#which...whatever I suppose there are worse things to be known for

[cordelianewman]

I'm glad that you googled it, and that does not surprise me in the slightest that it is the first thing that pops up. Means there's a lot out there teaching the next generation of kids and them needing to know if bees have knees or why would you be saying it? Well, I won't say that that saying is the reason why your mom married your dad, or the reason I married you. Are we really teaching them to push back? I'm not sure that is always the greatest thing, you may get some very angry boy moms coming for you when they end up with their butts in the sandbox too. You will be yielding those calls and conversations because I'm fully with you though, they need to defend themselves no matter if it's their future soulmate or not. To be fair, I probably bit you somewhere along the timeline when I was younger. Isn't it obvious? I absolutely put a curse on you way back when and ruined you for all other women. Not that I had great luck in the dating department after you either -- except for your friend on the football team, we could have given it an honest shot, but in the end, it was never going to work. It was never going to be the same as you. Good thing I do love flowers, so you'll never have me disappointed, I mean the ones you sent to my work are beautiful. I'm happy to grow the farm at whatever rate we choose, some years may have more than others, and that's fine. Between growing teens, children, babies -- adding dogs, working animals, animals to just love because they need a home. Just know that no matter how self-sustaining we become don't be fooled, I am not going to become one of those crunchy moms, not matter what. It's been great having Shawn in the kitchen lately in the last few weeks when he wants something more to do. Think it's relaxing for him, plus you know, if I make him love homemade cooking so much once he goes away to college it's a guaranteed promise he'll come home when he can. Really believe it comes down to making sure that we got him in therapy, that we gave him space to come to us for things and didn't suffocate him. We brought his sister home which made him trust us more than he already did after letting him move in for football. Not to say he still won't have hard days, and my biggest worry is some of those days will be when he's away at college because he'll be adjusting to so much at once. But I know us, either of us will be on the next plane if needed. See, that's the thing, staying because you now have money, success, that's just not why you're with someone. You're with them no matter what they have or don't have -- so long as they treat you well, are a good person, you know? Mean you never questioned the fact that I was literally barely getting by when you got with a mom with her daughter that were just trying to make it through the winter that upcoming year. Like I said, you can spoil me as much as you like, if it makes us both happy! I just tend to spoil you in different ways that make you very happy. We've been in the same room, places, sure -- but talked to her? Don't think I have once since she returned to town. You'd think I would have known my brother's best friend or supposed best friend at that time but apparently not. Sometimes it makes me question what I did and didn't know, but you're right. Got to eventually figure things out because we want the kids to all grow up together. They definitely don't but I would appreciate a lot more if they did have a handbook. That sounds good, I really could just go for buckets of garlic bread if I'm being honest. So, don't be mad if I just order some appetizers, pizza isn't really the vibe for me right now it's just not hitting that spot. Now the ice cream, that I will never turn down. Think that's a good plan, so far the kids seem really happy, they're enjoying the story time right now. I can stay awake, after all my hard work it was perfectly reasonable to go to bed by eight last night! Plus worse comes to worse you can carry me to bed and tuck me in.

Bees have knees. Also, did you know that when you open google and you type in "do bees" the first suggestion is actually "do bees have knees?" Which makes me feel a little better, since clearly this is something that the entire world wants to know. And besides, those pick up lines worked on my mom when my dad used them, and I'm pretty sure that I've told you a time or two that you're the bee's knees, and look where that's gotten me. Happily married. Oh, absolutely not, Cienna and Rosalyn have been taught that if a boy on the playground pushes them, they should push him back. I don't care if they're destined to get married someday, they're not putting up with that. I'm pretty sure I remember my dad reading me the riot act for pushing you, too, and I do believe there may have been a bouquet of dandelions to make up for it. I think that's why I like giving you flowers so much. It was always you for me, too, I don't even remember being interested in another girl, and clearly I didn't have the best luck after you, either. Slow and steady on the farm, but it does make me happy to hear you say that you want that, too. I don't ever want to get overwhelmed with it, we have careers and jobs and kids that need to come first, but I've always wanted a plot of land and my beautiful wife and a farm that can sustain us, and we're on the way to that. We already have fresh chicken eggs every morning and can grow our own vegetables and herbs, which is helpful for the kitchen. Especially with all the cooking you and Shawn have been doing lately. I'm proud of him. I realize that what he went through, I went through, but I was a twenty and thirty something year old man, I don't know that I could've gone through it at his age and come out as well adjusted as he did, y'know? I think she would have stayed now, with my own company and a big house and a good life, but that's exactly why it never would have worked. You and I would be together whether we had this big house or that vibrating bed, and yes, I ran out of quarters all the time. But it wasn't sexy, I just thought it was funny. I like our non-vibrating bed a lot more. Well, I appreciate you letting me spoil you, because it makes me feel good. I know that you could buy those things for yourself, but I like to be the one that gets to do it. Well, you guys have… been in the same room a few times, it's just, weird, I know. I guess we should figure that all out, you've got nieces on the way and we've got our own stuff we're working on making happen. Honestly, I've said it a dozen times, but they just really do not have a handbook for figuring out these relationships, you know? The kids really want ice cream after story time, but I think maybe… library, then early dinner at Pizza Thyme, then ice cream, and then maybe we can light a fire tonight? I got the fire pit all cleared out this morning so it's good and usable. If you think you can stay awake, sleepy head.

[angelsknifeprty]

couldn't fight to save your life (but you look so cool) ❀˖꩜˚࿔ - e.w

loser!ellie x popular!reader | 3.2k words

a/n: guess who rewatched bottoms for the billionth time (me. it was me.) :p loser!ellie won't leave my mind and neither will crush by ethel cain so here's somethin' random i came up with, enjoy!

cw: cursing, bullying, a little violence, mentions of blood, two idiots that are obviously infatuated with each other, mentions of reader wanting to punch ellie for being too cute cuz they’re strange like that

˖𓂃.☘︎ ݁˖

you're an angel, she's sure of it.

ellie watches with glassy eyes, practically in a trance, as you absentmindedly play with your hair. she drinks in the way your perfectly curated outfit adorns your body; you always look flawless to her. you were laughing at something your friend had said, ellie's ears straining to hear the saccharine sound over the chatter buzzing. she just heard it, and god, what she would do to have a recording of it to listen to over and over again.

the two of you weren't friends by any means, but she knew you.

most of ellie's time was spent staring at you during class or when you passed her in the hallway. her eyes would shy away every time they met yours, the intensity of your gaze leaving her a flustered mess within seconds. 

when she wasn't looking at you, her head was buried into her journal, pencil dragging fervently across the pages. her entries always had your name embedded somewhere within their sentences. it was like you were all she could think about. when she would draw, the lines and curves always morphed into you, capturing a moment of you daydreaming in class or whatever other snapshot her mind had taken of you that wouldn't stop plaguing her.

she'd listen to your conversations when she was close enough to hear - not to be a creep or anything! but how else was she supposed to learn more about you?

sure, the obvious answer would be to talk to you, but she was a nervous wreck from just seeing you. you'd only had a few brief interactions before, and she swears she almost fainted when you remembered her name when you asked her for a pen once.

while she believed the popularity contest that was high school to be ridiculous, her very low place in the school's hierarchy was a definite set-up for failure, she was certain. ellie kept to herself, mostly, aside from her few friends, but that didn't stop her from becoming the target of relentless bullying from some of the other students, the ones at the top of the food chain.

you were well-liked amongst your peers, but your popularity never merged you with those people. you were known for your sunny disposition, whereas they tormented their way to the top.

you'd seen it happen a couple of times, the sound of their jeering always catching your attention, especially when you heard them say ellie's name in that disgusting tone that made your heart ache for her. in fact, it's what snapped you out of your current conversation as an irritated, "what the fuck, williams?" sounds throughout the hallway.

in her lovestruck daze, ellie hadn't been looking where she was walking, which conveniently caused her to bump into one of them - a girl you didn't care much for, quinn was it? all you knew for sure was that she was trouble.

ellie winced and scrunched her face at the sound of her voice, internally cursing at herself because now she had to deal with her. she opened her eyes to see that everyone was looking, including you.

"shit, sorry. wasn't looking where i was going, won't happen again," ellie's tone is curt, trying to move past her and continue with her day before things got worse.

but of course, she wouldn't get let off the hook that easily; that was just her luck.

"where do you think you're going?" she probes, moving to block ellie's path. ellie has to restrain herself from rolling her eyes in her face, not wanting to escalate things if she could help it. how naive of her to think that nothing could ever be easy for her.

"c'mon, dude. i apologised. can we move on and-"

suddenly, it feels like the wind was knocked from ellie's lungs, and she's… falling?

a little stunned, she looks up from her newfound place on the floor after quinn has shoved her to the ground. all because of an accident that could have been easily brushed off and forgotten about. such a dumb fucking reason, and yet it has ellie seething.

"you should watch where you're going, williams. always lurking where nobody wants you to be." quinn spits, taunting ellie to get a rise out of her. 

it was likely that ellie's indifferent reactions to quinn's bullying irritated her, unable to fathom why ellie wouldn't buckle and submit like every other one of her unfortunate victims.

while the teasing and mean remarks were an unfortunate constant in her life, this never mellowed ellie. she was always quick-witted, her slight temper always having her ready to argue back and stand up for herself, and this time was no different.

ellie rises from the ground and delivers an equally hard shove, an irate, "what the fuck is your problem?" leaving her chapped lips. being the drama-obsessed hive mind that high schoolers were, it didn't take long for people to start crowding around the two once things intensified.

you had been watching the whole thing from afar before a wall of people began forming, not realising it'd evolve into this. you heard a pained groan rip from ellie's throat after what you presumed was the first punch being thrown. now you are only able to listen to the commotion but not see the situation, making your anxiety skyrocket. 

you liked to keep an attentive eye on ellie from a distance despite your paths rarely crossing, feeling some strange obligation to watch over her. you knew quinn and her posse of assholes always gave ellie a hard time, but she seemed to handle herself just fine, sometimes hearing one of her clever comebacks that made you giggle.

while the brawl entertained everyone else, you grew increasingly agitated. you were never one for drama and kept a relatively peaceful circle of friends, but the idea of just standing and doing nothing felt like a personal failure.

so, before you knew it, you were excusing yourself from your friends and pushing your way through the crowd to get to ellie.

once you breached the crowd, you found yourself in the eye of the storm, your eyes wide. after a while of their struggle against each other, quinn was now situated on top of ellie as she delivered a particularly hard punch to ellie's cheek. the wounded groan she let out was what urged you out of your frozen shock, rushing towards the tangle of violent limbs, grabbing quinn's shoulder and pulling her off of ellie with a hard tug.

"get the hell away from her!" you yell, trying hard to ignore the disappointed groans of the audience as you interrupt their entertainment. "assholes." you thought to yourself. 

wiping the blood from her nose, the sight of the trickling crimson more satisfying to you than it should be, quinn looks at you confused, clearly not expecting you of all people to come to ellie's rescue.

"the fuck are you doing?" she sneers, looking between you and ellie, who is still on the floor, propping herself up on her elbows with the nastiest glare you'd ever seen on her face. "don't tell me you actually give a shit about this loser-"

"back off, don't touch her," you snarled, pushing past her to kneel beside ellie on the ground.

you had this untouchable air about you, something that was a little lost on you but not to quinn. she knew you had people to back you up, her targets usually being the loner outcast types, being the coward she is. the same ruthlessness ellie received was not given to you, an irritated scoff being all you heard from quinn. she was the least of your worries right now.

"are you okay?" you ask, a little breathless from the adrenaline of putting yourself in the middle of a fight in front of an audience. your brows furrowed at how quickly deep purples and blues had already started blooming around ellie's eye and her freckled cheek. 

ellie looked at you blankly, her mouth opening and closing like a fish, and she tried desperately to find any words to say to you. how was she supposed to think straight? the rush from the fight and now having her crush come to her aid rendered her speechless. her lack of answer only worried you more, pinning her silence on being stunned from the fight still.

"ellie, i need you to answer-"

you were cut off by the sound of the principal pushing his way through the mass, his stern voice demanding that the two battered girls follow him to his office.

you watch doe-eyed and nervous as ellie pushes herself off the floor with a wince, looking at you with eyes that have so much to say yet a mouth that cannot quite verbalise it. but she couldn't stay, so without a word, she reluctantly trudged behind the principal with her head hanging low, utterly fed up, and man, that one punch hurt.

˖𓂃.☘︎ ݁˖

you peered around the corner to the row of chairs lined up outside the principal's office, eyes fixated on ellie's slumped figure occupying one of them. you had been watching for at least a minute or two now despite there being the opportunity to approach her like any other normal person. but this was comfortable for you, familiar. if ellie believed she was the only person with a staring problem, and she did, then she was painfully wrong.

it felt routine for you to watch her like this from afar, a look in your eyes brimming with so much more than just innocent curiosity.

it was like you could sense her presence in a room, your gaze always finding her so easily amongst the hoard of other students. your eyes would rake up and down as you shamelessly drank her in, that camo jacket of hers that she wore like a safety blanket hanging loosely from her frame. she wore it infuriatingly well, paired with her unbothered demeanour that looked oh so good on her. a witty remark was always ready on the tip of her tongue when one of her tormentors dared to speak to her, her scarred brow furrowing into a scowl that made your stomach flutter.

you knew what cuteness aggression was, but that surely couldn't be what you felt now. but it made you mad how badly ellie affected you even from a distance, what was once just a silly hallway crush twisting into a near-violent obsession. you spied her fresh bruises, almost filling you with a little satisfaction. serves her right, your voice whispers quietly inside your head, as if you were scared someone could hear you. you almost wished you had been the one to give her the bruises only so you could plant two gentle kisses over the skin to soothe the sting afterwards. the deep plum colour blooming across her skin still somehow made her look pretty, and you had to take a moment to ask yourself if that was a fucked up thing to think. probably. 

suddenly becoming aware of how much of a creep you must look, lingering but not daring to approach, you decided to finally go check on her. it wouldn't feel right for you not to ensure she was okay.

ellie wonders how hard she was punched when she looks up to see you, a concerned and bashful smile on your face.

"hey, ellie. i just wanted to check on you after what happened with… y'know." 

ellie spends a moment in silence as she processes what's happening. you're fidgeting with your hands, rocking back and forth on your heels like you don't know what to do with yourself. she could have scoffed in bewilderment, as if you had any right to look so nervous standing in front of her, effortlessly beautiful and so sweet.

"ellie?" you repeat her name again, softer this time. ellie almost wants to stay silent just to hear you repeat it. but she needs to respond, fuck think, think, think-

"o-oh, hey. i uh- yeah, i'm okay. nothing i can't handle," ellie finally manages to get out. you nod in acknowledgement, tearing your eyes away for just a moment to compose yourself.

"do you mind if i sit?" you gesture to the empty chair beside her, which has her perking up almost immediately. ellie nods, a simple "sure," leaving her lips in a tone that sounded far more curt than nonchalant like she intended. really, she was just trying to focus on not bursting at the seams. you were so close to her, and now she had to keep her cool.

"thanks for stepping in earlier and pulling her off of me. you didn't have to do that."

"i wasn't just gonna stand there and watch it happen," you say it like that wasn't what anyone else would have done, what they did do. all more than happy to watch her get her ass beat just to spice up what otherwise would have been another boring school day.

"i'd say i held my own somewhat well," ellie quips, her tone a little lighter than before. you giggle softly, deciding not to remind her that she had been floored by the time you got to her. she had definitely lost the fight, and in her defence, that girl was notoriously scrappy, but fortunately for you, she made losing look so good. holding herself up on her elbows, the meanest look on her dishevelled face as she stared up at the girl with an unwavering glare.

"and what did the principal have to say about that?" you press for details, head tilting curiously. you looked like a puppy, sitting all cute and pretty next to her. ellie swore you were trying to kill her; such a simple movement made her heart rate spike. 

"got a firm slap on the wrist and the usual 'you're better than this' speech." you hum in acknowledgement, a breath of a laugh exhaling through your nose.

"well, for what it's worth, i think you gave her what she deserved." your statement caught her off guard, and she was not expecting you to condone any of what went down earlier.

"oh, you think?"

"oh definitely. the only time i see her is when she's making some poor person's life hell. i'm glad to see her get a taste of her own medicine."

ellie couldn't argue with that, shrugging in agreement as she tried to keep the pride bubbling up in her chest at bay.

"i am a little surprised, though. i wasn't expecting you to entertain a fight with her." this makes ellie raise her eyebrow inquisitively. did she not look tough enough to be in a fight or something? she knew she was nerdy, but surely she didn't look utterly defenceless, right?

"how come?" she questions, leaning back more comfortably in her chair, legs settling into her usual manspread that had you reeling just from seeing it from a distance, never mind being right next to her. your eyes darted around the hallway, desperately trying to focus on the conversation.

"well, y'know, i see you around, and you're usually so…" you trail off as you wave your hands in soft, fluid motions, whimsical and a little silly as you try to explain the softer side of her you had always noticed in what looked like some strange interpretive dance. 

"but back there, you were all like-" you're swinging your arms a little more frantically now, a poor recreation of some generic karate moves. you would feel like a total idiot and you very much do if it wasn't for the cheesy smile spreading across ellie's face at the sight of you.

"yeah?" she feels like she's getting lightheaded from how giddy she feels.

"yeah." you parrot back sheepishly, twiddling your thumbs to ground yourself. so cute.  

all ellie seemed to be good for was being riled up by the other students, so hearing that you had acknowledged her enough to make up your own mind about her made her feel like she was short circuiting. she was quickly snapped out of her temporary high when she felt a sharp sting on the side of her face, her sappy smile irritating her bruises.

"shit, are you okay?" you ask worriedly as she tries to brush it off with a wave of her hand.

"yeah yeah, i'm fine; this could've been way worse. you don't need to worry." her thoughts didn't quite match up with her words, though, silently begging that you'd keep doting on her. she was basking in having your undivided attention.

"ellie, these bruises are pretty big, i'm allowed to worry after i watched you get your ass handed to you," you ramble, ignoring her dismissal. 

"hey! she didn't have that much of an upper hand against me-"

you don’t reply, your hand absentmindedly reaches out to cup her jaw, being careful not to press into where it hurts as you inspect her injuries.

"has anybody checked over you yet?"

she feels like she's on fire, palms sweaty as she silently lets you examine her. she barely managed to respond to your question with a simple "no." she swore she could feel everywhere your eyes landed on her face, and fuck, your hand is so warm. the mess of a girl was surprised that steam wasn't radiating from where your skin met. 

as you give her face a final once over, you catch that frazzled deer-in-headlights look in her eyes and realise what you were doing, immediately removing your hand. if ellie wasn't frozen in place, she would have chased your touch, already missing the feeling of you on her skin.

"s-sorry, i just- i didn't mean to touch you out of nowhere. i was checking for my own peace of mind and got carried away-"

"no!" ellie interrupts a little louder than she meant to. "i mean, it's totally fine," her voice is shaking, "thank you for caring. you don't even really know me, and you're doing all this for me, so thank you."

her abruptness halts your apologetic rambling. you look at her wide-eyed for a moment before letting a soft little smile tug up the corner of your lips. if only she knew just how well you'd come to know her from all of your stolen glances, committing her to memory like she would disappear.

"don't mention it."

silence falls over you, both fidgeting shyly as you struggle to find something else to say. but that was okay. the giddy smiles you were both biting back said everything they needed to.

"i should probably get back to class, i've been holding this hall pass hostage for a while so i could come to check on you." you huff out a little disappointed sigh, reluctant to leave now that you'd finally been able to talk to ellie after so long spent longingly glancing in her direction.

"oh right, sorry. don't let me keep you, like i said i'm fine, really." ellie felt herself deflate a little now that she knew you had to go. the word pathetic came to mind when she realised how silly she must have looked, sulking like a kicked dog.

"i'm glad you're okay, ellie. i'll um… i'll see you around, yeah?" you couldn't help the hopefulness seeping through your words, and ellie noticed. the slight lilt in your sweet voice, your awkward shifting as you stood up, ready to leave.

"yeah, i'll see you around." ellie smiled up at you, ignoring the sharp twinge where her bruises were. maybe she should get beat up more often if it meant getting your attention.

[thehoneybeestings]

𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐲 𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬, 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬

𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐤𝐚 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

‧₊˚── Request: "Omg, I love your actor AU for Sevika x Reader! Can I request something? How about Sevika trying to figure out if reader actually likes women? And how would reader pick up on the signs that Sevika actually wants her? It's like some yearning for both of them"

Word Count: 1.4K Content/Warnings: sfw, loser!sevika lol, fem reader (referred to w fem pronouns), bartender!reader, yearning, pining, and the likes, sevika doesn't know what to do when she has an actual crush on someone A/N: thank you so much for this request, anon! this was so fun to write, i love clueless sev and i hope you enjoy it, too <3

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐁𝐞𝐞 ୨ৎ

 ──˚₊୨ৎ‧₊˚──

୨ৎ Sevika certainly isn’t known for being easy to read

୨ৎ When regarding others, she wears an expression of indifference at best, and scathing anger at worst

୨ৎ At this point, you’d take the scathing anger over whatever the fuck she regarded you with now

୨ৎ Disdain? Disgust? Confusion?

୨ৎ You can’t figure out what it is, and you’re completely lost on what it is you’ve done to deserve it; all you’re sure of is that Sevika cannot stand you

୨ৎ And to make matters worse, you’ve had a thing for her since your first day at The Last Drop 

୨ৎ You just can’t seem to shake it

୨ৎ Not when she walks into the bar, her strong jaw set and her gait unyieldingly confident as she makes her way to the booth in the back corner that everyone knows belongs to her

୨ৎ Not when she’s dealing another round of cards after winning poker for the fifth time, her wicked chuckle rumbling low and smooth, her mechanical arm glinting in the neon lights as cards fly out of its sharp claws

୨ৎ Not even when you approach the table to take everyone’s orders and her eyes are on you like a hawk, brows knit together in… whatever the hell it was she was feeling toward you

୨ৎ She doesn’t like you- that much has been made adamantly clear- but why still she seems so interested in you, you had no idea

୨ৎ You try your best not to let it bother you, which gets increasingly hard when all of a sudden, she starts to hover

୨ৎ It’s like she’s going out of her way to piss herself off with your presence

୨ৎ Coming up to the bar to order her drinks instead of letting you come to her, and standing around for damn-near half an hour before she finally leaves

୨ৎ Hanging around past close, watching intently as you stack chairs and wipe tables whilst chatting with your coworkers

୨ৎ And Janna, not to mention the way she plays helicopter mom when you speak to Jinx 

୨ৎ “Dude, your fake is so bad. I’m never taking it. Stop trying.”

୨ৎ “Nah. You’ll throw me a bone one day, toots.”

୨ৎ You snicker as you continue to wipe down the bar

୨ৎ “Ugh, I broke a nail,” you suddenly chime. “Eh, they were getting too long anyway.”

୨ৎ Sevika’s eyes shoot up, and you don’t notice, but Jinx sure does, because she knows Sevika has been trying to figure out if you’re gay for the past three months

୨ৎ It had been incredibly entertaining at first, watching Sevika scramble for any sign at all that you might swing her way

୨ৎ It’d been a long time since Sevika had a crush on someone like this, and frankly, it’s reduced her to a total loser

୨ৎ And now, the fun’s over, and Jinx is getting sick of her pining 

୨ৎ “Quit being such a freak,” you hear her grovel

୨ৎ You lift your head up to hum in question, having missed the context of her comment

୨ৎ “Nothing,” Sevika quickly spits, and you walk away with your hands held up in surrender

୨ৎ “Let’s go,” she continues, looking to Jinx and cocking her head toward the stairs to Silco’s abode, “you’re not even supposed to be here.”

୨ৎ “Yeah, yeah; whatever,” the blue-haired girl mumbles before bidding you goodbye

୨ৎ You wave back with a soft smile, but your brows furrow in sudden confusion after you swear you hear her mutter:

୨ৎ “Just ask the damn bartender out already.”

୨ৎ You brush it off

୨ৎ There’s no way in Janna you heard that right; and if you did, it must have been some joke about how incredulous it would be for Sevika to do such a thing

୨ৎ But, ever since that night, any interaction between you and Jinx ends this way; abruptly and awkwardly as Sevika pulls her away

୨ৎ There was the time that Jinx asked you to remind her what book you were currently reading, and when you answered with the name of a well-known Sapphic novel, Jinx turned to chortle at Sevika, who then quickly informed her of an errand they needed to run before you could ask if there was something you were missing

୨ৎ Or the time that they ran into on your day off, and you couldn’t have looked more gay if you tried: rings adorning nearly every finger, combat boots on your feet, and a carabiner on your belt loop

୨ৎ “See,” Jinx laughs, “I told you-”

୨ৎ This time, Sevika physically pulls the smaller girl away, leaving you in the dust and entirely confused

୨ৎ At this point, you were starting to get a bit offended

୨ৎ Sevika reserves the right not to like you, for whatever reason, but it isn’t fair of her to police your friendship with Jinx

୨ৎ And one night, she’s lingering after close again, and you finally let her have it

୨ৎ It’d been a long shift, and the last thing you had the patience for was her brooding gaze pinned to you as you did your closing chores

୨ৎ “Can I help you?” You suddenly jeer, turning on your heel to face her and placing a hand on your hip. 

୨ৎ You don’t miss the way her eyes widen in surprise for a split second before she schools her expression into her typical disinterest

୨ৎ “You weren’t here last night,” she deadpans

୨ৎ Your lip curls in irritation, head tilting to the side as if to ask her why the fuck she cares

୨ৎ “Yeah, I took the morning shift so I could go on a date at six,” you scoff, turning to wipe the table behind next to you. “Didn’t hit it off with her anyway, so I’d prefer that you don’t add insult to injury-”

୨ৎ “Oh, thank Janna.”

୨ৎ You whip your head around to see her eyes closed, her head tilted back, and her shoulders relaxed 

୨ৎ She looked relieved 

୨ৎ And now, you’re pissed

୨ৎ “Okay, are you some sort of sadist or something?” You suddenly snap. “I mean, seriously; I get that you don’t like me, but first, you try to get in the way of my friendship with Jinx, and now you’re happy to hear that my love life is in the shitter, so if you could please tell me what the fuck your problem is-”

୨ৎ “You’re into girls.”

୨ৎ Your eyes fly open in rage

୨ৎ “I’m into girls?! That’s why you don’t like me? Oh, so you’re really a piece of shit-”

୨ৎ “Wait! No! I-I…”

୨ৎ Her hands fly out, waving as frantically as her eyes as they dart across your features

୨ৎ In the months you’d known Sevika- in the months you’d been dealing with the stupid crush you had on the woman who absolutely despised you- you’d never seen her look like this

୨ৎ The poor woman is horrified and scrambling to explain herself

୨ৎ “I didn’t mean… that’s not what I meant. I just… I’ve been trying to figure out if you liked girls,” she finally sighs, hands dropping to her sides in defeat

୨ৎ Still, confusion is written all over your face

୨ৎ “Why?”

୨ৎ She shrugs

୨ৎ “T’ save myself the embarrassment of you being straight when I finally built up the courage to ask you out.”

୨ৎ Your jaw goes slack

୨ৎ And as you think about the past few months- her narrowed gaze not of confusion, but of appraisal, her quickness to pull Jinx away not out of reproval, but out of embarrassment- all you can do is laugh

୨ৎ “So you’ve had a thing for me this whole time, too?”

୨ৎ “Too?!”

୨ৎ You laugh even harder

୨ৎ “Why didn’t you just… ask?”

୨ৎ She scratches the back of her neck, looking up at you through her dark lashes

୨ৎ “I know, I know… just thought that might be awkward.”

୨ৎ “More awkward than looking at me like I’ve lost my mind when I ask you what you want to drink?”

୨ৎ She huffs out a chuckle, hand coming up to rub her face

୨ৎ And suddenly, you’re taking her face in your own hands to plant a kiss on her lips

୨ৎ She leans back in surprise for a fleeting moment, but it isn’t even a second later before her hands anchor to your hips and she melts into the feeling of your lips on her own

୨ৎ When you pull away, her lips quirk up into a smirk, and yours do the same as you purr,

୨ৎ “Does that answer your question?”

──˚₊• 𝐄𝐍𝐃 •‧₊˚──

[yandere-daydreams]

file #5: the lactation fic.

part of the FREAK SHIT MARCH evidence packet.

pairing: yandere!sukuna x reader (jjk).

length: 1.8k.

warnings: afab!reader, heian era sukuna, vaguely dubious consent, lactation (not the way you’d expect though), fem!dom, verbal degradation (m. receiving), breast milk, and mentions of death/cannibalism.

If you could say you’d learned anything about Sukuna, it would have to be that he was not the kind of man you could expect predictability from.

That was, if you could even call him a man at all. It would be more accurate to say that he was not the kind of monster you could expect predictability from, which made sense – monsters were rarely known for having a rational motivation for their senselessness. With Sukuna, though, it was less that you were forced to guess how violent he’d be and more whether he’d be violent with you at all. It was as common for him to demand that you spend the afternoon laying on a shady riverbank, feeding him honey and grapes, as it was for him to threaten to gut you like cattle should you make one more snide comment about the bloodstains his constantly wandering hands tend to leave on your clothes. His other servant, the inexpressive butcher who spoke to you rarely and reeked constantly of blood, claimed to be able to find a pattern to the chaos, but whatever knowledge they might’ve gleaned over their time with him, they’d never seen fit to share with you. You found your own ways of coping, though.

Like right now, for instance – as you hung limply over Sukuna’s shoulder, kept in place only by the hand pressing into the small of your back. Despite the way his arm bit into your stomach, a slight scowl that’d been playing on his lips when he snatched you away from what you’d been doing, you did your best to keep your mind empty, your thoughts limited to a blank ambiance. If there was as good of a chance that he was going to kill you and feast on your decaying flesh as there was that he simply needed someone to fix yet another tear in his favored yukata, you didn’t want to make it worse for yourself by panicking prematurely.

Still, you were vaguely aware of the passing scenery as he hauled you through grand, vacant halls and into the master’s chambers. Sukuna would find a place to dwell wherever he roamed, whether that meant sleeping in a damp cave or on a bed of woven cloud and quail feathers, but a part of you was undeniably (and guiltily) glad that he had a clear preference for the latter. Currently, you were biding your time until Sukuna’s next feeding spree in a palace that used to belong to a wealthy merchant; a merchant whose organs were, if memory served, currently being divided into portions and dried on a rack of—

You were pulled out of your thoughts as Sukuna dropped you onto a bed of down-stuffed pillows and silk sheets. Wordlessly, he fell beside you and, using his lower set of arms, hauled you onto his chest, forcing you to straddle his abdomen. With only a slight huff, a roll of your eyes, you settled into place – bracing your hands on his midriff. “My lord, I have other obligations to—”

“I am the only obligation you should be paying any mind to.” His tone was clipped, his voice gruff. Clearly, he was in one of his poorer moods, today. “Get on with it” he barked, making with a vague gesture to his upper chest. “I don’t have all day, brat.”

You spared a half-second to scan over him. He treated you like a tailor, among other things, but at the moment, his chest was bare, and this wasn’t exactly comparable to the countless times he’d dropped the tattered shreds of a kimono or yukata into your lap and told you to make something more or less wearable. “I… I’m afraid I don’t exactly know what I’m supposed to be doing, sir.”

He rolled his eyes, and you bit back the urge to return his irritation. “Y’know, just…” Another gesture to his chest, this one shortly followed by a disappointed, breathy noise. “Empty them out. It’s starting to get uncomfortable, again.”

Empty them…?

Again, you glanced down, your attention landing on the swell of his chest. He was always sickeningly bulky, prone to wearing his strength on the layers of muscle blanketing his biceps and thighs, but his chest did seem more swollen that it normally was, now that you thought to look, the usually hardened flesh visibly more plush, more tender. You shifted your weight, your fingertips digging into the swell of his right pec, and you felt something warm and wet trickle over the back of your hand and onto the velveteen cushions below you.

Sukuna let out an airy groan, and your mind went entirely blank.

Reflexively, you tried to pull away, but Sukuna had always been faster than you. His hand was wrapped around your wrist before you could so much as break contact, keeping your palm pressed into his pec (breast?). “Don’t act like such a baby. It’s a task even an idiot could manage.” With his hand draped over your own, he ground the heel of your palm into the plush of his pec, and this time, you weren’t lucky enough to look away in time – your eyes falling to his chest as a thin stream of a surprisingly white, surprisingly thick fluid dribbled out of his nipple in short, stilted bursts. Milk, your mind filled in, against your will. Except, it couldn’t be. Sukuna wasn’t human. Sukuna wasn’t supposed to be able to do that.

More out of curiosity than anything, you pressed your palm down again with just a little more force, a little less trepidation. The jet was stronger, this time, and Sukuna’s eyes closed, his lips soon drawn into a thin line only occasionally parting to let out a deep breath or raspy groan. His hand dropped away entirely as you fell into a steady kneading pattern – both of his upper arms soon crossed above his head, as he often did when he was lounging in a particularly entrancing patch of sunlight, while their lower counterparts remained on your waist. “Use both hands,” he grunted, and not bothering to suppress your scowl, you did. Soon enough, milk (because, as unsettling as it was, you just didn’t know what else to call it) frothed steadily, painting both sides of his chest with unorganized streaks of splotchy white – delicate ribbons spread over a canvas of ink and scars.

Despite yourself, you found yourself focusing on that. The word, almost jarringly quaint, repeated in the back of your mind; milk, milk, milk. Almost in a trance, you found yourself bowing your head, lowering yourself until your chest was slotted against his. After making sure his eyes were still closed, his attention still on the steady movement of your hands, you ran the flat of your tongue over his left nipple and—

Oh.

It was sweet.

His hand was on the back of your head in an instant, but you were already latched on – your lips sealed around his nipple, sucking harshly. There wasn’t a point trying to be gentle with Sukuna, not when you’d seen him take spears to heart without so much as a wayward flinch, but any passing temptation to veer towards delicacy was quickly forgotten as thick fingers knotted themselves in your hair, a reverberating moan tearing past his lips as you lapped and suckled, letting whatever you couldn’t swallow down flood out of the corner of your mouth. He could’ve pried you away, if he’d wanted to, could’ve torn off your head with little more than a flick of his wrist, but all he offered was a weak – pathetic – tug, a few garbled curses spat under his breath. “Brat,” he hissed, as you drank greedily. “Just— Just do your damn job and—”

“You’re so fucking loud,” you muttered, pulling back just far enough to be audible. “For once in your life, would it kill you to be quiet?”

You couldn’t see him, but you’d seen him baring his teeth often enough to recognize his tone. “Know your place, huma—”

You didn’t give him a chance to finish. Before you could think better of it, you braced yourself and bit down, burying your teeth into the tender meat of his chest. You tasted blood, heard Sukuna moan, and felt his body jolt underneath you, hips jutting against yours as something long and thick twitched against your ass. You pulled away as quickly as you could, already grinning. “Are you…?

“Be quiet.”

He was. You could feel his cock against your ass - already hard, already pulsing. Or, his cocks, rather, both standing stiff against his lower stomach despite the loose fabric of his robes. Carefully, you shifted back, straddling his thighs, as you slowly removed the thin sash sitting low on his waist, as you dragged the silken fabric aside in favor of wrapping your fist around the thicker of his paired cocks; your fingers barely grazing each other where they were supposed to overlap. “No wonder you’re always so temperamental,” you went on, speaking slowly, giving him every chance to cut you off, to throw you to the side, to tear you limb from limp. He only scowled, though, only pouted, clenching his eyes shut as thick beads of arousal blotted and dripped over the back of your hand. “To think the King of Curses would get this hard from some powerless human sucking on his leaking tits… You must be so pent up, you just don’t care who touches you, huh?”

His hold on your hips tightened, threatening to bruise. You barely noticed, already distracted by the slight tremble in his bottom lip, the pitchy whine that escaped his grit teeth as you shifted your weight onto your knees and aligned the blunt, flushed tip of his cock with your entrance. You took measured seconds to lower yourself onto him, ignoring the burning stretch in favor of focusing on the heat of it, the immediate and overwhelming fullness. You’d barely gotten the head of his cock inside of you when you stopped, going completely still. A second passed before Sukuna seemed to notice, another before one of his many eyes flickered open – immediately landing on you.

It was barely a whisper, a breath. He was mumbling, as much as you knew Sukuna would loathe you for accusing him of something so meek aloud. “Do your—” A bubbling groan, a hitched gasp as your pussy clenched around him. “Do your damn job, brat.”

Your attempts to bite back your wide, beaming smile were only half-successful. “It would be my pleasure, my lord.”

You rolled your hips as you lowered yourself back to his height, trapping his unsheathed cock between your body and his as your mouth found its way back to his nipple. It was barely another minute before he was swearing, groaning, bucking into you from below in short, stilted thrusts – like he was afraid of so much as coming close to slipping out. It was all you could do to stay concentrated on the task at-hand, to stop your mind from wandering from the taste on him on your tongue, the feeling of his cock throbbing inside your pussy. Still, you found the time to allow yourself a single, self-indulgent thought – one so ridiculous and so simpering that you couldn’t help but laugh against his skin.

Maybe, just maybe, there were sides of Sukuna that weren’t so difficult to predict, after all.  

[mandy-asimp]

Curiosity

sugar mommy lilia calderu x reader

warnings: cursing, some gay shit, smut, kissing mwah mwah mwah, age-gap (kinda unspecified, reader is like 26) uhhh that's it??

summary: your an inspiring actress who tends to have late rehearsals. and having no car, you had resorted to a the train. but then one night you meet a mysterious woman who captures your curiosity instantly.

Special thanks to @yourbasicqueerie for the car details and ideas🙏🙏

Your headphones rested on your head as you waited. You watched the snow fall against the tracks, it was supposed to get worse as the night went on. A white Thanksgiving was expected for New York. It honestly made you a little giddy as you hadn't experience good snow since you were seven.

Even as the thought of being alone for the holidays passed, you consider everything you could still do for yourself. Thanksgiving you could still cook, maybe have a Friendsgiving or open door thing in your complex building. Your neighbors always enjoyed when you had an open door dinner. But for Christmas, you knew everyone would be with family and their friends, leaving you to the comfort of your own home.

The sound of wheels screeching against metal drew you back to reality, your train was here. You had finished another show and could finally rest for a while before having to find something else to pay your bills. You had been searching through company after company, your manager helping the best she could to get you something solid and beneficial for both of you. All you've been coming across are small off-broadway shows and musicals, it wasn't much but it kept you content and cozy.

You flipped your phone over, seeing the screen light up and the time read 3:33 in the morning and you could only sigh as you boarded the train. You took in the few other people who had gotten on with you.

Two teenage boys sat giggling with each other and were finishing up some street food they had found. You assumed they were brothers with how well they got along. The sight warmed your heart. Then there was the woman with red hair. She had her hood up and nodding along to whatever song she must've been listening to. You caught a glimpse of her green eyes. She seemed young and alone. Then there was a tall man sitting way on the other side. His glasses rested neatly on top of his brief case.

The train had began and for at least fifteen minutes you had a smooth ride till the first stop. Not bothering to look up at whoever walked on. All you had known was they sat across from you, which you didn't think was entirely weird but there was an entire car open so why there?

You minded your business as the train began again. You occupied yourself for the ride by sketching and humming just slightly to yourself. And maybe you hadn't really been paying attention to what you were sketching, but as the train came to another stop you had an entire drawing of what you had taken in earlier. Your head tilted as you stared at it.

"It's a good sketch." The voice across from you had spoke, calling for your eyes to leave the paper. And by golly, did your heart leap off an airplane and go skydiving. The older woman was absolutely stunning. Her salt and pepper curls were pulled up yet the perfect amount framed her face. Drawing your attention to the big brown eyes that stared at you with interest and curiosity. Her outfit, you couldn't tell much of it as it was covered up by a black winter coat, but her bag screamed expensive and so did the few pieces of jewelry. "I never even saw you look up once to relook at anyone."

"I have a really good memory...I guess.." You were feeling shy under her gaze. It wasn't unlike you though, you naturally were a soft spoken, well-mannered young woman. You didn't like to be loud, which was surprising to many people you worked with when they had made a joke about you needing subtitles. But then again, that's what everyone else knew you as. There's always two sides.

The woman's silence made you think at first she didn't hear you, and you were ready to just smile and look back down to your papers and start on something new. "But to transfer that so easily onto a page isn't as easy. It's a talent..what you posses."

You couldn't help the smile and confused look you gave her, "posses? Like it's a superpower?" You lightly giggled. The woman had followed along, liking your humor.

"No..more like magic." Something in her eyes changed as they finally took you in. Your vintage racer jacket that covered a sweatshirt with a casual pair of jeans. Your feet covered in boots that looked to be worn to the bone as she just barely caught a glimpse of the gray baggy socks that covered the top. You must be wearing some big socks. "What are you doing this late on a train anyways?"

You hummed before answering, "I'm an actress. I just finished a show and now I'm heading home for the night. I'm hoping for something big next, really make my name."

She saw the twinkle as you spoke about your career. She so easily knew that you were following a dream. She admired that. "And what is your name, baby?" She leaned on her elegantly crossed legs, getting closer to your space.

You blushed and smiled with your eyes closed as you tucked into yourself a bit, having a physical reaction to her pet name. And you had muttered out your name, knowing she didn't hear it as she laughed. Was she laughing at you or with you? "You're a cute one, but I didn't catch that. What'd you say?" She asked again, leaving out the pet name since she truly did want to know your name.

You took a deep breath and giggled once more, finally getting her your name and she repeated it back to you. Softly like it was going to break if she said it any louder. It was said again in a way you've only experienced few times, low and dragged out. Almost moaned under her breath. It made your smile fall to a subtle grin and your blush deepen. You wanted to hear it again, and again, louder, shouted, begged, you had to shake your head of the thoughts and the woman seemed to know what had just occurred.

