#unanswered questions are a fucking plague on my life

[lucovon]

a long time ago a girl i hung out with one single time tried to talk to me about anime but the only character she knew was "the gay guy with the scarf" and my MOST RECENT guess is now nase hiroomi from kyoukai no kanata

[highvern]

Teach Me VI

Final

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

Pairing: Lee Dokyeom (Seokmin) x fem!reader

Genre: smut, humor, college au

Warnings: angst, pining, crying, alcohol consumption, jealous pouty DK, meddling Seungkwan and Hoshi, eventual smut, dry humping, making out, face fucking, munch DK as always, unprotected sex, cream pie, they're simps for each and its disgusting!, DK wearing a chain that dangles in readers face bc im sick and twisted, kinda choking but not really?

Length: ~7.4k

Note: SURPRISE!! ITS HERE!!!! this series started in OCTOBER which is wild to think about. two months of these two plaguing my day to day and so many amazing readers interacting with the story honestly makes a little emotional for it to end. this is the first series i've ever done and now it's over so soon but there are bigger and better things on the horizon! (goes and cries in the corner) If you notice any errors or typos pls ignore.

This blog is intended for 18+ only! MDNI or you'll be blocked!

read more here

[MONDAY 11:23 AM]

YOU: Home

Mr. Boo: Thank you! Love you!

Mr. Boo: We can have a bff night when I get back

[MONDAY 4:48 PM] 

DOKYEOM: Hope you got home safe

DOKYEOM: I’m sorry, I shouldn't have spoken to you like that.

DOKYEOM: Can we talk this week?

Dokyeom doesn’t leave his room the rest of the weekend. A combination of fear of Seungkwan beating the crap out of him and absolute heartbreak keep him wrapped in the covers. Not even Soonyoung can elicit more than a half-hearted grunt when checking if his roommate is still alive.

The drive back to campus is no different. Staring longingly out the window, Dokyeom stares at his unanswered messages. When he goes to your Instagram he finds your account missing with the sinking realization you blocked him.

Seventy two of the best and subsequent worse hours of his life crumbled your fragile relationship. He thought you returned his feelings. 

After Soonyoung blabled a drunken confession on Dokyeom’s behalf, he worried you’d drive off in the night; swiftly rejecting him. But you wrapped your arms around him and held him as you slept. Kissed him awake in the early morning sun, nothing but a soft smile and presses of lips across his face. It was better than anything Dokyeom hoped for. He thought it meant you liked him back even if you didn’t say it yet.

But then you interrogated him and the hot tub and it all came crashing down. You were trying to let him down easy, buttering him up before giving him a reality check. It’d hurt of course. The tsunami of shame at thinking he had a chance and then adding insult to injury when you called him childish. 

Dokyeom knows he was wrong for his reaction but embarrassment sent him spiraling and he needed to get as far away from you as possible. 

And now that he’d succeed, he doesn't think he can find a way back.

—

Monday and Tuesday are spent suffocating under a mound of blankets, munching on a carton of ice cream, and crying till your head hurts and your throat is sore. The string of texts from Dokyeom remains thoroughly ignored; but each buzz of your phone raises your heart rate to unhealthy levels until you read the notification from some store offering a discount. 

You ignore the string of messages from Dokyeom, tempted more and more to block him as they come through; but you can’t bring yourself to do it. Just like you can’t bring yourself to delete the pictures of you two together peppered throughout your camera roll, or the most recent video that does nothing but make you sick to your stomach.

Tuesday night your roommate returns to campus, cheery and well rested from a weekend with her boyfriend back home. You hide from her friendly questions about your weekend in the bathroom, shrouded in steam and bubbles.

Looking at yourself in the mirror after you're sufficiently pruned and chilled from freeze drops, you notice the traces of Dokyeom still on your skin. 

A tiny maroon bruise is fading to a sick green right under your collar bone. Prodding it with the tip of your finger, you wince at the tenderness of the flesh. 

You hate it. 

Hate how somehow your eyes are thick with a gloss of tears at the sight of a hickey, they way you can’t catch your breath when you realize the shirt you brought in with you is another one of his you lifted over the months.

Dokyeom hadn’t been your boyfriend. You two hadn’t even been casually dating. Over and over again you remind yourself you were just friends who had sex, and you shouldn’t be this torn up over a guy. Dokyeom didn’t like you and that wasn’t something to hold against him. 

But the facts do nothing to stop the knot permanently lodged in your throat.

—

The first time you see Dokyeom post-not-breakup, he’s sitting in one of the rolling chairs at the mahogany table you two claimed for your usual study sessions. 

Blood frozen, heart clenching unbearably, you turn and walk right back out the revolving glass doors, hoping he didn’t see you.

But the echo of quick footsteps behind you say otherwise.

“Hey! Y/N!”

Faltering for a moment, you keep walking as if you hadn’t heard anything. And because the universe has a sick sense of humor, the crossing light turns red just as you approach, leaving you stranded with the one person you didn’t want to see.

You whip around at tap against your arm with such ferocity you nearly stumble.

Dokyeom has the gall to smile at you sheepishly before opening his mouth, “Hey.”

“Hi.” 

“You weren’t in lab yesterday.”

“Nope.” You respond monotonously, glancing behind you at the still red crossing light.

“Did you need notes or—”

“No, I got them already.”

“Oh, well—”

The light turns green, allowing you to race across the road before Dokyeom can finish his thought. The heat of his gaze doesn't leave your back until you turn down the next road leading you home.

—

Your second interaction with Dokyeom is in the same sterile lab your friendship started. You slip inside just before class starts, narrowly avoiding getting locked out by your grumpy instructor. 

Sliding into an open seat near the door, you stare straight ahead as he delves into the topic for this afternoon, pointedly ignoring the pair of eyes watching you from the familiar station at the back of the room.

“Finals are almost upon us people so I would like to take this opportunity to remind you that the lab is not open after hours. Meaning, you should prioritize your time in this room. Now let’s get started.”

The guy you’ve been partnered with is nice enough, willing to follow your lead as you read off the necessary equipment. He even manages to crack a few jokes, though not funny you’re thankful for the distraction.

You learn his name is San, he’s an underclassman and he doesn’t understand anything about the class despite attending every lecture and office hour available. 

When he leans over to copy the results you’ve scratched into your notebook, you hear a crack and shatter behind you. A dozen heads twist towards the source of commotion, finding a red faced Dokyeom staring at you.

“Mr. Lee! May I remind you our lab equipment isn’t cheap!”

“Sorry,” he mutters, shuffling towards the broom hanging on the wall.

You focus on ignoring him the rest of class, which is surprisingly easy with your new partner pestering you with inane questions. 

A lull hits, waiting for the digital scale to spit out a final reading. You managed to pull well ahead of schedule, calling over your instructor to verify your results before collecting your things. 

“So,” San starts, stuffing his own notebook in his bag. “Would you be down to tutor me sometime?”

“Oh, I uh—”

“No pressure! I just saw some of the old quizzes in your folder and thought maybe you could help me out.”

“Sure,” you smile, taking his phone to enter his number. 

Voices from the different stations echo off the blank walls, drowning your conversation out.

“Awesome! My boyfriend took this class last year but did about as well as I’m doing.”

Returning his phone back, you start walking to the door. “Oh, really?” 

“Yeah, he told me to take geology instead but I didn’t listen.” He laughs, stepping forward to hold the heavy wooden door open for you to pass.

You miss the sound of a second beaker breaking as you walk down the hall with your new friend.

—

“Dude, you have got to calm down.” Soonyoung pleads, head hanging off the couch as his legs extend into the air. He swears the increased blood flow makes him smarter.

Dokyeom nearly wears a rut into the carpet from his pacing across the length of their tiny living room. He’s been in a mood since that afternoon, watching his not-girlfriend-possibly-no-longer-friend giggle with some dude that wasn’t him. And then give her number to said dude. In front of him. All while she completely ignored his existence.

“He probably just asked her to study together.”

Jealousy isn’t Dokyeom’s thing. Sure he may whine and pout if he isn’t getting enough attention, but he’s never got the blood boil urge scream like he has right now. And about a girl that won’t even look at him.

Tangling both fists in his hair, Dokyeom tries to calm down. Soonyoung was probably right. You’re a genius at chemistry, you’re slated to officially tutor through the library next semester pending final grades, and the guy Dokyeom swears he’s never seen in class most likely asked you for help. It’s not his place to be jealous.

“Hate to be that guy but you need to get a grip”

It's easier said than done. There's four more weeks of class plus a four hour final and your Seungkwan’s friend. You’re not going to disappear after the semester ends and Dokyeom’s feelings surely aren’t going anywhere given he’s got a constant reminder that you’re the woman he lost his virginity to. 

If he knew inviting you to that party at the beginning of the semester would end up like this, he'd have sat somewhere else the first day of lab.

Soonyoung chokes on his own saliva when Dokyeom collapses on the floor with a reluctant, “You’re right.”

“I am?” Eyes bugging so hard they nearly pop from his head.

“I just have to move on.”

They both silently agree to pretend Dokyeom is capable of that.

—

San and his boyfriend, Jay, turn out to be horrible study partners. You are hardly able to focus from the way your abs hurt from laughter; Jay has a talent for self-deprecating humor.

“You didn’t!” You gasp, ignoring the daggers being glared into you back by other library goers. 

Typically you’d respect the needs of others, but they chose to sit on the first floor; if they needed real quiet they should have sat upstairs where it’s enforced by a graduate librarian with nothing better to do.

Jay nods solemnly, “I threw up on him during our first date. But he,” flinging an accusatory finger at his boyfriend, “insisted we go to some weird food truck so it’s his own fault.”

“You said you liked to try new things!” San defends.

“Not food poisoning!”

Descending into giggles, you feel sorry Seungkwan is missing out on two people he’d get along with. But he canceled at the last minute, leaving you at the large oak table all by your lonesome until you’d run into your classmate, looking for a seat.

From the corner of your eye, you see a familiar someone approaching. White blonde hair and trademark grin, Soonyoung stops at the edge of the table.

“Hey, Y/N” he grins.

Sending him a tightlipped smile you return the greeting.

Soonyoung introduces himself to your tablemates, both just as friendly as he. Thick palpable tension descends into the warm atmosphere and you’re about to rise and get another coffee just to escape it when Soonyoung turns back to you.

“Could I take a look at your results from the last lab? We didn’t get to finish in time.”

The unspoken half of ‘we’ is Dokyeom. 

You hate the flare of curiosity flashing in your head. When you partnered with Dokyeom you always finished on time if not early, even with his joking.

“Ugh, sure.” You agree, digging into your bag for your notebook.

Not waiting for an invitation, Soonyoung slides into the chair next to you, pulling out his own notebook to copy down your answers quickly. But even after collecting the necessary info, he lingers.

“So you’re in lab with us too, right?” He asks San.

“Yeah, but I’m probably taking it again next year even with Y/N’s help.” San smiles.

“And you?” Soonyoung asks Jay.

“No, I took it last year.”

“Glad to see someone can make it out alive! Do you guys mind if I hang out until my friend arrives?”

The friend is definitely Dokyeom but you don’t want to look like a bitch in front of your new acquaintances nor have to explain the mess of your love life to either of them. 

Soonyoung’s self satisfied grin when you flash a tight lipped smile and nod nearly tempts you into strangling him. Why is he choosing to torture you? It’s Dokyeom’s fault no matter how you look at the situation. He tricked you; had you falling for the saccharine persona and ambiguous confessions. Dokyeom rejected you at the cabin for everyone to see, humiliated you, and then had the nerve to act upset when you wouldn’t speak to him.

You try to focus on the worksheet in front of you, a proactive effort to prepare for the final exam still far away. Drowning in extra credit had been an exhaustive effort to get your mind off of your issues but Soonyoung had to ruin it. And now he’s laughing with San and Jay like best friends and it’s all too much. 

Shooting up from your seat, they all stop to stare as shaky hands pack up your materials. “Sorry, I forgot I had a thing. Somewhere else. Bye!” 

Halfway to the door before anyone thinks to question your eagerness to leave, you walk right into another person.

“Shit sorry!” The faceless stranger exclaims as your books and papers go flying.

“No, I should have been watching wher–”

And when you look up, Dokyeom is staring back. 

“Sorry, let me help you.” 

“It's fine!” You snap, scrambling to shove everything into your bag.

You will not cry in the library: not over Dokyeom, not in front of Dokyeom. But once the concrete steps out front greet you the first tear falls and they don’t stop until you fall asleep curled up in your bed.

—

Later that week, in the sanctuary of your dorm, you indulge in contraband alcohol and the hype of your best friend.

“You need to just rip the bandaid off.” Seungkwan announces, arms thrown wide to punctuate his point.

“And how do I do that? I still have class with him!”

“Okay but how much of his stuff is still here?”

“Only like a few things.” you shrug, glancing around the room.

“Oh, really?” Seungkwan asks, throwing himself from his perch on your bed, crossing to the basket full of laundry in front of your closet.  “Because this is a hoodie from his high school, this is the shirt I got him for his birthday a few years ago,” he shuffles around the collection of socks and pants to pull more of Dokyeom’s belongings out. “And I’m pretty sure you don’t wear boxers.”

Seungkwan launched the wad of clothing your way, disappearing into the bathroom in search of more evidence of your ex-friend with benefits.

“You let him keep a toothbrush here?” Seungkwan yells, head popping out with the neon green piece of plastic dangling between his fingers.

It's tossed into the growing pile at the foot of your bed, your rage-fueled focus on the smattering of objects on your desk. 

More cheap wine and outrageous laughter has Seungkwan encouraging you to race across campus and return everything as soon as possible.

Red faced, he steadies you by your arms, “Listen, the sooner you get rid of this stuff the better. You’re like subconsciously holding on to him or whatever.”

Mooney eyed, you nod at your friend’s wisdom, scrambling for a bag.

The tote of Dokyeom’s belongings you’ve accumulated over the months sits heavy on your shoulders; bulging with the assortment of clothes, a spare phone charger, and a book that was severely overdue at the library you’d found under your bed.

Each click of your shoe against the tile floor echoes in the eerie silence as you walk down the hall towards the door of his apartment. The sterile lighting and gray walls are familiar yet alien under the new circumstances you're visiting. 

You won’t be greeted with the smile you’ve grown to miss or the puppy-like excitement that once made you feel special. Both things of the past you hope to forget. No one had your heart fluttering or twisting in knots the way Dokyeom had. But those happy memories are just memories. And the sooner you cut him out, the sooner you can forget them.

Your fiery determination to get over him ignited in the walls of your bedroom had begun to smolder as the chilly wind and movement sobered you up. 

A large part of you hopes it’ll be Soonyoung answering the door, Dokyeom absent for whatever convenient reason as you dumped his belongings and walked away for the last time. Worse case scenario, neither are home and you're left feeling like an idiot, lugging the ridiculously heavy bag back across campus in the freezing wind and rain. 

Worse-er case scenario, Dokyeom is home.

The door to the boys’ apartment is like all the others, but the hot pink “please don’t do coke in our bathroom” doormat stands out. A gift from Jeonghan, if you remember correctly.

A quick rap of knocks announces your presence before you can lose your nerve, stepping back as you wait for it to crack open.

As luck would have it, Dokyeom answers the door.

“Um–” he starts, clearly confused by what he’s seeing.

Shoulders square, back pin straight, you thrust the bag at him. “Here’s your stuff.”

“Oh.” Dokyeom exclaims, still confused, but cradling the tote into his stomach.

“Well, bye.” You turn to leave but stop when he calls you back.

“I can grab your stuff real quick. Since you’re already here.”

It is a horrible idea. Alone with Dokyeom, in his apartment, where the only person to hold you accountable is yourself. But you can be done with this entire mess once you have the hodge podge of items you’ve no doubt accumulated here.

Nodding once, you follow as Dokyeom turns to head towards his bedroom.

Suffocating tension, thick as tar, fills the air. Dokyeom doesn't attempt to replace it with ill timed jokes as he digs in the black dresser in the corner of his room. The bottom left drawer had been long cleaned out of his own clothes, making room for the odds and ends left behind following your rendezvous. 

A sizable pile of clothes lands on his unmade bed, followed by some toiletries you forgot at the cabin in your haste to flee.

Your ears are ringing from the quiet at this point, unable to look at Dokyeom swapping his belongings from the canvas tote with your own. Focusing on your phone, you scroll mindlessly, as Dokyeom works slowly to prolong the torture. He unfolds and refolds all the shirts, lost pairs of pants and shorts, before cramming them into the bag. If you took a second to look at him, you’d see longing glances in your direction with each item he packs away. But you don’t chance it until he approaches you when he’s finished.

“Here,” he says, eyes downcast as he hands you back the full bag.

Lifting it from his hands, you move back to the living room, bee lining for the front door and the sobering cold air outside.

“Wait.”

The smooth metal doorknob is cold against the wrinkles of your palm. All you need to do is twist and it's over. Unlatch the lock, step outside and your relationship with Dokyeom, whatever it may have been, is done. No more crying, no more wondering. Only four more classes and you can leave the mess of the past semester behind you forever.

But you can’t do it. The smallest part of your heart, buried under the weight of anger and sadness, pleads for you to stay. To give Dokyeom one last chance.

You wait for him to say something else, not moving a muscle as you take shallow breaths. Body tense in preparation, you’re afraid you might shake out of your skin. Being alone with Dokyeom was a stupid idea. 

Realizing you're not going to leave, you hear him shuffle closer.

You jump when he speaks again, voice right over your shoulder. “Can we please talk?” 

“What’s there to talk about?” You frown. 

At his responding silence, you chance a glance over your shoulder, met with sad brown eyes. 

“I just—,” he shakes his head, chin tipping towards the floor to examine his socks.

Prompting him again, “What do you want, Dokyeom?”

“You asked me if I liked you… and I do.”

You squash the seed of hope rooting in your chest, afraid that if he tramples it again you’ll never recover. Turning to face him, you cross your arms pensively. His confession should send your heart racing and your cheeks flushing. But why does he sound so sad about it?

Dokyeom scrubs a hand down his face in frustration. “I should have told you sooner but I— I kept waiting for the right time and then that night happened and I thought I messed everything up. But then we started fooling around so I thought ‘there’s no way she likes me.’ You know? 

From where you’re standing, Dokyeom is exactly the kind of guy anyone would go for. Warm as a ray of sunshine, contagious laughter, thoughtful. Excited by life, and brimming with affection for anyone lucky enough to be considered his friend. 

It’s a shame he can’t see himself the way you see him.

“I know all you wanted was to hook up and I was fine with that until you came to the cabin. Soonyoung had to run his mouth, and I thought you were trying to let me down easy in the hot tub so I got embarrassed.”

Biting your lip to stop the rebuttal simmering on the tip of your tongue, you feel the scowl melt off your face, morphing into a questioning gaze.

“You’re like, the coolest person I know. You’re funny and you’re smart and pretty, god you’re so pretty.” he breaths, finally looking at you. “And I feel like every time I get to see you I can’t breathe. And us hooking up made it worse because I’ve liked you since the first day of class when you sat down next to me and smiled at me. I thought I was gonna throw up.” Dokyeom raises his hands in defense as you scoff, quickly clarifying, “In a good way! You just— you make me nervous and stupid and now you hate me.”

He finishes the last part in a whisper, face vulnerable, looking at you helplessly.

“I don’t hate you.” You warble, launching yourself into his arms, tangling your limbs around him to squeeze as close as possible. It’s ungraceful, your head knocking into his chin, his feet scrambling to balance the unexpected shift of weight. But Dokyeom barely hesitates before pulling you into his chest, face buried in your neck while trying to force you into his skin by his arms around your waist.

Two puzzle pieces, carved to fit perfectly together. 

“You don’t?”

Squeezing him tighter, you calm in the thud of his heart and the pine scent of his cologne. You both simply bask in the presence of one another. At a week and a half, this is the longest you’ve gone without the other since you started your arrangement.

Dokyeom presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, sweet as sugar. His lips ghost against your hairline as he starts to speak again. “I’m sorry for the way I acted. I shouldn’t have freaked out on you.”

“I shouldn’t have called you childish.” You apologize, tipping your head back to meet his gaze.

“I mean you were right. I was being a dick.”

“But I wasn’t in any shape to call you out when I was doing the same thing.”

“The same…” Dokyeom echoes, confused.

“If we weren’t so dumb we could have been dating for weeks by now.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?” You smile.

“We really are dumb.”

Pure unadulterated joy takes flight on his face. Dokyeom cups your face in his hands, forehead meeting your own as you smile at him, his own dazzling in return.

“Yeah, but at least we have each other.”

The bark of awkward laughter and shaky words are unstoppable as you cower in his arms. 

“So you’re okay with me calling you my girlfriend?”

“You can call me whatever you want.” You sigh, biting your lip at the idea.

“Even my shmoopie poopie?”

Nose scrunching as you laugh at his ridiculousness, you shake your head vigorously in objection. “You can call me whatever you want besides that.”

“Baby cakes?” He asks, peppering a kiss on your cheek.

“No!”

“Honeybuns?” 

Another kiss on the tip of your nose.

“No.”

“What about–”

A firm press to his mouth silences Dokyeom as you hum.

— 

Soonyoung returns to his apartment after another failed date, eager to shoot the shit with his roommate over a few beers and some video games. But when he opens the door to his home, he finds a trail of clothes flung haphazardly across the furniture, leading straight to said roommate's room. 

No fucking way. Soonyoung thinks. 

Then he hears a thud from behind the door, followed by a familiar laugh he hasn’t heard in the apartment in well over two weeks.

No FUCKING way! He huffs, reaching for his phone.

—

Down the street, Seungkwan smirks as the expected ding of a new Venmo notification shrills through the silence of your dorm:

“Kwon Soonyoung paid you $50.00. – HOW DID YOU KNOW? – Your Venmo balance is now $135.00.”

Epilogue:

Finals season rushes forward rapidly. Two days before you’re set to fly back home for winter break, Chem grades are released.

Another pair of matching As to be celebrated in typical fashion but this time you’re Dokyeom’s girlfriend and he’s sweating like it’s his first time all over again. The night you both confessed had been you last night together. Dokyeom insisted you take things slow, his fear of messing up again forcing him to take caution. 

It's sweet. How he wants to take you out, wine and dine you as if a certain video didn’t still exist on both your phones. And you’d enjoyed the full experience too; walks around campus with interlaced fingers, shy glances in class, and girlish giggles as he offered his jacket on a cold night. The innocent good night kisses dropped on your lips in front of your door that have Dokyeom insisting “just one more” for an hour before he finally lets you slip inside your room.

It’d been everything you dreamed of and more.

But you're both tired of make outs that lead nowhere. Of sitting in Dokyeom’s lap at parties and not letting your hands wonder like you’re both dying too. Waking up in his bed and pretending you don’t feel him nudging the curve of your ass as before he hides in the bathroom to take care of his boner; leaving you to stare at the ceiling, fighting the urge to follow him into the shower and lend a helping hand.

Tonight, you’ve reached the boiling point and it’s spilling over.

“‘s okay?” He asks into the curve of your neck, palms gliding up your stomach underneath the soft cream sweater you’d worn to dinner.

Humming as your head lulls against the interior of his front door, the warmth of his mouth and hands making your brain fuzzy. Tonight, everything feels like more. Your nipples peak at the smallest brush of his tongue, back bowing under the swipes of his thumb against your ribs; even when he pressed a chaste kiss to the back of your intertwined fingers on the walk to his apartment ripped the air from your lungs.

Dokyeom feels the nerves of that first night, but you’re acting like the desperate virgin he’d been. Drooling to touch and be touched. For your boyfriend to string you out one last time before you both return home for a few weeks of winter break only to pick right back up in the new year.

Snaking a hand down his front, you palm the half hard length with a firm pressure that pulls his hips forward like a magnet. A strained grunts sings in your ear as Dokyeom rocks firmly in your grip, pressing you into the wall under his torturous grind.

Turning to nudge your nose into his cheek softly, hot kisses dropping across his jaw as you bid him to take off his pants; pushing them down clumsily. You don’t bother with the brass button or rough zipper, blinded by desperation and simply clawing the stiff material downwards in an effort to get beneath.

You manage to trickle to your knees, slipping through Dokyeom’s hold like water. The hard floor biting into your skin as you kneel before him to mouth at the thin fabric of his boxer. Dokyeom’s elbows land against the wall, caging you in as he watches from above; entranced by the shallow dip of your lips over the covered head of his cock and the lash of your tongue where you taste him through the fabric.

Tonight isn’t the night for teasing, so you have his boxers landing atop his jeans around his ankles in a blink. Tongue following the vein bulging on the underside of his cock as your hand returns to allow your thumb to dig into his slit.

Dokyeom whimpers a pathetic “fuck,” as you play with him, eagerly lapping up his shaft before sucking him into your mouth; hand dropping to cup his balls, the other rest on his stomach to hold his own shirt out of the way.

You missed how responsive he is to your touch, melting in the palm of your hand as he chases the warmth of your mouth with his hips. Anyone who walks by the door would undoubtedly hear what’s happening on the other side, the choked whimpers from you and guttural moans from Dokyeom combining into a lewd symphony.

Head hitting the wall behind you with a dull thud, you let Dokyeom take over; humming as each press forward leaves the taste of his cock on your tongue. There’s something degrading in letting him fuck your mouth like this, sandwiched between his hips and the wall as he uses you to get off.

You gasp for breath when he pulls away, tongue sticking out to bid him back but his slender fingers cupping your chin distract you straight into his lips.

Pulling you to your feet, Dokyeom dips his tongue between your lips as he leads you blindly to the couch. His mouth is nothing but taking; stealing your breath away, your sanity. Things you’d happily let him have if it meant he wouldn’t stop. But Dokyeom was a giver too. A slide of his tongue lit a fire under your skin, fanning the desperation bordering on depravity. 

“Fuck me,” you plead, grinding your aching cunt against his thigh. 

Dokyeom responds by pressing into you harder, teeth tearing into your bottom lip as his cock drools against your thigh, staining your jeans.

You're so turned on it hurts, pussy painfully empty and panties drenched from heavy petting. If Dokyeom doesn’t do something soon, you have half a mind to get yourself off without him.

Dokyeom is trying, fighting to not to blow his load on your leg as you whine and arch beneath him. For him. But when you manage to close your fist around his length, giving a firm tug with the twist around the head you know he goes crazy for, it’s all over. Dokyeom’s core tightens as he spills on your sweater, streaks of his cum ruining the fabric as he pants into your mouth. Your tight grip doesn’t falter as you work him through it, teeth bruising his jaw as he paints you with his seed.

When Dokyeom gains sentience again, he winces in shame.

“Shit, sorry. I didn’t— I wouldn’t,” he tries to apologize, but stops when you part your lips to lap at your stained fingers; eyes trained on the pink of your tongue dipping out to swipe against the tips for taste.

Mouth wide as he stares, Dokyeom thinks he might come again without any help as you suck your fingers. His own dip into the pool of cum dimpling across your stomach, lifting to your mouth to replace yours. Dokyeom groans as your eyes never leave his, heated and heavy lidded as lick them clean and swallow his cum.

Dropping his hand to the back of your neck, he angles your head so his tongue can delve into your mouth. It’s messy and disgusting but you like it and that’s all Dokyeom cares about as he works to free you both of your clothes. He’s stark naked easily, shirt gone over the back of the couch in no time. But your clothes require more focus than either of you are capable of when Dokyeom is on top of you.

His feet hit the ground before he rises to stand, dragging you up to roughly undress you. You don’t seem to mind if the way you fist your jeans down is an inclination. Outer layers gone, Dokyeom finally gets a peek at the early Christmas present you’d been hoping to surprise him with.

Lacy maroon panties and a match bra hug your figure, accentuating your shape in the most mouthwater ways. Eyebrows raised to his hairline, Dokyeom heaves at the masterpiece you present him with.

Drops of your flesh peek through the holes in the lace, teasing him with what’s underneath. The high cut sides of your thong dig into your hips, making your legs look impossibly long and highlighting the sway of your thighs. Straining to pull his eyes up further, Dokyeom finds the bottom hem of your bra. Tongue rolling out of his mouth as the cups push your breasts up and together, teasing Dokyeom with ideas of fucking his cock between them as you lick at the tip.

You look like a goddess and Dokyeom is happy to get on his knees to worship every inch.

Dokyeom catches you smirking at his obvious reaction when he finally looks at your face. Stepping into his space, your fingers find purchase in the short hairs at the base of his head. A cold sweat breaks on his brow as you smile like the cat who got the canary.

“Do you like my outfit, Kyeomie?” You ask, tone deceptively sweet.

If he was capable of any thought beyond cataloging the swaths of naked skin and curves, maybe he’d answer more eloquently than grunting like a caveman.

“I picked it for you.”

Dokyeom lets his hands find your hips, squeezing the plush flesh in his palms as you continue to toy with him. His fingers pluck the thin elastic while his mind wanders down the extensive list of things he’s dying to do to you.

“Do you wanna see the whole thing?”

“There’s more?”

Falling to the floor, you dig into the pocket of your jeans for whatever the last piece of your outfit, if you could call it that. Rising again you present him with a thin piece of ribbon and a silver chain, both causing Dokyeom’s face to twist in confusion.

You prompt him to take the scarlet ribbon, a perfect match to the set you’ve donned, allowing Dokyeom to spot the clasp at the ends and the small silver charm dangling in the middle.

A sun is embossed on the front of the circular piece of silver. And engraved on the back is his name.

Having his name around your throat while he fucked you isn’t a kink he knew existed. But now Dokyeom is pretty sure he’ll be haunted by the idea for the rest of his life. The silver chain still in your hands has a similar charm but with a moon. Dokyeom’s vision goes fuzzy and his brain clouds at the assumption your name is on the back to match.

“Will you help me put it on?” You ask innocently, turn around so Dokyeom can slip what he can only describe as a mock collar around your neck.

Dokyeom latches the clasp with shaky hands, the strip of silk pulled taunt around your neck with each breath. When you face him once again, the charm sits in the hollow of your throat, silver winking at him seductively. 

The icy metal of the chain bites into his skin erotically as you raise to clasp it around his neck. Your nose nudges against his jaw, a ghosting open mouth kiss landing on his jugular as the charm teases the muscles of his chest where it dangles.

You land on the couch with a squeak, taken aback by Dokyeom shredding the delicate fabric of your panties with clumsy hands as he struggles to get them off you. Bullying his way between your legs, he apologizes with a heavenly strip of his tongue through your slit.

He eats you like a man starved, nails leaving crescents in the tops of your thighs as he spreads you so wide the muscles in your hips scream in objection. Dokyeom’s tongue dips into your hole, collecting your essence on his tongue before spitting it back on your clit and digging in. The swollen nub slips against the flat of his wet muscle, and when his lips gently close around it he sucks just the way you taught him to you he’s rewarded with a wanton sob.

Whines fly from between your lips at the torturous pleasure, thrashing as Dokyeom uses all his strength to pin you and place. Spots dance along your vision, expanding as two fingers push past your folds to stretch you out. Dokyeom knows your pussy like the back of his hand and he stuffs you just right with his fingers.

All you can do is squeeze your eyes shut and hold on tightly as you fly over the edge. Racing forward under the heat of Dokyeom’s mouth and harsh thrusts of his fingers till you weep pitifully. You’re floating through space under his attention; mouth open over silent begs not to stop, eyes clenched shut. Every beat of your frantic heart carries satisfaction through tense muscles till you are pliant and boneless.

“Too much,” you whimper, thighs forcing close around his head.

Dokyeom takes it in stride. The combination of your essence and his saliva soaking chin, leaving a damp trail across your body as he kisses his way to your mouth.

His thumb finds the ribbon taunt around your throat, focusing on the piece of metal resting against your skin as you taste yourself on his tongue.

Panting into his mouth, you mewl something vaguely sounding like “want you.”

Luckily, Dokyeom is more than happy to give you whatever you want.

Nodding like a bobble head, he pulls you down into his lap as he kneels on the floor. The head of his cock proddes against your entrance, slipping in just enough for you to take the rest with ease.

The stretch is nothing short of bliss; so deep you can taste him in the back of your throat. Dokyeom fills you perfectly, the small nip of pain from not taking him in the past month only multiplying the satisfaction you feel at finally having him inside you again.

With herculean effort, you rise to allow only a few inches to exit before dropping back down. Hands searching for leverage, you balance on the cushions behind you as you grind into his lap.

Dokyeom doesn’t know where to look, overwhelmed by his options; your face twisted around gasping breaths; or your chest, still clad in your bra, tits bouncing with each movement; or where his cock disappears inside you. 

But the silver heart around your throat seems to snag his focus easily.

Dokyeom isn’t possessive but the way it not so subtly declares you as his makes his cock throb. He’s the only one that gets to have you like this, and you him. The twin pendants remind him you’re his girlfriend and everything beyond slips away as he watches it jerk around with every movement.

Before long, your legs burn from effort, ruining your already unstable motions into nothing more than stuttered ruts. Dokyeom’s hands palming your ass assist in lifting you to the couch, limbs awkwardly sprawled off the edges but he doesn’t slow while your nails scratch deep lines into his shoulders.

“Oh, don’t stop! Fuck, please don’t stop.” You beg, head thrown back into the cushions.

Stopping sounds like the worst idea he’s ever heard. Dokyeom needs this. Gloved snuggly in your heat after so long is the only cure for the constant plague of memories of pestering him day and night. He knows they won’t go away but at least he won’t feel like ripping his skin off every time you're within a fifteen foot radius.

The wet clap of your bodies grows to a crescendo, your orgasm on the horizon and tightening your muscles into a deathgrip on his length. Spots float in Dokyeom’s vision at the squeeze and he drops his mouth to yours to lap up all your high pitched whines.

When he rises again to gasp against his own pleasure, the chain you gifted him dangles right above your lips and a nuclear bomb detonates.

You cum again with Dokyeom’s thumb under the ribbon encircling your neck, a tease of choked breath as he rubs the charm like a lifeline. Voice cracking, earth shatter, mind numb pleasure from the tip of your nose to your pinky toe. 

Dokyeom is babbling over you. Rhythm abandoned as he subjected to the tight squeeze of your worn cunt until that punch to his gut hits. Each rope of cum makes his cock throb as he plows you with a deep thrust, stilling to empty himself inside you.

You're fully crushed into the itchy upholstery as his arms buckle.

“Wow,” you gasp, catching your breath.

What else can you say? A month of no touching culminating into the best sex of your life with your devastating boyfriend while he wears a chain with your name on it.

Dokyeom cackles into your collarbone, chest tickling against yours until he leans back to look at you. 

His hair resembles an electrocuted poodle, his lips are red and swollen, and sweat glosses his skin in the low light. But Dokyeom is glowing with life and happiness and all the things that make the world good.

“I love you.”

Dokyeom responds with a girlish shriek at your impromptu confession. 

“Damn, okay.” You laugh, staring at his bare ass as he runs a lap around the living room stark naked.

“You can’t just— I wanted to say it first!” He pouts before flopping down on top of you.

“Are you serious?” Breathless from his weight, you fail to push him off you as he flails like a fish. “Is that what you’re focusing on?” 

