#just search gnarl on here

[anonbeadraws]

Lover, when I sing my song All the birds gonna sing along And they’ll come flying round to me To lay their feathers at my feet And we’ll lie down in eiderdown A pillow ’neath our heads The birds are gonna make the wedding bed~✨ ✨  Oh Paavu my darlin', oh I've missed drawing your handsome face, my beloved silver fox babe.

✨ I do commissions|Tip me here✨ 

#anonbeadraws #digital #digital art #paavu #my oc #oc #paavu wandersong #dnd #dnd art #dnd character #goliath #bard #artists on tumblr #art #that's her and gnarls wedding song of course #if you're inetrested in seeing her Canon husband #just search gnarl on here #shucks' handsome man #treats her like a queen #which is what she deserves

[hedgehog-moss]

This particular patch of woods between two cow pastures is my favourite place to go when it's cold, because there's a little stream in there that meanders in a very whimsical way, dividing itself into spiderwebs of rivulets then becoming one again, winding around every other tree, it's delightful.

The stream is smaller but still here in summer, but I like it best in winter because it sounds so delicate! In some places it runs under a thin layer of ice with a light glassy sound; in others there are branches across the stream with dozens of little ice drops hanging underneath and making a tiny tinkling noise.

This patch of woods can be hard to find though, as it's tucked between two very large pastures that are completely featureless in winter. But Pandolf knows what we're looking for now, and since he's not distracted by cows in this season, he led us right to it.

Congratulations Pandolf! You are useful !

Although it's not a forest, it's easy to get lost here in winter when all my landmarks have disappeared, so I always follow the stream. One of the most recognisable spots is a hollow tree stump that looks very old and gnarled and full of character in summer, but sometimes in winter it almost entirely disappears and looks like a massive soft marshmallow (until you stumble upon it) (it hurts)

But as long as we don't lose the stream, we'll find our way back.

So of course I quickly got distracted and lost the stream. First because I found deer footprints, and they looked so much like Pampe's footprints I had to examine them and then look around suspiciously. (She wasn't following us. It was a deer) (I'm almost sure)

Second, because the woods kept stealing my hat.

Third, because Pandolf was being recklessly ambitious.

After walking in circles for a while, instead of the stream I found a barricade of shrubs forbidding access to a mysterious meadow. (Mysterious because I have never seen this place in summer. There are no charming small meadows here! It's pasture / tangled woods / pasture!)

I did not have time to inspect yet another fae meadow (and didn't feel very welcome here), so off we went again in search of the stream which is our only reliable landmark.

Then Pandolf found a way out all by himself:

He was very proud to show me the cow pasture, because in his naive dog logic he assumed I was still looking for the stream in order to follow it and leave the woods. In my better human logic, I was now looking for the stream because streams have no business disappearing like that and I was taking it personally.

How did we lose the stream, Pan? It's supposed to be everywhere!

What was annoying was that sometimes I could hear soft stream sounds, but saw nothing...

It took me a embarrassingly long time to figure out that the stream was, in fact, everywhere.

I'd never seen the stream frozen, let alone frozen + covered with snow! I suppose it was only frozen here and not near the pastures because there's less sun in the middle of the woods and the stream is wider and runs more slowly. It was a bit fun how every time we brushed aside some snow or found a snowless spot, we discovered a piece of the missing stream right underneath.

... well, at first it was fun but then it got a little bit worrying, because the ice was quite thin and cracked easily if I knocked on it politely, so the only thing keeping me from falling knee-deep in icy water with every step I took was the layer of compacted snow. Which I didn't trust. In places where I remembered the stream being wider (so most of the snow in these areas was potentially traitorous) I tried to walk very lightly and carefully, as if it's possible to tiptoe lightly with snow boots.

Pandolf just walked normally, completely unfussed about the fact that he was (literally) on thin ice.

I think he could tell I was nervous but didn't know why. He looked pretty confused whenever he turned around and saw me walking like an Andalusian horse over the same spots that he'd just trampled happily.

I'm fairly sure he knew all along that the stream was under our feet. I wish he'd told me! But maybe he could tell the ice wasn't cracking under his weight and he assumed I too knew what I was doing.

We made it out and I only stepped right through the snow and ice and into the horribly icy water once! One soggy boot was less bad than the fate I expected when I realised I was standing in the middle of this patch of woods surrounded by a pretend-snowy ground that was actually just water.

Then I reached my car and found that I could not open any door because they were frozen shut. This had also never happened to me in the middle of the day when I parked in the sun and I felt persecuted. Thankfully I was not too far from a farm; I told Pandolf to wait for me in the nearby pasture (in case of farm dogs; I didn't have his leash) (it was in the car, keeping warm next to my Thermos of tea) and I went to knock on the door and humbly ask to borrow some hot water. The woman who answered the door noticed my very wet boot and I think she initially assumed I wanted hot water because my foot was frozen and I'd already lost three toes, but I reassured her that it was only my car that needed unfreezing.

When I returned to my car with the bottle of hot water, I found Pandolf waiting for me in the pasture as instructed, but he didn't notice I was back until I'd almost reached the road because he was busy doing what he does best. (And it's not crawling under trunks.)

#crawling along

[revehae]

party monster

pairing ↠ best friend!jennie x (f) reader (but not really)

genre .. warnings ↠ smut, thoughts of noncon, sub!jennie, oral, noncon recording, monsterfucking

summary ↠ for years you’ve crushed on jennie kim, your best friend, the queen of queens, the party monster. but it seems that you’re not exactly her type.

wc ↠ 3.3k

a/n ↠ this is my first time writing this kind of fic in 6 months so i am unfortunately quite rusty…

don’t like it, don’t read.

she looked like royalty on top of him. 

you couldn’t deny it - you could never deny jennie anything. how could you? she was funny, enchanting, downright beautiful, and she was your friend of many years.

your best friend, to be exact. it was a title you were proud to claim, one you had never taken for granted. you had always been there, whether she needed to laugh or she needed to cry, and you would always be there for whatever she needed. 

but apparently, she didn’t need you for this.

it was not your intention to find her this way, to be fair. in your search for an empty bathroom, chance had led you to the one connected to the bedroom your best friend and her boy toy occupied. you had only come here in need of relief, but in her own way, jennie yearned for something similar.

yet so different all at once. you knew her voice when it came to your ears, even if it was at a pitch and with a breathlessness you had never quite heard, and your curiosity had gotten the better of you. they must have been too lost in the haze of their arousal, because they never seemed to notice they’d left the bathroom door open for all the world to see.

and you did see. you saw her on top of this nameless boy, her cashmere dress in a heap on the floor, sweat gathering at her soft skin and glimmering in the moonlight like precious pearls. you saw how pleasure took her by its gnarled hand, her lips crying the cries of angels. you saw how his greedy hands were all over her, touching her, surely not knowing just how lucky he was. 

you could only stand there, trembling with the intensity of an emotion you had never known this deeply. there was a hot throb in your chest as cruelly it tightened, and in the same moment you could hear this nameless boy swearing about how tightly she was wound around him.

in that moment, she had taken a form you had never seen of her before, becoming a thing so violently unknown to you, and all you could think about was how none of it was for you. it was certainly not the first time she’d whored herself out to someone that wasn’t you, but seeing it happen in front of you was different than being regaled on the tales. 

those boys were faceless, something you could convince yourself never existed as you pictured only jennie’s cries of ecstasy. even now, this nameless boy wasn’t so nameless anymore as you heard it fall brokenly from her lips.

but it’s okay, you consoled yourself, turning away from the door. you could fix her.

that had been three months ago at least. you were still doing everything in your power to come up with something to salvage your broken heart with, in spite of already knowing jennie got around, but you had come short of viable options.

and like that fateful night all those months before, you were at another party, because nights in new york were when party monsters like jennie came to life. and as to expected of her, she’d strutted inside sporting this lacy dress, the same vibrant red color as her lips. 

she was stunning in red. 

it was something you had told her more than once. you took your role as jennie’s best friend as though you were the queen’s aide, and in a way, that wasn’t so far from the truth. she was the queen of queens, the party monster, and a woman of her caliber had to look nothing less than like art at every party she set foot on.

that red cashmere dress lived in your head. you had been the one help her decide, and yet some boy had been the one to take it off.

“hey, where’s jen?” rosé asked, poking her head around the corner. 

“no idea,” lisa said, finishing what was left of her exquisite wine.

the two girls glanced toward you. of course they did; you were jennie’s best friend. apparently, you were supposed to know what she was up to at all times.

you sighed, peeling yourself off the sofa and sitting your drink on the table. “i’ll look,” you started. “but if she’s somewhere getting dicked down again, you’re going to make an enemy out of me.”

rosé blew you a kiss. “thanks, beautiful.”

“yeah, yeah,” you grumbled, giving your drink one last longful glance as you stepped out of the room.

you took a guess that rosé had come from the main hall and if she hadn’t scouted jennie there, then there was a fair chance she was in one of the upstairs rooms. getting dicked down, you thought disheartenedly, but you searched nonetheless.

you had only seen her that way once and it was something you surely never wanted to see ever again. the memory of the thunder in your chest still lingered and maybe the feeling itself hadn’t exactly faded.

what would it take for her to understand that she was yours? she may not have realized it yet, but you were everything she needed. you could please her in ways she’d never imagined, take her to heights that’d never before been. 

you stilled when you heard her voice, almost walking straight past the door. it was of some kind of relief that there were no moans, and she seemed to be quietly chatting about something. with the door barely open, you slipped inside, hoping that it wouldn’t creak.

it took all of two seconds to recognize her, standing at the edge of the bed, but there were no words to describe the horror on your face when you saw the thing next to her.

deep black in color, draped in some slick, indigo substance that coated it smoothly, and towering two feet over her. teeth that could kill with one slight graze. it didn’t look of this world. and yet, jennie didn’t seem afraid; she looked exasperated.

“i thought i told you to stay home,” she hissed, glaring up at the creature. whatever the hell it was.

the alien-like creature seemed indifferent, from what you could make of its features. “hungry,” was all it said.

jennie didn’t seem impressed. “you were fed before i left.”

“hungry,” it repeated, raspier, brushing a long finger down her dress.

jennie slapped its hand away, shaking her head. “no, not here. there’s people, carnal.”

carnal said nothing, overcome by a need that went beyond the bounds of human desire, and returned its finger to her dress. for a second, you thought that it would tear it to shreds, but instead it unzipped the back quicker than she could dispute.

you could hear her whining, but carnal was intent on taking and little would come between that purpose. jennie gasped when it took her by the arm and tugged her onto the floor, silently demanding in its approach, all the while her pretty red dress was tossed into oblivion. 

for whatever reason, the sight hadn’t troubled you like it did not too many moons ago. it intrigued you. part of you wanted to emerge from the cloak of the shadows to rescue her from this creature, but the other wanted to watch and see how this would unfold.

jennie’s eyes burned fiercely of ire. “i won’t do it.”

carnal glanced down at her and you swore the sight gave you shivers, but jennie didn’t move. “no?”

“no.”

you had to restrain yourself from gasping when carnal grabbed jennie by strands of hair at the back of her head. it forced her mouth onto its cock, a death grip on her tresses. her whimpers of protest were muffled, meaningless little sounds that no one would bother to hear.

it would be a lie to do otherwise, and thus you had to confess to yourself that you were bemused by the sheer size of its girthy cock. jennie could hardly fit anything an inch longer than the tip into her mouth. it stroked her limits, sped right by them.

but the part that bemused you even further was how after a minute or three, jennie didn’t seem to hate it. there was no way in hell your eyes were making up the way she sucked in every bit she could take, eagerly bobbing her head.

the muffled cries waned into muffled moans, and for no good reason. no efforts were being taken to please her in return. she was this meek little thing on her knees before an otherworldly creature with a name far too apt.

carnal did not react too strongly, but you had to assume that jennie’s potent greed did a number on it. she wasn’t going anywhere, yet the death grip on her hair only got tighter. what she couldn’t fit between her stained lips, she took in her hands and kneaded between her supple fingers.

your mind was everywhere and nowhere at the same time, stretched across a plane of thought. you were strangely immersed in the horrors in front of you, but your questions wandered. every moment that passed, you wondered if maybe you’d had a little too much to drink.

this was a dirty little secret that even you never knew your best friend had. you couldn’t even begin to fathom how this strange creature could be more than a figment of imagination, and you decided that it wasn’t. it would spare you the headache.

you could see the indent on jennie’s hollowed cheeks, hear the wet noises coming from her lips. perhaps it was stranger that you didn’t hate it. only moments ago you had been prepared to curse whatever idiot of a boy you found her with, and now you were quieter than a mouse.

jennie looked like a pebble at its feet. the beast was more massive than you cared to admit aloud, with a strength that spoke for itself, and a cock that promised total destruction and not anything less. it must’ve been part of the allure for her, because you had never seen her so eager.

and why would she be? the queen of new york city herself never had to ask for anything twice, if at all. it would be an honor for anyone to behold her bare form, but none of that power manifested here in this bedroom. she was sucking carnal off like a common whore begging for a dollar.

your memories reeled back to some instances, not many but a few, where you had noticed her visibly adjusting herself after what you could only assume had been a brief sexcapade in a closet somewhere. and for a moment you stopped to wonder if those faceless people you imagined her with had not been boys, but this damned beast.

it almost made you angrier, trying to fathom how this thing had better chances than you did at pursuing her, and all it took was a little force. had you known that, you would’ve staked your claim to her already.

greed was heavy in the air and you saw carnal seize control after allowing jennie to do as she pleased with it, fucking her mouth harder than she could manage. you couldn’t help but be aroused at the sound of her harshly choking. but she didn’t give up, taking every thrust.

quiet sounds escaped carnal’s mouth, raspy to the ears. it did not have much to say, you’d noticed, and it didn’t need to say much either. you could tell that they’d done this countless times before, because they slipped into this as though it was routine.

maybe you were making it up in your mind, but you could’ve sworn that the room had soared a thousand degrees hotter. part of it was ire on your end, but you couldn’t deny the ache in your core. to see her this way, meek and pliant, brought out an insatiable hunger within you.

by the second carnal’s thrusts were becoming more erratic, its self control seemingly unraveling hard. you were impressed that jennie hadn’t begun to choke again, in spite of the relentless pace. you were certain her jaw strained from the effort, but she still made herself a perfect little toy.

you recognized the brink of ecstasy when you saw it and carnal was at the very cusp. its groans even became a little louder, coming from the back of its throat. the only other thing you could hear was labored breathing and the wet smack of jennie’s lips.

you wouldn’t have wanted to cum that way, you would have wanted to be buried every inch deep between her legs, but after a short moment, the thrusts came to a still and carnal growled. given your angle and the darkness, it was hard to see, but you partly saw the leftover cum she couldn’t swallow drip from her chin.

jennie pushed her mouth off, wiping her lips. her naked chest was heaving for breath. when she stood, you could see the shimmer of tears in her misty eyes. she looked like a train wreck. 

not a moment later, carnal tore her towards the bed and she gave a high squeak of surprise. your gaze was fixed to her every movement. on the bed, carnal hoisted her into the air as though she was featherlight and sat her over it. jennie reached for its shoulders.

but carnal, on the other hand, had reached for something else. to your surprise, it began to lubricate her comparatively smaller cunt with its own indigo slick. jennie whimpered, arching into its long, thick fingers as they ran across her folds. there was no doubt that she had become aroused simply by pleasuring this creature, and you could only imagine the ache in her core. 

it must’ve been similar to yours. this incessant throbbing that yearned to be soothed; a hunger to touch or be touched.

“carnal,” jennie whined. “please, please…”

carnal didn’t seem to be listening to her borderline anguished cries of desperation, its fingers stretching her cunt open, almost like it was preparing her to take something much larger. but nothing was enough for an insatiable little minx like jennie. 

“i don’t care if it hurts,” jennie added, to your shock. “i just want you to fuck me. please, carnal?”

carnal slipped its fingers out of her lubricated pussy and jennie made a noise of discontent at the emptiness, in spite of it being what she had asked for. it was too dark to be certain, but you swore that for half a second, there was a dark gleam of hunger in its heavy eyes.

the alien-like beast hoisted jennie up in a single arm and steered its cock to her entrance in the other. it was still stiff in its palms, and you got the feeling that it would take far more than one orgasm to sate a beast of its nature.

it didn’t seem to be concerned with taking its time or allowing her room to adjust to the stretch, but the look on jennie’s face told you that it was what she wanted. there was pain on her lips and pleasure in her eyes, the two being bred into something lethal.

“oh my god,” jennie moaned, tightening her grip on carnal’s shoulders. 

carnal grasped her hips, using her as though she was merely some kind of toy rather than a human capable of being wounded. it lifted her up and down its thick shaft, leaving her to do nothing but squeeze her eyes shut and hold on for dear life.

you swallowed hard. when she was being used by a beast two times her size and infinitely stronger than herself, your best friend looked less and less human. she didn’t look like something worthy of respect or dignity. had you not known any better, you would’ve thought she was just some whore.

this was something that you had never seen, something different than before; when you saw her then, she was taking her power, but seeing her now, all of it had been reaped from her body.

deep, guttural grunts escaped the back of carnal’s throat as it rutted into her savagely, at a rhythm that rendered her thoughtless. jennie’s tears stung her eyes yet she kept babbling incoherently, addicted to the agony. there were red lines on her skin from where its nails had dug into her, but from how tight she clung to it, carnal was bound to have plenty of its own.

maybe in some sick, twisted way, the pain and the fear heightened the sensations of ecstasy that it tugged her nearer to every second of every minute. there was no pleasure without pain, and the promise of both had tempted jennie far beyond the point of no return. she was a fiend, you realized, for things that were bad for her.

somewhere in the midst of your astonishment of watching your best friend getting railed by nothing less than an unworldly beast, you remembered your anger, your frustrations. a thought a struck you then, selfish in nature, but bound to work in your favor. 

you pulled your phone from your rear pocket and opened the camera, getting it to focus on the two unlikely partners that were showing one another other worlds. if jennie knew you had proof of this tryst, she wouldn’t turn you down for anything. you weren’t sure why you hadn’t thought of the idea sooner.

jennie threw her head back, calling out for carnal. “harder,” she whispered.

carnal silently obliged, but it appeared more like it had lost whatever remained of its self-restraint. jennie’s sounds became louder then, higher in pitch, and you couldn’t miss the way her brows furrowed together. 

your camera didn’t, either.

the sound of sex filled the room at an unfathomable intensity. there was a very obvious wet, slick squelch of their skin meeting that anyone could have heard if they walked just shy of the door. jennie’s cunt had already been drenched with arousal on its own, but the addition of carnal’s slick didn’t help.

you almost couldn’t stand it and that feeling was inexplicably amplified knowing that whatever this thing was she surrendered herself to wasn’t even human. but you were embraced by the comfort that you would be its place soon, whether she wanted it or not.

you were imagining it. if you closed your eyes and listened only to the sound of jennie’a pretty little voice, you could picture that it was you she was making all those pitiful sounds for.