She stood from her spot as the train came to a halt, "get home safe, baby. You got star potential and it would be ashame if the world never got to see it." She winked before walking away. She had left you so stunned you never even got her name.

All you knew was she was going to plague your dreams for the next week and torture your mind during your searching you had to do. You had named her the train mommy in your diary, which she began to appear more and more as the days drew on. You hadn't stopped thinking of her. You couldn't. But alas, you chalked your dreams up to just that, dreams. You'd probably never see such a woman again anyways.

Right?

obviously wrong.

You had hit December now. The worst one in years, and you were cutting it close with this one. A musical that was supposed to show the weekend right before the big holiday. A rehearsal had gone late, you had really been working on harmonies for a song. You just couldn't help to feed the directors need to run it till it was perfect. The breaks in-between being subtle talking sessions on how to get there tonight before adding in the choreograph.

Back at the train station, you held yourself tight as the snow came down faster tonight. You were praying to make it before they shut down the train due to weather and leave you stranded. Your foot tapped as you stood behind the yellow line waiting for the thing to just finally arrive.

You glanced around the platform. Almost nobody was there, the only other people was a couple. One was with long brown waves that were kept down by purple ear muffs and a matching scarf wrapped around her. Her black coat zipped up as her hands were stuffed in her pockets. she swayed with the other as they laughed with each other. The sound just barely reached your ears. The other was wearing a green beanie and had the hood of her coat pulled over. Her eyes fixed to the other and laughing along with her. Her breath showing in the air as she, you assumed, had sighed at the others shenanigans but leaned in for a kiss anyways.

You pried your eyes away from the romantic moment and began a pointless search on every app of your phone. Only looking back up when the train had stopped infant of you. And you knew then, once settled in your seat, you weren't making it home. It was just you in the car.

You took a deep breath and leaned back as the doors closed. Playing music from your phone as you bobbed your head along with it. Just you in your own train car with your own thoughts. You had shut your eyes as you relaxed.

The next time they had opened was to the car attendant looking at you with an apologetic look. "Our train has been ordered to stop service as the snow picks up, it's getting bad out there."

You gave a soft nod and sat up and blinking away the last of the sleep. You didn't mean to fall asleep, but you knew you weren't even making it home, it was just a matter of how close you could get. You reached for your bag and began to get yourself situated.

"Enjoy your nap, sleeping beauty?" That voice. You couldn't contain the smile as you snapped your head up. Pink dusting your cheeks as you gave her a nod and kept silent. "Do you have anywhere to stay for the night? That storm has canceled every flight, train, and bus out of here." You frowned and shook your head, realizing the situation you were in now. "You're a quiet one tonight, baby. Are you okay?" She stood in front of you now, invading your space and holding your face from being able to tuck itself away. But as you stared up at her with all this adoration, her stare back was of pure concern.

"I'm resting my voice. We overworked them today in rehearsal and our show is the weekend right before Christmas." You quietly explained, sending her a reassuring smile up. To that she gave a knowing nod and smiled again.

"Well then I guess you won't have the voice to argue me, you'll come with me. I'll make sure you're all nice and warm tonight." She reached for your hand, grabbing it and pulling you along with her.

From the train station, all the way back to a parking garage. Her hand never left yours, you had figured it was so she didn't loose you in the snow. She brought you to an older looking car. It was a Porsche, you figured that out by the logo, but that and that it was old was all you knew. It must've been expensive. You thought it fit her well, maybe you could ask her about it more in the morning. You slowed as you watched her walk closer and come into view with it for you. Yet, she didn't make it to the car as you tugged her back.

You realized then you were taller than her and even as she looked up at you, it felt demanding. You had her close to your own body, whispering "your name?"

When she said it, your ears warmed even just at how beautiful it was. You mouthed it back with a delicate smile and gave her a slight nod, telling her to continue on.

You didn't understand how this woman had made you trust her so easily. If anyone else tried to drag you to their vintage car, you would've fought back and found the closest hotel to stay in. But instead, you were accepting her offer without even thinking twice. I mean...if it came to it, you would stand a chance...or at least you want to assume you would be able to.

She drove so carefully through the snow, seeing as it was almost impossible to see five feet ahead of you. It seemed like her driving was memory though as she turned through the roads and managed out the city and to a neighborhood on the outskirts. The house she pulled into was large, something you'd never be able to afford obviously. She let the cold in as she rolled down the window to put in the code for her gate.

The outside however wasn't as exciting as the inside. It was decorated so precisely, but what you really noticed was the different crystals scattered around the areas you could see. Another thing was a tarot deck in almost every room. You grew curious and tapped her hand with your laced fingers. When she looked, you pointed at the deck that sat perfectly in the middle of the coffee table.

"Everyone's got their own thing. I have a collection of decks, all hand painted over time. They hold more power and connection...I like to believe." Lilia shortly explained. She enjoyed the curiosity in your silent words, even nonverbal you could translate such emotions. She'd love to get to know all your emotions and how well you could tell them, but as you yawned, she remembered the time and situation. "Let's get you settled in, huh?" You sleepily agreed with her, following her once again upstairs.

~

Waking up you were surrounded by comfort. Your body could actually stretch out even more than in your own. There was no one else in the room with you in the grand bedroom as you sat up and rubbed away the remaining sleep in your eyes. Finally being able to glance at the clock and seeing it was almost twelve, and you were thankful for having a rest day from the director.

You sighed and went back to observing the room. A door to a closet sat in the furthest corner, you wondered how big it was inside. A dresser in front of the bed with a reasonably sized tv that was still off and only showing you your own distorted reflection. A few more pieces of furniture were scattered about, but the room was clean and tidied. Giving you only so much about the woman who brought you here.

Where was she anyways?

Finally tossing the cover over, you slipped out the bed. Being in nothing but a baggy t-shirt and your socks still. Maybe you had changed and were just too tired to even remember the detail...but you would've been able to recall just the tiny action of it.

Your feet carried you down the wooden steps as you kept pondering how you had changed. Too lost in thought to even notice the few prying eyes from the front room as you went the other way to find the kitchen. "Lilia?" You softly called out, knowing that it probably did nothing with how quiet it came out. You were growing desperate for some tea.

A hand fell to your lower back as the woman had appeared. "Well look who isn't dead in my bed," she was to quick to tease you and watch you blush. "Can I get you anything to eat or drink, hun?"

You spelt tea on her arm and followed her like a lost puppy into the kitchen. Smiling as the room's personality shouted at you as you sat at the round dining table. Your eyes were so eager to take in anything that you could to learn about the woman. The kitchen was cozy and cluttered a bit, but you could tell some good ass meals got cooked in here on several occasions. There were even still crystals littering about the place, which you deemed a house trait.

"How did you sleep?" She had turned from the kettle, bringing you over a steaming cup of water and a few flowers on top. "Chamomile for your throat, wouldn't want to ruin that pretty voice. I have to go finish up a meeting, but you just stay here and then we can talk more ok?" She cupped your cheek, brushing her thumb over the warm apple of your cheeks. You smiled and nodded, letting her get back to it as you sat and drank the tea and kept taking in the decorations.

Unfortunately though, the distant voices shouted for your attention and you couldn't stop the growing curiosity as you snuck to hide behind a little corner. You had just caught the end of Lilia's sigh, "who knows how the New Years party is to go. With how this weather is, I don't know if it's honest such a good idea. I can't let everyone sleepover." She joked, and it brought a smile to your lips at the idea of the woman's house being filled with people sleeping everywhere.

"But you've never let the weather stop you before? Either people will show or they'll deem the weather too bad. A little snow hasn't hurt anyone!" The woman's voice was beyond cheerful. "I think, you should send out the invites anyways and just play by ear."

There were murmurs of agreement, only then did you pick out the two other voices. There were three woman sitting with Lilia. One's laugh stood out to you a bit more, "you could bring your little play thing even. Dress her up as a little server for the night."

Lilia scoffed, "the trains stopped running and she needed somewhere to stay. It was three in the morning and I just happened to have been there. Once the trains are back up, I bet she'll be off to her own life." Her tone was dismissive as her words. "Poor thing would've been freezing outside if it wasn't for me."

"Alright, whatever you claim Calderu. We're on our way out then. Send out the invites for the fun of it. You never know what the weather will do." Another began to make their exit.

You muted the conversation as you sat and thought over the woman's words. Her play thing? You obviously knew what they really were implying and it made you blush profusely at the idea of it. It was absurd, for sure....you had to shake away the opposing and very distracting thoughts.

The sound of her laugh bringing you to quickly come through, staring up at the woman with wide eyes. Even when caught eavesdropping, you still gawked with curiosity. "Listening to my conversations, baby?" She offered you a hand up, which you accept and rose to your knees first.

As your eyes turned to make sure you set the mug down on a stable surface, you missed Lilia's shift as she smirked at the position she had you in. It went right back to her caring smile though when you looked back to her, standing the rest of the way. You had concluded with being two inches taller than her, not much, but there was a clear difference.

"I was curious," you didn't try to lie about it as you grabbed your mug again. You enjoyed how the warm ceramic felt against your palms. "You're hosting a party?"

She squinted her eyes at you before leading the way into the living room. She sat on one side and you sat facing her. Your legs pulled up to your chest, waiting for the story. "Usually I do, it's a big company party. I rent out some big space and everyone gets all dressed up and celebrates the new year."

"But?" You pried for more information. This woman sounded like she lived a life of luxury and you wanted to know as much as you could.

"But with the weather I don't know how well it'll work out. They're saying it's supposed to be calm for a few more days and then right before new years it'll all come down at once." She repeated the forecast for you.

You bit at the inside of your cheek, clearly thinking of what to say to convince her. "Well, if I was invited to some big company gala..I'd find a hotel nearby as standby. Assuming I have the funds for that. What are they like?"

Lilia let the many gala's fill her head. "Each one the same, you mingle with people you've seen around, and then the ones you've worked with. A few other partner companies show up. It's dancing and drinking all night, but they all end the same. Getting in a taxi and going home to the quietness of your own home." She described it, knowing you could paint the picture yourself. "Last year we had it at the museum, met many new people. But by midnight I was ready for bed and reading a chapter from a book."

You sighed dreamily, "I don't think I would ever get tired of that then....What is it-"

"That's not important, but you say that now till you've been doing them for years. And you look no older than eighteen." She jabbed at you, watching as you pouted. "Oh, I'm sorry, nineteen."

You made an offended face, "I'll have you know I'm almost twenty-six." You corrected, taking a big sip of your tea. "I am far from the teens." You sassed slightly. "Maybe not as far as you," you teased quietly.

She caught it however, and honestly you should've known she would've. Her mouth agape, "how dare you!" It was dramatic and adorable to you. The amount of control she had of her features to play into her emotion amazed you. No...it captured you and held your curiosity hostage, refusing to let you go for just one moment in her presence. Even as she pulled her head backwards and the expanse of her neck was on full display for you. You wondered what it would look like covered in your kisses.

Your heart began to beat faster at the images.

Lilia was staring at you and she was speaking. She was speaking and you watched her lips move with each word and yet you couldn't hear any of it. You frowned as her brows furrowed and her eyes filled with a faux concern. "Oh baby...that look in your eyes....you can't help your curiosity can you?" Her words finally got through to you.

"It's a curse..." You sounded dazed out just as much as you looked it. But once the moment fell to silence you began to see through to reality. It was brief, but you realized you hardly knew this woman and by the second time you're already in her house and longing to hear her call you baby again.

Get a grip and get going.

It was a mantra that played in your head as you began to do just that. You gasped and began looking all over. "I...my phone. I should probably see if someone can come get me." You blinked a few times as well before unfolding your legs and getting up.

Not even giving it a second thought as your sock clad feet pattered up the stairs and rushed into the room you left from this morning. Your clothes were folded on the chair in the corner. Your bag next to the chair and boots tucked under. Your rushed and crouched next to it, rummaging through everything and finding it in your coats pocket.

A few notifications from the other night, friends questioning if you made it ok. Then there were the missed calls from them, a collection of worried text. Your eyes jumped from them all up to the time. It was past ten and your fingers moved as you sat on the floor responding to people.

You didn't notice how much time passed as you became engrossed in your phone and catching up. The device began to ring as Jen began to call. You answered and raised it to your ear, lying back onto the soft carpet and spreading out on it.

"My god we all thought you died!" She exclaimed right away. "Did you make it home? What happened?!"

Your giggle answered first, "do you remember that woman from the train I mentioned to you?" You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth.

"You were practically drooling just by the thought of her."

"Well, she just so happened to be there and she took me back to her home and I stayed there. But I need you to tell me this is crazy. Earlier, she was with friends and they and I quote go 'you can even bring your new plaything'."

"Oh my- girl did you accidentally stumble upon a sugar mommy or something? You literally manifested that shit!"

"No, Jen...I hardly know the woman."

"But you could! Think of all the things this could do. You could be smart with your money too. Move closer to Broadway with us."

"I like my apartment! Yeah it's a little far, but it's self manageable. Plus, I highly doubt she would actually be into that. And we have a show to focus on."

"Oh my god! Seriously if you skip another chance I'm going to beat the shit out of you! Why are you so unfocused on your love life?"

"Because you're my best friend and will only feed into my delusions so I have to be the sane one that listens to you go on and on about Alice." You rolled onto your stomach and began kicking your feet. "But she is hot. God and she keeps calling me 'baby'."

"She so wants you."

"I think I should get going though...call Dottie or something."

"Oh no hun, she said she had something with her kids and my best bet is she is still not available. Sooo in retrospective you are stranded with a really hot lady who could possibly or possibly not be a sugar mommy waiting for someone to come along."

"Jen...I just don't think it's the right time. I want to make a name before I settle down."

"You know, if you do that then how will you be able to tell they're not with you for just the money and fame? Also you're not settling down, just exploring."

"Saying I'm not likable?"

"No you are every ounce of likable, it's what almost makes you unlikable. But I just think that this is the perfect setup and you should take the advantages that are clearly laid in front of you. You yourself said you needed some extra help financially so here's your help."

" I don't know...I don't think she deserves to be taken advantage of."

A beat of silence from her. "I love you and all, but you might just be the dumbest person I've talked to all day and I've been surrounded by idiots."

"Ouch."

"She literally, if you openly asked her flat out, would you be my sugar mommy, I put money she'd say yes! You so have to!"

"No! Even though she's the most striking woman I have ever met and she has such a look. You should've heard her earlier, I mean I wish I had instead of becoming curious about her skin. She makes me beyond curious."

"You're a freak when curious."

"Earlier...we were sitting on the couch and she rolled her head back and I just couldn't stop thinking of kissing her neck."

"Did you know, you actually have been mentioning slightly how badly you want to fuck that woman ever since you told me about her? You don't remember the night right after show ended you came over, we got drunk, you told me in great detail?"

"I could've given you more."

"You are such a lie to what people know."

"What because I'm a human and have natural attraction?"

"Because you're an absolute menace!"

"I tell you I want a mysterious woman I met on a train that has bewitched me with her alluringness to tie me down and then some once or twice and now suddenly I'm a menace?"

"You want me to tie you down?" Lilia's voice carried into the bedroom. Your eyes finding her leaning against the door frame with a surprised smile.

"I will take grave details when we see each other again. This has to be an in person debrief. Love you. Have fun." The line went dead as you lowered the phone down from your ear.

Your cheeks were on fire as you stared with wide eyes. Your throat was tight and your breathing was ragged. There was no way she actually heard you. You blinked rapidly and shook your head. "No! That- I- how long were you there?"

She began to walk in the room, and you don't know what possessed you but you were crawling to meet her in the middle. And it did something to her. It made something shift and click into place when she looked at you again. Her hand coming to your cheek. "Oh baby, long enough and I must say I only caught half that conversation but it sounds like we should talk. Don't you think?"

You dumbly nodded and scrambled to follow her onto the bed. You sat at a reasonable distance, not too far to ruin any chance, but not close enough to seem easy and desperate (even if you were). You stared at her as she slowly crouched onto the comforter. She moved so elegantly compared to your loose movements.

"What did you and your little friend talk about?" She began so quickly. Not even trying to explain first, wanting to know what you knew now and you had told her. You told her everything with no hesitation. Mentioning Jen's theory that Lilia was a sugar mommy.

"People will talk." You flat out said. Your decision was already made since the first train encounter. But you wanted some fight for it to not go through, needing a bigger sign to reassure yourself.

"Talk is cheap." Lilia responded. Her eyes were searching all over you. Drinking you in like she was the most dehydrated plant in the dessert. "What is it that you want?"

You wanted to get to know her more. You wanted to know what adventures she could take you on. You wanted to know how she tasted, how she kissed, how she used those hands. You wanted to know if it would be forever or just temporarily. You wanted to know her deepest secrets and her to know yours. You wanted to know if you could love her.

"I don't know...maybe this is something to be thought over?" You had countered your drumming heart. Its rhythm went from love struck sixteenth notes on a snare to a cello's symphony of sorrow.

What were you doing?

"Well why don't you get ready and I'll drive you home then?" She spoke only after a hesitating breath.

The rest of the time was quiet. You didn't know what to say anymore and honestly couldn't believe yourself. You knew you were tempted by this woman, you just couldn't risk anything yet. Not with everything you had going on with the show (is what you told yourself).

Even as more days went on and on, Lilia grew from a single thought into a plague of them. Anytime you weren't rehearsing or focusing in on something, it was her you thought of. People began noting your ever growing curiosity and distant looks as your focus would wander off so easily. Yet you never missed a beat so no one ever brought it up.

Except as opening night came, Jen could hear your curiosity and she knew you were no where near focused. "Ok, hey!" She snapped in front of your face, turning your chair to face her. "What the actual what is going on with you? Everyone has come to me asking about this dazed look you're always in. So what is it? I mean I actually already know what it is, so what happened?"

You blinked and sighed as your brows furrowed, you were back to reality and heard her question. "I think I'm ready to play by your advice."

Her eyes widened and a shocked smile slapped its way on her face. "Oh!... Oh! Actually?" She seemed in pure disbelief at the idea. "What did you do?"

"She asked me what I wanted. And yeah we all know the obvious answer, I'm a doomed hopeless romantic, but I told her I wanted to think it over." You were hearing yourself for the first time out loud since. "I can't help but to think I played the wrong move?"

"No! No! Now take this chance to make her practically need you. She's had you in and out of reality for the last few days and weeks. You should call her after the show, or text her." She advised.

"I don't have her number..." you sighed. Trying to conjure up any way to find her again. "The train. I'll take the train home and hope to find her."

~

"Are you sure you really want to take the train for this? The snow is rolling in quick and if you get stranded.." Jen jingled her keys slightly by her side.

You shook your head, "no really I don't mind the train rides at night. Usually there's like no one with me so I'm mostly safe." You rounded the corner to cross the stage out.

Both you and Jen had stopped at the sight of an Alice and someone else. "Oh! Matter of fact this is her!" Alice waved you over. You turned to Jen, mumbling a goodnight before joining the two. Feeling shy under the attention of the woman. "This is Lilia Calderu. She's an old friend and wanted to meet you. I have to go though, Jen's probably waiting out in the car already. Have a goodnight you two and you," she turned to you, "get home safe."

You tried not to cringe physically as the woman left you alone so quickly. It was silent until the sound of the backstage doors locking back. It was truly just the two of you now. "You're taking the train home? Even in this weather?"

"It's the only transportation I have at the moment. It's easier anyways." You spun your head to pass her briefly before looking into the empty crowd. "So you know Alice?"

"I worked with her mother a few times. Let me drive you home tonight." She didn't sound like she was asking you and you wanted to know how commanding she could be.

Your head turned and you finally looked at her. "Are you following me?" You don't know why that was the question that got out, but you didn't back down from it. Even when she laughed in your face.

"No, but I do think it's no coincidence this is the third time we've met. So let me drive you home tonight." She insisted again. Her big brown eyes silently pleaded for you to go with her and not the train again.

"I'm out of your way, that's too much inconvenience." You denied with a shake of your head.

She sighed and grabbed your hand. Ignoring your questions and dragging you with her out. You could see the car finally in the dim back lights. Your eyes examined the exterior. "You have a nice car," you stood behind her as she opened the passenger door.

The interior was contrasting to the dark black that coated the outside. It was light and crème with a darker brown accenting it. You began to really process how old the car was when you noted the lack of center console. This wasn't a car you ate in while gossiping. The seats were close, almost one long bench, and you wondered how close you would actually be.

"It's a 1973 Porsche. It was in a car show and I thought it would be a nice one to own." She stepped aside for you to get in. Humming in content as you had finished fighting her. You watched as she went around the front and slide in on her side.

Your answer was you were dangerously close. You could smell her perfume radiating from her and she smelt like luxury flowers. Subtle and strong. "How much did you pay for it?" Your eyes kept taking in every detail.

"The real question is what everyone else couldn't pay for it. Those childish men didn't know when to stop." She shook her head at the memory of the day she got the car.

The way she brushed it off to be nothing made your heart beat find its way between your legs. She spoke like it was hardly a dent in her bank. That it was a rigged game almost. That nobody else was going to be beat her for this car from the very start.

"Are you a witch?" The question was out before you noticed and her eyes snapped to you. They were boring through you and it made you feel drunk. Her attention alone made you feel drunk. And as the feeling grew, you found yourself in a fit of giggles.

Lilia took advantage in the moment and really watched the smile reach your eyes. To see you in a natural state with no knowledge of it. "Now why would you ask me that?" She laughed back her answer.

You raised a finger to your lips, "it's a secret now." Your cheeks were the cutest shade of pink she'd ever seen and she couldn't contain herself anymore.

In the back alley of a small theater, Lilia Calderu let the intrusive thoughts win.

While still in your fit of giggles, you missed how she began to shift around and then suddenly was above you while your back dug against the car door. A predatory smirk graced her lips right before they fell to your neck. You gasped at the first soft kiss, giggles instantly subsiding. Nothing was funny as her lips danced around your neck, searching for the most sensitive point.

When's he found it, she added a little more force. Earning a throaty moan that never made it past your lips. Then she bared her teeth and, grazing the spot before latching on and sucking. "Lilia!" You gasped and a hand naturally flew to her pulled up curls.

"Is it because I've bewitched you? Is that why you ask?" Her tongue ran over the bite marks and pressed a kiss over it. "That's what you said to your friend is it not?"

You hummed under her, "so you are a witch?" You tried to sound somewhat grounded, but with her having you like this, biting all over your neck, you only ended up gasping.

"Do you wanna see what magic these hands can do?" She whispered against your ear before grazing the shell of your ear. "Would you like that baby?"

You giggled deeply, "fuck yes. What are you gonna do to me?" Your eyes began to darken with curiosity as your body kept rising to meet her warm body.

She agonizingly slow found her way back into her seat. Eyeing for you to sit up yourself and get comfortable. "You have a curious imagination, what wondering can you do to find your answer?" She began to pull out. The snow flakes began to grace the earth with their frosty presences.

You felt hot in the car though. Lilia's right hand rested on your thigh and lightly was scratching it. The action made you groan quietly and realize how long this car ride was actually about to be. "That'd be telling you all my fantasies." You had finally answered her question. "Have you thought of things...you'd want to do?"

You felt young and dumb at her wise chuckle. "Oh you have no idea the things I've imagined. And I'll make you an offer you can't resist." She began to shift her focus between the road and you. Pleased with how big your eyes were. You really couldn't help yourself and she was already loving how expressive you were. She knew you were silently asking her what.

That was the night your arrangement had fallen into place. By the end of that weekend you had an agreement signed. She would keep you financially stable, you'd never have to worry about any expense ever again. She didn't care for your protest against not being able to pay for anything, which then led to you swindling it down to any living expense. Any luxury would be your own money. Even though she would give you an allowance every three weeks of three thousand. You got financial stability and free money. Although, you weren't too sure what Lilia got out of it. You were expecting it to be sex in return, that's how most of these things happened. But she didn't right away, she would work you up with just those hands and a few questions that implied many things, but were so simple you never knew. She was keeping you curious and you didn't even realize it.

It was the evening of New Year's Eve and you had been spending a lot of your free time glued to Lilia. She didn't even ask you to, you just found yourself craving to be next to her when she's not working (which you quickly found out you just wanted to always be by her). She had joked that you should just begin to move in. She was sitting in her study with a notebook on the table and she was writing something, you sat under the desk, your legs folded neatly next to you.

You had been in the arrangement for a basically two weeks and still lacked to know what it was she did. Even as you sat on the floor with your head in her lap as her non-dominant hand twisted your hair around her fingers, she didn't tell you. "We should start getting ready soon for the party..."

Sleepily, your head lifted from its spot and bumped against her hand that blocked the sharp wooden edge. Last time you hit it (two days ago) you had sat still on the ground and cried briefly in her lap as she ran a soothing thumb over the spot. "Are we getting ready together?" You got out within a yawn. Crawling away from under and into the open space to fully stand and stretch. You looked back over your shoulder.

"I'm afraid not baby, otherwise we'd never get ready on time." She rose from her seat and gave you almost an apologetic look to your subtle frown.

You gave an understanding nod before slipping off to your room. Lilia had gone through with the party and wanted you as her plus one. But as you had stood in nothing but a black bra and matching panties, you had remembered no theme.

You shook your head and without much thought wrapped the short silk robe around you loosely and ran across the hall. Giving her big door a knock before prying open the piece of wood and poking your head around first. The room was silent as you moved further in, "Lilia?" You called into the master bedroom.

She came around from the bathroom, "yes baby?" She answered before her eyes found you.

You both had done a sweep over the other. Her eyes focusing on the amount of leg you were showing while yours focused on her chest being held up nicely by her bra. Your cheeks burned when you noticed how long you had been silent and staring.

"I...the theme.." you raised the issue you faced. You began to assume it was something more classy as she wore black flowy formal pants. You wondered what they would look like with your cum smeared on them. Your legs crossed as you couldn't stop looking at the piece of clothing.

"It's all black classy half indoors and half outside. But if you're going to wear a skirt or dress, I want you to put tights underneath. Understood?" She gave you that look and you stiffly agreed before rushing back out.

You had no idea what she was wearing but the pants alone did things to you. You were eager to match her. Although, all you owned was clubbing material from college. Which meant everything is shorter than what'd you buy now. You started simple with the tights, thankful for fleece lining. Along with the heels Lilia had gifted you as a welcome gift. They were Red Bottoms, you promised her to take the best care of them since you knew they costed a pretty penny (even if she reassured you it was nothing).

Shimming into the tights, you kept searching over your outfits. A strapless mini black dress grabbed your attention. Its neck line was a trusting heart that held your girls up even without your bra, which was indeed removed as you hated how the material could be seen. You were content with it but you instantly had to address the lack of accessories.

You had a small jewelry box with you, it was one of those things you always carried with you when you knew you were spending a few nights away from home. There were a few silver pieces, you grabbed out three and slid them onto your left wrist. As your fingers searched through the fake silver rings, you began to smile. You loved decorating your hands with rings.

The last things were your makeup and hair, which took longer than you expected but you looked good. And once you had fluffed your hair and did it how you do, you were feeling good. You had been staring at yourself in the mirror when she knocked. "Come in," you softly granted. Watching through the mirror as Lilia came in.

Your breath caught when she had fully came in. Lilia leaned against the wall in the same black pants and a black buttoned up shirt that was left a few buttons undone. The tarot card necklace she always wears drawing your eyes and lazily pulling them down to her cleavage. "That's what you're wearing? Won't you be cold?" She pushed off the wall and sat on the edge of the bed. Her hands brought the shoes closer and then snapped for your obedience.

"I don't think so, I plan to wear a coat over." You stood in front of her and raised a foot up to her while stabilizing yourself with her shoulder.

"Which coat?" She had slipped the shoe on and began fastening it, "too tight?"

Your hair shook, "uh-uh and I have this really dramatic furry black one. I'm pretty sure it's fake fur but I thrifted it a while ago. It's great for pretending I have money." You switched feet on the tap at your ankle.

"Mm, people will know it's fake." She was more smooth with the second shoe, now having a note of how tight you liked your heels. "Let me see if I have anything lying about." She tapped your ankle again before standing up, still having to look up even in her own heels. Leaning forward and planting her red painted lips to your collar bone, leaving her signature as she moved out.

That night you had never once wiped away the mark as you drank and mingled about the high class. Yet as the night kept dragging closer to midnight, everyone seemed to get more and more drunk.

You were everyone.

You had found Lilia and snuck up on her from behind. Arms draping over her shoulder and then hugging around her as your head buried into her neck. Placing kisses all across it as she kept speaking with the group. Her own thumb rubbed back and forth on your forearm.

"The next one was pitched during august and is to be ready by summer. We're aiming to have it be the summer hit." Lilia was still composed and hardly tipsy. You were growing curious if she ever drank at all. "It's an absolute wonderful storyline and the music is so in tune with the characters."

"Well we can't wait to see it," a woman had hummed. Pleased to hear that there was something grand to look forward to. Her voice sounded familiar.

You pulled your head from hiding and stared at the woman. She wore a black floor length dress that fell off her shoulders, a broach right in the middle of the neck line. She was accompanied by another woman, she wore a suit with a dark green tie. Had she been further away you wouldn't have been able to tell it was green. Both had their eyes on you the moment you revealed yourself.

"And who's this, Calderu?" The one in the tie had raised her brow at you. She was attractive, but not like Lilia. She was a scary attractive, that she'd probably be into some freaky shit if you let her have her way. You didn't want that though, just Lilia.

You stood tall at the sound of your name coming from her mouth. A hand naturally sticking itself out to be shaken. "This is Agatha Harkness and Rio Vidal. One of Broadways biggest power couple."

"It's a pleasure to meet you both!" You hiccuped and felt them shake your hand. "I'm sorry it's not under sober circumstances, I truly am a huge fan and wish I met you before I did the shots with the guy from the circus musical over there. He's got a great voice honestly. Now, Lilia..it's almost midnight." You spoke the truth even if it was slurred.

"Ahh yes, ladies if you'll excuse me it's almost midnight." She bowed her head before letting you pull her through the crowd. It was beyond her how you could manage to slip perfectly through and find a secluded balcony. It had a small loveseat that you wondered how it would feel to bask in the summer sun here.

You wasted no time sitting down and sighing. Your eyes closed as the blackness spun quickly. "Lilia...I drank too much fancy things." You frowned.

Your anchor back to reality was Lilia in your lap attacking your neck with her teasing lips. "That'll happen when you do shots of dark after only drinking champagne with me." You heard the vibrations in her voice and groaned as you pictured her smirk. "You got something to say, baby?"

Your head nodded sluggishly but stilled to look her in the eyes geneuinly. You enjoyed seeing her from your angle. "You look very mommy tonight." You so simply said. "Very classy."

She made a silent 'oh' with her mouth turning right into that cunning smirk. "You really think? I figured you were wearing a dress and the heels-"

"I love my heels!" You so suddenly were on a new topic, your hands squeezing her hips subconsciously and missing the muffled moan. "Oh Lilia they were an amazing gift, and honestly you deserve to get ate out for them." You were such a drunken mess.

Lilia's eyes darkened and she stooped to be by your ear. Her warm breath heating your body from the cold that started to nip at you. "Is that a promise baby?" She left a ghostly kiss behind your ear. Her burning stare only fueled your own fire.

Your mind, in poor attempt, pieced what her moans could sound like. What your name would sound like with you buried between her legs. You wanted to know how she tasted.

"Focus baby." She demanded and it silenced all your thoughts immediately. "Good." She purred. "Sometimes I truly do wonder how long you could think for."

"Forever... if you'd like." You didn't even double think it and it was the most sober thing you had said.

Lilia was appreciative of the dim lighting and your intoxicated state so you wouldn't be able to see how deep of a blush painted her cheeks. Something about how you pulled yourself from not even being coherent in compliments to not missing a single beat for her made her body buzz.

Nothing more was said as the surrounding world began to count from ten. But by one, your lips were pressing desperately into Lilia's and trying to savor how her lips felt. Your hands held her hips tightly as hers held your cheeks. You were stretching up into her, etching the feeling your body was going through into every corner of your mind. You weren't oblivious to how she never kissed you on the lips.

Yes, your arrangement had only been going for a week or so, but you couldn't help to think about what she's getting from the whole thing. Fireworks exploded around you and muted the heavy pants that were leaving you. It was just you, your ever growing curiosity, and her. But every question you had wanted to drunkenly asked, the ones you recited so you wouldn't forget, seemed to be lost and you asked her nothing. You were too busy kissing her after all. Too busy feeling her body rumble with a need you've never encountered before.

You pulled back slowly from her and hummed constantly, your eyes were dark and wide as you stared straight up to her. A smile so soft Lilia swore you could wrap a baby in it and they'd fall asleep in an instant. "Happy new years Lilia." You leaned back to peck her cheek.

She repeated it back to you and stood, offering you a helping hand. You took it and she tugged you a bit closer. "You're not to drink anymore, understood?" She kept it low, just between the two of you.

Unfortunately for you though, you were definelty planning on drinking after that kiss. Too many emotions had risen and you didn't feel like thinking them tonight. But you weren't going to lie to her and make the promise you weren't. "I can't promise that I'll stop but I can promise I won't be a hassle even drunker." You raised a pinky between you, ignoring her intense gaze and staring at the lone finger.

Although you wish you took her advice and stopped. These people knew how to party long, the last time you heard murmurs of was one something. You had done a few more shots and now you just felt icky and drunk with no sign of Lilia anywhere.

"You lost, bunny?" A deep voice wrapped around you. The owner dragged a hand around your waist and came to stand in front of you. It was Agatha with Rio coming from the crowd to stand next to her. They stared at you hungrily. "Bet you drank too much didn't you?"

You frowned and nodded. A pathetic whine escaping your lips when they stepped closer to you. You were feeling trapped. "Have you see. Lilia?" You managed, eyes only catching blobs of people.

"She left a while ago, said something about needing to finish up work?" Rio looked around the room herself, signaling to her wife that the woman in question was no where to be seen. "Was she your ride?" Her hand caught your chin to make you look at her. A sinister grin pulling her lips.

You huffed and broke from the grasp, continuing to search the blobs. "She was supposed to be...she wouldn't have left me." You began to walk away, only being pulled back into their web.

"Why don't we take you home, hmm?" Agatha had raised the offer. The couple had talked, and you were their main topic. "I bet we could give you something better than-"

"Lilia!" You cheered as the shorter woman had appeared from the mess of people. You were too busy rushing to her and hiding yourself behind her and in her neck to acknowledge her deathly glare. Breathing her in deeply and giggling. "They said you left and it made me wonder!"

"You can tell me all about it in the car, m'kay?" She brushed your arms before focusing to the other women. "Ladies, I don't know if I have to remind you again, but she's off limits for your games."

Agatha scoffed her laughter, "why? Cause she's too busy playing yours?" She raised a challenging brow. That's where you knew her voice from, she was the one who called you Lilia's play thing.

It's was an intense stare off that was bound to go on if it weren't for you. You had wanted to know more of this possessive side but sober. What would she say to you if she found a hickey from someone else? How would she react? Should she remind you of the agreement? Your hands moved from her shoulders and lazily fell to her waist. You were hugging her more now and humming against her skin.

She let your lips find her ear and then you whispered, "mm I wanna go home Lil'." You sighed out. Your body slightly slumping against her and that's when you remembered you were in heels. Your foot began to lift its self to be freed from the beautiful torture.

"If you'll excuse us. Have a good night." She gave them one last glare right before turning her attention all to you.

Lilia led you for most of the night. Even as you had started stumbling through your night routine. Her hands held you stable and she laughed along with most of your drunk rambling.

You were on about something you did within the night as you stepped into the room. Catching glimpse of you in the mirror, still in the dress and tights that you were dying to get out of. "Mm, can you get the zipper?" You asked while already stripping out your tights. She had appeared behind you with a caring, tired grin of her own. You could hear the tension grow with the sound of the zipper falling.

The dress folded over and pooled at your hips first. Revealing your bare chest as you focused on getting out the fabric. Once you were you stood in nothing but your underwear.

"Baby?" Her voice was deep and raspy. You hummed out your acknowledgement. "Have you been flaunting around all night like this?"

"The dress wasn't going to look good with a bra and I was really wanting to match with you. Especially after I saw the pants you were wearing." Your eyes fluttered lightly as you thought of those pants and blew out.

Now would be the perfect moment. You were practically naked and standing waiting for her next words. Even as her hands slid to your waist, you stayed still and waited for her. "And what about my pants?"

You bit your lip as thoughts filled your eyes. They didn't stop short with details, taunting you yourself and making your body heat up. Lilia was enjoying watching the full body reaction to your own ideas. How she felt you warm up and how your breathing became irregular. Your eyes had fluttered shut as her hands moved further across your body. "Look at me, baby." Your eyes snapped open. She chuckled at how blown your pupils were. "I adore that look in your eyes."

"Lilia..."

Maybe it was the way you whined for her. The way you looked for her in a crowd even when drunk. She hardly had you, and yet she had almost all of you without even realizing. All she knew was you were hers and hers alone, and it drove something in her.

She left from behind you and began to rearrange briefly. Pulling the chair from the corner to be in front of the full body mirror. Lilia took her seat and spread her legs wide, staring through the mirror at you. "What about my pants, baby?" She asked the question again.

Your legs pressed together as you spun to face her. Shivering as her eyes raked over you and darkened even more. She beckoned you forward with a single finger then pointed at the ground. She was demanding you to your knees and you seemed to have no objections as you fell infront of her. One of her wised hands grabbed a fistful of your hair, first pushing you against her own thigh and seeing how you started to fall dazed. Then she lifted your head back and leaned closer.

"I bet...if I pulled these off," her fingers were in the waistband of your black panties. "That you'd be sticking to them without a doubt. Would I be right?" But you didn't have to answer as she went to get her own answer.

Lilia was right. Your faced flushed once you saw how ruined the garment around your thighs. You didn't realize how curious you had been throughout the entire night. You had managed them off the rest of the way yourself, placing them into the expecting hand.

"So, does this curiosity of yours-"

"Mmm," you hummed your protest against the question. Quickly hiding your face into her hip as you really didn't want to crack into that all tonight. Not even drunk you could get through all that embarrassment so soon.

Lilia understood anyways, running her nails dance along your scalp. "Maybe we can discuss it sometime over dinner, hmm? How would that sound?" You gave her another hum, this one being open to many interpretations. There was silence and it was peaceful enough for you to begin to drift in and out. "Why don't...we save this for when you're ready?"

Your head bobbed against her and that's when you swayed backwards. The first thing you did was gaze up to her, "sleep with me tonight..." you used her thighs to help yourself up, giving them a soft squeeze.

There was no space for argument as you began to get yourself ready for bed. Slipping into a big shirt you had managed from a drawer, you grabbed another and handed it aimlessly out. Honestly you weren't too sure if Lilia had grabbed it or you dropped it, but all you saw was a grand bed calling your name. You wanted to know all about the bed.

~

The arrangement was coming up to its first month and there were still many things you were yet to touch on. The main one still being what Lilia was getting from this whole deal.

You had pushed through her front door and sighed at the emptiness of the inside. Lilia was gone on some business trip, for what business, you seemed to keep yourself in the dark by never even looking her up. You wanted her to tell you instead.

She was supposed to be back tonight, having texted you earlier to be at her house when she got home. There wasn't much else given, you couldn't figure out her tone, her emotion, nothing. The text was so stale you were in the dark on what to do. But what you did do was pickup some take out to bring over on your way. It resided in the fridge for now.

You sat on the couch, you had made yourself cozy as you just waited. What 'cozy' came with though were a few shots of whatever was in her stash. Curious to know what this was about, but also nervous because you didn't know what this was about.

And eventually the locks began to undo and the front door revealed the woman of your desires. A tall man behind her dropping all her baggage by the door and sharing a mumbled conversation with her before leaving. The door was locked again and the house began to warm with the owner back in it.

You slid off the couch and right to her, standing proud in her gaze. The furrow in between her brow had ceased to exist as she took you in being. You stood in a white long sleeve that was just teasing being see through with little navy blue underwear, a white little bow at the waist band. Your hair was free and you had a never ending amount of adoration radiating from your stare.

"Hello, baby." She began. Her simple name for you had you practically melting already to be in her space. She came closer and smiled softly up to you. Her hands already knowing their place around your waist as she brought herself into you and began to slowly kiss up your neck.

Her teeth grazed the side muscle and you sighed. "Hi Lilia..was your trip good?" She groaned into you and tightened her grip on you. Her teeth lightly clamped to you. "Not good I assume? What..." you attempted, but stopped at the harsher bite delivered to your skin.

"You know you could always look it up." She answered the unasked question. You shivered at her tongue soothing over her bite marks. "Or is it the curiosity that you get off on?"

A hand flew to the pulled up curls, burying itself near her roots. "Lilia..." you whined in attempt to get off the situation.

"I wonder if you think of all the different jobs I could have, do you?" Lilia's voice was daring as her hands were adventurous on your body. She had you in her web and you were caught and never wanted to leave. Your head nodded vigorously as her thumbs brushed under your boobs. "Or is it deeper than that? You get too curious and begin to think of the things that could happen? Maybe you think of me bending you against an office desk and making only my name the only thing you know?"

You sighed as your imagination and curiosity teamed up and fed you with the very idea. You thought of how she would hold that promise if you knew what she did. That if she had a desk you were determined to be fucked over it. You whined again for her.

Lilia detached herself from you, "how'd you find out about it anyways? Your curiosity. Got too curious one day and started feeling a tingle?" She was staring, expecting an answer to her questions but you just started short circuiting. You began stuttering instead, making her chuckle and shake her head.

She walked past you and into the kitchen. Grabbing the wine glass before freezing and noting the moved bottles and empty wine glass. You stood still, watching her point slightly at the bottle. Immediately you were caught. "You've been drinking baby?"

"I got nervous," your voice was meek and barely audible. You were quick to pull out your doe eyes and come closer to her at the beckoning of her single finger.

