem to fess up to his wrongdoing. He was in too deep to backtrack, and his contempt for the situation was still too large to ignore.

“But you invited him in, didn’t you?” His voice was softer; you could tell the explanation satiated at least some of the ache he had been feeling.

“I did.” You admitted. If his goal was to make you feel shame, it was working. Perhaps at the time, your guilt was not large enough to derail your desire for sex, but now it made you never want to look at Sam again.

“And you didn’t think that was a bad idea?” He pressed. You could feel him gravitating closer to you, his hips almost pushing into you now. He was dragging this out even longer than he liked, but he continued on, nonetheless. “Didn’t care about anyone’s feelings other than your own?” He snapped, finally outwardly admitting that it had hurt him, even if it was unintentional.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, but it wasn’t enough.

“You’re not sorry, angel. I know you would do it again if I left you here like this.”

“I’m trying to apologize, Jake!” You said, frustrated with his lack of respect for your words. “I know I fucked up, but you didn’t have to disappear like that!” Your attitude was quickly changed when the smack of the belt was felt on your skin again, harder than the last time. Your jaw clenched, teeth grinding together to distract you from the sting.

“Apologize for what?” He hissed. “You keep saying sorry, but you don’t even know what you’re sorry for.” A tear welled up in your eye, still processing the bluntness of the belt. You were frustrated, tired of the back and fourth, and most of all, desperate for him to get off his high horse and fuck you. You were both hurting with no proper way of communicating it. The whole foundation of your relationship was sex; neither of you had a clue how to approach the complex feelings that were beginning to surface. Both of you fell in step with the devil, driven by the premise of each other’s bodies and ignored any thought of emotion. It had only been a week, and the sexual gratification had already grown old, overpowered by the need for something deeper. “Sorry that you were a little whore? That you couldn’t keep your legs closed and wait for me? Or are you just sorry that you didn’t get away with it?” The belt dropped to the floor with a pathetic plop, easily forgotten about in the heat of the moment. You would have turned around on your own accord, faced him with just as much fire had it not been for him doing it for you.

Once you were facing him, fully immersed in his features, you could see that underneath all of his anger, that pain was desperate to be released, begging to be discussed. “It doesn’t matter, angel. I don’t care if you’re sorry.” He looked over your face, noticing the same fire in your eyes. The same pain was there, too. You were both fools to believe that it would magically disappear once you both had an orgasm. He stepped forward, ultimately pushing you back into the wall. You looked up at him, furious but still just as turned on. Sex would not fix the problem, but it certainly would take your mind off of it. “I’m going to fuck that attitude out of you, show you why you should have waited.”

“Do it, then.” You snapped, unable to bite your tongue anymore. “I’m sick of talking. Keep saying you’re going to, but haven’t made a move yet.” His eyes lingered over your face, distaste for your words clearly evident, but he didn’t respond. Instead he freed himself from his pants, in too much of a rush to shut you up to bother fully taking them off. He used his hand to make sure you were firmly against the wall, forgoing caution completely. His hand settled on your thigh, roughly pulling your leg up and around him. He kept his hand there, holding you to him as he bent down slightly, angling himself so he could access you easier.

Once he was lined up, he pushed inside of you without any delay. You let out a sigh of relief, but his face was stony, like he barely noticed the difference. He wasn’t fucking you for pleasure, and he was making that clear. His free hand travelled up to your neck, fingers lightly resting over your throat. “You don’t get to speak to me like that, sweetheart.” He said, hips slowly begging to rock into you. “You don’t get to speak at all, anymore. No more teasing, no more back talk, nothing.” He growled, his fingers tightening further with every word. “If you want to be a whore, you get treated like one. I have no problem with that.” As he finished, you could feel the lack of blood flow begin to wane, your heartbeat strong against the vein he was compressing. The feeling of him inside you was amplified by a million, the airy feeling in your head making it unable to think of anything other than Jake. The only thing you could focus on was the look in his eye, the feral craze of anger peeking through more by the second.

When you thought you couldn’t take any more, the brink of unconsciousness beginning to creep in from the corners of your eyes, his fingers loosened. He awake angry, sure, but never willing to cause you harm. He cared about you far too much to risk hurting you. You drew in a long gasp, feeling the prickle of stars in your vision as you tried to come back to earth. You barely had a moment to recuperate before he began his next series of degradation. “This is what you wanted so badly?” He said, his face growing closer to yours. He rested his forehead on your own, feeling the pressure begin to rise. His irascible front was breaking, slowly melting away the closer he got to you. The gravitational pull you so often felt from him was strong, and he was feeling the same one from you. “You wanted it so bad that you settled for less?” He paused his movements, reaching down for your other leg. With great trust, you allowed him to pick you up and wrap your other leg around him. Your arms snaked around his neck, pulling him in closer.

He was engulfing you like a cloud of smoke, every angle completely obscured by the weight of his existence. Every time you attempted to break free, he was there. He existed in every part of you, every molecule of your body coated with his name and cracking under the pressure of his touch. Jake was everywhere, in everything and never seeming to truly leave. Every corner you turned, every door opened and even when you closed your eyes, he existed somewhere within the darkness. It was unbearable, feeling like every limb was anchored down by the knowledge of what it felt like to be loved by him, but you believed that if you were free, you would float away into nothing. Every small wish that Jake would break the ties with you, that the situation would come to a civil end, the passing thought of how easy it would have been if he never approached at all seemed null. You knew that even if he walked out, somehow withered away into nothing and left you alone with doubt he ever existed, you would never recover from the loss of something so spectacular. You wondered if you never knew the extent of his touch, how groundbreaking it was, if you would have ever realized what you were missing out on. You thought you would have, eventually, because a feeling so exhilarating is something you yearn for infinitely, and the one he gave you was all that, and more.

“I want to hear you say it, angel.” He snarled, his fingers pressing in to you with the same feeling as a blade. It was phenomenal. He was phenomenal, and you never wanted to go so long without him again. He was pulling you down on him with every thrust of his hips. The position seemed so limiting for many, but complemented him so greatly. Everything he did was fantastic, intricate work with lasting impact. You were certain there was nothing Jake could do that would be less than amazing. You were thankful for his idea to move to the recording booth, because the moans that were escaping you were nothing short of pornographic, something you typically would only hear from an actor desperate to pay rent. But you weren’t acting, and it wasn’t a show of apology, or anything of the sorts. You never sugarcoated anything for him; everything shared between you was raw and anything but fake. “Tell me how good it feels.”

“So good, Jake.” You cried, hands gripping for something to hold, to ground you and bring you back to sanity. There was nothing that would give you the relief, and that’s exactly what he wanted. He wanted you to crazy for him, delirious on the idea of him alone and disturbed at the thought of being without him. If he could have his way, you would never even have the chance to think of anyone other than him. “You make me feel so good, baby.”

“Do you think anybody else can do a better job?” He asked, only using your praise as motivation to work harder.

“N-no, Jake.” You shook your head, motion limited due to his head resting on your own. You weren’t lying; in the race of feelings, Sam had a head start. There was no doubt in the minds of any of you about that. In turn, Jake had mastered the art of sex. So much so that he had you at his feet without even touching you, without you even realizing it. You would chase after him for the rest of your life for even a shred of what he was giving you then. Sex with Sam was dripping with love, soft and sweet, echoing with words everybody longs to hear. It was good, great, even. You had no regrets about the night you shared with him, but Jake was otherworldly. It was his charm, his wicked wildcard he pulled when he knew he had to compete for you. If he couldn’t make you fall in love with him within a day, he knew he could stalemate you in lust.

His head buried in the crook of your neck, assaulting the skin with the fervour of a madman, locating all of the sensitive spots like an animal searching for prey. You couldn’t stop yourself from crying out, his name echoing off the walls in an obscene decoration, permanent memories of his generosity etched into the air and settling into the wood. No matter how you tried to excise his presence, you couldn’t stop him from taking over. It didn’t matter where you were or how brief the encounter; from the moment he arrived, Jake owned the place, and it would always be like so. You could feel the pressure building, his body melting into your own in with strange comfort. He was slowly purging any life from you, leeching any energy and keeping it for his own, but it was too late to stop it. Even if you had the opportunity, you weren’t sure you would. To descend into nothing at the hands of Jake was the most compelling thing you could ever imagine, because you would have the opportunity to be with him until the end.

He could feel you tense, your walls clenching around him in a plea for an orgasm. You were desperate, the separation from him had taken more from you than you cared to admit. Even the thought of an orgasm from Jake was blissful all in itself, and you couldn’t hold on any longer. When the steady stream of moans tapered off into choked cries, he knew you were feeling too good to even think of making a sound. He knew how badly you wanted it and he cared for you enough to give you anything, but he was too angry to allow you the satisfaction, to let you believe you were off the hook. When you gripped at the hair on the base of his neck, holding him in preparation for the climax, he stopped completely. For a moment, you failed to realize what had happened. You were too deep into the pleasure to understand that his hips had stopped, and his body was pulling away from you. Once you did, it washed over you in a wave of agony.

Not once did you believe that you would be so desperate for another person to beg. Not in some minor, sexual gratification way, but in a violent, anguished manner. One where you believed if he didn’t give in, you would never survive. For Jake, for the way only he could make you feel, you would, and quite shamelessly at that. You would go to the ends of the earth to find the relief of the orgasm he was so happy to deny you. You were so distraught at the loss of the feeling that you couldn’t even conjure the proper words to express your distaste. Instead, a whine sounded from deep in your chest, one that wasn’t afraid of showing transparency. When he looked to you, you felt like he could see into your soul, pinpoint the very things that made you, you. You were so desperate for him that you had no shame in showing him exactly how you felt about him, and even if it was a wordless show of adoration, he knew.

His issue did not lie within the lack of knowledge about your feelings for him. He was well aware of that by now. Almost as painfully aware as he was about his own feelings for you. All of the emotions running through you, the forces you felt when you were around him, the suffocating weight of the connection was not one sided. He was suffering from the same debilitating realizations as you were. His issue was not with your heart nor your intentions, and much less about his anger, now. In fact, the motivator for his actions no longer coincided with the reasons he showed up at your door. Now, he was driven by his pure enjoyment of seeing you in such a state.

Perhaps the truth of the sadism accusations the two of you grew so fond of had finally found its proper place. It was hanging over his head in a blinding fashion, a horrific branding, almost as if it was always meant to be there. He was no longer proving a point; that was made long before he even shed an article of clothing. Instead, it was replaced by an undying desire to leave you in such a state where the only coherent thought you could form was his name.

“What’s wrong, angel?” He dared ask the question despite knowing exactly why you were upset. “Why are you upset?” His fake sympathy was nothing short of infuriating. You were well aware of your place, now, knowing that if you refused to play into him, you would never get what you wanted.

“Please, Jake. I need you.” You pleaded, hoping for a shred of compassion. “Need you so bad, baby. I can’t take it anymore.” He slowly let you down to your feet, making sure you were steady before taking a step back from you. The scene was pathetic; you were naked, begging for his attention while he stood carelessly, almost completely clothed. Had anyone else attempted to do the same, it would be laughable. Somehow, Jake made the situation seem completely normal, like it was an everyday occurrence that he had a girl begging for him so desperately while he was so careless. And because it was for him, you didn’t seem to see an issue with it, either.

He grabbed your hand, giving you a gentle pull away from the wall. Even though the action was emotionless on his part, you couldn’t help but hope. “You’re only okay with being a whore if you’re getting something from it?” He let out a disapproving tsk, a smirk tugging at his lips. “I don’t know what to do with you, sweetheart.” He said, almost as if he was defeated. “Can’t ever seem to please you, can I? You always want more.”

“Jake, please.” Your attempt was fruitless. He didn’t care what you had to say, and it was blatantly obvious.

“Today’s about teaching you how to care about somebody other than yourself, angel. Gotta learn how to give if you’re ever going to get.” Your eyes fluttered closed, not wanting to show your frustration with him, but finding it impossible not to. “On your knees.” He ordered. Before you even had time to process his words, he snapped again. “Now.” You did as you were told, sinking to the floor in a hurry. Once you were ready for his next advance, you looked up at his face. He was watching you, expression still cold, but a hint of warmth flickered in his eye. It was the most comforting thing you had seen from him all day, and you wished you could hold on to it forever.