“fuck, i’m so…,” jennie trailed, unable to even get the words off the tip of her tongue. 

but she didn’t need to say it. carnal saw it. you saw it. hell, anybody half as curious as you were could have been right here, about to witness it. she was on the brink of climax, the cusp of ecstasy, and it was unkind.

and as much as it angered you, you couldn’t bear to tear your eyes away for a minute. you had to know what it was like, to see her truly unravel, to lose herself in the highs of pleasure and the throes of sex.

jennie brought a hand to her naked chest, pinching her own nipple. you could see moonlight shimmering on the beads of moisture that clung to her, dancing on the misty haze of lust in her eyes. 

it was at that moment you saw the party monster for what she really was. the intensity at last was too much for her to handle and jennie shuddered with climax, her eyes rolling to the back of her head and her toes curling. she cried out the prettiest whimper, singing a name that wasn’t yours.

and somehow none of that mattered, because the beast she let ravage her wasn’t finished. it tossed her onto the bed and continued, fucking her like an animal, like a monster.

you had seen enough. you had what you needed. with the promise of satisfaction vying against the contempt simmering deep within you, you slipped out where you had came.

too soon to see her eyes fade pitch black.

#jennie smut #blackpink smut #gxg smut #girl group smut #jennie kim smut #revehae fics

[dynamic-power]

Steddie Time Travel AU, Back to the Past part 3

Oh my god you are all amazing! Thanks for all the support, it seriously means the world to me!

Part 1

-----

Steve isn't sure how long it takes before his breathing returns to normal, but when it does, he realizes he's cuddled to Eddie's chest. The other man is humming softly, and Steve can feel the vibrations of it beneath his ear. He doesn't recognize the song, but doesn’t ask what it is.

Eddie must sense that Steve has calmed enough to talk, because he stops humming and his arm squeezes tighter around Steve's shoulders.

"With me again?" he asks.

"Mmm," Steve says. One of his hands is pressed to Eddie's sternum. Preparing himself for what he knows he is going to feel, he drags his fingers down. He eyes Eddie's ribs, searching until he finds the divot he had seen in Eddie's side. His palm glides over rough, scarred skin and settles on the spot. 

“Not pretty, I know,” Eddie says softly. “But, I’m alive, so I guess it’s a win overall.”

“What the fuck is happening?” Steve finally asks again. Eddie takes a deep breath, and as Steve’s head rises and falls with the movement, he realizes where he is. 

He’s lying in bed cuddled up to Eddie Munson, who is apparently not dead. He’s in a strange room, their room, and Eddie is older than he should be, and-

Steve wonders if he’s finally lost his mind, or if the Upside Down is fucking with him again. It’s entirely possible; while Vecna had been stopped, or so they thought, the Upside Down itself was still there. Still lying behind Hawkins, with even more cracks and leaks than ever before. 

Steve pulls out of Eddie’s grip, moving so he can sit against the headboard. He isn’t wearing a shirt, either, and when he looks down at his own chest, he realizes he was different, too. 

He has scars. They all match the wounds that were still healing across his torso. He touches the largest one, a long gash across his side where a bat claw had dug in and torn him open when he’d pulled the bat off of him. 

“Yeah, you’re still you,” Eddie says, and then he’s turning and pulling himself from the bed. He reaches for a cane and stands. “I’ll tell you what I know, but that isn’t much.”

Steve takes a moment to watch Eddie. He’s got a bad limp in his left leg, and he can see that Eddie is missing a significant part of his thigh muscle, just below the hem of his boxers. The skin covering what’s left is just as scarred and gnarled as his chest. The rest of him, though, is solid and strong; narrow shoulders, defined arms, trim waist. 

It’s his hair that Steve can’t stop looking at, though. Steve can’t believe how different he looks with his short curls.

But then Eddie says, “It’s 2008,” and all of Steve’s thoughts, his inspection of the man crossing the room in front of him, grinds to a complete halt. 

“What?”

Eddie turns to glance at Steve over his shoulder. “Yeah. You said- or, well, Steve said that was okay for you to know.” He leans his cane against a chest of drawers and opens one of the top ones. 

Steve’s thoughts pick back up again and his head starts to spin. 2008? “I knew? I mean, the other me. Is there an ‘other me’? Did we swap? Or is it just me? Am I stuck? I can’t be stuck, I need to go back, they need my help, Nancy was-”

And it’s not until the words are coming out of his mouth that he remembers what he’d been doing before he woke up here. 

“Nancy and I, we snuck into the Upside Down again. Oh, fuck, we’d found a new gate and wanted to check-” Steve can feel himself beginning to panic again. He clenches his fists into the sheets below him and takes a few deep breaths. 

Eddie is standing at the foot of the bed, holding out an envelope to him. 

“You- he- fuck, I dunno. You left this. You said I’d know when you needed it, and I guess that makes sense now.”

The envelope is blank. Steve lifts a shaking hand and takes it from Eddie. 

He opens it and pulls out a letter. Unfolding it, he begins to read. 

Hey, Steve. 

You aren’t going crazy, I promise. I don’t remember exactly what I read in this letter, but I’m going to do my best to tell you what I can. First, and this is the most important thing, trust Eddie.

-----

Part 4

Thank you so much for all of the love on this! Unfortunately I have already reached the max on tags, but I'm also posting it as a fic on ao3! The first chapter consists of these first 3 parts and you can read it here.

Tag list: @clumsiluni @l0st-strawberry @aol19 @newtstabber @mugloversonly @cryptid-cuties @notaqueenakhaleesi @estrellami-1 @idkuhhh @f-llthevoid @pauphs @tinyplanet95 @therealscarletpumpernickel @feral-possums-in-the-bog @emma-elsa-0000 @stevesbipanic @alycatavatar @insteviewetrust @blue-menace-mind @romanticdestruction @hbyrde36 @jinkiesbiiitchhh @jezabella8 @xxsky-shockxx @livinginthesea @aliea82 @somewhereatdawn @jayree-3-lol @pitrsattabhaadmeinjao @nailbatanddungeon @messrs-weasley @thebiblesays @hallucinatedjosten @platinum-sunset @theluckyalien @weirdandabsurd42 @phirex22 @marklee-blackmore @@nerdyglassescheeseychick @bird-with-pencils @skjachukson @yourmom-isgay

@grtwdsmwhr @sirsnacksalot @literalangels @burningbasementmilkshake @novacorpsrecruit @krazyperson @fancyorangepeels @m-owo-n @colidamae @wheatisstillwheat @im-just-here-to-watch-the-chaos @kjobriscoe

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #time travel #stranger things #dyno writes #back to the past

[queenxxxsupreme]

At the End of the World

(Cooper Howard x Reader)

A/N: I know absolutely squat about the Fallout universe but I like to think I’ve done my research good enough. This is my first kick at trying a Cooper Howard x reader so I am getting a feel for his character, please be kind :) Enjoy!

Word Count: 4.6k

Warning: nothing outside of canon, little fluffy here and there

Summary: You run into a certain ghoul and the vault dweller he’s taken as hostage.

Side Note: I called the inhaler thing that Cooper uses to keep from going feral a breather cause that sounded better than inhaler in my head??

Lucy squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her temple into the wall. She licked her lips in an effort to ease the pain she felt. Her lips were so dry they had cracked again and again.

“Better get some shut eye, Vaultie.”

She opened her eyes and looked across the room to the man holding her hostage. Calling him a man was a stretch. He hadn’t been a man for quite some time. Ghoulification had taken over his features long ago, gnarling his skin and turning him into something between man and monster.

Lucy said nothing to him and put her head back against the wall. Part of her wished she had never left the vault. How could people live on the surface? There were no rules, no regulations, not even morals. It was no way to live. She leaned back against the wall, closing her eyes. She knew she needed to sleep, but she wasn’t sure how much she’d be able to get.

Lucy wasn’t able to concentrate on sleep for very long. After what seemed like just seconds, the Ghoul moved. He straightened his hat and pulled a pistol from the holster on his hip. His eyes remained on the window between himself and Lucy.

“What—?”

”Quiet.” He cut Lucy off.

The vault dweller closed her mouth and tried to listen to whatever the Ghoul heard.

“This has to be where they holed up for the night.” A hushed voice spoke.

”You sure it was a vault dweller, Dart?”

”Positive. You know how much we could get for one of those if we find the right buyer?”

The Ghoul stood to his feet. The wall they were behind was the only bit of building left from what had once been a house. There wasn’t even a roof or another wall, just the piece that Lucy and the Ghoul were hiding behind.

“Looky here, fellas.” A voice came from behind the Ghoul. The sound of a hammer clicking on a pistol made him roll his eyes. “Turn around slow, buddy.”

”You fellas are askin’ for trouble.” The Ghoul warned.

“Drop the gun. Don’t want to hurt you, just want the vaultie.”

The Ghoul let his pistol fall to the dirt floor as he turned to face the unwelcomed guests. The guests consisted of three men and a woman.

“Say, you think we could get anything for a ghoul too?” The woman whispered to the man closest to her.

“It’s far too late in the night for y’all to cause a ruckus.” The Ghoul spoke. “Why don’t you turn around and go back the way you came before one of yous gets hurt?”

One of the men chuckled and shook his head.

“Ain’t no way we’re leaving without her.” He gestured to Lucy with the end of his sawed off shotgun.

Without any warning, a gun was fired once, twice, then three times. The Ghoul watched as all three raiders fell to the ground, blood pouring out of head wounds. His eyes flickered around, seeking out where the shots had come from. He couldn’t see a damn thing in the pitch black night.

Then there was a whistle. It was low and steady, lasting a couple seconds before a second whistle followed.

Lucy’s eyes were wide with panic as she strained to see where the noise came from. She searched the darkness, eyes flighting back and forth. The Ghoul didn’t seem nearly as panicked. In fact, he almost looked confused.

The wind shifted and blew a breeze directly towards him, carrying a familiar scent with it.

“What-What is that?” Lucy croaked. Her throat was so dry that her voice was raspy.

The Ghoul picked up his gun that he had dropped earlier on the ground. He brushed the dirt from it as a grin appeared on his lips.

“Oh that? That ain’t nothin’ but a little ol’ mouse.”

”Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” A soft and sweet voice came from the darkness.

Lucy watched as you moved into her line of sight. You appeared to be human, dressed in black cargo style pants tucked into worn dark brown boots. You wore a dark gray sweatshirt that was tattered around the hem and a brown jacket overtop of the sweatshirt. A dark green scarf wrapped loosely around your neck.

“Haven’t seen you for a while.” The Ghoul spoke, his eyes focused on you.

”Could say the same for you.” Your gaze found Lucy. She offered you a quick and friendly smile, but the sight of your left eye caught the poor girl off guard. It was glowing in the darkness, letting off an electric blue light. “Making new friends, Coop?”

”Ah, you know me. Always looking for a new friend.” The Ghoul’s tone was friendly and light. Lucy had never heard him sound anything close to nice.

You smiled just a little, shaking your head gently as you took a few more steps towards the two.

“Miss? Uh, m-miss?” Lucy tried to move towards you but the sound of the Ghoul pulling the hammer on his pistol back stopped her.

“Wouldn’t do that if I were you, Vaultie. Sit your ass back down.” He gave a stiff nod to the ground where she had been sitting moments ago.

You kept your eyes on Lucy as she returned to her seat. Her eyes found yours again and you had to look away in order to avoid feeling bad for her. The Ghoul sat down and you took the spot right next to him, shrugging your backpack off of your shoulders and placing it between your legs.

“What happened with Dom Pedro?”

”Ain’t important.” He muttered with a shake of his head. You unzipped your backpack and pulled out a canteen.

“What’s your name, girl?”

”Lu-Lucy. My name is— My name is Lucy.” She stammered, pausing to lick her dry lips. “What’s your name?”

You leaned forward to pass her the canteen. She needed it far more than you did.

“Thank you. Oh, thank you so much!” Lucy hastily opened the canteen and began to drink from it rather hastily.

“Friends call me Icy.” You answered her question. “Seems to be what I go by anymore.”

A raspy cough from the Ghoul made you snap your head in his direction. He tried to stifle the cough but it was no use. You had already heard.

“Where’s your breather?”

”Don’t got— Don’t got any vials.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Aint’ no use to me.”

”Where are all your vials at?” You knew him too well. There was no way he’d let himself run out. You pulled your backpack closer to you and began to dig around inside hastily.

”Lost them in a tussle with the Vaultie.”

For a brief second, your eyes flickered up to Lucy. You decided then and there that if Cooper turned, you’d kill her yourself.

“You know, I could kick your ass for being so careless, old man.”

”Suppose you could.” He chuckled but it was cut short by another dry cough. “Wouldn’t- Wouldn’t do you any good, but it sure as hell would make for a good time.”

”Well given your current state, sweetheart, I think the odds would be in my favor.” You pulled out the sachet with vials and handed them to the ghoul. He took it from you, your fingers brushing momentarily but just enough to have your heart beating a little quicker.

“Thank ya, doll.” He murmured quietly. You offered him a smile, watching as he put the vial in his breather and took a hit.

“You two are…. Are you close?” Lucy asked. You turned your attention to her, tilting your head to the side just a bit. She tried to smile, to show that she was trying to be friendly.

“Lucy, was it?”

”Yes.” She nodded her head.

“Those kind of questions, Lucy, get you a bullet in your gut out here.”

The smile fell from her broken lips and her brows drew together in confusion.

“I-I wasn’t– I didn’t mean it– It was more just an observation.”

You turned your head to Cooper. He tucked the breather into his jacket and then his eyes found you.

“Heard you came into some trouble a few months back.”

“Just got into it with a group of raiders back outside of Targon.” You leaned back against the metal junk he was leaning against. “Just the same old bullshit. Wanted my eye.”

He stayed quiet. He wished he had found you sooner.

“You need to get some sleep.” You leaned over to push your shoulder against his.

Cooper tilted his head down, the brim of his hat covering his eyes.

“Ain’t sleepin’ tonight, doll.”

“When was the last time you slept? You look exhausted.” You reached over to put your hand on his. “You need to sleep, Cooper.”

He held your gaze for a few heartbeats, losing himself in your eyes. He had been worried about you since he crawled out of the grave Dom Pedro had kept him in. He was worried he’d never be able to find you, that perhaps you would be dead when he did get to you.

The ghoul pulled himself out of his own thoughts and rolled his eyes.

“Whatever you say, boss. Don’t let the Vaultie get too friendly.”

You smiled a little.

“Now you know that isn’t me, darling. I don’t let anyone get too friendly.”

“You let me get a little too friendly, if I remember correctly.”

“Shut your mouth, old man.” You smiled up at him. His grin you adored so much was covered up by the brim of his hat as he pulled it down.

You turned your attention to the girl that sat across from you.

“How long have you been upside?”

“Um, I-I don’t know for sure. A few weeks, I think.” She took another sip of water and then scooted a little closer to you so that she could hand the canteen back to you.

“Keep it.” You shook your head.

“Thank you.” She murmured quietly as she settled back into her spot. “Where, um, are you from?”

“Everywhere and nowhere all at once.” You let out a soft breath. “When you live for as long as I have, you don’t keep track of that sort of thing.”

“How…. How long have you been alive?”

“Long enough to know you don’t belong up here, Lucy.”

She held your gaze, almost too afraid to look away.

“I-I have to find my dad. He got taken by-by these raiders. They took him and I have to find him.”

You nodded gently. Lucy looked to the Ghoul, trying to figure out if he was asleep yet. After a couple moments of silence between you and Lucy, she could hear what sounded like gentle snoring.

“Icy, I need to find my dad. Please, you have to let me go.” She whispered.

“Quiet down, girl.” You stood to your feet, adjusting the holster that hung around your hips. “Get some sleep. We’ll talk more in the morning.”

“Where are you going?”

“Keep watch.”

***

Hours later, the blistering sun was just beginning its task of boiling the earth as it came up from the horizon.

You had been lost in thought, eyes gazing ahead at the sunrise. Your left eye, the cybernetic eye, kept track of the time, the rate the sun was rising, the temperature, and how fast the wind was going.

“Mornin’, pretty girl.”

You looked over your shoulder to see Cooper walking towards you.

“You slept good.” You commented, taking a sip of water. He had snored last night louder than you ever heard before.

“Easy to do when you’re around.” Cooper came to stand beside you, one hand finding the small of your back. “You know, I was– uh– I was worried bout you.”

“Same could be said for me to you.” Your eyes flickered across the baron land before you. There was nothing to see for miles and miles except dirt and remnants of destroyed buildings casting long shadows in the early morning light. “I’d heard whispers thrown around about what Dom Pedro was doing to you. When I get my hands on him–,”

“I don’t want you gettin’ anywhere near him, Icy Mae.”

You clenched your teeth together. Fiery anger swirled in your gut. Cooper’s hand on your back moved just slightly, rubbing your back in an effort to comfort you.

“No need in grinding those little teeth, doll.”

“I’ve spent three years trying to find you.”

“I know.”

“I want to kill him for what he’s done to you.”

Cooper let out a sigh.

“Lemme see those pretty eyes, doll.”

You turned your head away from him even more. You didn’t want him to see the tears that festered in your right eye.

“Look at me, Icy.”

You took in a breath through your nose before begrudgingly turning to face the ghoul. His fingertips found your jaw, tracing the soft skin beneath his calloused fingertips. Blue eyes followed his fingertips as he brushed away the stray tear that slipped down your cheek.