"Do you know how hard you make this?" Lilia raised after a second of taking you in. She was talking about the stares you give her as you stood there in a fitted long sleeve that just stopped over the hem of your panties. But she knew if you raised your arms up just enough, she'd see your midsection.

"I'm not doing anything though?" You were quiet in her presence tonight.

Lilia smiled at that, "oblivious to your own beauty, baby. Truly do you have a bad quality?" She leaned closer to you. A careful hand stroking your cheek. "Let me into your thoughts, what's going on up there?"

You quickly tried to gather a reasonable answer, "what am I making hard?" Was the first thing you managed, shifting closer to her.

The older woman inhaled," this arrangement."

"I wanted to asked you about that." Was quick out your mouth as you climbed over to the couch. She came over as well, wine glass in hand and you found yourself next to her almost in her lap. "I'm confused about what you get from it. I get money...but you haven't asked me for anything really. You give a few kisses to my neck here and there but that's it. You'll talk a little deeper and tease me, but that's it. So what is it that you are getting from our arrangement?"

She threw back the rest of her glass, getting up to pour herself another. You realized she was avoiding your question and stalling. It was in her distant look that clarified it. There was something she wanted but she wasn't asking you for it.

So you waited till she came back and straddled her lap, giving her no choice but to meet your gaze. "Lilia...what can I give you?" You were dying to find out how to return anything.

Her hands caressed your hips, causing them to roll forwards on their own. "I want to know why your curiosity is always so strong." She charted the waters that you've tried to steer away from. You bit the inside of your cheek, debating if the answer was really worth pleasing her. It was an embarrassing story.

"When I was a kid, ten and below, it was genuine curiosity. I just wanted to know what everything in the world was. Then in middle school kids started to figure out what somethings are, and curiosity is a signature trait when growing. It started simple, very vanilla, but then....there's a lot of kinky shit people are into. And being curious it never stopped. But that's not how it really started, it started sometime in high school." You started to relive the days in your mind as you gave her a story. You told it as you saw it and you could tell you were giving her details you would've never told anyone else. Even if it made you flustered and you had to will your body not to move under her hold.

By the end of it, you had a few beads of sweat decorating your forehead and your cheeks were burning red. You didn't even want to think of how wet you must be standing here. You were taking shallow breathes and your throat felt dry. Your vision finally came from your memories to the present. Meeting those brown eyes you found yourself drowning in recently. "And that's why my curiosity is a curse."

Lilia stared for a second. She must've been trying to gather her thoughts of the history of your curse. You, however, weren't expecting her first response to be a bruising hold to your hips as her eyes closed and she took in a big breath. It made you worry if it was too much and she was now uncomfortable or if it wasn't the answer she wanted.

"Is that it? Does that make this over?" You quietly yet quickly asked. Tears beginning to threaten your eyes. You weren't ready to loose her so soon.

She saw the switch in your emotions. To reassure you she gently grabbed your face and brought your forehead to hers. "No baby, it's not over." She whispered so softly to you. "When we made this agreement...I had set a goal to find out how far your curiosity could go, where it stemmed from. Especially when you look at me with those big eyes and furrowed brows."

Your glassy eyes blinked once or twice while leaning back. You were deciding on what you wanted to do from here. You kind of got an answer, even if it didn't explain her avoidance of really fucking you. You for a fact (maybe the most truest one of all) you wanted her to fuck you. Your body practically begged for her hands on the daily. Especially after telling her all about how you touched yourself in high school, your body was worked up and ready. "There's very few things that make me uncomfortable in bed...." your pupils were almost covering all the color in your eyes. "God, Lilia just fuck me. I can't- you have to now. Otherwise I'll have to finish-"

A harsh kiss was silencing you as you moaned into her lips. You were quick with getting rid of her glass before burying your hands all in the hair. You twisted and brought her down with you. The kiss grew messy, oh was it messy. When Lilia pulled away, a trail of saliva kept you both connected. "New years..." she began. Coming back in for another messy kiss, before breaking away to behind your ear. "I had you right there. On your knees..." her lips dropped to your pulse and sucked hard. "And do you know the sight I had the graces of seeing?"

You head shook back and forth, "uh-uh"

Her fingers were in your waistband and pulling your panties down once again. The strands of wetness went with before snapping coldly back against your bare pussy. "You're soaking baby."

"Only for you, Lil" you gasped as your hips rolled against nothing. Your heart was hammering against your ribs as her fingers ran up and collected your slick.

"I'm gonna have so much fun with you sweet thing." Her lips curled when she brought them to view. "The question is where to start."

Her head dipped back between your neck. You giggled out your moan, "your job...why won't you tell me?" You fiddled with the ponytail holder in her hair. You wanted her hair free and wild.

Her smirk against your skin made you heat even more. "Maybe I want to keep you guessing."

"Does it have something to do with mine and that's why?" Your hips jolted up at the featherlight touch that was given to your clit. Lilia's hot breath fanned over the saliva that covered the bruises.

"You gonna piece it together while I eat you out? Is that your plan?" She started moving lower on your body, flattering her tongue in your hardening nipple through the fabric of your shirt. Your body arched up to her. "But yes, my job does play with yours." Her mouth sucked through the fabric.

You struggled to piece together your next question. Her mouth felt heavenly but the shirt was killing you. You needed out of it and out fast. You sat up, Lilia following and knowingly pulled your top up and off.

"Baby do you ever wear a bra?" Her eyes didn't even have to look away from yours to know. "You wanted to tease me?"

Her questions only fuels your inquiry. Did you do it to tease her? To hope it would get her enough that she'd pounce on you? Did you dress for her? Have you been? "How much influence do you have with theater?"

Her head was on your other nipple, giving it the same attention. "Enough to make or break a career." Her voice was low as she released your boob with a crisp pop, pushing you back down with a single finger. "I've made many stars and destroyed many already."

Her touch ghosted over your sides. "Should I be worried about my future then?" Your breath hitched in your chest as her lips pressed right above your bundle of nerves. You were trying to piece together what she could be but with her on you it was harder than normal.

"No, I know how to keep work and personal separate. You have nothing to worry about." She was nestled between your legs now. You managed to pick your head up to see, the sight alone was almost enough to send you over. Lilia noticed it in your eyes as she bored hers up to you. "I want you to keep asking your questions, baby."

"What's your job tit- mmmh." Her tongue swiped through your slit and it was when you knew you were truly in for a challenge. Between a few pants and hums you managed to ask for her job title. She was casting spells on you with her tongue.

"You can't freak," She spoke against you and the vibrations made you let a noise from your chest up. You babbled your agreement, slowly lapsing yourself to the pleasure. "I'm CEO of the theater wing."

Your heart either skipped a beat from dropping into your stomach, or from dropping to your core. The power she really did have. She could easily bring you up to the top, or she could easily blackball you and take everything. "fuck me..." You exhaled and earned a laugh from below. The knot in your tummy tightened. "Would...would you ever ruin me?" Your hand flew to her curls as she picked up the pace and began to really dive in. The question was unanswered as your body began to convulse against the couch. Her name tumbling from your mouth in a careful cry.

Lilia leaned back onto her legs that were folded under her as she used her thumb to wipe off your juices from her chin and suck the finger clean. Never once taking her eyes off your disheveled body. Her eyes really raking over your bareness and twinkling at the marks she left behind. "I guess it depends what you mean." She had a cocky smirk on her face.

"In both ways. Would you?"

The brown eyes snapped up to you and you enjoyed how she let you see the mischief in her eyes. You knew she had a few thoughts run through her mind, "I would never ruin your career, but you...you sure you're okay with this?"

You laughed and sat up, crawling over her now and kissing her hungrily. "I wouldn't have let you eat me out if I wasn't. Are you okay with this still?"

"Yeah...I'm still good with this." Her hands squeezed over her bruises lightly and gave you a slower, more sensual kiss. Hers was brief, although you protested and chased her back. "Let's go upstairs baby, we're gonna need more space."

You beamed and agreed, helping her up and leading her to the bedroom you'd only slept in a few times. Your eagerness was shinning the moment that door closed for the night. "What things don't you like?" Her right hand pointed to the small bench at the foot of the bed, commanding you to sit there.

"Anal, piss kinks, anything that involves food. Oh and toe sucking, leave my feet alone all together actually!" You stalked her steps as she moved about the room and looked like she was reminding herself where everything was.

"And the things you like?" She asked and you heard the smile in her voice. Her answers however was you blushing and giggling sweetly to yourself. Lilia joined in when coming closer to you and standing right in front of you. Her hand holding your jaw just so you could look at her. "I don't give you permission to giggle."

It was like a switch had flipped in you. The noise had subsided almost instantly under her intense gaze. "I like a lot of things. I like hickies, one for the world to see but then the rest just for me. I like being bound, overstimulated, tickled, fucked dumb, anything really. If it makes me curious it's a bonus." You kept your list simple, it went on longer cause that's just the curious freak in you.

"Is there anything you want to try now?" She was giving you the chance to choose where this night was going. A chance to not embarrass yourself, but that's not what you wanted.

"You know what I really want? Like more than anything right now?" Your eyes enlarged right before her. Lilia gracefully shook her head. "I want you to let go. Stop holding back from me entirely. I want you, Lilia...I'm yours however you please."

You were playing a dangerous game with her now. Her lips latched to your pulse, more aggressive than usual as she bared her canine teeth and let them sink in just a little more. Listening to the mewl you let out as the pain made your body fill with pleasure. Her tongue soothed over it, then trailed away as she moved agonizingly slow down your body. She slipped from the bed after placing a kiss right below your belly button. Her eyes were dark and swarming with ideas while she stared your naked body down. You could tell when she landed on her first move.

Lilia had grabbed turned and sat on the bench at the foot of the bed, her back now towards you. "Crawl to me baby." Her voice was low and making your ears ring. You did just that, you went from the side of the bed around. Her fingertips hovered the curve of your back before you sat in front of her. "You're so willing to be treated this way?" She was checking in with you, the slight highlight of worry in her eyes.

"I told you I was very open...are you ok treating me this way? Is this what turns you on? Being in control?" And there was that curiosity again, it never left you and Lilia was realizing she should stop questing if it ever did.

She took a moment to consider, "I do enjoy seeing you on your knees for me." Her hand ran into your hair, and suddenly she was recreating new years. Pulling your head against her thigh. "And this..did you know you make it hard to work when you lay in my lap? I can feel your feather touch tracing patters just barely."

You licked your lips at the idea. Did it really work her up the way she worked you up? Your hand daringly began to trace patterns on the side of her thigh, eyes searching for the reaction in her face. Yet she challenged you and gave you nothing. "What else? What else?" Left your lips eagerly. You were bubbling with the need to know.

Lilia's lips curved into a nasty smirk as she conjured the rest of the night up, your promise stood out. "I've had a long business trip, baby. Im sure you could be of some assistance." She leaned back and was right there. The only thing in your way were her trousers. "Go on, put that pretty mouth to use."

Your bottom lip was pulled between your teeth as you were instantly at work to get rid of her pants. Giggling to yourself as her hips lifted up for you, your lips pressed to the soft skin that was already revealed. You heard her gasp at the feeling and it only spurred you on. Once they were off you threw them off into some corner, eyeing the wet patch on her underwear. You kissed your way up both thighs, leaving one right above the wet spot.

Your hands ran against the back of her legs, fingers pressing into her calves and massaging them. You wondered who was in this position before you. What they might've looked like and how they got here, and it surprisingly made your fingers twitch with jealousy. "Was there someone before me?" You whispered to the inside of her knee. This time, it was Lilia who hummed to get off topic. Except you didn't accept it and grazed your teeth against her. "Did you find them the way you did me?" You climbed closer, fingers tugging at the remaining barrier.

"Why does it matter?" She exhaled, she couldn't get anything else out once the cold air breezed over her. Lilia had groaned your name at the littering of kisses. Gasping when your tongue flattened against her.

"I want to know who I'll be putting to shame when I'm done with you." You didn't waste anytime and started lapping her up. Her moans echoed through the room. The lovely sound of her pleasure wrapped you up in pride. "Tell me." You growled, slowing your pace.

Lilia's chest raised in gasping breathes. Your name falling from her mouth in warning, but you didn't let up. "Fine...there was one other..whiles back...you're the first female baby."

You sped up again, the thought of putting men to shame always ignited something else in you. Knowing that you were doing better already just by sex. It wasn't long before Lilia was coming on your tongue, pushed into another orgasm as you couldn't get enough. She had to grab a strong fistful of your hair to get you to ease up.

When you looked up, you had to crash into her lips. Placing yourself in her lap, a hungry drive for more leading you to abuse all over her neck. "You do that to everyone you eat out?"

"uh-uh, you're a special someone." You were ready for another go. Your hot breath fanned over her entire neck. "Do you still need a second?"

"You want to go again? Twice wasn't enough for you?" She chuckled at your still wandering lips. They were near the shell of her ear, parting just a bit more to graze your teeth. Her breathing hitched at your own laughter.

"Until you have to tap out..." you purred as her hands slid over your hips. You loved how her touch felt and you would die in it if you could.

Her grip tightened, "why don't we focus on you for a bit, baby? It's my turn to be curious. Up, on the bed." She pushed you back and off. Motioning to the bed as she spun to her knees on the bench. Staring at you intently while you got situated in the feather pillows.

Lilia's skilled hands undid the buttons to her top without breaking the eye contact. She was left in just a bra, one you were hoping to get the honor of taking off. She proceeded to find home between your legs, pulling your body closer to her with a dark chuckle. It was like she had used magic to make the vibrator appear.

The buzzing sound had made you erupt into a fit off a mixture of gasping, begs, and giggles. The older woman was curious as to where this reaction came from. Your knuckles turned white from how tight you were gripping the sheets. "Lil'..." you giggled when she kissed your clit. "I should warn you."

You managed to perch yourself up enough to see her between your legs and you knew she saw you clench at nothing. "Warn me about what baby?"

Right as you opened your mouth she pressed the vibrator against you and watched you collapse against the bed. Already writhing under the sensation, getting worse when she added her tongue to you. "Mmm, fuck. Lilia...is this what you pictured?" You managed instead. You were right there, on the edge of the most earth shattering orgasm.

She hummed against your body, it mixing with the electric vibrations. "It's one of the many ways..." she's pictured you in other ways. What ways? How many ways? God was she really going to ruin you? Fuck you'd let her! You'd let her do anything! She looked so perfect between your legs already, how else would she look this way with you?

Your body convulsed as you screamed her name so loud you swore the neighbors heard. Even after she removed every sensation, your body kept twitching as you tried to catch your breath. You stared straight into the ceiling, swearing it was turning into the bright light.

"Well I'll be...you're a messy one baby." Lilia laughed as she stood up from the bench. Her chest was dripping with you and it was no secret you had squirted everywhere. "Is that what you were trying to warn me about? A vibrator too much for you?"

"They just wear me out quicker," you had finally steadied yourself. "You'll need to know that, trust me."

She laughed once more. "Noted, now why don't we take a nice bath and go enjoy that takeout you had in the fridge?"

"You never looked in the fridge tho?"

"Maybe I am a witch," she playfully winked at you, but the second look in her eye was begging you to accept it almost like she was.

You squinted for a second, shrugged, "I'm into it. A witch sugar mommy." Her peppered curls shook as she dragged you from the bed to the grand bathroom.

The rest of your night was history.

[27spoons]

CRUSH | ACT TWO: SMOKE SIGNALS

pairing: natalie scatorccio/fem!reader

summary: Natalie makes an unexpected appearance in your life, again. Shocker.

wc: 16,550

warnings: violence/description of injury, mentions of domestic abuse, mentions of gun violence, mentions of substance use (alcohol and recreational drugs), emotional distress/trauma, smut(afab!reader), first-time mishaps

a/n: this is a long ass chapter. i had to sacrifice multiple teenage soccer players to some entity in the forest in order to publish this. shout out the wilderness for proof-reading and helping me with everything <3

ao3 / masterlist

PREVIOUS - ACT TWO: IF YOU'RE TOO SHY (LET ME KNOW)

NEXT - NATALIE'S INTERLUDE TWO

It's been weeks since you last talked to Natalie. Sure, you've seen her around the halls at school, but she's made it a point not to even glance in your direction. You'd be lying if you said it didn't hurt.

Time has moved by in a blur of early sunsets, biting wind, and the slow buildup of snow on the streets as New Jersey heads deeper into winter. You’ve managed to keep yourself busy—trying to spend time with the friends you had before Nat, reading whatever books you can get, pouring yourself deeper into your studies, and retreating into the pages of your sketchbook. 

Still, no amount of distractions has been enough to banish her from your mind completely. The absence that she leaves is louder than you thought it would be. 

For such a short time of knowing her, you feel like you've known her much longer; maybe that's half the problem. Every time your phone buzzes, some delusional part of your brain hopes it's her, even though you know better.

You’ve replayed that 'fight' in your head a hundred times, searching for the exact moment things went wrong, wondering what you could have said—or not said—to change the outcome. Should you have just let her kiss you despite the fact you were uncomfortable in that situation? Should you just not have said anything? Should you—

Your thoughts have been spiralling a lot recently.

The snowstorm that arrived earlier this week has only made things worse. You've been stuck at home for days with nowhere to go and nothing to do but listen to the endless bickering of your parents. It's enough to make you want to scream.

Outside, the snow continues to fall to the ground in large, fluffy snowflakes, blanketing the ground and trapping you in this suffocating stillness. You swear that if the roads don't get plowed soon, you're going to lose your mind.

You sit by your window, head resting on the cold glass. The roads are supposed to be clear come morning, which means you'll be back to school soon, but you find yourself dreading the return. 

You don't know if you could manage Natalie avoiding you for the rest of the term, let alone the rest of the school year. You've thought about texting her countless times. But what would you even say? Maybe apologize for how you acted that night—but what would you even say sorry for? For poking into her information? For being concerned about her? For wanting to get to know her?

Fuck.

She was the one who walked away from you, anyway. Why would—no, why should you be the one to reach out, right?

Fuck.

Even now, as you sit beside your window, you keep your phone in your hand with your fingers stuck hovering over her contact name. You can't even count the number of times you've done this song-and-dance since that day, but it always ends the same way—with you getting frustrated and throwing your phone onto your bed. 

Today is no different.

With a huff, you toss your phone onto your bed and cross your arms, petulantly clunking your head against the window pane. You should be over this, over her, by now, your brain uselessly provides. 

Before you can think deeper into this, your phone buzzes once. Whatever, it's probably just your mom saying dinner is ready. 

Then twice. 

Okay… little strange, but maybe she was just sending a follow-up message to clarify something?

Then your phone starts ringing. Your mom is persistent tonight, huh?

Yet, when you check your phone, it isn't your mom. No, this is much more unexpected. Natalie is calling you.

You can't help it when you just stare at the screen, slack-jawed, wondering why the hell she's calling you now, of all times, six in the evening on a Wednesday. In your shock, you accidentally let the call go to voicemail. Fortunately, she's calling you back right away. She is nothing if not persistent. 

Taking a few deep breaths, you answer the phone on the fourth ring, trying to keep your voice steady. "Hello?"

There are a few moments of nothing but static, and you're starting to wonder if this was her idea of a prank call, and then you hear a sharp exhale. "Hey," Natalie says, voice rough and strained. "Listen…" A shaky exhale leaves her lips, "I, uh, kinda need a favour, Princess."

You scoff immediately at that, ready to start listing off all the reasons that you don't owe her shit, that you deserve better than this, that you—

"Please," comes out from the speakers—barely audible, but there. "Please," she repeats, "and bring a first-aid kit, if you have one."

"Woah, woah, wait—" You start shaking your head in confusion despite the fact she can't see you. "First-aid kit? Nat? What the hell is going on? Are you okay? What the fu—"

"Princess," Nat snaps, though her voice is still shaky. "I'll explain later, I promise." You hear a grunt of exertion from the other end, "I just… need some help right now. I'm out front."

You run back to your window and see a beat-up Ford Ranger from the eighties idling on the street. "I, uh, I…" A shaky exhale parts from your lips, and you blink rapidly, "Okay, okay. I just… okay. First-aid kit. Out front. Okay. Okay. I'll, uh, I'll be right there."

The line clicks off as you start throwing on whatever clothes you can find to face the weather outside. Admittedly, a hoodie and jeans aren't going to help keep you warm, but they'll do for now. Hopefully, she has heating in her truck.

Your parents barely acknowledge how you run downstairs and into the bathroom on the main floor, grabbing the kit from the wall before running back out and scrambling to throw on some shoes.

"You going somewhere?" Your dad asks from the couch, not bothering to look away from the TV screen, "In this weather?"

"Uhhhh…" You blink, trying to think of an excuse or reason why, "I just… going crazy inside the house. Gonna go visit… the… Monroe's! Yeah, I'll go visit the Monroe's." 

Your mom waves her hand idly at that, dismissing you. "Okay, sweetie. Say hi to Janet for me. Have fun, text us later."

Well. You suppose having parents who barely care is useful now and then.

A noncommittal nod and you're out the front door—immediately met with the bitter cold and fluffy snowflakes you've been avoiding for what feels like years. Fortunately, there isn't much wind, so it's not as bad as it could be.

You stumble your way through the snow that your father has (conveniently) forgotten to shovel after the last snowfall, grumbling to yourself as you try not to faceplant into a snowbank. By the time you reach Nat's truck, you swear your fingers feel like they're gonna fall off. Maybe you should have worn gloves. Whoops.

Throwing the passenger door open, you clamber inside the cab with a huff, eagerly soaking in the heated interior. "Oh, thank God. It was so cold out—" You turn to look at Nat and see her looking at you with a cut lip, bloody nose, bruised left eye, and a wince. "What the hell happened to you?" Comes out before you can stop it, those damn worries overriding any anger you had about her calling you up just for a 'favour.' 

"Tell you after I stop bleeding?" She offers with an attempted smile that looks more like a grimace.

A beat passes as you stare at her and try to assess her injuries (and how she got them) without touching her before Nat clears her throat awkwardly, "So, got that first-aid kit, or…?"

"Right." You blink a few times before snapping out of whatever haze you were in and fumble with the kit for a moment before popping it open and digging through its contents. "I, uh, have some antiseptic wipes and band-aids…" Sparing a glance back up at Nat to reassess her wounds, you frown to yourself. "Although I really don't know how much help a band-aid would be for what you have going on."

Nat snorts, which causes her to wince in discomfort, then raises her hands for you to see, "Yeah, but it might help with some of the cuts on my knuckles." 

Her knuckles aren't in a much better state than her face is, dark red and purple spots colour her usually pale skin. She has more than a few minor cuts decorating the tops of her hands, but the largest one—a throbbing cut on her right hand—creates a streak of dried blood that runs down her wrist and under the sleeve of her leather jacket.

"What the hell were you doing?" You ask, immediately moving to grab her right hand and inspect the injury. "Jesus Christ, Nat! You need to start—"

"Princess." Nat cuts you off, her face still contorted in barely concealed pain. "I will tell you whatever you wanna know after we deal with this shit, yeah?

With great reluctance, you stop your prodding and pull out some supplies from the kit—antiseptic wipes, band-aids, gauze, and some skin-safe tape. "This…" You sigh, "The antiseptic is gonna sting a little, probably."

"Yeah, no shit, Sherlock." Nat rolls her eyes—acting tougher than she actually feels—then proceeds to wince and let out a low hiss the second the wipe makes contact with a cut. "Fucking… shit…" But she doesn't pull away, letting you quietly clean her right hand of dried blood, allowing you to see how bad the cuts are.

As the excess blood is gradually removed, you begin to notice how vigorously Nat is shaking. When you glance up at her face, it almost looks like she's trying not to cry, but you can see the tears forming at the corners of her eyes. If you didn't know better, you'd say something about it.

So, rather than speaking on it, you clear your throat and return your attention to cleaning her hand. "Uh… do you want me to clean up the blood that went under your jacket sleeve? It's just a little…" A nervous laugh spills from your throat, "I can't clean it off with your jacket in the way."

Nat blinks a few times in response, seemingly forgetting you were there in favour of not crying. "Oh, nah. It's fine. I don't have any injuries on my arms or whatever. Blood can be cleaned off later. More concerned about…" She grunts and flexes her hand, "I'm more concerned about the shit that's actually hurting."

"Is your face 'actually hurting' too, or just your hands?" You murmur, more to yourself than her, as you look back up at her face and the injuries that reside on it. "Because you've got some stuff up there I should probably clean, too."

A noncommittal groan leaves her lips, and it appears that's all the answer you're going to get to that question. You get the feeling that Nat isn't exactly the type to ask for help unless she really needs it, and although her face is most likely hurting as well, she isn't about to admit it.

When you get her hands cleaned up, it's more evident that her right side suffered the most. The left has some bruising and a few tiny knicks, but nothing that you'd need to put a bandage on. The right has considerably more damage—deep abrasions run across her knuckles; skin split in places where it had taken the brunt of whatever impact caused this. The largest cut is a wicked thing, stretching from her index finger to the base of her thumb, red and raw despite the dried blood you’d wiped away.

Bruises in varying shades of purple and green bloom along her knuckles and the back of her hand, stark against her pale skin. A faint swelling around her middle knuckle suggests she may have hit something—or someone—too hard, too many times. It’s the kind of injury that’s not just painful but one that will linger, a reminder of whatever fight she got herself into.

You sigh as you take a bandage from the first-aid kit, apply some gauze to the wound, and then wrap it to keep it in place. "You'll need to take care of this after I finish here; you realise that, right?" You already know she isn't going to properly take care of this cut after the two of you part, but at least you can say you tried. 

"Yeah, yeah." Nat grumbles, "I'll wash it and keep it real clean, just for you." 

A sharp huff leaves your lips at her statement, "You know, Nat, you really need to start taking better care of yourself." You grab a safety pin to keep the bandage wrap in place, "What would you have done if I didn't have a first-aid kit? Or wasn't here? Or didn't wanna speak to you?" Maybe you 'accidentally' stab Nat's already bruised hand with the safety pin as you put it in place, but she deserves it. Probably. "Like, seriously. What would you have—"

"Okay," Nat cuts you off, pulling her hand back the second the pin is set. "I get it. But I don't need the fucking lecture, yeah?" A tense beat passes before she speaks again, quieter this time. "But… I 'preciate it. You… being here for me, or whatever. After all the shit…" She sighs heavily, glancing down at the empty space in the bench seat between the two of you. "Thanks, or whatever."

You get the feeling that's the closest thing you'll get to an apology and let out a heavy sigh of your own. "Yeah, well…" A shrug, and you're glancing back up at her face. "Do you…" You clear your throat, "Do you, ah, want some help with the marks on your face?"

"Oh." Nat looks at you, "Uh, yeah. Go ahead."

Grabbing a fresh antiseptic wipe, you lean in and begin cleaning her face to the best of your abilities. As you lean closer, you first notice the cut on her lower lip—a thin but angry line, the skin split and swollen slightly at the edges. Dried blood clings stubbornly to the corner of her mouth, and when you dab at it with the antiseptic wipe, she hisses and attempts to move her head away.

"Stop moving." You mumble out, grabbing her chin and forcing her to maintain the position her head is in, "It'll only be worse if you keep moving, Nat." 

Her nose isn't fairing much better, darkened with a deep bruise that spreads across her bridge and down to her left nostril. Dried blood is crusted just under where the bruise ends, staining the normally pale skin. From how her nose is swollen, you get the idea that it might be broken, but there's no way to tell.

Unless…

Still holding her chin with one hand, you take your other and pinch the bridge of her nose, to which Nat immediately tries to pull back from you with a sharp hiss of pain, but your grip on her is firm. And, fortunately, "I don't think your nose is broken." You murmur as you release her nose and return to assessing her injuries.

"You had to fucking grip it like that?" As you continue your work, Nat snarls—or attempts to, but she really isn't that scary right now.

"Sure did," is the only response you dignify her with, now turning your attention to her left eye. The aforementioned eye is a striking sight, the skin around it already shifting into shades of deep purple. It’s swollen, but she can still open it enough to glare at you when you press too hard with the wipes.

A faint scratch runs along her cheekbone, the depth similar to one of a paper cut, but appearing as though she just missed a greater injury. Another minor knick marks her jawline, the red line about the length of the switchblade you've seen her carry around.

You work carefully, trying not to flinch at the sight of her injuries, your hands steady even as your stomach churns. Nat, true to form, stays mostly silent, though her jaw tightens with every dab of antiseptic. The tension in the air is thick, but she doesn’t push you away for once.

When you finish cleaning her off (leaving a small mountain of antiseptic wipes in your wake), you sigh as you properly look at her. The usually infallible Natalie Scatorccio looking like a wounded puppy, and it genuinely makes your heart ache.

You close the first-aid kit before attempting to meet her eyes, but she's pointedly looking away from you. "Nat…" You sigh, "Would you please tell me what happened? Why you ended up looking like a side character from Fight Club?"

Nat hesitates, jaw tensing up again as she glances out the windshield. "I…" A deep sigh leaves her nose, and she clenches her left hand on the steering wheel. "Only if I can get us out of here. I… I don't wanna talk here. I feel fucking suffocated in this shitty ass town."

"The roads are terrible, Nat. Where the hell would we even go? And your truck isn't exactly—"

"I have a place." Nat cuts you off, "I have a place I can take us, and I can handle the roads. I can handle the drive. I just… fuck. I need to get out of this town for a little."

Maybe you're dumb for this, but you don't even hesitate when you say "okay."

"Thank you," Nat says quietly as she puts the car into gear and starts pulling away from your house—

"Wait!" You say, fumbling to put your seatbelt on, "You don't have your seatbelt on! And the roads are really bad, and you're already hurt—"

She cuts you off with a dismissive wave of her hand and a snort, "Jesus, alright, I'll put the fuckin' seatbelt on. Relax." And she does, making a display of putting on her seatbelt before continuing to leave your neighbourhood.

"Gonna be a long drive, Princess." Nat grunts, turning the volume up on whatever she was listening to before you sat down in the car with her. "Get comfortable."

It is a long drive.

And Nat doesn't talk the entire time. You try to prod for questions, but she always dismisses you with a grunt, wave of her hand, or just straight-up ignores you. Which, on its own, is very frustrating. But couple it with the last interaction you had with Nat before this? Oh, it is very frustrating.

So, by the time you get to your destination, you're about ready to blow a gasket with how frustrating this goddamn woman is.

"Are you gonna tell me what the hell happened to you yet?" As she parks her truck, you huff out, "Or are we just gonna sit here and get nowhere?" 

"You wanted to know what happened?" Nat takes her hand off the gearshift and faces you, one arm resting on the seat behind her while the other stays perched on the steering wheel. "Ask your questions. I'll fucking…" She exhales hard through her nose, "I'll answer them. Just…" Nat reaches across the car and opens the glovebox, taking out a flask. "I'm drinking."

Your mouth drops in shock as she opens the flask and greedily drinks whatever liquid is inside of it, making a face when she pulls away from the opening. "Shit, that burns. What the hell is in here?"

"Nat—you don't even know what you just drank?" You grab the flask from her, looking down into it as if you would be able to tell what is inside of it from vision alone. The liquid—which you can barely make out in the lack of light—appears to be dark brown and has a scent you don't recognize but smells like it is very strong.

She rolls her eyes and grabs the flask back from you, "Relax, it's probably just moonshine or some shit like that." A dismissive wave of her free hand and another swig from the flask before she caps it again, "You gonna ask your questions or just stare at me like I drank lighter fluid?" 

"You might as well have if we're being honest." A deep sigh parts from your lips as you settle back in your seat, "I just… okay. Why were you beat to shit? And… and why does it look like you also beat someone to shit?"

Nat runs her tongue over her teeth, leaning her head back against the seat with a groan. "Shit, where do I even start?" Her left hand tightens around the flask, and her knuckles go white momentarily before she loosens her grip.

"Maybe start with the fact someone went to use your face as a punching bag? You know, that seems like a good place to start."

"Yeah, yeah, okay." Nat sits up straighter, tapping the flask against the steering wheel in thought. "You remember that guy Denny?"

Your jaw tenses at the name, and suddenly, you're back in that abandoned house all those weeks ago. "Yeah, uh… I remember." It's hard to forget, after all. Hard to forget when the name that carries the face is burned into your mind.

"He wasn't too happy with me today." She glances through the windshield, but you get the idea that she's not actually looking at anything but just into the night's darkness.

"Clearly," your voice drips with sarcasm, but the worry that you've attempted to mask with it is unmistakable. "What happened?"

Nat hesitates, still unable to meet your gaze or face you again. "I was supposed to have something for him—money. I, uh, I didn't. He got pissed. We argued. One of his guys tried to step in, and…" She shrugs, feigning nonchalance. "I didn't take it lying down. I did far too much of that growing up." A bitter smile crosses her face, but it looks more like a sneer than anything.

"You fought them?!" You sit up, face incredulous. "Nat! That guy runs with a crew! You're just one person, and you're already…" You gesture to her bruised features frantically.

"Yeah, I know." She shifts uncomfortably in her seat, "But I couldn't just… let them walk all over me. I know it wasn't my brightest moment, okay? I don't need the reminders, already got enough of those." Nat flexes her hand underneath the bandage, wincing slightly at the skin, pulling at the cut.

Your lips press into a thin line as your brow furrows, frustration and concern boiling over in waves. "And now what, Nat? What if they show up again? What then? Will you be safe or end up like this again?"

A sharp, humourless chuckle leaves her, "Safe? Oh, Princess. I haven't been safe a goddamn day in my life. I won't fucking be safe until I die, and even then? Who knows." She scoffs, hitting the steering wheel with her left hand in frustration, causing you to flinch slightly at the display of anger.

You swallow, shrinking back into your seat. "Is there no one to help you? I swear I remember them mentioning something about your 'old man'? Can he help?"

Nat scoffs ruefully, "My dad has been dead for years. Who do you think was kind enough to give me this debt?" She takes another swig from the flask, then scowls when she realises it's empty and tosses it onto the dash. "I'm the one left to pick up the fucking pieces."

A frown crosses your face at that, and you genuinely don't know how to respond for a long moment.

Eventually, when words come to you, you try offering something, however small it is. "I may not have the money to help, but… I'm here for you, Nat. I wanted to be weeks ago, but… I'm offering again now."

"You shouldn't have to be there for me." She says immediately, a knee-jerk reaction to the idea of someone caring for her. "You shouldn't be."

You shake your head, "But I want to be, you know? And… you can't make me not care. You're stuck with the knowledge that I do, in fact, care and want to help."

Despite herself, Nat lets a laugh part from her lips. It bubbles slowly, eventually spilling into a loud sound that you can't help but return. The small space of her car is filled with egregious laughter from both of you, ultimately resulting in tears beginning to prick at your eyes. 

When the laughter subsides, that turmoil that had bubbled between the two of you feels lessened to some extent, and you're grateful for the respite in the tension. 

"I've got a lot of baggage, you know?" Nat says quietly, almost like she doesn't even realise she's saying it out loud. "Dead dad who was a deadbeat, mom who spends her days passed out on the couch bitching that the guy that used to fucking beat her daily was actually a 'good guy.' Blames me for his death. Fuck, I blame me for his death. If I just fucking…" She cuts herself off and closes her eyes, jaw tensing once again. "It's fucked up, Princess. My entire life is just… fucked up. You don't need to get involved with it." 

"But I am already." You say quietly, fighting the urge to reach out and squeeze her hand in a show of support. "I mean… even without all the bullshit, I'm already involved in your life. We were…" You hesitate a beat before deciding you're already in too deep to care that much, "I think that we were friends, even if you don't. You… showed me your world, Nat, even if it was just fractions and slivers."

Nat's lip trembles, and it looks like she's holding back tears.

You get the feeling she's never had someone truly express their care as you did.

"I asked the questions I did that day because I wanted to know, Nat. I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want to know."

Her eyes close now, and she looks away from you properly, facing out the driver's door window. "Why?" She murmurs softly, voice breaking slightly. "Why? Why do you… fuck. Why do you give a shit?"

A scoff falls from your lips at that, "Seriously? Why do I care? Nat… you're a decent person, despite whatever the fuck you think. Like…" You try to think of an example, remembering when you and her went to that convenience store, "Like that time you stole that Buzz Ball for me! You only stole it because the clerk shortchanged you! Would you have just taken it if he didn't?"

A beat passes in silence before you hear a meek "no…" pass from Nat's lips, followed by a short sniffle.

Is… is Natalie Scatorccio crying? You didn't think that she could, but… well, you learn new things every day.

"I said all that shit to you after Denny left…" She trails off, vaguely wiping at her cheeks, "I don't deserve you."

"Maybe that's true." You smile softly despite the fact she can't see your face right now. "But I'm here anyways. And… I wanna know the shit. The stink. All of it, if you'll tell me."

Nat shakes her head, glancing at you for the first time since this conversation started. "It's a lot of 'stink,' Princess. There isn't much… fresh laundry scent in my life to talk about."

You shrug, "That's fine. I told you I wanted the stink, didn't I? Promise I got a strong nose."

The blonde sighs deeply, clearly battling with her words and debating whether she wants to tell you anything. She rolls her neck and leans back in her seat, a frown tugging at her features.

She finally speaks after a long moment of tense—slightly uncomfortable—silence. "The stink." She murmurs, glancing through the windshield again. "The stink is probably bad enough that it would fucking put a landfill to shame." The words come out harsh, and she takes a shaky breath before continuing. "Fine. You want the fucking trauma?" She glances back at you for a moment, and upon seeing that you genuinely seem to care, she deflates slightly and turns her head away again.

"My dad…" Her voice falters, and she swallows hard. "He wasn't a good guy. Mean as hell. Could make you feel small just by lookin' at you." Her fingers flex around the wheel, turning pale beneath the cacophony of bruises. Her gaze remains pointedly away from you as she speaks, and you get the feeling that if she were to look at you, she'd start crying. "He drank a lot. Sometimes other shit if he could get his hands on it." A rueful scoff, "That's probably where I got it from."

You don't interrupt, letting her get the words out, but a part of you almost aches to comfort her despite the hurt she's given you. She's had it worse, after all, hasn't she? What are some choice words on a single night when she's had the odds stacked against her her entire life?

"Wasn't just mean to me, though." She continues, voice quiet and bitter. "Mom usually got the worst of it. I was just the kid who was too scared to fight back. Until one day, I finally fucking tried to."

Her jaw tightens again, and she takes a shaky breath, a single tear falling from one of her eyes. "I was fourteen. He came home pissed—he always did, but I made the stupid fucking mistake of thinking I could have someone over while he was gone. It's not like I was even doing anything." Her upper lip twitches, a fragment of a sneer. "Just had a fucking friend over. I was painting his nails, and we were listening to music." A moment passes, and she swipes at the tear that fell before continuing. "Was yelling some shit. Mom came in to see what was going on, and he started hitting her." She runs her hand over her face, "I grabbed the shotgun we kept by the door. Didn't even think about it, you know? Just pointed it at him."

"Called my bluff. Went to pull the trigger, and I had the fucking safety on." A bitter laugh leaves her throat, bubbling as another tear falls. "Made a show of showing me how to turn the safety off. Called me and my mom fucking useless and left the trailer." Nat's laugh falters, and her expression shifts from a bitter smile to a vague frown, lower lip trembling in an effort not to cry. "I called out to him that he was the useless one. He turned around to say something and started walking back to me…" She shakes her head, hands trembling as she recalls the memory. "He tripped. Never turned the safety off. A shotgun-sized hole was in his head a second later."

A sharp inhale follows her statement, and you can see the bitter resentment that she's kept just beneath the surface since that moment. "Cops called it self-defense or some shit. Mom didn't see it that way and said I took away the only person who ever cared about her—started drinking more, smoking more, all that shit."

Denny came around a few months later, claiming my dad owed him. Took one look at me and decided that I'd be the one to repay that debt. God knows my mom couldn't give a shit."

The two of you sit in silence for a long minute after that. You don't dare speak; break the silence between you as Nat desperately tries to look like she isn't on the verge of a breakdown. 

"There," she finally utters once the silence becomes too much to bear, "that's the 'stink,' Princess. The fucking shit that got us where we are right now." She glances back at you again, and you can see the water in her eyes just begging to fall. "Still wanna stick around?"

You hesitate for a few seconds before giving her a slight nod, "I think I do, yeah."

"You're too good for this shit, you know that?" She murmurs, expression looking almost vulnerable. 

"Probably," you reply with a faint smile. "I'm here anyway. So… tough luck, Scatorccio."

For the first time tonight, a short but genuine laugh leaves Nat. "You… you really gotta stop pronouncing my last name like that. It's Scatorccio."

"Scatorccio?"

"No, Scatorccio."

"...Scatorccio?"

"No, Princess. Fucking…" She sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose, then immediately winces when she remembers that it's insanely tender right now. "Scat-or-she-o."

A beat, "I think I'll just call you Nat."

Nat laughs again, "Yeah, just call me Nat. That works, too."

"Is there… can I ask more questions?" You ask hesitantly, then immediately regret the words the second they leave your lips. She just told you what is arguably the most traumatizing event of her life, and you want to ask questions. Fucking hell.

"Yeah. Uh… ask away." Nat nods, "And don't give me that face. I promise you I can handle answering a few questions after that, Princess—I'm not made of sugar, not gonna melt."

You smile to yourself, "It isn't related to… well, it's kinda related to that, but it really isn't. Uhh… it's just questions about the… rumours?"

She sighs and rolls her neck, "Okay. Ask."

"Right, uhh…" You blink, partially surprised she's being so open with this, but… she did just tell you about her dad, so maybe she's just in a generous mood? "I guess I'll start with the biggest ones? Uh… like… you being a massive player?"

Nat frowns slightly, her tone bitter. "What are you asking? If I'm a 'slut'?"

"Woah, woah!" You immediately counter, throwing your hands up defensively, "I didn't mean it like that, Nat. I just wanted to know your side of the rumours, is all."

A heavy sigh leaves her, and she deflates momentarily, "Yeah, I think 'player' is a nice word for it, considering the other words people have used. But… I've only slept with three people. None of the experiences were great. I've made out with a lot of people at parties, but I've only actually been with three people properly."