“Yes,” Dokyeom grouches into your cheek. “You’re the first girl I’ve felt this way about and I wanted to…”

He trails off, suddenly embarrassed. Your entire relationship was many of Dokyeom’s firsts. The first person he had sex with, first college girlfriend he told his mom and sister about, and now the first girl to make him truly understand loving another person. It wasn’t something you held over his head, and some of it he didn’t even tell you about but it all tallies up in his mind how unprepared he is for it all. 

“Minnie, look at me.”

You don’t speak again until he finally meets your gaze. 

“I don’t even remember what we were talking about.” You sigh.

Dokyeom doesn’t catch hint, “We were talking about–”

“Nope, can’t seem to recall.” 

Finally, he catches the playful pout and the way your eyes cut back his as you look around the room feigning ignorance. And because he’s Dokyeom and you’re a sucker for anything he does, you can’t stop the smile mirroring his own when softly traces the apple of your cheek with his thumb.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

---

© highvern. copying/reuploading/translating my work anywhere is strictly prohibited.

[pendragon-writes]

Chapter 3: Interrogation

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ᴅᴀᴛᴇ

Nov 6TH, 2038

ᴛɪᴍᴇ

AM 12:41:04

You entered the viewing room of the interrogation room where Hank was currently interrogating the Deviant. With you stood Gavin, the android, whose name you still haven't learned, and another officer. Each question he asked was left unanswered, leaving the Lieutenant frustrated.

After a little while he gave up and entered the room where you were all watching. "We're wastin' our time interrogating a machine, we're gettin' nothing out of it!" he complained, sitting at an unoccupied chair. " Could always try roughing it up a little." "After all, it's not human…" Gavin suggested. "Androids don't feel pain." The Android answered. "You would only damage it, and that wouldn't make it talk." "Deviants also have a tendency to self-destruct when they're in stressful situations."

"Okay, smartass." Gavin started, getting off the wall he was leaning against. "What should we do then?" "I could try questioning it." Gavin laughed at this, but neither Hank, the officer, nor you were laughing at this. "I say go for it, what do you think Hank?" you asked him. "What do we have to lose?" "Go ahead, suspect's all yours." With that confirmation, the android left. "So, how'd you get an android? You're the last person I would suspect of having one." You asked him. "He's not mine. Just showed up at Jimmy's and now I'm here." "That makes sense."

 The android walked up to the one-sided mirror and started...

Checking itself out.

"What the fuck is it doing now?" Hank questioned. "I think he's checking himself out." You answered, just as confused as he was.

He walked back to the Deviant and began the interrogation. "I detect an instability in your program." "It can trigger an unpleasant feeling, like fear in humans." The deviant stayed quiet. You turned to Hank to finally ask the question that had been plaguing you. "Hey Hank, what's its name? The Android." "Hm, oh he told me it's Connor." You hummed in response and tuned yourself completely to the interrogation.

◤Connor's POV

△ Show Photos

◯ Wounds ✖ Name

△ Show Photos

◯ Wounds ✖ Name

"You're damaged." I pointed out. "Did your owner do that? Did he beat you?"

ʟᴇᴠᴇʟ ᴏꜰ ꜱᴛʀᴇꜱꜱ 39%

△ Comfort ❏ Reassure ◯ Threaten ✖ Blame

△ Comfort ❏ Reassure ◯ Threaten ✖ Blame

"You're accused of murder." "You know you're not allowed to endanger human life under any circumstances." "Do you have anything to say in your defense?" The deviant still didn't budge but its stress levels increased by a little bit.

ʟᴇᴠᴇʟ ᴏꜰ ꜱᴛʀᴇꜱꜱ 43%

△ Sympathize ❏ Threaten ◯ Probe Memory ✖ Trust

△ Sympathize ❏ Threaten ◯ Probe Memory ✖ Trust

"If you won't talk, I'm going to have to probe your memory," I explained. This triggered the deviant as it shot its head to look at me. "No, please don't do that!.."

ʟᴇᴠᴇʟ ᴏꜰ ꜱᴛʀᴇꜱꜱ 51%

It then looked in the direction of where the officers stood before turning to me. "What..." "What are they going to do to me?"  I stared long and hard at it with no response. "They're going to destroy me, aren't they?" he asked frantically.

◯ Lie ✖ Truth

◯ Lie ✖ Truth

"They're are going to disassemble you to look for problems in your bio-components." I finally answered.

ʟᴇᴠᴇʟ ᴏꜰ ꜱᴛʀᴇꜱꜱ 55%

"They have no choice if they want to understand what happened," I told it, in a more aggressive demeanor. "Why did you tell them you found me?" it asked. "Why couldn't you have just left me there?"

◯ Lie ✖ Truth

◯ Lie ✖ Truth

"I was programmed to hunt deviants like you." I quickly responded.

ʟᴇᴠᴇʟ ᴏꜰ ꜱᴛʀᴇꜱꜱ 59%

"I just accomplished my mission." The deviant turned its head again to look at me. "I don't wanna die," It pleaded. "Then talk to me." The deviant stuttered to respond. "I can't..." It looked down in shame.

ᴄʜᴏᴏꜱᴇ ᴀᴘᴘʀᴏᴀᴄʜ

△ Pressure It ◯ Probe Its Memory ✖ Convince It

△ Pressure It ◯ Probe Its Memory ✖ Convince It

△ Understanding ◯ Threaten ✖ Order

△ Understanding ◯ Threaten ✖ Order

"You're a machine, you were designed to obey, so obey!" I shouted, slamming the table.

ʟᴇᴠᴇʟ ᴏꜰ ꜱᴛʀᴇꜱꜱ 66%

"Tell me what happened," I ordered.

△ Sympathize ◯ Comfort ✖ Indifferent

△ Sympathize ◯ Comfort ✖ Indifferent

I looked down at the table and spoke in a softer tone. "Listen," "I'm not judging you." "I'm on your side." I tried to persuade.

ʟᴇᴠᴇʟ ᴏꜰ ꜱᴛʀᴇꜱꜱ 59%

"All I want is the truth." It stared at me in judgment and anger.

△ Protect ◯ Terrify ✖ Warn

△ Protect ◯ Terrify ✖ Warn

"Confess and I'll protect you." "I promise I won't let anyone hurt you."

Level of Stress 52%

I waited for a few seconds and it finally confesses. "He tortured me every day..."

 " I did everything he told me, but... There was always something wrong..." "Then one day," "He took a bat and started hitting me..." "For the first time, I felt..."

"Scared..." "Scared he might destroy me, scared I might die..."

Hank^

(Y/n)^

"So I…" "Grabbed the knife and I stabbed him in the stomach…" It explained. "I felt better…" "So I stabbed him again." "And again!.." "Until he collapsed…" I tilted my head a bit at this. "There was blood everywhere."

△ Writing ❏ Statuette ◯ rA9 ✖ Attic

△ Writing ❏ Statuette ◯ rA9 ✖ Attic

"Why did you write 'I AM ALIVE' on the wall?" "He used to tell me I was nothing…" "That I was just a piece of plastic…" "I had to write it…" "To tell him he was wrong…"

△ Statuette ❏ rA9 ◯ Attic ✖ Trigger

△ Statuette ❏ rA9 ◯ Attic ✖ Trigger

"The sculpture in the bathroom, you made it, right?"

◤ (Y/n) POV

Connor continued to interrogate the deviant. I looked at Hank to see a proud grin showing on his face. "You look proud," I whispered. "I am impressed, but don't mention that to anyone," he whispered back.

After some more minutes, we got confirmation that he was done. We got off our chairs and entered the room. The officer (Chris) who was previously with us moved to the deviant. "Chris, lock it up," Gavin instructed. I leaned on the wall next to the door and continued to watch. "All right, let's go." This seemed to trigger the android as it swiped him away. "Stay away!" "Don't touch me!"

Chris ignored it and continued trying to move it. "The fuck are you doing?" Gavin questioned. "Move it!" "Okay," Chris muttered. "Come now. Don't be difficult, it'll only make things harder." Once again the android didn't budge and started moving away as he continued to try to move him. It kept begging him not to move it.

"Chris just stop you're gonna make things worse." I bugged in, getting off the wall. "You shouldn't touch it. It'll self-destruct if it feels threatened." Connor warned. "Stay outta this, got it? No fuckin' android is gonna tell me what to do." Gavin bit back.

You don't understand. If it self-destructs, we won't get anything out of it!" He pleaded. "I told you to shut your fuckin' mouth!" Gavin shouted. "Chris, gonna move this asshole or what?" "I'm trying!" He replied, a strain in his voice as he continued trying to move the distressed android. When it seemed to be enough Connor made a move to stop Chris. "I can't let you do that! Leave it alone now!" He ordered, pushing Chris away. "I warned you, motherfucker!" Gavin spoke angrily, with his gun now pointed at him.

"That's enough!" Hank spoke. "Mind your own business, Hank." I sighed at Gavin's response and pulled out my own gun, pointing it straight at his head. "He said… That's enough." Hank also pulled out his pistol and aimed it at him. With two guns now pointed at him Gavin frustratingly put his gun down. "Fuck," "You're not gonna get away with it this time…" He threatened us, pointing at us. He turned to Connor and moved closer, but he didn't say anything as he walked away and swore under his breath.

[teejay-kaye]

Hi! Recently I’ve been thinking about an original horror story that you wanted to write and I was wondering how that was going? I was so interested in the idea but was too shy to say anything and now the unanswered questions plague me ☺️ I was just curious if you had any updates or had moved forward with the work, no worries if you haven’t ✌🏻 I thought it was really neat and I like your writing

I believe you laid out the plot in a Rise discord under a separate thread but I haven’t been active in that discord in a good while

vibrates

you activated my trap card

(seriously thank you for this ask i love rambling about this, if you were in the server I suspect you were in I'm not really active there anymore either tbh)

gonna assume you mean Unraveling AKA the Colorado Horror Story as that's the only outright horror I've got in the works right now (despite all my works to some degree involving horror elements because we can't have nice things) and yes!! i am still working on it, theoretically, life's been A Lot lately and I haven't been in a good headspace for doing writing of any sort BUT

it DOES in fact have a full chapter by chapter outline and a decent chunk of the first act written! i need to properly sit down and transcribe a bunch of recent notes and honestly just get to tossing words into my Scrivener doc (and I need to stop coming up with new story ideas/distracted by other current ones xD)

of all my books it is perhaps the one closest to actually being done (i'm not counting the first book in a four part series that is technically fully written because it needs massive rewrites), it will be (hopefully) 60 chapters across 4 acts, splitting POV between the three main characters, and will be full of delightful interpersonal drama and familial tension and grotesque bodily horrors and At Least One Supremely Fucked Up Deer <3

as a little treat for your interest I humbly submit a comic I drew for it which will be included in the book <3 <3 <3

whatever is happening here I am sure everything will be fine :D

[thathaitianhealer]

The Alienated Healer 

Where do I begin? Ahh yes! Once upon a time I wanted to be a singer. I guess that was not in the cards for me at all. I remember when I was about 7 years old and I wanted to be on Star Search. Do ya'll remember that show? Well, I imagined myself being in front of millions of people and just showing off these bad ass vocals. Of course, I couldn't hold a note to save my life and I still can't till this day. A girl can dream... right??

Why did I title this the alienated healer? Your healing journey can often times feel alienated. You go through the emotions that plague your soul trying to find the answers to the unanswered questions. Why am I here? What is my purpose? Why lord why? Lol! I found that solitude and meditation helped me out so much that I would crave the alone time constantly. Maybe, a bit too much to be honest with you but it's in those moments that I found clarity. I didn't purposefully push those I cared about to the side but I did start to build boundaries...because the boundaries were non-existent. So, here I am realizing that this journey isn't about me, but about how can I make an impact on my community. I realized that my ancestors and spirit guides placed me on this path not for myself but to be of service to others. This realization my friend did not come overnight. Nah! It took years of trials and tribulations to finally find my purpose. Do I struggle from time to time? Hell yes! I could tell you it was a great journey but that would be a bold face lie. It was hard as fuck! It was liberating! It was lonely! It was rewarding! I cried! I laughed! I threw in the towel hell I threw the kitchen sink with it as well. Alas, even after all of that I am here not feeling so much alienated but alienated with a purpose. Follow me as I embark on my journey in becoming a certified doula. Until next time…. Peace!

[mari-the-bimbo]

Sooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo…………….Ex Husband Gojo……???? 😩 Also you have amazing writing!

Ex husband Gojo: solutions

A/N: Let’s gooooo bitchesss

⚠️Warnings: Language, themes of obsession and yandere

He suddenly pulls away to unbuckle his belt. You take a shaky breath, ready to embrace his length and whatever consequences will come with tonight’s confession.

He kisses your cheek as he sits bare in front of you expectantly.

“Take all of me?”

—-

That’s all you could recall from the night before as you rubbed your tired eyes, forcing them to adjust to the morning light that peeled through the curtains.

Hmm those definitely weren’t your curtains, is this Gojo’s house?

Millions of thoughts suddenly hit you now that you were conscious. What was last night about? Where is he now? Wait where are the kids?? Shoko picked them up yesterday but she must’ve had to babysit them last night after the whole fiasco.

You sigh as you remove the duvet from yourself only to find yourself in your underwear and a white shirt that smelt like Gojo, confirming one of your thoughts. But you had no more time to ponder about. You needed to check on your children.

You quickly scavenge for your phone, dialling Shoko’s number while making a mental note to send her a thank you gift. Taking care of Gojo’s mini me’s was not an easy job.

“Sorry, your call could not be connected, please check your signal or try again later”

You frown at the absurdity. No signal?

“You’re awake” came his voice from behind.

“Gojo?”

The ex husband sat quietly on the edge of the bed, watching your dishevelled state in the bed. He wordlessly reaches out and brushes through the knot in your hair.

Your frown deepens, not only were your millions of questions left unanswered, Gojo was unusually tame.

And Gojo Satoru was never tame, so God help anyone witnessing his calm before the storm.

“What’s going Gojo? What the fuck was last night about? Where are my children and why the fuck isn’t my phone connecting calls?” You say frustrated, holding up your phone to him.

His large hand grabs your own, making you drop the phone. “Last night was nothing but the truth, and our children are downstairs having breakfast. As for your phone, you won’t be needing it”

“Excuse me?”

Suddenly you were pulled into his lap, your elbows being pulled behind you by the tight grip of his hands, preventing you from struggling against him in the dirty looking, compromising position.

“Listen to me baby doll” he rasps in your ear. “Everything I said yesterday, I mean it. But you know why this is gonna be difficult right?”

You think momentarily about what he Hm said last night before mumbling an answer. “Because I’m a non curse user?” You say unsure.

You feel him smile against your ear “such a smart girl” he coos before kissing your ear.

“So you understand right?” he continues. “There are curse users out there who will do anything to get to me, even if it means hurting innocent non curse users” he says, and your eyes widen as you connect the dots to his reasoning. “You, my son, my daughter, these are things I can’t risk and-“

“Is that why you divorced me?” You interrupt. You watch Gojo pause in shock, as if he didn’t see that question coming.

You take a shaky gulp, ready to ask again. You never found out why the love of your life divorced you, you doubted yourself every night, wondering where you went wrong. It was time you had answers to the long lasting question that plagued your mind daily. And how you hoped that this was the reason he divorced you and not because you lacked anything in yourself.

“Gojo, is that you di-

“Yes”

You felt a pit drop in your stomach. The answer was supposed to make you happy but instead it made you feel sick. What was the threat so dangerous that the strongest sorcerer felt threatened?

He grabbed your hand to catch your attention once again. “It kills me having to pretend I don’t care about you to the rest of the world, but what kills me more is the more desperate I grew for you, the more my enemies caught on. I have to protect you like I originally swore to when I divorced you y/n”

Suddenly your intuition kicked in as you realised something weird was going on here.

“Y/n, if I can’t have you, then no one can”

Your fight or flight kicked in as your ripped your hand out of Gojo’s grasp and ran towards to window, quickly opening the curtain to see where you were.

And your suspicions were right.

You stare mortified at the masses of trees and green life that surrounded the house you stood in, no roads, no buildings, no city life for miles.

You were deserted.

You back away from the window and look back at Gojo in shock. “Gojo.. where are we?”

The white haired man stood against the door frame now, hands in his pockets, looking like he was ready to gaslight you into believing it was no big deal.

“This is one of my properties in a rural area. I’ve surrounded the house with my cursed energy, you and the kids are safer here” he said calmly.

You feel your blood boiling as you stare at the control freak. You angrily grabbed Gojo by the collar, tugging the 6’3 man downwards. Gojo let out a sigh, but obliged nonetheless, allowing you to pull him down to your height, where his face was now inches from yours.

“Are you FUCKING KIDDING ME? YOU THINK KIDNAPPING US IS THE RIGHT WAY TO PROTECT US?”

He quickly shoved his hand to your mouth and pushes you against the wall. “Be quiet. You’re going to scare the children. And I don’t care what you think, if this is the only way to protect you and my children then so be it.” He scolds in a hushed whisper.

He watched you stumble as he pulls away from you. “Come downstairs and have some food honey, you’ll feel better” he suggested, stroking your hair patronisingly before leaving the room.

Half an hour later, you defeatedly head downstairs in the foreign house. Catching the eye of your eldest.

“Mommy you’re awake!! I missed you” he says as he hugs your legs, you couldn’t help but smile at his naivety before picking him up and kissing his cheek. “I miss you too angel”

“Do you like daddy’s holiday house mommy? We’re gonna have so much fun!” He says, his legs flailing excitedly.

You turn your attention towards Gojo, who sat with your daughter in his lap, braiding her hair, pretending he wasn’t listening.

You look back outside the window wall, staring out into the well maintained but secluded land, wondering where the obsession ends.

[delicrieux]

☆ﾐ 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚊𝚢 “𝚘𝚑”

PART 23: PRETTY BOY

emotions run wild when everyone is drunk and hardly coherent. quackity is always loud, but tonight is a full on assault on the senses (the ears, in particular). bretman simps for corpse too much for your liking. rae is happy for once. there’s a confession of love somewhere in there. sister james makes a very good impostor, but that’s old news, the real question is who gave you a knife? a new persona emerges that leaves the roaches quivering in their boots.

─── corpse husband x reader, a lil bit of everyone x reader (because she’s a queen) ─── soc. media + written fiction! ─── word count: a lil over 7k.

author’s note: it’s the way i can’t follow a fucking calendar for me. sorry guys, i swear to god i thought i had one more day before thursday . the idiot award goes to me and i accept it with pride. anyway, i was excited to write this for a while! quackity is in mexico, that’s why he drinks, too. my fic, my rules, he’s too funny not to include. im also working on an extra w dream and mr quack so look forward to that, too! hopefully u like this part ily xx and as always lmk wat u think!!

ultimate masterlist.  ҉  myso masterlist   ҉   previous. ҉   next.

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The outfit for today was picked with care and consideration. Hot, as always- you had forgotten your roots, your hoodie and sweats lay hidden in the bottom of your drawer never to be worn on stream again. You’ve changed. Clout really does that to people. Some viewers, naturally, find your hotness near insulting: how dare you rub your beauty in their faces, and so unabashedly, too?! If only you had a twinge of self-awareness, perhaps you would tone it down. But you don’t, and whether that’s by choice or not is the mystery the whole internet tries to solve (ARMY has been working diligently, and you admire their effort, though in the end their tireless labor brings no tangible results). 

You went from hot to hotter. In all truth, the fires eating away at California can be blamed on you. You carry this burden in stride, in your platform overpriced shoes some girl scammed you on Depop with, in your fishnets, in your skirt, in your corset, in your rings and necklaces and chains. You woke up today and chose violence. Decided your existence will be a plague to the rest of the populace, and meant it (that, maybe, you took inspiration from a certain faceless Youtuber that so happens to be your boyfriend or whatever). You feel powerful. Like you could step on the world and the world would let you. You decide that it’s the way it should always be. 

The smile on your lips informs of nothing good to your quaint, small audience of 40k. You change the lighting in your room from the soft cherry blossom pink to menacing violet. As fitting for a villain.

Perhaps California’s hellish sun has finally purged you of your bubbly, docile nature (arguably, you had never possessed it to begin with); perhaps it’s the forth mimosa you’re mixing as people slowly trickle into the lobby. Who knows?! Not you, definitely. What do all of those boring dead white European philosophers say? Embrace the unknown? Cheers, you’ll drink to that.

In stark contrast to your appearance, your room is a fucking mess. A war-zone of epic anime scale. Everything is scattered, well, everywhere. A perfect representation on what’s going on in your mind, always. You don’t like how people focus on your surroundings-- you’re the main attraction, hello? Are you not enough to sustain them? Must they beg for more?! Totally ungrateful. You shake your head in disappointment, as if a mother scolding her children. 

noooooo! mom pls forgive me i will never ask abt anything ever again T_T

yall looking at the room? lol couldnt be me

feels like im five and my mum just told me i cant eat a pretty rock i found on the pavement:(

You can’t contain your sly grin. Eyes twinkle with a purplish hue, appearing all the more menacing. You tricked them once again, oh how absolutely evil of you. In your blind delight you accidentally spill champagne on your lap.

“-Oop, fuck.” You snort.

why does she sound like goofy 

The scandalous drunk Among Us stream is about to start. You had been eerily silent through the greetings, and those that chose to approach you were met with a cold shoulder and minimal replies. All on purpose, of course. You wish to plant a seed of unease within them, and so far, it’s working. There are questions unanswered, jokes unsaid, Quackity unteased. It breaks your heart, but it must be done. You look into the camera, all vulnerable and devout, as if to say: I’m doing this for you, all for you.

pack it up yandere simulator

idk whats going on but i think im into it?

villain arc villain arc villain aRC VILLAIN ARC

“Hey, guys,” Corpse’s voices rings in your headphones, and not a blink later his astronaut appears in the lobby in a cloud of smoke, “Hi, Y/n.”

More sharp, excited hellos follow after. You merely hum, though give no further reply. As Corpse strays to your side, Charlie steps in in front of him, “BDA access only. You have a permit, bitch?”

“Y/n is being quiet-she’s being quiet, guys!” Quackity helpfully informs, as if the rest failed to notice your cryptic silence, “Don’t be sad Corpse, man, Corpse don’t be-she didn’t say shit to me either.”

“Y/n has decided to not waste her breath on the SDS.” Charlie voices, “And you know what? I actually agree with her for once.”

“SD-what now?” Dream questions.

“The Small Dick Society.” Charlie explains, noting Dream’s whine of protest, “Oh no, don’t give me that shit, weren’t you bitching about not being invited and not belonging to exclusive clubs? Congratulations, you’re finally part of one.”

“Wait!” Quackity interjects, “Am I part of it too?”

“Guess, Sherlock.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Corpse says. You nod to your audience, like he just spoke the God honest truth, and follow in his example. Your tentative sip unexpectedly turns into a greedy gulp, but you’re not complaining. The only slightly coherent thought that rings in your mind is drink tasty.

“Ignore them,” Rae chimes, “Y/n’s probably plotting something and using Charlie as a cover up.”

“I’d never.” The words slip past your lips before you can stop them.

“Well you sure are very quick to deny it.” You can hear her smirking, can hear the proud lilt in her voice, like she caught onto your silly little scheme, like she has you all figured out. Your eyes narrow dangerously. The night behind your window pools dark, with far away city lights glimmering before they, too, seem to dim. 

Your roommate is back on your shitlist. How her name was missed among the rest.

“I’m defending my honor.” You yelp, the playfulness back in your voice along with your sunny smile, “I can’t have my wifey slandering me online. At least do it in private, geez.”

If Rae’s such a good detective, you’ll give her a good chase. Perhaps you’ve been laying it on too thick. Made her too suspicious. She can’t out you yet--not when your plans are so grand, so fun. It would be a waste.

“Why weren’t you saying anything then?” Quackity questions.

“Do I need a reason not wanting to talk to you?” You shoot back. Your friends laugh and he tries to shriek something past their cackle. You lean back into your chair, the tension from Rae’s confrontation finally easing. You wink at the camera and bring a finger to your lips. The roaches swear to secrecy, elated by your wickedness. As appropriate, they spam devil emojis and various renditions of evil hohohos and hehehes. The apple truly does not fall far from the tree. You had raised them well. You raise your glass in solidarity. A few donations fall into your pocket, easily summed up as: make them suffer.

Muting the discord call, you give a single response, “Oh, I intend to.”

i hope this doesn’t awaken something in me

^already too late for me bro

As caught up in wreaking havoc among your viewers as you are, you miss Sykkuno’s entrance, though from what you can tell, Charlie gave a stern warning to back the fuck off to him, too. He’s playing into your plan so beautifully. Truly, you couldn’t do this without him. Back to stalking the chat you go.

Your eyes flicker to the game upon Bretman’s signature drawl and “Hi, daddy.”. You have no time to get offended at Corpse’s sweet “Hi, honey” back, because the next person to join the discord call and the lobby leaves you speechless. You knew, of course, you had been informed of the line-up, but still, you had never expected yourself to be so close to Jomes Chorles himself. You make a weird gesture with your hands, half wave half excited wiggle, as if you’re telling the audience to calm down, when, in fact, it is you that needs calming.

He goes saying his hello’s like doing a public service, name by name, before, lastly, uttering, “Hi, Miss Y/n. Loooove the vids.”

He’s a roach in disguise, who could’ve known?! Your audience is so diverse and unexpected, gosh, you’d shed a tear if the mascara wasn’t so expensive.

“Hi!” You reply with a grin, and it’s genuine this time, a glimmer of your old self, “Hi, I love your videos, too. It’s like, really cool to finally meet you.”

“Oh my God, you too!” Is his enthusiastic reply, “Okay, the energy in the studio today? Love it.”

“Is this all of us?” Quackity asks.

“Sadly.” James says with a note of disappointment.

“HEY!”

“Okay, guys!” Ash chimes, “Let’s do this! Proximity Among Us, round one, go go go!”

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Luck does not shine upon you during the first round- you are stuck as Crew Mate, your life cut short by Bretman who had the audacity to bite your head off. You’re positive Ke$ha wrote her hit single Cannibal about him, and if she didn’t, she definitely had a That’s So Raven moment and predicted it. It’s also insanely suspicious as after you are eliminated he sticks real close to Corpse, feigning innocence (and this is a controversial opinion you do not endorse) better than even you. It wounds your pride, having been picked off so casually, so quickly, and now stuck a ghost you roam the halls of the dying spaceship, lost, confused, heartbroken.

Charlie runs past you, not once even glancing in your direction. “Brother...” You mutter sadly, “Do you not see me here? Do you not feel... the loss of your twin’s heartbeat...?" Damn, these mimosas really are making you emotional. You sniffle and take a sip to calm the storm within you. No rage, just sadness. You are still processing your own tragic demise.

Suddenly, a meeting is called. There’s a horrible red X on your astronaut. You are the only one dead so far, and of course the rest won’t vote out the fucker. How bitterly you sit! With your arms crossed over your chest and your glare sharp enough to cut through glass. Fuck the sad shit, now you’re just angry. At the very least, the second Impostor could’ve given you some company!

“I knew something felt off.” Charlie is first to speak.

“Who the fuck killed Y/n?” Corpse questions, and his voice ignites a whole discussion that lasts much too short. The others skip, having no suspect yet. It’s much too soon to start pointing fingers, but you still feel like they should have at least tried. Pouting, you fix yourself another drink.

“Stop drinking!?” You gasp, exasperated at your chats demands, “I’m dead! What else should I do, the tasks?! Nah, fuck that. I’m done. I’m out. Charlie better employ his fucking detective skills because if the Impostors win, I will literally quit the game--yes I will, no I’m not bullshitting, fucking watch me.”

Thankfully, Bretman was caught venting, and you didn’t have to end the stream prematurely. The second Impostor, your roommate (oh, the betrayal, Rae, how could you?!) was voted out due to Corpse’s suspicion. Victory to the Crew Mates! The game restarts and you find yourself back in the lobby.

“Miss Y/n,” Bretman says, “I am sooo sorry for killing you first, baby. It was just too easy. I couldn’t pass it up.”

Giggling, Quackity chimes, “Sister slaughtered.”

“Oh my God,” James groans, “shut up!”

“Yeah, Y/n.” Charlie speaks, and there’s an accusatory note in his calm voice, “Why the fuck did you allow yourself to be eliminated first? Real noob shit, I expected more of you.”

“HUH?!” You frown, “What’s with the victim blaming?! I literally was doing my task and Bretman snuck up on me. It’s not like I had a weapon to defend myself!”

“You have been avenged,” Corpse states, “and that’s all that matters.”

“Thank you, Corpse!” You say, “At least someone cares.”

“Hey, I helped, too!” Dream pipes up.

“No, you didn’t.” Corpse shoots him down, “I was the only one.”

“You were not--”

“Literally was. Isn’t that right, Sykkuno?”

“Uhhhh-” Sykkuno trails off, “Well, we-we all helped!” You can hear his shy smile, and you just know he’s bobbing his head up and down at this exact moment, “We all helped. Team work!”

“Team work!” The rest echo, save for yourself, Corpse, Charlie, and the two Impostors. Silence speaks more than a thousand words or whatever. You pray to any higher power willing to listen to finally assign you the role of the villain, the one you were born to do. 

Sadly, higher powers must have either shitty customer service or are in need of hearing aids, and you almost scream in frustration when your astronaut appears along with the others, the bold CREW MATE title chipping away at your master plan.

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“Hey, Y/n, hey! Hey, Y/n!” Rae finds you in Cafeteria, where you, metaphorically, are eating your feelings. Not that she needs to know, of course. She sounds chipper, a bit ditsy, and that must mean she’s sufficiently tipsy. You store that information for later, and forget about it as soon as you notice Dream and Sykkuno, like her very own personal bodyguards, trailing after her, “Wanna play a game?!”

“Is this Saw?” You inquire, somewhat lazy. You’d be lying if you said the alcohol wasn’t affecting you, it’s just instead of making you bubbly, it makes you mellow. This was supposed to be fun, you were supposed to terrorize everyone and laugh as they perished by your hand, yet here you are, wallowing in self-pity. The roaches start worrying. The donation jingle chimes.

BEATINGS & SLUTATIONS yns_fishnets donated 5$ mom just wait it out & dont worry youll get your vengeance soon lead them on!!!!

Your fishnets have a point! 

“Saw?--No, no, haa, no it’s a drinking game.” Dream sounds like he has had one too many rounds of this mysterious game, and naturally, you are intrigued.

“Where we drink!” Sykkuno clarifies. Right, well that explains everything! If you had any questions, you surely have none now.

“Okay, so, name a category, and you have to, like, say a word associated with it...Or something along those lines.” You hadn’t even agreed and Rae is explaining the rules already. She knows you too well. It’s both a blessing and a curse, “Can be anything! Okay, Y/n, Y/n, Y/n start!”

“Uhh--” If only your brain computed as fast as she spoke! “Song lyrics! Wait--who drinks?”

“You fail, you drink!” She hurries, “Choke me like you hate me but you love meeeeee. Syk, go, go go!”

“Uhm, ah, I don’t wanna feel like this, uh, fuck?” He laughs--it’s a raspy, embarrassed little sound, “I don’t...wanna look like this? Dream, now you!”

“Wait, we’re singing Corpse’s songs?”

“Any song!” You urge him quickly, “Hurry! Or drink!”

“She say I kill her cat like I'm Luka Magnotta--”

“Hey! That’s cheating! You can’t use my song!” Rae protest.

“That wasn’t in the rules!” He counters.

“Y/n! Time’s running out!” Sykkuno exclaims.

“Oh, uh, will-will the real Slim Shady please stand up!”

NOT EMINEM WHAT THE FUCK

MOOOM WHT THE HELL THIS ISNT 2008 T_T

“Ra-Ra-Rasputin, Russia’s greatest love machine--”

“All...All the other kids with the pumped up kicks better, uhh, run better run, faster...-faster than my gun?”

“Uhh, shit--fucking hell.” Dream laughs, and Rae practically screams at him to keep going, “Alright! Okay! I’m singing--uh, you’re so golden, na na na na?”

“I tell you what a woman loves most,” You chime gleefully, “it’s a man who can slap but can also stroke.”

finally, the mother mother representation we’ve all been waiting for

i aint exactly gay but i aint exactly not gay >:)

the bis won

“I steal a few breeeeaaaths from the woooorld for a minute--”

“Mitski?!” You question, eyes bulging, “Baby, who hurt you?”

Even if you can’t see her, you know she’s waving her arms around and shaking her head, “Not the point! Sykkuno!”

“Uh, I-I, uhm, I don’t--”

“Drinnnnk!” You all chorus. 

“It was a good concert,” You say, “Syk, I’ll drink with you.”

“Thank you, Y/n. That’s very kind of you.” He says softly, with a smile lining his lips. You grin.

“Oh, fine. Everyone, bottoms up!” Rae decides, and no one protest. A moment of silence passes, then, “Well, GG, GG, let’s do some tasks?”

Your enthusiastic Ariana Grande-esque “yuh” is cut short by the second meeting of game two being called. The first one to go had been Ash, voted out during a bathroom break as a joke, and you still feel a bit bad about that. Now, you notice Charlie has been eliminated. A sense of righteousness fills you--while you mourn for your brother from another mother and father and family tree, you feel like this is divine punishment for slandering you before the start of this round. Karma. Nothing much is discussed, and the meeting ends shortly with everyone skipping. 

You spend a good ten minutes wandering around with Dream, who’s mission appears to be convincing you to join his Minecraft server, and really, there was no need for him to try so hard. You failed to provide him with a concrete answer only because it would've been to humiliating to admit that you agreed instantly upon hearing the word Minecraft.

That’s when things get fucking weird. Another meeting is called whilst you’re in the middle of fixing lights, and once the board with the members appears you audibly gasp. There had been 8 living, breathing astronauts rushing around the map, and now only 4 remain. You, Corpse, James, and Alex. 

“What the fuck--what the fuck?!” You screech alarmed, noting Dream being among the perished crew, “I was just with Dream fixing the lights, I was just with him, what the fuck--”

“Okay, no one panic.” James says, “Let’s figure this out. Okay? Okay. Who else is close to Electrical?”

“I’m at Nav.” Quackity says.

“I’m at Cafeteria, but Y/n--” Corpse starts, “kinda weird that Dream died when you were with him?”

“I didn’t fucking kill him, I swear to God, Corpse, why are you accusing me?”

“Don’t be so defensive.” He says smoothly, “I’m just pointing out the obvious. We all have a reason to be sus, no? Considering you were right with him.”

“...It is suspicious.” James agrees, and a part of you dies inside. You understand their hesitance to trust you, but it doesn’t make it any less frustrating!

“Guys, I didn’t kill him, I swear. He invited me to play Minecraft, I wouldn’t do that to him, not after that!”

Corpse merely hums, and it brings no comfort what’s so ever. The situation is spiraling, and not in your favor. Trying to salvage your chances at freedom, you try again, “Wh-James, James, you called the meeting, right?”

“Yeah, I found Rae’s body near Medical.”

“So I couldn’t have killed her and Dream at the same time!” You latch onto that piece of information, hoping it will save you.

“You could’ve vented.” Corpse points out, “Plus, there’s no telling how old the body is.”

“Killing five fucking people? It’s the work of one person, or else the game would have already ended. As it stands, I am no way sober enough to think all of this out.”

A brief silence hangs in the air; your lungs constrict from tension, from spilling words so hotly. You grasp your glass, as if for emphasis, and take a shy sip. It taste sweet, a bit too sweet for your liking. Must be your nerves. You drink again to wash the taste out of your mouth, which, surprisingly, doesn’t work. You whine a little, stomping your feet like a child about to throw a temper tantrum.