“I was afraid you’d be gone by the time I got to you. So many people I talked to said that you had died.”

“You know ain’t nothin’ gonna keep me from you, doll. Not even death.” He was trying to use his voice to make you feel better. Sometimes you felt that all he had to do was say your name in that raspy drawl of his and everything would be cured.

“Stop trying to charm me, old man.”

“Oh, I ain’t tryin’ to do anything, darling.”

You turned your head away from him, trying to focus on anything else. But he took your chin in his hand, gently turning your head back to him. you had no choice but to look up into his eyes.

“Missed you, woman.” He spoke in a hushed whisper. You couldn’t stay angry with him looking at you. It was rare to see those stern eyes so bright. A smile snuck its way onto your lips. You turned your head to kiss the palm of his hand.

“Distracting me, old man, won’t make me change my mind.”

“He ain’t worth your trouble, doll.” His hand left your face and even though it was hot outside, you found yourself missing the warmth of his touch. He placed his hand on your side, drawing your body a little closer to his.

Out of the corner of your eye you saw something move. You turned your head, disappointed to see Lucy moving towards you and Cooper.

The ghoul sighed as he removed his hand from your side and adjusted his hat, pulling it down just enough so the brim covered his eyes. You turned to face the vault dweller.

“Good morning, Lucy.”

”Good morning.” She smiled lightly. She looked from you to Cooper, unsure of which of you to look at.

“We should leave.” Your words weren’t really meant for her, but instead for the large figure that stood so close behind you.

“Yeah, yeah.” Cooper grumbled. ”Let’s get this show on the road.”

***

A couple hours later, you all walked in a poor excuse of a line. Lucy led the way with you followed just shortly behind her and the Ghoul behind you.

You looked over your shoulder. Cooper kept his right hand on the handle of the gun holster on his hip. He gave you a light nod of his head, to which you smiled.

Lucy slowed down just a little to be able to walk alongside you.

“I just—,”

”Keep moving, Vaultie.” Cooper spoke up from behind you.

“Give her a second, darling.” You looked over your shoulder to flash him a toothy smile.

“Thank you.”

You looked at Lucy out of the corner of your right eye.

“For what?”

”For being so nice to me. Giving me water and-and talking to me.”

You said nothing to her.

”Can I ask you a question?”

”Depends on the question.”

”Is Icy your real name? The name you were born with?”

You almost laughed at her.

“Hardly. Icy is just a nickname I got through the years. Comes from my eye.” You tapped your left temple. You cybernetic eye was a bright blue almost icy color.

“What’s your real name?”

”Why does it matter what my real name is?” You glanced over to her.

”It-It doesn’t. I was just curious.”

”Curiosity will get you killed up here, girly. People don’t think it’s too kind and friendly to be asking all sorts of questions.”

“I-I’m– Okay.” Lucy pressed her lips into a tight line. It was so hard just to make conversation with people from the surface.

You slowed down just a bit so that Lucy would keep walking ahead of you.

“Told you not to be friendly with her.” Cooper bumped your shoulder with his. You rolled your eyes.

“I’m not being friendly. Just trying to make conversation ‘cause I know you aren’t gonna be. What are you doing with her anyways?”

“Originally, I was gonna sell her for more vials. But now that you’re here, plans have changed a bit.” Cooper paused. “She’s a MacLean.”

You turned your head to Cooper, brows furrowing together. Without meaning to, you stopped walking.

“A what?”

“You heard me.”

“How?”

“She’s the daughter of Hank MacLean.”

Your fingers curled into fists by your sides. The very mention of Hank MacLean made your blood boil. The mention of anyone from Vault-Tec was enough to get you angry and ready to start fighting.

“What are we going to do with her?” You found yourself glaring at Lucy as she continued to walk, unaware that the both of you had stopped.

Cooper glanced over to you, adjusting the shotgun he held over his shoulder.

“Use her to get to her daddy.”

“They’ve ruined so many lives, Cooper. Vault-Tec has.”

“Oh, I know, darling.” He started walking again.

The anger in your stomach started to form into something else, into grief. There she was, Hank MacLean’s daughter, walking just ahead of you. Vault-Tec had ended so many lives, broken up so many families. Why did he get to have a family? Why did he get to see his daughter grow up?

Cooper stopped when he noticed you weren’t following him. He glanced back at you, taking note of your left hand that gripped the gun on your hip.

“Come on, Icy Mae.” He called for you. “Ain’t no use gettin’ worked up.”

Lucy stopped upon hearing the Ghoul say your name. She turned back to look at you. Your eyes met hers and you saw her furrow her brows together in confusion. Why did you look so upset, so angry?

“Don’t tell me how to be, Cooper.”

“I ain’t tellin’ you how to be, woman. Just telling you gettin’ mad ain’t gonna do nobody any good.”

“Is something wrong?” Lucy asked.

Your eyes left the girl to find Cooper.

“It isn’t fair, Coop.” You whispered, but he heard you just fine. He said nothing as he held your gaze. “Just isn’t fair.” You took your hand off of the gun and started walking again.

***

The day seemed to drag on for an eternity. No one had spoken very much. Everyone was tired and doing their best to make their energy last.

As the sun went away, camp was made on the outskirts of what used to be a town. The three of you took refuge inside of what appeared to be some kind of overturned bus. A battery powered lamp was on and sat in the middle of the bus, providing the otherwise pitch black night with a tiny source of light.

Lucy sat down against the roof of the bus, moving her hands around in an attempt to get comfortable with the rope around her wrist. You moved towards her, pulling a knife from its holster on your lower back.

”What are you doin’, woman?”

”Yeah, what are you doing?” Lucy shifted in her spot, eyes sticking to the knife you held. She tried to move away, pushing herself backwards. “Hey! Hey—!”

”Quiet down.” You muttered, kneeling down to cut away the rope.

“Oh.” Lucy watched the rope fall away then she rubbed her wrists. “Th-Thank you.”

“Icy, what the hell?”

”May as well let her get comfortable for the night.” You tucked the knife back into the sheath on your back. ”And she can’t go no where. We’re surrounded by nothing. She‘ll die from the elements before she gets far.”

Cooper sighed, putting his hands on his hips. You shrugged off your backpack and placed it down next to his bag. You sat down, adjusting your backpack before leaning against it.

“I’m gonna go have a look around.” He told you. “See if we’re alone out here.”

”Be careful.”

The ghoul gave you a nod, then turned towards Lucy.

“You try anything funny, Vaultie, and I won’t hesitate to skin you alive.”

“I-I won’t. I promise.”

You watched as Cooper slipped out of the overturned bus and disappeared into the night.

Once he was completely gone, you leaned forward to start taking off some of your layers. With the sun down, you didn’t have to worry about its harsh rays.

Lucy watched as you took off the jacket and placed it aside, then pulled the sweatshirt off of your head and added it to the jacket. You were left in a thin tank top that appeared to be a dark shade of brown. The gloves you wore came up to your elbows. You tugged each one off, setting them aside. With all the layers off, Lucy could now see the scars that covered your arms. They were darker than the rest of your skin and seemed to go in a gnarled and twisted pattern from the backs of your hands up to your shoulders.

You looked up, feeling eyes on you. The girl was watching you, her gaze curious but horrified all at once.

“I-I’m sorry.” She stuttered out. “What, um, what happened to you?”

”Got caught in a fire a few years back.” You rubbed your left arm, then started to rub the right one.

”Is that what happened to your eye?”

You stopped moving, her question catching you off guard.

You reached behind you into one of the side pockets and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Then you settled back against the backpack, bringing your eyes up to meet hers.

Your cybernetic eye read her vitals and told you that she was nervous. A slightly elevated heart rate and increased breathing.

”No.” You put the cigarette between your lips then pulled a lighter from a pocket on your pants. “My eye was taken from me at the start of the war.”

”Oh.” She was quiet for a few heartbeats, looking away from you. “Do you mind me asking what happened?”

”Vault-Tec.”

Your answer seemed to surprise her. She drew her eyebrows together.

”Vault-Tec?”

“It’s a long story, girly.” Your face lit up a little as you lit the cigarette.

”Well…. We’ve got time.”

”That we do.” You sunk down a little more to get comfortable.

Lucy could tell you didn’t really want to talk about your eye or Vault-Tec or your scars anymore. She looked down at her hands, rubbing her wrists just a little more before she let out a soft breath.

“How do you know him? That guy?”

”Known him for a while.” You turned your attention to the black sky. ”Ran into each other ages ago. We’d go our separate ways no and again but somehow…. Somehow we always run into each other.”

If the man in question hadn’t been so mean and callous, perhaps Lucy would have smiled.

“But how can you…. How can you be with someone like that? Someone who-who is okay with so much murder and so much cruelty?”

You stayed silent for a few minutes, debating on what to say next. Lucy thought perhaps you were ignoring her, but then you slowly sat up. You crossed your legs and leaned forward with your elbows on your knees.

“I used to have a daughter.” Your voice was hushed, eyes cast down to the flashlight providing a little bit of light. You took a deep inhale of the cigarette. In the same moment that you breathed out a cloud of smoke, you continued to talk. “Used to have a husband too. He was a good man. He’d move heaven and earth for me and my girl.”

You paused to see if Lucy would say anything. When she remained silent, you carried on.

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand, Miss MacLean. You’ve only ever known comfort your whole life. You don’t know what people have had to endure up here…. what good people have had to do…. in order to survive.”

Lucy looked away, unable to hold your gaze any longer.

“There are no rules up here, no guidelines, no sense of ethics. If you want to survive, you have to do things you wouldn’t normally do. Good men do bad things to make sure they survive.”

Lucy directed her eyes downward. You flicked the cigarette ashes down onto the ground beside you.

“I’m-I’m sorry about your family.”

Your gaze was drawn to the girl once more.

“About everything you’ve been through.”

A whistle made both of you turn your heads. Lucy almost started to panic, but you shook your head gently.

”It’s just Cooper.” You took another puff from the cigarette. A few moments of silence passed before the Ghoul was making his way back into the overturned bus. “Find anything?” You sat up and offered him the cigarette.

“Nah, there’s nothin’ here but us and dirt.” He sat down next to you, settling with sitting up while you stayed hunkered down with your head on the backpack.

Lucy moved around a bit to get herself comfortable, choosing to lay on her side with her arm under her head as she faced the light.

”It’s your turn to get some sleep, woman.”

You turned your head to look up at Cooper.

“Don’t know if I’m gonna be able to sleep much, darling.” You took the cigarette back from him and puffed on it a little bit.

“You should try.”

You hummed but said nothing more.

After a few minutes, Lucy fell asleep, giving you and the ghoul next to you the smallest bits of privacy.

Neither of you said anything for a long time. You passed the cigarette back and forth until it was finished up by Cooper.

You scooted closer to him, trying to get as deep into his side as you could. He lifted his arm until you were comfortable, then he put his arm down around you, his hand resting on your shoulder.

”I haven’t been able to stop thinking about killing her all day, Cooper.” You murmured.

“Oh, yeah?”

”I want to take her head to her father.”

He looked down at you, unsure if what he had heard was what you said.

”He shouldn’t get to have a family. No one at Vault-Tec should.”

”You’re gonna get yourself all worked up, doll. Best not go down that rabbit hole tonight.”

You took a deep breath, reaching your hand up to hold on to his fingers.

”I don’t want to feel that way, Coop. I don’t want to hurt her.”

”Hush now.” Cooper leaned down to kiss your head. “Get some sleep, Icy Mae.”

#cooper Howard x reader #the ghoul x reader #the ghoul fallout #fallout fic #cooper Howard the ghoul #cooper Howard #fallout #fallout tv series #queenxxxsupreme

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Could I please request Thranduil with a breeding kink with the lavender field prompt? 🔥🔥 thank you so much!! Your writings lift my spirits!

Here you go!

"Lavender Haze"

Pairing:  Thranduil x Fem. Reader (elf/second person POV) | Location: Greenwood the great

Themes: Smut | Soft

Warnings:  Kissing | Explicit language | Mild dirty talk | Breeding kink | Sex in an open field | Penetrative sex | Rough sex | Cream pie

Word count: 1.6k words

Summary : A game of hide of seek take place in a lavender field. What price will the loser have to pay? 

Rating: 🔥🔥 | Minors DNI | 🔞  | You are responsible for the media you consume

Rules and tag form here | Prompts for requests here

 A lavender haze. 

That was all you could see in the periphery of your vision—an endless haze of the richest lavender swaying with the wind. The blooms rustled, murmuring with a hushed voice of their own every time the wind rose. It was sheer happenstance when you came across this field of wild lavender. Thrilled with this new find, you made haste to ride back to Amon Lanc and tell its prince. Thranduil listened with rapt attention and insisted that you take him there. No one knew of such a field, and he wanted to see it with his own eyes. 

The prince came. And he saw. And believed. And a merry chase then ensued. No one besides the two of you knew of this little slice of paradise, and Thranduil wanted to make the most of it. Others would learn of the field's existence soon enough, and the opportunities to be alone within it would grow sparse. 

You ran and ducked behind tall bushes. Hid behind the thick trunks of gnarled trees with branches so low they kissed the soft grass that grew beneath them. And Thranduil chased you still, calling out for you and searching for you, the heady rush of the chase working its magic on him. 

"Where are you, meleth?"

You clapped your hands over your mouth and kept still. Thranduil was close to the oak tree you were hiding behind. You could not hear his footsteps; the prince moved like a wraith, not making a single sound. You press against the bark of the tree, wondering if he heard you or if he knew where you were hiding. 

"Meleth?"

It was as if he were further away now, but you keep yourself concealed anyway. When it sounded as if he had moved quite a distance, you peered around the tree, pleased to find him no longer there. You take off again, giggling and smug, confident you have thrown him off your trail. 

"There you are!" Thranduil ran in from behind and threw his arms around you. He cackled when you squealed and squirmed and tried to free yourself from his hold. His moving away from where you were had just been a sly trick. He was there the entire time, hidden, waiting for you to come out into the open. 

"Th-thranduil!" Giddy laughter ripped through you when you tried and tried, and he simply continued to carry you deeper into the field. "Let g-go!"

"No!" Thranduil's laughter mirrored yours. He listened to you grumble and plot your escape, and laughed again, louder this time. "Yield, meleth. Escape is futile. Surely you know this by now."

"Never!" That never lasted no more than a few moments, when you realized you would not be able to extricate yourself from his vise-like grip no matter how hard you tried. You give up and go limp against him. 

Thranduil sets you down amidst fragrant purple blooms. "Now, tell me. What was our wager again?"

"If I win, you are to be my slave for the turn of a moon," you answer quickly, more than a little disappointed that losing the wager meant not having Thranduil wait on you hand and foot. Literally. 

Thranduil smirked, clearly pleased with himself. "And if I win?"

"I am to let you have your way with me. In whatever way you desire."

"A prospect that does not disappoint you, yes?"

You huff and cross your arms. How easy it was for him to read you! "It does not."

Thranduil smiled wolfishly and sat down, extending his hand to you. "Come, meleth. It is time to pay the piper, so to speak."

You narrowed your eyes and made yourself comfortable next to him, lying down on the grass as you did so. The sky was beautiful, all puffy white clouds against a field of the palest, clearest blue. You rest your head over your folded arms and watch while they stay low and move slowly. Thranduil is content to watch you. He lays down beside you, an enchanting smile slowly working its way across his face when you turn to face him. His eyes light up when you smile in return. 

"I will pay," you reply with a grin. 

Thranduil beamed and leaned forward, the sweetness of his kiss pouring into your throat when his mouth opened over yours. Deft, experienced hands worked on the clasps and lacing on your robes. Your gown loosened beneath his touch. The prince helps you out of your clothes, barely taking a moment to marvel at the sight of you exposed. Thranduil then sat up, his clothes rustling while he rid himself of his tunic and undershirts, belt and sash and boots. They all joined the growing pile by the side. He slipped out of his breeches, sighing in relief when his throbbing cock sprang free. He did not give you time to even think or breathe. He simply captured your lips with his. 

Your nerves were aflame; every inch of you was heated and sensitive to his touch. And you were bold, reaching out to ghost a finger over the crown of his member. Thranduil moaned lustily and drew away, content again to watch, this time while you took him into your hands. He moved his hips, thrusting in time with your strokes. The warmth and frenzy of your pace were unceasing. It nearly undid him and almost made him cum all over your hand. 

"Not like this." Thranduil loosened your grip and pushed you onto your back. "I would much rather finish inside you."

He was so warm when he lowered himself onto you—slowly and carefully—and tried not to lose control of himself and hurt you. He did not enter you immediately. Thranduil kept still while you touched his face and his hair, and ran your hands over his arms and chest and back. The prince was perfect, like an exquisite marble sculpture come to life. 

"Mine," you declare without even hesitating. "All mine."

Joy welled within Thranduil's heart. "As you are mine," he exclaimed with pride before dipping his head. 

He kissed with tenderness, then hunger, then fury, when your mouth parted for the warmth of his sinful tongue. Thranduil knitted his tapered fingers around yours, moaning into your mouth when your free hand slid around his waist and nails dug into his flesh. 

"Naughty girl," he breathed wistfully. "Now open those beautiful legs for me."

He groaned under his breath when your legs slid open and hooked around his hips. Thranduil pushed in, inch by agonizing inch, sinking his shaft into your slit. The prince was built bigger than most, and you felt it in the pressure around your core. He kept still, his chest heaving and his heart racing wildly, while you adjusted to his size. Arousal pooled in your belly when even the slightest movement sent shock waves shooting up your spine like lightning. You no longer wanted him to stay still. You wanted him to move. 

"I am ready."

Thranduil's pace was merciless. He rutted into you like a wild beast, growing drunk on your transported moans.

"Look at how well you take me," he cries against your throat. "It is as if you have been made for me."

All you could do was hold onto him while he bucked his hips against the insides of your thighs. "Perhaps it is because we were made for each other."

"Yes," Thranduil agreed. "Meant for each other. You are mine, just as I am yours. We belong together."

His grip on your hand tightened. He plunged deeper and harder. It made you see stars. "More," you plead shamelessly. "More. Please."

Thranduil grunted softly. "Look at you. Listen to how desperate you sound. Should I deny you?"