Despite your anger, you couldn’t overlook the sight before you. You wanted an orgasm, but pleasuring him was the next best thing. Sometimes, it was even better. One of his hands brushed over your cheek, a brief moment of love before he grabbed your hair in his fist. He was anything but gentle, but you didn’t mind. If allowing him to air his feelings out would mean things could return back to normal, you were happy to oblige. Your mouth was watering at the sight of him, uncaring about anything other than him being inside you again, no matter which way. You were addicted to him, always needing more but never fully satisfied. He was right in saying so, because you knew you could never get enough of him.

“You’re going to be good for me, and then maybe I’ll consider giving you what you want. And don’t you dare try to get yourself off, either.” He was clear about his rules, and you weren’t willing to contest. “I can’t be the only one putting in the effort, baby.” As he spoke, his grip on your hair only tightened. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.” You said, barely hearing his words. You were stuck in awe of his beauty, how effortless it was all of the time.

“That’s my girl,” he smiled, but it was a twisted one. He wasn’t pleased at your obedience, but more at the thought of using you as he pleased. “Open.” His command shot through you, immediately springing you into action. As soon as your lips parted, he guided your head towards his cock. He didn’t care for caution, but but remained hyper-aware of your every move, ready to stop the second you showed slight discomfort. He thrusted his hips forward, stripping you of any control. There was no grace period, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat with little warning. You couldn’t help but feel a gag arise, the feeling foreign but not unwelcome.

The feeling of your throat constricting around him was almost too much for him, a groan sounding from his chest. He was driven by pleasure, the feeling of your mouth was something he could never forget. He started at a steady pace, holding your head while his hips did the work. You were barely starting and already struggling to keep up with him, but you were aching to please him. The feeling of him in your mouth and down your throat was overwhelming, but it was fantastic all the same. As tears welled in your eyes, you were worried you wouldn’t be able to give him what you wanted, but the feeling of making him feel good was too wonderful to deny. Giving Jake the same thing he gave you was more than you could ever ask for and all you ever wanted to do.

“That’s it, angel.” His praise was followed by another breathy moan. The sounds he made were certainly better than any other sound in the world. Far superior to any promise of eternal happiness. You wished you could spend every lifetime hearing him speak his songs of pleasure. You couldn’t help but let out a moan yourself, although muffled, just to show him you were happy to serve him. He began moving your head down on him as he thrusted, crazed by the feeling and wanting even more. You tried to steady your breathing, the lack of air giving you a slight sense of panic. You closed your eyes, focused only on him and the sounds he was making. “Look so pretty with my cock in your mouth.” The vulgarity was anything but beautiful, but he had a way of making everything sound gorgeous.

The tears spilled down your cheeks, a mess of mascara littering your skin. You weren’t certain you could keep up with him much longer, but luckily for you, he was getting close to slowing down. He kept his pace for a few moments longer, but the sensation was too much and he willed himself to stop. When he pulled away, you were shocked at the suddenness of his action. A prickle of fear ran through you, worried that you hadn’t done a good enough job. In truth, it was too good. “I should just cum in your mouth and leave you here.” He theorized, his chest heaving a heavy breath as he spoke. “Like you so much better when you can’t fucking talk back.” You blinked away the last few tears that had formed, regaining your composure and catching your breath. You knew it was an act, but you couldn’t help but feel the sting of his words settle all over.

He looked down at you, noticing the state you were in. His eyes softened, always worried about taking it too far. He reached down, thumb swiping away any tears still lingering on your cheeks. Your eyes fluttered closed at the contact, appreciating any bit of affection he was willing to give. “I wouldn’t do that to you, sweetheart. You know that.” You nodded, opting to keep your eyes closed for just a moment longer. “Stand up for me, baby.” He coaxed, tone more gentle than it was before. You did as he asked, slowly rising to your feet. Once you were steady, he guided you back towards the wall. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, taking a good look at his face, now. Somehow even amidst the chaos, he radiated comfort. You were certain he could make the worst of feelings dissolve into nothing. “I’m okay.” He let out a sigh of relief, happy that you were still alright. As much as he enjoyed pushing you, your comfortability with it was his main priority.

“You did so good, angel. Exactly what I wanted.” He said, fingers returning to your cheek for a loving caress. “Not so hard to do what you’re told, is it?”

“No,” you replied, still unwilling to contest his dominance. He leaned in, placing a kiss to your lips. It was sweet, only lasting for a moment before he straightened up once more. Without another word, he sunk to his knees below you. You watched in admiration, wondering if he was really going to be so kind. When he guided your leg over his shoulder, relief flooded through you. You rested your back against the wall, eager for him to advance. His lips trailed over the skin of your thigh, almost too gentle for the occasion. You let your fingers settle in his hair, softly holding him for encouragement.

He seemed to draw out the buildup painfully long, making sure you were quivering with anticipation before he even thought to touch you. Slowly but surely, he connected his mouth with your cunt, his tongue exploring every part of you, savouring the taste of his own hard work. He barely had to do a thing to turn you into a mess again, moans slipping past your lips with every slight moment. You were close to an orgasm just at the thought of his tongue, and feeling him in such a way after so much teasing was phenomenal. His tongue settled on your clit, barely stimulating you at all. Even so, you were more than happy that he allowed you anything at all.

“Fuck, Jake.” You groaned, fingers tightening in his hair. He hummed against you, letting you know how much he loved hearing you say his name like that. “Feels so fucking good.” The words were shaky, filled with every emotion you had been feeling since he arrived. Even if you were desperate for a climax, you were still just as content to enjoy him in the moment. He picked up his pace, the intensity of his actions sending a wave of pleasure through every nerve in your body. You couldn’t help but grind your hips against his mouth, begging for more. His fingers had a firm grasp on you, sure to decorate your thigh with marks to remember him by.

You were already close, the edging from before had ensured you were extremely sensitive. Every stroke of his tongue was like a push closer to the edge. He could tell just by the sound of you, the tremble in your legs, the grasp you had on his hair. It was fuelling his ego, as if it needed to be inflated any further. The muscles in your leg tensed, pulling him in further without even realizing it. Your heartbeat was violent against your ribs, the knot in your belly barely hanging on. Your chest heaved with each breath as you tried to keep up with your need for air. The pleasure was so intense that it was almost hard to breathe. With one particularly whiny moan, he realized he had you right where he wanted you to be. He worked faster, more precise with his movement as he inched you closer to an orgasm. A slur of curses fell from your lips, your forehead glistening with sweat as you prepared for the inevitable peak of pleasure. You couldn’t keep yourself quiet, loudly but wordlessly pleading for him to keep going. Just as you felt your abdomen tense, you were torn out of the clouds and harshly brought back to earth.

He had stopped, pulled away completely and was looking up at you with a smug smile. Between the searing feeling of losing the orgasm and the anger for his attitude, you let out a primal wail through closed teeth, lessening the impact of the sound. You were frustrated, ready to give up and leave to spare yourself from any more disappointment. You couldn’t even bear the thought of looking at him, scared it would shatter the small bit of dignity you had left. Before you had a chance to speak, the crushing feeling was replaced with one of pleasure. He had returned to you, continuing his tirade as if there was never a disturbance in the first place. The suddenness of his actions was giving you whiplash, a false sense of hope for a climax began to bloom once more. A cry of relief sounded as his tongue returned to its previous place, sounding only louder as he brought his hand to you as well. As his mouth made quick work at getting you back to your prior state, he slipped his fingers inside you, pumping them at a steady pace with a slight curl as he entered.

You were in too much bliss to speak, only focused on the heavenly feeling of him touching you. You hated that he made it so easy to forget any ill feelings, so easy to fall into his trap. He was magnificent, every move perfectly calculated with intent to kill. He wanted you to be so immersed in him that you couldn’t stand the thought of another person doing the same things he did to you. He wanted to be the only thing in your mind forever, and it was working. It was impossible to want anything other than Jake, especially when he was right in front of you. You felt guilty, but not on Sam’s behalf. Usually by now you would be mortified by your own actions, haunted by your choices and your inability to learn from your mistakes. This time, the only guilt you had was for letting three days pass without being touched by Jake. It was so good that not even your constant moral dilemma could interfere, this time. Perhaps there was a smidge of guilt for not even thinking of the other boy, but every time it arose, it was abolished in an instant.

It seemed like the longer your entanglement dragged on, the more blurry the line between right and wrong appeared. The dance continued, and your morals cracked under the weight of your step.

He was no stranger to your body, the small time he spent getting to know it was more than what he needed to memorize your likes and dislikes. Getting you to an orgasm was easier than writing his own name; he only needed to do it once to master the process. You could barely keep your thoughts straight, the feeling so intense that it clouded your mind and numbed anything else. You couldn’t even find the energy to worry if he was going to pull away or not. The only thing you cared about was the utmost effort that he was pouring into you. “J-jake, please don’t stop.” You gasped. Your eyes were squeezed shut, every nerve in your body was on fire, you felt like if he let go of you, you would collapse without the support. “God, please, baby. I need it so bad.” For a brief second, you believed your begging was finally working. He seemed intent, no sign of pulling away. His grip was tight on your thigh and he couldn’t help but let his own noises of pleasure escape him every now and again. He seemed more invested in you than you were in him, and that was almost impossible. If he didn’t think there was a need to punish you, he would have spent all night between your legs without a complaint.

A particularly needy cry left your mouth, one soaked in desperation. He knew how badly you wanted it, and he was almost ready to give in. As your leg trembled over his shoulder, the last warning sign before your desired outcome, he came back to reality pulled away again. This time, the guttural sound that tore from your mouth was almost painful to listen to. Tears of frustration prickled at your eyes, and you had to clench your teeth to stop yourself from another protest. He watched you, revelling in the state you were in. It was so enchanting that he couldn’t even look away. To know that he could bring you to such a state was a wonderful feeling, and he wasn’t sure if he could ever let it go. You couldn’t even will yourself to look at him again, but for a much different reason this time. You were afraid that if you did, the tears you wanted to keep hidden would make even more of an appearance. You were exhausted, at your limit, and unsure if you could continue on with his game. You were beginning to believe he wouldn’t let you cum at all, and that thought was deeply unsettling. Although, you were beginning to understand that you had ultimately done the same thing to him, but in a much more hurtful manner.

He rose from his knees, slowly reaching for your face. He wiped away the tears that had fallen, only half-sympathetic to your anguish. “Turn around for me, baby.” He ordered, but the words were soft. You did as you were told, no argument to give. When you were facing the wall, he took hold of your hips. He pulled you back towards him, then pushed your upper half back towards the wall. “Have you had enough?” You could feel him lining himself up with you as he asked. You couldn’t help but push yourself back on him, unable to control yourself. You needed him in the same way a starving man needed nourishment. You needed him in the same way the sun needed the moon, or how the earth needed water. It was primal, something greater than survival, and you needed it right then and there. He couldn’t even utter a word of complaint, the sensation catching him off guard and sending him in the same down-spiral you were stuck in. You were no longer two individuals who were angry, hurting with no way of expressing it. You were one with each other, finally seeming to see the same things and meet on common ground.

“Do you know how badly I wanted this?” He asked, using the strength in his arms to pull you back on him. “How terrible it was to know that somebody else had you like this?” Another harsh thrust sent your head spinning and the moans tumbling from your lips. “To know somebody else’s name was on your lips?” You were delirious from the moment he began to fuck you, drunk off his presence and willing to do anything to keep him like this. “To know that he couldn’t do it right? That he couldn’t give you what I can?”

A cry of pleasure ran through you as he slammed into you again. He moved one hand to your shoulder, holding you steady as he continued his relentless movements. You were on cloud nine, barely breathing and unable to care about anything he was saying.