“...I believe her.” Quackity says. You breathe out a sigh of relief.

“Alex, thank youuuuuu!” You gush, batting your lashes as if he could somehow see you and that would somehow portray your innocence, “I knew I liked you for a reason!”

He mutes his mic, his spill of words lost to your ears, but chat helpfully informs that he’s screaming because you don’t hate him. 

y/n out here collecting men like pokemon cards

Now all that’s left is to convince the others. You start with the one you know will work, “Corpse,” You address him in your sweetest voice.

“Y/n,” James warns, “don’t you dare--”

“Baby, I didn’t kill anyone, I’m crew mate, you gotta believe me.”

“She's innocent.” Corpse declare, thoroughly convinced.

“Oh my fucking God, you fucking simp!” James laughs, “She’s obviously manipulating you!”

“No, no, she isn’t. She’s innocent, I agree with Quackity. Now, it’s either you or him.”

“Could be you for all we know!” Alex accuses.

“Guys, time’s running out.” You mutter fretfully, noting the seconds tick by from white to red. 

“I’m voting Alex.” Corpse says.

“What?! Fucking traitor! Fine, I’m voting for you.” Alex hisses.

“Ugh, hate agreeing with Quackity, but I’m also voting Corpse. Sorry, hon, nothing personal.” James says. The VOTED icons pop up beside their characters and you panic, pressing your mouse idly but it’s too late, there wasn’t enough time, and you cry as Corpse is thrown into lava. The chat spams F, and it feels like salt on a fresh wound.

In a second you’re back in Cafeteria, shell-shocked and trembling, and Quackity cusses because the Impostor is still among you. His frustration doesn’t last long as you watch in horror as Jams Chortles, beauty guru supreme, murders the only other crew mate in cold blood and all you can do is gape and let his cheerful laughter fill your ears. The screen bleeds red, informing of Impostor victory, the second one being Ash. Looks like you voted her off for the right reason, but little difference did it make.

“Corpse!” You yell past the cacophony of voices, all in varying forms of excitement or anger, beelining for his in-game figure, “Corpse, I’m so sorry, I panicked, I tried pressing the button but I wasn’t quick enough--”

“It’s alright, baby. Don’t worry about it.” He’s so calming, so gentle, you might burst into tears again. What did you do to deserve him? You wish he was with you so you could smother him in a hug. Alas, all you can do now is say “I kith you, mwah!” and rush to the other side of the lobby, as if to hide from such a bold display of affection, even if it was a joke (it wasn’t).

yall say corpse simps for y/n but the reality is y/n simps for corpse harder

queen stop its embarrassing

bhaddies can simp!! i wouldnt but its her choice <3

More deliberations, commentary, and short breaks. Once everyone has returned, the countdown starts. You’re still reeling from the chaos of emotions, the five stages of grief you experienced in 1 second upon Corpse’s unjust demise, that it takes you a moment, a single heartbeat to realize what you’re seeing on screen.

The letters IMPOSTOR hang above your astronaut, with Dream standing just behind you as your newly appointed partner in crime. And suddenly, all the sadness and the tenderness and sympathy vanish with a curt exhale. You slowly turn your head to the chat, muting the Discord call, your soft chuckle of disbelief turning into a full blown laugh.

it’s happening!!!! 

omg omg omg omg

VILLAIN ARC VILLAIN ARC VILLAIN ARC

You slap your palm over your lips, trying to contain your wicked smile, to tone down your broken giggles, “N-No, I can’t laugh yet,” shaking your head softly, you look into the camera, “they’re all going to die.”

pack it up light yagami

this has awoken something in me.

^ same

The crew mates go their own ways, rushing to do their tasks like the diligent little workers they are. How adorable. Their grim fate is still miles away from them. The shit you’ll pull will be for the history books. Much like your outfit, which you picked keeping in mind your newfound thirst for blood, you had devised your plan of action with care and consideration. You had been mulling it over all day, drawing on paper like the absolute madwoman you are; hell, you even made sticky notes on who to go for first and what to say. Sure, being moderately drunk hinders your memory slightly (an understatement of the century), but you got a feel for what you’re going to do. It’s nothing short of evil.

Dream and you don’t exchange words, you merely nod at him-- which he, of course, can’t see-- but your criminal bond enables telepathic communication. You can hear his thoughts, ones that strangely sound like drink drink, drink drink. And really, who are you to refuse such an enticing offer?! As he fucks off to stalk his victims, or play pretend, you take a sip. The cocktail is still sweet, but this time it’s not the icky sweet you had tasted prior. You glance at your sticky notes, ones the roaches can’t see, and nearly spill your drink for the second time today as you jerk.

“Fuck!” You exclaim, shoving your headphones off and spinning in your chair. You hastily stand up, wobble -- the world is pleasantly funny right about now -- and giggle. Stepping past the mountains of abandoned clothes and pillows and blankets and anime plushies, you maneuver your way to your bedside table and yank it open, nearly taking out the whole drawer with you. In the mess of old diaries and bad drawings, pencils, jewelry, and stickers, you fish out something you should not be wielding in your inebriated state.

It’s a knife.

In midst of teenage angst you had ordered it off of Amazon with your mom’s credit card, all the while whining that it’s not a phase, mom, and it’s what all of my cool kid friends with fried hair have, and don’t you want me to fit in, don’t you want your daughter to be happy?! You think it’s about that time, the time of too much uneven eyeliner and black eye shadow, that she took to calling you little raccoon. Trash rabbit was your personal favorite, but she used it sparingly. When you presented your Macy’s outfit, holding up a fucking butterfly knife, to your dad, asking if it was a look, he glanced up from some boring business magazine all boring business dads read and said, with a bright smile might you add, “It’s a something!”.

Oh, how it gleams in the lilac light. You used to do tricks with it, back in eight grade maybe, and--what the fuck? Why did you parents allow you to buy it in the first place? Well, because you’re the only child, the only one important, of course they got it for you and clapped enthusiastically at your performances, because why wouldn’t they? The whining they’d face otherwise would’ve been harder to endure than a whole dance number to Panic! At The Disco’s greatest hits. Broadway looked so fucking shabby in comparison. Your mom said so, so it must be true.

Stumbling back to your extremely confused viewers, you take your seat, feeling a bit more grounded now that you’re not standing on your platform shoes anymore. Putting on your headphones, you grin at the chat that starts swimming, and not from too much drinking either. You do a quick flick of your wrist, one that thankfully doesn’t end in injury, and the sharp tip of the exposed knife points upwards, glimmering. It’s a rainbow colored one, because one, it’s pretty, and two, you weren’t hardcore enough for the jet-black or straight up military ones the other emo kids had. Cute and dangerous, just like you.

So you just sit there, holding it up, looking somewhat sly as the roaches capture this momentous moment with screen-caps. Someone definitely clipped you trudging past the obstacle course to obtain a weapon of mass destruction. You must be already trending on Twitter, though you can’t exactly log on and confirm your suspicions. You just feel like you might be, like you should be, because your audience wouldn’t let this slide. Thankfully, your friends don’t have time to check social media, or you’d be outed in an instant.

“Y/n?” Your roommates voice booms from your headphones, and you perk up with a stupid realization that you completely forgot about Among Us. Stuck at the start, at the lobby where Dream had left you, you see her astronaut waddling to you, “What are you doing here? Wait--Have you not moved from the beginning?” She can barely finish the sentence without giggling. 

You grin, “I was looking for something.”

Your voice is soft, too calm for your usual frantic spill. You gently set the knife down, hand coming to rest on your mouse, fingers idly, slowly, bouncing on the buttons.

“...What were you looking for?” She’s none the wiser, the numerous drinks consumed tonight numbing her sharp mind. She would have noticed. Your eerie composure would’ve given it away in a heartbeat, or at least hinted at something being objectively wrong. But she sounds curious. Poor girl, hasn’t she heard? Curiosity killed the cat.

“A knife.”

“A knife?!” There’s something about her tone that implies a mental clicking, the puzzle pieces falling together, “You have a knife?!”

“Yes.”

“No!”

You think it would only be appropriate that the random sequence of killing animations renders the backstabbing one. You grin, biting your lower lip with a quiet snicker.

i love women

if evil bad...why seggy?

You take your time leaving her there -- in true serial-killer-to-be fashion, you stick around for a bit longer, admiring your handiwork, or more like the chat singing your praises. You joined today with the intent of making an interesting stream. You have no doubt in your mind that now it will be legendary.

You move down the hallway, and you let your imagination wander: you can almost feel the stuffy air of your helmet, can almost hear your loud footsteps echoing in all this hush, can almost see your reflection in the spotless tile floor. It’s not long before your second victim makes an appearance, running circles in Cafeteria. You hear his voice first before you see him, recognizing Alex by his unhinged screech of “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s goooo!” 

“And what’s got you so excited?” How cool and collected you are, gosh, you barely contain the quiver of excitement that threatens to slip out. 

“Y/n!” He exclaims, rushing to your side like a lost puppy--he’s really making this easy for you, he’s not even trying, “You just missed--Oh my fucking God, you just missed James, he-he called me tall, he called me fucking tall! Let’s go, let’s gooooo!”

“Well, you are tall, aren’t you?” You chime sweetly, almost as sweet as the drink that lingers on the tip of your tongue, “Real 6′3 energy, no?”

“Yes, yes, exactly! You get it, you fucking get it--” Once again, his mic goes mute, and you glance at the chat for help.

hard to transcribe what hes saying but hes taking shots and yelling that he loves you good job mom

hey, queen! girl, you have done it again, constantly raising the bar for us all and doing it flawlessly

mom plz dont kill alex hes too cute hes all uwu rn

Oh, how you’re about to break his poor little heart. If you had any good left in you, you’d spare him. You don’t, and you’re not taking requests at the moment, so all you do is smile at your chat and they know. They just do. Hive-mind shit, you’re all two-faced little fuckers.

You giggle, and it sounds a tad fake, “You’re so weird, Alex,” You start, and he’s back in the call, a sound of confusion echoing in your ears, “but I get it, you know. You’re weird. You’re a weirdo. You don’t fit it, and you don’t want to fit in. I mean, really, has anyone even seen you without your stupid hat?”

“...Do--” He sputters, bellowing a laugh, “Do you have that whole fucking monologue memorized?!”

“Is it because you’re bald?”

“I’m not fucking bald!” His giddiness is quickly replaced by anger.

You hum, pretend to think, lastly barking a “Liar.” before you kill him. His scream is cut off, leaving only deafening silence at it’s wake. Unlike with Rae, you don’t stick around. You didn’t appreciate how little he enjoyed your recital.

You run into James near Navigation, most likely on his way to Cafeteria. He ends his song mid-note, and you breathe a sigh of relief, “Finally! Someone! I’ve been looking all over, where the hell is everyone?” You question, blocking his way, lest he accidentally stumbles onto the crime scene and easily pins it on you. You’re not done yet.

“Honestly? No clue. I’m searching for them myself, like, everyone’s scattered. I hope no one died.”

You smile. You tried not to, but you can’t contain it, “Me, too.” You echo the sentiment, urging him to join you, and he does. Too trusting. Everyone in this game is too fucking trusting. You lead him back to Nav, feigning that you have a task here. As you pretend to move the spaceship, you can’t help but ask, “Hey, James?”

“Yeah?”

“What’s your favorite scary movie?”

A beat of silence passes, “Oh no, fuck that, I don’t like this at all.” He states, about to spin on his heel and bolt like he should do, but you’re quicker-- killer instincts and all-- and he’s dead before he makes it out the doorway.

“See, after your No More Lies video, I figured you’d only tell the truth.” Yes, this is the part of the anime where the villain monologues, only the hero in this case is an astronaut cut in half, and not exactly alive to listen to you. You hope James’ ghost sticks around, “Case in point, why the fuck did you tell Quackity he’s tall?” You eye the chat, which’s mostly spamming W and comparing you to Ryo from Devilman Crybaby. “Such a shame...” You murmur, pressing the REPORT button.

“What?! How are so many people dead?!” Ash gasps, her kind voice tinted with fear and confusion. Your three kills, like military stars on an uniform of a distinguished officer, are displayed on the board. Dream appears to be slacking, having yet to take a life.

“Someone’s been real fucking busy.” Charlie observes. It’s true, you have been.

“I found James in Nav, but holy shit--” You begin, exasperated, “--what the fuck, guys, how did we miss this shit? Where is everyone?”

“I’m at Electrical.” Corpse voices.

“And I’m with Corpse.” One sentence is all it takes to figure out your next target: Bretman. Revenge for being killed first in the first goddamn round, and for spending so much time with your boyfriend.

Eep!!! Boyfriend boyfriend boyfriend!!! The word even makes you forget your thirst for blood, that’s how whipped you are. Sadly, it’s time to return to reality, to this grave situation.

“And what have the two of you been conspiring?” You keep your tone level, but that alone is enough to set everyone off. The unease you had planted within them before the game started is starting to bloom. However, if they suspect you, they don’t speak up, not yet.

“Fishnets, mostly.” Corpse says.

only partly a lie he was mostly talking abt u queen <3

corpse simping for y/n is the sweetest thing ever

the times corpse used y/ns name when talking abt y/n: 1. the times he used baby or my baby: infinite

“I’m wearing them right nyoooow.” Bretman drawls.

You hum, “What a coincidence. I am, too.”

“Wait--For real?” That seems to catch Corpse’s attention, because of course it does, you picked them with him in mind, after all.

“No peeping.” You tsk, obviously referring to his tendency to hop onto your stream unprompted. Whether he actually listens to your demands is beyond you, “Peeping means cheating.”

“For the love of fuck all, can we get back to the three dead bodies, please? Because I’m about to have a second coming of Christ moment and taste my consumed, digested beer for the second time.” Charlie interjects.

“I mean, anyone have any ideas who’d do this?” Dream takes hold of the conversation. Quiet, disappointed nos greet him. They have nothing to go on, no clues, not even a subliminal message. With everyone scattered, there is no way of locating the actual bodies and drawing a long red trail leading back to you. 

You’re too good at lying, and Dream is too good of a publicist. People tend to trust his judgement, which is his main asset (besides his calm demeanor of course). When the Among Us gods chose you as Impostor, they made sure you had every advantage. 

“Who-Who do you think it is, Dream?” Ash questions, “I trust you. I do. Just know that.”

“No fucking clue.”

“Y/n?” She tries again.

“Same. I’m a bit worried, though.”

“Let’s, uhhh, let’s skip?” Sykkuno offers. The consensus is to start voting at six. Your new mission is to make sure you dwindle the numbers down drastically before that can happen. You have no qualms about sacrificing Dream in order to meet your goals, either. Absolutely cold blooded.

Back at Cafeteria, there are words exchanged about Quackity’s body just laying there, forgotten. Blame is shifted: how come we didn’t notice sooner? Where’s Rae? And you mindlessly go along with their mourning, not really paying attention. Dream leaves with Charlie and Sykkuno, Corpse requests you stay with him and you sprout fake apologies. Not his time yet. Us girls need to stick together!, you sing, following after Ashley and getting further and further away from him, going deeper and deeper into the labyrinth of the spaceship.

You find yourself in Security with her, her cute astronaut pressed to the cameras, watching the live feed, “Let’s lurk here, okay? Maybe we’ll see something.” If only she saw who was standing behind her. 

“Who do you think is the Impostor?” You ask, standing in the doorway, “Or, more like, who are the Impostors?”

“Honestly?” She ends her word with a little sigh, “I think it might be Corpse and Bretman. I haven’t seen them at all this game.”

You smile, raising your brows, tilting your heard, and you sound so kind, like a dear old friend about to deliver a tender message, “...Have you seen me?”

“SHIT!”

Too late. In one smooth motion she joins the afterlife. You cut the lights, venting mindlessly till you spot Corpse and Bretman panicking in Weapons. Your existence is still a mystery to them.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck--” Corpse mumbles, “Bretman, don’t you dare fucking kill me right now.”

“I’m not Impostor!”

“Okay, I’ll drink to that.”

They rush out of Weapons, most likely on their way to Electrical, and you trail after them like the Grim Reaper itself, biding your time till you can deliver the killing blow.

“Corpse?!” You call out, mild panic ringing in your voice, “Is that you?”

“Shit, Y/n? Where are you?” He questions. Crew vision is so sad, so small, how can he not see you standing almost right next to him? “Where’s Ash?”

“I dunno,” You say, “when the lights went out I ran. Please don’t kill me.”

“I’d never do that, baby.”

Too easy. They’re all too fucking easy. You bite your lower lip, trying to stop the laugh bubbling in your chest, to stop the lightheaded dizziness that overcomes you with a rush of excitement. 

“Thanks, pretty boy.” You mutter, and it sounds a bit lower than you intended, a bit darker, something sinister lurking underneath cotton candy words. It instantly clicks in Bretman and he makes a noise, something like a whine, and you see him backing away, “I know I can always trust you.” 

Whether Corpse notices the odd shift in tone, he doesn’t show it, “I like it when you call me that.” Is all he says, and you hear the smile in his voice, the appreciation. The trek to Electrical is all but forgotten. You slowly make your way to Bretman, “Where are you? Come here.”

“Just a minute,” You say cheerily, “I just need to kill Bret first.”

“Holy shit.”

“N-” Your victim’s sentence is cut off in a second, and you can’t contain your manic cackle this time, because the screen bleeds red, the words VICTORY splattered on it, depicting yours and Dream’s sneaky astronauts. You’re still laughing as the voices of your fallen friends ring in your ears.

“Y/n, what the fuck, you’re an actual monster.” Dream says, but there’s no actual weight behind his words, each syllable punctured with a laugh.

“I knew the second she asked me about my favorite scary movie that I’d get the chop.” James states.

“Wait, Y/n, did you kill everyone?” Corpse questions.

“She fucking did!” Dream answers for you, “I got Charlie and Sykkuno, and barely at that. What the fuck.”

“I’ve been waiting so fucking long for this.” You admit, giggling, raising you glass, “I toast to you, Dream. My perfect partner in crime.”

“I didn’t really do shit, but cheers.”

Quackity heaves a heavy sigh, “Y/n, Y/n, you don’t actually think I’m weird, right? Right?”

“No, she does.” James chimes.

“WHAT THE FUCK DID I EVER DO TO YOU, DUDE?!”

More commotion, more noise, and you just sit there, buzzed, snickering, reading the chat as the rest agree to play another round. You thank the people who donated that you had accidentally missed among the, you know, murder, reply to a few questions, bow dramatically to the many praises and invisible flowers you receive for such beautiful assassin work. When you look back at the screen, you throw your head back with a maniacal laugh.

Impostor again, only this time it’s with Charlie. Family bonds are often restored when united under a common goal. You’re so happy. So happy. You weren’t done terrorizing your friends yet.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

tags (in italics is those i couldn’t tag! make sure all’s ok w your settings!) : @littlebabysandboxburritos​ - @fairywriter-oracle​ - @tsukishimawh0re​ - @ofstarsanddreams​ - @bbecc-a​ - @annshit​ - @leahh19​ - @letsloveimagines​ - @bellomi-clarke​ - @wineandionysus​ - @guiltydols​ - @onephootinfrontoftheother​ - @liamakorn​ - @thirstyfangirl​ - @lilysdaydreams​ - @pan-ini​ - @mxqicshxp​ - @tanchosanke​ - @yoshinorecommends​ - @flightsandfantasy​ - @liljennyx3​ - @bingusmode - @unknown-and-invisible​ - @sinister-sleep​ - @fivedicksinatrenchcoat​ - @mercury–moon - @peterparkerspjsuit​ - @unstableye​ - @simonsbluee​ - @shinyshimaagain​ - @ppopty​ - @siriuslystupid​ - @crapimahuman​ - @ofthedewthesunlight​ - @mythicalamphitrite​ - @artsyally​ - @corpsesimpp​ - @corpsewhitetee​ - @corpse-husbandsimp​ - @hyp-oh-critical​ - @roses-and-grasses​ - @rhyrhy462​ - @sparklylandflaplawyer​ - @charbkgo​ - @airwaveee​ - @creativedogs​ - @kaitlyn2907​ - @loxbbg​ - @afuckingunicornn​ - @fleurmoon​ - @yeolliedokai​

more tags are in the comments bcs tumblr only allows me to tag 50 people max 💙

[persephones-wren]

Hi, so I had this idea for a Kaz Brekker x reader one shot were kaz is have trouble sleep and is becoming tired and grumpy during the day. So, the reader starts secretly putting lavender in his room and clothes (lavender is a good herb to aid sleeping). He starts sleeping better and doesn’t know why until he finds the reader in his room and then they can have a bit of fluff at the end of something. Idk hope you find this useful <3. Have a nice day/night!

Lavender (Kaz Brekker x Reader)

First request! Thank you for the idea anon <3 sorry this took a bit long, but I really enjoyed writing it and I think it turned out alright! I hope you like it as well :)

Warnings: spoilers for Kaz’s backstory

Genre: Angst to Fluff (?) 

Word Count: 2082

He thought he had outrun the nightmare of his past.

The gloves had protected him, becoming his weapon, and the reputation that followed him had been another impenetrable fortress. How ironic that the one who led him back to his past was himself.

...

It was on a mission gone wrong, where the only way of escape was down, back in the cold harbors of Ketterdam. The frigid waters had brought his brother’s bloated and ice-cold corpse underneath his hands, fighting to keep his vision from blurring, fighting to keep himself alive.

“...Kaz!” 

You were treading the water lightly, trying to stay afloat while supporting him. He tried to say something, anything, but he felt as if he were drowning as you half-hazardly pulled him onto the dock, your breath ragged and your shoulders sagging. He seemed to see right through you, and he was pale and shaking slightly, not just from the cold- something there had haunted him, though. It was obviously more than just the cool waters.

“Kaz, are you alright?” Your inquiry went unanswered, and you waited patiently, before he somewhat snapped to attention, roughly pushing himself off of you, probably bruising your shoulder as he stood and backed away furiously.

“Don’t touch me, get off of me-” he forced a shuddery breath in- “I’m fine.”

Your eyes were wide as you stared at him, and he cleared his throat and refused to look at you. He didn’t apologize, nothing of the sort, because Kaz Brekker never apologized, even rare and brief moments of weakness.

Kaz Rietveld might’ve apologized to you.

“Right, okay,” your voice was soft, but firm. “We should find the others, they’ll probably be at the meeting spot.”

You both got up slowly, muscles sore and stiff from hitting icy waters, but you swiftly and quietly towards the carriages Jesper had prepared. Neither of you said a word on the way back. Upon your arrival, both Inej and Jesper grew increasingly concerned at your condition.

“What the hell happened to you two?” Jesper had asked.

“Are you two alright?” Inej echoed.

“We survived,” you muttered, sparing a small glance at Kaz, who still wasn’t saying much. “It’s a long story.”

...

Long story indeed.

Kaz had presumed that you had told them what had happened, but he was almost praying to the Saints that you had left out the details of his condition. It wasn’t that he would necessarily be too ashamed to ever tell Jesper or Inej- but they needed him for his reliability, and any moment of weakness could be used against him, both by friends and enemies. He’d prefer that Jordie be kept with him only. After all, it only took a couple shots for Jesper to reveal almost anything.

He didn’t sleep well that night, hell, he didn’t think he’d sleep right for at least a month. His normal sleep schedule was one that could barely keep a normal person running, but with his brother lurking in every corner of his unconsciousness, it was better to stay awake, where he could be in control.

It was affecting his mood, he knew that. He had to heavily restrain himself not to snap at people, but even without snapping, his words were still scathing. He’d find more to criticize, more to hate, and he’d probably scolded every member of the Dregs in the last week. Everyone, except you. Whether it was because you were there with him or it was something more, that wasn’t something he wanted to think about.

Then suddenly, the insomnia stopped.

It had only been a week, before his sleeping schedule reverted back. Jordie was there, but it was more of what he could remember in life than death, smiles and sunshine rather than plague and death. It was a bittersweet sadness, but it had been one he’d grown used to, one he could get past quicker. He fixed himself back into his office, working on another plan rather than hovering over everyone just to find something to criticize. 

What had changed?

It might’ve been the light smell of herbs, was that lavender? that permeated his office now, but he’d never caught the culprit of who had done it. And despite his ability to find cracks in any facade, he had caught no lies in any members of the Dregs. 

His first thought had been you, admittedly. He knew you knew something the others didn’t, you saw him panic on the docks, and he knew you could act your way through nearly anything. It didn’t seem hard to put two and two together.

But you seemed honest enough, when he had asked you. Perhaps it was his like of you that clouded his judgement, but you genuinely didn’t seem to know anything.

…

“Stop that.”

“Huh?” you whirled around, and Kaz was there, cane in hand, glare piercing through you.

“Stop putting whatever herbs in my room.”

You stared at him, confused, before you burst out laughing. “Is someone putting herbs in your room? That’s why your office always smells like lavender now...I’m sorry, Kaz, but that isn’t me, although it would be funny if it was. Ha...I don’t think I could get away with sneaking in your office if I tried.”

“Any ideas who it could be, then?” He asked impatiently.

“I’m sorry, I have no idea. It could be anyone, really. Even though I-” was the one who saw you at the docks, the words hung unspoken, “um, yeah, everyone’s noticed you’ve been different. Truthfully though, I think they just think it’s because a mission went wrong.”

“Fine.” He nodded at you, and then he’d went to go find Jesper at the Crow Club.

It was a truth, in a way. You couldn’t go around sneaking herbs in his room. You weren’t silent enough for that, you were an actress, not a shadow. Inej, however, was the Wraith, and if anyone could get away with it, it’d be her. 

So you’d ask for her help, whether it was distracting him or asking her to put the herbs in herself.

And you’d both play dumb until he was back to the person you knew.

…

It had only been one unfortunate night, where you were finally caught putting the lavender on his desk.

You had gotten better at just sneaking in and doing it yourself without Inej’s help, as you’d successfully done it for at least three nights in the past month. Tonight, though, Inej had been running some other task, probably nightly reports for Kaz, and luck had finally run out without her assistance.

“Y/N.”

You froze, and a chill ran down your spine. Though Kaz Brekker was never exactly friendly by any means, the slight warmth of his tone towards you had withered into frost. You were completely fucked. If he was lucky, maybe he’d let you out of the Crows alive. He doesn’t think you’re the one putting lavender in this room- he probably thinks you’re a traitor. Have fun talking yourself out of this one without admitting to it, you berated yourself. Saints know you’ll need the luck.

“If you’re here to steal plans and distribute them, then it’s certainly a pity that I liked you,” he muttered. “And I suppose even more impressive that you had me fooled.” He advanced forward, and his slammed his cane into the ground next to you, making you flinch. “How did you do it, then?”

“I- um, well, it’s,” you tripped, frantically trying to find the words, “it’s nothing like that. I’m not taking your plans. They have no use to me. I dislike Pekka just as much as you do. Do you think missions I’ve done with you would’ve gone successfully if I was working with him?”

“If you aren’t, then why are you in my office?”

“I’m just trying to-” you cut yourself off and sighed. Help was not going to be a good word to use. Kaz didn’t need help, and he’d probably just be more furious it you stated it for how it was. “Lavender is good for sleeping.”

He had long forgotten that someone actually had to be putting the lavender there. It just showed up now, for a month. He’d just accepted it.

“So it’s you, then?”

“Yeah,” you say sheepishly. “I’m sorry I lied to you, earlier. I don’t like seeing you in pain, though. People rely on you, they need you, Kaz, and well, I thought- never mind what I thought. I just hoped you would rest better, after...”

“You didn’t tell them what happened?”

There’s an odd vulnerability in his words, but you don’t remark on them. “No.” A faint smile is etched on your lips at the thought of your lie. “I told them that you were upset that the mission had gone wrong, and that it was mostly my fault. You scolded me on the docks and gave me the silent treatment in the carriage, that’s all it was to them. If you want to talk- I mean- what happened there?”

You know you’re seconds away from breaking the ice you’d been treading on lightly, but curiosity takes the better of you for a second before you’re rapidly apologizing, getting ready to leave the office before he kills you.

He found you in his office, he thought you stole plans, and then you admit you’ve been there more than once because you’re the girl who put lavender in his room. You really need to think things through more. 

“Good that you didn’t tell them. Stop apologizing. Take a seat, for a second.”

You do so, keeping your questions to yourself. He stares at you for a long moment, conflicted, before he gathers himself again. “What happened at the harbors. I had a brother, Jordie Rietveld. He died during the plague. We both got thrown in the harbor. He was dead. I was alive, surrounded by death.” He’s quiet for a bit, but when he glances at your expression, there’s no pity, no horror on your face, you don’t believe he’s weak. You’re quietly waiting for him to continue. So he does. 

“I needed to get back onto land. I got there using my brother to hold onto.”

“You wear gloves because of that now,” you point out quietly. 

He takes a shuddering breath in. “Yes.”

“When we had to dive, it came back to you. Kaz,” you whisper, “thank you for telling me.”

 “Thank you,” he echoes your words. He’s shaking and vulnerable, even though he hasn’t said much. Even then, there’s no look of fear or judgement of anything he’s done in your expression. The respect he has worked to earn is still there, and he could sigh in relief.

He’s twisting at his hands, before you realize he’s slowly slipping off his gloves. Your voice cuts through the air, talking frantically again. “No, no- Kaz, we don’t have to do this. I don’t want you to do this if you’re not ready- you don’t have to-”

“I want to.”

His voice is quiet, but full of resolve.

“Okay.”

His hands are normal. They’re not ugly, or disfigured, or strange. They fit him.

“Your hands are pretty.” The words slip out of you before you realize.

He laughs, a little breathless, and the tension eases a little. “My hands are pretty?” 

“Yeah.”

You outstretch your hand, and he waits a couple of moments before slowly interlocking it with yours. It’s sickening and he has to will himself to hold on, but he does. He feels content, content that you’re here, content that you’re willing to help him.

“You can let go if you need to.” Your voice sounds far away.

“I’m alright.” He’s not, but you’re warm. You’re alive, you’re not Jordie. He’s in his office, with the girl who put lavender in his room, not in the cold harbor with death.

You both stay for a long while, before he lets go.

“Thank you,” he repeats, before he slips on his gloves again.

“It’s nothing,” you answer, but you both know it’s everything, everything to you, everything to him. 

You start to walk towards the door, before his voice calls out again. “Tomorrow. I can’t promise I’ll-” be a good person, be the person you want, be there for you-

“Tomorrow,” you agree. “Goodnight, Kaz.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

The smell of lavender lingers in his room. He picks up the flower you had left on his desk, and an uncharacteristic smile blooms on his face.

Tomorrow.

[sweetestlamb]

Put On A Show

Summary: Cha-young goes to her high school reunion and brings a certain mafia guest. 

Author's note: I heard someone wanted a on top and in control CY so here it is! I already had this idea about a HS reunion so I simply combined the two ideas and got this smutty brainchild. This is rated E for extremely dirty so read at your own discretion, I planned on writing more fics of them pining but I really do love a women in control so I took a break from my cockblocking to fill this prompt. Hope you enjoy ;) 

Dear class of 2005,

That time has come once again, our class reunion! This year's reunion will be held in the Phoenix Hall in honor of us all rising from the ashes of this pandemic and being reborn stronger than ever before! Tickets available for purchase below. There are separate tickets for food and drinks and this year's theme will be luxury: a life of decadence. We look forward to seeing you all.

Cha-young skims the email that had initially landed in her spam folder, only the name of her old high school attached in the subject line catches her attention enough to make her open the otherwise nondescript email.

Another high school reunion.

She had been evading these gatherings like the plague itself, ever since the last time she'd made the mistake of going to one. She had just landed her job at Wusang Firm and finally felt confident in herself, in high school she'd always been the loud one and the weird one but now she was a lawyer and a damn good one if she said could say so herself. Nobody could dismiss her now or jokingly remind her of the bowl cut she had sported before, she was always the butt of their jokes and she was tired of feeling small beneath their condescending thumb. She finally had something worth bragging about. 

She'd stepped in with a smirk on her face, tight black dress and heels clicking as she walked waving at people she knew but didn't deign important enough to stop her entrance for a chat. The buffet table was her sole destination but she'd been intercepted by familiar annoying high pitched voices, Chang Ae-ram and Bom Min-he, the popular girls in her school and the banes of her existence both rushed over to her with drinks in their hands.

They never had anything kind to say to her and seemed to seek her out simply to put her down or remind her of how much of a “pathethic loser” she was in high school, as if she hadn’t been the one living her life. 

The verbal sparring began almost immediately, with them all battling for lead in the "my life is going great" contest, coyly listing their accolades and accomplishment and assertively she told them both about her new job at one of Korea's most successful and well known law firm.

"Oh." Ae-ram answered with a tight smile that pulled her surgically enhanced face into a wrinkleless grin. 

Score.

She sipped her drink feeling victorious as they both avoided her brazen eye contact. She had just opened her mouth to make her leave when a vindictive smile stretched over Min-he's face, "A job is so important but what about a family? Surely you don't plan on dying alone, how come you never bring anyone with you? We're all so sad that you don't have anyone still." She gripped the stem of her wine glass at the fake concern, suddenly the group was larger and everyone was congratulating Min-he on her engagement, the other woman waving the huge diamond on her finger in her face.

It was so vapid and stupid and she knew that it didn't make her any less of a woman that she didn't have a man but those words still burned. She had noticed that everyone was paired up and she was one of the only people who came alone, she'd been seeing someone before the reunion but at her mention of the gathering he had told her that "things were getting too serious for him" rolling out of her bed while tugging on his underwear and that had been the last she heard from him.

She'd spent the rest of the night on the outskirts avoiding her college mates and later stumbled out on her heels unsteady from the amount of liquor she'd consumed.

That had been her last reunion. She'd pointedly ignored all the invitations since then, the shame of that night still stinging all those years later. They only served as a reminder that she still had no one and regardless of how successful she was at her career she would be deemed undesirable by others.

It was such a fucking joke but she couldn't shake the insecurity despite knowing how false it was.

The sound of keys jingling near the front door knock her free from her reminiscing and she spins around to the sight of Vincenzo struggling to squeeze through the entrance with several bags in his arms, he never wants to make more than one trip- the overachiever. She nods her head in hello before trudging over to him without closing her laptop, greeting him easily with a peck on the lips freeing a few bags from his hands.

"Did you get my cookies?" She asks again despite the various text messages she had sent reminding him about her sweet treats, he rolls his eyes at her again swinging another bag into her waiting hands.

"Here. When I told you to text me necessities, cookies are not what I had in mind." He flicks her forehead lightly silencing her cry of pain with a follow-up kiss to the spot, she grumbles but stuffs the soft baked chocolate chip cookies into her mouth, cheeks puffing out like a chipmunk hoarding food for the winter.

Smooth as a well-oiled machine they put the groceries away, the sound of cabinets opening and closing the soundtrack for their movements. When everything is correctly put away, she makes her way back over to her laptop only then remembering what she'd been doing.

She stares at the screen contemplating her next move before she feels a familiar heavy weight on her shoulder, his breath is hot on her neck when he speaks, "What are you looking at?" He barely waits for her reply covering her hand on the sleek mouse, scrolling down to read the entire email. She waits anxiously in her seat as he reads the words out loud, obviously she had thought about him when she first received the email but her last experience had made her nervous about asking him to attend.