"No!" you keen. "Please do not do that."

"Pathetic." Thranduil hissed hoarsely, his hips now undulating every time he thrust. "But I suppose I will concede to your plea. I am going to finish inside you, so you know who you belong to."

"Please." The knowledge of him filling you with his seed unraveled you. "Do it. Please."

He nearly fell apart when he heard. Thranduil let go of your hand and gripped your chin, forcing you to open your eyes and look at him. He wanted to see how your words could undo him. "Are you ready?"

You did see. You saw how his eyes had darkened and how raw, unbridled lust flashed in them. And you were so ready for him.

"Yes," you sob in relief. "So ready."

Thranduil ran his tongue along the curve of your throat. It made you tremble beneath him and whimper against his shoulder. His thrusts grew erratic and relentless. It sent you spiraling and made the world grow dark in your eyes. Thranduil gasped sharply while your walls contracted and milked his cock. It shattered him and made his orgasm rip through him. He glanced at your belly, his thoughts running riot with visions of his spend filling your cunt. It heightened the bliss he was already drowning in. With one last, satisfying grunt, he came to a stop, his arms and body trembling from the exertion. 

Nothing could be heard save for the wind rustling through flowers and leaves and the deeper sound of ragged breathing. Thranduil slowly moved onto his back, taking you with him. You sighed in contentment while he held you against his chest. When you moved, he stopped you. 

"Keep me inside you a little longer," Thranduil insists. "Just a little longer, then you and I can go for a swim in that pond nearby."

#thranduil #Thranduil smut #Thranduil x reader #Thranduil imagine #greenwood the great #x reader #x reader insert #reader insert #reader requests #reader insert request #💫a world of whimsy writes

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 1,700 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: Alexandria, pre-Negan Warnings: language, mild gore (killing walkers) Summary: Daryl follows Y/N outside the walls. A/N: This is Part 2, the final part of a two part commissioned miniseries! Part 1 here! A/N: The patron and requester for this fic is the lovely @easy-peasy68 so thank her for her amazing generosity and support! Without her, this fic wouldn't exist!

The singing of the birds had gone silent and it wasn’t long before you figured out why. A small group of walkers were ambling toward you, growling and reaching with bony arms. It wasn’t anything you couldn’t handle though and you unsnapped the leather loop that held your knife in its sheath. You waited for the first walker to reach you before you deftly plunged the blade into the side of its head. It crumpled and you turned your attention to the next one, repeating the action.

You stepped around the bodies and prepared to deal with the third and fourth. You jabbed one through its empty eye-socket and quickly withdrew it with a sickening squelching sound. But when you attempted to plunge the blade into the head of the final walker, your blade made a dull thud and stuck fast. “Shit,” you growled under your breath, throwing up your arm to hold it back while you struggled to pull your knife free. This walker was bound up in vegetation and the roots of some woody plant and, apparently, you’d stuck your blade into a particularly strong, thick, gnarled log. “Shit!” you swore again, tugging as hard as you could while still trying to extract your weapon, a task proving difficult as you tried not to get scratched or bitten. There was also one more walker advancing on you behind it. You tried once more to wrench your knife free but were unsuccessful. “Shit, shit, shit!” you growled. Your eyes began searching the ground for an impromptu weapon—a log, a rock, something.

But the next moment there was a swift rush of air and a familiar looking bolt rushed past your shoulder and buried itself between the eyes of the snapping, grim-face walker groping toward you. It fell to the ground in a heap. You kicked your knife free from the root and used it to put down the final walker.

When you straightened up, panting, your head snapped around to see Daryl striding toward you from a short distance away. Your brow furrowed as he marched over and retrieved his bolt, wiping it clean on his pants and then fixing a stare on you that seemed to cut you to the bone.

“The hell ya doin’ messin’ around out here, huh?” he growled, scolding you. He reloaded the bolt in the flight groove of his crossbow before locking eyes with you again. His glare was intense.

“I had it under control,” you retorted, wiping your knife clean on your jeans and slipping it back into the sheath.

He let out a scoff that had you narrowing your eyes at him.

“What are you doing out here then?” you pressed him. He didn’t seem to have a good answer for that and you noted that he seemed uncomfortable, clearing his throat and shifting his weight. What was he doing out here, miraculously showing up in the same place you’d wandered aimlessly to, just in time to kill that walker for you? “Were you following me?!” you asked, incredulous.

He shrugged and then gestured to the still walkers again. “Good thing I was,” he drawled, gravel heavy in his voice.

Your jaw clenched. “That doesn’t even make the top one hundred of close calls I’ve had. I would have managed just fine,” you countered. “Why the hell are you following me?” you demanded.

“Why the hell are ya comin’ out here every day and just wanderin’ around waitin’ to get fuckin’ killed?” he snapped back.

“Why do you care?!” you snapped back.

His chest was heaving with angry breaths. He chewed on his bottom lip for a moment and the air between the two of you seemed to crackle with electricity and tension. “Why the hell have ya been avoidin’ me since we got here?” he asked in a low growl. “Ya practically cross the street to the other sidewalk every time ya see me.”

You gulped and ducked your eyes for a moment.

He stared at you, his gaze piercing. “Yeah, ya thought I wouldn’t fuckin’ notice?” He began pacing in front of you, clearly agitated.

You didn’t want to have to rehash what had happened right before arriving in Alexandria. Just the thought of it made your heart ache. He made your heart ache. You came up with an excuse that wasn’t untrue… “When we were on the road, you were always watching out for me, making sure nothing happened to me. I was trying to give you a break!”

He rounded on you, his blue eyes blazing. “Give me a break? Am I really s’posed to believe yer avoidin’ me for my benefit?”

You only stared back at him and he resumed his pacing and let out a wry laugh. “That ain’t it,” he growled.

“It’s true!” you argued.

“Nah,” he said, flicking a hand in your direction. “At least that ain’t all of it.”

You tried to keep your voice measured this time. “I was just trying to give you some space.”

“Well, maybe I dun want fuckin’ space! Maybe, I—” He cut himself off.

You stared at him, your mouth agape, puzzled. “Maybe you what?!” you demanded.

“Maybe it’s important to me to make sure nothin’ fuckin’ happens to ya!”

You gave him a puzzled look. “I’m not your burden, Daryl! And I don’t need a fucking babysitter! I’m perfectly capable of—”

“That ain’t what ‘m sayin’! Ya ain’t—agh!” he growled, pacing impatiently, clearly frustrated that you weren’t understanding him. But to be fair, he hadn’t really said what he really meant and he couldn’t expect you to read his mind. There was more underneath all this.

“Well, what are you saying then?!”

“ ‘M sayin’ ya’ve been avoidin’ me since we fuckin’ got here and I dunno why! And I miss ya! I give a shit about you! For fuck’s sake, I’ve got fuckin’ feelin’s for ya!” He froze when he realized what he’d blurted out. “Fuck,” he uttered, staring at your stunned expression. “Just tell me what I did! I dun understand why—”

“You’re shitting me, right?”

“What?” Daryl said, bewildered.

“You have to be joking,” you said blankly. Daryl couldn’t read your expression. His heart was racing. He looked completely baffled. “I—” you pushed him hard in the chest and let out an annoyed and infuriated groan. He took a step back to regain his balance, but immediately came back toward you. “I fucking told you while we were on the road that I—that—that I have feelings for you and you didn’t—!” you broke off, staring at him with wide eyes. “You didn’t tell me—agh!” you let out a frustrated gasp and Daryl continued to stare at you, stunned. “I felt… rejected! I thought you didn’t feel anything toward me at all!”

“Nah,” he said, shaking his head. “You never—when didya—?”

“After the storm, Daryl. When you and I went up into the hayloft in the barn and I was telling you—”

He looked suddenly struck and his eyes went wide. “Tha’s what ya were—I didn’t know—I didn’t understand—”

You shoved him again. “Jesus Christ, Daryl!”

“Look, I ain’t good at this shit! Ya gotta fuckin’ spell it out for me!” he retorted, coming back to stand right in front of you. “‘M sorry! I didn’t know—Fuck, I didn’t—" He hung his head, clearly agonizing over the entire situation, the lost time. “Tha’s why ya were avoidin’ me? Cuz ya tried to tell me ya—ya have feelin’s for me and ya thought I rejected you?”

“Yes,” you said, nodding. “And I’ve been coming out here and trying to stay away from you behind the walls because—because it hurt to be around you knowing we couldn’t be more. And being out here… it clears my head.”

His eyes flickered between yours, his brow heavy over them. He gulped. “I thought maybe I did somethin’ that… I thought I’d screwed ev’rythin’ up somehow.”

He watched your face soften then and his heart jumped in his chest. You shook your head. “No. Unless you count not understanding the ENTIRE POINT of that conversation in the hayloft,” you said with a wry laugh. You realized that Daryl was probably primed to doubt, primed to think he was the problem, because that’s what most of his life had told him. “I’m going to say this so there’s no misunderstanding, okay? I have feelings for you and have for a long time.”

His eyes flickered between yours again and then down to your lips. “Me too.” It was all he could manage. He was overwhelmed. He’d gone from being furious and annoyed with you to—to this. He stepped closer to you and the fact that you didn’t step away seemed to light a fire in his chest. He dared to bring his hands to your waist and gulped at the way you bit your full bottom lip, your top teeth denting into the plumpness.

Suddenly, butterflies and tingles erupting in your stomach and over your skin, you broke the thick silence. “Are you going to kiss me or just keep looking at me like that?” And you smiled at him. He thought his heart was going to burst. He felt like he hadn’t seen your smile since—oh, right. Since on the road.

“Can I?” he asked. His voice came out soft and a little unsure.

You laughed lightly. “Yes. You fucking better.”

And he did. It was shy at first, but when you leaned into him and looped your arms around his neck, he grew bolder and you hummed into his lips, smiling, as his confidence grew. You couldn’t ever remember feeling so much electricity, so much warmth from a kiss, and both of you knew that this was the start of something new. And maybe the life you had wanted in Alexandria was possible after all.

#daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon twd #the walking dead #twd fanfics #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl imagines #daryl x y/n #fanfics #writers of tumblr #twd drabbles

[gintrinsic-writing]

There and Gone Again

“That presence,” Time murmured, eyes searching the old, gnarled branches above their heads. Realization came to him with a smile. “The Skull Kid. He’s here?”

Moonlight doused the Sacred Grove in glittering beams of silver, and a familiar song trickled through the boughs and tall grasses. “I’ve only ever seen one,” Twilight answered. “I doubt it’s the same skull kid from your era, though, right? That would make him…” He paused, trying to add the years, but Time shook his head.

“It’s him. I recognize his magic.”

“I didn’t realize they lived so long,” Twilight said, glancing around curiously. He half-expected to find orange eyes watching him. 

“I suspect he may be an exception. His brand of trouble… Well, I wouldn’t be surprised if it affected his lifespan.” Time’s frown did little to mask the fondness in his voice. “Maybe his spirit is tied to this place now.”

Twilight shrugged. “Maybe. He sure was a…”

“Brat?”

“I was gonna say asshole,” Twilight admittedly with a quiet laugh. “But he did help me, in the end.”

Time nodded like that was no surprise. “Tell me about him. How was he?”

Twilight leaned back on his hands as he considered the question. “He seemed well enough, I s’pose. He laughed a lot.” Usually at Twilight’s expense, but he didn’t need to say as much. 

“That's good. What mask is he sporting these days?”

“Mask?”

“He always preferred to wear a mask. It… became a bit of an issue, actually.”

Twilight blinked. “There was no mask. I reckon he might’ve been a little less creepy if he’d had one.”

“Creepy?” Time gave him an odd look. 

“Y’know, the whole—” Twilight gestured to his own face, “—glowing orange eyes, and that cavernous grin. There were too many teeth.”

Time didn’t say anything for a long moment. The silence was broken only occasionally by the low, mournful trill of a flute from within the woods. “I see,” he said at last. “I guess the magic affected more than just his lifespan.”

“What do you mean?”

Time shook his head. “Nothing. What about Tat’l and Tael?”

“Who?”

“His fairy friends.”

“I never saw any fairies around him.”

"Oh." Time looked disappointed. "But you didn’t see any other skull kids either?”

“No, just him.”

“He was completely alone?”

Unease weighed on Twilight’s shoulders. “He had his puppets.” At Time’s stare, he added, “He used magic to control these large, wooden puppets. They looked, well…” He didn’t want to say creepy again. “They had spindly limbs and low heads, and they wore cloaks up high on their backs.”

The silence, this time, was absolute while it lasted. Time finally let out a quiet breath. “The moon as his mask, the giants as his puppets, and… alone. Completely alone.” He turned suddenly, staring where the shadows nestled thickest. “Is this a joke or a memorial? Has your grief trapped you?”

Twilight shifted uncomfortably. The little hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. “Time?” he whispered.

Something stirred within the shadows, there and gone again. The music trickled back to life, endless once more.

#anyway does anyone else ever think about how the tp puppets resemble the mm giant guardians? #skull kid making his own guardians #or maybe i'm reaching idk #this has been a grief-filled summer and i woke up horribly melancholic #gintrinsic writing #lu fic #linked universe #lu time #lu twilight

[kybercrystals94]

Hide and Seek and Training

Read here on Ao3!

Febuwhump 2024 | Day 9 | Prompt 9: Bees

Rated: T | Words: 2496 | Summary: Training with Omega goes awry when bees become involved. [Character Focus: Tech, Omega, Hunter, Wrecker, Echo]

“I love this game,” Wrecker whispers loudly to Omega, interrupting Hunter for the third time.

Tech adjusts his goggles irritably. “This isn’t a game, Wrecker. This is training.”

“If it’s training, then why is it fun?”

“I think all training is fun!” Omega pipes up happily.

Hunter sighs. “Can we just get through the instructions before we decide what’s fun and what’s not? Please?”

Echo chuckles from his perch on the Marauder’s ramp. “Kids, listen to your dad!” he calls out.

“Maker help me,” Hunter mutters. He takes a breath and starts again. “Alright. Omega, Wrecker, and Tech…you three, separately, are going to find places in the woods to lay low. Make sure to cover your tracks. After ten minutes, we’re going to see how long it takes me to find you.”

“And the last one found, wins!” Wrecker practically shouts.

Another sigh. “Sure,” Hunter agrees reluctantly.

“This sounds a lot like hide and seek,” Omega comments, smiling brightly up at Wrecker.

“The strategies are similar,” Tech admits, “however, this is a survival simulation.”

Wrecker laughs. “Can we start, Sarge?”

“Get out of here,” Hunter says, waving them off with a grin.

Wrecker and Omega are off like blaster shots, tearing into the forest like their very lives depend on it. Hunter can hear them crashing through the undergrowth even after they’ve disappeared from sight. At this rate, he won’t have to use his enhancements at all to pick up their trail.

Tech takes a much more tactical approach, starting the timer on his chrono and heading out in the opposite direction of his far more enthusiastic siblings. He is absolutely going to give Hunter a run for his credits.

Hunter ambles over to Echo and sits down next to his cyborg brother, glancing at his own chrono to keep track of the time.

“Who are you going after first?” Echo asks.

Hunter chuckles. “How upset do you think Tech would be if I made him lose to Wrecker?”

“You’d better start sleeping with one eye open if you go that route,” Echo muses.

“Well, then, I guess I’ll just play it by ear and see what happens,” Hunter decides, leaning back on his elbows, ready to enjoy the peace and quiet these ten minutes will indulge him.

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

Omega stops suddenly, turning to look back at where she came from. She can’t see the Marauder through the trees anymore. Perfect. Glancing around, she kneels and touches the cool, damp earth with her fingertips. Hunter will be able to track her to this point easily. Just as she planned. It will make it much more fun when she disappears like a ghost.

With little effort, Omega clambers up the nearest tree, the toes of her boots finding quick purchase in the gnarled bark, and her fingers easily curling around protruding knots. She makes it to the first branch in seconds, and straddles it for a moment to plan her next move. The neighboring tree has a branch nearly touching hers, so she stands and edges her way toward it. A small jump later, and she claims the adjacent tree.

A few minutes lates, Omega is more than half a dozen trees away from where she started. Hunter will begin his search soon. She might have the advantage of him going after her more experienced brothers first; however, she can also imagine him coming after her first, if only to make sure she is safe. Therefore, she needs to get herself out of sight as quickly as possible, just in case.

Omega begins to climb higher, where the leaves and branches become denser. She smiles to herself, wondering if Hunter will be surprised at how well she has done. Her training is finally paying off.

She is so distracted by her joyous thoughts that she doesn’t notice the humm of agitated buzzing just to her left as she settles comfortably onto a thick branch, peering down through the soft leaves.

After a few minutes of quiet, Omega feels the sensation of legs on the back of her neck. She stiffens, resisting the urgent impulse to reach up and slap away the unknown creature. If she threatens it, whatever it is might sting or bite. She prays it has wings and will just fly away on its own. Then the sensation tickles down to the collar of her shirt.

No, no, no, Omega thinks desperately, not down my shirt!

She catches movement on her arm out the corner of her eye. Turning her head, she sees an insect, brightly colored, winged, and armed with a stinger. Omega releases a shuddering breath when she sees another join its friend on her sleeved arm, and another flying lazily past her face.

She notices the buzzing now.

Slowly, Omega looks back at where the branch she sits on meets the tree. Tucked into the crook, a muddy looking structure is swarming with the colorful insects. Bees, Omega’s memory supplies frantically.

She needs to get down from here.

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

Tech has found the perfect hiding place when his comm pings. Internalizing a sigh of frustration, he glances down at the source code. Crosshair’s old source code…Omega’s current source code. He answers immediately. “Omega?”

“Tech,” Omega’s voice is strained and hushed. She sounds terrified. “I need help. I don’t know what to do!”

“Alright. First, we must remain calm. Tell me exactly what is wrong and where you are,” Tech says, keeping his own voice temperate. He pulls out his data pad and begins the trace on Omega’s beacon.

Omega’s voice quakes, and Tech thinks she might be crying. “I’m–in a tree…and there’s bees? A lot of bees, and they are everywhere! They have stingers, and I’m afraid they’ll sting me if I move.”