"Okay… uh… when we went to the skatepark the first time, you told me about some of the shit that you've done. Was that everything? Or is your, uh, rap sheet longer?"

"Mm, mostly what I told you. The Mazda wasn't boosted on a dare, but Denny told me I needed to do it. I don't know how I didn't get caught." She sighs, glancing up at the roof of the truck as she tries to remember everything, "Let's see… shit that I actually got booked for, though? First thing that got me behind bars was disorderly conduct. It was right after my dad died and…" She gestures to nothing, "I was in a shit mood. Got a few nights. The thing that landed me in juvie for the summer was a second-degree robbery—you probably remember it; everyone does. Was when some guys robbed that convenience store, and only one was caught. It's public knowledge I was the one that was caught."

"I'm guessing it was Denny's idea? The robbery, I mean?" You prop one leg up on the bench seat and turn your body to face her, "I'm guessing most of the shit you've done was his idea, actually."

Nat nods, "Yeah. Was one of his 'do this to help lower the debt' ideas. Fuckin' store had less than a hundred in the till, and none of the assholes knew how to crack the floor safe that they used for deposits. Fucking dumbasses." She spits, "I could have sold them out for less time. Knew that they'd make my life a living hell if I snitched, so I kept quiet."

You nod, digesting the information. "Right. And, uh, last one. The whole… 'druggie' thing."

She huffs and cuts you off before you can keep talking, "Yeah, that I shoot H and snort meth rocks? I don't." A beat, then her sardonic smile falters. "I didn't even start doing shit until late sophomore year. Denny and his gang move dope, and I've always had a hard time saying no. So, when it was offered…" She shrugs, "I did some lines. But it's not something I do often."

"How often do you do it, then?"

"More than some, less than others," she says sharply, clearly uninterested in continuing that line of questioning. "I can't afford to be addicted to it. I don't have the fucking cash to throw around."

"Right, right, yeah." You nod, quickly looking to soothe the nerve you've struck. "Can I, uh, ask why you let the rumours go around, then? I mean… if they're all so untrue, why let them fester?"

Nat shrugs, "People don't give a shit. They'll believe whatever they want to. Keeps the idiots I don't want around me at arm's length, anyway. If you're gonna believe whatever is told to you without finding out the truth yourself, then you don't deserve the truth."

You don’t know what to say to that, so you settle for leaning back in your seat and letting the weight of the conversation settle around you.

"Thanks for telling me," you finally say, breaking the silence. "All of it."

Nat looks at you, her expression softer now, almost... grateful. "Yeah. Thanks for listening, Princess."

The quiet stretches between you again, but this time it feels different. Not heavy or suffocating, but... peaceful. It's nice.

You think you could get used to sitting in silence with her.

You aren't sure how long you sit in silence with Nat. Maybe ten minutes, maybe an hour, maybe several. You do know that the silence is comfortable, and you can tell she appreciates having someone she can just sit in silence with.

By the time the two of you return to your house, the snow has stopped falling, and the night has grown darker.

Nat's beat-up truck pulls to a stop in front of your house, and she puts it in park before turning to face you. "Y'know, Princess, I appreciate what you did. Helpin' me, and whatever." She grunts, "Y'didn't have to. So… thanks, I guess."

You hesitate to remove your seatbelt and realise that… you could invite Nat inside. I mean… nothing's stopping you. Your parents have for sure gone to bed by now or are too impartial to care, so you doubt they would even notice. And, after everything Nat just told you, you aren't quite sure if you want her to be alone tonight. Maybe you're a little too empathetic for your own good.

"Did you… wanna come inside?" You offer hesitantly, "You can… I mean… I could make us some hot chocolate? It's still really cold out, and…" A beat passes, and your voice quiets, "You don't have to go back to your trailer tonight if you don't want to."

Nat blinks at you, her brows knitting together like she's trying to decide whether the offer is a serious one or not. "You sure?" she asks after a long pause, voice hesitant. "Don't wanna, y'know… overstay or whatever."

"You aren't overstaying anything," you say quickly, then clear your throat, trying to act like you aren't overly enthusiastic at the idea of her coming inside your house. "I mean… it's just… you're already here. And, like I said, it's cold out."

Her lips twitch slightly, not quite a smile, but not the usual scowl you would find on her face, either. She takes a long look at her bruised hands gripping the wheel, flexing her fingers before nodding once. "Right. Alright. But no funny business, yeah? I'm not tryna—"

"I know!" you wave her off, pushing open the truck door and immediately heading towards your house before your nerves get the better of you. "Just… hurry up before I freeze to death standing out here, ‘kay?"

You hear Nat snort from behind you right before her truck door slams shut, and she quickly catches up with you, stuffing her hands into her jacket pockets as she trudges up the snow-covered driveway.

The house is dark and quiet, save for the faint hum of the furnace kicking on. You discreetly toe off your shoes and dust the snow off your shoulders, glancing back to make sure Nat does the same. 

She hesitates momentarily, eyes flicking around the dimly lit space before finally removing her combat boots. She shrugs when you shoot her a curious look at her leather jacket not coming off. "I wear it everywhere. Take it off later." 

"Right," You murmur, turning your head towards the stairs. "C'mon. My room's upstairs."

The climb up your stairs feels like it takes ten minutes rather than ten seconds. Maybe it's because you're inviting Nat into your personal space, and that makes you nervous. Or maybe it's because you've never had someone who's kissed you in your bedroom before, which also makes you nervous.

Okay, maybe you're just nervous.

When you finally reach your room, you push the door open and step inside, gesturing for Nat to follow. "Make yourself comfortable," you say, a little trepidatiously. "I’ll, uh, grab that hot chocolate I mentioned. Be right back."

"Wait, wait—" Nat says, giving you a strained chuckle. "You're just… leaving me alone? In your room? I mean… I could, just…" She scoffs and gestures at your dresser, "I could just dig through all your shit or whatever."

You pause and look at her, confused. "I mean… it wasn't the first thing I thought of? The most you'll find anywhere is my sketchbook, and I've already shown it to you before," you shrug, "I really don't have that much to hide, Nat. I'm not that exciting of a person." A nervous sound escapes from your lips as you rub the back of your neck sheepishly. "I, uh, wasn't thinking about you doing anything like that until you mentioned it."

Nat blinks, likely shocked that you didn't immediately assume she was going to do something 'bad,' "No, I mean… yeah, no, I'm not gonna do anything. I wouldn't… I'm not gonna like… dig through your shit. I don't even know why I said that. I'm just…" She glances around your room before sitting on the very edge of your bed, clasping her hands in her lap and clearing her throat, "Yeah. My bad."

A moment's hesitation passes before you nod and take your leave from your bedroom, heading back downstairs to get the hot chocolate as planned. By the time you return with two steaming-hot mugs (with marshmallows for added comfort), Nat has made herself more comfortable on your bed, brows furrowed as she flips through your sketchbook.

"Hey," you say softly, setting the mugs down on your desk. "Find anything you like?"

She glances up at you, appearing slightly flustered that you caught her, but quickly schooling her expression to one of neutrality. "These are wicked." She returns her gaze back down to the page, tapping on a sketch you did of an old lady on a bus. "You're fucking talented."

Your cheeks flush, and you immediately begin to wave your hand dismissively. "It's nothing special—"

"Don't." Her voice is firm but not unkind. "I mean it. You're talented. Don't sell yourself short."

You sit on the opposite side of the bed from her, pulling your mug into your hands. "Thanks," you murmur, voice barely above a whisper, never quite sure how to react to praise.

Neither of you speaks for a while, sipping on your drinks in comfortable silence as Nat thumbs through your sketchbook. For a moment, you're relieved that she didn't select the sketchbook you had spent the past month drawing her face into. That would have taken some awkward explaining. You aren't even sure what you would say to her. 'Yeah, I've just spent multiple days drawing you over the past few weeks because I couldn't stop thinking about you. That's totally normal, right?'

As you sip your hot drink again and try to ignore the thoughts, Nat finally speaks up. "You meant it earlier? About, uh, being there for me?"

You meet her gaze, startled at her sudden… vulnerability? is that what you would call this? "Of course I meant it," you say without hesitation. "I wouldn't have said it if I didn't mean it."

The blonde looks down at the mug in her hands, flexing her damaged fingers around it. "You're too good for this. For me."

"Well, too bad," you nudge her shoulder with your own and shoot her a goofy grin. "You're stuck with me. Sorry."

She huffs a quiet laugh, shaking her head, but you catch the slightest flicker of something you can't quite name behind her eyes. You doubt she'd ever be the type to be truly open with her feelings, but you suppose this is enough for now.

"I didn't…" Nat's face falls slightly as she sets her mug down on the nightstand beside your bed, "That shit I said the last time we spoke. I didn't mean it. About me just… 'trying to see you naked,' for the record. I just…" Nat grunts and waves her hand away, not offering an apology, but you doubt you'll ever see one in your lifetime anyway. "I was talkin' about myself. Askin' why I was like that. Not you."

"Asking why… you… kissed me? Or reacted the way you did?" You ask hesitantly, not wanting to break the fragile peace you've created between the two of you.

Nat makes a face at that, leaning her head back against the wall with a sigh. "Both? Neither? I don't…" A frustrated huff of air leaves her nose, "I don't know. That's why I was asking—because I don't know why I'm like that–fucking… reckless."

You shake your head, "You say 'reckless' like it's a bad thing. If you weren't 'reckless,' we never would have become friends, you know?" You tentatively scoot a little closer to her, unsure if this is the time to provide a reassuring touch. "I mean… I never used to do half the things I do. What was it you said? That I live in a bubble?" A strained laugh parts from your lips as you rub the back of your neck, "I mean… you weren't really… wrong. I wasn't exactly the most adventurous person before I met you."

Her jaw clenches as the air settles after your statement, but she doesn't look angry. If anything, she seems almost contemplative. "Y're not… mad?"

A light-hearted scoff leaves your lips, and you playfully shove at Nat's shoulder. "Oh, I was mad. For a while." Your smile falters marginally as you consider how to word your following sentence properly, "But… I was more hurt than anything, Nat. I just… I didn't know what I did wrong."

"Did nothing wrong," Nat grunts almost immediately, "I was just… I was being a dumbass. 's weird having someone say that they 'worry about me' since no one has ever really given a fuck."

"And if I told you that I 'give a fuck'?" You ask softly, scooting closer again until your knee bumps into hers. "How would that make you feel?"

"Fuckin' weird," is Nat's immediate response, "I would—nah, I feel fuckin' weird knowing that someone gives a fuck. It's…" She makes a face, something between a scowl and a sneer, "strange." Nat finally turns to face you, her eyes hiding an emotion you can't decipher. "But it still means something," comes out in a whisper, and for a moment, you swear that emotion you can't decipher is vulnerability. 

"Does this mean something?" You gesture vaguely between the two of you, "Us? You being here?"

Nat hesitates, her gaze flicking between your face and the vague space in front of her, weighing her next words carefully. "I don't know," she admits, voice low and rough. "This… whatever this is… it's new. Feels weird."

"But not… bad, right? Like… a bad weird? But more like a good weird?" You ask cautiously, trying to keep your tone light, but you worry she can hear the trepidation in your voice.

Her lip twitches, and for a moment, you think she might brush it off with a joke or sarcasm. Instead, she leans forward slightly, her elbows resting on her knees. "No," she says quietly. "Not bad."

As the words settle, you both fall into momentary silence again, the atmosphere feeling heavy but not suffocating. You find yourself hyper-aware of the space between you, the way her knee is so close to yours it’s almost touching again.

"You're staring," Nat says suddenly, her lips quirking into a smirk that doesn't quite meet her eyes. "Not that I blame you. Pretty hard to look away from this." She gestures vaguely to herself, trying to recapture her usual bravado.

You roll your eyes and can't help the small laugh that falls from your lips. "You're ridiculous."

"Yeah, well…" She shrugs, her smirk fading into something softer. "You don't hang out with me for my stellar personality, Princess."

The words feel like a deflection, and you narrow your eyes slightly at it, refusing to give into that train of thought. "Well, guess what? I actually think I do."

Nat's eyes narrow slightly, her lips pressing into a thin line. "You seriously think that? You don't just… hang around 'cause I drag you into shit?"

You have to hold back a laugh as you shake your head in disbelief. "No, Nat. I hang around you because I want to. Shocking, right?"

Her gaze flashes around the room before meeting yours again. "Yeah," comes out in a hoarse whisper, "I actually think it is."

The weight of her words settles between you, and neither of you speaks for a moment. You can tell she's wrestling with something, and you give her the space to figure it out. Eventually, she leans back, her hands gripping the edge of the mattress as she looks at you more directly.

"Wasn't it you that said you don't have to understand everything or something like that?" You shrug, hesitating for another moment before leaning forward again. "Something about… bursting my bubble? Well… maybe it's my turn to burst your bubble, Nat. If you've been throwing me into your life for the past few months, maybe it's time I give you a little bit of insight into mine."

Her lip twitches, and she looks down, shaking her head slightly. "You make it sound so fucking easy," she mutters, her voice thick with frustration and something else you can’t quite place. "Like I can just…" She trails off, scowling slightly.

"Maybe it can be," you counter gently, reaching out on impulse to brush a stray strand of blonde hair from her face. The movement is soft and unexpected, making Nat freeze almost immediately. Her eyes snap to yours, sharp and shocked, and the air between you shifts to something more… tense. Not exactly a bad tense, per se, but tense nonetheless. 

Then, a moment passes, and Nat pulls back from your hand with a shocked and confused expression. "Woah, woah, what the hell are you doing?"

You blink rapidly, immediately dropping your hand to your lap. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry. I don't even know why I did that or what the hell came over me. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to—"

She waves her hands to dismiss your thoughts and cut you off, her face shifting back into that unreadable expression. "Why did you… why the hell did you do that?"

"I…" Your voice trails off, and you look down at your bedsheets in shame. "I don't know. I've never… done that before. I guess it just… felt right. Or… I thought it felt right. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have… I don't know why I—"

"Stop." Nat cuts you off, her sharp tone causing your eyes to flash to her face once again. "Just… stop for a second." She takes a deep breath and pinches the bridge of her nose, then immediately winces again when she remembers it's still bruised and tender. "You…" A disbelieving laugh spills from her lips, one that bubbles slowly and dissolves into her next sentence, "After that shit I pulled, you seriously still want to do…" She gestures vaguely between the two of you, "Whatever the fuck we're doing?"

Your brows knit together in confusion—like you didn't just spend all night fussing over her injuries and learning about her upbringing. "I invited you into my house, Nat. I mean… you're…" A sigh leaves you, "You're here. I… yeah. I think I want to do 'whatever the fuck we're doing' if you still do."

The blonde looks at you in confusion, eyes searching your face for any sign of deceit or indication that you don't want this. When she doesn't find any, her hand twitches in her lap, and she tentatively reaches forward, placing a hand on your knee. 

Neither of you speaks for a moment, the quiet atmosphere charged with something more—something that you don't think you've ever felt before. Her hand traces up your arm gently, as though she's mapping it, before coming to rest on the side of your neck.

You should say something. You should look away. You should do anything but what you’re about to do. But then she’s leaning in, and you’re not sure if you’re moving too or if it’s just her, but suddenly her lips are on yours, rough and urgent and so very Nat.

The kiss is overwhelming in every sense of the word. She's all desperation and aggression, and you can feel the built-up tension in her body as she leans into the kiss, as if it's something she needs and has needed since that night all those weeks ago. It takes you a second to catch up and understand what's happening, but you kiss her back this time despite the tachycardia causing your chest to feel tight. 

But then she's shifting, tongue gently probing—no, forcefully probing at your lips, trying to push past the seam of them. You feel her hands on your biceps, squeezing at them as she pulls herself closer to you, settling into your lap and wrapping her arms around your neck as she finally pushes past your lips, her tongue sliding against yours. You try your best to return the kiss, you really do, but it's obvious she has leagues more experience than you do in this department, but… Nat doesn't seem to care in the slightest about your lack of experience.

Your hands dangle uselessly at your sides, unsure what to do here. You've never had a girl—or anyone, really—sit in your lap. It's a little overwhelming, to say the least. Nat seems to notice this, and despite the fact you are returning the kiss, she pulls back to look down at you. "Hey… is this… okay?"

You immediately nod and clear your throat, "Yes. Uh, yes. It's okay. I just…" A nervous chuckle escapes from you, and you glance away in an attempt to hide the blush that's blossoming on your cheeks. "This is sort of new for me."

"New?" Nat asks, tilting her head slightly, like a dog who just heard a sound they weren't so sure about. "You… you've kissed before, yeah?"

A sound of uncertainty parts from your lips, "I mean… yeah, I've kissed. But I've never done anything like this before. The whole… making-out-in-my-bed-with-someone-I-really-like thing, I mean."

Nat mumbles out the words you just said, digesting them, and then her eyes fly open in realization. "Oh," she blinks, then shakes herself out of whatever daze she was in and gently grabs your chin to make you look at her again, "Hey, hey." She says softly, her hand moving from your chin to tuck a stray hair behind your ear, much like you did to her earlier. "No matter… no matter what anyone says, this," she gently rakes her fingers through your hair, "means something to me. Like… it—it really means something." A moment passes between the two of you before she speaks again, voice soft and gentle. "Especially with you."

You nod, a small smile twitching on your lips as you lean forward and kiss her again, the action slowing down significantly compared to how it was before you told her—in a roundabout way—that you were a virgin. She appears comfortable with letting you take the lead now, but provides small encouragements without forcing anything. 

Her lips curl into a soft smile against yours, and although your heart still feels as though it's beating a million miles a minute, your chest no longer feels as tight. While you learn how to kiss her properly, Nat moves her hand from your hair to your shoulder, then trails down your arm until her fingers intertwine with yours.

"You can touch me, you know," Nat mumbles, guiding your hands to her waist. "I'm not fragile, and I'm not gonna bite… unless you ask, of course." She grins to herself when your hands find purchase on her waist, just under her leather jacket but over the fabric of her thin tee. Even with the cloth barrier, you can almost feel the heat of her skin radiating through it. "Yeah, like that. Don't be afraid."

Deciding to be bold for once in your life, you move your lips to her jaw, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses across her pale skin, and Nat rewards you with a shaky sigh. "God, yeah. Like that. A natural, really." 

She rolls her head back, giving you access to her neck. Who are you to deny such an invitation? You brush your lips lower, tracing over her pulse point. "No marks—" Nat says as she discards her leather jacket, tossing it precariously onto your floor. "No marks, please," she reiterates once her jacket is ditched.

You nod against her neck, tracing your mouth across her delicate skin—the same skin you've imagined brushing your lips again for much longer than you'd ever care to admit. "Fuck, you're a fast learner," Nat says with a breathless laugh, her hands running back up your arms to rest on your shoulders, squeezing them softly in a wordless display of encouragement. 

Spurred on by her words and touch, you let your hands slide up from her waist, fingers splaying over the fabric of her shirt. The outline of her ribcage shifts slightly beneath your touch as she takes a deep breath, the movement providing the incentive you need to continue. Your lips trail further down her neck, skimming over the hollow of her throat, her scent—something faintly musky with a hint of cigarette smoke—filling your senses.

Your hands hover, momentarily unsure of your actions before you finally gather the courage to slide them under the hem of her shirt. The feel of her skin beneath your fingertips—a mix of soft warmth and a few unexpected ridges of faint scars—makes your breath hitch. 

Nat notices your immediate hesitation because, of course, she does, and one of her hands runs back up to tangle in your hair. "You're good," she breathes out, leaning back just enough to meet your gaze. "You're doing fine. I'll tell you if you do something I don't like, yeah?"

With her reassurance, your eyes wander along with your hands. Your gaze drops to the curve of her chest, hidden beneath the fabric of her shirt but still ample enough that you can make out the swell of her breasts. Your hands, eager to feel that region your eyes have wandered to, continue to drift up her torso, her skin warm and shifting slightly under your touch.

When your thumbs graze the underside of her breasts, both of you let out a quivering breath. "Yeah," Nat breathes out, "like that, babe. Keep—keep going…"

Babe, you think, that's a new pet name. One I could get used to.

Despite your sudden burst in confidence, this lingering hesitation rests on the back of your mind—I have no idea what I'm doing. You glance back up at her face trepidatiously, and you're sure your expression is a combination of bashful and nervous. "I, uh…"

"Hey," Nat whispers, "we don't have to do this if you don't want to. Seriously, it's okay." Her voice is reassuring—gentle in spite of her rough exterior, and it soothes you in a way that you weren't quite expecting. 

"No, I, uh, I want to. I just…" You fumble with your words, trying to find the proper ones to describe how you're currently feeling. "I want to. I just… I don't know how this is supposed to go."

A warm—almost affectionate—chuckle leaves Nat's lips, and her fingers gently rake through your hair. "It's not a test, Princess. There's no 'supposed to,' yeah? Just do what feels right." A beat, "I'll help you out."

She pulls back from you slightly, and you almost whine at the loss of the feeling of her fingers in your hair, but then she's—

Oh.

Oh.

Natalie Scatorccio—the object of your fascination for an uncomfortable amount of time—reaches down to the hem of her shirt and pulls it off over her head, tossing it in the general direction that she threw her leather jacket.

"Just do what feels good," she repeats in a breathless tone of voice as she returns her hands to your shoulders, one of them moving up to cup the side of your neck. 

You find yourself instinctively leaning into her touch as your eyes fall to her freshly revealed skin, slightly flushed in the dim lighting of your room. You can't exactly make out the fine details of it all, but you don't need to see. You just need to feel.

Even with that thought in mind, your hands linger in their position, which earns a soft huff from the girl currently seated in your lap. "Princess," she grabs your wrists and moves your hands up a little higher so that your palm is placed loosely over the fabric of her red bra, and you let out a breath you didn't even realize you were holding. "Just feel, yeah? Stop overthinking it. This isn't…" A scoff leaves her lips, and she gives your wrists a reassuring squeeze. "Not a test or some bullshit. Feel."

So, 'feel' you do.

Your hands tentatively squeeze her breasts, mouth drying in sheer awe of what is currently transpiring, and you meet her gaze again.

"Fuck," you murmur, then lean forward to capture her lips with your own.

Nat immediately returns the kiss, releasing your wrists in favour of moving her arms to rest on your shoulders and wrap around your neck. You lead, but it's impossible to miss how she shifts slightly in your lap and presses herself closer to you with a small sound you could almost call a whine.

Your hands and mouth slowly get bolder as the kiss continues, and between your palm kneading the soft flesh of her chest and your tongue sliding against hers, you feel a familiar warmth begin to pool in your lower gut. The sensation causes you to buck your hips up into hers, earning a gasp from Nat in turn.

"Oh," Nat pulls back slightly, using her hands on your shoulders to keep you from moving back in to continue the kiss. "Yeah, I think we're a little too dressed for that."

Before you can protest it, Nat is pulling off of your lap to remove her pants, and as you sit and watch her nimble fingers pop the button of her jeans out, it occurs to you that you are also overdressed.

A moment's hesitation passes before you begin discarding your clothing, trusting the room's dim lighting to keep your nervousness hidden from her gaze. Your shirt comes first, followed quickly by your pants, attempting to kick them off as fast as possible, causing them to get caught at your ankles, which earns a soft laugh from Nat as she watches you struggle.

"Here," she says, approaching the bed again and helping discard your jeans properly, tossing them in the general direction her clothes went.

Your breath catches in your throat when Nat returns to your lap, her bare thighs coming to rest against yours as she straddles you again. Feeling the warmth of her naked skin against yours for the first time causes your brain to short-circuit for a moment, and all the confidence you've acquired over the past ten minutes immediately goes out the window at this new sensation.

Nat senses your lack of action immediately and huffs out a laugh at your awestruck expression. "Jesus, babe. Just… do what you were doing when I had my clothes on, yeah? Touch me the same. It's just without barriers this time." She grabs your hands and places them on her waist once more before wrapping her arms around your neck, "Remember, no overthinking things."

You nod slightly, swallowing down your nerves at this new situation as you map out the curve of her hips and the dip of her waist. Every touch earns a quiet hum of approval from her, a sound that stokes the warmth already pooling in your gut.

"Mm, yeah, keep going." Nat hums in agreeance with your actions, tilting her head to recapture your lips in a kiss. Although she's the one initiating the kiss this time, she takes it considerably slower than the first time she kissed you tonight but doesn't fail to provide the occasional teasing nip to your lower lip.

One of her hands shifts to cup your face, holding you steady as she deepens the kiss further while her other tangles itself in your hair. You feel the texture of the bandage you applied to Nat's hand earlier brush against your skin as her thumb gently caresses your cheekbone. As one of your hands idly traces its way up a scar, you don't even realise that it's snaking around to the clasp of her bra until you feel it underneath your fingertips and pause in uncertainty. 

Nat pulls back enough to meet your eyes, her hands never leaving the place they've found themselves. "You're good, she whispers gently. "I want you to take it off, would have stopped you by now if I didn't, yeah?"

With another nod, you begin fumbling with the clasp of her bra with one hand. Quickly realising you're out of your depths, an apology is mumbled to her as your other hand moves to join the one currently struggling in its task of undoing the hooks. Your apparent lack of experience in taking off someone's bra earns a low laugh from Nat, but it's hardly cruel—rather, laughing with you instead of at you.

When you successfully separate the bra clasps, Nat lets the fabric fall from her breasts, and she tosses it carelessly on the floor before placing her hands on your shoulders and giving you a look you could only describe as pure, unbridled lust. The sight of her nude tits causes your breath to stutter briefly, leaving you frozen for a few seconds too long.

The blonde leans in, her breath tickling your ear in an effort to break your stupor. "Touch me," she murmurs, "I'll tell you if you do something I don't like. Promise."

Your hands move of their own accord, sliding around to her front and grazing over the skin as you explore her curves with reverence. Every movement earns a reaction—a soft sigh, a sharp inhale, or a quiet hum that makes your confidence grow with each passing second.

When you tweak a nipple between your thumb and forefinger, you can visibly see your confidence doubling at the reaction Nat gives you—a sharp gasp that leaves her mouth as her head tilts back, hips grinding down against yours once more.

"Keep—keep going, yeah, keep doing that. Don't be—fuck—don't be afraid to touch me. Promise you I want it…" Nat breathes out as her hips roll languidly, her hands having a difficult time deciding where they should rest on your body, eventually just deciding to grip your hair and pull your face close to her chest.

There is no resistance you offer as she guides your head, and despite your previous hesitations, you run your tongue across the nipple that you don't currently have in your hand.

Fuck, your daydreams don't compare to the actual sensation of her skin beneath your tongue, of her nipples pebbling underneath your eager touch.

For a moment, you don't think anything could ever compare to this feeling of Natalie in your lap, your hands on her skin, and her nipple between your lips. 

That is, of course, until she gives you a gentle shove backwards onto the mattress. Her nipple releases from your mouth with a soft popping sound as your back hits the bed. And, okay, maybe this vision of her on top of you is also a really good feeling.

Nat sighs, grinding down unabashedly into you while her hands grip your shoulders for some leverage. Her eyes fall closed as her jaw becomes slack, and her hips press needily down into yours. "Fuck," she hisses, "Jesus Christ, we're doing this."

The words don't sound shocked or surprised, just… want and the slightest hint of desperation; both sounds you aren't exactly used to hearing from one of the most vilified people in school. In the time you've gotten to know her, she's never even come close to expressing any of those emotions around you. That being said, it's a sound you like and crave to hear repeated over and over and over again from her lips.

"Y-yeah," you agree after a long moment, just watching her move atop you, "we are. We, uh, we are doing this."

A breathless laugh comes from the woman on top of you as she continues to move her body, "I need to know who you're trying to convince. Me, or you?" She slides her unbandaged hand from your shoulder to your jaw, running her thumb over your lower lip. "God, you're gorgeous," she murmurs, hips slowing for a moment as the words leave her. 

She appears to consider saying something else briefly, but that consideration is gone just as quickly as it appeared, opting to speak with actions instead of words. The hand that is still on your shoulder runs down your torso, stopping right over your sternum and in between the valley of your breasts. No words leave her as she lets her eyes drift up lazily to meet yours in the soft, lunar glow.

You know what she's asking without words, anyway. She wants to touch you. She wants you to remove your bra. She wants you. Despite knowing these things, you still find yourself feeling insecure about removing the final barriers between the two of you. If anyone were to ask you, you'd tell them that the girl straddling your thighs is a work of art—a masterwork crafted on a canvas that had been beaten down by thousands of small events over the years, but a masterwork nonetheless. A voice tells you that you pale in comparison to her, but you know now, partially thanks to Nat, that you can't keep living life by letting fear control you.

So, you hesitate for a few seconds as you think about all the possible scenarios and outcomes of her seeing your uncovered breasts, then you think fuck it and sit up slightly to remove your bra and toss it onto the growing pile of clothes on your floor. 

When you lay flat again, you don't meet her gaze. You can't help it; you know your face is burning at the reveal of your skin, but Nat doesn't seem to be nearly as off-put as you are. 

"Jesus Christ." Her hands move over your breasts, delicately running over the sensitive skin prickled with goosebumps. "You have no idea…" She starts moving her hips at the same speed she was previously moving them at, a soft moan falling from her lips as she kneads your breasts in an exploratory fashion. "No fucking idea…"

Nat never finishes that sentence, much more concerned with moving her hips against yours and feeling the soft swell of your tits beneath her calloused hands. Her touch is exploratory, as though she doesn't have much experience with the actions she's currently taking. Regardless, she seems to be enjoying the learning process.

Deciding that you should also take this opportunity to learn, you start to trace your hands up her legs, your fingers skimming over the smooth skin of her thighs. There's a contrast between the firmness of her muscles and the softness of her skin. Your movements are tentative initially, but Nat's low hum of approval encourages your boldness. 

You let your hands wander higher, brushing over the curve of her hips and pausing at the waistband of her panties. For the umpteenth time tonight, you hesitate to go further and continue to shed clothing. Nat notices and leans her forehead down to press against yours, stilling the movements in her hips fully. 

"It's okay," she breathes, her lips ghosting over yours. "I want this just as much as you do."

"I just need to know if I'm doing this right. I don't… I don't know what I'm doing, Nat."

A low chuckle leaves her as her hands run up your torso to rest on your jaw. "We'll go slow. It's okay, I'll guide you." She shifts her weight slightly, pressing a kiss to your lips that feels somewhat different from the others—less urgent, more intentional.

You let yourself relax into the kiss as her body starts to move against yours once more. Her hands slide down your torso, encouraging you to move your hips against hers. Without even thinking about it, you bend one of your legs at the knee and earn a soft hiss from Nat, who shifts subconsciously to straddle your thigh. 

"Fuck yeah," she breathes out as one of her hands splays across your stomach, "shit, you feel good." 

Your fingers toy with the edge of her waistband, and you pause one last time to get confirmation. Nat nods, lips curling into an encouraging smile. Slowly, you begin to tug them down her hips, Nat shifting slightly to help, laughing softly when you fumble.

"They're just panties, Princess. First your jeans, now my underwear?" She hums and clicks her tongue teasingly, "I'm beginning to think clothes just aren't your forte. Maybe it's a good thing we're out of them, yeah?"

You groan, cheeks burning as you finally manage to toss them into the growing pile of clothes on the floor. "You're impossible," you mutter, but the humour helps ease your nerves more than you'd care to admit.

When Nat settles against you once more, you gasp softly at the new feeling you're greeted with—her wetness coming in direct contact with your skin. The feeling of slick skin is accompanied by a small, rough patch of hair between her thighs, the dual combinations causing a buzzing sensation to rake up your body.

"Doing fine," Nat reiterates, leaning down to brush her lips over yours again. "We'll take it slow, yeah? Just do what feels right. If something goes wrong…" Her lips twitch in barely concealed amusement. "We can figure it out, or whatever."

"You make it sound like we're assembling IKEA furniture," you deadpan, but the corners of your mouth twitch into a smile.

"Some assembly required," she quips back, closing the distance and kissing you again. As she does, she takes your hands and guides them to her thighs. "Start here. Touch me. I'll tell you if something feels off."

You nod hesitantly, swallowing down the nervousness in your throat. Your hands gently squeeze and massage the firm muscles of her thighs, trying to map out what details you can't make out in the dim lighting of your room. When your fingers skim over the curve of her hips—now without the barrier of cloth separating your hands from her skin—she lets out a soft hum and places her hands on your shoulders.

Your hands gain confidence as they explore the curve of her hips reverently, tracing the smooth lines of her body. Nat's breath hitches slightly at your touch, and her fingers dig into your shoulders—not to stop you, but to confirm that she is a fan of the actions you're taking.

When your fingers finally dip between her thighs, Nat inhales sharply, her body shuddering at the contact. "Yeah," she breathes out, her voice dropping lower, "just like that."

Encouraged, you press your fingers through the short tangle of hair and into her slick heat, your breath stuttering at the feeling of her wetness, exploring her slowly but with growing confidence. Nat's hips shift forward slightly, chasing your fingers. The sound she makes—a quiet, almost needy hum—sends a strange buzzing sensation up your spine that causes your fingers to slide deeper into her folds.

"Fuck," she breathes out as one of your fingers teases her slit, "you're—oh, God—doing good. Just… just like that."

Your confidence peaks when you brush a sensitive bundle of nerves with your palm, located at the apex of her thighs. When you press your hand harder against it, Nat's hips jerk subconsciously, a sharp gasp escaping her lips. 

"Shit," she laughs breathlessly, "fast learner, huh?"

You grin at her, feeling like you're finally getting the hang of things. "I had a good teacher; what can I say?"

One of Nat's hands drifts from your shoulder down to the wrist of the hand you currently have situated between her thighs, and she attempts to guide your touch with deliberate movements. "Here," she murmurs, "try this." She positions your fingers just right, showing you the pace and pressure she likes, her eyes fluttering shut as you get the hang of it.

"Yeah, babe…" She whispers, speaking more to herself than you at this point. "Fuck, that's it. That's good. Keep… yeah, keep doing that…"

You continue to follow her guidance until she decides you've gotten the hang of it and moves her hand back up your arm. "Mm," you watch her head loll back, exposing the pale expanse of her throat, and she removes her other arm from your shoulder to—

Oh, Jesus fucking Christ—

Nat runs her hand up her torso, starting on the flat of her stomach before trailing up between her breasts and over her sternum. When she reaches her neck, her slender fingers wrap around her throat gently, and she makes a low humming sound as her hips press into your hand.

Your hand stutters for a moment—only because your brain stutters as you watch her touch herself, which might be your new favourite sight—but you quickly resume your movements, desperate to continue to see her in this heavenly light. 

In your overwhelming need to see her explore her own skin while seated on your lap, you press your fingers in a little too hard, pushing past her entrance and into the damp heat that awaits you. Nat initially seems to approve of this action, letting out a hum that sounds like the most beautiful music you've ever heard.

Encouraged by this, you press your index finger into her deeper… until your uncut nails accidentally scratch against her inner walls.

With no warning, Nat immediately hisses and snaps her hand down to grab your wrist, tugging it back slightly. "Fuck, Princess. Warn a girl before you stick something sharp inside of her, yeah?" The words are intended to be teasing, a playful banter to ease your nerves… but they do the exact opposite.

Too desperate and too inexperienced, it seems.

Your eyes widen in equal parts shock and embarrassment, promptly backpedalling and losing all of that confidence you've just gained. "Sh—fuck, Nat. I'm… fuck. I'm so fucking sorry. I don't… I didn't…"

"Woah, woah—" Nat shakes her head immediately, releasing your wrist in favour of taking your face between both of her hands, warm skin and rough bandage against cheeks burning in shame. "Babe, no. It's okay, alright? It's just… a learning curve or whatever. You aren't gonna be a fucking… Sex God your first time, yeah? It's okay, seriously, dude. Relax. I'm fine."

Even with her reassurance, you hesitate again, not wanting to hurt her. To remedy this, Nat leans down to kiss you softly before pulling back slightly to speak. "Let's… try something else then. Change of pace."

When she climbs off your lap, you have to fight the urge to whimper at the loss of her warmth against your skin. 

But then she's lying down on your bed, looking like the picture of lust and sin. 

"Natalie…?" You find yourself asking hesitantly, propping yourself up on your elbows so you can look at her. "What's… what's going on? Why are you… I thought we…"

She rolls her eyes and snorts, "What we are doing is still having sex, yeah? We're just gonna… try switching gears. Come here."

Then, she's spreading her legs for you. And, yeah. You really can't see her in this lighting, but you don't need to. Just the vague image of her (and the mental ones your brain has started providing you with) is more than enough, seeing be damned.

Your mouth suddenly feels dry, and your brain feels fuzzy as you sit yourself between her parted legs. "Fuck, Nat…" Your touch is slightly more hesitant than it was earlier—mainly because you're worried about hurting her again—but you place your hands on her ankles and slowly but deliberately run them up her long, lithe legs. 

"Mm, yeah, that's the plan." Nat grins at you, her voice carrying a teasing lilt as her eyes follow your movements as you change your position to lay prone. 

From your new angle, you're looking up at Nat once more, but it feels ten times as intimate as it did compared to when she was seated on your lap. From here, you get a front-row seat to a meal like none you've ever encountered: something wet, warm, and deliciously wanton.

She reaches down and pushes some hair out of your face as you wrap your arms around her thighs, squeezing the firm muscles as your breath brushes across her center. 

"Don't jump right into it, yeah? Explore, or whatever." Her free hand waves dismissively as if attempting to ease your worries. "Something about the journey, and not the destination."

You squirm slightly but give her a soft nod in acknowledgement. "Right, right… don't just… dive into it."

Nat hums in acknowledgment of your statement, parting her legs a little further on your behalf. "'xactly, Princess. You're getting it."

Your mouth feels overwhelmingly dry, and in an effort to shake the nerves from your system again, you decide to begin pressing open-mouthed kisses to the inside of her right thigh. You start near the crook of her knee and gradually work your way up her leg and closer to the warm heat that rests at the apex. 

When you reach the point where her leg transitions to her pelvis, you quickly switch to her other thigh and repeat the same ministrations you gave her right thigh. For the record, Nat seems to be equally frustrated and increasingly aroused at how you've begun to take your time with her. But, when her hand tugs on your hair subconsciously, you can't help the small, giddy laugh that spills from your mouth.

"You were the one that told me I shouldn't be jumping right into things, Natalie." 

Although you can't make out the movement of her eyes in the dark of your room, you swear you can hear her rolling them through the irked exhale she lets out at the teasing comment. "Jesus, when did you become such a tease?"

You grin at that, nipping at her thigh like she did your lip when the two of you were kissing earlier. "When I was told to be one, princess."

Nat tugs on your hair again at the bite and subsequent comment, "Don't call me 'princess,' that's your title."

"Oh, my bad, Your Grace."

The scoff that falls from her is less harsh than it is humourous, and she gives your hair a soothing pet to ease the assumed sting from the tug. "You are forgiven, my liege," she says with a terrible English accent that would cause even a tenured dialect coach to have a heart attack. 

A thought vaguely occurs to you as your breath ghosts over her again; you know she told you not to leave marks, but you can't help the part of you that wants to suck a dark mark into her thighs.

Nat seemingly catches the thought in the way you hesitate, and she hums softly. "You can leave one. You know how to leave a hickey, yeah?"

You roll your eyes at the comment, huffing softly. "Yes, Natalie. I'm not that inexperienced. I know how to leave a hickey. It has to do with the blood vessels under the skin bursting when—"

"Mmm," she cuts you off, "didn't ask for the science behind it, babe. Just wanted to make sure you knew what you were doing."

Before you can talk yourself out of doing it, you press your lips to the pale skin of her left thigh and take it into your mouth, lathing over it with your tongue and earning an approving moan from Nat at the action. 

When you break the suction, you get slightly upset that you can't immediately see if the mark will take; you suppose that will have to be something you revisit come the morning. 

Well, provided she actually stays the night. 

But… that's a thought for future you to worry about. Right now? Well, right now, you have Natalie Scatorccio lying on your bed with your head between her thighs. You can worry about the logistics later.

You pull back slightly to catch your breath, your lips brushing her skin as you speak. "How's that for a start?"

Nat chuckles, though the sound is breathless and ragged, something which you would like to think is a testament to how much you're affecting her. "Mm, yeah, not bad. Got some ways to go yet, but… I think with practice… we could get there." Her hand stays tangled in your hair, not pulling, just resting there, grounding herself—or maybe grounding you. It's hard to tell, and honestly, it doesn't matter.

What does matter is the way she arches slightly beneath your touch when your mouth trails closer to her center. Her breath catches, and you feel her thighs tense beneath your palms. That's all the encouragement you need.

"You say 'we could get there' like you fully intend on doing this again…" You muse as your breath ghosts over her center, wetness visible even in the penumbra. 

Following her earlier advice, you take your time, pressing gentle, deliberate kisses against the tender skin before finally letting your tongue dart out to explore. The taste of her slick is warm, slightly salty, and wholly intoxicating. You quickly decide this is something you could never get tired of, no matter how long you live.

Natalie's reaction is immediate and gratifying—a sharp intake of breath, her hips bucking slightly against your mouth as her fingers tighten in your hair fractionally. "Fuck, babe," she murmurs, her voice strained and dripping with lust. "That's… yeah, that's it. Just like that." 

Spurred on by her praise, your hands tighten around her thighs, and you tug her closer to your waiting mouth as you close your eyes and delve deeply into her glistening arousal. Sure, you aren't quite sure what you're doing, but… you took Anatomy and Physiology last semester. So you… kinda understand the basics. 

You're nothing if not eager to make up for your previous mistakes, which shows in how you bury your nose into the neatly trimmed hair on her pelvis. The movements start slow, almost exploratory, careful not to overwhelm either of you at the moment. You let your tongue flick lightly against her folds, testing her reactions and taking mental notes of the little sounds she makes. Each gasp, quiet moan, or whispered "yeah, right there" is a roadmap guiding you, and you find yourself following it with renewed eagerness.