They hadn't been officially dating for long. They'd been too focused on taking down Babel and the aftermath had left them both with unanswered questions about the nature of their relationship. 

Only this time when she asked him the same question she'd been asking since he crash landed into her life unexpectedly, after everything  was over, he'd looked over at her and said in a small voice "Not if you want me to stay."

She'd been a coward and he had taken her silence as rejection and it had taken a dramatic and honestly cliché airport interruption, complete with her pushing past airport staff and screaming his name crying as they told her that the plane to Malta had already taken off.

She'd returned to her house with red rimmed eyes that widened into huge saucers at the sight of him in front of her house, large suitcase beside him.

Gasping she ran into his arms, as terrified as she'd felt that fateful night so long ago in the underpass. 

"I couldn't go."

He tugged her closer, burrowing his face in her thick hair and breathing harshly his voice was raw and rough like he'd been crying too.

"Because of me?" She asked shock laden in her words and that's when he drew away to stare into her eyes and with a defeated nod he said, "Because of you."

The rest had been history. He came inside with her and he hadn't left since.

"Are you going?"

She stills at the inquiry, head dizzy from the memories racing through her mind.

"What?"

He places a finger on the computer screen, "This reunion. Are you going?"

She feels a small sting in her chest at his words, with a sad smile she starts to shake her head in decline but then he chuckles, "We should go. I'll be your arm candy." He teases wagging his eyebrows in her peripheral.

Oh.

"You want to come with me?" She repeats stunned by his casual offer, this seemed huge for some reason and she could feel her heart pounding erratically in her brittle chest.

He finally straightens up walking off to the kitchen grabbing a cup, pulling the fridge open.

"Yeah I mean unless you have another boyfriend you want to bring with you."

She laughs at his joke but internally her blood sings, she didn't want to get her hopes up but now she can barely contain her happiness.

She can always count him to have her back.

Slamming the laptop shut she circumvents the chair running over to him, he looks at her with a raised eyebrow prying the cup of water from his hands she pulls him down into a grateful kiss. He hums low when she slips her tongue into his lax mouth, this kiss vastly different from the peck she'd greeted him with at the door.

She can taste the caffeine on his tongue, the strong flavor of his favorite espresso swirling around her taste buds, pushing him firmer into the counter she laps at his mouth eager for a deeper exploration. He melts under her touch letting her manhandle him and move his head as she sees fit, his complete surrender makes her hot under the collar.

It's with reluctance that she pulls away from his addicting lips.

She smirks as he sways into her body as if intoxicated.

"Sorry. We have to go soon, it's game night."

It's a weekly tradition at the plaza, tonight they're playing Taboo, it had been announced in the group chat that Mr. Nam had forced them to join. It was chaotic with so many different voices there but it made her feel warm, like they were their own little family.

He groans disappointed but nods slowly, adjusting himself discretely but not enough for her vigilant eyes. She stares at the hardon visible through the thin material of his sweatpants.

"Let's go before you get me any more excited." He grumbles, picking up the snacks he'd purchased for tonight. She smiles triumphantly at his back still in disbelief that she has that kind of power over the great Corn Salad, Vincenzo Cassano.

Game night is a success, filled with laughter and playful arguing. They all work together in pairs and their team loses horribly with her accidentally shouting out all the taboo words every time it's her turn. Mi-Ri and Larry Kang- from the dance studio make a great team using dance moves and inside jokes to solve their words in seconds much to everyone’s shock, they both adamantly deny any change in their relationship at the groups subsequent teasing.

Nobody believes them. 

Just like they hadn’t believed her and Vincenzo. 

They get home at midnight and both collapse before they can finish what they started earlier in the kitchen, but cuddling is great too. He’s always the little spoon. 

The reunion isn't a point of conversation again and she almost forgets about it completely until it's Saturday, the day of the event and she wakes up alone. It's not totally abnormal with him being a morning person but she still groans in annoyance at his disappearance. The bed is so cold without his body letting off heat like a human furnace.

The sun is high in the sky when she finally pulls herself out of bed much later, 12:45pm according to her phone and she sits up with a full body stretch, body popping and cracking.

"Vincenzo? Are you here?" She calls out to the empty house, receiving no reply.

With a sigh she goes to shower and brush her teeth, he should be back soon from wherever he went.

When she finally comes out of the bathroom, a cloud of steam following her she pauses at the package on the bed. A huge white box catches her eye, the gold silken bow striking across the large rectangle. Taking a closer step she runs a finger across the smooth material in wonder.

There's a note and immediately she recognizes the distinctive penmanship.

Open me.

Not needing to be told twice she tugs the bow watching it unraveling before lifting the top of the box, peering inside with glowing eyes.

She lets out a soft gasp at the sight of the piercing white material that is almost perfectly camouflaged in the matching box. She lifts it with awe, watching material unfurl until she can see it clearly. It's a dress made from expensive fabric based on the its luxurious feel in her hands and her eyes widen at the cape that hangs lower than the dress itself.

"He was listening to me."

She remembers her group chat with the ladies from the plaza, sending them different options for her reunion and letting them help to pick it her outfit. She wanted something that would garner attention but that still felt like her, and that's when she'd seen it. The new Alexander Wang collection, all white blazer dress with a cape and button details, it looked like luxury and she knew it had to be hers.

The ladies had all been in agreement sending her thumbs up emojis and demanding that she purchase the stunning dress. She'd quickly added it to her cart but much to her dismay as she'd been entering her card information, that dreaded message popped up at the top of her screen.

This item is no longer available. Sorry, try again. 

Her heart had sunk and despite Miri's computer savvy and Yeon-Jin 's online shopping prowess they had not been able to locate the dress on any other site. It was sold out, everywhere.

Or so she thought.

Wordlessly she slips into the dress and surprisingly it fits like a glove, as if it was tailored just for her but that can't be.

"I'll zip that up for you."

She jumps at the dark voice behind her and then a chill runs up her spine at his fingertips on her bare back. He slides the thick curtain of her hair to the side to zip it up the rest of the way, their eyes meet in the full length mirror across the room.

"You look beautiful." He compliments easily, eyes caressing her body from her head down to her bare toes.

She feels like a goddess under his eyes.

"Where did you get this? It was sold out everywhere." She stares at him in wonder and he smiles at her gaping mouth, "I called in a favor. I knew a designer who owed me a favor." He shrugs as if it's nothing that he knows designers who are connected to the Alexander Wang, she's still not used to his influence.

Wait.

"Do you know Alexander Wang?" She shouts in surprise spinning to stare at him and his easy smile and open hand gesture is enough of an answer.

"I got your measurements from Mr.Tak. I wanted tonight to be perfect for you."

Her nerves have been shot all week, it's true that they haven't discussed the reunion at all but that doesn't mean it hasn't been on a mind even haunting her dreams.

She didn't want to be embarrassed again. She knew that she shouldn't let them get to her, she didn't have to prove herself to anyone but for once she just wanted to make them all eat those condescending words. She wanted to show them that she was the same weird girl from high school but she was even more now, also a successful woman and there was nothing wrong with being both sides of those coins. 

Without her even saying one word he'd been able to detect how important this night was for her.

"Thank you." She breathes tears glistening on her eyes, he wraps both arms around her waist beaming at her in the mirror.

"Don't thank me yet you didn't even see the shoes yet."

Without waiting for her answer he steps away to lift a pair of sparkling shoes from the box, the red soles immediately notifying her of the exorbitant brand.

She gapes at the shoes and then a smirking Vincenzo and then back at the shoes, "Are you crazy? Are those Louboutin's?" She asks the obvious question turning the shoes over to stare at the vibrant scarlet soles. A certain Bronxite’s voice blaring in her head about blood shoes. 

"They did say the theme was luxury. I thought these were just right for you." Squealing like a kid in candy store she sits down on the bed with both shoes in hand, but before she can slip them on he's lowering himself to his knees. The sight is enough to stop her in her tracks, her traitorous imagination running wild at the implications and possibilities. When he takes the shoes from her loose grip she merely watches as he slides the shoes onto her feet, just like the dress they too fit perfectly.

"I feel like Cinderella." She chuckles trying to break the tension and the swell in her chest but his bright smile only makes her chest constrict tighter, she doesn't know if she'll survive tonight.

"Hong Cha-young!" She freezes at the sound of Ae-ram's squealing voice only pausing for a moment before turning with a tense smile.

Here we go.

The woman is flagged by her usual posse and parrots, who are always ready to echo her biting remarks and she gulps down her dirty martini needing some liquid courage.

As if sensing her unease instantly Vincenzo takes the hand that was artistically placed in the pocket of his fitting white dress pants and curls it around her waist, grounding her with the simple touch. She turns to him and he greets her with a calming smile that she can't help but return.

I've got your back. He says with only a slight lift of his lips.

She takes a deep breath.

Ae-ram's smile dims as she gets closer to them, her eyes honed on the hand on her hip and she leans fully into the warm body pressed against her side.

Min-he speaks first, an equally constipated smile on her face, "Who's this? You've never brought anyone before. Is this a work friend?" She almost rolls her eyes at the ridiculous question, as if work friends would be this comfortable with each other. They're already finding excuses, grasping at straws and creating complicated solutions for something that is easy to understand simply because they don’t think she’s worthy of attention. That large hand tightens lightly before a light chuckle reaches her ear, “Vincenzo Cassano, lawyer and the lucky man who gets to call her my mine.” She fidgets in his hold blushing at his bold introduction and watching all eyes widen at them, nobody speaks at first clearly in shock at the revelation. 

“Vinshenzo? What kind of name is that?” Someone harps from the back of the crowd and she feels her hackles rise, yes she might have struggled with the pronunciation of his name at first but it felt petty and intentional right now not an honest mistake like her mispronunciation had been. 

But before she can unleash her anger, another old classmates breaks the tense stalemate.

“Oh you’re the Italian lawyer I heard about on the new, who took down Babel! Great job!” 

She had also helped with that, them being a team but nobody seems to care about that all focusing on Vincenzo, all herding around her Italian like he’s a celebrity and she watches shock as he easily wins them over. 

“Sì, ero io. Il piacere è tutto tuo.” Yes that was me, the pleasure is all yours. 

The group minus Ae-ram and Min-he all oh and ah at his effortless Italian despite having no clue what exactly he just said, she too is clueless at the quickly stated sentence but the mischievous smirk on his handsome face informs her of all that she needs to know, he is mocking them right to their faces. She hides a smile behind her hands, pretending to cough into her fingers. 

Wordlessly, the group separates based on sex-she watches helplessly as Vincenzo is tugged away in a boisterous discussion about the state of Korean football- and she is left alone with those harpies but unlike the other reunions suddenly she is the most interesting woman there, regardless of Ae-ram trying to steal the show with pictures of her new full breed dog. She watches amused as the other woman is pushed aside and she is accosted on both sides, questions firing off like rockets. 

“Where did you meet him?”

“Does he have a brother?”

“When are you getting married? You have to marry him!”

“Does he always smell that good?”

She turns flabbergasted to hear that question coming from Ae-ram’s right hand woman, Min-he and Ae-ram glares at her looking betrayed before she storms off with her professional head shots of her dog. She expects Min-he to trail after the spiteful primadonna but to her shock the other woman moves in closer, joining the firing brigade with their million questions about the handsome Italian. 

They all settle down when the man they are so curious about returns, hand back on her waist like that its resting place. 

Her ears ring from their coos and shrill “awws” but she leans into him nonetheless happy to have him back, already exhausted dealing with these people. 

Then she notes that the tone of the questions suddenly shift as they begin to bombard the Italian Korean all at once. There are....more flirtatious when speaking to him and she feels her blood curl at the unprecedented change. 

“Are all Italians this handsome?” Her eye twitches at the bold inquiry, subconsciously she feels her eyes narrow into slits as she glares at the woman who was brave stupid enough to ask that. The bitch blanches at her sneer but still flutters her eyelashes at Vincenzo waiting for his response, she clears her throat loudly answering for him, “He’s one of a kind and fortunately all mine. “ She can feel the smug bastard preening next to her practically buzzing from her compliment, and she quickly makes their escape, “Please excuse us.” Vincenzo smoothly tips his drinks at the women, “Addio,” he bids farewell in Italian arm still hooked around her waist as she sashays away, Louboutin's clicking on the marble tile floor. 

The scrap of Italian leaves them all in a frenzy, whispering wildly behind them. 

She drags them to the bar, ordering two shots of soju and another dirty martini ignoring his examining stare. 

“You’re enjoying this aren’t you?” She already knows the answer to her question, it’s written all over him and she tries to stifle the jealousy that wants to rear its  ugly head. 

He looks over at her with a lazy grin, trying to appear innocent. She isn’t fooled for one second. 

“Me? I’m not doing anything. I’m only here for you.” 

She scoffs at him, staring at his annoyingly handsome face and his gleaming white suit he discarded the jacket earlier and his arms have been distracting her all night. 

“You love the attention.” 

He rubs his neck before turning to her fully, leaning on the bar counter. 

“What? Are you jealous of the attention I’m getting? isn’t that why you brought me to make you look good?” 

She wants to deny it and laugh at him, but even now she can hear the voices in the distance all intrigued by the Italian and the bartender’s eyes linger just a minute too long as the smooth Lawyer throws his free shot back in one fluid motion. She should be used to it by now, everyone in a ten mile radius getting a hard on for the Korean Italian. She understands why he gets all this attention, he is gorgeous that was one of the many reasons that she had fallen for him too but sometimes it can be intimidating to be with someone that so many others desire and so obviously too. 

She wonders if she even deserves him. 

Was she enough for him? 

“What’s going on in that pretty little head?” He taps her on her forehead dragging her from her self-deprecation. “Do you know why they’re all so mean to you?” He suddenly asks and she stares at him before shaking her head no. 

Probably because she’s a hot fucking mess. 

“They’re jealous of you.” 

A burst of laughter slips free at this speculation and she watches as his face tightens, “You really don’t know do you?” His voice is liquid fire, smoky and dark like the tendrils from a cigarette. 

“What are you talking about?” She manages to get out despite being lost in his voice. 

“How sexy you are.” He leans over to whisper directly in her heated ears, she moans lightly at his breath on her skin. 

That is hardly ever a word that she has heard used to describe her, Hong Cha-young. 

Clumsy. Forgetful. Selfish. Loud. Demanding. Too Much. 

Those words she had heard all her life but never sexy. She was too strange to be sexy. 

“You’re smart and beautiful and you have a successful career. You aren’t afraid to be yourself and now you have me on your arm. You have everything and they wish they were you, they’re jealous.” He repeats firmer this time, rubbing a large thumb across her bottom lip and grinning down at her with barely contained glee. 

She starts to deny his claim but then she looks behind her and sees nothing but a sea of envy, women and men both looking at them and she notes not all eyes are on Vincenzo a few men seemed lost in the low cut dip of her dress and the miles of naked skin on display. 

She gasps at the hard line that pokes at her bottom when he leans into her back, standing flush her back to his front. She shivers when he leans down to breathily say, “Everyone is watching, why don’t we give them a show?” 

This is not like her, at all. 

She has never been a fan of public displays of affection, even screaming at horny strangers in the past to get a room but she feels all that restraint leave her body at his challenge. Driving her body back into his jutting erection she slowly grinds in perfect rhythm to the song playing over the stereo. 

undefined

She feels seductive as the music curls around her and she lifts her arms to wrap around his neck, bringing him ever closer and pushing back harder delighted at the groan that escapes his lips. He is coiled tightly behind her but he doesn’t move a muscle letting her have complete control over their interaction and she has never felt more powerful. Continuing to sway she leans back when he tightens his grip around her waist, mewling as his nose rubs at her earlobe and letting out a soft gasp when he blows on the tender flesh. 

When she peels her heavy lids open, there are so many hungry and watchful eyes on them. 

Ae-ram looks scandalized and she can see the woman pointing at them but she can’t hear a word that she’s saying the blood in her ears is too loud, drowning out all other sounds. 

It must be the liquor in her veins because seeing all the voyeurs only makes her bolder, before she can second guess herself she spins around much to Vincenzo’s chagrin but she silences him with a finger on his lip. 

“Follow me.” 

He arches a thin eyebrow but eagerly obeys her command when she tugs him in the direction of the bathroom. 

She hears several gasps behind her as she tugs open the door stepping inside, dragging him right behind her the silence is deafening when he closes the door behind them, turning the lock with a metallic snap. 

Her breath comes out in hurried puffs. 

What the fuck am I doing? She asks herself, wondering if this is what people call an out of body experience. 

“We don’t have to do anything. Their imaginations will do the rest.” 

He’s giving her an out. 

Gripping his hands tighter, she pulls him over to the toilet which is thankfully clean using her feet to slam the seat down before pushing down him to sit. He looks up at her with inquisitive eyes, waiting for her next move but lets himself be manhandled the second time this night. 

“Thank you for everything tonight,” she covers his mouth with her hands as she climbs into his lap, whatever words he had on his tongue evaporate when their groins meet. 

“I know I don’t say this enough, but I love you.”  

She has only ever said it once before and he’d been sleeping, they both knew he wasn’t truly asleep but he let her pretend and she appreciated it but there was no way she couldn’t say it now, tonight. He had been her prince charming when she had expected nothing. 

“Are you serious? You say it to me in her-” She pops open his pants button cutting off his stunned response and he stares at her, making her feel hot. 

“Talk later?” She begs and her request is backed by her hand disappearing through the slit in his pants and wrapping around his dick, the hot muscle twitching fiercely in her hold. 

He chokes out word that sounds like a jumbled “yes” and that’s all the consent she needs to stroke him harder, using his precum to glide her hand down from the tip to the base and then back up again, he lets out a punched out groan at her purposeful handling of his imported goods. 

Shifting back marginally, she gives herself more room tugging his pants down further to get a better look at the pretty pink cock, it’s standing at attention and weeping for her and rubs harder twisting in a corkscrew motion on the mushroom head much to his pleasure, he thrusts up into her hand and immediately she lets go. 

“Please,” he whines so prettily and she tsks at him, “Don’t move, you can only take what I give you. You said you were mine right?” 

She doesn’t know what has come over her but seeing all those women and men lusting over her boyfriend makes her want to remind them and him, just who he belongs to. 

She expects him to put up some sort of fight, instead he nods eagerly at her command stilling his hip and she can see the strain in his white knuckled grip on the toilet edge. 

“Good boy.” She praises and notes with stunned satisfaction the way his dick jumps at the praise too, interesting. 

She starts with a light pace, stroking with the barest amount of pressure before she starts to grip him tighter when he groans at the dryness of her hands she leans over to spit on his head, this makes him hiss and fight to stay still in her grip she rewards him with a kiss to his flushed red head. The wet sounds of her hands stroking his hot meat fills the small space of the bathroom and lifting one hand she grabs his tie using it to yank him into a hard kiss, he opens up for her immediately letting her tongue explore his mouth. 

She has never seen this mafia man so docile, it’s like seeing a lion behave like a house cat. 

With a hard suck at his bottom lip, she breaks their kiss leaving them to pant into each other’s mouth harshly. 

She didn’t know how far she actually planned on going but now nothing seems like enough, she needs more. 

Staring deep into his eyes, she stands up releasing her grip on him and he sighs watching her confused before she slides both hands under her dress and slowly pulls down her panties, they are tiny, white and lace, matching her bra and he looks mesmerized as they are pried down her legs. 

“Are you sure?” He’s still checking on her and she smiles at him, stepping out of the panties and cheekily putting them in his pocket, “Give them safe for me,” she doesn’t give him a chance to reply before sinking back down onto him, his dick is hard and thick but she’s so wet that he glides into her like they are two matching pieces of a puzzle.  An erotic puzzle. 

“Fuck!” He shouts when he bottoms out and his cock is completely encased in her tight walls, his voice echoes off the bathroom walls. 

She grabs his tie, making his eyes pop open and she watches amused as he sputters as she stuffs the expensive material into his mouth. 

“You’re being too loud.” She teases remembering all the times he had been the one admonishing her as she screamed beneath him. 

“You’re enjoying this aren’t you?” He echoes her words from spitting out the tie and she can’t deny it, so instead she rocks forward taking even more of him simultaneously shoving the wet tie back into his mouth listening to his barely muffled grunts. She rises up on the tips of her toes, her red bottoms giving her that extra bit of height, his hard tip popping free with a wet squelch before she slams back down onto him titling her head back and moaning to the ceiling. 

He’s being so good, not moving at all simply letting her fuck down on him and she can tell his control is slipping every time he grips her waist too tightly, painfully. 

She continues to ride him, chasing her own pleasure and whimpering when his blunt head slides across her engorged bead, rocking vigorously up and down as she feels the end drawing near. She tightens her hold on his shoulder, using him as leverage to ride him faster, his thighs tense under the weight of her body and her rapid pace. 

The wet smacks fill the air filthily and she feels dirty, absolutely nasty but instead of shame an intense wave of pride barrels over her. 

“You’re mine.” She whispers out loud to herself but he misinterprets the words and eagerly nods at the statement thinking she wants him to declare that he’s hers, “Yes I am yours, all yours,” and she loses her mind, pistoning herself rapidly on his lap before pleasure surges through her body, starting in her toes and curling up her thighs and she rocks her nipples into his chest through their layers of clothes, she muffles her cry in his throat roughly pulling at the skin there to silence her deafening screams. 

It’s only then that he breaks the rules, reaching up to grab her shoulders and yanking her down to meet his vicious upward thrust and waves and waves of thick streams fill her up until she feels it leaking at the sides. 

There is no sound besides their louds pants. 

Then two loud knocks make them both jump from their wrecked state, his softening length falling from her grip. 

“This is the only bathroom.” A voice calls out disgusted and with a gasp she stands up straightening her dress and running a hand through her hair before realizing that it’s still sticky, great. 

Vincenzo is a puddle on the toilet, legs spread apart and softened dick not yet tugged away, he looks like sin reincarnated and it takes everything not to initiate another round. 

“Come on lover boy,” she tugs him up pulling him up and zipping up his pants, then she moves him over to the sink washing her hands and making him do the same. Their eyes meet in the mirror and that’s when she sees much how debauched they truly look, when he turns to look at the hickey she sucked into his pale skin while trying to be quiet she finally feels the ability to be embarrassed returning. 

it’s huge and red, almost purple, covering the thick column of his throat and he winces when he rubs at it. 

“I’m sorry, I got carried away.” She apologizes but its for naught because he grins at her proudly, “You were just claiming what’s yours.” 

His words light another fire under her skin and it’s only the pounding on the door that stops her from jumping him again. 

When they finally pull the door open, none other than a blanched face Ae-ram is on the other side. The woman looks shocked to see them both standing in front of her and the gears begin to slowly turn and a bright blush rushes up her unnaturally high cheekbones while color evacuates the rest of her face. 

“Are you serious?!” 

She doesn’t stay to hear the rest of the woman’s snide remark, all eyes are on them as she walks over to the bar to grab her discarded purse and Vincenzo’s jacket, the bartender winks knowingly at them looking equal parts aroused and jealous and she chortles, winking back. 

He hands them two shots, “It’s on the house,” he looks them up and down languidly licking his lips and she slams back the bitter liquid before turning to Vincenzo, his lips are shiny and now wet under the bright lights. 

“Let’s get out of here.” She slams the shot glass on the counter, pulling him out the door. 

He hastily swallows his drink, letting her tug him out the door into the cool night air. 

“You didn’t let me answer you before, but me too.” 

She looks at him from the corner of her eye, the wind causing her to sober up and it takes a minute to understand what he’s talking about. She shifts awkwardly when she ultimately realizes nodding while looking away, their cab is three minutes away. 

“I love you too, Hong Cha- young.” 

As if she didn’t already know. It was too obvious after tonight. 

[chiwhorei]

who prays for the headsman?

paring: k. kyoutani x fem!reader

genre: angst, smut, 18+ minors dni

word count: 3.2k

warnings: size kink, crying, oral (f. receiving), major character death, pseudo-incest, stepcest, violence (not a gorey depiction), stabbing, a mention of blood, medieval beheading, angst okay this is sad you have been warned

a/n: Hello! HQHQ monthly collab time, sinners! I’m super excited to share this with you all, it was truly a work of love. All of the other amazing fantasy collab pieces can be found here!

hymns: murder song (5, 4, 3, 2, 1) - AURORA, the judge - twenty one pilots

“The girl’s mother and I are to be wed with haste,” Kyoutani Kentarou’s father pats his small head, smoothing down the blond locks, “Be sure to make y/n feel comfortable. She isn’t your blood, but she’s your family now, son.”

From the moment his father brought you and your mother home, still wrapped in thick mourning veils and tears, his cross to bare was you.

You needed barely an introduction before melting into the comfort of Kentarou. Wrapping your small hands around his middle and burying your face against his neck. Your stiff black dress crinkles against him. The contact was a magnetic, instantaneous spell. Like moth meeting flame, and Kyoutani would burn for it until the next lifetime. The bubbling, itching hellfire marring his tanned skin for two decades.

It’s easier to see the resulting moments in pieces. Shiny, silver blade raised high and gleaming in the light, a sharp swipe of the weapon through the stale air, and finally a thump of weight against the ground below. Still, quiet, and absolute. There’s no escaping the headman’s blade.

The virgin light of dawn rouses Kyoutani from a fitful night of sleep, he stretches his arm out to find your form and only catches the empty shell of blankets you’ve left behind. You’re always awake to greet the cresting rays of light as if they need your permission before ascending to greet the rest of the townspeople. You are the end and beginning of each day.

He finds you sat by the stone fireplace, nightdress hanging off of your shoulders and shawl wrapped tightly to keep the winter’s air at bay. You’ve always preferred the springtime. Even so, the smile that turns at the ends of your lips warms his body like the pouring of melted honey. He basks in you for a moment from afar, as close as he ever feels worthy of being.

“How did you sleep?” Your hand reaches out as he moves farther into the cottage’s main room, touching the warmth of his bare chest. Kyoutani pulls you into him, pressing a kiss to your temple and folding your head against the crook of his neck. Your question goes unanswered, as you both already know: there’s never much rest gifted to the headsman.

A tall wisteria tree sits just outside of town. It’s branches are long and decaying. No flowers bloom on a tree the gods have forgotten. But that doesn't deter you from airy footsteps carrying you to it’s base.

“There’s nothing you can do, y/n,” Kyoutani presses, reaching his arms out to ensure you don’t fall, “there’s no fixing rotten roots.”

You scoff, bunching up your skirt at the ends and kneeling at the large trunk.

Where you bound forward without care, your Kentarou is always there to catch you. As you stoop down by the lifeless tree, his stern eyes narrow. You lay your hands against the rough bark, rubbing upwards and back down. All you need is the notion of life. Your eyes shut in concentration, fingers dancing along the coarse texture. It’s there, deep inside, waiting for you to tug at and rouse back to life. You can see it just behind your eyelids, purples and long flora hanging down, surrounding you in it’s beauty.

“H-how did you do that, y/n?” Kyoutani is cemented in shock behind you, where naked, ghoulish limbs once sat are now filled with swaying, violet life.

“I dunno, I get a tingling feeling in my hands. Here,” You pull him down to sit on the ground, pressing your palms to his cheeks. Your touch is like balm on a wound, he closes his eyes and leans in further. His forehead presses against your own. Your hands cradle the sides of his face, thumbs tracing over the soft skin in soothing patterns.

This is wrong, even as a boy no taller than prairie grass; he knows how wrong this feeling is.

“Do you feel it, Kenta?”

Kyoutani’s job isn’t to decide a person's fate, but the blood still soaks his hands all the same. His walk home is always to the beat of heavy, warning footsteps. His figure is looming, shrouded in thick leather and chain medal. The faulted axe hangs by his side, gripped tightly and weighed down with the heavy smell of iron. He counts his sins every night, prays for absolution but still scrubs the blood of strangers off of his arms and wraps you up in them.

“You fucking bastard,” a strangers voice sounds behind Kyoutani like a siren. He hears the rustling of critics followed by the feeling of a stone thrown against his back.

“You murdered my brother. He was a good man and you killed him.” Kyoutani sighs deeply, he knows the blame will fall on him with every swing his blade makes, so any retort is swallowed. There’s never much reason to quabble, as word travels in a small town like water through a sieve.

“I know who you are, Kyoutani Kentarou. Your father was a good man, and your sweet little sister grew up to be quite the-” All reason shatters under Kyoutani’s boot in an instant, feet carrying him in his hecklers’ direction. His clenched fist meeting the man’s eye socket with deadly force, vision blurring and reason fleeting. He shouldn’t be handing out home brewed justice, but there’s no rationale exercised when your name passes through a strangers mouth.

Kyoutani is a strong man, but fighting three against one would be a losing battle no matter what. No matter how noble his intent is, a sharp knife to the stomach is impossible to ignore. The stranger twists the dagger, bringing his face to Kyouatani’s ear.

“Say hi to your dear ole’ dad for me, eh?”

He hears the man’s snide voice against the pounding in his head. He feels cold and far away, falling down a tunnel with no bottom.

“They’ll be coming for you, y/n,” Your lover's voice lilts against your back, but you don’t turn to meet his eyes just yet. Your hands busy themselves against the familiar grooves of bark. The wisteria’s flowers create a sanctuary from the cruelty of the outside world. It’s a sanctuary, but this spot is one of original sin. The first brush of lips sealed fate years ago that will be actualized by daybreak.

“I know, Kenta-” Your soft voice usually calms the blonde man in front of you, but under the plague of circumstance, your words are sharp spikes against his heart.

“Why did you do it then? How could you be so careless? The mark of a witch means only one thing.” Kyoutani’s stern voice cuts you off, holding you in place, “You never think about the consequences of your reckless heart. Look at me, woman.” His body towers over you, broad chest against your back. His hand finds your jaw, pulling it harshly to force eye contact. Darkened brown eyes fall upon your watery ones and his angry facade shatters like pottery in the small space between your two bodies. You sniffle in his hold, fat tears run down your cheeks as you stutter a response.

“I couldn’t let you die, you’re the only family I have left. I- I love you, Kenta.” A sob rips through you, the declaration isn’t a new one, but it’s context is uniquely heartbreaking. Kyoutani pulls you into him immediately, wrapping strong, scarred arms around your shoulders. You cling to him, a piece of history repeating itself as it likes to do, wrapped in each other and the royal purples of wisteria.

Your lips quiver an inch away from his, stained with salty tears. Kyoutani feels the warmth of plush skin dangled in front of him, there’s an urgency rushing through him where he’s usually hesitant. There isn’t much more time. Without consulting the angel on his right shoulder, two large hands cup your face and pull your lips against his own.

Your cries are muffled by the sloppy pull of your own tongue into Kyoutani’s mouth. As his traces over yours with a chorus of nips and licks, his hands fall to your waist to bunch up the fabric against your hips. The action causes your body to press flush to his crotch.

“We have one more night together, Kenta. Please.” Your words don’t need much appraisal, you could ask Kyoutani to pull the skies down with his bare hands and he would tear the blankets off of any gods above without a second thought. One more night.

Kyoutani unwraps himself from around your form to sit down on the spongy grass below. The terrain is soft and forgiving despite its location in the dense forest. He watches you above him, angelically outlined in the soft moonlight. The personification of virtue and goodness glimmering off of you like an aura. The purest beauty to ever exist, and he’s at the helm of it’s destruction.

The sound of your dress pooling at your feet pulls him from mulling over his past transgressions. His eyes follow a line up from said garment to where your bare cunt is nestled between hip bones. His gaze climbs farther, lacerating the memory of every dip and curve so they scar against his heart. He needs to remember everything.

You join him on the soft grass, knees swung on either side of his large thighs. His hands find your hips again, pressing into the flesh as you begin to rock lightly against him. Your movement is disastrous to his resolve, the tension in his body delivers harsh oval bruises against the skin of your ass.

“I love you. I love you. I love you.” Your confessions are accented by kisses against Kyoutani’s cheeks and lips. Your soul, your heart, your everything are each other’s; and tonight is the final assemblage.

Kyoutani’s touch is like scarlet fever against your body, burning in its journey to grope any flesh he could reach. His fingers have to cement this feeling into his fingerprints, after tonight only the phantom pains of you will remain.

“You feel so good Kenta. S-So right.” Your mewls rattle around against his skull, as one palm comes down to meet your heated pussy. The most morally abject sin he’s committed- even counting the heads that roll by his feat every day- is you. But still; he can’t argue the morality of your body writhing naked above him when his cock is already straining angrily against the leather of his pants. His fingers trace down from the hip bone to where your puffy lips sit. It’s amazing how sweet, how soft you are. Where Kyoutani is calloused and harsh, you are smooth and silken. Perfection. Depravity.

As one thick finger proads against your hole, your hips buck with new resolve. You crave more than just fleeting touches and stolen glances. You want him to let go completely, something he’s only done a handful of times. You need him to.

“I’m not made of ceramic Kyoutani. You treat me like a child, but I’m stronger than you seem to believe.” You use your family name for punctuation, but the sentence comes out melted on the edges when he sticks another digit in to join the first.

“Don’t you think I know that, y/n. Fuck. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known,” a resounding slap meets your ass, jolting you farther against his fingers, “but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t protect you. That’s my job, damnit.” His thumb finds your swollen clit with ease even within his flustered state and presses down, “I failed you.”

You don’t trust your own voice to answer, you know nothing you could say would ease his heart. All you can do is push forward in hopes that one night can make up for the life he’ll have to live without you. Your hands move down to loosen his suffocating pants, wobbly knees digging against the ground as he eases the leather down his legs.

Your hand grabs a hold of his hard cock, stroking from his thick base to reddened tip. The touch is familiar. Something that wracks him with guilt but fills his soul with warmth. It’s always been your touch. Similar to the sparks rendered from striking flint, your touch lights up his every nerve

Kentarou’s fingers move back to work you open for him, your head falls back, causing the fat of your tits to bounce against his chest. His other rough hand comes up to palm your breasts, pinching your hardened nipple and pulling down. You cry out in pleasure at the attention, senses overwhelmed by your lover’s ministrations.

“Please, please do something.” Your voice is desperate against the shell of his ear, pleading for more. More of Kentarou, and naively, for more time.

With a swift, practiced movement, the blonde moves you to lay against the grass. He removes the blood-stained shirt from his chest and kicks off his pants. His body eclipses yours, shielding you from view. You’re surrounded by him, the heady scent of sweat, the sound of the racing heart against his ribcage like a trapped songbird. It’s all Kyoutani, it always has been; your home, your confessional, the safest reprieve and your most vile secret.

Kyoutani’s cock is freed from its confines to slap deftly against his stomach. Your mouth tries to swallow as if filled with dried tea leaves, his size isn’t always the most accommodating. Even so, you lift up on one elbow to curl your fingers around his shaft and groan once again when your pointer finger and thumb don’t meet. Kyoutani opens his mouth to speak but you answer before the words fall.

“Don’t be gentle, Kentarou, ” your dwarfed hand tugs him towards you, creating a dizzying pressure, “I can take it.”

There’s no room for argument in your words, so he dips down to kiss your lips once again. “Let me taste you, y/n. Just one more time.” His eyes hold flames but regard you as softly as possible. You nod in agreement. His lips running down from your neck to your hips, you feel the chapped skin against your own. With each peck, a path of tears follow in tandem. His shaky cries are hidden behind the moans being pulled from your lungs. You don’t acknowledge it, for doing so would just make the wracking pain even worse.