Not an unreasonable fear to have under the circumstances. Tech climbs down from his hiding place and begins to follow the beacon at a brisk pace. He plans to briefly research the type of insects Omega has encountered during his trek. It might be vital to her safe extraction from the situation. “Can you describe what these ‘bees’ look like? Do you see their domicile?”

“Uhm,” Omega’s voice wobbles through distractedly, “Yeah. They’re colorful…red and blue and orange and yellow with black stripes. And they have a hive that looks like it’s made out of mud…maybe?”

Tech types in the brief description and pulls up an article on the species. Polychromatic Wasps. His eyes drift over the information briefly. “Alright, Miss Omega, I am enroute to your location now. It seems that this particular species of wasp - or bee - will not attack unless they feel threatened. My recommendation is that you remain perfectly stationary until I arrive.”

“I’m scared,” Omega admits weakly.

Tech hesitates. “I understand. We will have you out of this situation in short order, and you will be fine. I promise.”

“Okay,” Omega says. A slight strengthening in her tone suggests that she believes him.

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

Hunter is surprised when he hears Tech’s familiar tread coming toward him, and is even more surprised at the speed at which his brother is moving. He comes into view a moment later, not even glancing up from his data pad as he approaches Hunter. “Omega is in distress. We must get to her location immediately.”

Tact and gentle verbal blows are not among Tech’s enhancements. Hunter’s heart rate accelerates to what feels like an inhuman speed. “What? Where is she?” he demands, falling into hurried step next to Tech.

“I’ve got her location locked,” Tech tells him. “She says that she came across a wasp nest when she climbed a tree. She is unharmed at present, just frightened.”

Hunter at first questions why Omega would comm Tech before any of her other brothers, especially brothers that might be closer to her aid. It dawns on him that Omega – always resourceful – would have called Tech first in order for him to provide her the information she would need until rescue came. She knows how to utilize her brothers’ strengths, and for that, he is incredibly proud of her.

“Here,” Tech says, stopping at the base of a tree. He looks up. “Omega?” he calls out.

A small voice calls back from the depths of the leaves and branches. “I’m here, Tech. They haven’t stung me.”

“Excellent!” Tech calls back. He starts to remove his pack.

“I can go,” Hunter says, already putting his hands to the trunk to find his first grips.

Tech shakes his head, dropping his pack to the ground and nudging Hunter aside. “I am far better suited to the task…and I’ll need you down here to catch her when I drop her down.”

“Wait, what?” Hunter asks in alarm, but Tech is already climbing.

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

Omega almost bursts into tears of relief when Tech appears through the leaves and branches. But she holds them back with a painful swallow, keenly aware that she now has at least a dozen bees crawling over her person, with dozens more flying about, perturbed about their motionless intruder.

Tech climbs the rest of the way up onto the branch, bracing himself so that he is facing Omega. “I have a plan,” he says immediately.

Omega gives the tiniest nod. “Okay.”

“It seems that the wasps are becoming agitated, probably due to the presence of your scent in their territory,” Tech continues. “That is why we are going to remove you from the situation rather abruptly.”

“How?”

“I am going to drop you down from the tree, and Hunter is going to catch you. That is the fastest way.”

“Am I going to get stung?” Omega asks. “They’re all over me!”

Tech moves closer, slowly. “I can see that. Unfortunately, there is the possibility that any or all of us will be stung. While it is painful and not ideal, it is not deadly. Clones are not allergic to bee or wasp stings.”

Omega knows Tech means to be encouraging; however, just the idea of being stung renews her impulse to cry. She sniffs, willing herself to be brave. After all, she got herself into this mess, and her brothers are bravely getting her out, at the risk of being stung themselves.

Taking a deep, fortifying breath, Omega says, “Okay, tell me what I need to do.”

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

Hunter hates that the canopy of leaves is shielding his siblings from view, although he can hear Omega and Tech talking in hushed tones — which means, he supposes, that they are okay for the moment. If she hadn’t happened to come across a wasp nest doing it, Hunter would be very impressed with Omega’s hiding place. Obviously, though, they still needed to work on her spatial awareness…

His comm crackles to life. “Hunter, I am going to be lowering Omega through the branches, and on the count of three, I will release her. Are you ready to catch her?”

Instead of speaking through his comm, Hunter calls up, “I’m ready!”

“I should note,” Tech adds, as an obvious afterthought, “there is a high likelihood that you and Omega will be stung. I was not able to get many off of her without angering the hive.”

Hunter grits his teeth. He would rather none of them got stung, especially Omega; however, a sting or two is better than the alternative. “Got it,” he calls up.

There is rustling, and then Omega’s boots appear, immediately followed by her legs, torso and head. She is dangling by her arms, both hands clinging tightly to Tech’s forearm. Hunter can see the multicolored wasps crawling against the muted fabric of her clothes. There must be about a dozen of the things. He hopes most of them fly away the moment she drops.

As if they’d be so lucky.

Hunter shifts his stance, readying himself.

Omega’s eyes meet his for a moment, and he sees the tears glistening on her eyelashes.

“We got this, Omega,” he says encouragingly, hoping his expression doesn’t appear as frantic as the blood pounding in his ears.

She nods and looks up again at Tech, who is still invisible to Hunter. “I’m ready.”

Tech says over comms, “One…two…three!”

Omega drops then. It is only a split second between watching her fall and catching her, but it stretches for hours, especially when Omega lets out a squeak of terror at the brief free fall. Hunter catches Omega under her arms and places her on the ground. Using his gloved hands, he swats away the wasps that cling to her. Most of them fly away, but a couple decide to fight back against the assault.

Hunter feels a couple of stings immediately on his exposed wrists, and one just under his right ear. He is more focused on Omega, who seems to have been stung on the back of her neck and hands.

Tech drops down from the tree a moment later. “I suggest we run,” he says as the sound of enraged wasps buzz louder.

Hunter scoops Omega up and runs.

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

Tech hates being fussed over but Echo is relentless. So he tries to hold as still as possible as Echo analyzes each sting to be sure they are healing properly, and dabbing bacta ointment over the wounds.

“Are you about finished?” he asks with a hiss after Echo accidentally prods a wound a little too hard.

“You are making this harder than it needs to be,” Echo says without a hint of remorse as he pokes at the next sting.

Tech rolls his eyes, but allows Echo to finish his checks without further complaint. At long last, Echo leaves Tech alone to do as he pleases, which is to sit in his rack with his data pad and try not to irritate his minor injuries.

He isn’t left alone for long.

“Tech?”

Tech looks up to see Omega standing at the foot of his bunk.

“Are you doing alright, Omega?” he asks her, noticing the swollen welts on her hands and neck from her own stings. They don’t look red or irritated, which is excellent.

Omega nods, wincing slightly at the movement. “I’m okay. I just wanted to thank you…for helping me…and I’m sorry you got stung more than any of us.”

Tech smiles. “No thanks are necessary. I was more than happy to assist.”

Omega smiles back, but it doesn’t reach her usually bright eyes.

“Also, I meant to tell you,” Tech continues offhandedly, “that had the wasps not been involved, I am quite confident you would have won the training exercise.”

This catches Omega’s attention. She stands a little straighter. “Really?”

“Absolutely,” Tech says. “I was hoping you might share with me your strategy. It could prove to be a valuable resource in the future.”

Omega looks absolutely delighted. “Sure! Are you going to write a report about it?”

“I’ve already started.”

At that, the little girl in their care practically radiates light as she rushes to his side to give him all the details.

END

✨Let me know if you’d like to be a part of my taglist!✨

Taglist: @followthepurrgil @isthereanechoinhere96 @amorfista @mooncommlink @arctrooper69 @nagyanna424 @merkitty49

#febuwhump 2024 #febuwhumpday9 #prompt 9: Bees #star wars #fanfiction #the bad batch #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #echo tbb #tbb omega #tbb wrecker #tbb tech #tbb hunter #some whump with a dollop of fluff #this was a monster to write. But worth it! #stories by kyber

[ddejavvu]

Just a Bunch of Hocus Pocus - Poly!Marauders x Reader (Prologue)

Summary: Of course. Of course the shitty, dusty candle you buy on a whim from goodwill summons a trio of wizards from the dead. And of course they're not the child-eaters you think they are. That was just a ruse, of course, to cover up the fact that they feed on virginity. You weren't frightened of them when you thought they'd be chowing down on children, but now that you're their prey, you're terrified. Tremendously aroused, too, but that's a problem for later.

A/N: yeah this is.. a hocus pocus au. but they don't eat kids they eat pussy - obviously this is somewhat dark, reader consents and has a good time but they are feeding off of her innocence so beware if that's not what you're into

this is just the prologue for the full fic. the full fic will be posted at midnight on halloween night. please let me know if you’d like to be tagged, and thank you for reading!

You blame goodwill. Damn them and their tempting prices, their slightly dusty shelves, and their sticky floors. You buy all of your candles there, because spending sixty dollars for three wicks is the last thing on your bucket list. Had you known the vaguely lemon-scented one tucked behind a rose-colored Happy Mother’s Day tin would be a black flame candle, you’d have ripped the wick out yourself and chucked it into the river.

Black flame candles were few and far between in Salem. For good reason, of course. The legend of the Marauders, three child-eating, humanity-hating wizards, was popularized long before you were born, and continues its legacy to this day. The story goes that if a virgin lights the black flame candle on Halloween night under a full moon, the three would appear, and ravage the town.

And unfortunately, here you were, very much sex-less and standing before the burning flame.

The sight of the fire’s darkened core twists your stomach uncomfortably. Is the legend probably fake? Was it probably made up to discourage children from playing with fire? Yes. But are you a little more of a believer under the light of Halloween’s full moon with a lit black flame candle in front of you than you are in broad daylight? Yes.

All of a sudden, the stack of horror movies on your coffee table seems less appealing. You’re less inclined to eat your caramel apple now that you’ve possibly summoned some kid-eating demons from four hundred years ago.

Your forefinger and thumb burn slightly as you pinch them around the flame, snuffing the candle out before any of the wax is even able to melt. There’s no ring of liquid around the wick, but you don’t care, you’ll throw the three-dollar candle into the street tomorrow. Wasting money doesn’t seem so bad now.

When you tuck yourself beneath the covers of your bed only minutes later it’s in cozy pajamas that do little to ease the nerves bundled in your chest. They feel tight, pulling your ribcage apart and compressing your heart until it’s beating frantically, trying to escape.

Through the haze of your darkened house you don’t catch the near silent rip of the candle, flame bursting to life once more in your living room. Your bedroom remains darkened enough to lull you to sleep, and even though you’re sure you’ll have nightmares about gnarled old warlocks with baby fat in their teeth, you welcome the rest that the night grants you.

It won't grant you that serenity for long, though, as three figures crawl from the crack in the earth your candle has created, searching only for their life force: you.

this is just the prologue for the full fic. the full fic will be posted at midnight on halloween night. please let me know if you’d like to be tagged, and thank you for reading!

#james potter #james potter x reader #sirius black #sirius black x reader #remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #poly!marauders #poly!marauders x reader #poly!marauders imagine #poly!marauders scenario #poly!marauders oneshot #poly!marauders fanfiction #poly!marauders headcanons #poly!marauders fluff #poly!marauders au

[merakiui]

yandere!Azul thought 3: the line between employer and employee blurs as an all-consuming infatuation spells trouble for you. 

(cw: yandere, female reader, nsfw/suggestive themes, office au, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, kidnapping/captivity, power imbalance, workplace misconduct/harassment, obsession, implied murder/death, brief descriptions of blood, suicide mention, pregnancy mentions, violence, thalassophobia, misogyny/sexism, alcohol consumption/intoxication, non-consensual photography, non-consensual touches/kisses)

Someone once compared you to a bird with splintered wings. Cowardly and flightless, yet uniquely intriguing nonetheless—an earthly specimen who remains caged by old, gnarled roots and a compliant temperament. Despite all of the darkness that has cropped up in your life, you try (and fail) and try again until, eventually, you succeed. And though you lack wings and may be fearful of every gruesome thing that lurks in both nightmares and reality, you find creative ways to work around the disturbances in your life. Some are easier to deal with than others, but you wish you wouldn’t have to endure a challenge every single day at work. 

Though your job wouldn’t really qualify as ‘work’ if it was devoid of complications. 

Exhibit A: Floyd Leech—your spontaneous coworker who can’t sit still for the life of him, always waltzing through the office in search of his next unfortunate plaything. It just so happens that he’s enjoyed using you as his means of entertainment for the past few weeks, for he always manages to find you even when it’s a busy day. No one can punish him for procrastination because, by some annoyingly consistent miracle, he always has his work finished before the deadline. Every spreadsheet analyzed, every paper filed, every client directed to Mr. Ashengrotto. He works in bursts of energy and will only ever complete his tasks for the day if he’s feeling it. 

As a result of his unpredictability, you’ve had to plan around him, lest he interrupt your carefully crafted schedule with his antics. If only Jade would keep his brother on a tighter leash. If only your boss would take the time to properly scold him. If only he wasn’t so shameless when it came to pestering you. Everyone has some sort of persona they adopt while in a professional setting, but this doesn’t apply to Floyd. No matter what environment he’s placed in, he acts in the same noisy fashion, undeterred by the strange looks or annoyed huffs that are boldly directed his way.

“So you were in here after all.” He towers over you, nearly pinning you to the wall like a butterfly on an entomologist’s board. His expression may be dark, but there is light in his eyes. You know at once that he’s here to tease you, which eases some of the tension in your shoulders. At least he won’t threaten you today. Your salary and employment are always things he holds over your head despite not being your boss, and you’re inclined to bow to him because of the harsh reality that’s perpetuated the office for ages now. No one would believe you if you said anything, so why bother? “Aren’t you supposed to be working, shrimpy?”

Had this been your first day in the office, you might have shrunk in surprise, cowed into submission by his forthrightness. But you’re used to this behavior; it’s to be expected with the unpredictable force that is Floyd Leech. He says and does whatever he wants, whenever he wants, and has no regard for those who receive his ridicule. 

You indicate the tea you had prepared for your boss. “This was for Mr. Ashengrotto, but since you’re here you’re more than welcome to have it. I’ll just make another.”

Floyd takes the cup from you, removes the lid, and fixes the rosy liquid with an intense stare. You’re counting every second that passes, each moment so taut it seems to stretch into infinity. Eventually Floyd releases a disgruntled huff and takes a measured step away from you. 

“Stupid.” The playground insult barely reaches your ears and you have no chance to react before he jerks his arm forward and the tepid beverage sloshes out of the paper cup, soaking into your white blouse and leaving a dark, tea-scented stain in the aftermath. “I’m not feeling tea today. You should’ve known that.”

He crushes the cup in a resolute fist and then tosses it into the trash, a victorious smirk adorning his face when he lands his shot. Then he glances back at you, drinking in your frozen stupor with childish glee. 

“I... I’m sorry,” you mutter, touching the wet spot with a trembling hand. “I’ll do better next time.”

Floyd’s cruel chuckle breaks through the static of bygone memories, effectively halting any recollections of the past before they can tear into you with razored teeth. “No need to look so down, shrimpy. It’s not like it burned you. You’ll live.”

“You’re right.” You know you have to look at him, or else he’ll pick up on your apprehension and it’ll incite more trouble. So you lift your head like a robot on rusted hinges and grin through the shame. “I’ll live.”

“By the way, that bra you’re wearing is ugly. You should wear something sexier next time,” he calls out to you as he exits, humming an upbeat tune. “Otherwise no guy’s gonna wanna stick it in you.”

“Hah. Yeah...”

Brushing the offhand insult away, you grab at your shirt to analyze the damage. There’s an extra set of clothes in your car. Perhaps you can rush there, change, and then return before your boss realizes the delay. But will there be enough time? You were supposed to be back with his tea by now and he’s probably wondering what’s taking you so long. 

The solution to Exhibit A: Accept everything that comes your way. And when a smile annoys him, don’t react at all. In the end, it looks like a lose-lose situation when you juggle his mood swings. 

With a defeated sigh, you reach for a fistful of napkins and pat down your blouse in an effort to minimize the spreading liquid. Pathetic—that’s what the display is reminiscent of. A sad, feeble attempt of desperately trying and failing to pick up the pieces of your fractured morning.

As if things couldn’t get any worse, they do. 

“Oh dear. What a waste of perfectly good tea.”  

Exhibit B: Jade Leech—Floyd’s twin brother and Mr. Ashengrotto’s most trusted secretary. You take the title of second place and are only ever tasked with little things. It’s Jade who handles the bigger, more important aspects of secretary. If anything, you’ve been demoted from a diligent employee who actually completed real work to a mere errand runner for Mr. Ashengrotto and Jade. Not only does that twist the knife deeper into your pride, it forces you to come to terms with your own useless nature. Anyone can run errands. You’re just here because your boss chooses to keep you around due to your past achievements within the company, which have marked you as a shining example of an honest worker. If it weren’t for that, you’re certain he would have cast you aside the moment he took on the role of CEO.

Jade isn’t as bad as Floyd, but if you put both of them on a scale their peskiness would amount to equal weight. You hate Floyd’s degrading remarks, but you despise the pity in Jade’s voice more than anything else. You’ve never really cracked the code to dealing with Jade. Just how can you possibly interact with someone who only ever smiles and treats everyone with respect even if all of his words are secretly sharp? How do you combat faux kindness?

“I’m going to change, so please excuse me.” You try to move past him, but he remains in the doorway, casting an intimidating shadow over you. “If you would excuse me...”

He gazes down at you, eyes flicking from the stain to the outline of your now visible bra and then back up to your face. “Azul sent me to fetch you. You’ve yet to return with the tea he asked for—” Jade pauses to check the time on his luxury watch— “ten minutes ago. I believe it shouldn’t take that long to prepare a cup of tea.”

“I spilled it and was in the process of brewing another, but I’d like to change out of my blouse first. I don’t want Mr. Ashengrotto to see my mistake.”

“An unkempt appearance suggests an unprofessional mindset. You would indeed do well to change.” He finally steps to the side, allowing you passage. Before you leave, however, he shrugs his blazer off and holds it out to you. “I shall brew a new cup and bring it to him in your stead.”