“Tell me how good it feels, angel. Tell me how much you love it when I fuck you.” He growled, uncaring about the roughness of his grasp on you and completely unaware of the reality of his words. He was begging you, although it didn’t seem like it. He was desperate to hear how much you wanted him, how he was the only one who could do it right. It was a possessive claim, jealousy seeping through every available crack in his persona. He was in the race until the end, willing to fight for you no matter the outcome, but it did not mean he was immune to the pain of knowing there was another person in the race. The stab of knowing someone else got to touch you, to love you like he so badly wanted to. He may have done it to himself, but it did not mean he was blind to any turmoil he had created.

“Feels so good, Jake.” You groaned, the words surrounding him like a blanket of comfort. “You made me feel so good. I missed you so much.” The final part of your statement was like a punch to the stomach. It hit him so brutally that he thought he might keel over from the force. His hand snaked up to your hair, collecting it in his fist and holding it tightly. He guided your head to the side, just enough for him to lean down and kiss you. The act was beautiful, so peaceful amongst the obscene display. You knew you could spend all day kissing him and never need anything else. When he parted from your lips, he remained close to your face, not quite ready to break from the bubble of comfort that surrounded him.

“Have you learned your lesson, yet?” He asked, distancing himself from you just slightly. “Do you know why you should have waited?”

“G-god, yes.” You nodded against the force of his hand holding your head in place. He never broke his momentum, hips still slamming into you relentlessly. It was painfully good, each thrust hitting you with more power every time. You didn’t know if you could hold back your orgasm, this time, especially if he wasn’t willing to stop.

“You know I’m the only one who can make you feel this good, angel. Nobody else can fuck you like this.” Instead of a response, another whine fell from your lips. The pressure in your belly was excruciatingly strong, he could feel it without you even saying anything at all.

“N-nobody else, baby.” You had no guilt in the statement, either, finally crossing the final line between right and wrong. Now, no need seemed more important than the one that was pressing for you to please him. No more guilt for the back and fourth, just enjoyment for the attention you received amidst their fighting. Every moral was blurred, diminishing and lines crossing, melting into each other. You were not a pawn for them to play with, a little piece to their game in which they flaunted for advantage. You were playing, now. Your own strategies and tactics surfacing to throw them off, to make them think before walking blindly. The power was in fact yours, and you were finally able to understand that. The power to hurt, to love, and to end it all in an instant. The sorrow truth was that you weren’t ready for it to be over; you were the only one who could stop it, but you didn’t have the strength to do it. You didn’t know how to do it. The blissful joy of the love they both gave to you was so beautiful that you had no idea how to refuse it.

“You want to cum, angel?” He asked, meaning his words this time. Your mistrust of him was still there, but your hope was that you were wrong in doubting his intentions. He had pushed you far beyond your limits, and you were hoping he could see that, too.

“Y-yes please, sir.” You stuttered, the knot painfully tightening once again. You couldn’t hold back, the need to climax stronger than anything you had ever experienced before. You were tense, vibrating at the thought of him being generous enough to allow it. You knew you were completely at his disposal, but you didn’t seem to care. There was no fight in you, just complete submission to him. The only thing you could do was pray that he had fulfilled his need for punishment, that he believed you were worthy of forgiveness. “Please, Jake. I need it so bad. Please,” you gasped, feeling him reach around your hips. Within an instant, his fingers found your clit and wasted no time tracing small circles into the sensitive area.

The noise that came out of you was inhuman, all of your desperation making a show in the single sound. You could tell it affected his mood; he was practically radiating emotion for you. “You were so good for me, angel." He confessed. You could hear his own internal battle against his own orgasm just through his words. “Come on, baby. Cum for me.” The words were the best thing you could ever hear. Some part of you believed he would never give in, but the permissive statement was too glorious to ignore. Within seconds, you had descended into a mess of words, none really with any significance, but you had no other way to express how good you felt. The slur of curses were decorated with his name, cemented in a few guttural moans to commemorate his excellent performance. You could barely keep yourself standing, your legs were weak, wobbly underneath the weight of you. If not for him holding you up, you were certain the ground below you would be your new home. “That’s it,” he strangled out, affected greatly by your state. “That’s my girl.” The words were like a catalyst for a second orgasm. You weren’t sure if you were stuck in perpetual motion, in limbo with one long, drawn out climax, or if he had sent you into a second before you even had the chance to recover. No matter which it was, you were certain you had never felt like that before in your entire lifetime. If he wasn’t addictive before, you knew you could never escape him, now.

“Did that feel good?” He asked, never slowing his pace. “You feel better now, beautiful?” You managed out a whine that had semblance to an agreement. He wasn’t far behind you, for the first time that evening his movements stuttered, sloppy after a long stretch of tormenting you. As much as you wanted him to feel the same way you had, you didn’t want it to end. You were so crazy for him that you couldn’t stand the thought of stopping.

“So much better.” You assured him, but you had no time to think about your relief. His effect on you was stronger than ever, perhaps because of your withdrawal from him, or just because he was so intoxicating. It only took a moment for another climax to begin creeping up on you. The feeling was intense, almost like it was driving you insane. Partially due to overstimulation, but mostly because of his relentless focus on you. His hand was still working in time with his hips, and he knew exactly what he was doing. The sensation was overwhelming, yes, but he was more so, without a doubt.

“Can you do it again, angel?” He said, a hint of the devil in his eyes. Although you couldn’t see it, you knew him well enough to know it was there.

“I don’t know,” you warned. The feeling was good, no doubt, but it was intense. It felt like it was taking over every nerve, shouting over every thought.

“You can. I know you can.” He encouraged. You knew his encouragement was due to his own inability to hold back any longer. He wanted you to cum with him, and it was not a desire he was willing to debate. Thankfully, as much as you lacked confidence in yourself, you knew with his guidance it would not be difficult to fulfil his wish. You could feel it in your bones, the strength of the orgasm that he was coaxing from you. “Come on, angel.” He pleaded. “Be a good girl for me, I know you can.” He repeated himself, and the consistency was all you needed. If possible, the climax that washed over you was more intense than the one before. Your brain felt as if it was short circuiting, filled only with thoughts about the boy behind your source of pleasure. He was invading every part of your brain, taking over with little effort and making home forever. You held the wall for support, trying to keep yourself steady, but in truth, his hands were the only thing holding you up. Once you surrendered to the pleasure, it didn’t take long for him to follow suit and spill his release into you. The orgasm was extremely overwhelming for both of you, leaving you in a mess of tangled limbs and sweaty bodies. The air was filled with moans and swears, both of you echoing each others names like it was a hymn of love for each other. When you both came down, he was reluctant to move. He wanted to live in that moment forever. He leaned forward, pressing a few delicate kisses into your shoulder. Your eyes fluttered closed at the feeling, wishing you could exist with the softest version of Jake for the rest of your life.

“I’m sorry.” You spoke first, breaking through the silence. “I didn’t want to hurt you. I never want to hurt you.”

“I’m sorry, too.” He admitted to his own wrongdoing with no hesitation. “It wasn’t my place to be upset.”

“No,” You shook your head. “You’re allowed to be upset.” His hand drifted over your bare back, the touch electrifying you in a whole new way. He didn’t want to keep talking about the subject. In his mind, he was over it.

“I like you, Gold Dust Woman.” He said, gently pulling you away from the wall. “A lot.” He carefully maneuvered you into a hug, his arms wrapping around you and his hands settling on your stomach. You felt all of the tension melt away as his chin rested on your shoulder.

“I like you, Jake.” You admitted. You could feel his smile as he placed a kiss to your cheek.

“I was hoping you did.” He hummed, showing no sign of letting go. “I think those were the most beautiful sounds this booth has ever heard.” He noted. “I know they’re the most beautiful ones I’ve ever heard.” You felt a blush dust across your cheek, a small giggle sounding from you. “Maybe next time I should hit that record button, take something home with me.”

“You can take me home, Jacob. Isn’t that better?”

“Better for sure, but I can’t always take you home, angel.” His words were light, but the meaning was heavy. Although the air was clear, the situation was certainly not resolved. Unfortunately for him, it would take a final decision before that wound was healed. “Get dressed, I’m taking you to dinner.” That was his final order, his original doting persona beginning to surface and was bound to stay for the rest of the night.

“Looking like this?” the idea was incredulous to you, but he had no worry in the world about it.

“You’ll still be the prettiest one there.” He placed another kiss to your cheek before carefully removing himself from you. You thought that was impossible, because he would be there. “Now come on, I’ve got lost time to make up for.” He reminded, but you hadn’t forgotten. His disappearance was still haunting you, the hole in your chest not fully closed because you were scared he would leave again. When you turned and looked at him, you realized that was the last thing he wanted to do.

You both left the studio with a bit more pep in your step than before, but it was not quite enough to stop the looming threat of the biggest struggle yet. You both had made up for your mistakes, apologized for the lack of communication and bruised feelings, but it was nothing short of a surface conflict, and the apologies were tiny compared to the lasting wound it left in its wake. You hadn’t really discussed it at all, just expressed your distaste and brushed over the biggest aggressor. Still, that was minuscule in comparison to the bigger picture. Your momentary hurt was only a stepping stone to guide you to the window of truth. The real issue lied within something much deeper; you and Jake had surpassed the threshold of simplicity. You both held the power to hurt each other, now, and the imminent threat of that was much larger than anything else you had ever experienced before.

Did she make you cry?

Make you break down?

TAGLIST: @itsdannysworld @gretavansara @jaketlove @laneygvf @freefallthoughts @psychedelicsprinkles @idontwannabeherenow @joshysgirl @sanguinebats @objectsinspvce

[vampiresfromxenon]

I accidentally just discovered this campsite and while exploring it, I was thrilled to learn that Astarion has his own room! I threw open the doors, thinking it was cute that the boyfriends could have their own room (and more privacy), until I discovered that Astarion is bunking with Withers.

WITHERS IS COCKBLOCKING HARLENAN 😭

[queenie-blackthorn]

nothing sets me crying more than reading the teasers for the wicked powers/the black volume of the dead, so why not overanalyze them and wish for death in the process (i got all of them from the page on fandom)

❗️spoilers ahead ❗️

he kissed each finger, and with each one of them spoken a word. five kisses, five words. his last.

no 🫶🫶 (im hoping this is a flashback gurl plz i hope its not the ‘lightwood death in each series’ thing coming after my life)

—————————

"oh, god, the lovebirds," magnus said, pulling the pillow off his face. "i hate happy couples."

this could be anything tbh but prolly gonna be in tbvotd

—————————

belatedly, she realized something else. "do you... have anything?"

he didnt seem to have recovered from her last comment. "but do you mean - wait, do i have what?"

she slitted her eyes at him. "something important."

"like what? the phone number for the white house?" a moment later, under her withering glare, realization dawned. "oh." his was the expression of someone who has run out of gas in the middle of the desert, miles from help. "i..."

there are literally zero names in this one but i think its gonna be smth w dru and jaime (maybe the eternidad ??) but i swear if it turns out to be a joke imma flip a table

—————————

"what if i just love you? what if i love you but i never touch you or talk about it, what would happen then?"

i think this might happen after a conversation between kit and ty where either kit says “its too dangerous to love me” or “i dont love you” and then ty replies w this

—————————

"well, its a bit ironic, isnt it?"

"what do you mean?"

"all that effort to convince you i wasnt in love with you, and here i am, dying in your arms."

this is gonna kill me i just know it, but i have a feeling its gonna be kit saying the first and third lines and hes talking to ty, and then i can imagine it saying “dont say that,” ty said furiously

—————————

his face crumpled. "he hates me," he said. "all i do is love him, but he hates me, he just hates me, i dont know why."

clearly gonna be ty talking about kit (to either livvy or dru ???)

—————————

there was nothing less sexy than an angry-looking cat on your bed.

okay this is 100% magnus’s pov in tbvotd 💀💀

—————————

"actually, its short for maximum lightwood," said magnus. "as in the most amount of lightwood you can have."

… no comment. actually, yea i do have smth to say. i love magnus.