There’s no use speaking of your combined suffering, it’s already dug it’s blade into Kyoutani’s vertebrae.

Once his mouth reaches your wet pussy, there’s nothing left of his conscious. Where guilt usually lies, madness replaces. The first swipe of his tongue is painfully slow, he has to savor this taste, your taste. Your soft, swollen lips are the gods’ manna and he’s been given one last chance to indulge. Kyoutani’s tongue finds your clit and flicks upward, just the way that’s always made you squeal. You’re coating his chin in slick, and nothing else will ever quench his thirst like this again. He could stay in between your legs for the next century, but rips himself away from your dripping cunt.

Your mouth is captured in his again, tongue and cheeks coated in your own arousal. The feeling distracting you from the reddened tip prodding at your tight hole. You suck in a sharp breath as you’re worked open. Every vein and ridge tugs against your snug walls. It hurts, it always does, but there’s nothing that’s ever felt better either. You bite his collarbone in a feeble attempt to keep quiet, nails cresting small shapes against his back as he slides farther and farther in.

“My pretty girl, so perfect for me.” Kyoutani’s hips meet your ass, giving you a moment to acclimate. You’re pulled taut around him, cock dragging against you as he pulls back. He remembers your previous words. I can take it.

His hips slam against you with ferocity. Every expanse of fat on you bounces. Thighs, tits, ass- all moving with the pace he sets. His cock is begging for release with every union of his tip to your cervix. A litany of cries and pleas fill the surrounding air, lilting around to bounce against the drooping flowers.

“Please Kenta, I’m- I’m going to.” Your sentence breaks off at the end but he puts them back together. He coos you, “I know, little one. Let go for me.” He presses two fingers against your clit once more to rub tight circles.

Your toes curl against the grass below you, body locking up as the blood running through your veins is replaced with gooey syrup. Years of tension and shame pull tightly against your body and snap in an instant.

Kyoutani can’t hold off his own orgasm any longer, not with the vice grip you have on him.

Not with the sound of the constable's horses drawing closer to the old wisteria tree.

It’s easier to see the resulting moments in pieces.

Kyoutani’s blade is sharpened meticulously. “A dull axe is worlds more painful.” Even as his heart is being torn from under his breast bone, webs of muscle and tendon snapping like sewing floss the closer he walks to your kneeling form, he remembers his father’s words.

The ringing in his ear drowns out the sound of your sentence being passed, it’s better he doesn't hear the official crimes you are posed with, lest he swings his weapon against the priest instead. He wants to reach out, to untie you and run away, to find a new world. A world where he hears the pattering of little footsteps and sees chubby hands clinging against your apron. A world where he wakes up to your wrinkled cheeks and graying hair.

Shiny, silver blade raised high and gleaming in the light, a sharp swipe of the weapon through the stale air, and finally a thump of weight against the ground below. Still, quiet, and absolute.

There’s no escaping the headman’s blade.

The wisteria tree is the beginning and end. Long, purple flowers sealing fate. Kyoutani pulls reluctant feet to the tree's base, his forehead pressing against the bark. He turns around and slides down to sit against the trunk. His hands roam against the texture of the grass beneath him. He remembers the spindly branches and decaying wood from years ago when he closes his eyes, he remembers your hands clawing back it’s life from the lowest level of hell.

When his eyes open again, they are met with yours. Soft, beautiful, and achingly familiar. You smile, lips turning upwards and teeth peaking out slightly. Your hand reaches out to cup his face, a dull crackle of warmth reaches his skin where forest fires use to smolder. It’s not the same, but it’s you. He knows it’s you somehow. Whether it be a cruel trick from the gods or his brain succumbing to madness. It’s still you. Your warmth is surrounding him again, and it feels almost right.

“Do you feel it, Kenta?” Your voice is warped and echoes like a hollow drum, he can’t help the tears falling in thick streams. It’s you. He reaches out to touch you, but his hands remain empty and cold. You disappear in a second, your face vanishing from where he swore he could almost feel your lips against his own.

You leave him once again and take the bright flowers of wisteria with you.

all writing is dymphnasprose’s original content, please do not repost or modify. do no read my content as asmr.©️

[luminescencefics]

you feel like home - part eight

It seems that Harry feels the same, because she can hear him replying, “Of course I didn’t forget your birthday! How about you turn the telly on and wait for me, yeah? I’ll cook you my famous eggy bread and we’ll kick off your big day properly.”

Ryan hears Jackson squeal excitedly and she almost wishes she wasn’t buried underneath Harry’s duvet so that she could see his gleaming grin. And just before she can hear the door shut, Jackson asks, “Can we still invite Ryan and Luna to my party?”

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*** In Which Five is a Big Number

“Oh my god, Ryan.”

Ryan’s almost positive there’s no better sound than Harry groaning her name. It’s somehow scratchy yet completely audible, and Ryan can hear the little breathy sounds in between each syllable. It’s a juxtaposition of breathlessness and clear-cut clarity, and when her name falls off his lips like a secret, she feels special that it’s only for her ears to hear.

The tip of her nose tickles the thin patch of hair at the bottom of his naval, and when she feels him hit the back of her throat and tears start to spring from her eyes, he lets out another guttural “Christ, Ryan,” and she knows he’s very close to falling apart.

They’ve spent the past two months getting acquainted with each other’s bodies. After Harry finally kissed Ryan in her living room, he carried her over to the couch and they snogged like teenagers—all bitten lips and roaming tongues, knocking teeth and wandering hands. When Ryan started rutting against his thigh and the tightness in Harry’s pants became unbearable, they separated and decided to take things slow.

But that was two months ago. Now, if things went any slower, they’d be stagnant.

Those first three weeks they kissed so much that Ryan’s jaw ached and Harry’s lips were permanently raw. He wanted to take things slow because he assumed Ryan would grow overwhelmed with each next step they took. But one night after Ryan came over for dinner and pretended to say goodnight to Jackson, she waited in the hallway until Harry was certain Jackson was down for the night, and when his front door ripped open and his hands grasped her arms, he dragged her onto his couch and kissed her like he did every other night before that. 

But Ryan was growing restless, and while she thought it was admirable the way Harry wanted to be patient with her, she was practically losing her mind with the way his hands stayed planted on her ass and never went anywhere else, the way his lips kissed every inch of her skin above the neckline of her shirt, the way she would be begging for more and Harry wouldn’t oblige. 

Even though Ryan could barely look at Harry those first two months they were tiptoeing around each other, she knew that right now—with his mouth licking at the underside of her jaw and his hands squeezing the thick fleshy parts of her ass—she was going to fucking lose it if he didn’t do anything more.

Because they’ve finally figured it out. The unanswered questions that were plaguing them in the beginning have slowly been answered with every moment she spends with him. The lingering gazes and unknown feelings finally meant something to both of them. But now—now that she’s had a taste and gotten a glimpse of what Harry could do to her, she’s practically gone crazy thinking about it all. 

Ryan’s never been more sure of one thing in her entire life. And it’s that if she and Harry go any slower, she’ll burst.

So in a blind moment of bravery, Ryan reached down between the pair of them and palmed the growing bulge in his trousers. His mouth ripped from her skin and his head fell back against the armrest of his leather couch, a deep moan working its way through his throat. And when it finally exploded from his parted cherry lips, Ryan could feel herself freefalling, losing sight of everything in front of her and crashing aimlessly below.

“Shit, Ryan.” His voice was strained and Ryan loved every second of it, and before she could have a conscious thought of what she was actually doing, her hands undid the black button with ease and her tiny fingers worked their way through his zipper, and suddenly she was reaching into his briefs and feeling him completely. 

That was the first time she ever heard Harry groan like that, and Ryan’s almost positive she’s been addicted to the sound ever since.

That first night on Harry’s brown leather couch started a series of sneaking in and out of each other’s flats during all hours of the day just to get a piece of the other. Harry would slip out of his own when Jackson was down for his afternoon kip, opening Ryan’s front door and tasting her until he heard his mobile buzz with the sounds of Jackson’s stirrings. He’d sneak out just as quickly as he came, leaving her with a mouth-tingling kiss and the overwhelming urge of wanting more more more. 

Ryan would come over for dinner almost every other night, keeping the hidden touches and stolen kisses between the two of them without Jackson truly understanding what was happening. And when it was time for Jackson to go to bed, she’d say her goodbyes and wait for Harry in the hallway until his grabby hands were on her own, dragging her back inside. They’d fool around in Harry’s bedroom quietly, swallowing each other’s giggles and grinning whenever stars exploded behind their eyelids. 

Harry knew that if he dragged his teeth around Ryan’s earlobe she’d practically become a writhing mess below him. Ryan knew that if she wrapped a dainty hand around the column of Harry’s neck and licked at the piece of skin where his collarbone met his shoulder, his eyes would roll in the back of his head. Harry knew that Ryan was shy whenever he’d start kissing at the skin just underneath her belly button, simultaneously making sure that his green eyes never left her brown ones—because direct eye contact while he was lapping at the most sensitive parts of her body made her want to look at the ceiling or close her eyes tightly. But when they would switch positions and Ryan was the one in between Harry’s legs, she knew that sneaking a glance up at him while her mouth was around him was the exact thing that would bring him over the edge.

And she loved every second of it. She loved being the person bringing somebody like Harry to his end, watching the way his cheeks flushed a deep red color and his mouth opened widely, the way his chest would constrict and his hands would grip the closest thing to him—which most of the time was Ryan’s hips that she happily allowed him to bruise—the way his eyes would shut at the actual last moment, making sure to remember the way everything looked around him before his vision blurred with desire and his body vibrated, completely spent. And when it was all over and he would breathe deeply, a quiet hum resonated through his body that made Ryan’s heart flutter and her body wrap around his own like two magnets with opposite polarities. 

Harry loved how confident Ryan grew around him in these moments. While her cheeks still tinged pink whenever he would compliment her as she removed a layer of clothing, she knew exactly what she wanted and felt comfortable enough to tell him. She would tell him that she liked when he gripped her hair, she would tell him that she liked when he ran his tongue down the front of her body, she would tell him that when he gripped her too hard at times that she didn’t really mind it—in fact, she enjoyed it, she wanted it. And with each time they explored a new part of one another, she would grow much more at ease, until she was the one encouraging him to try new things.

And he was fucking addicted. 

Ryan tried not to make a habit out of staying over, because explaining to Jackson what was going on while she was trying to sneak out of Harry’s bedroom wearing one of his obnoxious graphic tees was completely mind-boggling to her. She didn’t want to make Jackson feel uncomfortable—and while Harry and Ryan both knew that they had to eventually tell Jackson about their relationship, sneaking around and keeping things just between the two of them has made everything that much easier. Because everything felt new and different, and bursting that bubble just as they were exploring one another seemed a bit disheartening.

Which is why when Ryan feels Harry’s hands gripping the base of her neck while he tries his hardest to subdue another groan, she’s immediately brought back to the present. The present— which consists of her sucking Harry off under the covers of his charcoal-colored duvet in the early hours of the morning, wearing nothing except one of his bright jumpers with vibrant lettering and images of kittens littering the front.

And just before he grips her hair harder and is practically careening towards his end, she’s surprised when she can hear the excited pitter-patter of bare feet slapping against hardwood over Harry’s strangled moans.

Before she can even scold herself for accidentally spending another night in Harry’s sheets, his gold bedroom doorknob begins to wiggle. All at once, Ryan tears her mouth away from Harry’s twitching length, muttering a frantic “shit!” from her position underneath the duvet cover. The door springs open before she can even contemplate hiding inside the attached en-suite, and suddenly Ryan finds herself in a position that’s possibly more humiliating than getting rug burn in front of her attractive neighbor almost four months ago—face squished against Harry’s bare stomach, chest flat against his thighs, and legs stretched out around his own, completely buried underneath the duvet.

Harry sits up gently, making sure Ryan’s body is flat against his own and hidden underneath the darkness of his room. “Hey—hi! Bubs, uh, what’s up?” His voice comes out extremely high pitched, and Ryan can’t tell if it’s from the fact that they were nearly caught in a compromising position by his four-year-old son, or from the fact that he was seconds away from an orgasm that never came.

“Daddy! It’s my birthday! Why are you still in bed? We have to celebrate me!”

Scratch that. Five-year-old son.

Without thinking, Ryan pinches the extra skin around Harry’s waist, causing him to jolt upwards in shock. Her brain instantly starts whirring, working in overdrive to try and remember if Harry had mentioned his son’s fifth birthday to her at all during these past few weeks. And when she can’t think of anything, Ryan feels herself frowning against the rigid muscles of Harry’s abdominals, immediately feeling bad about overlooking this important occasion.

It seems that Harry feels the same, because she can hear him replying, “Of course I didn’t forget your birthday! How about you turn the telly on and wait for me, yeah? I’ll cook you my famous eggy bread and we’ll kick off your celebration properly.”

Ryan hears Jackson squeal excitedly and she almost wishes she wasn’t buried underneath Harry’s duvet so that she could see his gleaming grin. And just before she can hear the door shut, Jackson asks, “Can we still invite Ryan and Luna to my party?”

Ryan bites her lower lip to try and hide the smile stretching across her face. She wishes that Jackson already knew about their relationship, because if he did, she’d rip the duvet off of the bed and scoop him up in the biggest hug she could muster, tickling his sides until his arms were wrapped around her neck and she could carry him into the kitchen, waiting patiently for Harry to cook them both his famous eggy bread. 

But unfortunately, she’s supposed to be hidden, and that looming thought turns her concealed smile into a heavy frown. Somehow Harry can sense it, and before their cover gets blown, he tells Jackson, “Of course they can come. Why don’t you grab the invitation we started yesterday and finish decorating it. We can drop it off after brekkie, sound good, Bubs?”

Jackson must have nodded appreciatively, because suddenly Harry’s bedroom door clicks shut and the charcoal-colored duvet is thrown to the bottom of his mattress. Ryan looks up at him with wide eyes, her lower lip bitten and her eyes tinged with sadness.

“We’re dickheads, huh?” Ryan offers, clambering off the bed and trying to locate her joggers on his carpeted flooring. 

Harry watches her, tucking his erection uncomfortably into his tight briefs and selfishly wishing his son had better timing.

“Don’t say that. Just got carried away, is all,” Harry offers lamely, running an exasperated hand through his messy hair when he notices Ryan practically fully dressed in front of him.

“We need to tell him, Harry. He’s got to know something, considering I’ve been going to the park with you guys and joining you for dinner almost every other evening.” Ryan keeps her voice down as she exchanges Harry’s obnoxious jumper for her cardigan and vest combination she showed up here in the night before.

Harry nods, offering, “We’ll tell him. Tonight, I promise. Can you just—just come here, please?” He’s growing dizzy watching her run around his bedroom grabbing her discarded items, and all he wants is to have her close to him so that they can potentially finish what they started moments ago. 

Ryan can tell from the look in his eyes that he’s desperate for her touch. And when she rejoins him on the bed, straddling his thin waist and wrapping her arms around his neck in a quick cuddle, her chest completely flat against his own, she wishes now more than ever that they could wake up every morning just like this.

She lifts her head from the crook of his neck and plants a quick kiss to his temple, before untangling herself from his body and slipping her trainers on her feet. “You’ve got a birthday boy to entertain,” Ryan mutters with a wink.

Harry rolls his eyes from his position on the bed, moaning in frustration when the sudden shift of his body makes his length twitch unforgivably. “How am I supposed to cook with a full stiffy? I’m in pain here, babe.”

Ryan just snickers before throwing Harry the shorts and hoodie he wore last night. “Have a quick wank in the shower, you’ll be sorted in no time.”

“You’re cruel,” Harry complains, slipping the clothes on and adjusting his shorts so that his erection wasn’t so painfully obvious.

“I’ll see you later, okay? We’ll finish this properly,” Ryan offers, snaking her arms around his waist when she notices the smirk threaten to break across his face. His strong arms wrap around her middle, and Harry brings his hand up to wrap his long pointer finger around a stray piece of Ryan’s hair that fell in front of her line of vision. 

“Properly, yeah?” He teases, bringing her closer so that the tips of their noses are brushing against one another. 

Ryan nods with a pretty smirk covering her lips. “Maybe daddy will get a present, too.” Harry drops his forehead against hers, puffing out a frustrated breath that fans against her cheeks. 

“You’re killing me, baby,” he whispers against her mouth, before pressing his lips against hers with a forceful kiss. Ryan’s arms tighten around his body, and when she feels his tongue prod against her lower lip, she backs away, knowing they need to reign it in before they get too lost in one another.

“Later, I promise,” Ryan says, hinting at the one barrier that they haven’t crossed yet, praying that Harry understands what she’s implying.

And when his eyes light up wickedly and he gives her one last toe-curling kiss, she’s almost certain that he knows exactly what she’s talking about. 

He opens his bedroom door and heads out into the hallway first, making sure Jackson isn’t lingering in the bathroom or kitchen as they pass. When they encroach upon his position in the living room—telly blasting Paw Patrol as he lays on the rug with his tummy on the shag carpeting, flannel-clad feet bent behind him as his chin rests against his opened palms comfortably—Ryan gives Harry’s waist one last squeeze before she slips out of the entranceway and into the hallway undetected. 

When Ryan enters her own flat and greets Luna with a sleepy smile, she immediately heads to her bathroom and turns the shower on. As she’s undressing, Ryan peeks at her reflection in the mirror and almost doesn’t recognize the woman looking back at her.

This version has messy hair tangled at the back of her neck from greedy hands knotting themselves through the tendrils. This version has flushed cheeks—but not in the way she’s grown accustomed to. No, this version’s cheeks are flushed because she’s excited, she’s thrilled, she’s exerted her sexual prowess on a deserving man and she’s in awe of the way she can make him practically fall to his knees in front of her, begging for more more more.

This version has love bites littering the swells of her breast. And if she squints hard enough, she can make out the dents carved by fingertips across her hips and along her sides, permanent reminders of the way someone else could want her. Could need her.

And when she looks at this version’s face and takes in her swollen lips from overuse, the bags under her eyes from choosing to stay awake and fool around with her boyfriend instead of choosing to sleep, the smile that seems to constantly grace her lips whenever she leaves Harry’s presence—Ryan finds that she doesn’t want to look away. 

She wants to stare at it. She wants to remember it. She wants it to consume her.

Comfortableness is a look Ryan never thought would suit her, and with each day she lets her walls fall down, she falls more in love with the person she’s becoming. Someone who is confident, someone who no longer lets her social anxiety rule her life, someone who is finally happy with where she is at.

Because falling in love and feeling free somehow coincide with one another. And as Ryan lets the hot water seep into her skin, she knows now that this is where she’s meant to be. 

***

“Fiona, for the hundredth time, I’m not describing Harry’s dick to you over the phone,” Ryan harrumphs through her mobile, reaching for the emerald green wrapping paper and unrolling a significant portion to begin wrapping Jackson’s birthday present.

“That’s not fair, Ry! I’ve gone into exquisite detail about Roger’s!” Fiona exclaims back, pouting dramatically from her position leaned up on the coffee table of Ryan’s mobile.

Ryan rolls her eyes before reaching for the scissors. “Once again, that information was unsolicited.”

“Ugh!” Ryan giggles from her position on the floor of her living room, folding up the edges and covering her gift with the wrapping paper. “I can’t wait until this lockdown is over so I can come by and slap you upside the head.”

“Since when have you become so violent?” Ryan asks, securing the wrapping paper with scotch tape.

“Since my best mate won’t tell me about her apparent dazzling sex life!” 

Ryan puts the wrapped gift to the side and rests both elbows on the coffee table with her back to the juniper couch. Her arms cross at the middle so she can rest her chin on her wrists, giving Fiona her full attention.

“Well, we haven’t really—um, you know,” Ryan begins, her voice nearly a whisper as her cheeks flame in embarrassment. 

“Haven’t really what, Ry?” Fiona presses, always the over-eager one.

Ryan gulps. “Done that.”

Fiona pauses for a moment, observing Ryan through the FaceTime call as she patiently tries to read her friend’s emotions. “You haven’t shagged him yet?” It’s not asked in an accusatory tone, or even a shocked one at that—just complete and utter curiosity. 

Ryan knows Fiona’s testing the waters to see how she feels about it all, and she’s a bit grateful to her friend for not being so glaringly obvious. “Uh, yeah. Haven’t really gotten there yet.”

“Well, do you want to?” Fiona asks.

Ryan looks at her with a dumbfounded expression. “Of course I do, Fee. He’s my bloody boyfriend!” 

“So what’s the problem here, Ry?” Her prodding is nothing but gentle and calculated.

“There’s no problem. It’s just—” Ryan takes a deep breath and sits up straight. “It’s just that I don’t want to muck this up, Fiona. He’s great and he’s kind and he’s so patient with me, it’s incredible. I’ve never had that before. And I love that he’s taking his time—that we’re taking our time. But I just want to be at that next step with him. I want to be able to spend the night without having to sneak out the next morning. I want to feel so comfortable around him that having sex is just easy, and natural, and just—I don’t know if I’m making sense.”

Fiona blinks a few times with a gentle smile on her face, and suddenly Ryan is nervous about her response.

“I’m proud of you, Ryan.” It’s simple, somehow profound in a way, and Ryan just cocks her head to the side in confusion. “Stop looking at me like that, you twit!”

A smile breaks out across Ryan’s face, a laugh ripping through her throat. “You’re just so happy, Ry, and I think a lot of that has come from Harry. Because not only did you find someone who wants to be with you, but you found someone who wants you to be yourself.” Fiona pauses, leaning a bit closer to her screen. “And I think you just need to tell Jackson the truth. It’s not like he’s going to be upset—from what I’ve heard, that boy is already in love with you.”

Before Ryan can reply, she hears the sound of paper scraping against hardwood flooring from the entranceway of her flat, followed by a familiar high-pitched giggle echoing through the hallway. 

She waits a moment before grabbing her mobile and heading towards her front door, bending at the knees when she scoops up the hand-drawn folded invitation on the floor. 

“Should I be concerned?” Fiona asks surreptitiously.

Ryan smiles and shakes her head. “No, no. Luna and I have been formally invited to a very important five-year-old’s birthday party next door.”

She holds up the paper, smiling when she notices the capitalized scrawl at the top of the page, clearly done by somebody who can spell Quarantine Birthday Party without hiccups. Surrounding the handwriting are various images drawn by a five-year-old: a picture of Luna sleeping on Harry’s brown leather couch, two Nerf blasters along the bottom, a pizza with orange squiggles that Ryan can only assume to be bell peppers in the top right corner, and finally Harry Potter along the top. 

Ryan turns on her heel, heading into her kitchen and hanging the invitation up on her refrigerator with a magnet. 

“I’ve got to go, Fee,” Ryan says, slipping her Reebok’s on and gathering Jackson’s presents. 

“Alright, alright. But seriously, everything’s going to be alright, you hear me?” Fiona’s yellow-painted pointer finger is extended to the camera, and Ryan smiles at the sight of her mate trying to be stern.

“Yes, Fee. I know. I’m going to be okay.” Ryan responds, meaning every word. 

Fiona nods and drops her finger, before adding, “And when you finally do shag, I would love a full synopsis on how Harry—”

Ryan hangs up before the blush could coat her cheeks.

Scooping Luna up in one arm and balancing her two gifts in the other, Ryan makes sure the lights are off before slipping out into the hallway and knocking thrice on 4G’s heavy oak door.

Not even a minute goes by before the door is being ripped open, revealing a sight that still manages to bring a smile to Ryan’s face.

It’s Harry—dressed down in a casual pair of brown corduroy trousers paired with a yellow Swim Deep graphic tee that Ryan can’t wait to wear to bed later on in the evening. His hair is held back by a clip, somewhat familiar to the way he wore it the first time they met in the ghastly hallway. And when her eyes finally land on him and he’s grinning like a fool, Ryan can’t help but mirror it, wondering if they’ll always feel like this whenever they see each other.

“Hi,” he says softly, reaching out and grabbing the two wrapped gifts from her hands.

“Hi,” Ryan responds, hoisting Luna further up in her arm so that she’s resting against her chest.

“You look pretty,” Harry says, and when he reaches down to plant his lips on hers, he’s halted in his movements when Jackson appears, practically bubbling with excitement.

“Ryan! Luna! Hi! I’m five!” His chocolate brown curls are in small cloisters framing his face, making his almond-shaped sage eyes twinkle in the light. He’s wearing a Rolling Stones t-shirt that Ryan can only assume was gifted to him by his father, and when he skirts by Harry’s leg and stands right before Ryan, she can only grin right back.

“I heard! Happy birthday, champ. How do you feel?” Ryan asks, squatting down on her toes so that she’s eye level with Jackson.

She watches as he contemplates his answer, rubbing a small hand against the fur on Luna’s head. “I feel the same but bigger. I’m happy now that you guys are here, too. Do you think I could show Luna the toys daddy and Auntie Gemma got me? I’ll be quick.”

Ryan nods, handing Luna over to Jackson and watching as he holds her gently and carries her through the living room and down the hallway into his bedroom, chatting with her softly along the way.

When she stands up, Harry’s mouth is on hers greedily, pulling kisses from her lips and wrapping his arms securely around her body as if he was scared she was going to disappear. 

“Mmm, missed you,” he mumbles once they’ve parted. 

“You just saw me a few hours ago, crazy boy,” Ryan responds, tickling her fingers through the curls resting against the nape of his neck.

With one last kiss, he drops his arms. “Miss you whenever you’re not here.”

Ryan smiles shyly, taking a half-step back before Jackson can catch them. “I want to tell him today, Harry. Think he’ll be okay with it?”

Harry looks at Ryan with wide eyes, wondering how she could even fathom Jackson disliking that she was going to be a part of their lives. “Of course he’ll be fine with it. In what world wouldn’t he be?”

Ryan sighs. “I know.”

With one last look, Harry wraps his arm around Ryan’s shoulders and brings her body against his side, cuddling her closely until the tip of her nose was bushing against the veins pulsing in his neck. “I’m gonna miss having you all to myself, though.”

Ryan giggles loudly, hugging Harry closer to her body. “You’ll learn to be a good sharer.”

He pouts dramatically before dragging her into the kitchen, her body still tucked into his side. When she enters the threshold she notices the island countertop is covered with flour—three evenly spherical doughs spread out over top, with ceramic bowls filled with toppings littering the outskirts. 

Ryan leaves his side and looks at him with a quizzical look. “Pizzas on a non-Friday?”

Harry grins. “The birthday boy demanded it! How am I supposed to say no?”

Ryan just smiles before heading over to the sink and washing her hands. When she turns around after drying them on a tea towel, she notices a matching set of white feeding bowls on the tiled flooring to the right of the sink counter. And when she squints, she can make out LUNA etched in black writing along the front. 

“Is this…?”

Before she can get a conscious sentence out, Harry rounds the island countertop and meets her in the middle of the kitchen. When he notices the look on her face is a mixture of complete shock and adoration, he shrugs shyly at her and rubs his sweaty palm against the back of his neck.

“Yeah. Figured if you were going to start spending the night here, Luna could come too so you wouldn’t have to worry about feeding her.”

It’s amazing how a simple notion of purchasing cat feeding bowls for your girlfriend’s kitten can somehow make Ryan’s heart beat wildly against her chest. But it does—and she’s left looking at Harry fondly, wondering if the wicked thumping of her heart and her shortness of breath and the deep look in her eyes can equate to something like love.

“You didn’t have to,” she offers lamely.

Harry scoffs and rolls his eyes. “I wanted to.”

The sudden sound of a phone ringing from the living room interrupts Harry and Ryan, and when he cranes his neck and notices the noise coming from the iPad strewn across the brown leather couch, he steps back from Ryan and starts following the ringing.

“It’s probably Rachel calling from New York. Wants to wish Jackson a happy birthday,” Harry explains as he grabs the device and answers the call with a simple greeting.

Ryan backs away and heads down the hallway into Jackson’s room, knocking on the opened door and crossing her arms against her chest when she notices him and Luna sprawled out on his rug as he attempts to build his brand new Lego set.

“Hey, champ. Your mum’s on the phone,” Ryan says from her position leaned against the doorframe. 

“Really? All the way from New York?” Jackson asks, standing up quickly and grabbing Luna so she’s securely nestled under his armpit.

Ryan nods. “Yeah, go say hi, okay? She wants to wish you a happy birthday.”

“Okay, Ryan,” Jackson obliges, hobbling past her figure and heading into the living room to grab the iPad from Harry. Making sure not to eavesdrop, Ryan returns back to the kitchen where Harry is spreading red sauce on all three pizza doughs. 

She watches him, taking in the way his arms strain against the thin material of his shirt deliciously. When he bites his lower lip as he makes a spiral with the tomato sauce, making sure each pizza dough has the same amount, ensuring he left space for the crust to lift at the edges, Ryan tries her hardest to keep her giggles at bay. She finds it incredibly adorable that Harry is such a perfectionist, even without an audience to watch him.

When he lifts his head up after feeling her hot gaze on him, he smiles at her bashfully before cocking his head to the side, gesticulating that he wants her near him. “C’mere and pick your toppings,” he says slowly, dropping a kiss to the crown of her head when she’s settled against his side. 

They work together in comfortable silence, working around each other in grabbing handfuls of cheese, chopped up pieces of vegetables, scattered slices of pepperoni. When Ryan grabs the bowl of pepperoni slices from Harry’s hand, he chuckles to himself before opening his mouth wide, waiting for her to feed him. She giggles at his immaturity, but eventually obliges, popping a slice into his mouth and letting the tips of her fingers graze his lips until he’s left shivering in his place.

Once their pizzas are finished, Harry starts spreading cheese on Jackson’s, before asking Ryan offhandedly, “Do you mind asking him what else he wants on his pizza? I want to pop these into the oven.”

Ryan nods, trying her hardest not to be difficult. But when she cleans off her hands and pops her head into the living room, she’s suddenly flushed with nerves. She feels bad interrupting Jackson’s conversation with his mum, especially on his birthday when she’s practically an entire world away. 

When there’s an appropriate lull in the conversation, Ryan clears her throat and calls out, “Hey, champ? Daddy wants to know what toppings you want for your pizza.”

She watches Jackson’s neck snap in her direction, an excited smile plastering his face. “Ok! Tell him I’ll pick them myself! Here, Ryan,” and with that he jumps off the couch, thrusting the iPad into Ryan’s hands without ending the call or saying goodbye to Rachel on the other end.

“Jackson, wait! Say goodbye to your mum!” After waiting a few seconds and hearing nothing but silence, Ryan sighs to herself before looking down at Rachel’s patient gaze on the screen. “Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for him to run off like that.”

When Ryan looks at the screen, she’s a bit astonished when she sees Rachel’s mouth begin to form a laugh. It’s the same expression as the photograph of her in Jackson’s room—full lips parted, mouth hanging open slightly, tongue resting against her bottom layer of teeth. She looks pretty with her straight hair clipped against her shoulders, and when Ryan takes in her bare face and fluffy white robe, she suddenly doesn’t feel as nervous around Rachel as she was in the past.

Because for once, she seems like a normal girl. And when her smile doesn’t break and she’s looking at Ryan without dark eyes filled with anger, Ryan’s not quite sure what to make out of it all.

“It’s okay, pizza is probably infinitely more interesting than speaking to his mum at the moment,” Rachel jokes, her laughter floating through the speakers in a way that makes Ryan crack a grin.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Ryan offers, trying to figure out how to end this conversation without making their already awkward relationship any worse.

“That’s nice of you to say,” Rachel responds quietly, tucking a stray piece of blonde hair behind her ear. “I’m glad you’re there, by the way. You mean more to them than you could ever imagine.”

It’s quiet for a moment as Ryan takes in Rachel’s words. Her simple comment of approval somehow makes the nervous pit in Ryan’s stomach unravel, and suddenly she starts seeing Rachel in a different light. Maybe in the past, she was the villain in Harry’s story, but that doesn’t mean it always has to be that way. Because Ryan finally sees Rachel for who she is—a mum who simply is trying to do her best, no matter how many mistakes she’d made.

“Thanks, Rachel. That means a lot,” Ryan says with a smile.

“No problem. I should probably go, I’ve got a Zoom meeting in an hour. Tell Jackson I said goodbye?” Rachel asks softly.

“Of course. Bye, Rachel,” Ryan says, smiling when Rachel waves just before ending the call.

Ryan locks the device and places it on the end table before rejoining Harry and Jackson in the kitchen. When she pokes her head in and watches Harry appropriately place the pepperoni slices wherever Jackson wants them, she can’t help but smile like a fool at the sight of it all.

And just before Harry asks if Jackson was happy with his pizza, his son quickly adds, “Daddy, can I add bell peppers too? The green and orange ones, like Ryan has,” and Ryan tries her hardest not to gasp.

Harry grins before sprinkling the same amount on Jackson’s pizza, before popping all three into the oven. Ryan decides then to enter the kitchen completely, leaning her torso over the island countertop across from Jackson who’s happily munching on a stay pepperoni slice from his position perched on the leather barstool.

With a quick look at Harry, Ryan wordlessly tells him that now is the best time to tell his son about their relationship. Harry nods before sidling up to Ryan’s side across the counter from Jackson, looking at his son once he’s finished swallowing his snack.

“Hey, Bubs, Ryan and I have something we want to tell you,” Harry starts, watching his son nod happily on the barstool. 

“Okay, daddy,” Jackson says easily, looking between the two adults across from him with wide, inquisitive eyes. 

Harry looks at Ryan before speaking. “You know how we’ve been spending a lot of time with each other lately?” Harry starts, pausing until Jackson’s head starts bobbing up and down. 

“Right, well we’ve decided that we really like each other. And that we want to keep spending time with each other, if that’s okay with you?” It’s quiet as Jackson mulls this over, his hand resting on his chin as he tries to wrap his five-year-old brain around what his father just explained to him.

“Of course that’s okay with me. I like Ryan too, daddy,” Jackson says, his green eyes squinting in confusion as he struggles to understand what Harry is trying to tell him.

“I know that, Bubs. But I like Ryan the way adults like each other, do you know what I’m trying to say to you?” Ryan can tell that Harry is struggling, because his palm flies up to the back of his neck as he rubs it awkwardly, beginning to stumble over his words as his brain begins to work in overdrive.

“I think so,” Jackson starts, placing both palms down on the counter as he cocks his head to the side and looks at both of them from across the counter. “So you like her. And you kiss her, too? The way you used to kiss mummy?”

Ryan looks at Harry with wide eyes, hoping he can salvage the rest of this conversion before it implodes right in front of their faces.

“Yes, but I kiss Ryan because she is daddy’s girlfriend. Do you understand now?” Harry asks.

Jackson nods, looking down at the countertop before lifting his eyes to meet Harry’s. “Yeah, I get it. What does that make mummy, then?”

Ryan blushes, looking at Harry nervously. She can tell that he’s thinking, because how do you explain the difference between a mother and a girlfriend to a five-year-old? 

After a minute passes in silence, Harry clears his throat and says, “Mummy is still your mummy. And well, Ryan is, uh. Ryan is your—”

“—Your friend. Your very best friend, who cares about you and will always be here for you whenever you need me,” Ryan says, interrupting Harry before he stutters all over his words. 