You almost reach for the jacket, but you stop yourself when you remember what he’s like. As polite as he may seem, Jade will want something in return for aiding you. You’re already indebted to him for running the errand you were meant to complete, so having to owe him twice doesn’t sound very appealing. 

“I’ll be okay. Thank you, though.”

“I insist,” he says with a patient smile. “You can return it to me once you’ve changed.”

“I appreciate it, but I don’t need it.”

“Then is it safe to assume you’re content with others looking at you in your current state?” He takes a step towards you, his body blocking the doorway once again. The light from the hallway frames his figure in an oversized halo, bright and overbearing. When he places his palm on the damp stain on your chest, you’re reminded that he is far from an angel. “It’s not very professional. Our boss would not approve of such...inappropriate distractions.”

Before he can grope you outright, you stumble away from him, disgust flashing in your disbelieving stare. “I didn’t do this on purpose!” you snap, snatching his blazer and stuffing your arms through the sleeves. You make sure to button it all the way until the stain and your bra are no longer visible. “There. I took it. Are you happy?”

“Immensely.” As you shuffle past him, Jade ventures deeper into the room and opens a cabinet containing various tins of tea. “Next time, do take caution not to spill.”

Your mouth twitches, but you keep your remarks to yourself as you depart. A creeping revulsion prickles your skin. Jade’s cologne clings to his blazer, a fine scent that reminds you of fancy dinners and glittering sports cars—materialistic opulence that whisks you into another world entirely. The thought of smelling like him for the rest of the day is unbearable, so you pick up your pace as you make a beeline for the elevator and, after descending the floors, the parking garage.

The solution to Exhibit B: It lies in your avoidance of Jade. If you happen to run into him, it’s best not to trap yourself in any strange situations.

But knowing that Jade is cut from the same cloth as Floyd, you’re certain his own unpredictability will sour that solution at once.

Your boss, the marvelous, hardworking, benevolent Azul Ashengrotto, does not spare you of the workload in the following weeks. The company has taken on another important project, which has proved to be a major monetary investment and a time commitment. Jade conveniently informed Mr. Ashengrotto of your willingness to sit in his place and take notes for every meeting.

At least this is one of the two favors you owe him and it isn’t even that difficult to complete. It’s tedious and you’d rather be on phone duty than suffer through boring meetings, but you’re relieved to be getting the first favor out of the way. When you had returned Jade’s blazer to him, he’d held it as if it was radioactive filth—as if the gentle wash cycle you put it through wasn’t enough to erase traces of you from the fabric. You’re not sure why you even bother sometimes. Jade isn’t your friend; you’re not sure you could consider him an acquaintance either. But you couldn’t just leave his blazer sitting in the back of your car, so you resolved to clean it so that he was spared of the chore.

Perhaps you should have returned it as it was. Or maybe, if you really wanted petty revenge, you could have dirtied it a little. Perhaps that would earn Jade’s ire, but it would satisfy your growing hatred of him and this horrible workplace. The more you consider it, the more you realize just how futile resistance and revenge are. If you offend Jade, you’ll be offending Floyd and then Mr. Ashengrotto, and then your entire employment will be on the line because you’re not a worthy pawn on your boss’s corporate chessboard. So you’ll just have to imagine these possibilities and enjoy all of the candy-coated revenge in your sweetest dreams.

“And that concludes my reading of the meeting minutes,” you announce, setting the stack of papers on Mr. Ashengrotto’s desk. “If Jade wishes to see them, please forward them to him for his perusal.”

“Will do.” He picks the stack up and rifles through a few sheets at random. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. If that’s all, I’ll return to my—”

“One moment.” He withdraws a folder from the cabinet in his desk and opens it to reveal sheets of paper with colorful prints. “I’d like to ask your opinion on these logos. One of them will be used by our marketing team, but I’m not sure which is best.”

My opinion? Does it matter? you almost ask, but instead you say, “They look very nice. I like this one.”

“Why’s that?”

“The colors and composition are aesthetically pleasing and easy on the eyes.”

“Anyone can see that this logo is superior and will therefore sell. But what’s your honest opinion on it?”

You stare at the pale seashell with the word ‘Mostro’ spelled beneath it in dancing cursive and hum thoughtfully.

“The minimalistic design—”

“No.” His expression softens when you meet his gaze. “I’m referring to your thoughts. Not as an employee. Not as a consumer. I want to hear what (Name) thinks.”

Do people actually like these designs nowadays? If you were bold, you might have actually verbalized that question. But instead you can only offer your most intelligent, “Um,” and a weak shoulder shrug.

Mr. Ashengrotto leans back in his chair, arms folded across his chest. “I’m curious and would like to hear your feedback.” He senses your apprehension and chuckles. “I won’t take any offense, so please feel free to be as brutally honest as you’d like. And while you’re at it, have a seat. I’m in no rush to send you away.”

You’re so used to balancing Floyd’s nonsense and being outshined by Jade’s brilliance that you often forget how kind your boss usually is. At least he’s not as vicious as the troublesome twins. Part of you wonders if he ever notices their treatment of you. Does anyone in the office notice it? Do they see how much you struggle to get by in this setting? Maybe they do and have chosen to keep their lips sealed. Why would they care anyway?

You pull a chair up to his desk and lower into it, awkwardly glancing at the octopus paperweight sitting atop a stack of files. Its tentacles writhe in a curling mass of obsidian, full of life and energy. Mr. Ashengrotto follows your wavering gaze and raises a brow.

“If I’m allowed to say anything,” you say slowly, testing the waters, “I think your paperweight is more appealing than the logo.”

An amused breath slips past his lips. “Is that so?”

“I think something’s lacking in the design. It just feels too plain and boring.”

“Do you have any suggestions that would make it more eye-catching?”

“What if there was an octopus living inside the shell? Most people look at shells and expect to see a snail or a crab or some other animal living inside it, right? What if the logo consisted of that same shell with an octopus emerging from the shadows and its tentacles were twisting into the letters to spell ‘Mostro’?”

“Hm.” He surveys the paperweight and then the design variations on the page, humming in contemplation. “It doesn’t sound like a bad idea.”

“Maybe it is,” you blurt. “A bad idea, I mean. It’s probably not the best. I don’t know. I just thought it would look cool…”

“You’re quick to invalidate your ideas.”

“I guess so.”

“Well, you shouldn’t. Your opinions are very valuable. Had it not been for your creative mind, I wouldn’t be considering these designs from another angle. There are no bad ideas here. Please take care to remember that.”

“I will.” You rise from your seat. “If that’s all you need, I’ll return to my work.”

He nods, shutting the folder and tucking it away in its rightful place. “That will be all.”

On your way to the door, you debate the pros and cons of telling your boss about the twins’ behavior. On one hand, you might be able to score some sort of change. On the other, you could just be making more trouble for yourself. The twins wouldn’t like it if you snitched and you’re certain they’d become even more of a nuisance than they already are if they learned of your loose lips.

Your mouth moves without meaning to and once the inquiry is out in the open there’s nothing you can do to take it back.

“If an employee was being harassed and they came to you about it, what would you do?”

You refuse to look at him, so you glare holes into an abstract painting of a warped clock-bird hybrid as you await his response. A low thrum starts in your chest, and you straighten your posture to regain some of your diminished confidence.

“Why do you ask?” And then he adds in a serious tone, “Is there someone you know of who’s currently being harassed?”

“N-No.” You swallow a lump of nerves, unable to spend another second in this stifling room. The walls are too small—too bland and unassuming. You’ve been shoved in a professional box and there’s no way out, and you can already imagine the twins’ mocking laughter as they stand on the other side, peering in to witness your struggle. “No one at all. Have a good afternoon, Mr. Ashengrotto.”

Before he can utter another word, you’re pushing the door open and slipping out into the serene hallway, greedily inhaling a mouthful of oxygen once the door shuts behind you. The familiar ringing from phones and the click-clacking of fingers on keyboards brings you back to reality. Those noises remind you of the busy atmosphere within the office—a place where you can lose yourself in the mundane hustle and bustle of work.

It isn’t until you sit at your desk and view your laptop’s motivational background that your heart finally ceases its frantic beating. You inhale a long breath, hold it, and then release it, vowing to focus on the list of tasks you’ve written up for the day. If you can direct all of your time and effort into that, you won’t have a chance to ruminate on the failed conversation in your boss’s office. You were almost there—had merely scraped the surface of the issue—but you had lost courage as fast as you’d gained it.

It’s not like telling him will do anything, you think as you begin your research for the spreadsheet your coworker sent to you. He’s close with the Leech brothers. I’m not part of their circle, so he’ll definitely side with them if I try to tell him the truth.

For the rest of the day you power through your checklist, shunning the gloom that hangs over you like an invisible rain cloud. You forward most of your completed work to Mr. Ashengrotto for his review and then you organize the contents of your desk during your break. Floyd doesn’t make an appearance at all while you pick at a salad and watch amusing cat videos online. That would normally fill you with joy, but you can’t help worrying that he’ll pop up eventually. Like some foreboding rash or a sudden sickness or ringworm. 

The tension in your posture dissipates when a message brightens your phone screen. It’s from your boyfriend of two years; he wants to know what you’d like to eat for dinner. With a fond smile playing at your lips, you type your reply. Whenever he’s on your mind, all of the suffering you’ve endured at the office becomes meaningless and you’re able to think about every good thing that exists in your life: a loving boyfriend, a stable job, a comfortable home, and so many things that you deserve. Your therapist once said it wasn’t right to deny yourself of these things because you’re just as entitled to good fortune as everyone else. Briefly, you find yourself wondering if you’d benefit from seeing her again. Maybe it would help ease some of the anxieties that have begun persisting ever since the company found itself under new authority.

Mr. Ashengrotto isn’t a bad boss. You like working for him, but you wish he’d reconsider the people he chooses to keep close. Perhaps one day he’ll realize this. You know it isn’t right to leave this up to chance or time, but they’re your only options. You can’t tell him directly or else you’d be catapulted into the twins’ radar. And if you attempted an anonymous confession, they might sniff you out regardless.

Either way, the scenario ends with humiliation and regret. Perhaps you lose your job and are labeled as the hateful woman with the insincere tongue.

You can’t allow that to happen, which is why you’ve decided that you’re willing to do whatever it takes to stay afloat in the corporate ocean. That’s why your smile is brighter than light itself when you’re called into Mr. Ashengrotto’s office later that evening. The sun is well below the horizon now, and the sky is stained in colors of orange and purple. Pleasant pinks and blues have faded away, stomped out by the encroaching sunset. The large windows behind your boss showcase a view of the glittering cityscape: skyscrapers with dozens of windows—all sturdy metal and reinforced glass. Buildings that most likely house people who are going through similar struggles. Workplace misconduct, harassment, weird and annoying coworkers…

Jade is standing beside you, a quiet presence you’re forcing yourself to ignore. As the silence mounts to an unbearable level, you sigh and open your mouth, allowing easy words to sprinkle out like a dusting of snow.

“You wanted to see me, Mr. Ashengrotto?”

“Both of you, as a matter of fact.” He addresses you and Jade with a polite smile. “I’m certain we would all like to call it a night, so I’ll get right to the point. I’ve recently been invited to a luncheon with an important client and his associates. Seeing as the both of you act as my secretary, I would like to extend the invitation to you.”

“A luncheon?” you parrot, blinking owlishly. “Uh. Okay. Sure. When is this happening?”

“This Sunday at approximately three o’clock. If you’re able to join me, I expect you to dress appropriately and be prepared for business discussions.”

You worry your lip between your teeth. “I have dinner arrangements with my partner two hours after three. How long will the luncheon last?”

Mr. Ashengrotto stares at you for what feels like an eternity, his pale eyes boring into your flesh like maggots burrowing deeply in a rotting corpse. The look in his eyes is unnerving to say the least. It’s as if all color has drained from his pastel hues—as if something has died in his eyes and you’re observing a hollowed version of your usually charismatic boss.

It’s Jade who draws your attention when he clears his throat and says, “I’m certain your plans will not be affected in the slightest. Despite the leisurely circumstances in which we will be meeting, this is still an important occasion with plenty of potential for new partnerships and deals. Not only would it look acceptable if the both of us accompanied the boss, it makes it easier to network. Wolves hunt in packs, do they not? This is essentially the same.”

“Right…” His sharp smile drives a stake through your chest. You glance at Mr. Ashengrotto, whose gaze flicks between you and Jade, and his vacant eyes brighten when they settle on you. “I suppose I can make it.”

“Wonderful. I assume you’ll be joining us without issue, Jade?”

“I have no prior engagements.”

“Then it’s settled. The three of us will meet at the harbor thirty minutes beforehand and then we’ll—”

“Sorry. Did you say the harbor?”

“Is there a problem?”

“N-No. I was just clarifying, sir.” The rest of your sentence shrivels in your raw throat, dry and cowardly.

Mr. Ashengrotto nods slowly, as if your behaviors are an explosive he must handle with care. “As I was saying, we will meet at the harbor. I expect the both of you to be punctual and well-equipped to deal with the client and those he’s brought along. Jade will look into their background and anything else that might help establish rapport and he will forward his findings to you, (Name).”

“All right. Is there anything I should do?”

He pauses to consider your question. “You can continue to look your best. That’s all I require from you.”

“Oh. Okay then.”

I’ll do some of my own research so that I’m prepared.

A tiny voice in the back of your head says otherwise. You just want to seem useful.

“If you have any other questions, you’re more than welcome to email me.” He glances at the watch on his wrist, an expensive thing made of silver and chips of diamond or some other fancy stone—it’s hard to tell. You’ve never really gotten a good look at it, but you’ve heard it’s quite the rarity. “That’s all I wanted to say. Both of you are free to go.”

“See you Sunday, sir,” you say as you shuffle out of his office. Jade follows behind you and once the door closes the both of you are in the hall. Together. Alone. You force yourself to look up at him—to challenge him with an unyielding stare. “Have a pleasant evening, Jade.”

He smiles at you, but there’s a faint hint of amusement in his mismatched eyes. “You’ll have to excuse Floyd. He’s known to be very…enthusiastic around those he finds curious.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“I took the liberty of keeping him occupied today, so I believe I am no longer indebted to you. If you attend this little retreat with Azul, I will consider it the second favor you owe.”

“Second favor? Oh, that’s right. Your blazer. Sorry, I completely forgot.”

“Well, if everything’s clear I shall be on my way.” He strides past you and you catch the cloying scent of sandalwood and some other delicious fragrance as he departs. “Enjoy your evening, (Name).”

He turns the corner and you’re left with your thoughts in the dimly lit hallway.

With a groan, you rub circles into your temples. I have got to stop apologizing for every little thing. Ugh… What a mess.

At least Jade is known to be a man of his word. Usually.

In hindsight, you should have declined the minute your brain registered the connection between harbor and luncheon. But that had been the least of your troubles as you looked into the client’s background and exchanged boring emails with Jade regarding extra information. The days went by in a blur and before you knew it you were donning your cutest spring dress and following the directions to the meeting place Mr. Ashengrotto had detailed in his email.

He’s sitting under an umbrella, separated from the crowds and focused entirely on his mobile phone. You weave through a group of tourists as you approach him, noting his black turtleneck and the pale jacket that hangs off of his shoulders in a way you’d never be able to pull off, lest it look uncomfortable and awkward. The distant shrieks of seagulls and the hush-hush of the waves unsettle you, but you force your fears to the side and keep your eyes firmly glued on your boss. You know that the moment you glance at the ocean beyond you’ll lose your nerve and someone will have to drag you to wherever this luncheon is taking place.

A harsh breeze rustles through the beach. You forgot how chilly it often gets near the shoreline, and you wrap your arms around yourself in an effort to stay warm.

“Good afternoon, sir!” You slip into the seat across from him and grin when he finally looks up to acknowledge you. 

“Ah. Good afternoon to you, too.” He pockets his phone. “You look nice.”

“I’ve been waiting to wear this dress. I’m happy I can finally put it to good use.”

He chuckles airily. “I imagine it’s quite the excitement.”

“It is.” You scan the crowds and nearby storefronts. “Where’s Jade?”

“He couldn’t make it, I’m afraid. Something about a culinary disaster… I haven’t the faintest clue what he was going on about in his email. His hobbies are beyond me.”

“You don’t say…”

His words from a few days prior resurface: If you go on this little retreat with Azul… Of course he found a way to weasel out of this since you’re the one who’ll be doing all of the work in his place. This is your second favor, paid in full.

Thanks, Jade. Truly.

“Oh, it’s almost time to board. We should be on our way.”

“Board?” Your head snaps over to him. “Board what?”

“The boat, of course.”

“The… The boat. As in—” You turn to face the harbor and all of the vessels that are currently docked. Ice crackles through your bloodstream when you see it. A hulking cabin cruiser is sitting there in the water, awaiting passengers, and groups of people are already beginning to line up for entry. Beyond it, the expansive, glistening ocean lies. “N-No. No, no, no…”

“Is something the matter?” Mr. Ashengrotto’s face is a portrait of pure befuddlement.

“I can’t…” You swallow thickly, but the saliva does nothing to coat your sandpaper throat. “I can’t do boats. I really can’t. T-There’s no way—no. I can’t.” You grip the table with clammy hands, struggling to brace yourself as you attempt breathing exercises. The sea air invades your nostrils with its briny fingers and it reminds you of so many things—of the water that filled your mouth when your head was forced under, of the ocean that currently surrounds you, of the boat that will undoubtedly become your grave should it sink down, down, down into a blue abyss. “I… I can’t. I can’t. I can’t. I—”

His hands move to cover yours, warm and soft. “You’re okay.” It’s all you can hear; every other noise has faded away into nothingness. You stare at him, unable to stop the tears that well in your eyes. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“Y-You don’t understand… I can’t… I really—” You shake your head wildly. Everything is muffled, as if cotton has wound itself around the world, and your heart is gripped in Death’s clenched fist. There’s nothing you can do to escape the reaching ocean, the reaching hands, the reaching insults. “I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry. I don’t think I can do this...”

“Don’t look anywhere else,” Mr. Ashengrotto murmurs, smoothly redirecting your attention even though your pupils are flitting from him to the umbrella to the ground. His thumb strokes the top of your hand in what you assume is consolation. “What are your favorite things to do during winter?”