—————————

"no one who loved you would want you to sacrifice your own happiness."

if we’re going by the thing where kit doesnt want ty to love him for his safety, then someone is gonna say this to kit for sure

—————————

alec was beginning to understand how the slings and arrows of fortune and history had shaped magnus and made him what he was. it was a delightful sort of discovery, as getting to know magnus always had been. magnus was probably the one person in the world who'd never bored him.

im craving more malec scenes please dear god

—————————

"i was thinking about monogrammed towels," said isabelle.

"my name is going to be simon lewis lovelace lightwood," said simon. "no monogrammed towels."

first off, i forgot that simon wants to take isabelles last name

second, his initials are technically S.L.L.L oh my lord

—————————

it was late, and someone was trying to break into the high warlock of brooklyn’s apartment.

​magnus bane, the high warlock in question, felt this behavior was rash and foolish. he’d been passed out on his still-made bed, too exhausted to slip under the burgundy and emerald sheets, or even take off his robe, when he heard the noise of his window sliding open. he was grateful for the robe. he felt it would be demoralizing to face housebreakers in nothing but silk pajama bottoms.

​also, the housebreakers had done nothing to deserve such a sight.

seeing magnus bane in nothing but silk pajama bottoms is the stuff of dreams

jokes (even tho i meant it with full seriousness) aside, this is definitely gonna be the opening lines of tbvotd. if it turns out to not be, i will never show my face in public again because of how sure i am right now

[latriii]

10 REASONS ✶ 김규빈 KIM GYUVIN

₊· ͟͟͞➳ PAGE TWO ✶ so, love me?

“(Name) he’s not even good for you.” Of course, those were the first words Gyuvin said when he walked up to you.

You stood close to your best friend, Zhanghao. You exchanged bewildered glances, unsure of how Gyuvin could have such a strong opinion about someone he barely knew.

“Well, I wouldn’t know since you ruined my chances, Gyuvin.” You crossed your arms, a tinge of frustration lining your voice as you challenged Gyuvin's bold statement.

Gyuvin scoffed and gave you a sly smile.

“I was just helping you out.” He says, glancing over to Zhanghao, eyes begging him to leave, and so he did. Zhanghao didn’t want to hear the bickering anyway.

“You made the only person I like to walk away,” you said with annoyance and disappointment. As you watched Zhanghao disappear into the library, you couldn't help but feel a surge of frustration towards Gyuvin. He kept adding more reasons onto your list to hate him.

Although you were always upset, events like this made Gyuvin happy, and it made his day. He cherished these moments, the ones where you two were alone, away from the prying eyes and opinions of others— Aka, known as his friend group, the ones who pray for his downfall with you. Every. Single. Day.

Liking you this much was selfish, and Gyuvin knew that. He didn’t care though. He couldn't care less about what others thought. He was set on you.

“So you’re just going to give me attitude because I ruined your chances with Jungwon?” Gyuvin questioned.

You rolled your eyes and leaned back in your locker, contemplating how to respond. You couldn't deny that his unwavering dedication to you was both endearing and infuriating. But holy shit, you wanted to scream at him for making you look pathetic in front of Jungwon.

Taking a deep breath, you fought back the rising frustration and shot Gyuvin a withering look. “Yes.”

“Well, I would say sorry, but I would be lying.” Gyuvin shrugged, his cocky demeanor oozing from every pore.

“I know.” You stared at Gyuvin, feeling irritated at his audacity. “So, love me?” The boy says as you paused, unable to believe his nerve.

"Love you? No Gyuvin.” You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head in disbelief before walking off.

m.list — PREVIOUS | NEXT

₊· ͟͟͞➳ 10 reasons to get him to hate her, 10 reasons to get her to love him. You’ve always known Kim Gyuvin had a crush on you, it was a known fact throughout the school due to his outgoing personality. Once senior year hit, you realized how much Gyuvin was starting to ruin your chances with other guys so you decided to make a list on ways to make him hate you while Gyuvin did the complete opposite.

xtra’s — word count 0.3k

latrii’s note — so so so sorry this chapter took so long 😭 but hope you guys enjoy this chap!!

audience (taglist) @tzyuki @avocarua @wvnkoi @annoyingbitch83 @lovefooi @sieuneo @seosracha @str0l0gy @imhuh @tocupid @igotkpoops @sonjuyeonnie @sirenologies @wonqr @aernx @wonluvrbot @mimi1xx @seungminiesgf @daydreamer5006 @jiaant11 @i-yeseo @redm4ri @wtfhyuck @baekhyunstruly @strwberrydinosaur @xiaoderrrr @luvlee1313 @ensrfm @yenqa @enhapocketz

[the-once-ler-in-superjail]

CHAPTER 35: The Asylum - Part 1

Thanks for holding on again, we hope your patience was worth it! Went with a slightly different presentation style this time round (more comic page form) so expect these uploads to not always be the same format- that's part of the fun we're having with it.

Lineart/cleanup, flats & writing- @wiggybe

Layout/roughs, shading/lighting & writing- @self-made-madman

(TW: Mental illness/health/asylums.)

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Once-ler: *Sitting at his desk in his office with his curtains closed, his hands through his hair and he's staring tiredly at a messy desk of papers in front of him. He was once reading them, but he's gotten to the point where he's so tired-out and stressed that he just stares at them without taking in any of the words, his eyes move over the same sentence he's been reading over and over again.*

Warden: *He just bursts through the door without knocking- though this is normal. He never knocks in his own jail, ever.* Good afternoon!~ *He's been... not perkier (it's impossible to be perkier than the Warden already is) but more bulletproof than ever since his breakdown. It's like a big weight off his shoulders.* How's my favourite accountant? Working hard or hardly working? Ha! You know, this place could use some sunshine! *Skips through the room poofing vases of flowers and other decorations around the room, as the curtains magically open.*

Once-ler: *Gasps at the sudden disruption of his silence and looks at the Warden with wide eyes which then squint at the sudden light. He almost hisses like a vampire bat when his perfect darkness disappears. He relaxes and then frowns a little.* It looks fine the way it is. *Leans on his elbow so he doesn't look at the Warden and takes his pen in his hand. He taps it a few times on the desk as he tries to read the papers again.*

Warden: *Pauses, and all the flowers in a vase he's holding wither and die.* Heeeey... *His voice softens down, actually showing some initiative and care for once.* You okay, buddy? *Walks over and rests a surprisingly parental hand on his shoulder. He looks down at Oncie's head with worry.*

Once-ler: *Sighs and drops back in his chair, throwing the pen onto the desk and his chair rolls back a little on the floor. He might have responded more callous if the Warden hadn’t picked up on his mood this time, and then adjusted his own mood to better console him. Instead, he sighs and drops his pen. His shirt is untucked and his braces hanging down by his waist instead of over his shoulders.* No. I'm not okay. *A bit of a whiny teenager voice. Then he frowns more seriously.* And I don’t appreciate you bursting in unannounced when I’m trying to work.

Warden: *Gives his shoulder a comforting squeeze.* What's up? I thought you liked that math-y boring stuff. *Sounds honestly like he cares. He really has grown very attached to his Oncie- enough to actually think of him as a human and not a toy. Which is just why he falter slightly when his sudden burst-in is mentioned.* Oh!-Uh… *Clears his throat then laughs awkwardly.* Sure, buddy! I hate it when Jared bursts in on me too- Not that I’m anything like Jared. *At least when HE suddenly shows up it’s for fun reasons, not boring annoying Jared reasons, and who wouldn’t want that? But he’s starting to learn that Oncie has his own feelings and ways of doing things, and that’s good, because if he was the same as everyone else then he wouldn’t be what makes him so great. He tilts his head.* Anything other than that your all-powerful prison-warden can do to help?

Once-ler: *Shakes his head, but he's really very grateful that he can feel the Warden concerned for him.* Not really. I have work to do for Superjail and then even more important work for my business. *Stands up and points at the Warden.* You've been spending too much over the budget again. *He points his thumb towards himself.* I need to get to Thneedville to sort out my factory. *His hands flick in mid air, flat, vertical and parallel to each other, like he’s showing a box size.* But I cant go to Thneedville, *then points at the floor,* Because I’m stuck here.

Warden: *Brightens up again* Weeeell, why didn't you say so?? *He completely glosses over, or doesn't even hear that he's over-budget. He never does, and probably never will. But, somehow, Superjail always survives.* How about you and I take some time out and go back? You can set up all your... *wiggles his fingers in midair,* factory doowhatsists, and I'll, I dunno, take in a tour! *The thought of Oncie going back alone doesn't even cross his mind. They're a duo.*

Once-ler: *Huffs and strokes his hand through the back of his hair. That’s not a terrible idea. Who’da thought he could just disappear? Maybe he’s becoming somewhat institutionalised here already and is still living with a prisoner mentality. He takes a glance at the papers and then frowns.* Yes! Yes! Okay, just take me out of here.

Warden: Alrighty! *Smiles and pulls Oncie backwards so he's suspended on the back two legs of his chair. He gives him a big kiss before they disappear, then reappear in a hover car on the coast of Superjail’s island. The car shoots off and off they go through the outer world back to mainland and back to Thneedville. There go his powers though- he won't be getting them back until Jailbot comes to get them. He did not think this through very much, but it's a perfectly reasonable plan so far.*

Once-ler: Hmph! *Gasps into the kiss and feels very dizzy once his powers take effect, the dizziness of the powers and the sudden romantic flutter in his stomach at the kiss, make stars appear as his eyes clench shut and they vanish. He snaps forward once they arrive in the car and gives a little shudder, feeling disorientated.* Uurgh…

Warden: *They land outside The Once-ler’s Lerkim and drags them out to the front door, before the car takes off again to leave back for Superjail. He pouts at him good-humouredly.* Enough moping! It's time to take care of your factory! *Wheels around him and moves to push him away from the building.* We'll meet back here in a few hours~

Once-ler: Wh- *Lets himself be walked out.* Where are you going?

Warden: Me? *Juts out his jaw as he thinks.* I guess I'll go exploring. We were so busy the last time we came here that I hardly saw any of the town~ *They were too 'busy'.* Now stop worrying! You're draggin' down the vibe.

Once-ler: You want to go exploring the town alone?- *His initial reaction to that-* No. *- and stops letting the Warden push him.*

Warden: Oof! *Crumples into the back of him, not ready for Oncie to stop moving.* *Pouts, speaking into Oncie's back with his nose and eyes visible over his shoulder.* Meanie.

Once-ler: *Looks over his shoulder.* I just don't want you getting into trouble. You'll probably end up punching a barbaloot or something *Frowns as he just put that image in his head. He might slap the man if he dared to harm any of the animals.*

Warden: *Gasps and straightens up.* The very idea! *Huffs with his hands on his hips.* I'll have you know that I am a grown man! *Shakes his finger in midair in a very old-fashioned way of making a point.* I can walk around town all I want completely unsupervised! *He doesn't sound angry, and he's not. He's just doing that automatically-appalled thing that he does.*

Once-ler: *Turns to face him.* Well, from what happened last time, you can understand why I wouldn't want you to be unsupervised around here. No slapping women! Or getting into trouble! This place is my place, it belongs to me its Thneedville. So I'm not letting you go out alone here.

Warden: Okay! Okay, geez, Mister Territory-Pants *Throws up hands in defeat.* What would you suggest? I'm not following you around all day doing accounts! *Grumpy face, hands on his hips.* If I wanted to do that I'd just leash myself to Jared's big, stupid head.

Once-ler: *Huffs in thought and thinks- that’s a good point. Then chuckles at the little Jared insult* It is big, isn't it?

Warden: Like, enormous, am I right? *Measures it in his hands, momentarily distracted.*

Once-ler: *Keeps laughing at him* Haha-! Totally~

Warden: *Frowns* Ababab! Don't distract me. *Grumpy point. However, throughout all this he's still been perfectly happy and in his usual safe half-sane space. No breakdowns or real arguments seem likely. He folds his arms.* Are you gonna arrange me a babysitter or something? *Sounds like he'll put up with it to humour Oncie's 'insane overprotectiveness'.*

Once-ler: Ppppffffff... *Rubs his neck* I don't know any-...I wonder who I could hire... *He ponders for a looong time, genuinely considering hiring a minder for his own boyfriend, which causes the Warden to almost start spluttering in incredulity, and then gives up with a little smirk.* Alright. *The smile drops and he looks him dead-on and serious.* You can go out alone, if you promise not to get into any trouble. No fights, no tantrums, nothing. *Smiles, softening his voice.* You gotta be good and polite and nice to people. You're not the Warden here, okay? You're Edmund Theremiah, so act normal and mature, okay?