Her grip on your hair tightens once more, but this time, it's less teasing and more… like she's trying to urge you to continue what you're doing. Her thighs tremble slightly against your hold, and you feel a surge of pride at the realization that you're the one making her feel like this.

You hum softly against her, the vibration earning a sharp intake of breath and a broken curse from Natalie. The sound is enough to have you digging your nails into her thighs, your own excitement building despite the fact you're the one pleasuring her, and not the other way around. So, you repeat the action to draw the sound again. And again. And again.

As you get more comfortable, your movements become bolder, and your grip grows firmer. You flatten your tongue against her and drag it upward, savouring the way she shudders beneath you. Your lips close around a tiny nub at the top, sucking on it gently and feeling her body jolt in response.

"Oh, fuck—" Nat's voice cracks slightly, and her hips jerk up, thighs instinctively closing in around your head for a moment before she forces herself to relax. "Shit, sorry. Didn't mean to—"

You shake your head immediately at her apologies, the motion causing you to brush against her in a way that has her letting out a delicious groan. "I like it," you murmur between movements, squeezing her thighs once in a show of approval. "Means I'm doing something right." A beat, "...right?"

Your voice comes out slightly unsure, although you try to disguise it with a sarcastic lilt. Nat, whether she picks up on this or not, doesn't comment on your unsure tone.

"Yeah, babe," she breathes out, her voice shaky. "Doing good, yeah? Try not to let it go to your head, though."

You laugh softly, the sound muffled against her skin, and press on, letting yourself get lost in her. Her taste, her scent, the way her fingers tangle in your hair… it's an all-consuming feeling. Those nerves you were feeling earlier? Gone. Replaced by a confidence that builds with every encouragement whispered from her lips.

At some point, your lips move from her clit to her entrance, and you run a stripe up it with your tongue. You debate using your fingers for a moment but decide against it once you remember what happened when you tried that initially. So, instead, you use your tongue to feel the inside of her.

You nuzzle her outer lips apart with your mouth and nose—which brushes against her clit—and press your tongue inside her, exploring her canal, which feels… strangely like the roof of your mouth. Your tongue isn't very long, so you don't stay for long, but you make a mental note to return to this at a later date. Ideally, when you've cut your nails.

When your lips move back up to her clit, your tongue flicks at it, and you experiment in strokes—a flat tongue, pointing and swirling it, attaching your lips to it, and catalogue every sound or reaction she makes in your mind for… future purposes. You decide the reactions that you like the best come from when you're effectively slurping on it. The messier, the better.

So, you get messy. Natalie's thighs wrap around your head, her ankles locking behind it as she tugs on your hair, a loud groan falling from her lips when you tug her even closer to you—if that was even possible—and get messy.

Your saliva runs down her already slick genitals, mingling with her juices as they coat your lower face and give you a headrush like nothing ever has before. This feels better than the first time you got drunk on your friend Alex's mom's wine for their sixteenth birthday. Hell, this feels better than the little buzz you got from smoking a joint with Nat at the skatepark. This is a feeling you want to experience as many times as possible in your life, you've decided. 

Nat's breathing begins to quicken, and you can feel the way her thigh muscles tense around your head, the way the grip on your hair grows more insistent, and… oh, shit, she's getting close. Your movements double down, your grip on her thighs nearing the point of bruising, and you do whatever you can to bring her closer to that blissful release.

"Babe—fuck, I'm gonna—" Natalie gasps, voice breaking completely as her hips back against you and her head trashes against your pillows. Her thighs effectively cut off all sound at this point, but you don't care about the lack of hearing in the slightest—the movements she's making are more than enough to tell you what you need to know. So, your ministrations don't let up—not until she's crying out and a sudden rush of wetness begins to coat your already slick face.

When her body relaxes from the orgasm that raked her, so does the grip on your head and hair. A soft murmur leaves her lips, something that sounds suspiciously like your name. You press a few kisses to her now-overly sensitive skin before pulling back to look at her.

Natalie is sprawled out on your bed, her chest heaving and a satisfied smirk tugging at her lips when her eyes open to meet yours. Her hair is a mess, her face is just as fucked up as it was when you were patching her wounds up in her truck, and she's never looked more sinful.

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, suddenly hyper-aware of yourself again as the adrenaline starts to fade. "Was… that… okay?" you ask quietly, voice tentative as you sit back on your haunches. 

She lifts her head to look at you, propping herself up on her elbows. "Babe," her smirk softens into a gentle smile. "That was better than okay. You sure you haven't done this before?"

You shake your head, blushing furiously. "Uhh… no? It was, uh, my first time…"

Nat's smirk reappears, and she moves to sit up and pulls you back toward her, "mm, well, you could have fooled me. You're a natural."

Her lips find yours in a kiss that's softer than you expected, given how utterly debauched she looks, and it leaves you feeling dazed and fuzzy in the best way possible. Maybe, you think as her arms wrap around you, this leaning curve isn't so bad.

At some point during this kiss, Nat starts encouraging you to lay where she was, and your positions are flipped. She's the one seated between your thighs now. The change in position leaves you a little overwhelmed, and you find yourself breaking the kiss out of nervousness. 

"Nat, uh, you, uh, don't have to… 'return the favour,' or whatever. I don't—"

She laughs. It's hardly cruel, but it's obvious she finds your nerves endearing. "Princess—babe—I wouldn't do something I didn't want to. Although my face is a little fucked up," she starts, using the word 'little' very loosely, "I can still use it. And I fully intend to 'return the favour, or whatever.'"

Her gaze softens slightly when she still sees your hesitation, and she gently brushes a strand of hair that got stuck to your forehead behind your ear. "You okay?"

"Yeah," you whisper, voice barely audible. So, you clear your throat and try again. "Yeah, uh, I'm good. Just… nervous."

"That's okay." Her hands gently massage your thighs, "I'll take care of you, yeah? Stop me if it gets too much. I won't be, like, offended, or whatever." She waves a dismissive hand before pressing kisses to your lower stomach.

Her words and actions settle over you, and you find yourself nodding despite the nervous fluttering in your gut. You trust her—for better or worse—and that's enough to keep you from spiralling for now.

Nat, far more sure in her actions than you were, hooks her fingers in the waistband of your underwear, tugging them down your legs and pressing kisses along the skin as she goes. Her touch is slow and careful, almost reverent, and it genuinely makes you feel safe. It's a weird feeling, sure, to feel safe around Natalie Scatorccio, of all people, but you wouldn't trade that feeling for anything.

Her breath ghosts over you, and you can't help the soft gasp that escapes as she starts pressing kisses up your inner thighs, then immediately running her tongue flat against your center. 

"Natalie—" you gasp, hands finding purchase in her hair. She hums in response, the sound vibrating against you and making you arch into her touch. When your thighs move to close in around her head, she growls—a sensation that feels as delicious as the hum did—and holds them to the bed.

She doesn't stop until you're trembling, breathing harshly, and your voice becomes a broken mix of gasps and whimpers. When you finally come undone, it's with her name on your lips, your body going taut before collapsing against the mattress. By far, it's a significantly better orgasm than anyone you've ever had on your own. Either you haven't been doing something right, Natalie just knows what she's doing, or it's just better with a partner. Whatever the reason, you feel good.

Nat presses a few soft kisses to your thighs as you come down from that high, her touch gentle and soothing. She climbs back up beside you, her grin equally smug and affectionate as she brushes your hair away from your face.

"So? You good, Princess?" she asks, her voice soft but teasing. 

You nod, though your words come out a little garbled from the intensity of it. "Good. Yeah. Good. Just… uh… yeah. Good."

She laughs gently, leaning down to kiss the corner of your mouth. "Good."

After a moment of stillness, she pushes herself off the bed, scanning the room before grabbing a random shirt off the floor. "Hope you didn't plan on wearing this shirt anytime soon." She uses it to gently clean you up, murmuring some soft reassurances as you try to squirm away from the overstimulation. Once you're taken care of (and, surprisingly, with much more care than you thought was possible from Natalie Scatorccio), she tosses the shirt aside and grabs a cup from your nightstand with some water in it, offering it to you.

"Drink," she says simply, clearly unwilling to take no for an answer. Once you drink, she finishes the water, murmuring something about 'stale-ass nightstand water,' then settles back beside you.

Once she settles down, her head finds its way to your chest like it's been there a million times before, and she sighs softly as her arm drapes over your waist. Her head tucks itself under your chin, and she kisses your neck softly before yanking the duvet up around both of you. 

This, you decide, is something you could get used to.

a/n: remember when i said it's all downhill from here? <3 also I would apologize for the foreplay being as long as it was but I'm really not sorry. teehee (also lowkey i wrote half of this late at night... if u see spelling errors... pls tell me ajhgbauyhdghbuyag)

tag: @we1rdth0ughts @theprismyyy

[hyukascampfire]

TO: SOMEONE FROM A WARM CLIMATE ... ❨ O6 ❩ ⸺ 𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦, 𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴

𝓘N WHICH 𝗁𝗎𝗋𝗍 𝖿𝗂𝗓𝗓𝗅𝖾𝗌 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗅𝗂𝗇𝖾𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾. "𝗂𝗍 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗆𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝗏𝖾 𝖺𝗅𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗒 𝖽𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗂 𝖺𝗆 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗆𝖾, 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾𝗇'𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎?" 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗎𝗆𝖻𝗅𝖾𝗌 𝗎𝗉 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝖾𝖺𝗍, 𝗍𝗈𝗐𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺 𝖼𝗎𝗋𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗅𝗂𝗉. "𝗌𝖺𝗒 𝗂𝗍," 𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗅𝗅𝖾𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗌. "say what i am."

faerie!𝗍𝖺𝖾𝗁𝗒𝗎𝗇 ╱ faerie!𝗒𝖾𝗈𝗇𝗃𝗎𝗇 · ƒ ! r 15k 𝖿𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖺𝗌𝗒 ⸺ smut, angst, unprotected sex, mentions of past trauma, kissing scars, yandere themes, oral f rec, overstimulation, cumming on belly, power play, jealousy and possessiveness ｡ ( playlist )

← rꫀׁׅܻblogs & asks arꫀׁׅܻ always apprꫀׁׅܻciatꫀׁׅܻd! ♡(ᗒᗣᗕ )՞ →

🪶 ⦂ look what's finally out. i almost shed a tear formatting this post. i've missed this series so much. hehe. did i shed a few real tears over this? yes. i know that this part is shorter, and i did cut some stuff out, but i think that it packs the biggest punch. things HAPPEN. there is no meandering here.

“Tomorrow?” Beomgyu says. He’s laid with his shoulder pressed to yours, watching the ceiling the same lazy way you do.

Tomorrow. Leave it to Taehyun to spring stuff on you. Just when this place started feeling like home, here you go packing. You suppose you could stay here with Beomgyu and stick your head in the sand, but what good would that do you? You can’t pretend that the world will stop moving around you if you do. It won’t. Ancient powers will still be toeing at war, and Taehyun will still be general, and you will still be too near to the center of it all than you ought to be. They are indelible truths, so whatever. You’ll go to that war camp with him, if it’s for the best. 

For tonight, though, you’ll enjoy Beomgyu’s presence. You almost want to ask him to come with you, but to the kelpie, being dragged into some meandering court war is worse than being left here by himself. Truly, he’ll probably be here thriving by his lonesome. Kelpie is as kelpie does.

You echo the word with a sigh. “Tomorrow.”

He turns to you, mischief sparkling in his mud eyes. Even without words, you know exactly what that look’s supposed to be saying.

“Don’t even start,” you say, elbowing him. “I was just beginning to think that I might miss you. Of course, you had to remind me of your nagging…” There’s no real bite. You’re never really annoyed, and Beomgyu doesn’t really care to run away. 

Well, he might. You like to think that he’d at least look back twice were he to get the chance to make his grand escape for the treeline. But this conversation is more of a strange, unconventional comfort for the both of you than it is a genuine consideration.

“You’ll miss the nagging most.” He turns props himself up on an elbow. “Will you talk with the grass stalks when you’re there? The Lord isn’t much for words, and you love to hear your own.”

Gasping, you glare. “Are you calling me annoying? That’s not fair coming from you. You love the sound of your own voice more than any faerie I’ve known, and you love the sound of your own voices.”

Of course, Beomgyu takes pride in that. “I do tell a story good. You should love my voice, too.”

He’s awful, but you laugh. He’s right enough. There was a time, when you first brought him here from his forest, that you’d talked to him for so long into the night that your voice went raw. You had never talked so much in your life.

“I guess the grass will have to do.” You interlace your fingers on your belly.

“They are quite humorous.”

“Whatever, liar,” you snort.

“Oh, but they are.” Sitting up, Beomgyu’s snarled hair hangs as he looks down, impish amusement bursting at the seams of his face. “Such a human thing; to think that because you don’t know it, then it can’t be how it is. Everything has something to say, you just don’t hear it.”

Blinking, you look at him. “I guess that’s true,” you say. You’d always known that there was a lot about the world that you didn’t know, but you are reminded of that more than ever these days. Even just in little things like this. “I wonder how it’ll be.”

Beomgyu looks a little bit less playful. “You’ll need to watch yourself. Humans don’t go to faerie war camps. They won’t be glad to have you there. The Lord thinks he’s protecting you, but our world is feeling the unbalance. Not even his mind, as sharp as he thinks it is, can predict what’s unpredictable.”

How terribly ominous is that. “Do you know something I don’t?” you ask, releasing a short breath for a laugh and fiddling with the trim of your pillow that you’d made pretty with gold swirls.

Beomgyu shoots you one of his eerie, knowing grins that leaves you unsure whether you should laugh with him or worry about what it means. 

“What?” you say, giving him a contemptuous frown instead. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You’re reminded of when he’d told you similar things when he’d helped with your geas. You will never be whole again, but you ought to savor what you’ve got left. Perhaps he does it just to mess with you, but you’ll never be sure. That’s the thing about a faerie: the moment you think you’ve understood who they are and what they’ll do, they’re different the next. Capricious and ever-changing, at least to your human mind.

You’d thought you’d known a faerie once. That’s a lesson better taught than learnt.

Or maybe what you have here, in those strange eyes and that fickle smile, is just friendship, and the things he says are just because of what he is. Maybe you’re trying to look at Beomgyu through the same cracked lens that Yeonjun had left you with. You’d been a trusting girl once. Breathing out a sigh, you take a long look at his face. Shouldn’t you let yourself be her again? Isn’t it unfair to assume the worst of him because of what another did?

“It means that I worry for you,” he says, flopping back down beside you. “And that you should be safe. I don’t wish to live in this terrible estate with just the Lord, some servants, and I.”

You blink up at the ceiling, your throat tight for whatever reason. “A lie,” you say. It comes out more as a rueful complaint than the shoddy joke you intended for it to be. It’s hard when you’re not sure whether or not you believe it to be the truth. He’s the one that said he could lie if he wanted to.

His gaze falls on you, old in its weight. “And so, if it is?” he says. His voice is gentle, or perhaps comforting, in a way you weren’t sure he could be. “Would you make yourself sick debating it? Hanging onto every word to discern whether it's a real truth or a faerie truth?”

Instead of speaking when you don’t know what to say, you turn to him and let his words wrap around your bones. 

You would, just as you always have. Out of all the people that’s not fair to, it might just be the most unfair to yourself. You’ll never know for certain, so why torture yourself trying to?

Well, if only it were that easy. If only you could know what someone intends before you give them a tender spot in your chest to leave achingly empty. To leave it bruised and a shriveled, wary husk of its former self. 

“And,” he says, full of humor, “if not you, then who would I bother asking to release me from the bridle’s hold? Not the Lord. He wouldn’t tolerate it. He’d keep me here for an eternity, was it convenient for his own plans.”

No, you don’t think he would. Taehyun hadn’t gotten Beomgyu to serve his menial needs; he hadn’t gotten him for himself. You wonder if you’ve been looking at Taehyun through that same, warped lens you’ve been seeing the rest of the world with. Did you let it bend his image into something untrue?

“Of course,” you say, rolling your eyes. “I was wrong. You are predictable. Maybe I’m with Taehyun on that.”

❆

Cutting through snow up to your calves and with a pack on your back and Taehyun’s silhouette leading the way, it’s impossible to not remember the last time you did this. So much has changed since then, and then so much has stayed unchanged.

It’s been months since you two came north. A lifetime ago. And so much has happened between the both of you, quicksand up to your ears, but you can’t say you know him that much better than you did then. You might even know less now. It’d been cut and clean—he was a dark, impolite man that saw the world down his nose.

Going west, it takes less time for frost and white forest floor to give way to green than it had when you went north. Foliage. Seeing a forest untouched by the cold’s bitter death has you breathing in the air, savoring the way it doesn’t sting your lungs. It’s fresh in a different way.

Once your feet begin to ache, you make a small camp for the night. Camp, meaning a fire made of damp wood off the forest floor that’s reluctant to burn and tree stumps to lean your back against. Good that it’s warmer here.

Taehyun gets some poor small forest animal to roast, and you brought some apples to eat on the way. The gamey tang and the sweetness mesh into something that’s not too awful, considering your circumstances. You sit down by the meek fire, holding your palms out at it. You’re not so far away from home yet that the night doesn’t at least make your bones ache with the chill.

“Did you not know until recently that they’d want you to go to the camp?” you say, trying to warm the air between you in the same way you toast your numb fingers.

With one arm propped up on a bent knee and his apple dangling untouched in his hand, he shakes his head. The fire dances an array of oranges and yellows in his eyes. “I’m their general. It doesn’t matter why I did it; if I don’t play the part, it’ll have been for nothing. If I stayed in my estate, they’d have no use for me.”

So, it was his idea. “Why didn’t you say so earlier?”

Taehyun purses his lips, watching the fire. Thinking about whether or not to say. “I thought it’d upset you,” he says finally after a long moment.

Unsure of what to say to that, you take a pause. Truthfully, you hadn’t expected that—that he thought it would be fine either way, that he hadn’t thought to, that it wasn’t up to him, you might’ve assumed. He was nervous to tell you that he, and by extension you, were going to have to go? He didn’t say it outright. Taehyun never would. But the thought is sweet, in a way. Your lips turn up at the corners, a soft and unexpected smile.

“I guess that’s true,” you say. You would’ve gone either way, though. The fire sizzles and pops as it eats up the wet logs, the little stack falling. “Don’t you worry about the fact that they might find out that you’re not so enthusiastic about the war? To be general?”

“As long as I do their bidding, I don’t think they’ll care what I believe in.” He shrugs. “I play general, they get to have war. If they aren’t coming to our doorstep because we were spies, that’s all I care about.”

You suppose that’s right. Neither of you are looking out to play hero, anyway. Just to survive. The both of you seem to always be doing that together. 

“What are they asking of you?” you say. If they’re moving out into camps, then something must be happening. That was inevitable. 

“The camp is near the King’s castle. Just a little north of it, on a big grass plane. They’re not looking to be sneaky anymore,” he says. “So, it could be anything.”

Nodding, you cozy back up against the tree. You hope it’s not anything too terrible. For his sake.

❆

Taehyun’s not awake by the time you stir, his arms crossed over his chest and his head back on the bark. A few early birds sing back and forth to each other from the boughs of the trees above you. It’s a sound as fresh and clear as the blue dawn sky and the dew that sparkles from the grass.

How sweet it all would be, did the bottom of your spine not pinch from the night spent upright on your ass, and were there not the unignorable muckiness that clings to your skin from a day spent walking. Dusting your palms of dirt where you’d planted them to the ground, you decide to make a trip to the gentle stream that had lulled you to sleep with its rushing last night. A bath in that water would definitely wake you up quick.

You follow the sound of it until it appears from between two trees. It just looks cold, rushing over the mud riverbank a crystal clear color. You kick off your boots and test it, gasping as it bites. You can’t help but smile at yourself—it’s exactly what you need to come out fresh enough to suffer another day of dragging your feet over the ground.

Getting in is like pins and needles. You peel your clothes off and step in up to your hips, your hisses meshing with the sounds of the morning air. Damn it, it’s cold. Ice cold, as it runs down your spine from where you cup it and wet your hair. And when you’ve gone numb to it, you feel the water rushing in between your fingers, scrubbing it over your skin, letting the crystalline coolness make you clean.

Hopefully, they’ll have some way for you to bathe there. The folk don’t need to bathe for hygiene the way you do, and they’d have no reason to bring a luxury like a tub along in that case. It’s a war camp. You wonder in what other ways it’ll be inhospitable for a human.

Maybe you’ll have to find a river, there, too—

Taehyun’s voice startles you. “You didn’t think to at least tell me you were going?” There isn’t any real bite, more like annoyance. 

You freeze, heart kicking into action so hard that you feel it. You thought he’d be asleep for at least until you got back. Covering your chest with your arms, you spin.

“Sorry,” you say, cheeks burning. Why’s this feel so… Well you don’t even know how to put it into words. He’s had his hands all over you, his lips on you, but him catching you like this just is different. Frankly—you’re flustered, aware of each inch of bare skin, water still rolling down your body and your hair laying in wet tendrils,  that he has to pretend he doesn’t see. For your sake.

Or maybe it doesn’t phase him. Your tummy flips. Would that be for the better or worse?

“I thought something happened,” he says. Curt. Short. “You shouldn’t be out alone like this. It leaves you vulnerable.” His eyes stay trained on your face—distinctly, purposefully. It’s almost humorous how stone-faced he is. Almost, if your heart wasn’t pounding in your ears.

“I wanted to clean up.” You shiver, maybe at the soft breeze on your wet skin or maybe at the redness of his ears. “I’ll tell you. Next time.” Please go, so I can put some fucking clothes on, you want to add.

“Yeah. That would be useful.” He thumbs the hilt of his sword. “Finish up and meet me back at camp. We should get going.” Unceremoniously, he turns on his heel and disappears back into the trees, spine straight.

Water falls from you as you step onto land, wringing your hair out. You’re just glad he didn’t insist on closing his eyes and staying as you dress to keep watch. 

Add that to the list of reasons the air becomes suffocating the moment you’re in proximity to him. It seems that the things you leave unsaid and unaddressed, like those words he’d said to you when he kissed you for the second time, the ones that make your spine tingle the more you pretend they didn’t happen, are sometimes heavier than what you do say.

❆

Camp is a scattering of a few tents raised on a grassy stretch, just as Taehyun had said. Their flags willow in the wind, pointed swords strewn out beside straw-stuffed dummies. 

You’re sharing a tent with Taehyun. It’s simple: two beds on opposing sides, trunks for your belongings, and nearly nothing else. You appreciate your bed at home a little more when you plop down into the cushions, but blankets and pillows are better than tree trunks and bark.

Taehyun slips in some time later. It’s dark out behind him as he does, the stars hanging above. 

“It’s certainly functional in here,” you say, running your fingers through nasty tangles in your hair like a comb. “A war camp.”

“We’ve both slept in worse.”

“Yeah, we have,” you snort, but don’t miss the distance in his voice. After a few beats, just watching him lean his sword against the wall, you ask, “Did something happen?”

He breathes out slowly through his nose, eyes caught where he’d just placed his heavy, dutiful sword. “They want to go straight for bloodshed. They thought I’d get here and just march into the fucking palace.”

You open your mouth, bracing your hands on the mattress beside you as if unsure if you want to stand up or gawk at him. “What? Just walk right up? How does that make any sense?” you say. “You said no, right?”

“Yes, I said no.” Taehyun sits on his bed and works on the laces of his boots. “It doesn’t just make no sense. It’s not how war works. Not a faerie war.”

“Were they… okay with that? You telling them no?” He’s not a general that has commanded an army at war—not his father. They know nothing but the fact that Taehyun is the General’s son and that he’s come here pretending that he’s somebody to tell them what they should or shouldn’t be doing. The faerie ego is not sympathetic to that.

He grits his teeth, jaw flickering.

No. Most definitely not. “Why go in with swords? They know that, by hospitality, they’d have to entertain us if we asked to be. A feast, a celebration of nothing, literally anything. And then we could make a quiet move while we’re in there. Battling it out in some field is ridiculous.”

Taehyun blinks. Thoughts turn in his head, visible through his eyes. “That would break the rules of hospitality, though.”

“So, they won’t see it coming. It seems better than just throwing armor on and hoping we can outnumber them. You said that the North couldn’t win this, but isn’t that only if we play by their rules? Of course they’ll do better when it’s the stakes they put up.”

“You’re good at that.”

“Well,” you say, unsure and flustered. “It just makes the most sense. I thought it’d be what you were thinking too.”

He lets his head drop into a laugh. A laugh. You don’t think you’ve ever held on to the sound of someone’s laugh the way you do the soft, mellow sound. 

You linger on the last remnants of his smile, letting its stark contrast with his usual disposition ring through your bones, as he snuffs out the candle and lets a new, uncharted kind of silence fall over the space.

You linger on it as you fall asleep, too. 

❆

The camp becomes more hollow as Taehyun takes up his role. The only time you get to see him now is when he steps into the tent too late in the night. He’s always up earlier than you.

It’s not like you have anything else to do. Other than Taehyun, this place is just an encampment of strange, hard faces and unnerving eyes that watch you as you toil through the days. Eyes that are curious as to why you’re even here. You start to wonder the same, under their scrutiny. It certainly feels like you shouldn’t be. 

You know better than to stick your nose in their business or to try and make friends. Instead, you whittle time down with practicing on the fine, veneered bows and taking your needle to any tattered old fabric you see. 

Today, you snatched one of Taehyun’s simple black tunics to work away at. All you’d brought in your pack when you had stuffed your essentials in there was some black thread. So you stitch blackthorn branches around the cuffs even though nobody would notice unless they cared to look.

You thread and you thread, letting the world blend into nothing as it always does when you work with your hands like this. The sun sinks from its peak, casting golden afternoon warmth onto your skin from in between tents. You focus on that. When you were a girl, you did the same thing with the goldspun threads you had then. It’s one thing you had for yourself.

Only the sound of something different draws your attention enough to drag you away from decorating the cuffs. A familiar sound; melodic and off-kilter in the same way. Something so singular that you’d know it anywhere, no matter if it made sense or not. Faerie music, and not just any faerie music.

Your feet follow the sound until you find him: a flop of golden hair, freckles spackled over his nose, and music floating away from his lute like magic. Because it is magic.

But, why would he be here?

“How come I knew you’d show up right when I was looking for you?” Kai says. He has clover in his hair, of course he does, and wears a faerie smile. “You have such a strange way of finding yourself in the middle of things. Come for a dance?” He plucks a few notes like an invitation.

You can’t disagree with that. Staying put where you are, you say, “What’s a bard got to do in a place like this?”

“A faerie needs music wherever they will go,” he answers, “and none else more than us antsy for a show.” Crisscrossed in the grass, he puts his instrument down for the first time since you’ve known the strange faerie. “It would not be remiss to say that you and I are both here on equally unlikely terms. Who is to say that you are to be here and I am not, or that I am to be, and you are not?”

Beomgyu’s vernacular has made you at least a bit more accustomed to faerie turns of speech, but Kai speaks the wordiest of them all. A taleteller. That was either fully the truth, or a lie disguised somewhere in those long and gossamer words. It has to be at least partly the truth, though, because Kai is sympathetic to the North. 

Or maybe he isn’t. You can’t tell exactly what Kai is, or what he believes in, or if he likes or dislikes you, or if he’s here or there. The only certain thing about him is that you might never know.

“Okay, well,” you say, “I’ll be off then, if we’re playing riddles.”

Kai looks up at you, his brows raised presumptuously. “Why leave when you’ve only just arrived?” he says. “We are two of a kind here. I don’t see why we two can’t be friends. And, oh, do I have something that you ought to see.”

Your interest must show in your face, because he smiles and pats the ground beside him. That could mean a hundred different things, coming from him. You don’t move, eyes narrowed.

“Don’t be wary,” he laughs. It sounds something like bells twinkling in the distance. “What good would it bring me to play tricks on you? You’ll hate to miss what I’ve brought for you.”

Still not entirely convinced, but definitely intrigued, you take a seat on the ground with him, criss-crossing your legs. A gentle breeze tugs your hair one way. It’s a beautiful day. Maybe you should’ve let yourself enjoy it a little.

“Not a trick,” you say, playing with the grass beneath your fingertips. “Then what? I thought you to be the tricksy type.”

The sun gilds his silhouette, making his hair into true gold around the edges. He laughs, nose wrinkling with such joy that you wonder if it really was that funny. “You suffer trust,” he says.

It’s nothing but a flippant, passing remark. Nonetheless, it strikes you deep, because deep down you know it’s the truth. You just hate that it’s so obvious to them and their kind. You hate that everything about you is obvious to them. It’s as though they reach in and flip through your pages, while you’re stuck out here trying to figure it out yourself. Beomgyu had done the same.

The long moment in which you look at him makes him laugh again, shaking his head. “Here. Let me show you.” He reaches into a pocket.

A letter. He produces a letter. You aren’t stupid enough to pretend that it might be from Beomgyu or anybody else. Belly dropping, you know exactly who’s written to you.

“I don’t want it,” you rush out. “Keep it. Send it back to him and tell him I won’t be taking any of his letters.”

You keep telling yourself that you’re past it. Past him. No healed person has to remind themselves that they are, or has to choke down the lump in their throat at a slight reminder as this. It is achingly pathetic.

Kai seems to think so, as well. He furrows his brows. “You don’t want them? Are you not lovers?”

“No, we are not,” you lie. Or, well, it’s the truth, but it’s as venomous as a lie on your tongue. “It doesn’t matter. I wonder why he would send you all the way here just for this.” Now, it’s clear why Kai is here at this camp. 

He grins, because your reaction makes it obvious to anybody looking close enough. “Take it. Read it at least once, and then burn it if you must. I can’t leave this place until you have it.”

That doesn’t sound so awful. Tentatively, you accept it into your hands.

Kai, in a different tone of voice than before, points at the little patch of clover that you wouldn’t be wrong to assume he stole the ones in his hair from. A four leaf clover stands proud in the center of them. “Luck, it seems,” he says, “has its own say.”

What that means, you don’t know. You take his letter and burn it in a candle flame, watching the words float up in curls of wispy smoke. Not for anger, but because you know better than to do this again. You know yourself and how much you love his sweet words too much to even allow yourself to read them first.

And over the weeks the next came and then the next. You burnt those ones too. Seeing Kai becomes your routine, stepping out into fresh air to go sit with him wherever it is. A damp patch of grass, on a fallen log out in the edge of the forest, in between two tents. He’s somebody to talk to, and goodness are you hungry for that. He’ll play old songs for you, telling you stories in which you are even less sure whether or not they’re bolstered with dramatics than Beomgyu’s.

Goodness, you miss that horse. You ask Kai to take something to him for you, since he’s coming in and out anyway. The letter you get back makes you laugh out loud. In jagged, unsightly lines, he scrawled back, sending letters now, are we?  You’re just surprised he knows how to write, honestly. Would it be a cruel joke to write back and say, you’re free? Would that even work over ink? It seems that you’ll be here forever, with the way things are going now. The long haul. Taehyun wouldn’t even know Beomgyu was gone until you got back.

Nonetheless, you are certain he’s content there by himself, though it isn’t the loch he wishes it would be. 

There’s always something happening here, and you live just on the outskirts of it. You’re not sure what. Taehyun doesn’t come to tell you about it, but from what you’ve pried at Kai over, you know that things aren’t going well. You figured as much, what with the quietness that Taehyun returns with every night, the weight of responsibility heavy on his shoulders, and the way his face has become sharper.

The weight of a leader that he will shoulder, because he believes it to be his duty.

❆

For the first time in a while, Taehyun comes back at an hour that you’re not opening one heavy eye to watch him through. Kicking the blankets off your legs, you sit up and watch him peel his doublet over his head, the one with the Blackthorn crest in silver.

And then he takes his tunic off, and there is his back, bared to your eyes. Your stomach erupts with violent butterflies. His muscles move under his skin, precise and powerful, the movement of him throwing the fabric elsewhere showing them off beneath each jagged old wound. At the top, in his shoulder blade, is one that you recognize. 

“That looks better than when I last saw it,” you say, voice gentle with sleepiness. 

Taehyun pauses, looking over his shoulder. “I thought you were asleep. I’m sorry.” 

Tension; tension as thick as smoke in the air between you. It’s been that way for a while now. Suffocating.

“No, it’s okay.” You purse your lips. “I haven’t gotten to talk with you much. I stayed up a bit later.” The fact that it insinuates that you’ve been waiting to speak with him, you don’t address. You sleep in the same little space every night. It’s hard not to want that. 

Sitting on his bed, elbows braced on his knees and his hands clasped, he looks at you for a long moment. “Is that so?” he says. “I didn’t know.”

How could he know? It’s not like the two of you have ever been the way you and Beomgyu had. The way you and Yeonjun had. There’s always been this exact indescribable tension underlying it all between you. Something you are desperate to understand, but in the same way, deeply frightened to. 

Crossing the room, you sit beside him. “I know you’re busy,” you say, filling the candle-lit air with words. “The stitches. They helped? It doesn’t look so bad.” You lie. It’s a gnarly scar, still red and tender, but no longer an open wound. For some reason, though you don’t think another scar would bother him too much, you don’t want him to know that it’s unsightly. It’s not what he deserves to hear. He got that one carrying your poisoned self when he didn’t need to. 

There are a lot of things he did for you that he didn’t need to, and you struggle to grapple with why he did. Why he left behind a spy’s golden trove of information as if those years of his life meant nothing. Why he did a number of the things he did, when it made no sense for him to. Taehyun isn’t one who will do the kinder thing over the rational thing. So, then, why?

“They did,” he hums, his voice low. “It healed up fine. Thank you.”

There’s a few long beats of silence. You’re looking at his back, curved forward into a bend, and you blurt it. You curse yourself even as it's coming out, because it’s a ridiculous thing to ask, really.

“Can I…?” you say, a soft thing that trails off toward the end. Bringing your palm up, you hover it just over his back. 

Taehyun tenses up, but he doesn’t object.

His skin is everything that a living thing’s should not be, under your palm. Cold; bitterly so, and each long, marred line is a groove under the pads of your fingertips. His back is torn up, and then smooth muscle where it isn’t. It makes your stomach sick.

“Are these… all from him?”

The timbred rumble of his voice reverberates through your palm. “No. Not all of them.” You run your fingers over a vicious, sideways scar. Something once festering and visceral, but his skin mended into something whole once more. That jagged mark will never leave, though. “But some are.”

His voice is distant and tight. You know it’s that he thinks speaking of it is pitying himself, when he survived it already. He doesn’t see it how you do—how much it’s clear that those still bother him. Your heart clenches in your chest, but you hold back all the things brimming on your tongue. You don’t want him to think you pity him.

“How did you get that one?”

He surprises you by answering. “The day I learned I was strong enough to fight him.”

Your hand freezes on his back. You knew each had a story, but hearing them is different. “What happened?” you ask, gentle but prodding. You wonder which parts of him were built by that man, and which still remind him of it.

“It doesn’t matter now,” Taehyun says. His voice is terse; walls beginning to draw back up. 

“No, it doesn’t.” You thumb the scar he got with you, and then so very slowly, you press a soft kiss to just beside it . Your breath puffs out from your nose, warmth over the frigidity of him. 

Taehyun shudders. His heart thumps in his chest—you can hear it, up this close. An unsteady rhythm, frantic against his ribcage. When he sits up and turns to look at you, his eyes are something different. Somewhere between intense, frightened, or unsure.

Your heart mimics his. With your voice soft, you say, “I’m sorry for that one.”

Where he had walked in here a war general with hard eyes and his jaw tight, the man you see now is one who hasn’t ever known a gentle touch, who hardened himself so that he couldn’t. And yet—like a frightened, unsure animal, he lets you in just enough to know that you won’t balk at his unsightliness. Beyond just his torn-up body. That doesn’t bother you, beyond the heaviness knowing what he was made to survive leaves you. Rather, down to what he is at his very core.

❆

 Most of what you know about what’s happening comes from Kai. Not that Kai has ever shown animosity toward you—with time, you’ve come to at least enjoy listening to him playing for hours. You wish Taehyun would come to you to talk about it. Wish that he felt like he could. 

What is this, between you? Is it trust, or not? You don’t know. You don’t even know how you feel, let alone even beginning to know how he does. But with this, shouldering it all himself, it looks like maybe he doesn’t. And, then again, his favorite tunic to wear for weeks has been the one that you made pretty. The threading that only he and you would know was there. Small gestures, and whatever they mean from him.

The sentiment toward Taehyun, with the faeries here, and you’re sure back home in the North, is starting to sour toward him. His moves have all fallen apart, ended up with us worse than we started off with. You keep a distance between yourself and all of that—but even you know what’ll happen if that trend keeps up. What use is a general that will lead you into loss? They’ll rid themselves of him. 

Worse. You choose not to think about that, or the dark pit it leaves in your stomach.

It makes no sense at all. Taehyun is capable and intelligent—he doesn’t do anything without considering it. If anybody in this world was to succeed in something like this, it’s him. But suddenly he is not, and you watch it weigh on him. 

And then, there’s Yeonjun. His sending letters tells you he’s at least okay. You might make peace with receiving and burning them forever, did you still not wonder about him, or ache for somebody to hold some nights. There had been a time in your life when you had never known what it was to hold or to be held, and still you lived. A bitter part of you wishes you never did. It’s like what Beomgyu had said: You’ve only got so much of yourself. Each time you fill yourself up with our magic, you lose that space. You will never be whole again

You will never be whole again. Yeonjun’s love was magic in its own right, even if it wasn’t really. It sometimes seems like it’s a hollow, empty spot inside of you where he sat. But that’s not right. It’s that he is still there, and always will be, and you feel as much when you try and pretend otherwise. So now you are to live forever as if you didn’t know him, didn’t love him, and it aches. You cannot pretend it doesn’t.

So, sometimes, you consider whether or not it’s better to live without him forever or to forget yourself and indulge. It’s not like he ever was a pure evil. Hardly that. But when you get to thinking about how sweet he’d been, how much you enjoyed it, you remind yourself of what he did, who he’s left you as. For the better. For the better.

You worry that he really will make good on what he wrote in those letters. Regardless of what he sends you now, you choose not to look. Losing you was fresh, then. Yeonjun is not nonsensical, just hurt. You tell yourself that, anyway. 

Taehyun’s in your tent before you even are tonight, slipping in after a long evening of Kai trying to teach you the lute. As handy as you are, music seems to be out of the question. You don’t just spend time with him on days where he comes with letters—it’s most of your days, now. It’s easier that way.

His shoulders are rigid. He sits, so still and lost in thought. Sword still on his hip and still dressed down to his boots, he probably hasn’t moved since he sat there. It’s not hard to imagine what it is.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, ruffling through your trunk for something to make a snack out of. “Do they still not trust you?”

Taehyun scoffs. “They don’t just not trust me. They want me out. Not all of them, but the loud ones. They think that I’m doing it on purpose.” Laughing with a caustic edge, he shakes his head and looks at you. “I wish I was.” After a moment, he adds, “How did you know?”

“Kai said as much,” you say. Forget eating. 

A look of something akin to realization flashes over his eyes, and then he nods. “Of course. Of course.”

“...What?” you say, knitting your brows. 

“Somebody’s been telling my people that I’m a traitor. Somebody’s been making sure that each and every one of my moves goes down in flames. Somebody was sent here to do a prince’s bidding and give you his letters.”

Pausing, you frown. You didn’t think that Taehyun knew about those, but you also think that he’s just pieced that together himself. “But I’ve been with him most days,” you say. You were today, and then just the day before. “He wouldn’t have been able to.”

Jaw working, Taehyun trains his eyes on you. “Does that mean you were with him always? And that doesn’t mean that he dirtied his own hands.” He pauses, softening his tone the littlest bit. “You don’t know him as well as you think you do.”

You know that. Goodness, do you know that. You might say that he’s just avoiding considering the fact that it could be that his moves have failed, but that’s not Taehyun. If it were that, it wouldn’t bother him like this. He’d try a new approach, find a way, because he is utterly capable. That’s the problem, and why he’s come to this conclusion. Because he already knows that it’s the truth. 

“Then, should we do something that couldn’t be sabotaged?”

He waits for you to elaborate with interest shining in his dark eyes. 

Flushing, you’re reminded of the last time he trusted you enough to follow your lead, and how it ended for you. Still, he looks ready to do it again. You take a gnaw at your lip before saying, “We could do something. Us, if they’re just gonna mess it up when you send others. That way we know that it gets done, and they’ll see that it’s not your fault. They’ll trust you again, even if someone’s running their mouth.”

Taehyun thinks about that for a few moments. The silence as he does reminds you again of what you stand to lose if it went sideways. “They’re not as easy to convince as that. Not if somebody’s still in their ears, and if they’ve already decided that I’m not who they want leading their army.” A beat. “But, better that than letting it happen.”

You let out a long sigh, settling down opposite of him on his bed. Letting the silence stir between you with only your eyes speaking for a few moments, you say, “You think it’s him?” Not Kai—Yeonjun. At least, the one who would want this.

“I know it is.” His face goes hard, a sharpness you’re familiar with. “And you cozied right up with his messenger. It’s ironic.”

Gritting your teeth, you shoot back, “That’s not fair.”

Taehyun doesn’t answer you. His eyes burn with something beyond anger—an expression that you can just barely name hurt. You hold back the reflexive scoff that begs to come tumbling out like an old habit. Back to this. Searching his face, you try to find what, exactly, has him looking at you like that.

“Don’t do that,” you say. The emotion that comes out with it, straining the words, surprises you. “You’re just… shutting me out again. I thought you…” You don’t finish your sentence, but the air carries the meaning along for you. I thought you would let me in.

He doesn’t answer, but there’s a flash of something over his face. A wince. Like he wants to say something, but he can’t let himself.