Without thinking, she reaches her hand across the counter and grabs Jackson’s smaller ones in her own, the same way he did to her the first day they met four months ago in the hallway. And once his eyes are locked on hers firmly, she adds, “Think of it as having two women in your life that care about you very much. Do you think that’s something you’d be okay with?”

Jackson squeezes Ryan’s hands tightly in his own before a ginormous grin breaks across his face. Harry can feel his shoulders slump in relief, and when he brings his arm around Ryan’s shoulders and brings her against his side, Jackson just giggles loudly across from them, happily wiggling in his barstool.

“I think that’s just the bestest news ever!” Jackson exclaims, smiling so big that the tiny dimples carved into his cheeks deepen. 

The timer goes off, indicating that their pizzas are complete. Harry rounds the counter and begins pulling them from the oven. Ryan walks over to the barstool and lifts Jackson up from underneath his armpits, placing him on the ground so that he can settle into his spot in the breakfast nook.

After Harry places the pizzas on the table and grabs their beers and Jackson’s juice from the counter, the three of them sit around the table while Ryan cuts small pieces for Jackson’s little hands to grab. 

Once she’s made sure that Jackson’s completely settled, Ryan reaches for her own beer and begins cutting her into her pizza. The domesticity of it all no longer makes Harry or Ryan uncomfortable. Instead, they welcome the feeling with open arms, no longer batting an eye whenever Ryan wipes tomato sauce from Jackson’s grabby hands, no longer falling slack-jawed when Jackson asks for a piece of Ryan’s pizza instead of his own, no longer growing red in the face when Jackson grabs Ryan’s hand when she’s done eating her dinner.

Ryan offers to help Harry clean up, but once Jackson notices the two emerald wrapped presents in the corner of the living room, Ryan’s practically dragged into the living room so that he can excitedly rip open his gifts.

“How about we wait for daddy, champ?” Ryan asks, sitting cross-legged against the floor with Luna in her lap and her back against the couch while Jackson begins strategizing how he should rip open the wrapping paper. 

“I’m too excited I don’t know if I can wait!” Jackson squeals, reaching for the smaller box below to try and guess what’s hiding underneath.

After a few minutes of painfully waiting for Harry, he finally emerges and sits behind Ryan on the couch, caging his legs around her frame. When she feels him settle in behind her, Ryan leans back so that her head is closer to his lap, and Harry begins rubbing at her shoulders comfortingly while they both watch Jackson tear into the larger package.

“You didn’t have to get him anything, you know,” Harry whispers into Ryan’s ear.

Ryan turns so that she’s looking at him over her shoulder, rolling her eyes amusedly and repeating his words from earlier. “I wanted to.”

Jackson’s excited shriek causes both Harry and Ryan to look at him, and when he holds up the brand new Nerf blaster that he tested out with Ryan almost two months ago, she can’t help but grin wickedly back at him. 

“No way! This is so great, Ryan! Thank you!” The fluorescent orange plastic gun sits on his lap as he begins pulling the trigger and watching the empty ammunition compartment spin clockwise. 

“Should I be worried?” Harry asks ominously from behind Ryan, causing Jackson to look from his father to Ryan with nervous eyes.

With a subtle wink, reminding him to keep their secret between each other, Jackson giggles quietly before placing the gun back on the floor beside him. “Nothing to worry about, daddy,” he says, reaching for the smaller yet heavier wrapped package in front of him.

As he begins tearing at the paper, Ryan grows more alert, sitting up straight so that she can see the expression on Jackson’s face when he finally reveals the contents of his present. When the paper is finally removed from the top part of the gift, Jackson gasps when he notices seven varying sizes of books all with the words Harry Potter inscribed on the spine. 

“Whoa.” It’s the first time Jackson’s ever struggled with finding words, and when he turns the books over that are tied together with white tinsel, so that he can see each book separately, Ryan almost swears she can see his mouth open and close repeatedly.

“Figured you should have your own,” Ryan says quietly, reaching over to untie the string so that he can thumb through the brand new pages of his own books. 

“This is the greatest gift I’ve ever gotten,” Jackson whispers, dropping the books to the floor so that he can scramble up to his knees and wrap his arms around Ryan’s neck, engulfing her in a tight hug.

Ryan tries her hardest not to cry with happiness, because out of all of the hugs she’s ever received in her entire lifetime (including the warm embraces Harry has gifted her in the past two months) this hug from Jackson beats them all. His tiny fists knot together at the nape of her neck, and she can feel him squeezing her tighter when her own arms fall around his torso, bringing him closer to her.

“Thank you so much,” he whispers into her shoulder, letting her go and sitting back on the floor so that he can look at his brand new presents.

When Ryan sits back, she turns around so that she can see the look Harry gives her. She’s almost certain that it could be love, but when he leans down and kisses her on the cheek, thanking her profusely, she’s not sure if she’s overthinking it all. 

After the excitement of the party dwindles down and Jackson’s muffling yawns into the crook of his elbow, Harry decides that it’s time for bed. Jackson doesn’t put up a fight, and when he gets up and begins heading into the bathroom to start his nighttime routine, he turns around before Harry can get up from the couch and follow him.

“Ryan? Can you put me to bed tonight?”

His question makes the warmth she feels whenever he looks at her flush through her insides, and when his sleepy green eyes twinkle and he holds a hand out waiting for her to hold, she’s up and by his side without a second to spare. 

She lets Jackson pick out his pajamas, and when he’s too tired to put his head through his blue sleep shirt, Ryan holds it over his body so that he can stick his arms through the holes and she can push it down appropriately. She pulls out the stool for him in the bathroom so that he can step up and brush his teeth, making sure to reach the deep corner of his mouth and swipe his toothbrush over his tongue until his breath is minty fresh. And once he’s finished, she walks him into his bedroom and pulls down his covers, letting him slide in so that she can tuck him in tightly.

“Hey, Ryan?” Jackson asks sleepily, tucking his chin over the folded duvet against his chest.

“Yeah, champ?” Ryan asks, swiping a stray curl off of his forehead.

“Does this mean Luna gets to have a bed here, too? So she doesn’t feel alone in your home whenever you're here?” His question is a simple one, but somehow Ryan can’t find the words to answer. Because she’s spent a lot of time feeling alone in her own home, and in the past two months she hasn’t felt that feeling at all. She’s wondering what it all means.

Before she can answer, Harry pops his head in from the hallway. “Ready for bed?”

Jackson nods, yawning one last time before snuggling deeper into his pillow. “Mhm. Night daddy. Night Ryan.”

“Night, champ. Hope you had a great birthday.” Ryan doesn’t wait for him to respond, instead, she switches off his bedside lamp and flicks on the nightlight against the wall, shuffling across the room to meet Harry’s waiting arms. 

But before the door can fully close, they hear Jackson call out, “Love you both!” and Ryan halts in her steps.

It falls out of his mouth so easily, without question, as if it was something she should already know. And when Harry responds and Ryan’s left staring dumbly at the wall, she’s wondering if it really is that easy to fall in love with somebody else.

She’s thinking about this while getting ready for bed with Harry later that night, exchanging her jeans and jumper for the yellow shirt he wore all day. It smells like him—hints of vanilla and sandalwood, all citrusy shampoo and that distinguishable smell that follows him around. They work in comfortable silence in his en suite, sharing the one sink as best they can. Harry waits while Ryan washes her face, and when she’s hidden behind a face towel, Harry pinches her bum underneath the hem of his shirt and reaches for the toothpaste. Ryan squeals, and once Harry’s begun brushing she does the same, smacking his hands away whenever he tries to bring her backside against his front, dribbling blue foamy toothpaste onto her shoulder. And when they both spit into the sink and head towards the mattress, her mind is still reeling. 

It’s no secret that Ryan’s never grasped the concept of having a home. Growing up, she had two homes with two sets of parents in two different places. And when she became an adult, Ryan moved around more than anybody else—perfecting the ability to live out of cardboard boxes in different flats with different postal codes. 

But now, she’s actively thinking about what Jackson said about Luna having a home here in their flat. Because home isn’t a physical place—it’s a feeling. It’s that warmth, that feeling of wrapping yourself in a heavy duvet on your mum’s couch. It’s mixing up parcels on purpose with the perfect excuse to knock on their door and see them again. It’s that giddy feeling you get when you notice the other person’s tea mug resting on your drying rack, a piece of them seemingly interwoven with your own life. It’s reading a book you’ve read hundreds of times over again to somebody who’s never experienced it before, saying each word as if it were the first time you’ve ever seen them. It’s having matching food bowls for your kitten and a second bed for her in a place where she can make her own home.

Home is having two separate flats but feeling completely safe wrapped around each other on a juniper couch or in a king-sized mattress with grey sheets. 

And when they’re settled in these sheets, Ryan’s legs wrapped securely around Harry’s waist, Harry’s hands crawling further down her body until the tips of his fingers skim the hem of his shirt resting on her thighs, they both know that this is it. This feeling they’ve been running from suddenly makes sense—suddenly makes loneliness feel like the stupidest thing in the world. 

Just before Harry can rip the shirt off of Ryan’s body, they hear his doorknob begin to wiggle for the second time that day. Harry groans frustratedly underneath his breath, allowing his head to fall against Ryan’s shoulder before the door falls open. Jackson stands in the doorway, clad in the same blue flannel pajamas Ryan had just helped him put on, holding a red and orange book cover in his small hands.

“Everything all right, Bubs?” Harry asks once Ryan’s unwrapped her legs from his waist and rolled over so that they’re lying side by side. 

Jackson nods, shuffling into the bedroom inch by inch. “Since it’s my birthday and stuff, do you think Ryan could read to me a little?”

It’s timid and adorable and Ryan can’t help but start to smile, already knowing that she’s going to say yes without even acknowledging that his birthday is almost over as soon as the clock changes from eleven thirty to midnight. 

“C’mere, champ,” Ryan says, patting the mattress happily. 

Harry tries to argue, but when he sees his son’s sleepy grin and his girlfriend’s matching one, he knows there’s no use. So once Jackson reaches their bedside, he grabs him from underneath his armpits and plops him comfortably in the space between him and Ryan. 

Jackson shuffles under the covers, dropping the brand new hardcover into Ryan’s lap. Harry flicks the lamp on the nightstand before turning on his left side, releasing his head on his waiting palm with his elbows bent so that he can watch both of them. 

“Where’d we leave off?” Ryan asks even though she already knows from the dog-eared page in her own copy that Jackson clumsily marked off the last time they read together. 

“The map! Harry has the Marauder’s Map!” he squeals, turning his head so that he’s practically cuddling into her chest.

Ryan giggles and Harry feels himself melting into his mattress. “Oh that’s right. Okay, here we go.”

Before she can let the first word on the page fall past her lips, Harry interrupts, “Does this mean I finally get to hear the Hagrid voice?”

She looks over and rolls her eyes, ignoring the amused twinkle in his own.

Once she’s finished the first page, she can feel Harry’s arm extend over Jackson’s head and reach towards the messy plait falling past her shoulder. With steady hands, he removes the hair bobble and starts untangling the strands, wrapping a wavy tendril around his finger and letting out a quiet but relaxing breath that makes her feel more at home than ever before. 

And with Jackson curling further into her chest and Harry running soothing fingers down her scalp, Ryan should be feeling the complete opposite. 

But when she sneaks a look at Harry as she’s turning the page, she notices that he’s been looking at her instead of the black text carved into the book. And when their eyes lock for a brief moment, she feels time stand still. Her heart lets out a strong string of heavy thumps, her skin feels just the right amount of warmth, and she’s never been more sure of her place in the world. 

She thinks back to Fiona’s declaration of love at first sight, and wonders if the glimmer in Harry’s green eyes and the soft smile on his face is the same expression Roger wore the first time they met in that overcrowded club all those months ago. 

And when Harry scrunches his face, wrinkling his nose adorably and squinting his eyes, Ryan knows for sure that Fiona’s right.

It’s love. It’s always been love.

***

A/N: And just like that, we’ve reached the end of YFLH. I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it! I never thought Ryan and Harry’s story would go past a oneshot, and I’m so happy that you all have grown to love them as much as I have. I want to thank all of you who have reached out to tell me your thoughts, to those who have liked or reblogged, to those who have recommended this story to somebody else--I truly owe you the biggest thanks. You’ve made this process so easy and fun, and I’m so grateful to you all!

Don’t hesitate to reach out and let me know your thoughts about part eight or everything and anything in between. This story was a submission for the 1DFF Quarantine Challenge, which has other amazing writers participating as well, so feel free to check out the page! Hope you all have a safe and happy Holiday season, and I’ll see you all soon! x

(In the meantime if you’re looking to do some more reading, you can click here for my masterlist!)

taglist: @stylishmuser @vikki1220 @greatestview @verorax @cronias13 @adoremp3 @ilovegolden @taintedwonder @stepping-into-the-light @onlyphysicallypresent @dontwanttobealone @justsaying20 @elemayox @awomanindeniall @ihearthemcallingforyou @halloweenniall @live-at-the-forum @kakayam @harryinsweatersandbandanas @hopelessly-harry @ficnarry @morethanamelodyy @niallgolden @harryswinterberries @caramello-styles @harrysstyle @greatestview @solllaris​ @niallgolden​ @mellamolayla

[rallamajoop]

The Witcher: The Games vs The Books

Coming to the fandom this late, I can only assume the relationship between the Witcher games and the original novels has been long since talked to death by others. But I'm far too fascinated by the whole glorious mess that is this canon not to want to get down some of my own thoughts about how it all fits together.

See, on the one hand, the games (Witcher 3 especially) are arguably only too dependent on the novels to stand alone. They do a wonderful job of picking up a number of unresolved plot points the books left hanging, and a woeful job of explaining so much a player coming in cold would really like to know – Ciri's history with Geralt, Yennefer, her powers and the Wild Hunt itself just to begin with. This is an issue that only increases as the games go along: cliche as Geralt's amnesia may be, it's used to good effect to introduce the world to the player in the first game. By the third, Geralt has all his old memories back and two extra games worth of new experience, and good lord is it all alienating to the newcomer.

On the other hand, so much about the games (again, the third especially) contradicts the novels in painfully irreconcilable ways. That wouldn't necessarily bother me – adaptations are allowed to rework and reinvent, stories can and should evolve in the retelling – except, well, see point one above. So you're bound to come out of the games with a lot of unanswered questions if you haven't read the books, and just as many if you have.

Spoilers to follow, of course, for both the books and the games.

Here's one of the big ones: just how did the world – Ciri included – discover that one of her long-presumed-dead parents was actually alive and well and now ruling the entire empire of Nilfgaard? Fucked if I know. Neither the games or the novels have any explanation. In the novels, in fact, the world at large believes Ciri is married to the emperor of Nilfgaard. Naturally, this 'Cirilla' is a fake, but the scandal were the full truth ever revealed would redefine Emhyr's reign. Yet somehow, in the games, everyone seems to know he's Ciri's father, and that whole awkward incest angle is never mentioned. Continuity has been tweaked pretty significantly, and it's left to the player to guess how. If that wasn’t bad enough, the games apparently still included a Gwent card of the fake!Cirilla (artwork above) just to ensure maximum confusion.

Before I get too sidetracked with all that stuff that doesn’t add up though, there really is a lot to be said for what does work about how the games expand on the plot of the novels. The Wild Hunt itself is the big one. The spectral cavalcade appears several times through the novels and hunts Ciri across multiple worlds in the final book before apparently losing her trail and vanishing to make way for the 'real' big bad, never to be mentioned again. While TW3 left me pretty underwhelmed by the revelation that the spectral Wild Hunt were just a bunch of dark elves in skull armor, the books had introduced the Hunt and let us spend some time on the dark elves' world before we get the reveal that the two may be one and the same. So for all the ranting I could do about missed opportunities regarding the Wild Hunt, they're the natural candidate for the games to pick up on as their new big-bads.

To my surprise, Geralt and Yennefer's "deaths" and subsequent recovery in pseudo-Avalon also comes straight from the novels. That everyone thinks Geralt dead at the start of the first game isn't, as I'd first assumed, a convenient excuse to have him reappear with amnesia, but simply how the novels end. Why Ciri leaves them and goes world-hopping isn't clear, but "because the Wild Hunt was after her again" is as good a theory as any. So, another point to the games there.

And there's so much more. The Catriona plague has only just appeared at the end of the novels, but we know it's posed for a major outbreak – one that’s in progress by the time of the games. The second game in particular does a terrific job of taking the ambitions of the expansionist Nilfgaardian Empire and the still-relatively-new Lodge of Sorceresses and building an entirely new conflict around them – even taking two of the least developed members of the Lodge (Sabrina Glevissig and Síle de Tansarville) and expanding them into major players. Dijkstra similarly ends the novels on the run from those in power, and having already taken the same assumed name 'Sigi Reuven' he's using in the games – while the books assure us that prince Radovid will grow up to pay back his father's assassins (ie. Phillipa) and become Radovid the Stern.

The twisted fairy tale origins of the novels are something the games actually seem to have gotten better at as they went on: the 'trail of treats' to the Crones is the great example, the monster-frog-prince and the land-of-a-thousand-fables of the expansions are two more, and many more are hidden in sidequests. And I'd be remiss not to mention that in again asking Geralt to pick a side in the conflict with the Scoia'tael, the first two games not only recreate a scenario Geralt repeatedly deals with in the books, but a major theme. It's interesting too how much the broad structure of the third game feels like an homage to the books, with Geralt searching for Ciri, interspersed with sections from her POV. You can nitpick the detail of any of these examples, but the intent is unmistakable, and a lot of credit is due for it in the execution too.

Some of the detail that's gone into translating the world of the Witcher books into the games is just insane – not just in the geography and history of the place, but right down to the names of the wine you can pick up. There's the fact the Cat potion makes Geralt see in black-and-white, or the fact the basilisk and cockatrice monsters are clearly based on the same model, but the basilisk is reptilian where as the cockatrice is more avian – which is exactly how Geralt describes the difference between them in The Lady of the Lake. There's a point where Book!Regis recounts a detailed list of all the lesser vampiric species, ending with the only two violent enough to tear apart their victims: almost all can be encountered in the games, and the last two (Fleders and Ekimma) are indeed the most animalistic. This kind of thing is everywhere.

My favourite examples tend to be those that blend into the background if you haven't read the books, but will get a grin from those who have, such as a peasant in Velen who will call out to Geralt (paraphrased from memory, alas) "Sir, sir! We be up to our ears in mamunes, imps, kobolds, hags, flying drakes... oh, and bats!" – which is a lovely little reference to a couple of conversations from Edge of the World wherein Geralt explains that most of the monsters the locals want him to take care of don't actually exist. Or all those soldiers chanting "Long live King Radovid!" – natural enough, but it takes on a whole new life if you've read the passage in Lady of the Lake where the young prince Radovid grumbles internally about having to sit and listen to the city chanting 'long live...' to every other notable figure present except him.

Really, it would be faster to list the things the games introduced that don't come from the original source material in any obvious form, because it's a struggle to come up with very many. The villainous Crones of Crookback Bog and Master Mirror of the Hearts of Stone expansion are the biggest ones that come to mind, along with a great deal of the vampire mythology from Blood and Wine. To the witchers themselves, they’ve added mostly game mechanics: the use of bombs and blade oils, the names of most of the potions, and three new witcher schools (all with their own specialised gear). There are a number of new creatures and monsters – Godlings, noon-and-night-wraiths, botchlings, shaelmaars and so on – and though trolls are mentioned in the books, the games take credit for giving them so much character. Obviously, there are new characters, like Thaller and Roche – but not technically Iorveth, because a Scoia'tael commander of that name is mentioned in the books, if only in passing. And already, short of just listing off every new character the games introduced, I’m running out of ideas. Credit where credit’s due on that front: most of the new characters and locations they’ve created feel authentic enough that Kalkstein or Thaller would be right at home in the novels’ world.

But for all their dedication to the detail, it's hard to feel like the games have really managed to capture the spirit of the books in their storytelling: the mundanely corrupt bureaucracy that does so much to bring the world to life, or their cheerfully cynical sense of humour, or the flamboyant wonder that is book!Dandelion, or their enthusiasm for putting women in positions of power, or the bigger themes about the differences between the story that gets sung by the bards and what really happened – or so much else from the novels that came as such a surprise to me when I started getting really sucked in.

And if we’re going to talk about all the little things they got right, it’s only fair to point out there are just as many little things they got wrong, and sometimes pretty glaringly at that. "I thought you bowed to no-one" says Emhyr to Geralt – almost as if book!Geralt doesn’t happily bow in most every situation where it would be polite or diplomatic to do so. "This would never have happened if the council was still around!" says Geralt upon finding a sorcerer's lab full of human experiments – as if none of his experiences with Vilgefortz or the wizards of Rissberg ever happened, back when the council was very much still around. In TW2, he mocks the idea of a woman like Saskia leading a rebellion – almost as if women like Falka and Aelirenn haven't led some of the most storied rebellions in history (and we can't even blame the amnesia, because Geralt himself mentions Aelirenn later – oh yeah, this one annoyed me particularly).

 Book!verse 'Lady of the Lake' is basically just Ciri being surprised while bathing

Yennefer's studious aethiesm and willingness to desecrate Freya's temple is entirely in character – but only if we forget that she had her own personal religious experience with the goddess Freya herself in Tower of the Swallow. And then there’s the fact the Lady of the Lake is now a literal lake nymph who distributes swords to the worthy, as if no-one writing for the games ever got past the title of that particular Witcher novel (let alone got the joke). And the list goes on. It's easy to get overly caught up in contradictions like this – it's hardly as if Sapkowski's novels don't contradict themselves in places, as almost any long-running series eventually will – but it's going to stick out to those who’ve read the novels nonetheless.

While we're talking about how the games pick up where the books left off though, the big contradiction that has to be touched on comes in bringing Geralt back at all, at least in any public capacity. There's plenty to suggest that Geralt survives the novels' end and even goes on to have further adventures, but it's also pretty explicit that the history books record his death in the Pogrom of Rivia as final. The last two novels by order of publication (Season of Storms and Lady of the Lake) go so far as to feature characters far in the future with an interest in Geralt's legacy, and they discuss the matter in some depth. As far as the world knows, Geralt is dead.

  Book!Geralt fanart by Diana Novich

But it's hard to blame the games for ignoring this – true, thanks to Geralt's longevity, they could have set their conflict many more years after those future scenes – maybe even used Ciri's established time-travel powers to let you pop quietly in and out of the past (and, okay, now I've thought through all that, I'm kind of sad they didn't). But there comes a point where that kind of slavish devotion to preserving the source material really doesn't do a story any favours, and I'm not sure I could name any other successful adaptation that's bothered.

Besides bringing Geralt back at all, most of the bigger changes pertain to Ciri. In fact, as much as I'm about to get deep into the nitpicks below, you can make a surprisingly good case that the games have made only one really big change, and that's in simplifying the prophesies surrounding her. See, in the novels, all those world-saving prophesies aren't technically about Ciri, they're about her as-yet-unborn child. Who gets to impregnate her is the big driving force behind most of the villains of the books – one that all the main contenders seem to see as more of an awkward necessity rather than the inspiration for violent lust, but even so. To Emhyr, having to marry his own daughter is a bug, not a feature – but he's willing to do it to become the father of the savior of the world. But if Ciri is capable of fulfilling those prophesies herself, then Emhyr is already the father of the savoir of the world, and the revisions to his relationship with Ciri start to make a lot more sense.

Ciri's history with the Aen Elle elves seems to have been similarly revised – if not quite so cleanly. Avallac’h and Eredin are, naturally, both book characters – in fact, a lot of personality has been left behind in the books, since Avallac’h originally had a rather camp flair, and Eredin is less the power-hungry kingslayer you might imagine. When Geralt meets Avallac’h in the books – which happens briefly in Toussaint, for one of those "everything you're doing is going to make everything worse because prophesy" conversations – he's busy decorating a cave with fake prehistoric paintings in the hope of confusing future explorers. (Surprisingly, there does seem to be official art of this moment on one of the gwent cards – see above – though the Avallac’h who jokes about adding erect phalluses to the picture and admits his vanity won’t allow him to resist signing it hasn’t entirely survived the transition to the new medium).

We also meet the former Alder King, Auberon, whose death we see in flashback in the game. (Fun fact: Auberon is actually blowing bubbles through a straw in a bowl of soapy water when we first meet him in the books, hence the straw in the illustration below. The books just have more whimsy than any of the games would know what to do with.)

Ciri spends some time in the final book as a prisoner on the world of the elves, who are as keen as everyone else for their king to father her unborn child. Avallac’h eventually convinces her that this is all for the greater good: her child will be able to open gates to allow the people of her world to escape when the apocalyptic White Frost arrives. But their king, like most older elves, is impotent, leading to multiple nights where Ciri allows him to take her to bed (in some of the frankly more disturbing scenes of the series) to no result. Eredin, moreover, doesn't appear to have intended to poison the king: the vial that kills him was supposed to contain some sort of fantasy viagra, and even Eredin seems genuinely shocked to learn its actual effects.

Regardless, Ciri eventually discovers that Avallac’h and the Aen Elle have deceived her, and intend to user her child's powers to invade her world, not save it. Neither world is threatened by the White Frost for at least several millennia, it's just a pretext to make her cooperate. And so she flees, and Eredin (already leading his Red Riders aka The Wild Hunt long before he was crowned king) pursues her.

With the books as context, why Ciri would ever trust Avallac’h is very hard to understand. It's a little easier if that whole awful episode with her and the former king is subtracted out – Ciri's child is no longer necessary for Eredin's goals. So it's odd that the game still references the deadly vial Eredin gave to the king. Are we to suppose the vial genuinely contained poison in this version of continuity? I'd rather it didn't – Avallach's ruse is far more interesting if he underwhelms Eredin's support by revealing a half-truth – but the games aren't telling us.

And then we have to factor in that one last detail I'd forgotten when I originally started playing with this theory: TW3 does contain one last, dangling reference to the time the old king spent trying to impregnate Ciri, when Ge'els very reasonably asks why on earth Ciri would ever trust Avallac’h now. It's a damn good question, and the game offers no real answers. So in Avallac’h, we're left with a character who is vital to the final chapters of the games, who comes out of nowhere without the books as context, but whose role makes no sense with that backstory in mind. Frankly, the writers would have been much better off avoiding the whole mess altogether and inventing some new character to take Avallac’h's place.

The treatment of the White Frost is even more confusing. The books are ultimately fairly explicit about just what the White Frost is: a ice age, most likely caused by the same mundane climactic factors that produced the real ice ages of our history. The only escape is intergalactic emigration, as Ciri (or her children) might some day enable.

In the games, the White Frost has instead become some sort of nebulous, free-floating apocalypse which will eventually reach all worlds, which is basically fine – up to a point. We briefly visit a dead world that the Frost has decimated, and even the Aen Elle are now supposedly planning to invade Ciri's world because it threatens theirs as well (I mean, apparently – their motivations are so underdeveloped you could miss them by accidently skipping just one or two lines of dialogue). When the Wild Hunt appears, it's always in a haze of cold. Their mages can invoke its power still more dramatically through portals which can freeze you in your tracks. So obviously, the Frost has already reached their world, and time is running out, right?

Well, no – you visit their world too (again, briefly – to meet a character who has never been mentioned before and won't be again, for reasons which have also never been mentioned before if you haven't read the books) – and there's no Frost in sight, apocalyptic or otherwise.

So why does the White Frost follow the Hunt around? No idea. It's never explained.

At the very end of the game, a second "Conjunction of the Spheres" occurs (possibly because of the Wild Hunt's appearance?), and the Frost begins to invade (or possibly Avallac’h summons it, so Ciri can go into it and destroy it?) It's all painfully unclear. The game is too busy pulling a bait-and-switch over whether Avallac’h's betrayed you to tell you what's actually going on instead.

But if Ciri could destroy the Frost completely (at great personal risk, but still) why is this not more clearly set up? Why did the Aen Elle think that escaping to another world (which will ALSO eventually be destroyed by the Frost) was a better solution than sending Ciri to face the Frost directly? For which matter, why do the Aen Elle need Ciri at all if sending enough ships to carry an army is no problem? Why does Ciri spend so much of the game questioning Avallac’h's true intentions, if they were ultimately so noble? When did he tell her the truth? If Avallac’h did summon the Frost, why did he pick that particular moment? And if he didn't, and it all just happened spontaneously, we're back to questioning why invading that world ever seemed like a good solution to Eredin – it all collapses in on itself.

None of these questions couldn't have been answered with a little creativity, but then the game would've had to dedicate some real time to explaining its backstory and developing its core conflict – something it's bizarrely reluctant to do. And if you think I may be drifting from the point a bit in the name of getting all my gripes about the ending down in one place, you're not wrong, but I feel Avallac’h and everything surrounding him is pretty much the ur-example of what doesn't work about the way The Witcher 3 depends on the novels: the backstory the writers are building on doesn't actually exist in any format available to the rest of us.

There are plenty of ways TW3 could have incorporated its backstory into its own narrative (yes, even excluding the method "by expecting people to read many many more pages of text from in-game documents", because that's bullshit and always will be). There are times it does this brilliantly, such as in the quest ‘The Last Wish’: everything you really need to know is covered in Yennefer and Geralt's conversation in the boat, and without ever making the dialogue sound unnatural. In fact, TW3 has even more options here than many works with the same problem, because Geralt is famous and people already think they know his story. You could have bards singing Dandelion's ballads, you could have characters confronting him with misunderstandings about his past to force him to correct them. You could also have Geralt visiting people and places he knows Ciri remembers fondly because of the time they spent there together, or include playable flashbacks similar to the time you spend playing as Ciri. You could stick chunks of backstory in optional sidequests or scenes old-school fans can skip through quickly. So many of my questions (how did Ciri get so close to Yennefer if they were never at Kaer Morhen together? Why has no-one tried training Ciri in her powers before? What does the Wild Hunt even do while it's not hunting Ciri? Why is Ciri princess of Cintra if her father is Emperor of another country altogether?) could have been answered so easily.

Seriously, summarising the Witcher books is not that hard. Lots of things happen, but only a fraction of it is really relevant in retrospect, and you could hit all the major plot beats in a handful of paragraphs. (Heck, I’d do it here if this post wasn’t already ridiculously over long.)

But then, TW3 has a bizarre problem with leaving so much of its best material off screen, even from its own story. It's criminal that we never get to see any of Geralt's time (or Yennefer's) with the Wild Hunt, even in flashback or dream sequence. This is material that directly sets up the relationship between the main hero and the main villain, and the most we ever hear about it is a few vague allusions to it being like a strange nightmare. Really? That's it? What was it like? Was Geralt in a trance, unable to control his own actions – was he brainwashed into believing he belonged there, or was he merely unable to escape? What atrocities might Eredin have forced him to commit? Did he visit other worlds? Was he paraded among the Aen Elle as a captive? There is no way this isn’t a part of the story worth talking about!

We never see the moment Ciri rescues Geralt from the Wild Hunt. We never see how Avallac’h convinces her to trust him, we never see the moment he was cursed, or any of her efforts to save him – all these big, story-defining moments are left off-screen, to be vaguely recounted to you later in dialogue. Then there's the entire political situation in Nilfgaard – you hear about it second-hand, and it's all resolved off screen. And the list goes on. Yet you and Ciri still have time to run around Novigrad so she can thank a bunch of throwaway characters you've never even heard of before, nor will again. The priorities on display here are baffling.

The Witcher 3 was such a wildly successful game that it’s obvious these sorts of issues didn’t seriously hold it back, and it’s such a big game that I could have sat down and written just as many words focusing only on the parts that do work without much difficulty. It boasts stunning visuals, addictive gameplay and some truly wonderful characters, and so many parts of the story work brilliantly in isolation that it’s strange to come out of it feeling that it ultimately adds up to so much less than the sum of its parts.

I’m glad TW3 exists – if it hadn’t been such a runaway success I doubt I’d ever have discovered Sapkowski’s universe at all, but for myself, TW3 will probably always be remembered as a somewhat-overlong introduction to the really good stuff, in the expansions and the original novels it came from. I looked up the novels after finishing TW3 in large part because I’d been left with so many unanswered questions – and I’m glad I did, but I’m honestly surprised more people weren’t turned off by TW3′s scattershot approach to its own narrative. You’re allowed to change and rework in moving to a new medium, but I can’t imagine it would’ve hurt games’ success to tell a complete story in the process.

[isa-ghost]

Some kind of clarification I guess

I should probably mention this before/in case something happens and I get mobbed/cancelled for it in my askbox at some point--

I’m caring a lot less about “being nice” when it comes to conflict (mostly political things, but in general and especially on this site). I’m Fucking Tired. I’m intense, and when I feel strongly about something, I can get aggressive. It’s just how it is, and Tumblr hasn’t taken too kindly to that kind of personality in the past.

Some of Tumblr gets way too sensitive and/or takes the smallest things out of context, twists them, and blows them up obscenely or interprets something with the completely incorrect tone. I’m beyond tired of overly filtering myself to avoid that happening and to avoid being attacked for any little thing (I’ve done that since the very start of my blog) on the rare occasion I state my piece about something. Tumblr has always felt super hostile to me when anything involves some kind of conflict or debate and it probably never won’t feel that way to me. I’ve been paranoid, maybe more than I need to be, the entire time I’ve existed on Tumblr.

Tumblr’s attitude on a LOT of things has been plaguing me mentally for a very long time now both on the site and off it, and it’s driving me insane. It’s exhausting. It’s honestly why I haven’t been active here nearly as much as I was in, like, 2018 or so. I am not leaving. That’s not what this is AT ALL, don’t jump to any conclusions.

I am merely clarifying right here, right now, that I am tired of what ifs about how things I say might get received by people, and I’m MEGA tired of Tumblr’s Shit Attitude and Tumblr Woke Culture plaguing my brain with everything I ever interact with. It’s toxic and makes everything hard to enjoy and I’m trying to rid that shit from my brain because it’s draining as fuck.

Between fighting to unlearn this, being fed up with Tumblr (and Twitter) attitudes, and how volatile my country (the US for anyone new here) is right now, I have little niceness to spare in heated interactions of any kind. So in the future, if I ever go off about something in a post I make, or get into some kind of tense exchange with any other blog, I don’t want to see a single reply, reblog, or ask from anyone going “hm that was kinda harsh :///” or something along those lines because I have ZERO patience to spare with the things I have strong feelings about nowadays.

Even just writing this little “disclaimer” or whatever you want to call it, I can already imagine some hypothetical clown in the future thinking they’re wise and saying this post is just an excuse for asshole behavior or something, and I hesitate to click post. Let that be some kind of hint into just how serious the hostility I’ve seen and experienced on this site affects me every time I post something that isn’t haha funnee shitpoost or a JSE ego theory.

TLDR; Tumblr’s toxicity has been getting to me severely even when I’m not on here (and I’m trying to cleanse myself of it). Between that and life in the US atm, I am low on patience and niceness. In other words, should I ever get into some kind of tense exchange or say some heated words in a post in the future, I don’t want to deal with people coming after me because I didn’t have a filter or seem too aggressive because I feel strongly about something. I’m posting this because I feel like I should explain a little as to why my activity has gone down on here aside from reblogs.

For any unanswered questions, curiosities or whatever else, feel free to send me some asks.