Warden: *Squints in submission.* Fiiiine. *Hates the thought of being 'Edmund Theremiah'. It sounds boring and uninteresting, and he takes GREAT pride in never being boring and uninteresting.* Scouts honour. Best behaviour. *Stuffs his hand in his pockets and kicks a rock poutily.* I'll be good.

Once-ler: *Smiles at him calmly* Good~ Because you’ll be in trouble if you aren't, you hear me?

Warden: *Juts out his jaw in grumpiness again.* Yes Oncie. *Deflates slightly.* Stupid Thneedville. Can I go now? *Sounds so childish.*

Once-ler: Here, take this. Then if anyone questions you, you can just tell them that you know the Once-ler. *Reaches into his pocket and pulls out the pink truffula pin that usually goes on the lapel of his green tailcoat. *Strokes under the Warden's jaw and then pulls him into a little peck on the lips. Then tilts his head to the town.* Okay, off you go then.

Warden: *Blinks innocently when he sees the pin and takes it from his hand* Uuh- *The peck comes as a surprise, he pecks back with pink cheeks and a small eyelash flutter, then jumps up and down on the spot a few times.* Yeah! See you later, Oncie! *Pockets the pin and then leaps off to go and explore.*

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Once-ler: *Stood outside his factory gates in his green suit, all dressed up for opening his factory again. He's holding a pair of scissors, cameras are flashing everywhere and girl are screaming at him.* -And I am very proud to finally re-open the new and eco-friendly Thneed factory!~ *Cuts the red ribbon across the gate. People are cheering and photographers are flashing, journalists go to smuggle him.*

Lorax: *He's sitting on top of a small wall nearby, watching the proceedings. He refuses to go down just yet because he hates publicity- especially after the media circus he was dragged into when Oncie ran the factory before. All that 'Lorax approved' bullshit left a bad taste in his mouth. Still, he looks proud of him now and has already had a peek at all the inner workings of the factory. So far it honestly looks eco-friendly, and so he's very pleased. Cautious, but pleased.*

Once-ler: *After talking to a few reporters, talking to a few fans and signing a few thneeds, shirts, bra's and breasts, he eventually starts to bat a few of the bothersome public away.* That's enough attention for one day I think, thank you all for coming~ Once-ler out. *Enters his factory and shuts the door behind him, letting out a tired sigh as he does, but he straightens and walks to his office. He goes over to his huge balcony and leans over the edge of it, smiling broadly at the very few truffula trees that managed to survive his onslaught and then dropping his smile when his eyes fall on the many stumps he left behind. He chews on his cheek… He should really do something about them.*

Lorax: So! Looks like you managed to turn it all around, huh? *He's above Oncie's head, sitting on the top of the window-frame with his little legs dangling over the edge.* You look tired. You been eating properly?

Once-ler: Hm? *Looks up at him and smiles. He's gotten so used to the Lorax randomly popping up in places that it doesn't make him jump anymore. He can almost predict when it'll happen by now, which isn’t something he can say for the Warden just yet.* Oh, naah, I'm fine. It's just difficult to be in Superjail and have everything else here. *Rubs his face with both hands and yawns out a word-* Tiring. *Sniffs.* All these fans and reporters too. But I can handle them, no problem.

Lorax: *Jumps down and lands in front of Oncie's feet.* Aww, well make sure you get enough Zs, got it? I don't like the thought of you runnin' yourself out. *Turns around to look up at the much nicer factory and gives a low whistle.* You know, much as I hate commerce and capitalism and all that crap, you really have done me proud. This is somethin' good. *After how far they've come together, he knows that those words are ones that will mean the world to him. He looks back over his shoulder at Oncie with a smile.* So where's your guy? He back in that jail of his?

Once-ler: *Smiles broadly at him, feeling very happy with himself that the Lorax feels that way about his hard work. There’s a warm swell in his stomach at hearing those words of pride, and that sort of feeling is so rare to him. He goes quiet for a moment, so happy he's finally been able to please him and hasn't messed up this time.* No, he came with me here. But he's out right now to explore Thneedville. *His voice sounds a little unsure at the end, and his smile has relaxed a little. It's more like a slight mask over his worry.*

Lorax: *Sounds very sympathetic as he groans,* Uh-ooohhh... And Thneedville's still standin'? *Turns around properly to face Oncie as they talk.* Ah, he's probably fine. *Gives him an encouraging smile.* That town is harmless - he's the most dangerous thing in it. You've got nothin' to worry about. *Still sounds more like he's comforting Oncie than actually giving his honest opinion.*

Once-ler: Yeah, exactly! I'm not just worried about him, I'm worried about the town. He doesn't know this place very well and this place doesn't know him at all. *And maybe the fact that the Warden might be the most dangerous thing in Thneedville isn’t actually that reassuring.* But- yeah... I'm sure everything will be fine.

Lorax: And if not, it's nothin' you can't fix. *Gives him a grin and holds out a paw for him to take.* So! You got a kitchen in this place? I'm starved and I'm sure you owe me a meal for somethin' or other.

Once-ler: Haha- sure *Takes his hand but pulls him up onto his shoulder. Then walks back in, removing his hat and placing it on his chair.* So how've you been? I haven't seen you since I got my eyesight back.

Lorax: *Punches the side of his head gently.* And it's damn good to see you... Seein' again! You gave me the shock of my damn life. *Relaxes.* But I've been keepin'. Joints gettin' stiffer every day I swear to God. *Gives a happy hum. As old as he is, he's got a ton of years left in him.* But nothin' much is different. Had to screw with a couple of lumberjacks up in the Arctic National Preserve and then make it down in time to stop an oil drillin' down in the swamps of Tennessee. Whole lotta trekkin'.

Once-ler: *Laughs at his ‘seeing’ joke, and can only laugh more in relief at the fact that whole chapter is over now.* Aaah, man, that sounds like a busy day. *Pulls his gloves off and drops them onto his desk as he walks to the kitchen.* Did you fix it in the end?

Lorax: *Heavy sigh.* Temporarily. They're more thick-headed than you were. *Gives him a friendly hair-ruffle, showing that he didn't really mean it.* Just once I'd like a guy to go "Gee, maybe the little fella is right. Let's all go home and have some hot cocoa." *Pauses, then adds.* "And while we're at it, let's invite the little fella over for that, too." *Frowns* Geez, I really am hungry.

Once-ler: *Laughs.* That's where we're going now. Anyway, it certainly worked on me... eventually. And you can come to mine for cocoa anytime you want~ *Gets to the factory kitchen.* What do you wanna eat?

Lorax: *Jumps onto a countertop.* A cheese sandwich would go down well right about now. *Frowns to add gravity to what he's saying.* A responsibly farmed cheese sandwich. You humans have a way to make everything suspect. *While he still seems very proud and happy for Oncie, he's got the grumpiness of a guy who's just come of a far too-busy day's work.*

Once-ler: Uh- ahaha, sure.*Begins making him a sandwich, sometimes feeling awkward about his race when the Lorax starts complaining about them, but he supposes it’s justified considering what he himself did to his forest. It is the critters job after all.*

Lorax: *Bops up and down on his heels as he waits in excitement for the sandwich.* So how are things with you? Besides being all better? He proposed to you yet or whatever? *Sounds like he's kidding.*

Once-ler: Pfffthbth! *Gets a little embarrassed and shakes his head quickly.* NO! *Gives him the plate with the sandwich on and pouts with a raised eyebrow.* Of course not.

Lorax: *Cackles in a joking meanness before stuffing the sandwich in his mouth.* Well good. You're still far too young! *Points his sandwich at him... or the crust of it, which is already all that's left.*

Once-ler: Thank God! I hope that doesn't cross his mind *Scratches his neck and laughs.* I have a feeling I wouldn't have a choice if he demanded it, if anything because he’s such a romantic and he’d love an excuse to throw a party about us.

Lorax: *Gnaws on the crust of bread.* Would you say no if you had the choice? *Sounds amused and gossipy, but he's always been a little worried about their relationship. Anybody responsible would be.*

Once-ler: *Thinks to himself, tapping his finger on his chin, and then nods slowly.* I know we're like, together and stuff, but just feels weird to get married to a guy, ya know? My mom is really old fashioned in that way, *he sighs,* I doubt she’d ever approve of us, not that she approves of me much anyway. So I guess it's hard to think otherwise. *He shakes his head.* I'm way too young anyway to even think about marriage.

Lorax: *Nods* Smart. Don't tie yourself down to that place. *Still, his expression darkens.* Call me a new-age tree-hugger or whatever you want to call it, but your mom is full of trash. *Finishes sandwich decisively. He's had a long day, and he's not got the energy to put things in a nice way.* You marry a guy if you want to.

Once-ler: *Jolts at hearing the insult to him mom and then panics a little.* Hey! She is not. Don’t say that about my mom. *He’s still in some denial about who his mom really is. He always has been, but at the very least he just thinks it’s rude to say such things about a man’s mother. He’s still finding it difficult to digest what she really is.*

Lorax: Ppft. *Flaps his hand at him but doesn't press the issue. Recently he's been more respectful of Oncie's family- at least when talking about them to Oncie- but he has no patience for it today.* Alright, fair enough. The important thing is that you can marry whoever you want. Whether that be man, woman, or manchild.

Once-ler: *Still tense about that comment, but tries to get back into the conversation.* No- yeah, I know. And it's not that I wouldn’t want to some day... *Gets a little fuzzy feeling.* Like- it'd be totally awesome! I mean- so awesome! *Getting a little excited but relaxes.* And I would, just not now, not this early. I can't get married to someone who won’t say he loves me.

Lorax: *A biiig cat-like grin crosses his face when Oncie gets excited, but it falls immediately when he finishes that sentence.* Wait, what?! After all the crap you've helped him with he's still holdin' out on you?! The jerk! *Dusts his hands clean from crumbs.*

Once-ler: *Looks back at him wide-eyed and quickly realises he said that wrong, and tries to correct his screw up.* N- no, no! I didn't mean it like that. *Trots forward and puts his hands out to the Lorax* He does love me! He just cant say it. But he does. He definitely does! But he can’t admit it.

Lorax: *Squints at him, not sounding very pleased.* Explain.

Once-ler: *Cowers a little. He has no choice but to obey his surrogate parent now. He shrugs.* He- just can’t. He's very complicated. *He sighs.* Right, this is all very new to him, I think he has a real struggle about saying those words, he seems to think that every time he admits to loving something, he gets punished for it. *He frowns* His dad used to tell him it was bad, that it makes things weak and useless to know love. He trusts me more than anyone but its still in there. *That angry frown becomes a sad one.* I think he thinks that whatever he loves will always die, usually by his own hands, whether that’s forced on him or an accident or… I don’t know. *He looks to him with big remorseful eyes.* I think that’s another reason why he doesn’t want to admit it, I've been in more than enough accidents thanks to him. But he does feel it because he's almost been able to say it to me! It’s just that the words get caught in his throat.

Lorax: *Sighs. He's always had his worries, but he does respect that Oncie can handle it.* You'll be the death of me, you know that? *Gestures for Oncie to come over for a hug.* C'mere. Damn, kid, you've got a whole lot baggage wrapped up in this relationship, huh?