“W-Winter?” You pull your hands out from under his to wipe at your teary eyes, confusion overtaking fear. “I… Um. I like…to bake sugar cookies and drink hot chocolate. If it’s really snowy, I’ll w-watch movies and my boyfriend will drape a fluffy blanket over my shoulders and we’ll sit on the sofa together to watch them.”

“And what about autumn?”

“Autumn is… Well, I don’t know. I guess I like to take walks.” Your brain is whirring in an attempt to differentiate critical thinking and panic-induced nonsense. Suddenly, fight or flight doesn’t seem all that necessary when you’re looking into Mr. Ashengrotto’s sincere eyes, hearing his calm voice as he asks you simple questions.

This isn’t the end of the world. This is an easy-to-answer questionnaire from your boss. 

“Walks are nice. I’m especially fond of the leaves.”

“M-Me too. They’re really pretty and crinkly.”

It���s okay. You’re okay, your mind repeats. It’s a newspaper’s headline, printed in big, reassuring letters. The ocean can’t get you. It’s not here. The boat can’t get you either, nor can the people from your past. You’re in the moment with Mr. Ashengrotto. You’re going to be okay. You’re safe.

Your boss is going on about autumn activities when the sound slowly starts to trickle in. You overhear nearby conversations. Everyone’s still here. The sea hasn’t swallowed them whole. And you’re still in one piece, too. You’re not in the jaws of a shark, you’re not drifting on a current, you’re not sinking into a deep, dark trench. You’re on the land, in your spring dress, talking to your boss on a sunny day. Another breeze combs its soothing fingers through your hair and you shiver involuntarily at the chill that settles under your skin.

I’m safe.

“Are you all right?”

“I…am. I think.” Your face scrunches into uncertainty. “I’m…sorry you had to witness all of that. Thinking about b-boats and the sea… It’s a lot.”

“There’s no need to apologize.” He sends a sympathetic smile your way. “It’s okay to be scared.”

“Thank you.” You exhale a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “Thank you so much. Your voice is really nice, Mr. Ashengrotto. It calmed me down faster than I thought it would.”

“Really? Then I’m pleased it could provide some comfort.” But then his expression hardens and he faces the cruiser in the distance. “Although this does put us at a slight disadvantage...”

“I can force myself to go. I should be okay as long as the boat doesn’t leave the harbor. M-Maybe.”

What am I saying? I can’t step foot on that thing.

He peers at his watch and frowns. “We haven’t got much time.”

“Sorry, I’ll think of something. Um...” You rise from your seat and gaze at the shops behind you, hoping their colorful window displays will provide you with a foolproof solution. Normally, you’d rely on your boyfriend to act as your shield if you had to get near the water. His presence is always enough to soothe you; you’d trust him with your life. But Mr. Ashengrotto isn’t your boyfriend and you don’t know him well enough to confirm whether or not your life is secure in his hands. “Uh...”

I can’t think of anything! This is the worst. What if he fires me over this? What if I can’t find another job after this one? 

“I’ll go by myself.” He’s standing now, adjusting his jacket as the wind attempts to snatch it from him. “It wouldn’t be fair if you were uncomfortable during the luncheon.”

“No, I’ll go!”

If I don’t, I’ll still owe Jade a favor. And I don’t want this to be the reason I’m fired. I need to act professional. Get it together, (Name).

Mr. Ashengrotto studies the desperation painted on your face and sighs. He pushes his glasses up before they can slip down the bridge of his nose and says, “If you intend on accompanying me, I’d like to know what I can do to make this easier for you. I can’t guarantee whether the boat will remain docked, but I can assure you that it’s completely safe inside.”

You inhale sharply as a dark vision sparks to life within your head—one that consists of your own body filling with water until, eventually, you submit to the frigid depths; and they send search parties to look for you, but no one knows anything and they can’t locate your body. So your funeral is empty and there’s no corpse, and your boyfriend and your family—everyone you know and cherish—are all left to craft theories on your whereabouts. And when they remember you, they only ever think of death and the ocean and not the happy person you were in life. And your body remains on the sea floor, where the marine life feast on your flesh until each chunk is ripped away to reveal bloated organs and skeletal remains.

“I need to make a phone call!” you blurt, fumbling to withdraw your phone from your purse. “P-Please excuse me, sir.”

All it takes is a quick chat with your boyfriend, where his consoling voice validates every danger and fear that’s uttered and you’re feeling just slightly more confident than you were before. He offered to come down to the harbor to see you, but that would mean he’d have to leave work and you really don’t want to trouble him. So you promise him that it’ll be okay and that you’ll only focus on the fact that the boat isn’t to be feared—it’s what lurks beneath. But you won’t think about that.

And if you ignore the water and all of the creatures it houses, you can enjoy the luncheon and complete this task. After this, you’ll never come to the harbor again. 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come down there?” your boyfriend asks just before you hang up. “I don’t want you to force yourself into a situation you can’t get out of.”

“I can do this,” you tell him, face set in grim determination. “I promise I’ll be fine. Boats are…safe. A-And I’ll be with my boss. It’s not like I’ll be alone.”

For a minute his silence scares you more than the vastness of the ocean and you trace a wobbly circle into the sand with the toe of your heel. “Okay then. I believe in you. Knock ‘em dead, my love.”

A bashful smile blossoms on your lips. “I’ll do my best.”

“I’ll see you in a few hours, okay? Don’t forget about the plans we made.”

After exchanging sweet farewells, you tuck your phone back into your purse and wander over to Mr. Ashengrotto, who’s gazing at you with good-natured admiration.

“Let’s start over.” You hold your hand out. “I’m looking forward to today’s meeting, sir.”

He smiles and fits his hand in yours. The handshake lasts longer than it should have, but you aren’t bothered by it.

“If at any point you feel unsafe or uncomfortable, please tell me and we can leave.”

“That won’t happen. I can do this, so don’t worry about me. Just focus on the meeting.”

His stare lingers on your face before he shrugs. “Very well. Then let’s be on our way. There’s no time to waste.”

There are many challenges that come with your job. Never in a million years did you think you’d ever board a boat in your time as a secretary. Yet here you are, climbing the ramp with stiff, brittle legs and a slowly crumbling resolve. Once you’re inside the vessel and Mr. Ashengrotto has notified the hostess of the name for the lunch reservation, you admire the bright interior. Tables dot the dining area, covered in crisp tablecloths and polished utensils. As you follow the woman leading you to your designated table, you notice the napkins have been folded into delicate shapes. This entire place feels like any other fancy restaurant on land and if you focus hard enough you might be able to con your brain into thinking so. 

Unfortunately, your table is by a window and you have to look away in order to avoid peering at the sea. 

You’re here for the meeting. Don’t look. Just focus, you remind yourself, wiping your sweaty palms on your dress. 

“Who do we have here?” someone asks, his voice tinged with playful intrigue. 

Mr. Ashengrotto pulls a chair out for you and you’re grateful he’s taking the window seat. There’s no way you could sit there, so close to doom. You sit down, acutely aware of the eyes plastered on you, and meet the stare of the only other woman at the table. She returns your shy smile with a curt nod. 

“This is my secretary.” Mr. Ashengrotto lowers into the seat beside you.

“It’s a pleasure to meet all of you. My name is (Name).” As an afterthought, you add, “I’ve heard many things about you.”

“Only good things I hope,” the man says with a hearty chortle. You recognize him as the client and he’s just as piggish-looking as you imagined he’d be. The others are his associates, all of whom have yet to strike any deals with your boss. You’re certain that’s his goal. Luckily, you’re equipped with all the information in the world, which makes communication easy. “In any case, I haven’t heard anything about you, sweetheart.”

The pet name cuts into you like a hot knife through a block of butter and it takes all of your self-restraint not to openly cringe. Jade wasn’t kidding when he said this guy was fond of women, especially those who lack autonomy and power. You already hate him and his irritating ego, but your boss is observing and you mustn’t act out in his presence.

So you lean forwards, simpering, and say, “I’d be happy to talk about myself, but that’s not the reason we’re gathered here today.”

The man frowns. “How unfortunate.”

Once the others have introduced themselves and drinks have been ordered, Mr. Ashengrotto talks with the woman sitting across from him. She looks positively charmed as he slips a few smooth compliments into his speech. His client happens to be sitting across from you and, as he ogles at you, his foot moves to find yours under the table, cold leather tracing up the length of your leg.

Your smile tightens and a shudder electrifies your body. The man’s lips quirk upwards in a lazy smirk. Filled with disgust, you lift your leg and search for his foot. And once you’ve located it, you drive your heel into the expensive shoe, putting as much force and anger you can muster into it. From the way he grimaces, barely suppressing a pained grunt, you can tell you’ve hit your mark. His foot withdraws from your leg immediately and you catch yourself hoping he’ll leave here with a ghastly bruise or a broken toe. 

“I‘ve heard that you and Mr. Ashengrotto have history,” you say in a tone that’s sickly sweet. “I’m happy to know that the two of you get along so well.”

His eyes narrow into a dark glower and it’s then when you realize they don’t quite fit on his face. It’s as if he’s been assembled from a mashup of spare doll parts, each limb forced on in an effort to dress a factory reject in sparkling silver. 

“I don’t suppose he keeps you around for more than secretary work,” he grumbles. “Worthless bitch.”

What a child, you think. I’ve heard worse, old man. If you’re going to play in the sandbox, you’d better throw rocks, not sticks.

Before you can come up with a kind sentiment to combat the sour barb, the man sitting beside the client indicates the bottle of wine on the table. “Would you like another glass? I noticed you’re almost done with the first.”

You glance at your glass and marvel at how quickly it was drained. Perhaps drinking is all you can do in this situation. When faced with unfamiliar company, all you can do is down wine until the waiter returns to take everyone’s meal orders.

At this point, you almost wish Jade was here. You’d rather put up with him than the superficial people at this table.

“Oh, I’m fine. Thank you, though.”

“Come on! Where’s the fun in a single glass?” The bottle is swiped from the table and your boss’s client is pouring a generous amount in your glass before you can voice another objection. You stare at the inky liquid with contempt brewing in your cold eyes. “Drink up, sweetheart.”

Your fingers curl around the thin handle. “Thank you.” Those words char your tongue, bitter and resentful.

For the rest of the luncheon, you speak with the others at the table while Mr. Ashengrotto makes conversation with the client. How he can tolerate him is beyond you, but that’s the beauty of a customer service smile and a confident attitude. You pick at your food, alcohol clouding your brain. You’re not sure how much you’ve had to drink, but it’s definitely enough to warm your entire body. At least the intoxication shoos your phobia to the outer edges of your mind.

By the end of it, it’s been an hour and thirty minutes of suffering and you’re clinging to your boss as he leads you off of the ship. He waves to the group as he departs with you in tow, promising to follow up with them through email. Through your tipsy haze, relief comes flooding in. You’re glad to have survived that, even if you’re coming out of it inebriated. It’s been a while since you’ve drank so much, and if you were sober you might have felt flustered when you abandon all thoughts of professionalism in favor of stumbling into the crisp, evening air, freed from the stuffy confines of the cruiser.

“Be careful. I don’t want you to slip.” Mr. Ashengrotto has hooked his arm around your waist as he aids you in your staggering, zombie-like stride.

You ignore the water that sloshes beneath the ramp and the boardwalk, not quite registering what would happen if you were to fall in.

“That stupid, piggish client… I hate him!” Your hands clutch Mr. Ashengrotto’s jacket, fingers curling into the fine material in clenched fists. “He’s gwoss.” Your brows knit together at the mispronunciation and you will your heavy tongue to try again. “Gross.”

Mr. Ashengrotto’s melodious chuckle has you staring up at his face, admiring his side profile with glazed eyes. “He’s unbearable, isn’t he? I can’t stand him either.”

“Azul.” Your serious tone catches him by surprise and his blue hues flick towards you. A giggle rises in your throat. “I just wanted to say it. Aaazul. Azuuul. It rhymes with jewel and cool and…mewl. It’s really cute.”

“I…” He clears his throat. “I’m glad you think so.”

“Hey, what time is it? Time… Right. Need to get going. I’ve got this thing planned.” The more you ramble, the more troubling it becomes to speak, and your sensible sentence structure soon falls apart. “Take me home, ‘Zul…”

“I don’t know where you live, (Name).”

“Your place. Take me there. Duh.” You break away from him to fish through your purse, clumsily searching for your phone amidst the other items inside. “I’ll text my boyfriend. He’ll understand. Or maybe he won’t. I dunno. Just need to go home.”

Your heels click along the wooden platform as you swipe through notifications, glaring at the too-bright screen. Just as you locate your boyfriend’s contact, your foot catches on a raised slat and the ground is suddenly approaching at a rapid speed. Before your face can kiss wood, Mr. Ashengrotto seizes your wrist and yanks you towards him. Unfortunately, the suave gesture doesn’t strike your drunken heart because the new weight is unaccounted for and he falls backwards. You go down with him, landing on top of him in a heap of sprawled limbs.

“Ow…” You place your hands on either side of his face to lift yourself off of him. Mr. Ashengrotto looks up at you with his eyes blown wide. “How’d you get below me?”

“We… Ahem. We fell.”

“In love?”

“Yes. Ah, wait. No. Just—” He breaks off with a loud sigh and pushes you away from him, cheeks burning brightly. He’s shoving your phone in your face before you can utter another embarrassing remark.

You take it from him and rise to your feet on shaky legs. There’s a crack running along the screen from top to bottom, evidence that it didn’t survive the tumble or the impact. “Home is…nearby. I think. Uh…” You’re struggling to see past the unsightly crack and with your unreliable sense of direction and spinning vision it makes it all the more difficult. “Damn it.”

“I can replace it,” your boss is saying, but you don’t hear him as nausea overtakes you.

You stumble towards the edge of the boardwalk and, dropping to your knees, empty the contents of your stomach in a mess of bile and wine. Your reflection warps in the murky water and you, throat burning, don’t recognize the ocean that’s haunted you your entire life.

Maybe that’s good because you also fail to notice your boss’s conflicted expression as he discards a grocery list of risqué ideas.

The jagged crack in your phone is, without a doubt, discomforting. When did it get there? How did it get there? More importantly, what were you doing that caused injury to your screen? These questions race through your brain as you make the short journey to your boss’s office. On the way, you cross paths with Jade and he acknowledges your existence with a close-lipped smile. If you could, you’d smack it off his face.

Memories of the luncheon are fuzzy and, like the strange sensation that twists your stomach into knots, outrageously tangled. You’ve tried and failed to unravel them, only to end up more confused than before. You remember that repulsive client, the bottle of wine, and the excessive drinking. You remember the abhorrence in his voice when he insulted you under his breath. You remember slamming your heel into his foot and feeling very satisfied with his pain.

And that’s as far as the timeline goes. It breaks off in a dizzying scribble and you can’t quite figure out when you left the boat or what happened after that. But the following morning, when you had woke from a deep slumber with a soul-crushing hangover, your boyfriend was there to scold you for skipping the plans he had made. You could recall the dinner you were meant to attend, but you couldn’t piece together how you managed to get home or where you had spent the rest of the evening.

“Where were you? You didn’t show up to dinner and I didn’t hear you come home last night,” he’d said when you stumbled into the bathroom to view your exhausted appearance in the mirror. “You didn’t answer any of my texts either. You left me on seen.”

“I don’t know,” you had told him, genuinely bewildered as you attempted to comb through the shoreline of your memory. “I really don’t know…”

So perhaps your fear of the crack in your screen isn’t so foolish after all. It’s been four days since the luncheon and you’ve only been able to come up with an innocent explanation for its existence. Short, sweet, and safe—you dropped your phone. But can a crack that big come from a simple fall? What if its origins are more violent? What if you did something despicable while drunk and that crack is proof of your potential crime?

What happened that evening?

“You wanted to speak with me, Mr. Ashengrotto?” You shut the door to his office, not at all ready to confront him. You’re too busy contemplating cracks and fragile screens to bother with a conversation. “If it’s about the monthly expenses in regards to the project, I’m working with Jade to—what’s that?”

You gaze at the rectangular box lying innocently on his desk.

“It’s for you. Go on. Open it.”

You approach his desk as if it’s a sleeping beast that will wake at the slightest sound and grab the box. You recognize it immediately.

“A phone?”

“A new phone,” he corrects you, pride dripping from every syllable. “It’s the latest model. I figured you were in need of an upgrade.”

“Is this coming out of my pay?” You slap a hand over your mouth to prevent anymore sudden accusations from slipping out.

It doesn’t seem to offend him because he laughs at your startled reaction, humor crinkling his eyes. “Not at all. Consider it a gift.”

“I can’t. I mean, it’s nice and I’m grateful you’d do this for me…”

“But?”

“But my phone still works perfectly fine.”

“You never know. It might be time to switch.”

“With all due respect, sir, I don’t think it would be appropriate if I accepted this.”

“And why’s that?” He sounds more curious than betrayed by the suspicion in your voice as he leans forward, elbows propped on his desk. “Do tell me.”

“It doesn’t feel…fair. If I’m the only one getting this phone and the other employees find out, it wouldn’t look right. They might misinterpret your generosity for something else.”

“I see…” His gaze shifts, eyes darkening with a veiled emotion. “Very well.”

“Speaking of phones.” You withdraw yours from the pocket in your blazer. “I was wondering if you knew how my screen cracked. I’m pretty sure it was during the luncheon, but I can’t remember.” You recall your inebriation and frown. “And I apologize if I did anything inappropriate while intoxicated.”

“You fell.”

“I fell,” you repeat dumbly, not quite understanding what that means. And then horror strikes you across the face and you gasp. “I didn’t fall in the water, did I?”

He shakes his head. “You tripped on the boardwalk and dropped your phone in the process. That’s all.”

“Oh… That’s good.” You realize all of your worries have been for nothing and you heave a relieved sigh. “N-Not that it’s cracked. I’m glad it wasn’t anything life-threatening.”

“If you won’t accept this phone, please accept my thanks. The luncheon was a success and it’s all due to your courage in choosing to go through with it despite your apprehension.”

“It wasn’t a problem, sir. I’m still very sorry for the outburst. It won’t happen again.”