“Why do you do that?” you say. Your blood roars to life in your veins, and you find your mouth straining under the weight of words you’ve wanted to say, just like it has for so long. And then it buckles. “To be honest with you, Taehyun, nothing you do makes any sense. One minute, you’re looking at me so cold that it looks like I mean nothing to you, and then another you’re… You’re saying stuff that I don’t understand. One second you won’t even speak to me, and then you’re leaving behind your life because I wanted to stay with Yeonjun. Why? Why would you do that? Why didn’t you go back and tell them I was a traitor kissing their prince? Why didn’t you get me killed? You make me think…” Your voice cracks despite you, but you don’t care if it makes him see you weak. “ It’s not fair.”

The tent falls silent, the air a thousand pounds, each beat sounding like you’ve said it now. Chills erupt over your arms, and you can take none of them back, so no matter what, you will at least finally know. Finally. Your  stomach is done so tight up in knots.

“Because I never cared about being a spy,” he says, face dropped. “Or about being general, or being Lord of an estate, or about what people thought of me either way, or about any King or Queen or wars.”

Reeling, you breathe. The slow sound of it fills the room, but the pounding of your heart in your ears roars over it. That makes no sense at all. Your mind buzzes. 

 “Why did you do any of it, then, Taehyun? What do you care about?”

His throat works. Those cold eyes have something tender in them, but not a gentle tender. Tender like an old wound that he’s long since licked clean himself, that he hates to poke and examine out loud. Despite it, he tells you. Just for you, because you tend to always need him to do so. 

“Nothing. I cared for nothing.” He’s rigid, so out of place, sat in front of you. “So I gave myself purposes.”

That word, cared, puts in context so much that you have to blink and make your head stop spinning just so that you can catch a solid thought. He cared for nothing. You have had Taehyun wrong in your head down to a ridiculous, fundamental level. Taehyun didn’t become who he is because that’s what he wanted. He was a ghost, a shell left hollowed out, floating between duties that he assigned himself just to survive, like becoming a spy, or whatever else he did. He had no goal, no place he cared to call home. Never want or let himself want anything—froze himself from the inside out to ensure it.

Cared, as if he found something to care for. Your mouth dries up, belly doing flips. Because, of course he didn’t care about leaving behind his life to follow you wherever you went, when he has been cold for so long, and he felt something. Of course he went to any lengths, no matter how unsure his motivation seemed to you then, to keep you safe. Of course he tried to mold himself into Yeonjun’s shape, as unbending and unmoldable as he is, because he felt that whatever hollowness he saw inside himself, you would not want. He knew that he was pushing you away because he doesn’t know how to nurture something like that, so he tried to veneer himself with bits of the man you were so enraptured with. Filled that hollowness up with something he thought would make you look his way—but of course he’d never say it. He couldn’t make himself, no matter how much he wanted it. Because that is who Taehyun is: a contradiction of himself.

All those time’s he’d frozen up and lashed out at you, because it was fucking killing him. Seeing you with Yeonjun. You had thought moments ago that it was Yeonjun who was the one with a bottomless sea of wants. Well, where Yeonjun wants, Taehyun needs. He will have you, because somebody who has only ever let themselves want something once is not going to just let it go.

What could you even say to that? How could you digest the bigness of it? Instead of trying, you go utterly still and wide-eyed in front of him. 

He wanted something to trust. Searching his eyes, the ones that have gotten even more wildly tender in your silence, you determine that. Taehyun had nothing and nobody, not his father, not his killed mother, not a single one of his own kind in this world, to trust.

You, hands curled into the fabric of your clothes, breath fully for the first time in a while. You think you know the feeling. You think that you have become intimately familiar with the severe lack of it. That much, you can offer him.

The words fall from your mouth floaty and ethereal. Something unreal in the orange, all-too-real glow of the space. “I understand.”

About all the things that just came crashing over your head like ice water, or about the yearning for trust, you’re not sure. Either way, you do.

❆

Crouched behind some bushes, your knees dig into the mud. In front of you, the High King’s palace stands proud, briars crawling up its walls and strange, unpredictable windows here and there. It looks more like a festival hall than a palace.

Taehyun decided that doing something, just the two of you, like you had said, was best. It’s reminiscent of where you began. The two of you, spies again. In a way.

It’s nostalgic, but then it’s also so… new. The air between you, charged with new energy, but energy that grips you all the same. So many questions were answered, but so many cropped up to fill their absence.

But this feels lighter. You can’t discern why, when it fully should leave your spine tingling. The gravity of what he feels for you should tug you straight down to the earth with the force of it. It doesn’t. Turning to where he crouches beside you, you eye the lines of his profile. Your heart does a little jump.

“Now?” you say.

“A minute. We have to wait for the watch to change.” He tilts his head up in a point gesture toward the massive door at the main entrance.

“Or, we could go in another way. I’m sure they have other doors. How can we just walk right in?”

“There could be a door in through the servant’s quarters, but…” he says, eyes flicking over to you.

“That sounds like it would be better, though. Easier.” The hall is massive—you don’t doubt they use servants to make it run.

Running a thumb over the bottom of his sword at his hip, a little thing you noticed he does, Taehyun falters. “They keep human servants,” he says.

Like Soobin. Glamoured to be brainless hands, floating like spirits around the halls to fulfill their assigned purpose. You eye its walls and think of how easily you could’ve found yourself there. Some fates are fairer than others. You wish you knew why. 

“We’ll wait until we see those watchmen leave. Then we can slip in.” He says it as fact. “We’ll search rooms. It’s not much, but we could use leverage. Anything.”

You nod slowly, and then turn to watch through the gaps in the leaves.

The watch does change, as Taehyun has said. You slip in silently, and nobody stops you. If it’s so easy to make your way into here, maybe war with them wouldn’t be so unimaginable. Your eyes dart everywhere as you do. It couldn’t really be that easy.

But it is. You split off from Taehyun. At the center, there’s an opening hall where feasts must be held. You imagine how many of those have happened there, and how many of the kinds of stories Kai tells you might’ve started right beneath that high ceiling. You don’t linger long enough for anybody to find you, but you do take in the look of the walls and imagine how Yeonjun would’ve done the same years ago. His home.

You peek your head into a number of rooms. None look like anything important, but you dip in to scan them just in case. Not counting the guards, you haven’t seen a soul. Empty; each room, empty. With how alive Court had been in the north, this is starkly not that. A dead palace. How strange, considering that the North is known for its bitterness and unwelcoming nature, and this place the opposite. It doesn’t feel that way.

You come to a room that gives you pause. It’s decorated not too differently from the rest, a bedroom as opposed to studies and other sorts of rooms, bathed in crushed velvet greens. The floor is littered with a strange array of things, surfaces dusted. It’s even more vacant than the rest of the hall, left untouched by whoever called it theirs once.

And, it’s familiar. You just get this achy, tingling feeling in your core. Bending down, you blow dust off some paint. It’s bright and colorful in ways only something from the human world is. Reds, blue, yellow, a rainbow in a little palette of dried up colors. A few unfinished, amateurish canvases lean against a wooden dresser. Decks of cards, none like any from here, scatter over the wood panelling. 

Yeonjun always did like keeping human things. Dragging in a long, deep breath, you try and see if you can catch the woody, warm scent of him, left lingering here where he no doubt spent so much time. Nothing but the musk of an empty, dusty room meets you.

Picking up a leatherbound book from the blanket, you sit and pull it open. It creaks like old leather. The pages are moth-bitten and most are blank.

In an elegant hand, you find a written page. That handwriting. You loose a steadying breath. 

It reads, They say I’d only make some stupid order that all humans would be free from our people, were I King. Would that really be so terrible? 

You wet your lips. It’s some letter that never ended up with whoever he intended it for. Seeing that he did, in fact, live a wholly different life is strange. He left it behind for reasons that you know—he hated this place. Still, seeing it all confirmed. In front of your face. The rebellion must mean a lot to him. It seems, reading these little bits left behind, that he had his reasons. And obviously, he did. Nobody leaves behind their life for no reason. The time he spent in the human world changed him. Or, it magnified what had always been there: a soft spot.

Footsteps come for the door. You snap the book shut, but the door’s already opening.

“Hey,” Taehyun says. 

Clinging to the leather, you let yourself breathe. “Hey,” you echo.

“You’re not great at being quiet,” he says, lips tilting up to one side in something that you could call almost playful. “You’re lucky that there’s nobody here. Anybody with my ears would’ve known you were in here.”

You figured as much. “Why, though? Where are they?”

“I don’t know where.” His gaze flickers around the room before landing back on you. “They have never left this hall. I thought that they would’ve just sat in here and let us right in before ever leaving.”

“Eerie…” you hum, hopping off the bed. 

“Yeah.” Thoughts swirl behind those eyes. “They were smart enough not to leave anything, either. I found nothing.”

Looking down at the book you clutch to your chest, you purse your lips. Neither had you, but no part of you wants to leave this to be gnawed on some more. So, you don’t.

❆

Pulling back the bowstring comes easier now. It creaks, your arms aching. But you release your breath in a slow, measured puff, eyes finding the center of a straw bullseye a hundred yards down.

You let it fly. It cuts the air straight and makes its mark a little left of dead center. Always a little left… You huff, arms aching. Kai plays a song that faded into background noise thirty minutes ago.

“You shoot well,” Kai says. You can hear the smile in his voice. “You taught yourself?”

Shooting him a glance, you shake your head.

“Then, the General taught you himself,” he deducts. “An interesting thing.”

“I guess. A lot of things are interesting. Like how you play music the way you do.” A deflection, more than anything.

Kai pats the face of his lute. “You’ve learned how to speak like us, though you can lie. That, of all things, is interesting. You’ve spent more time around our kind than most. Tell me, what have you learned?”

He’s no doubt collecting a story he thinks he can make into a song. A storyteller like him is always listening and watching for another. That’s one way to be immortalized in this world. “I have no reason to lie,” you say, tinted with a laugh.

“Don’t you?” he says, playful eyes watching you. 

“Don’t I?” Forget your bow—you toss it elsewhere. “Am I the one with a reason to lie?”

Cocking his head to the side, his mouth splits into a grin. Many of the folk are glad for animosity; Kai seems to be the type. He knows exactly what you mean. “You have a lot to say. I’d like to hear it.”

You do. But where do you start? Instead of asking him something that beats around the bush, something he could find a loophole in, you’ll ask him plainly. That’s a start. “Why are you trying to sabotage us? Is it because of Yeonjun? Did he ask you to?”

“He did,” Kai answers, without any flounce or fakery. Straight up. It shocks you. It shouldn’t be that easy. He could’ve just as well not answered. That might’ve been as much an answer as saying it outright, though. “Does that make you hate him?”

Freezing in place, your mouth doesn’t move to say yes. You don’t know how to answer that. You wish you did. Instead, you say, “What does he think he’s achieving? What if they find out that he’s sneaking around? It’s stupid.”

“It is,” Kai hums. The day is overcast, but his colors aren’t dulled by the grey sky. “When the prince feels, he feels it true. He makes his mind, and then he lives for it.” The way his eyes meet yours strikes you. Full of meaning. “What, then, would he change his mind on something like a purpose he believed as he did that one for?”

“I’m asking you,” you say. Yeonjun feels deeply and unapologetically, you are already intimately aware of that. From the moment he told you that his initial purpose was to identify and have you as spies killed, you have wondered how deeply he stood for the cause. That’s another thing that’s troubled you for the fact that you can’t make peace with it.

Well, since he’s here in front of you, it’s best to just ask.

“Did Yeonjun love me? Really love me?”

“He did, but I believe you know that already. That’s not what you really wonder.”

You hate that he knows. Gritting your teeth, you nod.

“You interest me, so I’ll give you this. The prince has never cared to become a king. A soft-hearted, joke of an heir. So, then, why would he have rebelled against his father if not to have his spot? Because he had one purpose, after living among your kind. The prince could never stand the way we treat you. That was enough for him to leave his home and try to change it.”

Yeonjun’s book still sits somewhere in your trunk. That lines up with what you had read. 

“The prince cares for you,” he says. “More than even that. Enough to forget what else he did. Enough to forget anything else.”

There that is again. Why does it even matter to Kai? “I’m sure he said the same plenty of times before,” you say. Bitterness, as a habit. “I don’t understand why you do what he says. What’s in it for you, if he has me back? I don’t see what you gain.” Kai, who lived always between here and there.

“He’s an old friend,” he answers. “And I know what it is to love a human. That’s all.”

You purse your lips. He was a part of the rebellion as well. As mysterious as he is, of course Kai has his own reasons. 

“Tell him that, if he does love me, then he’d stop. It’s past the point where we can go back to what it was.”

“I know that what happened hurt you, but I don’t think you really believe that.” 

He says it so matter-of-factly, so airily, that it doesn’t even annoy you. Your ears go hot with defensiveness. “You don’t know me. How would you know that?”

Shrugging, he says, “It doesn’t matter what I say. But you have a few decisions you need to make for yourself. Not for what you should do, but whatever it is that you want.”

“And, what? I should decide to run back to him? Because that’s what you want, and he wants, so that’s what I should want too?” Your knuckles bleach white. “I don’t trust him. I can’t trust a word you or him say.”

“Why? Because he was scared to tell you, but still, he did because you deserved to know?”

Shaking your head, you say, “Does he pity himself? If he was as selfless as you want me to believe, he would’ve left it at that. But he didn’t. You’re here, aren’t you? That’s proof enough.”

“I’m hardly trying to say that he’s selfless. He is selfish. But it’s distorted to pretend that he’d hurt you.”

“What do you know?” you say, scoffing with pure acid. His eyes watch you as you go, but he doesn’t call after you.

Your nails make crescents in your palms, but you dig them in harder so that you feel that, rather than the aching like a poked bruise you thought had healed. His words ring disturbingly true regardless.

❆

Even though it seems that Taehyun is under more stress now than he ever was before, something has changed between you. Something unspoken.

It’s not as if he’s become talkative. But in some quiet moments, you catch him for long enough to have quiet, meaningless conversations with him into the night. And the nights where you get those dreams, he doesn’t mind you taking a spot in his bed to talk yourself out of it. He surely misses out on sleep for it, and as busy as he is, he surely needs it, but he never complains. Just listens to you ramble until you’re too tired to worry that you’ll close your eyes and find something frightening behind them.

He’s awkward. Terribly awkward about it. Sometimes he doesn’t know what to say, so he just stares at you. You imagine that he’s piecing together his speech in his head. It’s endearing in a way that has your heart clenching in your chest. He understands so much of the world so deeply, the darkest corners of it, but letting someone close? Speaking just to speak? It’s as though he’s trying to teach himself when he’s around you.

Orange flickers over the planes of his face. He watches you, his arms crossed over his chest, like he usually does.

“Taehyun?” you say, hair unkempt and your eyes sleepy. He doesn’t seem to care. “Can I ask you something?”

He hums.

Ever since he whispered it into your ear, that unintelligible word, you’ve been viciously curious. Chills erupt over your skin at the memory. Him behind you, the pads of his fingers on your skin, the heat of his breath. And, whatever it had meant, it crackled like magic in the air. Something different. 

“That one day, you said a word that I couldn’t understand. What did it mean?”

Tongue darting out to wet his lips, he shifts. “My real name.”

You freeze, mouth dropping open as though to scoff and laugh it off. But his face is bare of humor. That can’t be right. Having a faerie’s real name is as good as them handing their life over to you. They don’t just hand them over like that. Most will spend their entire life holding it viciously to their chest, and for good reason. Anything you said or commanded, he would have to do. The way Beomgyu’s face had morphed when Taehyun commanded him to do anything—something like that. Anyone with a faeries name could tell them to crawl in the dirt and then take a dagger to cut their tongues out, and they would. They would. 

And, Taehyun, of all of them? It doesn’t seem logical for him to give that to you. For a man so adept at surviving, it’s out of order. “What?” you say, voice peaking. “Why?”

As if it were the most obvious thing in the world, he says flatly, “Because I trust you with it.”

Your chest tightens. What a heavy, unbelievable thing to hold: somebody’s life in your hands, and to know that without a doubt that you will nurture it. His life, with which he did not care for so long about. You understand the gravity of that.

“I could hurt you with it,” you say. You can’t breathe, the air sucked from the room. “Aren’t you worried about that?”

“Then do it.” His jaw flickers. “Hurt me with it.”

How can he just say that? “No—why would I? I won’t ever. I won’t ever even use it. I promise you.”

“It’s yours.” He shrugs. “Use it how you want.”

The words slither up your spine, tickling the back of your skull. Oh. “I don’t even remember how to say it.” Could you? The vivid memory plays out, and it’s as incoherent to you as it had been then.

In a low, breathy voice, he repeats it. The hair on your arms stands up.

It takes you a few tries before you finally manage to get something close to it to come from your mouth. The dimple in his cheek peeks out with each attempt. But when you do get it, his eyes darken.

“There,” he says, nodding once. “Say it again.”

You do. The air crackles and comes alive.

“Do you feel it?”

“Yeah,” you say. “It feels like when I ate Lachrymose.” Tastes like it, too.

He frowns. “When did you?”

The knee-jerk reaction is to lie and say that it was something that happened when you were little. But you’re trying to tell less of those. “There was this time that he took me to a market. I had to have some to even see it.”

Taehyun’s jaw ticks, shadows flickering, but he doesn’t comment on it. “I had a feeling you were off doing dumb stuff.” It’s terse, but not mean. You might even call it an attempt at humor.

Snorting, you cross your arms. “You can’t pretend I’m the mysterious one.”

“Mysterious?” he says, arching his brows.

“Yes, mysterious. What do I know about you? I guess I know that you were a spy, but that doesn’t count.”

“That’s because there isn’t much to know.” His voice goes distant like it always does when he’s thinking.

Even if he had lived a phantom life, everybody has a history. “That’s not true. I’ve never been more curious about anybody’s past than I am yours.”

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“Sorry? For what?”

“That I don’t have anything to tell you.”

A life like that must’ve been awful. Your heart aches for him. Going from one place to another, unsure why you are or what you want or what your purpose is. “Was it lonely?” you ask.

Hair brushes his eyes as he moves. They look softer under this light—not soft, but softer. “It was all I knew. It couldn’t have been lonely.”

But, he felt the lack. Whether he calls it loneliness or not, he knew he was carved out by something. Isn’t that loneliness?

“Did you like being a spy?” Did it hurt you to leave it behind, you want to add. 

“No more than for the fact it was something I was good at. I’m good with swords and metal, and not much else. It was a start.”

You nod, smiling gently, “I’m not good for much else than sewing.”

The air sits still between you, a calming presence that wraps you up in its arms. At ease, safe, like you usually feel with him.

You talk until your throat’s sore. Youdon’t even realize dawn has come until he pushes himself up off the bed and the soft blue light peeks in as he leaves.

Laying under your blankets to fight the morning chill, you say his true name one more time. Just to taste it.

❆

The drooping pearl of the necklace Yeonjun gave you swings delicately side to side. No matter what, you couldn’t leave it. You hold it out, watching it. Just watching it.

Kai had gotten up under your skin. His words peeled the dressing you had so carefully laid down for yourself. He’d done it so easily that you’re almost angry.

It doesn’t feel good to paint Yeonjun out to be all terrible, because he isn’t and never was. The truth of the situation is that he didn’t expect to end up loving you, or maybe he didn’t expect for his job to involve hurting a human life in any way. In any case, he never meant to break your trust.

But he did. Aren’t you a hypocrite, then? You weren’t telling him everything, either. Even if he already knew what you were, that was a decision you made. Because you were afraid. He was afraid he’d lose you, too. At least he told you regardless. That’s what gets you; he did tell you. Is what you’re doing punishment for that? Is it mean? And yet, if you go to him again, what of the fact that he thinks he can make you come back by pulling strings? That leaves a nasty taste on your tongue. 

You don’t know. Dropping your head, you sigh. For a long time, everything has been bubbling up in your chest. Now, it rises into your throat and restricts your breathing. You don’t know, you don’t know. 

The thudding of booted footsteps has you popping your head back up to find Taehyun in the doorway. His mouth moves in a half-smile to say something until he zeroes in on what you hold in your fist. Eyes going sharp, his face twists.

“Oh,” you say. “You’re back.”

His feet remain planted. He’s so still that it doesn’t even seem like he’s breathing. It sends a genuine chill over you, hair prickling. That look; you recognize what it is, now. You’ve seen it once or twice. So intense that it eats up the oxygen in the room and leaves none left for you.

“What’s that?” he says, crossing the room to snatch it from your hand. He watches it spin and glimmer in the lowlight. Last time he had seen it, he couldn’t help but snap it off your neck. His throat bobs around a hard swallow.

“A necklace.”

“Always him,” Taehyun growls, eyes smoldering. “No matter what I do. What will it take for you to stop fucking wanting him?”

You’d breathe, but it all gets caught in the back of your throat. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You don’t?” he scoffs, taking your face in his hands. So gentle in contrast with the razors he sneers with. “Bullshit.”

You do. Of course you know what he means. You try to muster up words, but his thumb down the line of your jaw stops them short.

“Look me in the eyes,” he says. Mush-brained, like you always seem to be around him, you do. His jaw ticks and he breathes out a weakened, “Fuck.”

The mattress meeting your back doesn’t even register through the thick, fire-smoke haze of his mouth on yours. You gasp into his mouth, fingers curling into the front of his tunic. That same one you had embroidered. Him, walking around in your touch all day. It makes your belly turn over. 

He licks the seam of your mouth, his hands in your hair and then running up your torso and then squeezing the plush fat of your hips, as if he can’t decide where he wants to feel you, so he devours it all at once. As if he could make up for all the times he wanted so badly to do this, but could not. 

You gasp for breath when your mouths part, kiss so impatient and frantic that it dazes you and leaves your lips smeared. “Taehyun,” you shudder out. He always leaves you stupid and with nothing to say but that. 

He takes your chemise where it lands on your thighs and brings it up. Each inch is scalding and exhilarating at once. When it’s bunched up above your breasts, those intense eyes eat the sight up. All sharp edges and want, but you see how his ears go red.

“I haven’t wanted anything this bad in my whole fucking life,” he says, palm splayed over your ribcage. “I have gone so long like this. Never had anything to want. But I want all of you. That, I need.”

You shake like a leaf in his hands with it; want. “Take it,” you say. It’s good that it’s nothing more than two words, because you don’t trust your voice right now.

 But, really, is it? You think they’re much more than just words. Your head spins so much that the world blurs into lines around you—everything but him and the beating of your heart. 

Instead of devouring you like you thought he would, he thumbs the hinge of your jaw. Yeonjun, as sure of himself as he is, would’ve. But everything about Taehyun is contrary to what you’ve known. Yeonjun was a slow, tantalizing burn because he knew exactly what he wanted to do with you. Taehyun’s all over you like he cannot get enough, a dazzling white-hot fire. And he cannot get enough.

“Are you sure?” he says, the words tumbling out past his lips with trembling urgency. “Because I’m… Don’t play with me. Please, don’t fucking play with me. You want this?”

You’re just as bad as he is. Worse, even. It’s like he takes whatever is inside of you and makes it tenfold. Your skull pounds to the same terrible rhythm as your center. It goes through you in waves. “Taehyun, please, just do something. I do. I do.” 

His fingers are biting as he tugs you down to the edge of the bed, his hair hanging in his eyes. Dark, swirling pools. You drown in them. They’re even better in between your thighs, down on his knees. 

“Tell me where he touched you,” he says, breaths puffing over your inner thighs. 

So he can replace it all with himself. Your blood boils under your skin.

“Did he do this?” he asks. It doesn’t come out vindictive. No—he’s really asking. He wants to know exactly what you like, to make himself exactly that. Why does that set you on fire the way it does?

“Yes.” You run your palm down the length of your belly, slowly, just to feel it and the tingles. His eyes track it the whole way, darting back up to yours when you take his hair in your hands. “Yes, he did. And he was so good at it, Taehyun.” It’s purposefully antagonistic, but your belly tightens as his face falls to shadows.

The first swipe of his tongue is a test. He watches you jump with analytical precision and then applies that like he does everything else—watching. Observing. Another, trying a flick, and his intelligent eyes note how your thighs shake. Then his fingers go tight under your thighs, the cold of him like frostbite, and he dives in. No long drags, no fanfare.

You squeak, but it devolves into a litany of feral sounds. No, Taehyun is not Yeonjun. He reminds you of that in the way he pins you, his arms stronger, in the different way his mouth moves on your cunt. Not at all. It’s like you’re learning how your body reacts anew. 

He does not let you clamp your thighs around his head, does not let you buck your hips, and does not let you breathe.

“Oh—” you start, but your vision tunnels as he takes your clit into his lips. A graze of teeth here, his tall, strong nose against it there. Wholly overwhelming you so that he knows, beyond a doubt, that there’s nothing in this world that you could be thinking about but this. Him. Because he so desperately needs it that way. 

“Taehyun,” you plead with him. Your fingers tug at his scalp, and you’re positive that his jaw must ache, but there’s nothing but an endless hunger that meets your gaze when you find it in you to pry your eyes open and look. “Taehyun, please,” you say, voice cracking toward the end as your belly tightens.

His nose. It sends your body rigid each time he digs in deeper and bumps it up against you. It pushes you closer, closer, and then closer, until you burn all over, nails digging into his muscle-corded forearms to have something to hold as it licks down your spine. The last words you can manage are intelligible—your tongue betrays you.

Taehyun presses a rough hand right below your navel and holds you down through it. He’s the only thing that’s real beyond your hoarse cries and shaking body. Him. 

He doesn’t stop flicking your clit with his tongue until you’re jumpy and choking on your breaths, belly going taut.

The vision of him as he pulls back has stars speckling your vision. His mouth is covered in you, his pupils blown wide. On him, on his perfect, clean-cut face, it’s the lewdest thing you’ve ever seen. Though you’re still floating in a smoky haze, sedated, it sends glowing sparks through you.

His breaths fan over your face as he climbs back up, maneuvering you however he pleases. With his forehead pressed to yours, he half growls, half shudders, “Damn it.”

The words are scalding. You know exactly what he means, because you’re feeling it too. Something as powerful as the sea swallowing you clean, sucking you down to where you know you won’t ever reach the surface again.

You take a hand and run it up the plane of his stomach, feeling and savoring each scar, until you feel his heart. It thuds under his skin frantically. It echoes through your bones, so loud that you might hear it if you strained your ear enough. It tugs at the strings of your heart.

“You’re nervous?” you say, eyeing the mess of his hair, the flush on his cheeks. All so endearingly human. Sweet, even.

“No,” he says. His voice is vibrantly husky and thick. “I’m not scared. I’m just…” His eyes sweep over the sight of you, the spread of your soft thighs and the splay of your hair and the same glazing of the eyes in yours as there is in his no doubt, longingly. There’s a flicker of unsureness, and then he presses his forehead to your shoulder and rolls his hips into you. He lets that speak, the hardness of him. “Good?”

Running a finger over the curve of his ear, you feel the scar tissue left there. “Good,” you say, still partly lost for breath. More than that; you want him all over you. You want him like liquid silver in your bloodstream, heavy but utterly potent.

He fumbles with his pants for a moment, the sword calloused pads of his free hand brushing over your pulse. It stutters under his thumb as he holds it there—checking if you’re feeling it how he is.

“I have been tortured,” he says, wetting his lips and scoffing as if he can’t believe what he’s about to say. “I have been tortured, driven up the fucking walls, by the sound you make when you cum. Since you let him have it in my home, since you let me hear it.” His eyes flash, and then he’s bent you straight in half.

With your thighs flush to your front, your mind goes blank white all but for the very human, very fundamental kick that comes with being so utterly held down. All his brawn is suddenly more apparent now than ever. You press at his hard chest, nothing but his breaths to breathe. “Tyun,” you say, calves on his shoulders.

“Good?” he repeats, his jaw working. The tip of him presses to your entrance.

Taking your lip into your teeth, you cut through the haze and nod for him. “Yes,” you say. “I’m good.”

That’s everything he needed to hear. The thick tip of him presses in first, and then you’re hanging on to each new inch, taking to his shape and size slowly but surely. A sound catches in his chest as his body meets yours, a gravelly curse following.

For a moment, he hangs on and lets you wiggle your hips in circles to learn the feeling. He’s different from Yeonjun like this, too. And then he takes your waist into his hands and begins to fuck you, because hardly could the both of you wait a moment longer. You need, need, need. 

He drops his head and works his hips into you so eagerly that it’d be impossible for him not to brush up against that sweet, saccharine spot inside you. You press a palm over your mouth. Not to quiet yourself—when the world has gone to nothing else but him on top of you, you don’t care. But because you haven’t got a clue what else to do with your hands. You’re clawing, both grabbing him closer and pushing at him. 

“Taehyun,” you whimper. “There—right there.”

Angling his hips, he searches your face. “Yeah? You…” His voice chokes off before he can gather himself again. “Like it there?”

Cupping the back of his head, you pepper kisses and nip wherever you can reach. It’s all your overwhelmed mind can do to thank him.

That deep, trembling feeling starts at the base of your spine. It’s inescapable between him and the bed beneath you, your toes curling in the air and your back going rigid. Everywhere you go, he’s there. Every square inch of you. 

Taehyun’s no better off. “Fuck,” he whimpers. It’s like nothing you’ve ever heard come from his mouth. His head drops into your neck, a procession of something between whiny breaths and growls spilling into your skin.

“I’m…” you say, insides burning up far too much for you to finish that thought. You teeter on the edge just enough to drive you mad, mad enough that falling off feels both like punishment and prize.

He knows, though. “Me too,” he says, voice so tight you think it might snap. Hips faltering, he takes the hair at the back of your skull and tugs your head back just to press a smoldering kiss to your mouth. You know why he’s done it—the sound of his coming undone is muffled into your mouth as he eases up just enough to let your twitching legs down, slipping out. He takes himself into his fist, the slick sounds so obscene they break through your delirium. Belly going taught, the little bit of soft, healthy fat there, he throws his head back and spills over your stomach with a bone-deep sound. 

Both made lazy, you don’t have it in you to move for some long moments. You just listen to the sound of his ragged breaths coming and going off pattern with yours. It’s all you need to hear. All you need to know.

Dazed, you watch him stand to find something to clean you up with. The air is empty, but not bad. Not stifling. He dabs at your belly with a gentle hand, tossing it away. You half expect him to slip out or go lay in his own bed, but he doesn’t. You always did seem to get him wrong, anyway. 

You draw shapes into his skin, talking nonsense with a raspy voice until you’re droopy-eyed and don’t even realize you’re drifting.

❆

Poking through the fabric, you tug the string taut. Another one of Taehyun’s shirts dangles down from your hold.

Something’s happening. You’re not exactly sure what. But he’s hardly here, so something must be. You gnaw at your bitten lip. It doesn’t seem so much like there’s any buzz or mistrust around here anymore, so then what? 

You know that you came here for real war, but the notion of it finally becoming actualized makes your stomach go nauseous. Not to mention the fact that you don’t even know where they’ve gone. That leaves a door of possibilities cracked that you don’t even want to peek into. 

Taehyun can handle it. You know he can. Despite it, you hang on to every moment that he’s not here. What’s that? You decide not to name it, for your sake. 

You thread and you thread, circling the cuffs and then around the neck, letting your mind wander. But not too far. 

A rustle at the tent opening catches your attention, and then Kai’s stepping inside. Your belly doubles over itself. Never once has he come to you. “Is everything okay?” you say, throat tight like you already know. Because you do.

Wasting no time, Kai says, “The prince has been apprehended. But I’d tell you that he’s been given away.”

Silence washes over you as you pause. “What?” you say. Your voice is distant as it comes out. That was not what you were expecting, but it’s not any better. Taehyun’s shirt goes forgotten. 

“For leverage,” he elaborates, “the King has been told about his son's rebellion. He’s been betrayed by one of our own.” There’s a deep sadness in his eyes. Old friends, he had said. “Our general is a cruel, sharp man.”

“What do you mean by that?” you say. The walls spin around you. That’s not right. That’s not right.

Kai doesn’t answer you, but his long, telling look speaks truer than words. Producing a letter, he offers it to you. Yeonjun’s insignia is stamped into wax on the face of it. “I suggest that you read this one.”

Your hand trembles as you take it from him. Yeah. You’d better read it. The cruelty of burning letters hits you like a real blow to the chest. The King has his traitorous son, probably sitting somewhere you haven’t got a clue of, plotting on having his head. So many words—oh, you feel sick just thinking of them going up in smoke now. Yeonjun will die. 

The letter tears with a sickening sound. You don’t have the steadiness in you to open it delicately like you did once.

𝐾𝑎𝑖 𝑡𝑒𝑙𝑙𝑠 𝑚𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑠𝑒𝑒𝑚 ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒, 𝑚𝑦 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒. 𝐴 𝑏𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑚𝑎𝑛 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑏𝑒 𝑔𝑙𝑎𝑑 𝑜𝑓 𝑖𝑡, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝐼 𝑎𝑚 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑎 𝑏𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑚𝑎𝑛.  

𝐵𝑢𝑡 𝐼 𝑑𝑜 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑧𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝐼 ℎ𝑜𝑙𝑑 𝑜𝑛 𝑡𝑜 𝑦𝑜𝑢, 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑢𝑟𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑎𝑤𝑎𝑦 𝐼 𝑎𝑚 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑦𝑜𝑢. 𝐼 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑐𝑢𝑟𝑠𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑐𝑟𝑢𝑒𝑙𝑡𝑦, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝐼 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑖𝑡’𝑠 𝑏𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑛𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑚𝑦 𝑜𝑤𝑛 𝑓𝑎𝑢𝑙𝑡. 𝐼 𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑑𝑖𝑑 𝑚𝑒𝑎𝑛 𝑡𝑜 ℎ𝑢𝑟𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑖𝑓 𝑖𝑡’𝑠 𝑚𝑦 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑥𝑖𝑚𝑖𝑡𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑑𝑜𝑒𝑠, 𝐼 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑑𝑜 𝑖𝑡. 𝐼’𝑙𝑙 𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑦. 

𝐸𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝐼 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑢𝑛𝑐ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑝𝑎𝑝𝑒𝑟 𝑢𝑝 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑔𝑒𝑡 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑖𝑡. 𝐼 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑘 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑑𝑎𝑦, 𝑦𝑜𝑢’𝑙𝑙 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑧𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑜𝑛𝑙𝑦 𝑜𝑛𝑒 ℎ𝑢𝑟𝑡. 𝐼 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 ℎ𝑢𝑟𝑡 𝑚𝑒, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝐼 ℎ𝑢𝑟𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢. 

𝐼 𝑤𝑖𝑠ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝐼 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑠𝑎𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑖𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑦, 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝐼 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑏𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑦 𝑡𝑜𝑜. 𝐵𝑢𝑡 𝐼 𝑎𝑚 𝑛𝑜𝑡. 𝐼 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑏𝑒. 𝐸𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑖𝑓 𝑖𝑡’𝑠 𝑝𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑓𝑢𝑙, 𝐼 𝑎𝑠𝑘 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑡𝑜 𝑎𝑡 𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑘 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑒 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒𝑠. 𝑇ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑘 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑚𝑢𝑠𝑖𝑐, 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑘 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙 𝑔𝑙𝑎𝑑𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑡. 𝐼’𝑑 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑡𝑜 𝑟𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑒𝑟 𝑚𝑒 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡. 𝑀𝑎𝑦 𝐼 ℎ𝑎𝑢𝑛𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢 ℎ𝑎𝑢𝑛𝑡 𝑚𝑒.

  𝑌𝑒𝑜𝑛𝑗𝑢𝑛

It’s all so sickly sweet, so dramatically him. Hot tears burn down your cheeks, jaw trembling as you make attempts to keep it all in place. Even just to see his handwriting…

You want to close your eyes and pretend that Taehyun would not, but your gut doesn’t allow it. You know the truth. You know that it was Taehyun who deducted it was Yeonjun sabotaging you. You know that it’s Taehyun that so perfectly, so seamlessly hid behind an ice wall for months that you hadn’t a clue how deeply and voraciously he needed to have you. It was him, with his sharp mind—that part of him that is capable of shutting down emotion and acting on brutal, detached strategy. 

A strategist through and through. It was Taehyun who will have Yeonjun’s head.

🪶 ⦂ this is the happiest day of my life (＞＜) i missed them so much. i know how this development is probably making yall feel... so yes i will be needing to hear everything.

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[runawaywerewolf]

island breeze and lights down low

timothy ratliff x fem!reader

summary: your dad works with timothy ratliff and now you're stuck in the middle of a business crisis. oh, and you're also down bad for him. surely this won't be a problem.

author's note: i'm dedicating this to @fairyysoup my beloved for reading this before i posted it, being my cheerleader, and also just the sweetest person ever. i would not have had the guts to post this without you bestie 💖💖💖 anyway, happy white lotus finale day everyone and timothy ratliff please don't kill your kids in the finale and make this awkward for me

content warnings: it's literally smut so 18+ minors begone, unprotected piv, creampie, masturbation, semi-public sex, voyeurism, cheating, implied drug use, age gap (not specified but reader is college age), daddy issues, one use of "good girl", birth control mention, sort of dad's best friend except the dads are not actually that good friends, mild daddy kink vibes but not like explicitly, reader is a little pervy and also kind of an annoying rich girl but it's the white lotus so what did you expect, a truly egregious amount of commas (literally there are 256 commas)

word count: 3.5k

You are totally and unendingly fucked.

Well, not in the way that you would like to be, but that’s a whole other matter.

Your father had worked with Timothy Ratliff for years doing, well, whatever it is that they do. Something to do with money, you think. Or maybe it’s stocks? Frankly, you don’t care. You knew the man vaguely, Timothy Ratliff, that is, used to run into him at every boring work function that your dad had dragged you to when you were younger. Back when your father cared enough to show you off to his friends and back when you still craved his approval like some pathetic drug. Now, you find it hard to have a lot of interest in your father or the toxic business world he seems to live and breathe in. Although, you're not really interested in much of anything lately.

All you do know is that you really shouldn’t have agreed to get roped into this. Some drama was going down in corporate world, apparently, though you couldn’t care less about the details. Some issue with journalists or somebody not answering their phone or something. But, your father, in what was clearly a last ditch effort, decided to send a human messenger Timothy Ratliff couldn’t ignore as easily as a phone call or an email. You.

To be fair, it did make sense. You were on a “traveling abroad” break from college, which placed you conveniently close to Thailand, where the Ratliffs just so happened to be on vacation. Throw in your father offering to put you up at the fancy White Lotus hotel where the family was staying for a whole week and, hey, you’re only human. Of course, you said yes. Sometimes a girl just needs a vacation and a massage. Honestly, haven’t you earned this after all the shit your father put you through? Or at least that’s always what you tell yourself as you swipe daddy’s credit card.

Which is exactly how you ended up like this, questioning every life choice you’ve ever made while standing in the lobby of the White Lotus as you stare into the unfairly blue eyes of Timothy Ratliff. Fuck, he is so handsome. His gaze trails down your body, lingering on your tits, and you can’t help but preen. Why, oh why, did you agree to do this? You’re a grown woman, you had thought your embarrassing teenage crush on the man would have worn off by now. Isn’t that what happens to childish fantasies? You’re supposed to outgrow them.

Sure, the man was your first wet dream but, before today, you would have sworn up and down that you hadn’t thought about him in years. And yet, here you are fantasizing about a man who’s old enough to be your father. Shit, he actually even knows your father. They’re friends, he’s known you since you were a toddler, this is all sorts of fucked up.

Then Timothy Ratliff opens his mouth and makes things a whole hell of a lot worse.

“Oh good Lord, when did you become such a grown-up lady? I swear it was last Tuesday you came to the office in pigtails to see your daddy. Just about this tall,” he raises his hand to about hip height and you try not to blush for about seven different reasons. Absolutely none of which are appropriate for this conversation. “You’re just like my Piper, growing up way too fast.”

Please make him stop talking, you beg the universe mentally, even his accent is hot.

“They let me drink and everything now,” you tease, trying very hard to sound normal. “A full adult who can do all sorts of adult things.”

Great, you think sarcastically, that’s not a weird thing to say at all. You are not going to fuck this man. You can’t, you won’t, so you start mentally ticking off all the many reasons why that is a thing that cannot in any way happen. He’s married, he’s the same age as your father, he works with your actual father, you need to make better life choices in general…

“Good girl, waiting until it’s legal.”

Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Those gorgeous eyes are looking at you and what else can you do but stare and get lost in them, your heart is practically pounding out of your chest. You blink, trying to gather your scattered thoughts and pull the message your father tasked you with delivering out of your pocket like some sort of lifeline.

“My dad asked me to give you this,” you manage to say with what’s left of your dignity still intact as you hand the envelope over to him. Don’t look at his hands, don’t look at his hands, well, fuck, now you looked at his hands. X-rated is not an extreme enough description of the thoughts currently running wild in your head.

But by some grace of God, whatever was in that message seems to have spooked Timothy enough that he’s not looking at your increasingly embarrassed face. Which, unfortunately, gives you way too much time to undress him in your mind. By the time your eyes have made it all the way back up his body, his face has paled and eyes are almost frantic. A friend of yours made the same face when they failed out of college and got disowned by their parents while high on Coke. Suffice it to say, it’s not a good look.

“Are you ok, Mr. Ratliff?” You ask tentatively, trying hard to suppress a shudder when you say his name. You’re not imagining calling him something else, nope, not at all. Fuck off, Freud.

“I’m, uh, yeah, darlin’. It’s nothing, just have to… deal with something. I’ll be right back.”

He was not, in fact, right back.

You dick around the hotel lobby for about half an hour before you decide that actually Timothy Ratliff can find you himself if he wants to. Also, maybe you’re hiding from him, just a little.

You could go find Piper, you suppose. The two of you used to be friends in that “our dads are friends so we kind of know each other” sort of way. She’s certainly better company than Saxon. But if you go find Piper, you might run into her father and, honestly, after the thoughts running through your head earlier, you’re not so sure you could look him in the eye again. He has really nice eyes.

So, Piper’s a no then.