Once-ler: *Enters the hug like a normal grip, but half way though he hears that last sentence and his weight falls onto the Lorax in mental exhaustion. It does take a lot to handle the Warden, along with all of his other work, and he does so well to completely hide it that it never crosses his mind. No-one's brought it up before, not even himself, and to hear the Lorax so perfectly know him and know exactly what he thinks, it makes him drop it all out on him accidentally. Like it's okay for him to admit that it's tiring him. He doesn’t even have the strength to respond to that at the moment, he’s too bewildered by that last comment.*

Lorax: Woooaaah, you're okay. *Crumples a little with the sudden weight, but manages okay and gives him a big hug, stroking his hair gently once he's regained his balance.*

Once-ler: *Nods into him but doesn't leave the hug.* I'm fine- I'm fine.

Lorax: Of course you are. *Continues to stroke his hair, one little hand sorting out any stray flicks while the other just holds him.* But if you weren't that'd be okay too.

Once-ler: *Shakes his head.* It wouldn't. *He's not had a breakdown since he's been in Superjail. It's been a long time since he last snapped. He's had the odd cry every now and then, but that’s about it. It was probably when his dad left, or something his mother did, or most likely when the stocks of Thneeds crashed, not that they ever have in reality. There is always so much going on in Superjail, and as much as it all is too much for him sometimes, it’s as if it’s impossible to dwell on anything for too long because you need to be prepared for the next thing. Maybe that’s why it exists in the first place, to keep the Warden’s mind from thinking too much. In a way that’s good, but at the same time it forces a lot of things to become repressed and compressed, until suddenly, someone’s having a breakdown, whether that’s an inmate finally snapping, Jared returning to tears and drinking again, or the Warden literally falling apart at the seams and going on a crying-murder spree. And it was almost him the other day. If the Warden hadn’t been fixed by that rant then there’s a good chance the Once-ler would have given up too. It’s not just that though… How could he ever have the time to have his own breakdown when he’s so busy trying to help the Warden with all of his?*

Lorax: Kid, it'd always be fine. If it's not fine around your fella then it's always fine around me. I can take it. *Takes Oncie's cheeks and makes him look at him. He's frowning, but it's the frown of a kindly father, rather than any form of disappointment.* Bein' around him has turned you into one a' the most amazing people I've ever seen - he's challenged you and forced you to grow and, *he smiles,* now look at you. All grown up and already too good for anybody I can think of. *Rests their foreheads together, glaring at him straight in the eyes.* I can't tell you how proud I am of you. But part of bein' so strong and so capable is knowing when it's okay to stop.

Once-ler: *He hadn’t expected to feel a lump in his throat, and he doesn’t want to, but everything the Lorax says is exactly what he's been waiting to hear. He lets out a quiet, dry sob as he sighs out and then his arms loop around his fluffy friend and cling closely to him. It’s being told that the Lorax is proud of him, the Lorax proud of him after all he did to the forest, that makes a few small tears prick up at the corner of his eyes.* Th- Thank you, *He sniffs a few times, clenching his eyes shut in an attempt to blink away the tears, but a lump still resting in his throat.*

Lorax: *Gives a short chuckle that rumbles through his fur, hugging Oncie tightly.* It's what I'm here for. *Rubs the back of his head, keeping Oncie tightly pressed against his fluffy, warm body. He lets him sniffle all he needs.*

Once-ler: *Sniff against him and squeezes the hug for moments and then pulls away to wipe his eyes. His shoulders hang heavily but he sighs out and feels a little better.*

Lorax: *Smiles at him in a calm and loving way.* You gonna be okay tonight?

Once-ler: *Nods* I… *His chest shudders with an outward breath and he gives him a weak smile.* I should be.

Lorax: *Chuckles at him.* I'm sure your Warden won't mind. He might not even notice if you don't sniff too often. *Plods over to the roll of kitchen paper towels and tears a piece off, then holds it up for him.*

Once-ler: *Chuckles back at his little tease and takes the tissue to finish up mopping his eyes.*

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Once-ler: *It’s the evening after the Once-ler had finished sorting what he needed to in his factory, he’s been waiting at home for the Warden, but so far he’s heard nothing from him and he hasn’t returned from Thneedville. He’d tried to contact his communicator but no-one answered, he even went to look for him in Thneedville after work and couldn’t find him, he called Jared just in case he might have returned to Superjail for whatever reason and he was told they’ve seen no sign of him. As much as he wants to helicopter around him to make sure nothing bad is happening, he does want to trust him on his own- he doesn’t want to go back out to look for him and turn the whole town upside down, looking like a maniac in the process. It’s just that it’s getting to the point now, as he paces around the lower ground of his Lerkim and checks his pocket watch while the day gets later, that he really thinks he should go and turn the town upside down. He doesn't know what to do, he paces his living room while trying to think of a solution, his fingertips in his mouth to chew on and his eyes tense with concern. He thought he’d be okay, but now he’s disappeared and Once-ler doesn’t know what to do or where to go, and he has no idea why he let him go alone. He looks a bit of a mess, in his half/half outfit with his braces hanging down from his waist. Too worried to make himself look that presentable.*

*There's a brisk knock on the door.*

Once-ler: *Jumps a little at the knock and then goes over to the door, suddenly feeling a wave of relief as he hopes that that’s the Warden returning after his day out, but then he considers that it’s a little strange the Warden would knock when he would usually just stumble in and announce his presence. Unless he really took what he said that morning in his office seriously. He winces, straightens himself up and tries to make his appearance better, but he hopes to heaven that it’ll be his boyfriend. He clears his throat, and then opens the door.*

*Outside is a stern-looking, boring man in a white lab coat. He has thick glasses and looks like an immovable, business-like sort. He waits for the door to be answered before speaking, being too strict and professional to call through the house.*

Once-ler: *Looks the man up and down with a confused, slightly concerned frown.* Uuh... Can I help you?..

Doctor: *He nods, his face expressionless.* I am truly sorry to bother you, Mr. Once-ler, but I'm here on behalf of the Thneedville Psychiatric Institute. *Flaps his hand a little in small gesture.* Merely a formality we have to conduct, but we have a patient with us who insists that he knows you. You'll understand that we have a number of patients who make claims of knowing celebrities and usually we don't follow these accusations up, but he's been very insistent. *Coolly he reaches into his pocket and brings out the lapel pin that Oncie owns, the one with the small truffula tuft.* He also had this on his possession. We simply want to make sure that he's deluded, for the sake of his ongoing treatment. He claims to be... *briefly fishes for the word,* a jailer of some sort. *Seems a little embarrassed by how ridiculous a house call this must seem.*

Once-ler: *Squints and tilts his head at him as he listens, wanting to ask questions but they get answered straight away. His tongue goes numb, but he thinks for a moment that this could be a misunderstanding, but then he reveals the pin. He stares at it with horror and takes it slowly, his eyes having to be forced away from it to look at the man again. His stomach has been getting tighter all through this explanation, still clinging onto hope that this could still not be real,but his stomach plummets at the last thing said, and he stares at the man it utter shock, feeling sick to his stomach* No- he’s in a-? *He gasps, suddenly knowing what that means. He feels like he might be sick. He snaps out of it, trying to act sensible and try not to panic, but he is, and suddenly he grabs his coat and top-hat* Thank you. *Then bolts out of his house, almost knocking the man over and slamming his door shut.*

*This is his town, he funds all of its institutions, he practically runs it and he knows where everything is and the quickest way to get to places. In just a few minutes he’s at the asylum and bursts in, slamming the doors open as if anyone would dare to tell him not to. He’s The Once-ler, he practically owns this town, he built it into what it is today. If he wasn’t there then it wouldn’t be able to run properly without him, let alone have such a great economy, and everyone knows it. He bursts in, his tailcoat fluttering behind him like a demons cape and his hat stretched up to the ceiling as intimidating as one of his factory chimneys, puffing the smoke he burns to keep all these businesses alive.*

Receptionist: *Jolts upright at the sudden entrance and in a small explosion papers addresses him nervously.* Oh! Mr. Once-ler! Can I help you? *A few people are picking up and moving damaged furniture and strewn documents from the reception area- something akin to a hurricane passed through here at some point. Clearly the Warden didn't go down without a fight.* Th-this is very sudden- do you have an appointment? *Everything here is very normal and grey, though it does have the rounded edges and slightly off-kilter angles and asymmetry of any Thneedville building - nothing out of the ordinary as far as Thneedville goes, very professional. There's a small piece of very worrying information, however. Perched on top of the receptionist's outbox are the Warden's glasses- a glint of bright yellow in this otherwise drab place. Of course he wouldn't be allowed to wear them if he were an inpatient. They'll be taken to a small holding area until he's let go... but that could be any time.*

Once-ler: *He stops for a moment to look at the mess, he doesn’t even have to question it, he knows it was the Warden's fighting back that caused such a chaos and it makes him worry even more. Then he snaps his head over to the receptionist and struts over to her dangerously* Do I need a goddamn appointment?! Do you really need to ask me th- *Then his eyes catch the glint of yellow and they notice the Warden's glasses. His mouth goes dry and his eyes look at them in complete horror. Okay- NOW he’s panicking. And he whispers, terrified* Y- you-... took them off him.

Receptionist: *Recoils a little.* Uh, well yes! Of course! They'd be classified as... as contraband... sir. *Pauses and tries to avoid looking at him head on- intimidated by him immensely.* I assume... that this means you're here to see the man who was brought in last night? The, uh, *makes very, very meek quote signs with her fingers,* "prison warden"?

Once-ler: *Scowls at her when she quotes with her hands and places both hands on hers and pushes them down.* He is a prison warden, and everything he says is the truth. He knows me. *Clears his throat and tries to calm down- this isn’t her fault.* He was brought in here last night you say? Why? What for? *He demands an answer quickly.*

Receptionist: *Panics a little and immediately starts typing at the computer to one side, pulling up the Warden's record.* Oh, um. *Reads, readjusting her glasses* He was found at the scene of a fight. Apparently there were, uh, weapons involved. He was brought here instead of to the police station because... well... *She ducks a little, not wanting to be the one to say it.* He was claiming some rather outlandish things. I'm sorry, Mr. Once-ler, sir, but I'm not legally allowed to say any more than that. *Quickly adds, hoping to get rid of him as soon as possible.* Would you want to be taken to him now?

Once-ler: *Is about to snap more demands but stops immediately at the question. That’s definitely what he wants out of this, so it works to get him to go away* Yes please. Right now.

Receptionist: *Immediately snaps her fingers at one of the men in coats walking around.* Excuse me! Could you take Mr. Once-ler to see our newest patient? He's... uh... *She looks to the Once-ler and then immediately lies to make things easier.* Family! Yes.

Doctor: *He squints at the Once-ler, then takes some documents from the receptionist's desk. He cringes.* That patient? I'm afraid he's not approved for visitation right now. *He looks down at the notes and snaps them to a clipboard.* If you are family, we will require some... *Again his eyes rest on the Once-ler, knowing exactly who he is but being as careful as possible in regards to protocol...* Documentation.

Once-ler: *He doesn't like the way he said 'that patient'. His brow tightens and his shoulders stiffen at the resistance shown.* There is no paperwork because the man is no longer in contact with his biological family. I'm his significant other. We have photos together, his things are in my house, and the fact that you picked him up with my lapel pin in his possession and I'm not charging him for being a stalking fan but instead am here trying to represent him, should prove we have a relationship. *He breathes in a sharp breath and huff it out of his nostrils like a steaming bull. He tries to hide the pain in his next statement.* He has no one but me who can care for him. *He points his finger sharply down at the ground.* I demand to see him!

Doctor: *He appears completely dispassionate as the Once-ler talks, even though he believes the man is telling the truth - he is the Once-ler after all, everyone knows that and this is Thneedville - because this isn't a court of law and he isn't looking to be convinced. There is protocol to follow, documents to be inspected, because if they make a mistake by taking a shortcut then they could be sued into the ground.* You can demand all you want, sir, but I'm afraid that until I see documentation proving that your relationship is as you say it is, we can't allow visitation until he's gone through our screening process. He was violent with the nurses as he was brought in, and we have no guarantees that this won't continue to be the case. *When he says 'violent', it's highly likely that he just resisted them as they dragged him in.* He’s a very sick man.