[cordoniantrash]

Once Upon Another Time: Chapter Ten (Part One)

AU: In another time where the brothers Beaumont did not reach Cassandra in time, the waitress turned lady went back to New York to rebuild her old life. After finding an unexpected souvenir, she set off and joined her long lost family. Four years later, a newly divorced King of Cordonia arrives in New York in hopes of reuniting with his beloved. Instead of Cassandra, all he found was a postcard with the word Edgewater written on the back

Catch up here: Prologue, Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9

Plus a masterlist if you guys are interested. Also in AO3.

People has spoken so a split chapter it is! As usual, huge thanks to @thequeennefertipi, for betaing this really reaallly long chapter. Part Two’s tomorrow!

Anyways, feel free to let me know what you guys think!

Spelling and grammatical errors are mine.

Disclaimer: I don’t own the characters, Pixleberry has that privilege. Title for both the series and the chapter titles, plus the epigraphs are from Sara Bareilles’ discography.  

Pairings: Liam x MC

Warning: long post (pretty PG part tbh) 

Words: 6219

Chapter Ten: Armor

To all my sisters and all our friends

We have to thank them, please

Strength means blessed with an enemy

 In the four years that Cassandra stayed away, her mind had conjured various scenarios where she and the others would meet again. Some of them were happy while others, fed by the anxieties that plagued her before her reunion with Liam, were darker. Sadder. Some were angry and confrontational. But this one seemed to take the cake, so to speak. Reality is stranger than fiction, after all. 

She had never imagined them reuniting in a hospital. 

Cassandra shivered and wrapped her cardigan tighter around her. At least we have a private room. I don’t think I’d be this comfortable waiting outside. She glanced at Lucas, who had his face pressed against the glass of the vending machine. Not quite understanding what happened, but sensing something had. He had been silent on their ride to the hospital. They did not even have time to stop by the Palace. Not that I’d feel better there. Not after the news we received as soon as we landed.

The door opened, and Cassandra rose from her seat. Her heart seemed to jump to her throat, then returned to where it was supposed to be, as Liam stepped into the room. Hana followed behind him, head down and shoulders slumped. Concern and nervousness wrapped themselves around her like a second layer.

“How is she?” she asked as she crossed the room. Lucas looked up from the vending machine and promptly bounded over to Liam, quickly latching on to his father’s leg. Liam immediately lifted their son in his arms. 

“Did you see the doctor, Dad? Are you sick?”

“Not quite, darling,” he answered as Cassandra reached them. “The doctors said she’s stable,” he said to her over Lucas’ shoulder. “They’re monitoring her tonight to make sure everything goes well.” 

Cassandra nodded and put a hand on Hana’s arm. Her touch seemed to jolt Hana from a trance. She looked up, eyes looking lost. 

“Oh, Hana…” Cassie trailed off as she pulled her best friend into a hug. Hana seemed to shake in her arms as she returned the gesture. Over her shoulder, Cassie shot a concerned look at Liam. He echoed her look, clutching Lucas tighter. Both of them having the same unanswered question.

What happens now?

Cassie stroked Hana’s hair, murmuring soothing words as she did so. 

“She’ll be fine, Hana. Kiara’s gonna be fine…”

----

One of Bastien’s agents had found her sprawled face first in her office, in a growing pool of her own blood, the surrounding space trashed. The eye of a destructive storm. 

Hana has not seen how her office looked when they found her. She knew there was at least a picture. Liam had carefully hidden it, perhaps wanting to spare her the gruesome sight. But Hana could imagine it anyway. It only made her feel colder. 

God, what was the last thing we said to each other? When did we last see each other in person? When was the last time I heard her voice? Will those be the last time? Dear God, don’t let it be the last time…

 “… Miss Hana?” a little voice put a stop to her morbid thoughts. She looked up and met Lucas’ earnest eyes. He was extending a pack of little gummy bears in her direction. “Want some?”

“I — “she felt her eyes start to water. Lucas seemed to know what she wanted to say as he gently set the pack on her lap.

“Mommy buys them when we see the doctor. They make me feel better. Do they make you feel better too?”

Hana could not open her mouth without bursting to tears, so she nodded and tried her best to smile at the little boy and his kind gesture. 

You really are Cassie’s son, she thought as gratitude swelled within her. I won’t let them hurt you too. 

----

The car ride to the hospital was tense, to say the least. Leo had collected Maxwell while Olivia was given the great honour of fetching the great saint Drake from his exile. If that wasn’t bad enough, Leo had them bundled up in the same car while he took another one with his family. Someone out there must really have it against her. 

I can’t believe I’m stuck in a car with these two. She scowled into the night. I can’t believe we let a snake get in the nest!

Olivia couldn’t care less about Drake and Maxwell’s colossal misunderstanding. What darkened her mood was the fact that one of theirs had been attacked in their own base. The palace was supposed to be their stronghold. The heart of their operations. I knew something was off. Damn it, I waited too long to strike! 

“If you two have nothing to say to each other, I suggest you keep it that way until this hospital visit is over. Zenobia knows I don’t need more problems today.”

Maxwell nodded while a grunt was all Drake said. Are manners really too much to ask? Oh, well.

“Good.”

“Olivia…” Maxwell trailed off as she directed a glare in his direction. The Beaumont lord gulped and raised his hand, showing that he meant no harm. More than I can say over Grumpy here.

She graciously nodded, and he continued, letting out a sigh of relief as he did so. 

“Is Cassie gonna be with them in the hospital?”

Olivia saw Drake freeze. Ah. This should be interesting…

She smirked and answered Maxwell’s question with the affirmative, keeping an eye on Drake all the while. The latter tried to affect an air of nonchalance as he listened to their exchange. A little too intent on listening if you ask me… she thought, amused. Then she remembered what he had done when he found out that Maxwell’s been hiding Savannah all this time. Olivia scowled once more.

You nitwits better not fuck this up.

----

Hospital reunions look nothing like their TV counterparts. Not that Drake would know. He doesn’t watch those kinds of shows. But Savannah devoured those when they were younger and Drake had retained patches of those stories in his memories. Like some weird form of osmosis. 

They were led to a private room by a silent Bastien. Drake tried not to take it personally when his mentor avoided his gaze. Not that it mattered to him at that moment. He was noticing every little thing in the halls. Every sound seemed louder. 

How can a person feel numb and hypersensitive all at once?

Maxwell’s question bounced around his head. Cassie’s here. She’s inside the building, probably waiting in a room. She’s here, she’s back, and Drake felt as he did when he walked into the grand ballroom four years ago. Helpless knowing that the girl he might feel something for was head over heels in love with his best friend. 

No! No. Don’t go there.  

They stopped in front of one of the private rooms. A casual glance down the hallway told him several agents were standing guard. Not that other people would know. They’d been trained to blend in with the crowd. 

Bastien moved to open the door, but Olivia stopped him with a gesture. She whirled around and glared at him and Maxwell both.

“Remember what I told you.”

Maxwell bobbed his head, eyes wide. Drake glared at Olivia before grudgingly nodding along. 

Olivia spared another moment to glare at them, no doubt willing her words to sink in before nodding. She reached for the door herself.

“Oh, and Drake? Try not to make a bigger fool of yourself.”

-

There was only one entrance and exit. Well, two if you count the windows that overlooked the capital. The room itself was dotted with some comfortable-looking couches. A vending machine on the far side looked out of place. Must have been a recent addition.  

A little boy was standing in front of it. His little face was pressed against the glass, obscuring his features to Drake.

Drake knew there that there would be a little boy with them. So why do I feel like someone just punched my stomach?

Beside him, Maxwell gasped a name that haunted Drake’s thoughts for four years now.

“Cassie!”

A dark-haired woman whirled around. She was short, with dark eyes, a button nose, and a smile that seemed to catapult Drake into the past. She lit up as Maxwell rushed to her. Drake tried not to stare. 

“Maxie!” 

He looked away before they collided. He found Liam next, looking on at the scene Drake just left, a small smile on his face. It’s a reunion. Why shouldn’t he feel happy? 

“Drink it all in.”

He ignored her. 

“No words then? No wonder you resort to punches.”

“Oh shut up, Olivia.”

“If the shoe fits…” she shrugged as she walked toward Maxwell and Ca—no—Angeles. He always called her by her last name. I’m not gonna change that now, of all times. 

He shook his head, exasperation temporarily replacing the mishmash of emotions that were threatening to pull him under. He saw Olivia stop and raise an eyebrow, no doubt scrutinising Cassandra from head to toe. Maxwell had untangled himself from the hug that he and Cassandra shared and was now sitting next to Hana, murmuring words to her. 

“Cassandra.”

“Hey, Olivia.”

“Still in one piece then?”

“Seems like it, yes.”

“Hmm.”

For a moment the two women just looked at each other. Then Cassandra’s lips quirked into a smile.

“It’s good to see you again, Olivia.”

The Duchess smirked. 

“You too, Cassandra.”

Drake felt both eyebrows lift in surprise. They’re getting along? Since when? 

He caught Liam looking at his direction, an eyebrow raised in question. Drake shrugged and rolled his eyes. Liam shook his head, his smile growing.

I might just get through this meeting.

“Dad, can I get this one?” 

Never mind.

The little boy had turned around and Drake found himself looking at Liam’s son for the first time. And stared. I thought the others were exaggerating. 

“Of course, darling.” Liam’s voice immediately answered as he went to join his son. 

Their exchange caused Cassandra, Olivia and Maxwell to look towards them. Which unfortunately also meant at Drake’s direction. 

Cassandra met his eyes. Drake felt himself freeze. She stepped towards him, hesitation clear in her eyes. Are you also thinking about what I said that night?

She offered him a slight smile. 

“Hello, Drake.”

“Angeles,” he managed to say.

Her smile widened, amusement replacing hesitation. Drake tried not to drink it in. He was hyperaware that Liam and her –their—son stood a few feet away from him. 

“Are you still insisting on my last name?”

Drake shrugged, “Why not?”

She huffed out a laugh, “Never change, Drake.”

But you have. All of you changed while I remained in limbo. While I was left behind.

He shrugged again. 

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

----

“Now that we’re here, we need a plan.”

“Is this really the time and place, Olivia?” Cassie asked as she kept one eye on the Duchess and another on Lucas. Not that he needed much looking after. Her son was curled up in Liam’s arms, eyelids drooping as he fought off sleep. 

“The sooner we make a plan, the better.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I agree with you,” she glanced at Hana’s silent form. “But taking this day’s events into consideration, wouldn’t it be better if we’re all well-rested before we come up with a plan?”

Olivia opened her mouth to argue, but Liam beat her to the punch.

“She’s got a point, Olivia.”

“Of course, she does,” Olivia muttered. Cassie was close enough to hear, but she doubted the Duchess really bothered to disguise her words. Liam just let it slide, his face still composed and collected. Cassie tried not to take it personally. Emphasis on tried. She might have been a little miffed. Just a bit. But then again, you know how Olivia is…

“Besides,” Liam continued. “Leo hasn’t arrived yet.”

Olivia tensed. It was quick, but Cassie was sure she saw her tense. She narrowed her eyes. Why? 

Before she could puzzle it out, the door opened again, and a tall blond man stepped in. Cassie had only met him once, a few hours before the coronation. Leo Rys, Liam’s older brother. Following him was a pretty brunette. 

That must be Katie, Cassie thought as she stood up. Beside her, Liam did the same, his movement causing Lucas to open his eyes. Damn it, we were so close! With so many people, it’s gonna take a while for him to be sleepy again.

Liam must have realised that too as he shot her an apologetic look. She narrowed her eyes at him. I’ll deal with you later.

Liam gulped and cleared his throat. 

“Cassie, you remember Leo.”

She shot him another look before turning and smiling at Leo. 

“Hello coz,” he said as he enveloped her in a bear hug. “And this must be my nephew!”

“I—yeah. Hi,” Cassie sputtered before getting a grip. I’m cousins with Liam’s brother. That’s not weird at all. Right? Right. Don’t make it weird, Cassie…

He ruffled Lucas’ hair, after glancing at her for permission. She nodded, head still trying to wrap around their connection. Her son’s eyes widened before offering his uncle a shy smile.

“Hello.”

“Hi, little guy. I’m your Uncle Leo.”

Lucas’ eyes lit up, “Like my Uncle Charlie?”

Leo chuckled, “Sure. Let’s go with that.”

“He’s my older brother,” Liam explained to Lucas, who was craning his head to look beyond his newly found uncle. Lucas turned, and a furrow appeared between his eyebrows. 

“Do I have an older brother?”

Cassie felt her eyes grow wide as Liam seemed to choke. Leo let out a laugh. Cassie could feel the other’s gaze on her back.

Liam cleared his throat. “I’m afraid not, darling.”

“Why?”

“Erm…”

“We’ll tell you when you’re older, baby,” Cassie quickly interjected. She could feel herself blush. Liam nodded.

“Oh… okay!”

Leo chuckled and opened his arms. Liam carefully set Lucas on his feet before accepting his brother’s hug. Cassie turned to Katie. Who, she noticed, was smiling at their exchange. Cassie wanted to fan her face. Two girls had joined them. Twins. When Liam mentioned his nieces, the possibility of them being twins did not cross Cassie’s mind. 

I need to make a good impression…

“Hi — “she began, but Lucas beat her to the punch.

“Hi! My name’s Lucas and I’m four!”

Cassie watched as Leo’s twins (Sabrina and Samantha, Liam had mentioned) greet her son. Katie caught her eye and smiled in welcome. I guess that works too…

-

“Are we all agreed?” Liam asked. People murmured their agreement. Cassie nodded along, careful not to jostle a sleepy Lucas. If she was being honest with herself, seeing Liam take control of a room sent tingles down her spine. Not the time or place, Cassie! Abort mission! Abort!

Liam nodded, satisfied. “We’ll contact each other again in the morning. Anything else? Olivia?” The Duchess nodded before whirling around and glaring at Maxwell and Drake.

“Remember, be discreet.” 

Cassie furrowed her eyebrows. I must ask about that… add that to the pile of things I missed. She looked down, concealing her face in the guise of checking whether Lucas finally fell asleep. He blinked back at her, face slack. She hummed and ran her hand through his hair. 

“Ready?” Liam asked as he approached her and Lucas. He sat down beside her. “Bastien’s taking us to my townhouse for the night. How is he?”

“He’s nearly asleep…” she whispered. Cassie looked and gave Maxwell a slight wave as he opened the door. He gave her two thumbs up. Cassie resisted the urge to cry. I missed them so much…

“Can we take Hana with us? I’m not sure she should be alone right now.”

Liam nodded and glanced at a still silent Hana. “Of course, Cassie.”

She saw Katie lead the girls out of the room, but not after sharing a long look with Leo. Cassie had vague memories of her mother giving her father a similar look on whenever they argued. Her eyebrows furrowed as she felt her heart clench. She felt unsettled. She saw Leo approach them.

“Can we go now?” she whispered as she turned to Liam. 

“Liam, we need to talk,” Leo whispered. He met Cassie’s eye and tried to give her a reassuring grin. “I’ll be quick.”

Liam glanced at her, a question in his eyes. Cassandra nodded her head slowly, worry starting to make her fingers and toes tingle. She caught Liam’s sleeve as he rose to his feet. He looked at her, a question in his eyes. Cassie can’t quite put to words the sense of foreboding she was feeling.

“Just—you’ll be quick, right?” knowing how odd that sounded, she glanced down at Lucas. “I’d like to put him to bed soon.”

Liam gently squeezed her hand.

“I will.”

----

Maxwell finally gathered enough nerve to talk to Drake again as they stepped out of the room. Time to fix one of my screw-ups. His many – many—screw-ups. He slowed his steps and tried to sound assertive. Like Bertrand. I can be responsible! 

“Can we talk?”

He might as well have asked the air.

“Drake—“

The other man walked ahead, faster this time. Maxwell fastened his pace. He called after Drake, dimly aware of the number of heads that turned as he did so. Cringing, he nearly jogged to catch up. 

“Aw c’mon! You can’t ignore me forever!”

Maxwell reached out and grabbed Drake’s arm. The other man shrugged him off.

Something in Maxwell snapped.

“Drake Walker!”

Wonder of wonders, Drake stopped. 

Bad news is, most of the people in the corridor did too. 

So did Olivia. Scowling, she stalked towards them and grabbed both of their arms. 

“What did I just say?” she hissed as she steered them towards the emergency exit. “I swear, neither of you know the word discreet.”

“I wasn’t — “Maxwell tried to protest. Olivia’s frown stopped his words from their tracts. 

She nearly kicked open the door that leads to the emergency staircase, then all but pushed them inside. “If you two insist on being bull-headed idiots, get out and spare the rest of us.”

“But — “This time, it was Drake who voiced an objection.

“No buts!” she snapped as she closed the door. She fixed them with a glare. 

“Talk. Now.”

It took Maxwell a second to understand what she was saying. In the end, all he managed was an intelligible “Wuuuh?”

Olivia rolled her eyes, “We will accomplish nothing with this weird lovers’ spat you two got going on. So get over yourselves and just kiss and make-up.”

She whirled around and went back into the hallway before Maxwell could blink. 

“So…” he trailed off, suddenly unsure. Now what?

Drake crossed his arms and scowled, but he did not turn around and ignore Maxwell. Which is a good start! Maxwell’s gonna see it as a good start. Persistent optimism always works. Right?

“What.”

“Look, Drake… I know you’re mad at me—“

“Try furious.”

“Right. That. But, please believe me when I say I really just wanted to help. Savannah asked me not to tell anyone else, including you. Believe me, I’ve wanted to tell you since the beginning but I promised her and well…” he trailed off, unsure how to continue. I’m not doing a good job explaining, am I? God, what would Bertrand do?

Drake sighed. A moment passed. And another one. Maxwell was starting to feel sweat beading his forehead. 

“I know that. It’s just—it’s been six years since she disappeared…”

Maxwell resisted the urge to reply. But it was Savannah’s choice, Drake… he’s not sure how his friend (frenemy?) would take that.

Drake sighed again. Maxwell gulped. One last try, then…

“Look, I know this isn’t the time… but can we agree to be civil for a bit? Until this whole thing blows over?”

Drake narrowed his eyes, “What’s the catch?”

Maxwell could feel his own eyes narrow in turn. “Bartie’s my nephew too, you know.”

Drake’s eyes widened, and his shoulders seemed to fall. “Right. You, uh—you can always visit them,” he mumbled as he looked at the ground for a moment. Maxwell knew Drake well enough to know that the older man was having an internal debate.

After goodness knows how long, the other man nodded as if he had finally convinced himself. Maxwell let out a sigh of relief. 

“Thanks, Drake.”

Drake grunted. 

“Are we done here?”

Maxwell tried on a smile. Just take what you can get…’Cause that’s all you’re ever good for.

“Yeah! Let’s go!”

----

The car ride to the townhouse was silent. He could feel Cassie’s gaze on him the entire time. Liam did not need to look up to see the concern in her eyes. He could hardly find words to make sense of the whirling thoughts in his head, let alone words of reassurance for her. Liam wanted to reassure her, to show her that coming back here, with their son no less, wasn’t a terrible idea. 

Liam just can’t seem to muster the words. He looked at their sleeping son, cradled in his arms. Cassie had enough on her plate, what with looking after Hana and the attack. Not to mention the notion of coming back here. The least he could do was carry their son to bed. Must I always fail everyone I love? Lucas muttered in his sleep, and Liam tightened his arm around the little boy. Will I fail you too?

As though sensing his thoughts, Cassie squeezed his hand. He looked at their entwined fingers. She had held his hand since getting in the car. Her warmth and presence the only thing tethering him to the present. The only thing preventing him from spiralling. He returned the squeeze and ran his thumb over her knuckle. My lighthouse and anchor both. I’m so sorry for failing you and our son. If I hadn’t—

The car came to a stop. Liam looked out the window. It was raining. I should have brought an umbrella, he thought absently. Now I have nothing to keep the two of you dry. Add that to the growing pile of my failings.

“Liam?” her voice drew him out of his thoughts. He turned his head and kissed her hand. I’ll be fine. I have to be. 

The door opened and Bastien was suddenly there with umbrellas and Liam had to let go of Cassie’s hand and then it was a quick walk to the front door, while agents were shielded them from view. He felt her hand on the crook of his elbow. Still guiding him when he was supposed to guide her now.

Liam hardly felt the droplets that landed on him. At the eye of the storm that was raging in his mind, only one thought repeated itself. 

I must keep my family safe.

-

He remembered the last time he saw his mother. Remembered how tightly she held him before kissing his forehead and walking towards the ballroom. Remembered the last smile she gave him. It did not feel like a goodbye. But things hardly do. 

And I married his daughter. Did my father know what Godfrey had done when he forced me to marry Madeleine? 

Liam could feel a headache forming. The monster who killed my mother has been under my nose all along… and now Leo thinks there’s more to this than what meets the eye. Must we pay for the sins you’ve done, Father? Must my son pay for something he had no hand in doing? Will my nieces? Is this the legacy you’ve worked so hard to save?

“Liam?” 

He whirled around. Cassie standing at the threshold of his room, hair damp and already in her pyjamas. 

“I thought you might like something hot to drink.”

“I—thank you, Cassie, but — “I can’t put you and Lucas through more danger…

“It’s hot chocolate,” she continued in a rush. She gave him a small, hesitant smile. “I know you don’t like the tea they have in the kitchen.”

“Oh, Cassie… you didn’t have to.”

She shrugged as she set the mugs on a nearby coffee table. “I know, but I wanted to.”

She came to a stop in front of him, dark eyes studying him. Liam resisted the urge to look away. She took hold of his hands, tugging him closer to her. Liam hesitated for a second before placing his hands on her hips. He could feel his shoulders loosening, the tension leaving his body. He never broke their gaze.

“C’mere love,” she whispered as she wrapped her arms around him. Liam held her tight. He closed his eyes. 

“Whatever it is, we’ll get through it,” she murmured in his ear. Liam believed her. Despite everything that happened. The attack, his father’s secrets and schemes and the revelation that rocked his world, he believed her. He wanted to believe her. But Liam knows he failed her. Failed them both.

“I’m so sorry, Cassie.” he breathed out.

She pulled back slightly, meeting his eyes again, “Whatever for?”

“All this. I thought it would be safe. I thought you’ll both be safe. I’ve failed you and Lucas.”

“Liam… you couldn’t have known this would happen.” She looped her arms around his neck, bringing their faces closer until their foreheads touched, “and you haven’t failed anyone, especially Lucas and me.” 

“I just—“

“No, Liam.”

“But—“

“You haven’t,” she ran her thumb over his cheek. “I don’t think you have it in you.”

Liam sighed.

“Promise me you won’t keep beating yourself up over this?”

“Cassie—“

“Please?”

His forehead furrowed, trying to reconcile the dwindling thoughts swirling in his head and Cassie’s words, her warmth and the faith shining in her eyes.

“I — “he gulped. “I promise.”

Cassie beamed at him, relief in her eyes along with something that made Liam’s heart stutter. 

“Good,” she breathed as she closed the gap between them. 

-

Their drinks had turned cold by the time they dragged themselves from the bed.

----

St. Germain’s Medical Centre, the next day

She still hasn’t woken up yet. Hana stared at the clock near the window, tracking how the sweep hand glides away, showing her the seconds that was ticking by. 

The night before had been a blur, with vague impressions that clued her in on what was happening. Cassie and Liam had ensured her comfort while Maxwell kept checking in on her, in person then by hourly messages. Hakim and Joelle had sent her messages, their words bringing her more comfort than anything her mother ever said. Even Rashad had wished Kiara a speedy recovery and offered to postpone their farce of a wedding or putting a stop to it altogether. Sitting next to Kiara’s bed, Hana was seriously considering his offer.

She was more than grateful for them, but she can’t seem to find words to tell them that. I’ll have to show them sometime. She looked at Kiara’s sleeping face, we’ll show them, won’t we? Please say yes…

Please wake up.

The doctors had stitched her back up, but her assailants had hit her hard at the back of her head. It didn’t help that she also fell to the floor. Hana sighed. I fear I’ve run out of tears. She certainly had the headache to prove it.  

Her phone beeped with another message. A glance told her it was her mother again. No doubt pestering her about wedding details… again. 

Her phone rang with an incoming phone call.

Hana pressed her palms to her face, as though the act of covering them might also block her mother’s incessant demands. 

Raised voices from outside the room caused her to look up. Panic gripped her. Hana quickly got up and stood in front of the door, shielding Kiara’s unconscious form as best as she can. 

The door opened and Hana had just enough time to see an agent’s harried face before the door snapped shut again. Hana stared, her heart still beating hard in her chest. What she had thought to be another attack was actually her own mother. Is this any different though?

“Hana,” Lorelai snapped, bracelets clanking together as she whirled around to face Hana. “Have you lost your senses? You were supposed to be with me today, not play-acting as some glorified nursemaid!” She stalked towards where Hana stood. “Do you have any idea the embarrassment that you’ve caused? You’re coming with me right now. Goodness, just when I thought you were over this—“

“Get out, Mother.” Hana interrupted, her voice soft. 

“… you go ahead and—what did you just say?” 

“I said… get out.” Hana said through clenched teeth. The numbness that settled under her skin when she heard what happened to Kiara gave way to rage. 

“Now, Hana — “Lorelai began in a tone Hana knew all too well. It was supposed to be placating, a tone meant to soothe her into compliance. 

 “No!” Hana snapped, her voice rising. “No more! I’m done with this – with you!” A part of her was horrified with the words that flew out of her mouth while the rest of her was just all raw nerve and anger; years’ worth of pain and anger spilling out in a rush. “I’m done with being your puppet Mother and I say no more!”

Lorelai’s shock was quickly replaced by anger. She glared at Hana. 

“You dare—“

“Yes, I dare!” Hana declared, back straight and gaze fixed on her mother. “I’m so sick and tired of being your perfect little doll. I’m tired of dancing to whatever tune you want me to. For once in my life, I’m making a choice for me. Not for you, not for Father, not for your own ambitions. I’m choosing me and the people that actually love me for me and damn the consequences. The wedding’s off and you can disown me for all I care. Now get out!”

Hana paused, breathing hard and feeling lighter than she had in years.

Lorelai gazed at her, mouth agape and gaze disbelieving. The door opened, and an agent stepped in. Hana took a deep breath and whirled around to reclaim her seat next to Kiara’s bed.

“Please escort my mother out of the premises, Agent Mara. We’re done here.”

----

They left the capital in the early morning hours, the horizon still dark. By the time they reached their destination, the sun had peaked its rays over the world. It was Liam who gently shook Cassandra awake as the first rays illuminated what looked like a castle taken straight out of a fairy-tale. 

“Welcome to Valtoria, Cassie.”

-

Edgewater two days earlier

“We’ve decided to visit Cordonia for a bit.”

“That’s… that’s wonderful news, Cassie!” Hana said, her smile suddenly strained. Cassie furrowed her eyebrows and looked at Liam.

“Is there something wrong?” Cassie asked carefully. I know this is all sudden, she thought, but a brief visit hurt no one, right?

“Nothing!” Hana said, quickly regaining her composure. Cassie shot her a questioning look. Hana sighed before continuing. “It’s just — the media and the campaign…” she trailed off.

“We’ve thought about that, Hana. That’s part of the reason we asked you to come here,” Liam interjected as he leaned forward in his seat. “We plan on being discreet. Besides, while Cassie and Lucas are more than welcome to stay at the Palace, we’ll be staying at one of the crown’s estates instead.”

Intrigued, Hana raised her eyebrows, “And where would that be, Your Majesty?”

Liam smiled and laced his hand with Cassandra. 

“I was thinking… Valtoria’s nice this time of year.”

-

Lucas had been smitten as soon as they arrived. He had run towards the short bridge that led to the gigantic oak double doors. 

“It’s a castle, Mommy!”

Cassie smiled indulgently at the four-year-old.

“Seems like it, baby.”

“Like in the stories! Right, Dad?”

Liam chuckled at her side, “Yes, darling.”

“It’s pretty! There’s a lake too! Like at Grandma’s!”

Cassie felt her smile grow wider, but a movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention. Several staff members had assembled at the front of the door. 

“Uh, Liam?”

“Yes, dear?”

She took his arm and nodded towards the people assembled at the front of the estate. Manor? Castle? 

“Ah.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I’m afraid sightseeing might take a backseat for today.”

“Wait… we’re really going in there?”

Liam turned to her, his eyebrows drawn. 

“… Yes?”

“Really?” Cassie repeated, bewildered.

“Don’t you like it?” She would have thought he was joking if confusion wasn’t shining from his eyes.  

“What? No! I mean—I like it. It’s beautiful, Liam. But I thought—“realisation dawned on her. “This is Valtoria?”

“Uh, yes?”

“I thought – you said manor!” Cassie sputtered. Liam looked at her, eyes wide. 

“It is?”

“That’s a castle, Liam!”

“Mommy? Dad?”

Both of their head turned towards Lucas. The little boy was bouncing with excitement, unaware of their conversation. He pointed towards the lake.

“Fishes!”

Cassie glanced at Liam, only to find him already looking at her. She exhaled. Before she could answer, another car pulled to a stop next to theirs. Olivia and Leo stepped out, with an older woman following in their wake.

Cassie looked at Liam.

“Later?”

Liam nodded. 

“Later.”

-

The inside of the castle was more opulent than the outside. Gold and red seemed to dominate the space. Cassandra tried her best not to gape. The side glances that Olivia shot her told her it didn’t work. Cassie ignored those looks. Looking around, she seemed to be the only one surprised at the sheer grandeur of their surroundings. 

Leo and the older woman looked to be in the midst of an intense conversation. Liam held her hand, but he frequently glanced at them, curious and wary. She squeezed his hand to get his attention. 

“Are we taking Lucas with us to the meeting?”

“There’s a playroom set up for Lucas,” Liam murmured next to her as they walked through one of the corridors. “It’s right next to the room we will use for this meeting, so we’ll be able to keep an eye on him.”

Cassie nodded, relieved to tick that worry off her mind.

“Briar’s coming with Auntie tonight, so there’s someone we know that can look after him,” she murmured as they turned a corner. They both came to a stop when Lucas, who was trailing after them, gasped. They both whirled around. 

“Puppy!”

“Yeah!” Maxwell agreed as he struggled to carry a wriggling little corgi. Olivia gave an audible groan. 

“Where – “Cassie began before Maxwell rushed to answer.

“I found him last night! He was alone, and he looked so sad…” he trailed off as the puppy leapt from his arms, landing right in front of Lucas. The puppy let out a little huff and gave their son a doggy smile. Her son gasped, eyes wide and shining. He whirled around and looked at her, his own puppy dog eyes coming to play.

“Mommy! Can we keep him?”

“Is this really the time— “Olivia’s mutter stopped as she saw the glare Cassie sent her way. She shrugged, the closest thing Cassie would get to an apology. Cassandra resisted the urge to roll her eyes, before turning her attention back to Lucas.

“Baby—“

“Dad? Can we?” Lucas pouted as he turned to Liam.

“Um…” Liam shot her a panicked glance. 

“Aw, c’mon Cassie!” Maxwell piped up behind Lucas. 

Cassandra sighed, “We need to have him checked by the vet first—“

“I can do it!” Maxwell volunteered before Cassie could finish the sentence. 

“Is this your way of avoiding the meeting, Maxwell?” Olivia asked, arms crossed and an eyebrow arched.

“… No?” 

Cassie sighed again, a headache forming between her temples. She glanced at Liam. 

“I don’t see what’s wrong with him having a pet.”

“You’re only saying that ‘coz you like dogs,” she told him. Liam smiled and nodded his head to where Lucas and the puppy were already playing. Cassie resisted the urge to aw at the sight.

“Oh, what the hell—fine! But,” she whirled at Maxwell. “You’ll take him to the vet first.”

Maxwell nodded, a grin already on his face. 

“Thank you, Mommy!” Lucas exclaimed as he hugged her legs. 

“As touching as this is,” Olivia interjected dryly, “shall we continue with what we actually came here for?”

“Right,” Liam nodded as he straightened up. He gestured towards an open doorway. Leo and the older woman were already inside. 

“After you.”

----

Cordonia International Airport, night-time 

The air was cool, and stars were appearing in the summer sky as Clara stepped onto the tarmac. There was a black-tinted car waiting for them. 

“Is this really necessary?” Briar muttered beside her. “We’re supposed to be inconspicuous.”

Clara chuckled and shrugged, “It’s simply politics, old friend.”

Briar pursed her lips. 

“Besides,” Clara added, “the extra security doesn’t hurt.”

“Things must be dire then.”

“With what we’ve read in the journal, this is just expected.”

Briar sighed. “Poor Lucas.”

Clara turned and looked at her oldest friend. Determination straightening her spine. 

“No. Not if I have anything to say about it.”

#

You can read Part Two here!

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[alleiradayne]

Cowboys and Angels

A COCKLES X READER RPF SERIES

Filming for the last season of Supernatural is underway and Y/N, long-time set photographer, finds herself the center of attention for two of her co-workers, Misha Collins and Jensen Ackles. A roller-coaster of emotions ensues over the year as the three of them attempt to balance work, the end of an era, and experimental love.

Part VI - Sharing

Summary: After a less than stellar holiday break, Y/N returns to set with the weight of the world on her shoulders. Warnings/Tags: A lot of angst, with a tiny ray of hope. Characters/Pairings: Jensen Ackles, Misha Collins, Reader Word Count: 1,956 A/N: Once again, please assume everyone involved is consenting and polyamorous. No spouse hate. No wife hate. No Cockles hate. No Misha hate. No hate whatsoever. If you don’t like RPF, don’t read it, and don’t complain to me about it. Update: The oh-so-lovely @atc74 made this stellar aesthetic for me in hopes that it wouldn’t get the Tumblr Ban Hammer™. Let’s test it.

Days. Weeks. Then months. Like water from a sieve, the brief moments Y/N spent with Jensen and Misha—naked or otherwise—drained away. Too many fourteen-hour days. Too many sleepless nights. But that had not been her breaking point. No. Farm from it. At least at work, she might hold a long stare, linger too long in conversation, or merely savor their presence in silence. Hell, she might have even fucked in their trailers the two men that had irrevocably altered her life.

At least at work, they were together.

As Y/N stared at the unopened presents beneath her withering Christmas tree, she sighed. Holiday break had come and gone. No plans. No phone call. Not even a text. They hadn't even sent her anything. Not that she had held any sort of expectations. Given the whirlwind start to their relationship and their exhausting work schedules, they had hardly taken the time to talk much beyond work or the rules of their encounters. Small talk, sure. But never anything about plans. Forget the future.

But the future came and went. And during those few months, Y/N's worst fears plagued her restless mind. Too many questions lingered unanswered in the darkest recesses of her thoughts. She had imagined something that was not there, could never be there. Love was an entirely different game. What they had played was lust, gotten their fill, and were over it. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Even in the days leading up to their return to set, the mere thought of facing them again soured her stomach. Where the holidays had dragged, the last week had passed in a blur of days. Mired in the unknown, Y/N floundered. What had kept them from her? Why leave her so stranded?

By her final Sunday night off, she had worried her nerves down to frayed ends. So, when Y/N walked back on set the following morning, she was determined to find both Jensen and Misha to end whatever it was that they had shared.

Unless there was nothing to end. Maybe that was what they had wanted. A short time play partner to scratch a sudden itch. Nothing wrong with that. As much as she hated it, she could handle it.