The gym, you finally decide, with its massive windows and many treadmills, maybe you can burn off all that pent-up energy still buzzing in your system. This is what you get for taking a fucking gap year, you think to yourself. You’ve gone too long without college boys and now you’re fixated on a middle-aged man. Sure, you could probably get laid easily in a hotel like this. It’s full of rich assholes trying to do sexual tourism; you probably just look at half of these guys and they’ll trip over themselves trying to fuck you. But, no, you do actually have standards.

Unfortunately, your standards just happen to look a lot like Timothy Ratliff.

The gym doesn’t help, surprisingly, or maybe not that surprisingly. You can’t help it, you’re just very horny from eyefucking Timothy earlier. And, to make things worse, you can’t seem to get the fantasies out of your head. Even after your run, the ache between your thighs is still persistently there. Eventually, you just give up on your workout. Maybe you will actually try to fuck one of the sad losers who frequent this hotel because you seriously need to get off if you’re going to make it through this week.

You head to the gym bathroom, the fancy kind that has a private room with a shower, and start washing off. You keep the water almost painfully freezing in a useless attempt to cool the heat burning up beneath your skin. Your brain, however, has other ideas, with images of you and Timothy wet and sweaty playing on a loop in your head. This is a bad idea, you think to yourself, but that’s never exactly stopped you in the past. So, you turn up the water temperature and let your hand sneak between your thighs. You bite your lip hard, trying to stifle your soft gasps as you circle your clit. A choked moan of his name escapes from your throat when you hear a muffled thump from outside the bathroom. You should stop, you know you should stop, but you’re so close, your knees shaking as your hand works faster and faster.

So, you nearly jump out of your skin when you hear a knock on the door. And then you nearly die when you hear a painfully recognizable drawl.

Timothy Ratliff is outside the bathroom calling your name. Timothy Ratliff is only a few feet away from where you are currently fingering yourself to the thought of him. You freeze. For a second, you genuinely wish some of that poisonous fruit was in this bathroom to get you out of this hellish, mortifying experience. Because, yeah, he definitely heard you. This man, who has known you your whole life, who’s friends with your father, just heard you moan his name. But, clearly, the universe must be conspiring against you because there’s no way out of the meeting you’re about to have.

"Are you all right in there, honey?" His voice sounds strange through the door. There's a tightness to it that you can't quite tell if you're imagining or not, a new gravelly slurring to the accent that's so recognizably him. There's something different about him and it's not... unappealing.

"Just one sec, Mr. Ratliff," you call out, trying to keep your voice even. You blow out all the air from your lungs, desperately trying to regulate your heaving chest. You turn off the shower, quickly throwing your clothes back on and raking your wet hair out of your eyes. Ok, you can do this, you tell yourself.

You try to compose yourself, you swear you really do. But you're red-faced and wet and more turned on than you’ve ever been in your whole life, so it’s a losing battle. You open the door with whatever shred of dignity you can manage, trying not to look as utterly shaky as you feel, and your eyes land on Timothy. He looks utterly wrecked. You watch those pale, ice blue eyes trail your body and you can practically feel some sort of battle happening in his mind. He's tempted, you realize, and God help you, but you want to tempt him. A good girl would close the door, or leave the room, or say something to break this tension that feels like it's constricting the air between you. But, fuck it, you're an altruist and the man clearly needs to blow off some steam. You look up at him through your lashes, lips pouted ever so slightly.

"Are you ok, Timothy?" You ask, your voice breathy. And that's all it takes, you see the decision in his eyes the second he makes it. His life is on fire and you're the drug to drown out the flames, or maybe he wants you to burn him alive. It doesn't matter because the time for talking has passed; you can barely get the words out before, suddenly, he is pushing into the bathroom. His eyes are near manic, his movements desperate and hurried like a man trying to outrun something. He’s not quite himself but you don’t care because, suddenly, his hands are on your face, he’s kicking the door behind him, and then, fuck, his mouth is on yours and he’s kissing you.

And good lord, does he kiss.

You’re not sure you’ve ever been kissed like this, the way your mind just blisses out. Timothy Ratliff kisses like wildfire, like he’s trying to consume you alive. It’s exhilarating, the way his mouth moves against yours, you feel the burning electricity of desire running through your veins and pooling between your thighs. You barely have time to fully part your lips before his tongue is in your mouth and you can’t breathe. He’s too much, but it’s not enough. Fuck, you’re not sure it will ever be enough.

His hands leave your face and start tracing the lines of your body, touching greedily, digging into flesh. You feel the cold metal of his wedding ring against your upper thigh as his hands sneak under the hem of your shorts and you know you’re going to hell when that feeling turns you on.

You don’t even notice that he’s walking you backward until your back hits the bathroom wall. He hikes one of your legs up around his hips and, oh shit, you can feel the hard length of him pressing against your core. You know the shape of his cock now, what he feels like between your legs. He’s thick and hot and you feel like you might actually die if you don’t have him inside you soon.

As you press your heel into his ass, you realize that he probably can tell just how soaking wet you are right now. In another life, maybe you’d be embarrassed by that, but your shame died the second you learned what he tasted like. Instead, you grind against him, a needy twitch of your hips that has him groaning into your open mouth. He lets go of your thigh to dig his hands into your ass, pulling you more firmly against him, rubbing against your core.

You’re both too pent up for this to be elegant, the kiss has devolved into something sloppy and desperate and your hips are grinding like teenagers too impatient for foreplay. It’s dirty in the best way possible.

Your hands slide down his chest to fumble clumsily with his belt, the other stroking him through his pants as he slots a thigh between your legs. You think you might genuinely be in love with his cock; you’re not usually one for worship but you’d get down on your knees for this. A fleeting thought enters your mind that if Saxon is built anything like his father you finally understand his arrogance, before your brain goes blank as his thick fingers find your pussy.

“Fuck, you’re so wet.” He practically growls it into your mouth, as he shoves your shorts and panties to the side. His words hit you like a lightning bolt, desire pounding in your ears so loudly you think he must be able to hear it.

You shove his pants down just enough to get his cock out, your legs wrapped around his hips and you barely have time to think before the thick head of his cock is at your entrance. Then he’s pushing inside and, oh fuck, does he slide in.

Yes, you are so wet, but maybe not quite ready because the burn is exquisite. Or maybe he’s just that big, you don’t know and you don’t care. You’re not sure you care about anything but the weight of his cock, thick and hard, inside you. Your fingers dig into his shoulders because you can’t breathe and you’re barely even standing anymore. He groans low in his throat and his hips thrust shallowly as he enters you, impatient for friction, his fingers still digging into your ass as he holds you steady for him.

Your head falls back, hitting the wall behind you, mouth open, gasping for breath as he starts to move inside you. The pressure is intense, the head of his cock drags deliciously against your walls. Your toes curl and a shudder runs through you, you’re not sure you ever want this to stop, he feels that good. You twist your hips trying to meet his thrusts, but Timothy Ratliff fucks the way he kisses, all consumingly. Each pump of his hips is long and deep and desperate and it’s all you can do just to hold onto him.

A needy moan escapes your lips, and he must have more functioning brain cells than you do to be concerned about the noise, because before you can get a breath in, his mouth slants over yours to swallow your sounds. His tongue licks into your mouth, matching the rhythm of his cock driving into you over and over and your eyes are rolling back in your head. You feel like you're losing your mind to the pleasure, the heat between your thighs growing with each hard stroke, with each grind of friction.

Timothy’s hand slides up your body, grabbing your tits before he yanks down the front of your bra, exposing one breast. His fingers kneed your flesh greedily and you lock your ankles behind his back, pulling him in even deeper as you rock against him. At your movement, something in him seems to shift and he sets a fast, almost needy pace, barely pulling out before pushing back in, as if he can’t stand to be outside of your heat. There are no illusions about what’s happening here; it’s quick and desperate and messy, and the lewd sounds of skin meeting skin echo through the small bathroom. You’re not even kissing him back at this point, just gasping and moaning into his open mouth.

His hand leaves your breast to yank your hips, adjusting the angle until he’s hitting a spot so deep inside you that you’re practically seeing stars. Your back arches almost violently, your arms wrap around his shoulders as he pounds into you. He is everything you feel, everything you see, it's all overpowered by him, by the perfect sensations of him buried deep inside you. The pressure is tightening in your core, your walls fluttering around his thick cock, and one of your hands sneaks down between your sweat-slick bodies to touch yourself. Before you can, he slaps your hand away with a groan, and instead it’s his thumb that’s rubbing tight circles around your clit that sends you flying over the edge.

Fuck, you want that image seared into your brain, his hand rubbing your clit, his thick cock disappearing into you.

Your climax hits you suddenly and with an intensity that leaves you shaking, with your vision whiting out and your mind shattering. The waves of pleasure wracking your body are so strong that you can barely even breathe enough to get out a strangled moan. You rake your nails down his back, legs trembling as you come long and hard, the waves racing through your veins and drowning you in sensation. Finally, you think you understand what the French were talking about with their “little death” as you shudder and ride out your release, your body pressed tightly against his chest.

The extra pressure of your walls milking his cock is all it takes to send him over the edge too, his hips stuttering before he slams in one last time and comes with a groan that feels ripped from his soul. You let out a weak moan of your own as you feel his release filling you up. He grinds against you through his climax, as if trying to get as deep as possible, rubbing against your clit in a way that’s just this side of overstimulation.

Chest heaving, your nails are digging into his shoulders, bodies pressed against each other to stay upright with your knees weak. For a second, you stay like that, him buried deep inside you, both of you spent and breathing heavily, messy and with clothes askew. The afterglow is delicious, but slowly reality sinks back in. You wrack your brain trying to come up with what you're supposed to do now because what do you even say after that?

If you’re Timothy Ratliff, apparently what you do is tuck himself into his shorts and straighten his clothes with jerky movements, drawl something that sounds about halfway between thanks and some excuse, and then practically run out of the bathroom. You almost laugh at how abrupt the whole thing was, if it wasn’t for his cum drying on your thighs you might have thought your overactive imagination had made the whole encounter up. You smile as you gently run a finger between your cum soaked folds and you send up a silent prayer of thanks for the existence of birth control. You never really believed much in religion, but you swear for a moment there during your orgasm you might have actually seen God. Maybe the universe doesn’t hate you after all if it gave you a fuck like that.

You stretch your back, peel off your clothes, and gingerly step back into the shower, deliciously sore between your legs. You trace your fingers over your kiss-bruised lips as you think about what just happened. Maybe you should actually take your father up on that summer internship offer after all, you think to yourself as the water runs over your sweaty body and memories replay in your mind. Because, while you probably should be making better life choices, you really, really, really just want to try and fuck him again.

[fangirlwriting-stories]

What's Almost Familiar

Summary: “It’s not quite that simple,” Ford says, turning to look back at his drink. “If the portal is turned back on, it could give Bill a path through to whatever world it’s turned on in. It’s not as easy as turning it on and you get to go home. It’s the needs of the many versus the needs of the few. He has to keep the world safe from Bill. I can understand why he has to leave you here.”

He winces a little as soon as he says the last part, and braces himself. He expects a glare, or for Stan to snap at him, or anything similar. Something that shows he doesn’t understand the sacrifice part of all this. But instead, Stan laughs, a strange mix of fond and sad, and takes another swig of his beer.

“God, Poindexter,” he says. “You’ve been out here almost thirty years and you still haven’t learned a damn thing, have you?”

Author's Note: No of course I didn't read the Book of Bill lately like everyone else what are you talking about

I also blame this post with all the amazing inspiring art btw

...

In retrospect, Ford probably shouldn’t have run when the fashion police from the last dimension had started chasing him.  But while he doesn’t know anything about how to look fashionable, he does know that based on the suits and dresses of that dimension, he wouldn’t stand a chance in court.  He hadn’t even known someone could wear that much glitter.

He hadn’t even meant to go to the stupid dimension in the first place.  He’d been aiming for the one over, but his dimension-hopping gun had been buggy for weeks now, and the parts still aren’t ready to fix it.  The dimension he was aiming for was supposed to give him an opportunity for a short rest, somewhere he could stay just long enough until the jerry-rigged screen on his gun would go off and tell him the parts are ready.

But surprise surprise, the malfunctioning gun still has a tendency to malfunction, and he’d wound up in a dimension that took his proclivity for comfort personally.

He hadn’t really had a dimension in mind when he fired up the gun again, just somewhere he could hide for a bit, but unfortunately the fashion police followed him right through the portal, meaning Ford is still running, with them hot on his heels and shouting about the tears in his coat.

Okay, okay, he can do this.  He’s been on the run enough times to figure this out.  He needs to lose them, find a place to hide, and get his dimension gun working long enough to find a place they can’t follow him.

Ford looks ahead and sees a corner to his left, and dives around it.  What meets him is a straightway of crumbling abandoned buildings.  Well, he’s hidden in worse places.  But as he starts running down the street, aiming for another alleyway to duck down in a hope of losing the officers behind him, someone sprints out of an alley on his other side, and runs headfirst into him, knocking them both to the ground.

“Hey, watch where you’re going you knucklehead!” Ford snaps, but when he turns to glare at the person as he tries to pull himself to his feet, he’s met with… himself?

No, that’s impossible.  If this was an alternate version of himself, both of them and the entire dimension would now be starting to fade from existence.  But it sure looks like him, which only leaves the option of—

Ford’s eyes widen.  “Stanley?”

Stanley stares back at him, looking equally as stunned as Ford feels, but before either of them can say anything, from behind Stan comes “You won’t get away with it this time!” and Stan whirls back to look towards it.

“Uh, we should probably get out of here,” he says.  He stands and pulls Ford to his feet, and starts pushing them both back the way Ford came.

“Uh, no,” Ford says, pushing back.  “Bad idea.”

Before Stan can ask why, the fashion police run around the corner, and Stan looks at them.  His expression turns baffled, which is fair, Ford hasn’t encountered cops who wear that much perfume before tonight either.

“Get back here, you filthy criminal!” one of them yells.  “The detective themed party was last week!”

“O-kay, we’re running now,” Stan says.  He grabs Ford’s hand and pulls them both down the street, away from both sets of cops.

“Buy me some time,” Ford says, yanking out his dimension gun.  “If I can get this damn thing to work I can get us out of here!”

Stan turns over his shoulder, and there’s the sound of a gun of some kind going off, which is strange, because he hadn’t thought Stan had one.  But judging by the pained cry and the “No, not blood on my suit!”, Stan definitely hit the fashion police with something.  Another cry comes from behind them, and Ford manages to get the gun settled on one dimension.

He hits the button on his gun, and a portal opens in front of them both.  He grabs Stanley’s arm and pulls them both through it, then points the gun over his shoulder and zaps the portal closed.

They’re in a dimension that’s clearly experienced an apocalypse recently, just a flat, gray, dead expanse of land.  And while whatever happened is bound to be depressing if they take the time to figure it out, for now the both of them just use it as an excuse to stop and catch their breath.  Ford leans forward and puts his hands on his knees, and lets out a large sigh of relief.

After a moment of heavy breathing, Stanley laughs.  “Well, that’s the last time I ever bring that much fake money into a casino,” he says.

“I’m not even going to ask,” Ford mutters.

Then realization strikes him, and he stands back up.  “Wait, Stanley,” he says.  “What are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here?” Stan asks incredulously.  “You weren’t supposed to jump in after me, Poindexter.  What the hell were you thinking?”

“After you?” Ford asks, baffled.  “You mean you…” he pauses as the obvious option occurs to him.  It seems to occur to Stan at the same time.

“We’re… not from the same place, are we?” Stan asks, his face falling ever so slightly, despite the way he was just yelling at Ford about coming in after him.

“It seems not,” Ford says, giving a sympathetic smile.  “But hey, thanks for the save back there.  How did you do that, anyway?”

Stan shrugs, and hoists up his right arm.  Now that they’re not running from the cops, it’s easier to see that the arm looks suspiciously metal, which is confirmed a second later, when Stan points it firmly away from both of them and turns all of the fingers into what look like miniature guns.

For a second, all Ford can do is stare at it.

“Lost the real one a decade and a half ago,” Stan says.  “Figured if I was gonna get an upgrade it might as be an upgrade, y’know?”

Ford swallows, still looking at his arm.  “Six fingers?” he asks quietly.

Stan’s eyes widen slightly and he immediately hides the arm behind his back.  “Yeah well uh, you know, the guy who made it doesn’t get too many humans and wasn’t super sure what he was doing.  Plus uh, more bullets.”

Ford raises an eyebrow.  “Why not get seven fingers, then?”

Stan sighs, and drops his arm back to his side, then rubs the back of his neck with his other one.  “Don’t make a thing of it.”

“Never,” Ford says, smiling a little despite himself.  And despite the fact that he really can’t afford to waste time finding parts for his quantum destabilizer, he can’t help the next thing that comes out of his mouth.

“Hey,” he says.  “I know a good human bar a couple dimensions over.  I can probably get this thing working long enough to get us there,” he says, lifting up his dimension gun.  “Do you want to get a drink?”

Stan grins.

…

This version of Stan who got sucked into the portal is everything Ford would have thought to expect from a version of Stan who got sucked into the portal.  He’s loud and brash and boastful, with plenty of tricks he can pull off with his prosthetic arm and plenty of stories about space heists he’s pulled off.  Ford is fairly certain they’re not all true, but he wants to hear every one anyway.

He hadn’t realized how much he missed Stanley.  His feelings about his actual brother from his own dimension are so tangled up with betrayal and anger and a million other things that it’s hard to even know what he’d do if he saw him.  But in talking to a version of Stanley that carries none of the emotional baggage, Ford almost feels like he’s eighteen again, before everything went so horribly wrong between them.

“Listen, I’m telling you, that one was the law’s fault,” Stan says, setting his mug of beer down.  “Laws shouldn’t be stupid if they don’t want to be broken.”

“I don’t think that’s quite how that works,” Ford says, though the large smile on his face is definitely giving away how little he’s bothered by it.

“Hey, I wasn’t the only one running from the cops tonight,” Stan points out with a bright grin.  “Guess I’m not the only criminal in the family anymore.”

“Laws broken in the name of science and survival don’t count,” Ford says, picking up his own beer and taking a drink.

“Great, so that means I can write off everything I did in the ten years after dad kicked me out, good to know,” Stan asks, sounding amused.

Ford startles a little, surprised at the casual way that Stan says that.  He doesn’t often think about what life was like for Stan during those ten years, but if he’s talking about writing off broken laws, Ford really doubts he means it in the name of science.

Either way, Stan seems totally content to move on, instead grinning back at Ford.  “And what was tonight, survival or science?” he asks.

Ford wrinkles his nose.  “Fashion.”

Stan laughs, loud and delighted in the way Ford hasn’t heard in decades.

“I’m sorry, didn’t you say something about bringing fake money into a casino?” Ford says, shoving Stan in the shoulder rather than acknowledging the ache in his chest.

“Yeah, but you expect that of me.  Next time you want to break the law, put some actual malice behind it.  It’s way more fun.”

Ford just rolls his eyes and takes another drink of his beer.  “Please, I bet I could outshine you with multiverse law-breaking stories.”

“I’m sorry, have you been listening to all my space heists?”

“And how many run-ins have you had with monsters and dream demons?  Have you ever even met Bill Cipher?”

“Bill Cipher?  What is he, like a secret code nerd you lost a boxing match to?”

“Oh, now I know that wasn’t a dig at my boxing skills.”

“Well, if the glove fits.”

“I’ve been traveling the multiverse and fighting monsters for almost thirty years, my boxing skills are a little better than they were in high school.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Ford glares over at Stan.  “Are you trying to get me to start a brawl in the middle of a bar?”

Stan just takes another drink of his beer, though Ford can see the smile behind it.  He can’t help but smile back a little as he shakes his head and takes a drink from his own mug.

Stan sets his drink down after another second, and turns to face Ford again.  And while Ford is expecting another joke or the start to a story to try and one-up all of Ford’s options, instead Stan surprises him.

“So uh, your portal incident,” he says.  Ford turns and faces him.  He wasn’t expecting Stan to go there.  But then Stan says, “where’d you end up after going through?  Because like, if we didn’t run into each other until now, but everything else seems mostly the same, does that mean we started in different places?”

Ford gives an “ah” of understanding.

“Well, I ended up in the nightmare realm with Bill,” Ford says.  “Had to run for my life pretty fast, but I made it out.  I mean, obviously.  Where were you?”

“A giant empty void of some kind,” Stan says.  He rubs the back of his neck and gives a sour smile.  “Thought Ford was mocking me.”

Ford narrows his eyes in confusion.  “Huh?”

“Oh, my Ford, obviously,” Stan says with a wave of his hand, as if that clears it up.  “Not you.”

“No, I— what do you mean, you thought he was mocking you?”

“Well, after he shoved me in,” Stan says, and something about the way he says it makes Ford’s chest go cold.

“But… why would that mean he was mocking you?” he asks, hoping he’s misunderstanding.  “It was an accident, wasn’t it?”

Stan turns and gives him a confused look.  “What?  No.  What are you talking about?”

“Well, I wouldn’t— you’re not saying he shoved you in on purpose, are you?”

“Hey,” Stan holds up his hands.  “Different worlds, different Fords.  It doesn’t say anything about you.”

Ford tries not to let his obvious discomfort show.  “I suppose,” he says.  But still, he can’t imagine any scenario where he’d shove Stanley into the portal on purpose.  He might have been angry at Stan, but he never wanted him in danger.  And shoving him through the portal would have guaranteed that.  He shut it down because it was dangerous, and he didn’t want anything like what happened to Fiddleford to happen to anyone else.

“You’re really bothered by that, huh,” Stan says after a second, because he’s far too similar to the brother Ford knows, which means he can read him like an open book.

“I just don’t understand,” Ford admits, shaking his head.  “I mean, you are so similar to how I remember my version of Stanley.  Why would I be so different?”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, he was actin’ different too,” Stan says.  “My brother, I mean.  Real weird.”

Ford looks curiously back at Stan.  “Weird how?”

“Like, real giggly and manic.  At one point I kicked him hard into the wall and he just started laughing.  He said something about how hilarious it was.  Honestly, I think he was on something.”

Ford can’t breathe.  His mind is starting to paint him a horrifying picture.

“He— Stanley,” he says.  “Did he fall unconscious at any point that you were down there?”

Stan looks at him in confusion.  “How’d you know that?”

Ford runs a hand through his hair.  “That— god.  Stanley, that wasn’t your brother.”

“What are you talking about?”

“That— remember when I mentioned Bill Cipher?”

“The secret code nerd?” Stan asks, smirking.

“He’s not a secret code nerd, he’s a demon,” Ford says, turning to face Stan directly, trying to get across the importance of what he’s saying, because if Stanley meant it when he said he never met Bill, that means he’s spent the whole time here thinking his brother pushed him through the portal on purpose, and Ford can’t let that go on.

“Stanley, he’s a demon that I met, and that your brother must have met too.  I suppose I can’t say that things went exactly the same, but from what you said…” he takes a breath and folds his hands together.  He doesn’t make a habit of telling people his history with Bill, but this is important.

“I met him when I was young and idealistic and stupid,” he says plainly.  “And before I realized how malicious and dangerous he was, I made a deal with him, and let him possess me whenever he wanted.  He can’t anymore,” Ford knocks on the metal plate in his head.  “But back then, he could anytime that I fell asleep.  And that whole thing, about pain being hilarious?  He said that all the time.  He probably thought that you were too dangerous to him, or that you’d get in the way, so when your brother fell unconscious, he… well.  I can’t imagine why he’d lead with the fact that it wasn’t your brother in control anymore.”

Stan looks at him for a long moment after he finishes, and to Ford’s surprise, he can’t read his face.  Finally, Stan just says, “Huh.”  He turns and takes a drink of his beer.

Ford blinks at him.  “Huh?” he repeats.

Stan looks back at him.  “Do you want me to say something else?”

“Something— do you believe me?” Ford asks, a little incredulous.

“I mean, I’ve seen enough crazy shit out here that it can’t exactly be off the table,” Stan says.  “You also have no reason to lie to me, so… yeah, sure.”  He shrugs.

Ford looks at him for another minute.  “I’ll admit, I was expecting a bigger reaction,” he says.

“I mean, it doesn’t change that much,” Stan says.  “I’m still here, aren’t I?  Come on, we both know how smart you are.  If my brother wanted me back he’s had thirty years to do something about it.  Even if he wasn’t responsible for the first part, it’s on him now.  It’s fine.  I made my peace with it a long time ago.”

Oh.  Ford gets it now.  Stan wants something he can’t have.

“It’s not quite that simple,” Ford says, turning to look back at his drink.  “If the portal is turned back on, it could give Bill a path through to whatever world it’s turned on in.  It’s not as easy as turning it on and you get to go home.  It’s the needs of the many versus the needs of the few.  He has to keep the world safe from Bill.  I can understand why he has to leave you here.”

He winces a little as soon as he says the last part, and braces himself.  He expects a glare, or for Stan to snap at him, or anything similar.  Something that shows he doesn’t understand the sacrifice part of all this.  But instead, Stan laughs, a strange mix of fond and sad, and takes another swig of his beer.

“God, Poindexter,” he says.  “You’ve been out here almost thirty years and you still haven’t learned a damn thing, have you?”

“I— what?  I’ve learned plenty,” Ford says, feeling a little offended.  “I’ve learned so much about the multiverse, and about Bill, and—”

“About yourself, knucklehead,” Stan says, smirking at him.  “Have you just been passing through from one place to another for thirty years?”

“I— there aren’t a ton of other options,” Ford says.  “I can’t stay in a parallel Earth, I could run into a version of myself.  There’s too many dimensions that can’t sustain a life form like me, and I still have Bill to worry about.  It’s not like I can just leave him to do whatever he wants.”

“Sure you can,” Stan says.  “Someone else will take care of him.”

“Someone else will what?  Stanley—”

“It’s not all on you, Ford,” Stan says, looking back at him.  “If there’s a version of me here, there have to be other versions of you.  Let one of them take that risk.”

“I can’t just count on that!  What if that’s what we all think?”

Stan snorts, like that’s somehow funny.

“Stanley—”

“And then what?” Stan cuts him off, turning and raising an eyebrow at him.  “After you defeat Bill.  What do you do then?”

“I— there’s bound to be something else that—”

“What stuff do you do because you want to, Ford?  What out here makes you happy?”

“Well— discovering new dimensions and how they work,” Ford says.  “Their laws of physics, their food and cultures, their—”

“You got any friends?”

“What does that matter?”

“How much of the stuff you learned was pure observation?  Did you go up and talk to anyone, ask them questions about how things work?”

“Right, because everyone in every dimension speaks English.”

Stan raises an eyebrow.  “You’re telling me you’ve been here almost thirty years and you’ve never gotten your hands on a dimensional translator?”

“I— I have, but that’s not—”

“Ford, listen.  We have to live here, right?  I’m never going home, and it doesn’t sound like you think you are either.”

“I’m not,” Ford says.  “What’s your point?”

“So this is all we got,” Stan says.  “You’re never going home, so you have to do something else.”

“Obviously, what are you getting at?”

Stan grins at him.  “You want to come check out my place?”

Ford stares at him.  “You have a house?”

“Of sorts.”  Stan pulls out a small box that looks vaguely like a treasure chest.  “I’ve got a dimensional lock on her.”

“I…” Ford says, and trails off, not quite sure what to say.

Stan smiles at him, and then waves over at the bartender.  “Thanks for the drinks!” he calls.  He slams a couple bills down on the counter and turns back to Ford.

“Are those bills real?”

“Shh.  Let’s go.”  Stan hits a button on his dimensional lock, and the world bends and twists around them, pulling them back to whatever Stan’s put the other lock on.  When they stop, Ford looks around, and—

“Why am I not surprised?” he asks, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, she’s a beauty, ain’t she?” Stan says, grinning at him.  “Welcome to the Stan-O-War II.”

They’re standing on a houseboat in what looks like a fairly typical human ocean, if you ignore the fact that a stretch of it rises into the air and twists upside down into the sky not too far up ahead.

They’re sailing right towards the lift into the air, but Stan seems completely unphased by this.  He walks up a set of stairs to a steering wheel, and pulls a lever on the side.  The entire boat starts glowing gold, and as they reach the shift in gravity, the boat turns into it with no issue, and Ford doesn’t feel his own center of gravity shift at all.

“You would not believe how much I had to steal to get that part working,” Stan says.

“Stanley—”

“Alright, I lied.  I worked odd jobs until I could afford it.  Easier that way.  There’s so many police checks on these kinds of dohickeys, it’s ridiculous.”

The boat sails with the curve until they’re upside down, and Ford can look around him to see stars and planets around them, though not any that he recognizes.

“Remarkable,” he breathes, because he can’t help but be a little blown away by it.

Stanley walks back down the steps and over to stand next to Ford, smiling at the stars around them too.

“I picked this dimension as a home base,” Stan says.  “I think you can guess why.”

Ford just nods.

Stan walks forward and leans over the side of the boat to look down at the water.  After a second, Ford joins him.  From the— sea? sky?— below, fish leap up and eat the stars out of the air.  As soon as they land back in the water, one of the stars still in the air splits in half, and the number of stars in the sky remains unchanged.

“Some of the planets,” Stan says, pointing at one with his finger and following it as the bot sails past it.  “Can support life.  So when the fish eat the stars, the stars split so nothing on the planet dies.  The brief moments of darkness are the planet’s solar eclipses.”

“Planet-wide solar eclipses?” Ford asks, amazed.  “Is the star gone for too short of a time to make a difference in the temperature?”

“Nah.  The folks on the planet just evolved to get used to it.”

“How do you know?” Ford asks, looking back at him.

“I shrunk myself down and went to ask ‘em.  Had to time it right, though.  I’m sure not evolved to survive an eldritch fish eating the sun.”

“Stanley, that’s… incredibly dangerous,” Ford says.  But for a moment, he can’t help but feel impossibly jealous.

“Worth it though.  I’m apparently well known to everyone on pretty much every planet.  They kind of view me as a god.  Hell of an ego boost that was.”

“Oh lord,” Ford mutters.  “I don’t want to think about that.”

Stan laughs.  He turns and leans back against the side of the boat, then gazes up at the sea, back on the… well, Earth, of sorts, now above them.

“When I said I made my peace with it,” Stan says, without looking at Ford, “I meant it.  I know my brother.  I know how his head works.  I know he’s probably doin’ alright without me, and I’m okay with that.  Way I see it, my two options were either let everything fester and grow into an angry, bitter old man, or let it go.”  Stan spreads his hands.  “I like where the second option has let me end up.”

Ford looks at Stan, and finds he doesn’t know what to say.  It’s an unusual feeling.  He’s not sure he likes it.

It looks like they’ll be sailing along the sky for a while, judging by what’s ahead of them, so Ford leans back next to Stan and looks at the sky below them and the sea above them.

“But…” Ford says finally, because he has to say something.  “What’s your goal, here?  What are you trying to do?”

Stan turns to him, raises an eyebrow.  “Goal?”

“What do you want to do, with your life?” Ford asks.  “It— it can’t just be— this.”

Stan smiles, just a little.  “And why not?”

“Well— because…” Ford trails off, lost.

Neither of them say much for a while.

Finally, Ford’s dimension gun beeps at him.  He glances down at the screen and lets out a sigh of relief.

“My parts to fix my gun are ready,” he says to Stan.  “I’ve gotta get going.  But… thanks, I guess.  It was nice to meet you, and have a drink, and…” he looks around, and his words are stolen for another moment.  Eventually, he just finishes “…this.”

Stan gives him a long look, then just nods.

Ford moves the gun’s settings carefully, and when he fires it, it shows him the right dimension.

It’s just as he’s about to step through that Stan speaks again.

“You could come with me, you know,” he says.  “We could hunt for treasure and adventure, like we always said we would.  Even if we’re not technically the ones we said it to.”

This, Ford has been expecting, and he responds instantly and with ease.  “I can’t,” he says, turning to give Stan one last look.  “I have to try and defeat Bill.  I have to save the world.”

But rather than get angry, or sad, or doing anything that makes sense, Stan just sighs.  “Yeah,” he says.  “You always do, huh.”  He turns and starts back up the stairs towards the wheel, and Ford watches him go.  Stan gives no argument, doesn’t keep trying to convince Ford to come.

Ford doesn’t know what to say.  It’s the third time it’s happened, and that’s enough that he’s decided, he’s not a fan.  He would say it’s foolish to expect to know how a Stan from an alternate dimension would act, but so much about this version of his brother has been familiar enough to make Ford’s chest ache.  And yet, when it comes to the big things, the set-in-stone things, like the Stan-O-War, and Bill, and getting shoved into the multiverse for thirty years by someone Stan freely admits he thought put him here on purpose; when it comes to the conversations that Ford should absolutely know the path of, Stan reacts in the complete opposite way he expects, and it leaves Ford feeling lost and unsteady.

“I…” he says, reaching for something normal.  He fails.  “I don’t understand.”

Stan turns to face him.  There is so much sudden warmth and love in his gaze that it takes Ford’s breath away.

“That’s okay, Sixer,” Stan says.  “Just go try and save the world.  Come find me if you fail, okay?  I’ll still be here.”

Ford doesn’t know what to say to that either.  After a second, he just turns and walks through to the other dimension, to get the parts he needs.

He turns one last time and watches Stan as the portal between them closes.  Stan smiles as it does, and then he’s gone.  He leaves Ford with a lump in his throat, an ache in his chest, and the feeling that he’s missed something important.

[grahstumhurts]

𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙨 𝙖𝙡𝙞𝙜𝙣𝙚𝙙 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙪𝙨

Synopsis- Y/n had always had a crush on Sophia. this being Y/n's senior year, she had to make it count. Sophia, a untouchable goddess, in Y/ns eyes. Will it happen?

A/N - YES I KNOW ITS A CHEESY TITLE AND FIC, ITS MY FIRST TIME WRITING FOR TUMBLR OKAY. SUE ME IF I WANTED SOME CHEESY ROMANTIC SOPHIA CONTENT. This was not proof read so yeah

 Lara always complains about how I stare at her in the halls when she passes by with her flock. “Dude, its honestly sad how much time you spend a day staring at her and or thinking about her, when in all brutal truth, she probably doesn't give you a single thought.” Lara sighs, rubbing her forehead in frustration as she watches me get out my books for my AP biology class. “Its not that bad, okay. Trust me i've been worse.” I try defending myself, “Listen, Y/N At this point you might as well confess since it's almost the end of the year. Whats the worst that could happen? You get embarrassed, yes, But you won't ever see her again until the highschool reunion.” Lara tries to convince me for the Nth time this year. Senior year was supposed to be the year where I let loose. By the time senior spring had come and college applications were through, there had been one thing I had yet to do. I’ve known her for years. I mean everyone knows her at our school. She's everyone's dream girl, Untouchable you could say. Sophia Laforteza. I sigh, almost giving in this time, “No, I won't do it. Like i've said multiple times, she's an untouchable painting that, Good lord, I want to touch so bad” I close my locker, leaning against it, facing towards Lara. She gives me an unimpressed look. “You have AP Bio with her next right? So why not ask her to study sometime? I mean you are basically failing that class,girl.” I pause, I consider it, My brain algorithm approves. The bell rings for the next period. “why are you actually kinda smart, Lara.” I walk past her “Hey, woah what do you mean kinda, I legit just gave you the best idea ever” she yells at my passing figure as i jog off to mr bennetts classroom. “For the sake of my mental health I pray to Beyonce that this works.” Lara mumbles under her breath as she walks off to her class. 

Now you would think that the universe would be on my side. And you would be right. The stars have aligned as Lara would say, God forbid that girl ever not talk about stars and astrology the moment the conversation dies down. “Alright class, today i'm announcing your semester-long project for this class. This project will be starting today and will be ending by the end of the semester, so right around April we will present. Now this is a partner project” The class groans in disbelief, “Settle down. Now, I will be picking the partners-” The class erupts in boisterous anger at Mr bennett. “Calm down, Jesus, I'm retiring after this year. This project is going to be about whatever you want it to be. as long as it relates to biology.” He opens his laptop. “Now the partners will be…” he pauses reading the screen “Chloe and Marquise, Nickolas and Wendy, Y/N and Sophia” I note down these partnerships in my head just for reference, Wait. Are you fucking kidding me, its me and sophia? Now in hindsight you would think that maybe this is a class prank on me. I swear to fucking god i was about ready to explode, yean no not that kind of explode, the one where im the most anxious person on the god damn planet that we call fucking earth. Out of the 24 students in this class, other than me, there is a one in fucking 24 chance that i would be placed with her. Which i find is fucking ridiculous. “And thats it for partners, now if you could start planning your projects that would be great” Everyone shuffles around the room, trying to find their partner. I scramble to pick up my things when I drop my pencil case. I notice a manicured hand pick it up, i connect the hand to the arm, the arm to the body. Like the gorgeous goddess she is, she hands me my pencil case, Stupid fucking fish pencil case. “I like your pencil case, its pretty creative and unique” She comments, placing the fish on the table “thanks, my grandma got it for me so i've just been using it ever since.” I laugh uncomfortably. “What do you wanna do the project on?” I meekly ask her, I avoid all eye contact possible. She ponders for a moment, “I've always been kinda interested in how the weather contributes to moods, would that be something your okay with doing?”  “imokaywithdoingwhateveryouwant” I spit out, at possibly the pace of a marathon runner. She laughs to herself at my reaction “you're cute.” She mumbles. “Are you free this week to start the project or…” She drags off the end of the word to insinuate for me to answer, “i'm good for this week, maybe tomorrow? After school” “We can go over to your house? My siblings can be quite loud so i dont think that’ll be the best “study spot”” She physically puts those two words in quotations. Which wakes me up to the reality that i will be spending the rest of the semester with her, creating a project. “Sure, Im down.” I say a little too excited, I clear my throat. “Cool, cant wait” she says casually as she walks off to her desk to pack up. 

The first week went surprisingly well. I actually kept my cool and had a normal conversation with her. As the weeks grow, my feelings never really cut off for her. Instead, like a tumour, it grows. And so does my guilt. The project builds up a good amount of research, by the time its almost the end of the semester, March to be exact. The guilt, it flourishes inside me like a mouldy banana in the bottom of your bag. For all I know she could be straight. 

I hear the doorbell ring, I know its her. My mom answers the door, as per usual. lets her in, then she comes up the stairs and up to my room where the door is already open for her to come in. “Hey” she greets me “almost the end huh? I bought some snacks on the way here, I remember last week you mentioned sour skittles to me so I figured I could try them with you.” “you remembered?” “Yeah, why wouldn't i? We are friends right? I mean with all the time we have spent on this project, i assumed we are friends” she looks confused, almost hurt? “Are we not friends” “we are, yeah” I flusteredly responded, panicking at the seemingly wounded look. She cracks a smile “i'm just messing with you,” she knocks my shoulder against hers as she sits down on my bed. “I think there's a storm coming soon actually” she says opening the shopping bag with the seemingly endless amount of snacks in it. “Kinda ironic don't you think?” I say to her, We get to work for the next couple of hours, sprinkling in some goofy moments between the two of us. She ends up having to stay over, The storm inhibiting her ability to go home. I look out the window, the rain looks as if it will never end. “You ever danced in the rain?” She sits next to me, resting her head on my shoulder, observing the perspiration. “I did it once with an ex boyfriend of mine,” she adds to her previous comment. For some reason that last bit stung a little, like a scratch from a cat. “You had a boyfriend?” I ask genuinely curious. “I ended things with him since I figured out that i liked girls” “oh, i didnt know you liked girls.” I looked at her, Her hazel eyes looking back. “Do you like girls?” she questioned me. “Yeah, always have” I answered meekly. An idea came to me when she looked back out the window, I stood up. “Lets go out into the rain” I drag her closely behind me as we walk out the front door to my house, running out into the wet sky. I laugh at her standing confused in the doorway. “Dude come on” I actively try to convince her “you were the one that started talking about dancing in the rain” I open my mouth and let the almost salty droplets hit my tongue. “Eugh, dude, dont you know how disgusting rain water is” She runs out into the rain, fully embracing the uncomfortable wetness covering her body. I curtsy to her “Mi’ Lady would you care for a dance?” I say in a faux british accent. She giggles “Of course Mi’ Lady, a dance would be appreciated.” I bring her in, her waist in one hand and her own hand in the other. “Is this okay?” I yell over the sound of the water droplets hitting the ground. She nods, resting her head on my shoulder as we sway in the middle of the driveway. She looks up at me, searching my face for something. Looking down at my lips, then my eyes, then back at my lips again. “What?” I asked her “do i have something on my face?” She cups my cheeks, her warm thumb stroking my cheekbones. Before I can say another thing, she leans in, and kisses me. The Ivy that is guilt covering my heart slowly withers away, her hands leave my cheeks and caress the hair on the back of my neck. I pull her in closer, wrapping my arms around her body. A lightning crack makes us pull apart. “You seriously dont know how long ive been dreaming of this happening” I tuck my face into her soaking collar, she kisses my forehead. “How long?” she giggles, “1st grade, When i first moved here. And it trailed all the way here.” “damn i wasn't expecting that.” I blush. “Do you wanna be my girlfriend?” I call out over the rain. “Of course dumbass” She leans back in, coating my whole body in a warm honey feeling, The stars aligned for us to be.