Once-ler: *Takes a step forward assertively but not aggressively, and he cuts in before the man can really finish.* He won't be aggressive to me! *One eye squints and he snarls,* But alright, if you want to play that game, how about this for 'documentation'. When was your last unscheduled routine humanitarian check at this establishment, huh? *Straightens up and folds his arms.* By Thneedville law you're permitted to accept an unscheduled visit by a city representative to check that the treatments, handling and facilities provided to patients are humane and up to human rights standards at all times. *Places his hand on his chest and raises his eyebrow.* As the city's main representative, I've authority to instigate this operation when I see fit, as well as appoint the individual in charge of carrying it out, which can also be myself. So consider it your unscheduled investigation, and I request to see the most recent and most volatile patient checked into the facility within the last twenty-four hours to best review these conditions. *He frowns.* I wouldn't recommend objecting to this kind of operation, it tends to look very bad for an institution of people holding medical licenses.

Doctor: *His eyes widen. Oh crap. He straightens up coldly, his shoulders drawing back defensively and his chin lifting, and for a moment he looks him dead in the eyes, lifting his head slightly as if almost daring to challenge him before remembering who he is. Cold grey eyes unpleasantly squinting. They haven’t had an investigation in a long time. The cultural era that they exist in Thneedville doesn’t pay much attention to the well being of mental patients, but if he doesn’t let the Once-ler in to see just the one patient, then he might put a bigger focus on them overall. He might take it to the press and demand a large-scale investigation as revenge, but maybe if he’s let to see the one man then that’ll be all he wants. Finally he quakes, watching the Once-ler's bright blue glare, as the math clicks and he feels a tiny shudder rattle through him. He is the Once-ler after all, and he’s caught him in a bit of a tough place with all that practical, systematic business talk especially when he tried to just throw the same at him about protocol. He's forced to nod with a slightly unhappy curl to his nose.* Very well. Right this way.

*The receptionist moves to escort him, but the doctor holds up his hand.*

Doctor: No-no, I'll handle this. Right this way, Mr. Once-ler. *He turns on his heel almost like a soldier and glides on sharp feet down the corridors of the facility. He doesn’t seem particularly happy with the way the Once-ler has worked around the rules, but he can’t say anything, the man is too powerful. Never the less, he is hiding an attitude with a bitter sneer, holding his head up and glaring out the corner of his eye at the businessman. The doctors here don’t like it when outsiders try sniffing around their patients and the facilities, they just want to get on with their jobs, with unfeeling. What does the Once-ler anyway? He doesn’t know better than they could about this sick man and what he needs.* You will see that we have everything up to code when it comes to exiling lunacy. Out here are our less volatile inpatients, but I'll take you to our secure wing where the worst are. You’ll see, since you’re here to review our establishment, that the mad man you’re talking about is in the perfect place. *There’s the tiniest hiss sound from his nose that indicates a smirk. To him, the people here are nothing more than animals.*

Once-ler: *His eyes are just as unfeeling to the man’s opinion or reaction, even more so, because he owns this damn town and no-one dares to look at him like this man is daring to. He either doesn't know who he is, which is ridiculous, or he's the most stupid man on the planet to exist in Thneedville and look down his nose at The Once-ler like that. Especially when he's standing in the way of something the man wants and will take. He won't be stopped, nothing can stop him, the only thing this man will succeed in is guaranteeing to make his own life worse by trying to slow the businessman down. He lifts his own head and if he were some sort of demonic creature, his claws and fangs would be unfurling at him right now; he's lucky that they're meant to be existing in a civilised society else the Once-ler would have torn him to shreds as easily as the Warden does to the prisoners in Superjail. ‘The perfect place?’ He picked up on that vile, snarky tone towards himself and his boyfriend- his boyfriend who right now is vulnerable and suffering in his worst nightmare. One thing is for certain, this man is losing his job by the end of today whether or not he's taking him down to the Warden right now. He could write a very convincing report on him and have it approved in seconds. He's not in the mood to stare down a more pathetic predator that apparently doesn't know what lions nest it's poking at.* Good. *He says when the man states where he’s taking him, the word coming out as a stab as he follows him down.*

*Naturally he doesn't really care about the facility's humanitarian standards protocol right now, the Warden is the only thing on his mind and he wants to go there immediately, he doesn't even look around or pay attention to the man as he describes the hallways, but he will write a report like he promised once he has his boyfriend back, and as he makes his way through the corridors, he does start to see just how miserable this place is as well as hear the distressed sounds groaning from the rooms… It reminds him of Superjail on a slow day. Maybe he should investigate here- the thought comes to mind for a moment.

He's a man of doing things by the books most of the time, if he declares an investigation then he'll follow through, if he promises a report then he'll write one, but that's already played them perfectly into his hands now and he knows it. They might call his bluff here, thinking he's just using this reason as an excuse to get into the facility and humouring it to save their reputation, when really he wont write a report in the end. But they would be wrong to do that, because this isn't just a one-off excuse to get into the facility, he knows full well that he's opened up the door to further threats that he'll follow through with. Oh he'll write a report, and it'll drag them all through the mud so violently that they'll forget their names because his own will be etched into their ID cards like branded cattle.* Mh-hm. And Doctor. *That last comment stings. Do they talk about all of their vulnerable patients like that? He nods his head when he's told they're going to the secure wing. Then he looks to the Doctor and scowls at him like a feral mountain wolf ready to claw his eyes out. If he's going to get what he wants, people here need to remember who they're talking to in this city. He seethes with a dark voice.* Don't you ever look down your fucking nose at me again, and don’t you ever say anything like that about one of your patients either, or you can kiss your medical license goodbye. *He's lucky he's only losing his job, maybe then he'll learn the most blatantly obvious lesson of the town named after the Once-ler's very vision.*

*The doctor doesn't mess around, taking him straight to the room with their most volatile and most recent patient, but he nevertheless points out the important things as they make their way through - maintaining the paper-thin pretense of legitimacy. This place, like all of Thneedville, is filled with swirling tubes, old-fashioned copper machinery, big buttons beside each rounded door with chunky plaques declaring the rhyming name of each ward or in-patient. It's a large place, or maybe just seems that way because of its labyrinthine layout, but beyond pointing out the appropriate security measures, the basic facilities and gesturing towards continued areas of the building, the doctor says nothing. Like all of Thneedville, this place was sponsored by the Once-ler himself to some degree if not designed outright by him, so it's all good. It's just, unfortunately, old-fashioned.*

Doctor: *Turns when the Once-ler speaks to him. He doesn't expect the way in which he's spoken to, or the dark tone of the man's voice, and it honestly shocks him. He definitelydoesn’t expect the cursing, because thneedville is almost ‘family-friendly’ in the way it’s inhabitants barely acknowledge curse words to be a part of language. It makes him gulp. He isn't about to fight the man, both because he wouldn’t be that dumband also because he's a professional doctor in his place of work, and drops his steel-grey expression immediately. Suddenly his ego vanishes over realising how seriously the business man is about all this. He can’t even see what’s wrong with speaking about one of these patients like that- Is he actually going to investigate them?* O- of course, Mr. Once-ler.

*They get to the door at the end of the secure wing - another rounded door with a little, wonky, barred window, with a big red button to the side and a plaque that says 'Max Security'.*

Doctor: Here we are, sir. *He thumps his fist on the big red button, and the door swings open.*

*The Warden is lying on the ground of his padded cell, curled up and facing away from the door. It's difficult to judge what state he's in, but it's never a good sign when the Warden is sitting still. Sitting still and wearing a straitjacket. Only that and the hospital patient uniform, which is a grey and shapeless outfit with nothing to cover his feet. It's the last thing he'd ever choose to wear himself.*

Doctor: I have.. aah.. much to do, and he's not dangerous like that. *Likely he just wants to get the hell away from the lions gaze. He passes Oncie a small buzzer.* Let the nurse know when you're ready to leave- visiting hours shut at six. *Gives a small awkward frown* Usually patients in the maximum security area aren't allowed to have visitors in the first place, but since it's you... *He knows Oncie owns their ass. He won't do anything.*

Once-ler: *He gasps, his heart breaking when he sees that curled up, limp figure, and if he had zero social instincts, he’d have sprinted over and curled over him by now just to hug him up and protect him. Instead he takes the buzzer off of the doctor.* Right. Thank you.*He waits for him to leave and then steps into the room. His face drops at the sight, he can’t even see the Warden yet, and yet he can feel how much confused agony he’s in. Hopefully it'll be somewhat less painful once he knows that Oncie came for him. Taking a deep breath he goes over to him, his feet picks up with a desperate need to be with him but also not wanting to startle him with sudden movement, and squats next to him. Then places a very light hand on the wardens shoulder and turns him over to face him.* Warden? It's me, The Once-ler. *Gulps, his mouth is dry and his heart is racing.*

Warden: *He's easily rolled over, and the scary thing is that he doesn't even flinch at the sudden touch. He's limp and docile even though he's conscious. He does, however, immediately wince and let out a small, pathetic moan when he meets Oncie's eyes and their brightness hurts him. Without any usual trappings - no hat, no glasses, not even any fancy clothing - he just looks like a crazy middle-aged man. Not a rich eccentric, or some wacky visionary. Just a very tired and sad old man. Still, he loosely smiles up at his saviour, even if it doesn't look like he believes the other man is really with him, and even if it almost takes him a moment to recognise him. It’d have taken longer though, if it weren’t for those blue eyes. More like he's humouring his own mental images.* Hello Oncie~ *He speaks slow, like he's having to concentrate in order to form words. He then corrects Oncie calling him 'Warden'.* It's Edmund.

Once-ler: *He can’t stand to look at what’s in front of him and just wishes this was an awful nightmare, his heart pounding in his chest, chased by horror so fast that it’s begging his brain to wake him up. How could they do this? He knows he’s unstable, he knows he has problems, but he still can’t imagine something so bad, so depressing, so directly out of the worse pages of the warden’s worst fate, happening to his little bunny of a boyfriend. He has no idea what the Warden is thinking or what’s going on his head but he can see that he’s been completely sedated by them, bound and left in a dark corner- the poor thing. Once he's corrected and been told to call him by his actual name, he gasps and swallows as his heart thumps with grief and worry. He doesn’t know what that means, what state of mind that means he’s in, but he holds himself together and grips the Warden’s shoulder a little tighter.* O- okay. Um- E- Edmund? H-how are you feeling? *He’s not entirely sure what the hell he’s meant to say here, but it’s worth asking the question.*

Warden: *His body can actually be felt untensing when Oncie touches him - as defeated as he is, Oncie is still his safe place. Apparently it's so deeply ingrained now that it's instinct.* It hurts. *Sounds a little pouty, but not in the usual joking, playful way. It's the pout of a real child who can't handle what's happened to him.* This jacket. *Gives a very half-hearted fidget.* And.... everything is very... dull. *Shuts his eyes tight all of a sudden.* And too close. *Curls up a little more, tensing up again.* Right in front of me. *He has no shield in front of his eyes. Those glasses are a barrier that have always kept the world out, and kept him in a nice fantasy world. Now he's clamped up in a ball, eyes scrunched up closed.* I missed you. *Now sounds slightly blaming. He's jumping all over the place because he can't hold a thought in his head for very long.* Where were you?