The thud of her bag on the folding table echoed through the cavernous soundstage. Several eyes snapped to her, voices quieted and smiles fading. Of course, they all felt it. With seven episodes left to film, everyone felt the looming end of the show. But none of them felt it the way she did. None of them felt the love, the deep passion, and the betrayal she felt. She ignored them.

Much like she ignored the confident warmth that enveloped her shoulder. Misha had found her before she had even managed to set up shop.

“Hey, Y/N.”

When she turned to look at him, his inviting smile melted faster than snow in July. “Hey.”

“Okay, we need to ta—”

“There’s really nothing to talk about,” she interrupted. “Y'all needed something from me, now you don’t. Pretty fucking simple.”

“No, please—” he started, but she wrenched free of his embrace and returned to her task. When she remained focused there despite his insistence, Misha ran both hands through his hair as he looked across the soundstage as though searching for something. Or someone. “No, it’s not that simple at all. It’s incredibly complicated and we should have talked about it sooner. Let me—”

“You know, we could have done this before the holidays,” Y/N stated. “Or right after. While we were still on hiatus. I didn’t hear from either of you for a month and a half. Not even a text message to let me know you were okay.”

Misha grimaced. “I know, Y/N, and that was wrong. We should not have done that to you. We… did not plan on any of this. It wasn’t supposed to happen. This wasn’t supposed to be long-term.”

She rounded on him then. “Then what was it supposed to be?! A fling?! A temporary fuck buddy?! What?!”

He waited. Bless his heart, he waited for her to finish her tirade. When she calmed, he said, “A lover. The intent was no one-night stand. There was never going to be anything temporary about this. Please, Y/N come with me. We’ll find Jensen and we’ll talk in my trailer.”

Suspicion narrowed her glare as she considered Misha out of the corner of her eye. When her bag sat empty on the folding table, Y/N turned to him and spoke.

“Let’s get this over with.”

Mirrors. Why did they have so many mirrors in their trailers?

Carbon copies of each other, Misha and Jensen’s trailers were nearly indiscernible. Except for their scent. Jensen’s smelled of heather, pine, and sea salt, whereas Misha’s smelled of leather and citrus. And on those distinct aromas rode memories, each more salacious than the one that preceded it.

As she sat on the couch and stared at the mirror beside the TV, those memories flooded her senses. Cold glass on her tits. Misha’s hand between her thighs as he torqued one arm behind her back. Her skirt shoved up over her hips. Underwear wrenched aside. And his cock pounding her pussy until she came.

It should have aroused her. Should have sent that familiar rush down her spine. But as she waited for Misha to return to his trailer, she felt nothing. A little anxious. But mostly nothing.

That thought settled in the resigned recesses of her mind the moment the trailer door crashed against the opposite wall and Jensen leaped over the threshold. Startled so, Y/N reared back and jumped from the couch. But when Jensen spotted her and their eyes met, all her doubts vanished.

In a rush of wind, he crossed the two steps between them. His massive hands slipped into her hair, cupped her head, and kissed her so tenderly, Y/N might have wept were it not for her surprise.

When he released her, Jensen remained close, so close his breath warmed her lips, her cheeks, and Y/N shivered despite the heat that swelled in his embrace. The moment lasted only that single breath, for Misha cleared his throat before he entered his trailer. The door clicked shut with a soft snap behind him as he stepped in, and he remained by the door with an expectant look on his face.

Jensen regarded him for a beat, then turned back to her. He even managed to frown prettily. Damn him. “I guess we're supposed to talk.”

“Jen.”

Y/N found Misha's stare darkened, serious as ever. “We do need to talk. Before this goes any further.

With a disgruntled sigh, Jensen dropped onto the couch beside her and took her hands in his. “I want to apologize first. For not staying in contact at all over break. That was... very disrespectful, considering our intentions.”

She glanced at Misha as she asked, “What are your intentions?” then returned to Jensen.

As though she balanced precariously at the edge of a cliff, Y/N waited with rapt attention, her wide eyes boring into his. And Jensen, bless his heart, stared back. Between his lips, his tongue slipped, wetting them before he spoke.

“To make this permanent.”

Permanent.

That word alone sounded odd as it echoed in her head. “Permanent,” she repeated. The weight of it slowed her speech, so heavy on her tongue. Undetermined seconds ticked by, so lost in her thoughts. She had anticipated this moment. But as she sat there in Misha’s trailer between Jensen and he, Y/N questioned her every thought, her every action, her every want since filming had started that season.

When she remained silent, Jensen regarded Misha with a sidelong stare. From the door, he said, “The holidays should not have happened how they did, Y/N.” A hesitant step bore him nearer the couch, as though he second guessed himself, but another more determined step closed the remaining gap and he sat beside her. “We were planning on having you visit. Meet family and the like.”

“But we dropped the ball,” Jensen interjected. “There were things we should have done first, a long time ago, before introducing you to anyone.”

“Why didn’t you?”

Jensen grunted a disgusted sound deep in his throat. “Because we’re awful. To be honest, I was scared. I wanted to tell my family in person, but I could never find the right opportunity. Which is unfair to you. There probably won’t be a ‘right’ time to explain this to anyone we care about.”

Y/N wrung her fingers into knots as she listened. “I appreciate the understanding.”

“Of course, we understand. We should have just done it,” Misha added. “But we didn’t.” He inched closer and grasped her free hand in both of his. “We love you dearly, Y/N. More than you could possibly imagine.”

“We’re equally shocked, trust me,” Jensen teased. “Misha just said it while he was making breakfast the other day and I broke my favorite mug when I dropped it in the sink.”

“You did not drop it because I said I loved Y/N, you dropped it—”

“Hey!”

Misha’s teeth clicked shut and Jensen’s voice caught in his throat. At least they listened well enough. “Are you trying to tell me you didn’t tell your families about me ahead of time and so that’s why you couldn’t… I don’t know, call me? Text me?”

“We should have,” Jensen stated. “None of the shit that kept me busy is worthy of your forgiveness. I should have texted you at the very least, if not called you to let you know everything was fine. Considering our short good-byes at the break party, it was the least we should have done.”

Misha nodded in agreement. “We’re jerks. We fucked up. But we still very much care for you. And we still want you to be in our lives. We hope you still want us in yours.”

At least they hadn’t intentionally ignored her. At least things made some sense. No, it wasn’t perfect. In fact, in the moment it all felt quite unforgivable. How could they expect her to move forward—with them, no less—after such a betrayal of trust? As if nothing had happened, a mere apology should fix it all?

To be honest with herself, a part of her wanted to walk away. Simple and clean. And yet, she loved them, much like they loved her. But did that mean she had to meet their families so soon?

Patient as ever, they waited for her to speak. Her rambling thoughts leaped from one to the next, and so, she said, “You didn’t give me your addresses. I couldn’t send the pile of gifts I got you, they’re all still sitting at my apartment…”

Misha groaned and Jensen palmed his forehead. “We should have. Can we make it up to you tonight? We also have several gifts for you.”

Before the holidays, gifts had felt like an unquestioned given. But there on the other side, they felt like complications. Strings. She sucked in a deep, clarifying breath and exhaled as she said, “On one condition.”

“Anything, Y/N,” Jensen insisted.

She couldn't help but smile at his enthusiasm. “Let's hold off on any family gatherings for a while. Make sure this is the real deal, give it some time.”

Misha laughed as he said, “Out of the three of us, you're going to be the most level-headed. We need that.”

Jensen agreed with his own short bark of laughter. “Deal. Now, how about those gifts? I've been dying to give you mine.”

“Whenever we wrap tonight, meet at my place?” She asked.

Misha grinned as he said, “It's a date.”

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COWBOYS AND ANGELS MASTER LIST ALLEIRADAYNE’S MASTER LIST

[winterisakillerwrites]

Imperfect Tense - Part One

Title: Imperfect Tense

One Shot: 1/3

Character: Tom Hiddleston/OFC

Genre: Angst

Rating: M

Summary: Secrets are powerful things. They shape who we are and how we interact with others and with the world. Tom assumed his secret was safe and his life would remain as it ever was. He was wrong.

Authors Notes/Warnings: This was written for @mrs-captain-evans writing challenge. My prompt was the line: “what did I do wrong?”. This was supposed to be a much shorter piece but alas it sort of ran away with me. Much like Brave Face this story deals with the concept of cheating. Apparently I wasn’t done with this idea just yet. Thanks, again, to @redfoxwritesstuff who not only encouraged this but was a fantastic support throughout its writing.

The silence of the room was overwhelming. Tom watched as she sat still as stone, eyes downcast on her hands resting open palmed in her lap. Even with her face carefully neutral and an unnatural coolness radiating from her, Tom couldn’t deny Molly was beautiful. She always had been to him and the years they’d spent together had not changed that fact for him. He fought to ignore the suitcases that sat littered around her; hoping if he ignored them then maybe they would go away even though he knew they would not.

She hadn’t uttered a word in what felt like an age, not since he had walked in the door he realized with a jolt, and, god, he wanted to scream if only just to break the suffocating silence around them. But he hadn’t. Screaming, he undoubtedly knew, would do no good. Not now. Instead, the question that has been plaguing him finally tumbled from his lips.

“What did I do wrong?”

Molly flinched at the sound of his voice and the action cut him deeply. They’d fought before and he’d seen her righteous fury and her cool disappointment. But this…This was something new and it sent waves of unease through him. She toyed idly with the ring on her finger. His ring. The soft light from the window played across the deep blue of its center stone; a sapphire, set in a thin silver band. It was simple, beautiful; much like she was. The fact that she hadn’t taken it off had to mean something, didn’t it?

After what felt like an age, she raised her head, locking her blue eyes with his own. Emotion swirled in them; far too much and far too quickly for him to pick apart. Uncertainty coursed through him, this was wrong, so very wrong. He didn’t know what to do, what to say, and for the first time since he’d walked into the room, Tom felt a real sliver of fear slither through him.

“Everything,” she whispered.

Her voice had the soft edge that he’d only ever heard when she was well and truly done. It froze his insides and he fought against the reality of what it would mean. For him. For her. For them. Molly had been his rock. The calm, quiet place of refuge and safety he had cherished above all others. She was his world and without warning, without any inkling of understanding on his part, it was seemingly all over. He couldn’t accept it. He wouldn’t. Not when he’d worked so hard to keep this one, bright, wonderful thing in his life. He needed her.

Molly swallowed thickly and it was then he noticed the thick envelope resting beside her. “This came for you.” She held out it out to him and his fingers shook as they closed around it.

A registered letter.

He looked first at it then at her in confusion. She held his gaze and didn’t utter a word. He flipped the envelope over, noting that it had been opened (which in itself hadn’t been surprising, he’d been waiting for a contract to be delivered and had asked her to keep watch for it), and pulled the letter from it. His heart plummeted into his stomach as the words, printed in stark black and white, sank in.

‘Mr. Hiddleston, the enclosed is to inform you… Ms. Heather James… Paternity claim…one year old child Francis Henry James…Please contact at your earliest convenience…’

The letter slipped from his numb fingers. Oh god. Oh god. Oh god. Bile rose in his throat and he fought against the urge to vomit. This isn’t happening. Please god, this can’t be happening. He gripped the edge of the arm chair beside him to keep his balance as the world tilted unnervingly beneath him.

Tom hadn’t heard that name in nearly two years, had done his utmost best to forget it. It had been a stupid, careless mistake born of too much drink and a mad notion that his world was spinning out of control. He had been away from home for nearly six months between filming and promoting and auditioning and the distance had started to take its toll. He missed his home. His bed. His family. And god, he missed Molly. Missed her more than he could hope to express. Things hadn’t been easy and the distance was draining for them both.  

It had been a grueling day and try as he might he couldn’t seem to reach her; calls, texts, emails, Skype calls, all went unanswered. He struggled not to worry about what it might mean; he trusted Molly, but he needed her and she wasn’t there. He wanted to be angry, felt the frustration and disappointment coursing through him, but pushed those thoughts away. Her own life was hectic enough; she worked long hours in her own right (as a nurse she was no stranger to shift work and impossibly long hours) and had more often than not scarified her time and her life to meld with his. She wasn’t required to be at his beck and call; he never would demand that of her. And he’d known he had absolutely no right to begrudge her of her own life. But still, he felt the lack of contact with her acutely.

Tom hadn’t said no when later Chris, accompanied by a handful others, had come by his room and threw out the idea of drinks and dancing. He’d practically jumped at the chance to get out of that room and out of his head. He needed to relax, to unwind. This would offer him that and he’d ceased it with both hands. He couldn’t stand being in that room a moment longer.

It hadn’t taken long for Tom to lose himself in the thrum and energy of the small club. The drinks seemed to flow freely and he’d taken them one after the other. It was heaven; the dancing, the noise, the feel of people moving about in time with the music. It seemed to drown out the loneliness and that was all he’d wanted.

Tom couldn’t remember exactly when he’d registered the hands roaming over his back and shoulders. One minute he was alone on the floor and the next she was pressed against him. Her loose hair tumbled over her shoulders and there was a fire in her eyes that seemed to grab at him, anchoring him where he stood. She was beautiful, even sweating and flushed. And the quiet part of his brain that wondered if she’d look the same spread beneath him, flushed for an entirely different reason, grew steadily louder with each passing moment.

And he wanted her, more than he’d wanted anything. That quiet part of his mind grew steadily louder as they danced; her hips pressing into his, lips on his neck, fingers tracing the lines of his back. He missed this, missed the physical contact, the slow and steady promise of another’s body. He’d always been an extremely physical person; needing to touch and be touched. The past few months had been empty. He’d been surrounded by people; coworkers, crew, journalists. He was hardly ever alone, but still he’d felt removed. Home was thousands of miles away as were the people he loved. He was living his dream, getting to do what he loved on a scale so far beyond what he had ever hoped for. But hadn’t counted on just how isolating it could be; how lonely.  

Before he could consciously decide to act on his thoughts, she pulled him off the crowded, suffocating heat of the dancefloor and into the dark and cool air of the small, dimly lit bathroom. Her hands were all over him, tangling in his hair, roaming down his back, pulling him tightly against her, and he lost all rationale thought; the need for her, for this overwhelming everything else. His head swam with the combination of lust and drink and need; hands roaming her body, lifting her onto the counter. Her fingers tugged at the belt and fastening of his jeans, pushing them down. Her nails dug into his shoulders, his fingers into the pale skin of her thighs. It was quick and brutal and over before he could process just what had happened.

She smiled at him as she hopped down off the counter, pulling up her panties and smoothing down her dress. She leaned in and kissed him again, murmuring “That was nice,” against his lips. She pulled back enough to grab her small bag from the back of the counter and pulled out a small piece of paper and a pen. Scribbling quickly, she smiled and tucked the paper into his hand. “My name’s Heather. Call me sometime, I’d love another round.” She winked, turned, and disappeared out the door.

His knees felt as though they’d turned to jelly and he stumbled, in a blind panic, towards the toilet. Gripping the white porcelain with all his might he retched and spat, his body jerking with the effort. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Another wave of nausea overwhelmed him. Molly. Oh Christ, Molly. He’d lost her. She would never forgive him this. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. What had he done? What the ever loving fuck had he done? Guilt and panic washed over him in waves. He fucked up. God, he’d well and truly fucked up.

Tom wasn’t completely sure just how he’d made it back to the hotel; the next thing he was consciously aware of was rushing through the lobby. The elevator took forever arrive, even longer to make it to his floor, and he was certain his knees would give out before he made it into his room. God, what had he done? He’d dropped the key card three times before steadying his hands enough to get it into the lock and then shove the door open. His heart felt as if it were pounding out of his chest as he pushed the door closed, falling back against its cool metal.

The shrill ringing of his phone cut through the silence of the room and he yanked it from his pocket, staring in panicked horror at the screen. Molly’s smiling face stared back at him; a photo he had taken months ago during a quick getaway they’d taken to the Lake District on one of his rare trips back home. It was a picture that he’d felt captured the warmth and quiet affection that he loved so fiercely about her.

Without conscious thought he hit the dismiss button and dropped the phone onto the carpeted floor. He felt the bile rising in his throat once again and he struggled to his feet and into the bathroom, not bothering to turn on the overhead light. He coughed and gagged into the bowl until nothing but bile was left. He took a deep breath and rested his head against the cool porcelain. Once he was sure his breathing was under control, he crawled back into the main living space.

His phone sat silent on the floor. It hadn’t rung again since Molly’s call and he’d been eternally grateful. How could he talk to her, tell her what he’d done, just how badly he’d fucked up? Tears welled in his swollen eyes and he rubbed them away furiously. His head was still swimming and the room around him continued to lurch at an alarming angle. Clutching his head, Tom curled up on the floor and shut his eyes against the returning waves of nausea.

The shrill ring of his phone jerked him once more into wakefulness what felt like moments later. His head was pounding and he had to fight to keep his stomach from emptying itself (though there was nothing left to empty by this point) onto the carpeted floor. He blindingly groped the floor in search of it. His fingers brushed against it, pulling it toward him in trepidation. It was Luke’s number he saw flashing across the screen and for a splint second relief flooded through him.

He hit answer and raised the phone to his ear, ignoring the growing sense of trepidation. “Hello?” His voice was shaking and he knew there was no way Luke would miss that.

“Tom?” Luke’s voice was immediately on edge. “Are you alright?”

A ruthless chuckle fell from Tom’s lips involuntarily and he fought to ignore the rip of pain that shot through his head as he did so. “No.” The words came out choked and broken. “Fuck…Luke…I don’t know what to do…I didn’t mean….I don’t know how it happened…I…”

“Whoa. Whoa. Slow down, Tom,” his publicist implored. “What’s happened? Did something happen when you went out tonight?”

Puzzlement clouded Tom’s mind. “How did you…?” Tom clutched the phone tighter in his shaking hand, fighting off yet another round of nausea as understanding dawned. Oh god, if Luke knew then surely Molly would…

“There were photographs posted online of you, Hemsworth, and a few others heading out of the hotel and then a handful of you all entering a club a few hours ago…Tom, what happened? The photos aren’t at all scandalous…” Luke’s voice trailed off, uncertainty and trepidation coloring his usually wry tone. “Tom what did you do?”

Tom let out a shuddering breath and rubbed his forehead with his free hand, trying desperately to figure out what to say. How to explain. “I…I was drunk…I don’t know how I…It just happened…” The words tumbled from his lips in a rapid tangle. He knew he was rambling and honestly wasn’t making much sense, but he couldn’t stop himself.

“Whoa, whoa. Slow down,” Luke urged, “I can barely understand a word you’ve said.” Tom did so, taking several shallow breaths. “Now try again, slowly this time.”

The words were clearer now, though no less panicked. “I drank more than I honestly meant to…And I don’t know how it happened, honestly I don’t but…”

“Tom, what did you do?” Luke’s tone made it abundantly clear he had a very good idea as to just what Tom had been alluding to but wanted him to actually say the words aloud in case he’d been mistaken.

“I had sex with someone,” Tom found himself whispering, guilt and shame flooding through him anew. “…At the club….I didn’t mean…”

“God fucking dammit, Tom,” Luke hissed, his frustration and disbelief plain. “Please, for the love of god, tell me you at least thought to use protection.”

A ball of ice formed instantly in Tom’s gut at Luke’s words. His vision began to tunnel around him, the room shifting violently in and out of focus. Images from the club’s tiny, dimly lit bathroom replayed in disjointed flashes and jarring stops and starts in his mind. The feel of her hands on him, the overwhelming scent of sex and alcohol, the warmth of her body as it yielded to his…God. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.

The phone slipped from his hand as he darted back into the bathroom, collapsing to his knees and retching into the opened bowl. He could hear Luke’s voice echoing from the other room, tinny over the phone’s small speaker, but the words themselves were lost to him. Tom was hot and cold by turns, panic overwhelming everything; his thoughts racing, his heart pounding wildly in his chest.

A few moments later the shrill ring of his phone echoed from the living space. Confusion cut through his panic. How could his phone be ringing if Luke was still on the line? On shaking limbs, Tom managed to push himself to his feet and out of the bathroom, bending to grab the phone from his haphazard place on the floor. Luke’s name flashed across the screen. Mechanically, Tom slid his finger across ‘answer’ and garbled something that sounded vaguely like a greeting.

“God dammit, Tom,” Luke’s voice erupted. Tom cringed at the sound but didn’t speak further, waiting for whatever else Luke would throw at him knowing he deserved it all and more. “Please tell me we lost signal, that you accidently hit a button…Something…Anything…But please, please tell me you weren’t that reckless. That so help me god, you haven’t done what I think you’ve done.”

A choked sob burst from Tom’s lips and he fought to calm himself enough to speak coherently. “I didn’t…We didn’t…Oh God, what have I done?”

The string of curses from Luke that followed would have normally impressed Tom. It took a great deal to rattle his publicist and Tom had taken great joy over the few years they’d been working together to see just how far he could push Luke before he’d crack and go off. But all Tom could focus on was just how monumentally stupid he’d been. How his life was suddenly and spectacularly crashing around his ears.

Molly. Oh God, Molly. How could he ever face her again? Knowing what he’d done, how he’d betrayed her, betrayed them? How could he possibly ever explain what he’d done? She would never forgive him this. Never. He knew that with a stark certainty. How could she?

“…Fucking hell, Tom! What the ever loving fuck were you fucking thinking? Do you have any idea how fucking dangerous this kind of stunt is? Well do you?!”

He could hear the frustration, incredulity, and concern in Luke’s voice and knew he should speak, should say something but he couldn’t find the words.

“God dammit, Tom! Are you even listening to me?”

“Fuck, Luke,” he finally breathed into the phone. “…I…What do I do?” Tom could feel himself shaking and it took a conscious effort to keep the phone from slipping from his grasp again. A thousand thoughts echoed around his mind, pinging off of one another until he couldn’t tell them apart.

This could ruin him. One stupid, reckless decision and his career, the life he’d been working so hard to build could be all over before it had even really begun. This had the potential to be utterly catastrophic. But all of that was nothing, nothing, to the very real possibility that Molly could and most likely would never be able to forgive him this. One stupid choice and he’d lost it all.

It took a frightening amount of effort for Tom to keep his concentration on level enough to focus on what Luke was saying to him. His publicist’s questions were thrown at him in a rapid fire pace, demanding as many details as Tom could remember; the woman’s name, exactly how they had met, who had approached who, whose idea the encounter was, did she recognize him. On and on the questions seemed to go. Tom stumbled and stuttered his way through them, fighting the ever present nauseated fear which ran rampant inside of him. It was a blessed, but brief, reprieve when Luke finally ended his interrogation, stating he would do what he could to minimize the damage; urging Tom to call if his one night stand made any sort of contact. Telling him that he would call again once he’d gotten appointments scheduled for testing. And all but demanding that Tom tell Molly sooner rather than later. “You need to talk to Molly and now,” Luke warned him knowingly. “She deserves to hear this from you, not from the papers.”

She deserves to hear it from you, not from the papers.

The words echoed in his mind, over and over again. He knew it was true and, as horrifying and painful as it would be to confess, she deserved to hear it from him. But Tom honestly wasn’t sure if he could bring himself to utter those words aloud to her; to break her heart and in turn everything they were in the process of becoming. He was the worst sort of coward; selfish and self-centered. Molly deserved so much better.

Sleep was elusive for the majority of that night and if he had slept at all, it was in small and fitful bursts. His mind racing through the late turned desperately early hours; going over and over again just what he had done and all that he could never take back, never fix. Tom blinked as sunlight poured in through the opened curtains of the balcony. He was physically drained, exhausted, but he dare not close his eyes, his mind supplying him with the image of Molly’s face as he told her what he’d done. The way it would crumble first in disbelief then in pain and anger; the way her eyes would darken to a stormy blue and the way she would speak his name like a curse, something completely unworthy and beneath her. And god, it hurt.  

He had picked up his phone so many times, fingers shaking as he dialed her number, and only to find himself utterly unable to complete the call. He knew he had to, knew that she deserved to know what he had done. And knew just was fervently that he needed to be the one to tell her. It wouldn’t change anything, wouldn’t fix it, but it would be better. And still he couldn’t quite bring himself to actually make the call. How could he possibly do this to her over the phone? Break her heart in such an impersonal manner? Wouldn’t it be far better to tell her to her face? God, he didn’t know.

It would be weeks yet until he was free enough to go home. They had talked, briefly, about her possibly flying out to him. She had the leave time saved and enough money set aside. The only issue being coverage for her at work. So the idea sat hanging, not quite abandoned but not formed enough to be a possibility. And the thought of him encouraging her to come to him now, only to ease his conscious…It was unthinkable.

Disgusted with himself, Tom threw his phone onto the bed beside him and scrubbed his face with his hands. He thanked god that this was one of his few days completely off, he doubted he could make himself focus for anything. And if his concentration were shot it would affect more than just him. As much as he loathed being left alone with his thoughts it was far better than risking disaster inattention could bring.

Luke had called him back shortly before noon, Tom had spent the morning torn between pacing the now confining room and staring blankly at his silent mobile phone warring with indecision, to inform him that he’d made inquiries about testing and timing of such things and that he had a tentative appointment in five days’ time with a discrete clinic. The idea of having to wait another five days made his stomach twist but Luke assured him that it was the earliest he could be squeezed in that would yield the most accurate results.

Molly hadn’t called again until later that evening. Tom had found himself staring at the screen, at her picture, and utterly unable to move; his indecision not fading until well after the call had clicked over to voicemail. He couldn’t keep doing this, it was driving him mad. He needed to tell her, needed to get this godforsaken axe of his own making to stop hanging over him.

With a determination that he did not completely believe, Tom picked up his phone and with a shaky breath quickly dialed her number, hitting send before he had a chance to second guess the wisdom of his choice. It rang once and then twice before there was an audible click and her warm voice filled his ear. “Tom. I’m so glad you called back.”

“Mols…” Guilt rose in his chest as he uttered her name. God, he didn’t think he could do this.

She let out a soft, heartfelt laugh. “I thought for sure I’d missed you again. How are you? God, did I get the timing right? Please tell me I didn’t wake you.”

“No,” he managed to choke out, dropping himself silently onto the edge of the bed. “No, you’re fine. I was in the other room…I just saw you called… It’s not quite eight yet here…Why are you awake? It’s got to be going on four in the morning? Is everything alright? Are you alright?” Panic overwhelmed him as the time difference clicked in his head…Oh god…She has to know…Why else would she call so late? Oh god…

“No!” She all but shouted, causing him to jump nearly out of his skin. “No. No. No. Tom, I’m fine. Completely fine.” She laughed again. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I didn’t think…I got called into work late and I’m currently on quick break. I just…I heard back from my supervisor, they’ve approved my leave for next month! I’ll actually be able to go to the premiere!” The pure joy in her voice was a knife to the heart.

You need to tell her. Tell her now before she buys that ticket. Tell her! “Really?” He heard himself reply instead, the unnatural cheeriness in his voice jarring him. “That is wonderful, darling.” If Molly noticed, she hadn’t called him out on it. Tell her!

Molly gushed her excitement for several more minutes before cursing and apologizing. “Shit, sorry, my break’s just about up. I’ll call you sometime later today…Or I guess tomorrow for you, and we’ll figure out details. Love you, Tom. So much.”

He stumbled out a reply, not honestly sure just what he had said, as his mobile beeped signaling the end of the call. The phone slipped from his fingers onto the mused bedspread. “Fuck,” he hissed aloud. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

Sleep remained elusive for the next several nights and the meager amount he managed to scrape together was barely enough to keep him upright. More often than not he’d heard the make-up team comment, usually in quiet whispers, about the ever growing circles under his eyes. He continued, to the best of his ability, to fulfill the obligations he’d promised; both in the newest project he was filming and in the promotional material required by Marvel for Thor prior to its premiere. He did his utmost best to be charming and as ‘on’ as could be helped, but knew he was more often than not falling woefully short.

He’d spoke to Molly a handful of times on the phone, frequently moving to end those calls after only a handful of minutes citing work or other obligations on his time. He hadn’t the nerve to actually bring himself to tell her his mistake during any of the calls; no matter how he tried to word just what he would say in his head, when the time would come he couldn’t make himself talk. He felt the worst sort of coward. Because I am.

Molly was plainly disheartened at his sudden distance; he could hear it in the tone of her voice, see it in her eyes during their one and only short-lived video call. But she did not pressure Tom to tell her just what was going on, though he knew she wanted to. Luke had taken on the helm of helping plan her trip to LA all the while shooting daggers at his client whenever they met.

“What are you playing at, Hiddleston?” Luke hissed as the elevator doors slid shut. Tom had spent the majority of his day flitting around between various hotel conference rooms, from interview to interview both with his Thor cast mates and on his own; he was tired and wanted nothing more than to just sleep.

Blinking in confusion, Tom turned towards his publicist. “What?”

The look Luke shot him would have burned a weaker man to his core and as it stood caused Tom’s stomach to twist itself into knots. “You know damn well what.” Luke raised his hand, jabbing an accusing finger into Tom’s chest. “You need to tell her. I’m imploring you as a friend. Tom, please, please, tell her. She has the right to know what happened and to make her own choices regarding it. If you love her, you have to say something.”

It was a fine line he was walking, and Luke knew it. He made it a rule to not meddle in his client’s personal affairs beyond what he was contractually obligated to handle. But this…This was personal. Tom had crossed that line from client into friend and Molly was someone he genuinely cared for. He couldn’t not push this.

Tom’s hands clenched at his sides as guilt flooded through him yet again. Luke was right, of fucking course he was right. But why couldn’t he understand just how difficult it was to find the words to tell the person you love desperately that you’d done the unthinkable? “I know, Luke. I fucking know! I just…I…I will tell her. I have to…I just need to figure out how. Just let me figure it out on my own. Please. Let me handle this.”

It was abundantly clear to Tom that his friend found his noncommittal answer wanting. Luke merely narrowed his eyes but did not speak. The remainder of the elevator ride was spent in a charged silence that neither man sought to break. With a curt nod, Luke left Tom at his room door and disappeared down the hallway.

Exhausted and frustrated, Tom threw himself onto the bed, letting out a halfhearted groan. His phone buzzed in his back pocket and it took several moments of jerking movement to wrench it free. Molly’s smile lit the screen and the ever present thrum of guilt tightened his chest. The offhand thought to either dismiss the call or let it ring to voicemail was tempting beyond belief. Sorely tempting but Tom knew it would only be a temporary respite and one that could so easily blow up in his face.

He took a deep breath before answering the call. “Molly.”

“You actually answered,” she whispered, her words matter of fact but tinged with a definite hint of sadness and surprise. Tom wanted nothing more than to kick himself, repeatedly.

He winced, rubbing his free hand over his forehead in a vain effort to stave off the headache he could feel brewing. “I know I’ve not been readily available lately, Mols. I’m sorry…It’s just been…”

There was an unnatural silence on the other end of the line and for a brief moment, Tom was sure she’d hung up on him. When Molly spoke again her voice was soft and full of worry. “Something is wrong, Tom. Please don’t insult my intelligence by saying otherwise. You’ve been different…Distant for almost a week now. This isn’t like you…Just please, talk to me.”

“Molly, I…” There it was, the perfect opportunity to tell her, to come clean, and the words stuck in his throat. “It’s just been ridiculously hectic. Between filming and all the promotion I’ve been required to do, I’ve been running myself ragged. I’m sorry I’ve not been more open…I just…I didn’t want to drag you into it, I know you’ve got enough on your plate.” The words felt hollow and wrong but he couldn’t seem to stop them. Liar! His mind hissed at him. Coward!

“Tom…”

“Please, Molly, don’t worry. I’m tired but fine. I’m glad you are coming soon. I’ve missed you.” He felt sick to his stomach. This was wrong; selfish and cowardly and simply wrong, but he’d done it all the same.

“Are you sure that it’s still a good idea? Me coming?” He could so easily hear the uncertainty in her voice and it cut. She’d been so excited about coming to see him, albeit nervous about the red carpet and all that it entailed. He couldn’t take that from her. “If things are as hectic as you say wouldn’t I be in the way?”

“No…No. Not at all. You wanted to come and I want you to come. Hopefully things will have calmed and we can enjoy the time together.” He’d meant it, as twisted as his gut felt. He had wanted her there, and desperately, needed to have her support at his side. But the guilt was near overwhelming. How could he have her right there beside him and live with the knowledge that he’d betrayed her? Betrayed them? He needed to tell her but he couldn’t do it now, not after what he’d just said.

Luke’s words echoed in his mind. ‘You have to tell her… She has the right to know what happened and to make her own choices regarding it. If you love her, you have to say something.’ And the guilt continued to rend his innards apart.

He couldn’t tell her now though…But after the premiere; perhaps after he’d find the courage to say he’d lied…That he had made a horrid mistake that he would give anything to take back. That he was so very terribly sorry. He would lose her…The fear of that fact felt like ice in his stomach. But maybe…Maybe she would find it in her to forgive. Even if he surely did not deserve it.

“Tom I don’t know…”

“Just think about it. Please…” Please let me give you this before I have to shatter everything.

“Okay.”

The next morning dawned grey and rainy, which he’d found oddly appropriate as he was scheduled for his round of testing in the early afternoon. He’d once again slept poorly, tossing and turning as both guilt and fear took their turns running through his mind. He’d been running himself ragged with work trying desperately not to think. Every little change in his physicality sent his mind reeling. Was this fatigue from stress and overwork or a sign of something more sinister? Every cough, every twinge. It was driving him mad. He’d been both relieved and terrified when the car Luke had hired for him arrived, its driver calling at just after noon.

As promised the clinic was discreet; tucked away in a quieter part of town, nothing that would attract any undue attention. The receptionist and PA he saw upon arrival were friendly and understanding. It was a simple matter to drawn the needed vials of blood and give the required urine sample. The rapid HIV screening, he was assured, would be ready in twenty minutes but the remaining tests would take anywhere from five to seven days, leaning most likely towards seven. He had been ushered into a secluded waiting area and offered tea or coffee while he waited.

He’d taken the offered cup of coffee but couldn’t bring himself to drink it, his stomach tying itself in elaborate knots. He didn’t dare let himself hope that the test would be negative for the irrational fear that in doing so he would bring about the opposite. Nor could he let himself ponder the horrifying possibility that it was not. He jumped at every sound and feared he would pull all of his hair out when the waiting room door finally opened and the same PA he’d seen earlier walked inside.

She smiled softly at him. He could hear the sound of her voice, see her lips moving but anything she’d said after, “Your rapid test came back negative” were lost on him. He wanted to laugh and cry, relief flooding through him.

“Mr. Hiddleston.”

Tom’s head shot up and he realized with a flood of embarrassment that she had been trying to get his attention for probably the last several minutes. “I’m sorry, what?”

She nodded in understanding and continued. “I was telling you that we’ll give you a call in around seven days with the rest of your results. I would advise you to refrain from any sexual activity until you’ve received your results and are cleared. I also want to caution you that you will need to be retested in three months’ time for HIV and again in a further six months to be sure you are in the clear. And if anything is found in your remaining bloodwork further testing may be warranted.”

He nodded slowly, his brief respite of relief vanishing. “Al-alright.”

She handed him a small packet of papers and escorted him to the side door where the hire car stood waiting. Tom climbed inside, his brain a constant mess of buzzing fear and uncertainty. He was barely aware of the ride back to his hotel and then of the walk through the lobby, the ride up the elevator and entering the room itself. Nausea rolled through him, he fought back the feeling, shutting his eyes tightly and fell onto the bed.

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