[bosskisbae]

So, I just rewatched the pilot for The Gaslight District and a thought occurred to me. During Ken's confrontation with Temperance, the audience is specifically led to believe that the secret the Virtue is keeping for Ken directly relates to Mel and her being the prophesied human, but I don't think it actually is. Like, obviously there is some connection there, but there are signs throughout the episode of Ken's ongoing animosity to the Virtues that feels to me like it's more than just him being protective of Mel. Obviously, that could be chalked up to his (possible) torture at their hands in the Inferno, but then why would they intentionally make the scene so weighty and mysterious. Mel's secret is known to the audience basically right off the bat, so there's clearly more to what's going on and I think I might have figured out what. I think...and stick with me here...Ken IS a Virtue. Sort of. There're those weird flashes of color whenever he gets uncontrollably angry, where half of his brain is highlighted. That's got to be more than just an aesthetic choice, right? Why the mystery of it all if it's not important. So, my theory is, that the version of Ken the Butcher we see in the Inferno, is not fully him. Not yet at least. I think that a Virtue replace half of the Butcher's brain with its own. It makes a certain amount of sense; the Virtues are basically just brains after all. Now, why would a Virtue do this, why would one of the seeming leaders of Paradise Lost physically bond themselves to the body of a rotling, which they all seemingly have nothing but disdain for? I think it has something to do with the rotling's immortality. The Virtues don't appear to be immortal in the same way, not based on what we've seen so far at least. I also think the reason might have something to do with which Virtue Ken might have gotten his half-brain from. I think it was Kindness. Not only is it the one that fits most closely with the name Ken, but I think it really fits with his personality too. You can tell how much he cares about people; not just Mel, but everyone. Everyone except the Virtues that is. It also sort of works narratively. All of the other heavenly virtues could easily be corrupted into concepts related to purity, duty or other sort of authoritarian ideals, but you can't really do that with true kindness. It seems pretty obvious to me that whatever the relationship between the Virtues and the rotlings is, it is clearly the Virtues who hold most of the power. I wouldn't be surprised if they turned out to be responsible for the apocalypse of the distant past (there is some obvious biblical symbolism there with the flood and the whale), or even the Black Hand and the rotling's horrific immortality. I imagine the supposed embodiment of kindness itself would have a hard time going along with things at that point, especially if the Virtues were then planning on wiping all of the rotlings out. It might even drive them to take drastic action. I think there's something poetic about the idea that Kindness is engaging in such cruelty as we see Ken perpetrate in the show in order to prevent something even worse from happening. I also definitely think that Temperance was the one who performed the surgery, hence why they knew the truth of everything. The butcher's knife, possibly the entire butcher persona, is there to explain away the headwound that would never really heal on a rotling body. Speaking of bodies, I think that what's left of the original Kindness, the other half of their brain and what not, is what is inside the pseudo-egg thing inside of the laboratory that Temperance is seemingly keeping alive for some reason. Thoughts?

*Small edit because I was wrong about the knife being there in the flashback scene

[allwaswell16]

A fic rec of One Direction fics that include a love confession as requested in an ask that Tumblr ate. It's actually really bothering me because it was a very specific request that I tried to do my best to find for you, anon! The ask was something like when the other blurts it out that they're in love with them. ETA: Found it here! Anyway. If you enjoy the fics, please leave kudos and comments for the writers! You can find my other recs here. Happy reading!

- Louis / Harry -

💌 always you (i should have known) by 28goldensfics / @28goldens

(T, 60k, uni)  the one where harry and louis cant stand each other and fake date to make someone jealous.

💌 Never Let Me Go by loveisalaserquest17 / @elenaferrante

(E, 55k, friends to lovers) Harry and Louis have been friends forever, but they couldn't be more different. One night, with a little too much alcohol, they make a pact to marry in ten years if they're both still single.

💌 Falling Without Caution by Jennifer_Kaid / @poetsreprieve

(E, 50k, omegaverse) Louis Tomlinson, a wanted criminal, was captured by the FBI after years of chasing. What was supposed to be the end of a decade long chase turned into a morally grey circumstance for Agent Styles.

💌 Looking Through You by @allwaswell16

(E, 41k, friends to lovers) Just as Louis and Liam were starting out in the music industry, writing and producing for up and coming artists, a fateful meeting with new pop singer Harry Styles changes everything. Four years later, just as Harry is set to embark on his next world tour, a drunken confession causes a rift between once inseparable friends.

💌 Give Me A Try by rainbow_kings

(E, 28k, roommates) AU where Harry is absolutely, hopelessly in love with his best friend, Louis. But Louis is dating somebody else. It takes them a while to figure it all out.

💌 'cause I want you (for the worse and for the better) by nonsensedarling / @absoloutenonsense

(NR, 26k, omegaverse) When Louis gets invited along to Anne's wedding, Harry is prepared to let people think whatever they want about their relationship. That's what Louis said -- let people think whatever they want. 

💌 the evenness i fake by @shimmeringevil

(E, 26k, omegaverse) Harry doesn’t do relationships. He has a perfectly enjoyable friends-with-benefits agreement with a perfectly lovely omega, and he doesn’t see the need to change that anytime soon.

💌 what's left of my halo's black by LiveLaughLoveLarry / @loveislarryislove

(E, 22k, fwb) A year after a devastating breakup, Louis is still trying to put himself back together - but getting over a breakup is hard when you work as a wedding planner. Thankfully, his coworker Harry is the most supportive friend Louis could ask for.

💌 Give it All by mirilik / @louis-arssets

(NR, 18k, uni) Somehow things get complicated when Louis starts dating Nick and Harry realises that he might have some feelings for his mate which are very not appropriate for a best friend.

💌 Neptune by Pumpkinspice_Lou / @c-e-d-dreamer

(G, 14k, high school) Harry has always been in love with his best friend Louis, but when new student and goal keeper Zayn starts getting close with Louis, Harry can't help but assume the worst.

💌 a flicker of hope that i wanna keep (please don’t leave) by localopa / @voulezloux

(M, 12k, canon) harry is in love with louis, and he had thought louis felt the same until he accidentally left his journal in harry’s home. he knows he shouldn’t have read it, especially when it only proved to be a reality check he didn’t want.

💌 Always Yours by heartbreakwthr

(E, 8k, roommates) Prompt 89: Jealous and Possessive Harry when someone new arrives in their group and has a crush on Louis.

💌 Sex Drunk Suckerpunch by thinlines / @thinlinez

(E, 7k, sugar baby) Sugar Baby Louis did what any sugar baby should avoid doing but (clichely) end up doing anyways, that is, failing for his sugar mama.

💌 Fall With You by pointerbrother / @pointerbrotherblog

(E, 6k, canon) Harry and Louis are stuck in a hotel suite together watching the Euros 2020 final because they tested positive for Covid, and Louis is quite caught up in the game. Meanwhile, Harry is caught up in Louis.

💌 Just Another Ordinary Day by orphan_account

(T, 4k, omegaverse) Omega Louis finds out his best friend (who he may or may not be in love with) Harry, an Alpha, might have found someone he wants to mate with. Jealous and tired of dealing with it all, he confronts Harry and demands to know who it is. 

💌 Anything He Can Do by kikikryslee / @flamboyantommo

(G, 3k, friends to lovers) the one where Louis is in love with Harry and can't help but be mad at Harry's upcoming date. Until he finds out who Harry is actually planning on taking out.

💌 don't call me baby by 28sunflowers / @vintageumbroshirt

(G, 2k, friends to lovers) A short and cliché roommates AU inspired by To Be So Lonely, where they’re both oblivious to each other’s feelings and Harry gets sad and jealous over nothing. It works out in the end.

- Rare Pairs -

💌 I Had Rather Hear My Dog Bark At A Crow by sunsetmog / @magicalrocketships

(E, 122k, Louis/Nick Grimshaw) Nick and Louis don't like each other, not even a little bit, not even at all.

[soldiergf]

i hate you (just enough to love you) - soldier boy x the boys member! fem reader

summary: you're one of the boys, and you're assigned to 'babysit' the infamous soldier boy. let's just say it doesn't exactly go to plan; 1819 words

tw: smut, hate sex, lots of cursing, light misogyny

it’s not every day you wake up and find out that the man who was previously known the world’s greatest superhero —who was supposedly very dead— is, in fact, not fucking dead. because, surprise! turns out the dramatic farewell speech given by vought employees about how the great soldier boy “sacrificed himself to save his people” or whatever was a big, fat lie. go fucking figure.

to make matters worse, the boys decided to take in soldier boy, believing he was the key to defeating homelander, and they left you in charge of babysitting duty. 

“no,” you protested, giving butcher a pleaded look because, honestly, you’d rather spend your tuesday evening doing literally anything else. “he’s over a century old for fucks sake, he doesn’t need babysitting!”

“such foul language!” butcher had teased, to which you just flipped him off. “relax, love. you’ll be fine. jus’ for a couple hours, that’s all. you can do it.”

“yeah, but the thing is, i really don’t want to.” you pleaded, which simply got a laugh out of butcher, and unfortunately for you, not much else. 

which is how you ended up sitting next to soldier boy on some dusty old motel sofa, counting down the hours until the boys return while they’re off doing whatever the fuck it is they’re doing.

“you seem fun.” soldier Boy smirks, his gaze lingering a bit too long for comfort, his eyes dragging over you like he’s a man starved and you’re the largest piece of meat.

your jaw tightens. you don’t bother hiding the scowl twisting your face. the way he looks at you—hungry, entitled, fucking confident—it sends a chill down your spine.

gross, you think, resisting the urge to scoot away. despite you being on opposite sides of the couch, he’s close—too close for comfort. the scent of whiskey and arrogance clings to him like a second skin, his presence practically suffocating. he’s old enough to be my goddamn grandfather.

“what are you looking at?” you snap, not sure what else to say, because how exactly do you tell one of the world’s most powerful super soldiers who could kill you with just a punch that you’re not interested. yeah, that conversation would not go well.

“you, sweetheart.” he says smugly, and oh if you didn’t want to punch him before, then you really want to now.

“don’t call me that.” you tell him simply.

“why not?”

“because i don’t like it.”

“too bad.”

you rolled your eyes, deciding not to press further, desperately wanting to pick a fight but unfortunately, he was good for the team or whatever. if he really could help them defeat homelander, then maybe putting up with his insufferable ego for a couple hours would be worth it. maybe.

you let the tv play in the background, some dumb sitcom from when you were a kid, and for a good 15 - maybe 20 minutes - it was kind of peaceful. soldier boy had finally shut up, and you felt a little more relaxed, a little less on edge. that was, until the commercials started playing, and an advertisement for a baby carrier for dads was shown. and let’s just say soldier boy did not take kindly to that.

“do men really walk around like that?” he had asked you, to which you simply nodded.

“um, yeah. some dads do.”

he just scoffed. “fuck ass pussy gear,” he muttered under your breath, and a more patient person would’ve just let it go, but unfortunately, you were probably the least patient person on this planet.

“god forbid a man tries to take care of his of fucking child.” you shake your head, annoyed by his comment.

“i'm just saying.” soldier boy shrugs. “taking care of the child? sweetheart, that’s what the woman is supposed to do. you know, keep the house, raise the kid, make sure everything runs smoothly so the men can focus on real work? seems like the world’s gone soft." 

“god, you are such an asshole.” you comment. (you secretly wonder if he genuinely believes this fucked up idology, if he’s just trying to push your buttons) “what’s so wrong with the mother working? or maybe the mom isn’t around. maybe she died, or got sick, or she left or something? doesn’t mean the world’s gone fucking soft!”

“i know, i know. but just, back in my day-”

“i don’t give a shit about back in your day! this isn’t back in your day, it’s the goddamn present, and i hate to break it to you, but your misogynistic asshole bullshit doesn’t fly anymore. i get that you were used to being fucking worshipped by everyone on this planet, but news flash, no one even no ones your alive anymore, and i have a feeling most people wouldn’t even care. so how about you get off of your fucking high horse, and realize that you don’t own this world, you never have, and you never will, so maybe it’s best to just zip it and actually listen to only fucking people who are trying to help you!”

you were beyond aggravated. sure, you get it, he was soldier boy, he was a big deal or whatever, but that didn’t give him the right to just be an asshole and say whatever the hell he wanted to. by the end of your little ‘speech’, you were fuming, and while you didn’t exactly think about the repercussions of your outburst beforehand, you were now starting to realize that maybe cursing out one of the most powerful super soldiers was not the best idea you’ve had.

but he didn’t look mad. instead he looked…amused.

"well you're a feisty one, huh?" he smirks, licking his lips, eyes dark with intrigue as he leans in just a fraction closer.

“oh, fuck you!” you scoff, those two short seconds of self preservation you had fading away once again.

“i’m sure you’d like that, wouldn’t you, baby?”

“god, do you ever think about anything else than sex?” you roll your eyes, getting up from the couch.

“come on, sweetheart.” he says in a taunting voice, standing up to meet your gaze. “you’re obviously all worked up right now. a little release could be nice, no?”

and fuck, he has a point. because, yeah, you’re pent up all his. both from not getting a good fucking in who knows how long and also because of the fact you’re holed up in a room with the world’s biggest manchild (next to homelander, that is). and, despite all of his asshole-ness, you have to admit - soldier boy is hot. like, porn star level hot. and you can see the way he looks at you, he wants this bad. you realize he probably hasn’t had sex in over 30 years, at least not since before getting captured by the russians. and it’s not like you had a track record of making the best decisions anyways…

yeah, okay. fuck it.

you shove soldier boy against the wall, taking his mouth into a searing kiss. it’s hot, heavy, passionate, full of desire, and fuck, you’d be lying if you said it doesn’t feel good. no, it feels great. you hook your leg around his thigh, grinding rough and hard against him, letting out loud moans with each roll of your hip. 

“fuck…” you murmur against his lips, letting his tongue slide into your mouth.

he unbuttons your pants, shoving them down to your calves, pulling your underwear down as well. his lips latch against your neck as his fingers move to your pussy, rubbing circles inside of your pretty clit, with his pointer and middle finger, and for a second you start to understand why his ego was so goddamn big - he was probably used to women praising him for how good he was in bed. he’s been touching you, for what, five seconds, and you can already tell this is going to be the best fucking of your life. 

“i still fucking hate you” you spit out, your harsh words followed by a moan.

“i know you do, baby, i hate you too.” he says, moving his lips back to meet yours. “but i love the way your pussy feels. so soft, and warm, so fucking perfect for me.”

you roll your hips, desperate for even more of his touch, despite the fact his fingers were deep inside of you. at this point, you didn’t even care how stupid or needy you looked, you just needed him to keep touching you like that - and given the way he keeps moaning and kissing you, you have a feeling he needs this just as bad.

“hate you so fucking much.” you say again, biting down on his bottom lip, tugging on it with your teeth.

his fingers thrust hard and fast into you, eliciting even more whimpers and moans from you. “fuck.. im close.” you cry, feeling your orgasm brewing up. you felt like you were on cloud fucking nine right now, you felt so damn good, and you hate that it was all because of fucking soldier boy. all because of that annoying, arrogant, powerful, hot as hell sex god standing in front of you.

“come for me, baby girl.” he tells you, and with that, your orgasm comes crashing down, your come coated his long fingers.

your legs are shaking, hard and heavy, and you barely even register when soldier boy pulls his fingers out of your worn out pussy and licks your come off of his fingers, holding eye contact with you the whole damn time. asshole, you think. his hair is all disheveled, and you can’t imagine how messy you must look right now.

“the others are going to be back soon.” he says. “we should probably get cleaned up.”

you look almost confused for a second. “but what about you?” you saw how worked up and horny he had gotten, you knew he wanted it too, and you had a feeling soldier boy would not give a flying fuck if the boys saw the two of you naked having crazy good hate sex.

he just laughs. “next time, sweetheart. next time.”

“whatever, soldier boy.” you roll your eyes, emphasizing his name in a mocking manner.

“it’s ben. call me ben.”

ben. it’s a nice name, you think. it’s not pretentious or arrogant, the way ‘soldier boy’ is. it’s nice, and simple, and maybe kind of basic, but you don’t mind. it’s not the name of a superhero, or a world-class dickhead, but instead, the name of a man - someone real, someone who’s made mistakes and lived with them, someone who might actually deserve a second chance. you think you might like it. you think you might like it a lot.

but before you can say or do anything else, he’s turning around and walking away, and you’re left wondering what the fuck you just got yourself into.

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for qwertynerd97 behind the cut; Billy adopts Conner and it actually goes pretty good! (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“Why did your parents cook?” Lynn asks with a frown. “You don’t need to eat.” 

“I mean, they did,” Billy replies with a shrug, linking his hands together behind his back. “And I did back then. Technically I still need to eat now, just, like–not normally. Um. Sort of. Like, just sometimes, I mean?” 

Okay, actually “normal” is needing to eat, but he doesn’t think he’d be a very good dad if he wasn’t dad-shaped, at least to start, and also Batman is definitely gonna be checking in on them at least on and off and probably without actually telling them he’s doing it, and Billy just really doesn’t wanna explain that? Like, at all? Like ever, thanks. 

Or at least not for the next six years, anyway. 

“I don’t get it,” Lynn says, sounding a little skeptical. 

“Um, well, I’m not like you, I wasn’t born with powers,” Billy says with another shrug. “Being the champion of magic is, like, a job. Like, there was an interview and stuff.” 

“. . . you had a job interview to become a superhero?” Lynn says, looking baffled. 

“Um–kinda?” Billy grins sheepishly at him. “I mean, just technically. I don’t think the wizard actually thought I was gonna be, like, a superhero, I’m technically supposed to just worry about magical threats? But it seemed kind of dumb to only help out with those, ‘cuz it’s not like there’s all these huge magic crisises every day, but people still need help every day, you know? So like . . . I don’t know, I didn’t wanna just . . . ignore that, I guess. If I could help. And, um–I can help, so . . .”

Lynn stares at him blankly. Billy feels embarrassed and hopes he doesn’t sound like a liar or a poser or . . . whatever he might sound like right now, he guesses. He was just explaining, not like . . . he doesn’t know. Not trying to make himself sound good or like a tryhard or like he’s bragging or . . . whatever, again. 

“I mean, it was the right thing to do, right?” he tries. “Me being a superhero means I can be a better dad for you. Or, um–be one at all, I guess, since if I hadn’t been in the League I’m pretty sure Superman wouldn’t have known me well enough to trust me to ask to, so . . .” 

Lynn looks away abruptly, then heads over to the pantry and starts taking stuff out of it. Like–salt and pepper and olive oil, stuff like that, and then some little . . . bowl things? Like, little white ceramic ones that look way too small to actually eat out of. Billy kind of just assumed they were meant for, like, ketchup or soy sauce or something when he saw them in the cupboards earlier, but Lynn apparently has something else in mind. 

Well, at least Billy can stop embarrassing himself, if they’re gonna concentrate on the cooking now. 

. . . yeah, that doesn’t really work out so well. 

Or so he finds out about ten minutes later, when he accidentally knocks over half of the “mise en place” trying to reach for the cookbooks again and feels awful about it after Lynn just got it all set up. 

“Sorry! Sorry!” Billy blurts guiltily, trying to catch what he can and really not managing it at all. He is not used to being Captain Marvel-sized in a kitchen or an apartment, it’s just really different proportions and–“I’ll clean it up, just, um–” 

Billy speed-of-Mercury-s his way through cleaning everything up, and Lynn blinks at him in bewilderment. He’s holding a dish towel and the olive oil and looks confused, which is probably fair. Well, like–definitely fair. 

“Sorry,” Billy repeats in even worse embarrassment, gingerly righting the last spilled too-small bowl. This is not good dad behavior. 

“It’s . . . fine?” Lynn replies awkwardly, looking even more confused to be the one saying that. Which–yeah, Billy admittedly gets the feeling. He can’t think of a single foster parent he ever had who’d ever actually, like, apologized to him. Like–ever. Even when they definitely, definitely should have. 

Usually they’d expected him to apologize to them, actually, even when it was their fault something’d gone wrong to begin with. 

. . . okay, Billy thinks, and feels a little better about his standard of “dad behavior”. Like–he’s still embarrassed, but he’d rather be embarrassed about making a dumb mistake than be the kind of person who’d try to make Lynn feel bad on purpose instead of just admitting to his own fuck-ups. 

“I can measure it out again,” he promises, and very carefully picks up the cookbook this time to check the measurements, because he definitely remembers literally none of them. Sometimes the wisdom of Solomon is less, like–information and more like . . . well, saying sorry when you should and learning from your mistakes and stuff like that. Like–Billy doesn’t know how to explain it, exactly. Less smarts, and more street smarts. 

Though obviously this isn’t a “street smarts” situation. 

. . . maybe it’s like D&D. He knew a couple kids in foster care who liked that and talked about, like, different stats and stuff sometimes, and "wisdom" and "intelligence" are different ones, apparently. He didn’t really get it, but sometimes he felt like they just needed to talk, so he’d just let them. He knows a lot of really random stuff because of that kind of thing, he guesses. Like, come to think and all. 

Sometimes kids needed someone else to talk around them, too. Which Lynn might too, Billy is getting increasingly sure, unless the other acts a lot different once he gets comfortable somewhere. Which–well, that might be something Lynn doesn’t even know about himself, as little as he is, so Billy’s gonna just . . . he doesn’t know, stay flexible, he guesses. Figure out what works best to start, and if anything changes just adjust from there. 

It doesn’t matter if Lynn does or doesn’t like to talk, really. Billy’s used to it both ways. Even, like, a few adults he’s met just needed somebody to talk to or somebody else to talk, like on the street and all. Though mostly Billy avoids older people ‘cuz it’s just easier that way. Sometimes they’re not safe or just too unpredictable to trust long-term and he can’t really go Captain Marvel if he gets cornered by somebody he can’t run away from, because, like, secret identity stuff and all, so he’s gonna have to make sure Lynn knows not to– 

Billy–pauses. 

Lynn doesn’t actually, like . . . really need to know what kind of people to avoid on the street or not. Like, not as a regular daily thing, anyway. Which–yeah. Obviously he doesn’t need to know that. That’s the whole point of the apartment and the monthly checks and the expense account and . . . 

Billy, like–knew that was a thing. Obviously he knew that was a thing. 

But it’s weird to think about it, for some reason.

[dastardly-imbecile]

Prom, 1968

Junior year. There was nothing dramatic, no fallout, no shouting—he thinks that that’s how Lucy would’ve liked it to go, maybe, which perhaps makes it worse—simply the fact that, halfway through the year, she stopped showing up. That was during his concert circuit, when he bought this suit, when he was going to New York and London and Chicago, playing in front of faceless crowds, and by the time he was home long enough to realize she’d stopped showing up, it was quite too late to ask. --- Prom night. Schroeder's already missing out on practicing, but the only thing that can make it worse is that Lucy is Charlie Brown's date.

---

Wordcount: ~3.4k

“For heaven’s sake,” Schroeder says, “you look fine, Charlie Brown!”

“Do I really?” he asks, tugging at the collar of his suit. Schroeder reaches over and straightens his tie, runs a hand down the front of the smooth black suit jacket to brush away any remaining motes of dust. His own clothes are perfectly pressed and perfectly straight. Bought the suit a year ago, when he went up to New York to play Beethoven’s fifth, and it still fits just fine. 

Charlie’s, on the other hand, fits like a glove on a four-fingered hand, but if he tells him that, then he’ll just work himself into another tizzy and they’ll never get to the dance. 

The other two in the room, Linus and Franklin, both sitting upon his bed with legs dangling above the ground—both fully dressed and ready half an hour ago, delayed only by the constant changing and tweaking of Charlie’s suit—lean over Schroeder’s shoulder to look. 

Linus is the one to speak. “Yeah. Don’t worry. We need to pick up the girls.” 

“Right,” Schroeder says, giving Charlie an encouraging sort of push—or, it’s supposed to be encouraging, but seems to do nothing but put him off-balance—and walks towards the door. The girls are at Linus’s, the boys at his own house, which is more than a little convoluted—he never did see why they couldn’t simply get ready in the same building—but the girls want to be picked up and to gossip in peace, or whatever it is they’re doing. 

“We’re gonna be late,” Franklin observes idly, on the speedwalk through the living room. Charlie intakes a sharp sort of breath, that that preludes the spilling of many worries, but a simple shoulder-check stifles all that in his chest. 

He doesn’t know why Charlie’s taking it all so seriously, honestly. It’s prom, just prom, pick everyone up and spin around a streamer-sprawled gymnasium for an hour or two, get a strip of photos from some janky old booth, all decked out in feather boas and cartoonish glasses. 

In all honesty, he should be practicing. He has an audition in a week, perhaps the most important of his life, for entrance into a great, glass-domed conservatory up in New York. He knows Beethoven’s Sonata No. 23 as well as he knows himself, keys falling like water under his fingertips, but he can always be better. 

Front door opens, closes with a final click. Out front, there are four cars. His own is a sleek red mustang, low to the ground, freshly-washed. The same color as the toy piano that he used to love. He quashes that niggling annoyance that says I could be doing something else. 

Senior prom. A night with the friends he’s known since he was four. This isn’t productive, but that’s okay. Sacrifices must be made for the sake of entertainment. This is good. 

“We all know the way, right?” Charlie asks, hand half-poised on his own car, which is actually his mom’s white station wagon. Three heads nod in unison. “Okay,” he says, “okay. I look good, right? The suit’s okay?”

“Yes.” 

He swallows. “Alright. Sorry. I just don’t want Lucy to…”

And then, suddenly, it’s not so good anymore. 

—

Schroeder is the first to arrive, but he lingers alone in his car, unwilling to get out until Linus’s blue Road Runner parks rather crookedly against the curb. Only then does he unfurl his legs, unstick himself from the seats. By the time that Linus is out, the other two cars rapidly approach. Down the long line of the sidewalk, the house is a mural of cream and red and green, straight siding and the crispness of new paint. Though the windows are drawn over by curtains, he can make out many shadows moving behind them.

“Do we knock?” Charlie asks, reaching up in an attempt to straighten his tie. He just re-crooks it. Schroeder suppresses a sigh. This is normal behavior for him, always worrying in that endearing way of his. He doesn’t know why it’s putting him so on edge. 

Well, he does know. 

He just doesn’t want to admit it. 

Before any of them can answer that question, the red door swings open, pushed along by Patty, who bounds out without waiting. She’s dressed in a boxy sort of green number that reaches her ankles, belted around the waist by a thick bolt of satin. 

“Heya!” She half-yells. He winces in support of Linus’s neighbors. Not far behind her—as could be expected—is Marcie, in red, a shorter, frillier sort of thing that he would not have placed her in, but which looks surprisingly cohesive. Then, Sally, in pale, blush pink, lace at the shoulders and the hem, small rhinestones sewn into the seams. Frieda, in knee-length purple, hair eschewing traditional straightening to instead continue its free bounce around the corona of her head. No doubt all the girls coordinated so they wouldn’t pick the same color of dress, same style, all different, all unique. 

He almost thinks that that is all, until the final one rounds the corner, pale hand steadying herself upon the doorway. Black hair, drawn back by a navy headband, a blue dress that cuts its way close to her chest and falls, shining sleekly, to trail on the ground, no decoration but for the shine that oscillates across each ripple under the rapid dusk. 

She doesn’t need a name. He can practically taste it anyway, thick and cloying in his mouth. 

Frieda to Franklin, who slides a violet corsage onto her wrist. Sally to Linus, neither of them quite looking at the other as they perform that respective ritual. Lucy walks towards them, and he almost, in some deep, dumb part of his psyche, expects her to keep going to come to him, but the notion shatters as soon as her steps turn fractionally. 

Turn towards Charlie. 

Schroeder helped him pick out her corsage. Thick white rose in the center of the band, surrounded by blue ribbons and dyed flowers. Lucy accepts it with a wry sort of smile, leans forwards to carefully pin a boutonniere to his lapel, some bright azure thing that’s been wrapped in dark velvet. He’s so preoccupied with watching that motion, with trying to push down the sudden queasiness in his stomach, that it takes Patty snapping her fingers in his face to remember that he has one for her too. 

Strangely, not-so-strangely, she doesn’t seem mad. 

“Sorry,” is all she tells him, as he perfunctorily snaps the rose onto her wrist. 

All of them have a match, technically, except for Marcie, but as they climb into the car, he’s fairly sure that he’s the real odd one out. As evidenced by the fact that both girls sit in the backseat together, chattering in quiet tones that he can’t quite distinguish. 

It’s going to be a long night. 

—

All through elementary school, a black-haired girl leaning against his piano, running her fingers carefully over the beveled edges. Middle school, sitting on the ground, back against one of the legs of the grand, telling him that she could feel the vibrations thrumming through her spine when he played especially loud. Smashing his Beethoven bust. Theorizing about married life. A half-hearted attempt to get him to teach her how to play, only for him to end it because he could not get the smell of her perfume out of the piano after two sessions of practice. 

He can’t pinpoint, exactly, when it changed. Freshman year, she still came over, but would sit on the far couch instead of the floor. Less talking, more of her silence, hunched and poring over homework, thumbing through dime novels. Told him that he was like her personal radio. If only they made you portable!

Sophomore year, more of the same. Less visits. Thrice a week to twice, to once. He’d slam down the end of a piece, let the notes echo out in the silence, look towards the living room expecting a radiant audience, and find nothing but the emptiness of pleather couches. 

Who’s he kidding?

It was junior year. 

He has the time to think of all this, of course, because he’s alone at the white-clothed table, nursing a glass of punch and a half-eaten cookie. Marcie and Patty are gone, poring over the food on the other side of the room, sweets and finger sandwiches and plates of withered produce. The others, as far as he can tell, are dancing. He doesn’t look for them. He doesn’t want to see. 

Absently, his fingers tap out a melody on the tablecloth. The only other person here, sitting alone, is Pigpen. He’s on the same level as Pigpen right now. That’s depressing. 

Junior year. There was nothing dramatic, no fallout, no shouting—he thinks that that’s how Lucy would’ve liked it to go, maybe, which perhaps makes it worse—simply the fact that, halfway through the year, she stopped showing up. That was during his concert circuit, when he bought this suit, when he was going to New York and London and Chicago, playing in front of faceless crowds, and by the time he was home long enough to realize she’d stopped showing up, it was quite too late to ask. 

Besides, it didn’t matter that much. The absence was a good thing. Her presence’d always been a nuisance. Always scratching at his piano, distracting him with her voice, her eyes, her…

He screws up his eyes, takes a deep breath, exhales. It’s the routine that he uses to cleanse himself of nerves before big performances, but whatever breed of anxiety is bubbling in his chest right now, it feels like they might be immune. 

Patty and Marcie weave back through the crowd, the former with a plate piled high, the latter holding the drinks. At least he’s not alone, anymore—but the prospect of sitting here and listening to other people talk feels like it might be worse. 

Maybe Patty notices this, because she hesitates, turns towards him and around a mouth full of cupcake, says, “did you wanna dance?”

He didn’t, really, but he would take any lifeline that got him out of sitting here and moping over something that he’s not supposed to grieve in the first place. “Okay,” he says, tries to push a bit more enthusiasm into it with a followup, “yeah.”

“Be back in a minute,” she tells Marcie, who nods dutifully. 

“Okay, sir.”

“Don’t call me sir,” she snaps back, feigning irritation, but the thread of fondness, of an inside joke, is unmistakable below that, and it makes his heart do another uncomfortable twist. He should get that checked out. He never should have come.

They walk onto the floor. Shove is a more appropriate word, bully through the crowd, mostly Patty elbowing other dancers until they’ve cleared out an approximate space. His hand about her waist, hers slung over her shoulders, and he knows that both of them are profoundly uncomfortable. 

When the decision to go to prom as a group was made, it was halfway clear-cut. Linus and Sally, Franklin and Frieda. Would’ve been simpler if Patty still liked Charlie, but she’d gotten over that years ago, and in any case, it was Lucy who cleared the problem up before it became a stalemate. 

Meaning, of course, she asked Charlie. 

His stomach flops once. Maybe there was something bad in the punch. 

The song, some sort of peppy pop piece of the genre that he’s never bothered to do more than skim, ends. When the first notes of something slow begin to unfurl in the air, he meets eyes with Patty, and by mutual agreement, they let go of each other immediately. 

“I should get back to Marcie,” she rushes out, and without further ado, turns to begin hitting her way back to the edge of the crowd. It closes back in around him almost as quickly, and he turns, suddenly disoriented. Tries to shove weakly at the back of someone before him, but they do not budge whatsoever, turns to find a gap, and then-

And then, there is a glimpse of blue. 

His eyes snag on it, and he takes an instinctual step towards the scrap as it vanishes around another clump of people. Weave around, follow the path it leaves. A bit of satin blue here, a flash of black hair there, until he finally breaks into the refreshment of cool air near the back of the gymnasium. 

And, before him, one of the back doors snaps closed. 

Whatever—whoever—he was chasing is outside. He half-turns, looks behind at the thinner crowd, many couples swaying back and forth under dim purple lights, until he finally makes out first the rumpled back of a wrinkled suit. Traces that to Charlie’s face, to the girl he’s holding.

Red hair. 

Oh. 

With a deep breath, he pushes the door open, and steps into the night. 

—

She sits upon the back stairs of the school, head nestled in her knees, shoes discarded like some modern Cinderella. Her skirt is hiked up, clenched in her left hand, and seems to be being used quite improperly as a tissue. He hesitates on the lip of the stairs. 

There’s still time to leave. 

To go back to the silence of the house, to the silence that’s accompanied him for a year, no girl chattering at his side, no commentary as he played, no applause when he stands and bows theatrically. 

He can’t do that. 

And, what self-respecting gentleman would leave a girl crying?

Slowly, he lowers himself onto the step, wincing as he practically feels the suit wrinkle. Don’t scuff, he needs that for next week, for the audition. 

“Lucy?” He asks. 

“Go away!” She snaps immediately, “I don’t need this right now!”

“What happened?” He asks, like he doesn’t already know. She’s silent for a long moment, but just as he begins to scoot away in fear of an impending explosion, her head turns fractionally to reveal half her face. Her eyes are red, makeup smeared, brow furrowed in a frown. 

“Do you care?”

“You’re crying.”

She lets out a husky laugh. “Don’t rub it in. Some ginger chick asked Charlie to dance. He said yes. That’s it.”

“I’m sorry,” he says. Again, there’s that peculiar feeling in his stomach, anger at Charlie, anger at himself. He wouldn’t have done that. Why does she care about someone who would?

“I don’t even care,” she spits, head rising fully, revealing the other half of her face and scrubbing one final time at her eyes, “he’s too wishy-washy! I didn’t even like him!”

A flicker of something that feels almost like hope. “Why’d you ask him, then?”

She cuts an askance look at him, mouth tightening. “Who else was I gonna ask, huh?”

Point taken. He looks down at his shoes, unsure of how to answer. 

She continues after a moment, floodgates fully opened. “I know he’s been in love with that girl. Good for him! I’m just tired of… of always being second. When is it my turn to be the first choice? When will someone pick me?”

“I never…” he starts. Before the first word even fully falls to the ground, he knows that it’s the wrong thing to say. Lucy’s head whips towards him, eyes narrowing. Before any sort of tongue-lashing comes, however, her face falls almost as quickly. 

“Yes, you did. You chose your stupid piano.”

“The- the piano?” he splutters, taken utterly back, “how did I choose-”

“You can’t date,” she lists, “because you want to be like Beethoven, a bachelor. You can’t go out, because you’re practicing. You can’t talk to me, because you have a competition in a week! I go to your house, and the door is locked and- and your parents tell me you’re playing in another country and you didn’t even, didn’t even tell me!” 

The last words come with a fresh spring of tears. He grabs at his suit, pulling out the handkerchief from within the pocket. Tries to proffer it to her, but she ignores it, instead choosing to swipe her dress over her eyes once again. 

“...I’m sorry,” he offers after a moment. Again, there is no response. 

“I didn’t even get to dance,” she says, voice muffled by the fabric, “a real dance. That’s all I wanted tonight. Augh!” Sharply, she yanks the headband out of her hair and chucks it into the ground. It bounces, rolls once, and lands—rather unsatisfyingly—at the bottom of the stairs. 

“Do you want to leave?” He asks. 

“I have to wait for that blockhead to finish.”

“I’ll take you,” he replies, and again, her head bobs up. When she considers him this time, it’s with the cunning that’s now rising to the forefront of her gaze, rising up over all that anger and distraught-ness. 

“Will Patty and Marcie..?”

“They’ll be fine,” he replies, standing, holding out a hand to help her rise as well. Her gaze flits towards the hand, then to his face, then to his hand again. 

Slowly, she smiles. “What a gentleman.”

Taking it securely in hers, she rises.

—

“This is your house,” Lucy points out, as he pulls into a stop. He nods. 

“Come on.”

After a brief hesitation, she follows him out of the car, down the walkway and into the front room. Inside, it is vast and dark and empty, and he fumbles for a minute on the walls until a flick of the switch allows light to flood in once again. 

“I haven’t been here in ages,” she observes, stepping in. He doesn’t respond instead crossing over to the piano at the side of the room, sliding open the lid and sitting down upon the seat. 

“You wanted to dance?” He asks. She nods warily. 

Slowly, he begins Beethoven’s German Dance. It’s been a long, long time since he played it last, but it’s simple, stumbling over the three flats, ¾ meter, and when he half turns, expecting to see her moving, she is-

Entirely still. 

Slowly, he peters out. Her mouth is downturned. 

“See,” she snaps, “this is what I’m talking about. You and your piano! You play this, and what am I supposed to do? Dance alone?”

He hesitates. In quick, large strides, she reaches him, grabs his upper arm and yanks him up. 

“If I’m gonna dance,” she says, placing his hand upon her waist. He brings his other one up before she has to prompt it, and she locks her arms behind his neck. 

“There’s no music.”

“Does it matter?”

“No,” he says eventually, “I guess not.”

It’s slow at first, uncertain, no beat or rhythm, but she’s certain enough that he can catch on easily. Step this way, step that, follow the tug of her body and the push of her hips, let her take charge. She closes her eyes. Rests her head, after a moment, against his chest. Makeup is still streaking down her cheeks, and her hair is tangled from the headband extraction, and she is beautiful, just as beautiful as she’s always been. 

The end of the dance has none of the awkwardness of the beginning. They come to a stop by slow, mutual agreement, feet scuffing against the hardwood in smaller and smaller arcs, until she finally looks up, hands loosening a fraction around his neck. 

“What took you so long?”

“I don’t know.” It’s the truth. 

She snorts. “You’re an idiot, Schroeder.”

“Maybe,” he replies. She tilts her head, just a fraction, lips quirking up in the beginnings of a smirk, and he cannot take it anymore, this feeling that’s been slowly bubbling up for over a decade, finally boiling, finally bursting over the edges, and he leans down, presses his lips to hers. She reciprocates immediately, tightening her grip once again, pulling him down. 

When they break, this time, it’s for good, hands falling to their sides. He’s not quite sure what to do with them—usually, he’s so sure, but now, they’re clammy and feel too large too conspicuous. 

“...I should get you home,” he says eventually. She nods slowly. 

“Yeah. What a night.”

What a night. 

—

Her house is different at night, all muted colors, hardly discernible other than as differing shades of black. Linus is home already, as evidenced by the car in the driveway. 

“Lucy,” he says, as she places a hand upon the door handle, “come by tomorrow?”

“What?” She asks. 

“Tomorrow,” he repeats, “I have an audition next week and I think I do… I practice better when you’re there.”

She breaks into a grin. “I knew you liked it. Yeah, Schroeder. I’ll be there.” 

He watches as she cracks the door open and leaves, vanishing in that small interval between the car and the porchlight, and this night wasn’t a waste, after all.

[zenkindoflove]

You guys do not want to go down the road of starting to make blanket declarations that specific ships are "problematic" and "triggering". And let me explain why.

ACOTAR fandom, in my experience, is notoriously very far removed from general fandom. It's big and dispersed across many platforms that weren't created around fandoms, and so a lot of people enter it having little to no experience in other fandoms.

This discourse about what is or isn't a problematic ship and what kind of person ships a couple like that is not new. Fandoms of yesterday yore have had long fights about this and a general consensus has emerged which is anytime you start playing the morality policing game around people having fun with fictional characters, everyone loses.

Let's take this situation with Elain Archeron Week which is explicitly banning submissions for Elain with characters who are canonically known to be abusive to a romantic partner. Generally, the spirit of character weeks are to be ship neutral and importantly a concept that has emerged from prior fandom morality policing debate is the term Ship and Let Ship. Which means just because something isn't YOUR ship doesn't mean you need to come up for reasons why it isn't CORRECT to ship.

So, you think it's morally incorrect and triggering for people to see Elain paired with an abuser or a "bad guy"? That is okay for your own personal beliefs but if you start making rules around it for something that is supposed to be inclusive where do you draw the line or what that means? How about pairing Elain with the guy who runs Night Court Abu Ghraib? A role that means he actually tortures people physically and mentally to the brink that they are forced to "confess" to crimes. Is that some how morally superior to another character who emotionally abused their partner and confined them to a house?

See. That didn't feel good. Now did it? Do you actually want to get into a discussion about which wrong is morally worse than the other? Especially when it concerns a character week that is supposed to be about positivity and people having fun because they love Elain and they love the different interactions she could potentially have with characters in fanon?

And that is the entire point. When it comes to fiction, we all will be seduced by characters who have done bad things. Things that will trigger people. But, and I mean this whole heartedly, no one else is responsible for your triggers but you. You are the only one who knows what you can and cannot handle. Your Mileage May Vary. Tumblr's tag filtering system is in part for this very reason because of how fandoms use tumblr.

When you have a fandom wide event space, generally it's a bad idea to start throwing up these judgmental rules around people's character interests and shipping habits. Of course, any event runner is entitled to do what they please. But you also have to expect those who are excluded or know people who will be excluded are going to have something to say about it.

I really think the entire ACOTAR fandom could benefit from getting curious for once and actually digging into the histories of fandom, fandom lore and vocabulary, and start learning from from fandom elders. If so, we'd all be able to navigate these situations with a shared language that recognizes that the primary goal of fandom is to have fun first. And everyone's fun is going to look different and each individual is responsible for deciding what their squicks and triggers are. And the whole point of a squick is to let someone know this thing bothers me personally but I understand if it doesn't bother you. That sort of back and forth empathy across each side is how fandoms don't burn down in flames and people don't feel shame about what they like in fiction.

Now any fandom event can make whatever rules they want. But what I already see is a bunch of people (e/riels) are now actually making posts about why others who ship Elain with Tamlin are morally inferior, disgusting, perverse, and bad people. But hear me out, someone can easily think and say the same thing about you and your ship and if that is the kind of environment you'd like to fuck around in, well, aren't we all the worse off for it.