Once-ler: *Watches him with concerns and horror, but then that blame comes and hits him to his core. He completely blames himself for the position the Warden is in, the guilt is starting to drill a hole through his chest, he hisses at the grief and pain in his stomach, but having it directly pointed at him by the suffering man makes it all the more real. He messed up. He shouldn’t have let him go out alone, he knew he'd get into trouble and now he might have truly scarred him for life. Sure, the Warden might have been erratic, but he knows how his boyfriend was last time, and he knows his townsfolk, and the only reason why he let him go along was because he was too focused on work. Now he’s kicking himself for it. The business isn’t important, the money isn’t important, this is important! He leans forward and presses his face to the Warden's, sliding his arms around him and squeezing him into a close embrace. He feels cold.* I'm sorry. *He gasps and shakes his head* I’m so sorry. I- I'm here now though. I'm here. And I'm gong to get you out, okay? *He plants a slow lingering kiss on the Warden’s head, one protective and promising, as he feels his throat close up.*

Warden: *Another small, sad whimper escapes his throat and he shuffles forward as best as he can into the cuddling and kissing. He's not quite coordinated to kiss back.* I.... *For a moment he sort of drifts off, like he's lost focus, but then he returns with a small shake of his head - like a nervous twitch.* I always do this. *His voice is quavering and almost a whisper. His body is trembling, too, weakened and reacting unfavourably to whatever cocktail of sedatives they've given him. The scary thing is, though, that even if he weren't drugged he'd probably be just as still and broken.* Why... why can't I handle being Edmund? *Presses his face into Oncie's collarbone. He has this low-grade terror running through him for as long as he's without his glasses, but after a whole day of that he's snapped and this has somehow made him okay to talk while internally screaming.* They said there's no War... Warden... but I'm not good at being normal. S- *He has trouble getting the last word out.* Sane.

Once-ler: *Hugs him tightly and lowers his voice, because that’s all he can do to force it to be comforting and kind rather than panicking. It’s what the Warden needs, but his chest is fluttering and there’s a lump in his throat.* I shouldn’t have said- I didn’t mean- *He tries to smile, feeling guilty for asking him to act normal earlier that morning.* You shouldn’t have to be normal because you're special, remember? I told you, people can’t see that yet. All sane people are boring anyway. *He tries to let out a little laugh but he pauses for a moment as his nose becomes tingly and he wells up. He stuffs his face into the Wardens neck and clings tightly onto him.* You are the Warden, he is real, and so is Superjail, and we’re going to go back there the moment I get you out. I’m going to take you home. I promise. *He searches for the buzzer and presses it to call someone in.*

Warden: *He's too drugged to cry, or even feel much beyond the floaty, hazy emotions he's swimming through right now. But he does feel Oncie's tears.* Don't cry... *Sounds like he's attempting to be comforting, even with his voice sounding half-asleep.* You're not in trouble... *He sees Oncie press the button and foggily realises that people are going to come in and interrupt them. He gives a short, futile, struggle.* No... no don't call them... I need to- There's something I meant to say. *Falters, looking scared.* I think... I don't know. *Winces.* It's hard to concentrate... *Slightly begging sound, like he wants Oncie to fix his head.* Oncie...

Once-ler: *He places his hands on the Warden's face and looks at him with worry, feeling a jolt of sickness as the Warden begs him.* What? What is it? *He breathes in and out heavily.* I- Its okay. I'm still staying here with you. I wont move an inch, so then I need them to come to me because I won’t leave you, okay? *He pulls him into his chest again and cuddles him. He’s going to fix this. He swears on his life that he’s going to fix this.*

Warden: *Looks very troubled, but also like he's somewhere else. He's not able to fight the drugs combined with the protective fog his brain is trying to wrap itself up with. It won't let him come to his senses, because if he actually realises what's happened and where he is there's no telling what sort of damage that'll do to him. He's already been utterly destroyed- this is his mind's last-ditch defense effort.* It's just... I...

*At that point two nurses come to the door and hurry in. The door is swung open, and just as the Warden immediately sees them, he pushes his head into Oncie's shoulder, diving as heard as he can into his protectors arms for safety and in a desperate attempt to express how much he needs him. He's so scared of them.*

Warden: I LOVE YOU! PLEASE DON’T GO!

Once-ler: *His breath chokes in his throat. It's as if everything’s suddenly gone silent, like time has stopped. For a moment he really thinks he’s in a dream, some twisted thing that is part nightmare and part everything he’s wanted to hear. But it’s not. The Warden said it, and he said it during the most devastating and horrible situation possible. He said it because he's frightened and confused and desperate, desperate for Oncie, the only thing that he recognises and trusts and loves, to save him from the white-coat monsters coming to hurt him again. His heart skips a beat in that moment of the world pausing, and then suddenly races forward as he comes back to reality. Emotions soar through him, grief and love, guilt and gratitude, horror and hope, and he wells up with large flooding tears as he clutches his soulmate so tightly in his arms that they’d have to kill the Once-ler to pry the Warden from him. Out of his cold, dead, greedy fingers, like all of his riches, except this man is infinitely more valuable to him than any dollar bill or any shining jewel.* I love you too! *He gasps* I love you so much, Edmund! I’m not going, I’m never going! I’m staying right here with you forever and I’m going to fix this, I swear! *He suddenly looks over his shoulder and snaps at the nurses like a feral animal.* GET ME HIS GLASSES! Don’t you dare even think about denying me!! *He’s never sounded so furious and threatening before, but he could make their lives a living misery if he wanted to, and if they do not obey him right now then he will certainly rain hellfire upon them all.*

*The nurses gaze at him wide-eyed - at the whole situation, really- and then scatter like frightened gazelle. The Warden will be getting his damn glasses back. There is no question about that.*

Warden: *Has his eyes tightly shut, not at all scared of the way Oncie is shouting. But he's still overwhelmed by this whole situation and has no energy or lucidity left in him, so he clamps up and burrows himself as close as he can into that hug. His emotions are still dulled by everything, but hearing Oncie talking to him - saying that he loves him and is going to take care of him and that he's never going anywhere - is affecting him so deep down that he starts crying even when he doesn't directly feel the emotions he's supposed to. He doesn't wail or sob, he just wells up and the tears stream freely. The emotions are so deeply there that even when he can't think about what it means, or even consciously feel them, his body reels under the effects of it all. He knows what he’s meant to do here, what his body wants, and what his heart needs to express, even in all the brainfog. He sniffs heavily, and a small pant of crying does make itself heard. It's a single bleat, a shudder of his shoulders, and it's all his damaged mind has left to give. He loves him, that’s all he knows to be real when he has nothing left, that’s what the thing that makes sense and knows to stay, and he’s so relieved Oncie is here.*

Once-ler: *Strokes his hand through the Wardens hair and rocks him back and forth, his chin protectively hooked over his head as the tears stream down his face.* Okay- *Sniffs again and leans down to plant kisses on the Warden's head, talking into his ear and doing his best to deliver as much comfort and love to him as he can.* I love you too. *Kisses him again and repeating the words as a mantra.* Everything's going to be okay, everything's going to be oka- ay.

Warden: *Nods pathetically into his front, trying to believe him that things will be okay, because the only hope he can hold onto now is that he trusts Oncie. His facial expression is blank, even though so much stuff is churning up inside of him. Oncie smells so familiar this close, and that particular sense is a vivid experience in his current state. Fresh grass, butterfly milk, sweet flowers, the forest- with a hint of smoke and copper from his factory, and a faint smell of the signature cologne he wears for business. It’s the most perfect scent in the world because its his, and it’s a lifeline for his muddled synapses to cling onto. He never wants to be let go from from this.*

*The nurses scurry back down the corridor for the glasses, they didn't even ask permission to take them from the front office - they just want to swipe them so that they can hand them back to the frightening man - but run straight into the doctor who brought the Once-ler here. He frowns and shakes his head - no. They're not giving an unknown and dangerously unstable man anything that can be broken into shards. It's policy. One brow raises up from behind his thick glasses, reminding them that this is their job, and they're not just here to placate the guy making the loudest demands in the room.*

*Besides, he thinks. They're just glasses.*

*The nurses twitter amongst themselves, because nobody wants to go back in there and tell him. As they twitter, one sneaks past and dashes for the front office because maybe if she can smuggle them in, the Once-ler won't fire her at least.*

*She gets to the front desk, reaches for the glasses stacked on top of the filing cabinet, but is then stopped by a wiry hand with sharp nails. Jumping a mile, she looks up into the eyes of a very severe-looking woman with horn-rimmed glasses, a grey beehive hairstyle, and a long, pristine white coat.*

Female Doctor: What do you think you're doing?

Nurse: Th-there's a very upset patient who needs them, Dr. Zazzerzump! And... *she hushes her voice* Mr. Once-ler demanded we get them!

Doctor Zazzerzump: Mr. Once-ler 'demanded', did he? *Her birdlike face hardens like thunder.* Is Mr. Once-ler the Medical Chief of this hospital?

Nurse: N-no Doctor. But none of us want to be the ones to go in and tell him-

Doctor Zazzerzump: Oh, for goodness' sake. *She storms past the nurse with clipped, high-heeled strides and heads straight for the secure wing.* And Dr. Snickberry-Shoo? What did he say about all this?

*She walks straight past Dr. Snickberry-Shoo as he continues to berate the nurses for trying to get past him. But when he sees his superior come striding past, he takes a step back away from her.*

*This might be the Once-ler’s city, but this is her hospital, and he can’t just waltz in and take a patient from one of their cells like the man belongs to him. His name is on their paperwork now, he’s in their branded straightjackets, he’s in one of their cell rooms, and he has a long, tiring schedule of tests, medication and treatments already being prescribed and planned that’ll last him years until he’ll be allowed to be released. Once he’s proved to be mentally unfit for the outside world, he’ll be institutionalised here, and then he’ll belong to her and to the system.*

*Although relief floods through The Once-ler to finally have his beloved safe in his arms again, this isn’t the end of the road like he hopes. He doesn’t realise the approaching battle coming on the horizon. He doesn't realise what a terrible ending they might be met with if he doesn’t win it. He doesn’t realise, that in a cruel twist of irony, the Warden might finally become the Prisoner.*

To be continued...

[harmonictechnicality]

The List

(for @steddiemicrofic’s July prompt)

prompt word: pool | wc: 442 | rating: T (cw for suggestive language and minor sacrilegious-ness maybe??)

Steve knows his ‘Make Out Locations’ bucket list is lame. Also knows how much it riles Eddie up (not that it takes very much to rile him up).

“Not again,” Eddie groans into Steve’s mouth. He reaches for the paper, gnashing their teeth enough to cause permanent dental damage.

“Why do you hate it so much?” Steve knows the answer. It’s scribbled between the wrinkles on Eddie’s forehead.

“Cause I know what it’ll say.”

“Do you?”

Eddie hums. “It’ll say you’ve already made out here before. Just like everywhere else in the purgatorial Midwest.”

“Really?”

“Probably with someone named Bimbo VonBreasty.”

Steve snorts at that one. Jealousy laced behind a joke. Eddie’s specialty. “Ah, yes. The VonBreasty’s and I go way back.”

The mood melts again. They ease back into where they left off, tongues tracing lips. Palms pressing hard into each other's necks.

Eddie dips away for a second. “One of these days, I’m gonna find a spot where you haven’t sucked someone’s lips blue.”

It’s a comical idea. Comical, but impossible. Still, Steve is always up for a good laugh.

“Would love to see you try, Munson.”

They drive in Eddie’s van for a few miles. Steve is blindfolded, which should be alarming. Maybe kinky. But this is Eddie, so if anything, it’s for Dramatic Flare.

“It’s cheating if we drive outside of Hawkins.” Steve argues as they exit the van.

“Good thing I only play fair.” Eddie slips behind him, untying the knotted blindfold.

Steve blinks, takes in the open space. Deep and echoey, like a basketball court. Except much more ornate.

“Step down.” Eddie directs.

The scent of stale incense hits Steve’s nose as he takes another step. This time, he shivers at the sensation. The realization:

Water. Shallow water all around his shins.

“Is this the church on Main Street?”

“Not just the church on Main Street.” Eddie replies. “The baptism pool in the church on Main Street.”

Everything is louder here, rippling for ages against the reverb. Steve is so aware of every sound he makes, every movement reflected in the water.

“Hey.” Eddie knocks his knuckles over Steve’s wrist. Loosely catches his fingers. “Never kissed anyone here, have you?”

Steve shakes his head, rethinks his outlook on impossibilities. He wades in closer, keeping their hands connected. “Should we rectify that?”

Eddie nods into the kiss. They rarely kiss this softly, all warm lips and leisure speed. Every breath shared, gentle waves luring them chest to chest.

The list in Steve’s pocket is probably shriveled up, withering away. But it doesn’t matter anymore. Not in this moment.

Anyone before Eddie is just ink on a page.