“Nonsense. Fear is a normal emotion, (Name). If I were to fault you for your fright, that would be like expecting you to be fearless. And you’re not. No one is, so don’t fret over it.”

You nod mechanically, still ashamed that you nearly lost it that day. Maybe you really should see your therapist again. “I was also wondering how I got home. I don’t remember that.”

“I drove you home.”

“You did?”

Great. Now I’m indebted to my boss.

“It was difficult learning the way because you were too far gone to articulate the directions.”

“I’m so sorry. I can pay for the gas fee or…something. I didn’t intend to drink so much, nor did I want you to become my babysitter for that evening.”

It was that idiotic client of yours who kept filling my glass! you think, scorning him with all of your fiery might.

He laughs as if he’s just read every thought that manifests. “It’s no trouble. I enjoyed seeing a new side to you. It was very entertaining.”

“It’s not a side you should have seen…” you mumble. “A-Anyway, thank you again for looking after me. If we’re done here, I’ll get back to my work now.”

As you head for the door, you spy the abstract painting again and you ponder its meaning. A woman who ran an art gallery gifted it to him a few years ago. You weren’t his secretary then. You weren’t even anyone important, but you had been the one tasked with delivering it to him. The woman had complained about it, claiming that she wanted to be the one to hand it to him in person. At that point, she might as well have wrapped herself along with the portrait if she was so desperate to see him.

You’d told her that, received a backhanded slap that stung like a wasp, and Mr. Azul Ashengrotto had seen it all. Apparently he wasn’t in his office like you’d thought. He’d been returning from a meeting, caught wind of the argument in the lobby, and had come down to view the spectacle. A few days later, he promoted you to secretary and that woman was never allowed to step foot inside the building again.

“I didn’t mind looking after you,” he whispers just as the door shuts behind you.

You’re thrown back into the fray and, unfortunately, Floyd just so happens to be there. Of all the people to run into in this office, he’s the last one you’d want to meet.

“Hello, Floyd…” Your dubious gaze trails down to the bag in his hands and the knots in your stomach tighten.

He grins at your unease and takes another step closer until he’s backed you against the wall. And then, without explanation, he’s grabbing at your blouse to undo the buttons.

“H-Hey!” You angle your body away from him, but he catches your arm before you can cover yourself. Your voice lowers nervously. “Whatever you want… Can you please not do it right outside Mr. Ashengrotto’s door? Please?”

“Relax, shrimpy. I’m just looking to see what color you’re wearing today.” He peers at the opening in your blouse with glee. “Do you think white suits you? Are you pure, shrimpy?”

“Are you?” you shoot back, irritated. “Now let me go. I have work to do.”

He laughs and pinches your cheek, nearly cooing at you in a high-pitched tone. If you could act without consequence, you’d whack him upside the head until he really sees white. “Aww. I wish I was your boss. Then I’d get to squeeze you all the time.” His fingertips brush along your chest, dangerously close to slipping under your bra. “Maybe it doesn’t matter if I’m your boss… Oh! But I did get you something special. Look here.”

He pulls away and shakes the bag, its contents rustling. You stare at it as if it’s a severed head, and the smirk grows on his face.

“Guess what it is.”

“I don’t know. Can we talk about this later? I really need to—”

“It’s…” He lifts a garment from the depths. “Ta-da! A new bra!”

Your hands shoot out to cover his mouth. “O-Okay! Okay! I get it. Please be quiet.”

The bra is hardly a bra. If anything, it’s two scraps of heart-shaped fabric held together by a flimsy string. Floyd chuckles and produces the other half of the lingerie set from the bag: a pair of violet panties with lace trimming. 

His murmured words reach you, and for once you’re thankful he’s the only one nearby. At least no one else is subjected to his embarrassing statements. “And they’re crotchless for easy access. See? Isn’t this much better than that lame bra you’re always wearing? If you wore this, I could bend you over your desk and—” 

The door swings open at that moment and you shrink away in alarm. Floyd, unfazed, continues to lean over you, the lingerie dangling in his grasp.

“Floyd!” Mr. Ashengrotto snaps, standing in the doorway and glaring. “I would appreciate it if you could be quiet when...” The rest of that sentence dies when he notices you and then the lingerie. “Am I interrupting something?”

“So boring,” he says with a pout. “I was in the middle of giving my shrimpy a gift.”

Your boss looks at you with a raised brow. 

Heat claws up your face. “N-No, this isn’t what you think! I’m not accepting it and I don’t know why he thought to purchase this for me.”

Not good! Not good! you’re thinking, tearing up from the humiliation. Is he trying to get me fired?!

Mr. Ashengrotto analyzes your panicked expression for a moment longer before sighing. “What a shame. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to intervene.”

Floyd tilts his head, but the amusement radiating from him makes you think he knows more than you do. He probably does. “You’re in trouble now, shrimpy,” he sings, drawing out each syllable in an effort to sound menacing. “Good luck.”

And then he slinks away, taking the lingerie with him.

“S-Sir, I’m not sure I—”

Your boss holds the door open wider. “Step inside.”

A biting chill races up your spine when you walk into his office. Its bland walls and minimal decor remind you of a hospital room that’s carrying the bare essentials, and you feel as if you’ve just been admitted to it, diagnosed with some incurable illness you do not have. But if you could brave the terrors of boarding a boat for lunch, you can brave whatever mood your boss is in. And judging by the frown he’s wearing, it doesn’t seem to be a pleasant one.

“I was willing to overlook your misconduct during the luncheon for obvious reasons, but it appears my lenience was misplaced.”

“My misconduct? I’m not following. What do you mean?”

“I shouldn’t have to spell out every rule you’re meant to follow. They should be common sense.” He fixes you with a disappointed stare. “You should know better than anyone else that it isn’t right to act salaciously around my clients or your coworkers.”

“But Floyd came to me first! I never approached him!”

“Distractions are similar to weeds. Once they’ve dug their roots into you, it’s nearly impossible to break away. If you continue to bother Jade and Floyd—and anyone else for that matter—I will have to eradicate the source of the problem. If weeds aren’t taken care of, they will spread their poison until everyone’s infected. You should know this.”

“But I wasn’t… I never…” You can’t think of a plausible explanation, especially not when he has the story completely twisted. What can you possibly say that will convince him otherwise? “Mr. Ashengrotto, I promise you that I’ve never once done anything to intentionally distract those around me. I’m here to work.”

“Are you? Because it certainly doesn’t seem like it.” He crosses the distance to his desk, opens a drawer, and withdraws an envelope. Before you can argue your innocence, he dumps its contents onto his desk and what you see tears your resolve in half. “I suggest you consider your next words very carefully, for they will determine whether you’re still worthy of your position.”

You stagger over to his desk, eyeing every photograph in silent horror. The gravity of the situation dawns on you when you spy yourself backed into a corner in the office kitchen, where Floyd’s towering form blocks your anxious expression from the camera’s red-eyed view. And then there’s a photo of you and Jade, where it looks like your hand is the one guiding his arm towards your chest—when in reality you had been trying to stop him from reaching further. There are other photos, too—past instances where the twins have cornered you or touched you or stood beside you and it all seems like you’re the catalyst. Like you’re the one to blame.

You commend yourself for staying composed even when the evidence indicates guilt, but you want nothing more than to disprove every photo with your own rationale. He watched the security footage. He must have in order to get these photos. So why isn’t he seeing that you were helpless to disobey? Why isn’t he seeing that the twins are the ones at fault here?

Why are you the bad one?

“I can understand if you meant no harm the first time, but to have testimonies from my client and your coworkers and photographic proof to back up such claims... Well, I’m sure you know that I can’t ignore this. What’s more is that my client personally reported your misbehavior during the luncheon and I was not impressed to hear it. Playing footsie under the table will not be tolerated. I’m lucky he’s an understanding and forgiving man, but not everyone is as saintly as he is. I expect better from you, (Name).”

“You’re lucky…” you mutter, allowing the information to sink in. Inside, you can hear strings snapping, ice breaking, glass shattering. “You’re lucky. You expect better from me. Is that right?”

“It is, and I hope that you’ll reflect on your behavior after this discussion.”

You’re kidding. You can’t be serious. Do you think I’d actually do any of that? Why would I endanger my job for something so stupid?! 

“I’m...terribly sorry for all of the problems I’ve caused.” You lower your head in submission. Tears blur your vision and the urge to scream your hate at him claws at your throat, ripping it into bloody ribbons. Your next words are thick with grief. “It won’t happen again.”

But it will because they can get away with it.

Your boss has the gall to smile as if he didn’t just wrongfully accuse you. “I hope to see an improvement in the coming weeks. Now then, you’re free to go. Consider this a warning. I won’t be so lenient next time.”

You drag yourself out the door, feeling as heavy as an anchor. The conversation replays in your mind, over and over, until all you can hear is the same phrase as it’s nailed into your cortex. I’m lucky. 

You’re lucky he didn’t fire you. You’re lucky Jade and Floyd have only gone as far as groping you. You’re lucky that disgusting man didn’t shove more false blame onto you.

The bathroom stall shuts and locks with a click, and the tears come falling shortly after. 

More importantly, you’re lucky you’ve survived this long in the office. 

The twins do not bother you for two weeks. In fact, they don’t even walk past your cubicle anymore. This would have been a blessing if it weren’t for what had transpired before they decided to stop interacting with you. This is unlike any sort of discomfort you’ve felt before; this is wrong and crooked and sickening, so much so that it unearths a slew of devastating memories. You want to scream, but your voice has been snatched and muted in a crowd of dozens. You want to tell someone, but you don’t want to drag them under the turbulent tide.

So you keep your mouth shut because it’s all you can do. 

The gloomy sky is threatening to open up and spill its own doleful tears when you glance out the window. As you make your way to your floor, you debate the pros and cons of resigning. If you did that, you’d never have to deal with your boss or the twins or anyone else who may hide wicked intentions behind charismatic connections. But then you would be forced to search for another job and you’re not keen on throwing yourself into another new space when you’ve finally managed to grow accustomed to this one. And if you stayed, you’d remain miserable and meek, unable to fight for your own justice as it’s chipped away in bits. 

It feels like you’re trying to battle fire with fuel—pointless and dangerous. 

You sit at your desk with a grumble. Your night was spent in fictional hell, trapped in dreams that left you drowning in a bottomless sea—grasping for assistance, struggling to cling to your slowly draining life. Whenever someone did catch your hand and you were yanked from the cold depths, you’d lock eyes with Floyd and then it would be Jade and then it was your boss. Then it was his client, your boyfriend, and the people from your past. And they’d all tell you the same thing: “You’re lucky.”

You couldn’t stand your reality; it was unfair and unsafe, but your dreams were just as unfortunate. Perhaps the ocean was better, even if you were destined to sink to the same forgotten resting place many shipwrecks wind up. Alone, waterlogged, and broken. Accumulating grime and barnacles. Perhaps the crabs could make a home out of your rib cage and then you’d finally be useful. 

In the end, you couldn’t get any proper sleep. You kept twisting and turning in bed, sweating buckets, until your boyfriend would shake you awake and insist that everything was okay. But that was a lie. Things weren’t okay; you weren’t okay. 

Sliding your laptop out of your bag, you place it on your desk and stare at its sleek top. Maybe you could pull a Floyd and skip out on work for today. Maybe no one would notice your absence if you hid in the office kitchen or went down to the lobby. Besides, wouldn’t it be better if you isolated yourself? That way, your boss can’t fault you for seducing everyone with a pulse and you’d be free to do whatever you wanted. 

It’s not worth it, you think and yank your desk drawer open to grab a pen. Your hand freezes when you spy the beige folder lying atop the scattered stationery. 

Your full name is printed on the cover and in smaller letters the word Background rests beneath. Confusion ignites within you and you pry the folder open with bated breath. Part of you can already guess what you’ll find, but that doesn’t make it any less frightening when your suspicions are confirmed true. There are many documents paper-clipped to the file, some of which are photographs and others are prints from old newspaper articles. You take each page out and set it on your desk until it’s covered in a collage of your past, all intricate strings and traumatic recollections on display. 

“No way...” you mutter, placing your palms on the desk to steady yourself.

Amidst the pile, one particular article stands out. There’s a photo of a familiar beach underneath the mouthful of a headline, which reads: Local Girl Found Unconscious Near Shoreline. Suspects Unidentified. A distinct cold washes over you—something akin to a bucket of ice spilling on you from above. Your blood freezes, your body grows stiff with shock, and a sick feeling travels up your throat. 

You thought you’d left that mess in the past. Why has it come back now? 

“The perpetrators were never apprehended.” Jade smiles comfortably, observing your trembling form from where he stands outside your cubicle. “That article is about you, is it not?”

“Why are you here?” you spit, venom staining your tone. 

“Someone was thorough.” He nods towards the pile and you throw yourself onto the desk to obscure his view. “Perhaps an admirer? Perhaps a novice sleuth? What do you think?”

“This has nothing to do with you. Stay out of my life.” You crumple the article into a ball and glower. “You and your brother. All you’ve done is harass and antagonize me. I never did anything to you. Why can’t you let me work in peace? Why am I the scapegoat? I just want to do my job!”

Jade frowns at your rising tone. “Perhaps you should take a break. If you need any help—”

You slap his reaching hand away. “I don’t need your help! I just need you to leave me alone!”

A few heads pop up from their respective cubicles, their focus straying, but you could care less about how loud you’re getting. You don’t see Jade when you look through him, past his tall stature and mismatched eyes. You see all of the people from your childhood. People whose fingers had curled around your arms and forced your head into the ocean, leaving you to struggle against the push and pull of the current. People who thought leaving you to fight against the rolling surf would make for a wonderful joke. People who were never punished for their actions because no one would listen to you. 

“I don’t know who’s responsible for this—” you gesture wildly to your desk, chest heaving as panic muddles your sensibility— “or why they think it’s necessary to dump it on me, but it’s not going to work. I’m not going to sit back and take it.”

“(Name), please calm down. I’m just as lost as you are in regards to the—”

“Calm down? Calm down? Why should I when you’ve done nothing but make my life difficult? I could’ve lost my job with those accusations!” You snatch up a handful of papers in a clenched fist and shake them. Jade steps back when you advance and you can see the gears turning in his gaze—can sense him trying to work out a suitable explanation for your meltdown. “And this—this isn’t helping!”

The first tear slips down your cheek and it isn’t long before more fall, cascading like spilled milk. Shouting at him doesn’t accomplish much, but it’s cathartic to say everything that crosses your mind, blissfully ignorant to the consequences that will surely follow. You shove the wrinkled documents at his chest as you stride past him.

“Fuck you and your brother. I hate you.”

He blinks at you, momentarily stunned. But as you’re departing, you catch his measured chuckle as he tells the onlookers, “It seems mornings are not for everyone. Please don’t worry and continue working as you normally would. I will sort this matter accordingly.” 

You’ve never been known to break down at work. In past jobs, you’ve remained strong even when facing rude and entitled customers who’d hurl insults faster than you could keep up. But as of late, you’ve felt so drained and hollow as you drag yourself through the molasses that has become your daily life.

You really are a bird with fractured wings. They were ripped from your back long ago and you’ve been too cowardly to regrow them.

A quivering breath escapes your raw throat as you trudge to the bathroom, feeling your pocket for the outline of your cellphone. It’s not there and, with another fresh bout of tears, you lament having left it in your bag. So you continue your walk of shame, head lowered, and weep the rest of the way.

“(Name)?”

You look up to find Mr. Ashengrotto at the end of the hall. His phone is angled away from his ear, hand covering the microphone to muffle his voice. You’re not sure who’s on the other end, but you can’t be bothered to find out.

“Mr. Ashengrotto,” you say with a sniffle, wiping at the tears that seem to fall in endless, salty streams. You’re certain your mascara is running down your cheeks in dark streaks and your eyes are probably red and blotchy. “H-Have a good morning.” You turn to head in the other direction, deciding that it’s easier to deal with Jade and a room full of your coworkers than the one in charge of your employment status.

“Wait!” He bites his lip as he considers something and then addresses the caller. “I’m sorry. I’ll have to call you back. We’ll converse over email regarding the designs I submitted. Yes… Yes, okay. Thank you for your understanding. Goodbye.”

And after he’s hung up and has slipped his phone into his pocket, the both of you stand on opposite ends of an invisible line, not daring to cross the threshold.

You meet his eyes and regret slams into you like waves along a rocky shore. “I’m sorry…”

“What for?”

“Everything.”

He frowns. “I assume you have a specific destination in mind, yes? If you’d be willing to take a detour, would you be able to step inside my office for a brief moment?”

You don’t want to, but it’s not like you have a choice in the matter. So you nod, sniffling pathetically, and follow him back to his office like an animal being led to slaughter. He holds the door open for you and this time it’s a welcoming gesture. When you drag a chair over to his desk and sink into it, the consequences of your actions begin to surface. This is it, isn’t it? An emotional employee is not useful in an emotionless setting. The minute you prove your undesirable flaws is the minute you’re replaced.

Mr. Ashengrotto sits across from you at his desk, sympathy contorting his handsome features. “I’m not a therapist,” he begins, coughing awkwardly into his hand, “but I’d like to do my best to help you through…whatever it is you’re going through.”

“Don’t give me false hope. If you want to fire me, do it now.” Your eyes brim with fresh tears. “I can’t do this anymore.”

“I’m not going to fire you. I’d never do such a thing.” His voice is uncharacteristically gentle. You recognize that soothing tone from when he helped you calm down when you were on the verge of a panic attack at the harbor. It doesn’t do much to ease your frazzled nerves now, not when you remember that that same voice harshly reprimanded you for something you didn’t do. “It’s obvious you’re struggling. If you’re comfortable telling me about the issue, please do so that I can work to resolve it.”

“I’ve just been stressed. It’s nothing you should worry about. I don’t want to trouble you, sir.” You swallow your rising sob and wring your hands together, hoping the movement will distract you enough to cease crying. “I’ll be okay.”

“That is the most obvious lie I’ve ever had the displeasure of hearing,” he says with a tut. “I want my employees to feel content here and as of now you’re not happy in this environment. Therefore, I want to do everything I can to remedy that.”

“You say that and yet…” You inhale another rattled breath. There’s so much you could say, but you know that verbalizing the problems wouldn’t make a difference. He’d just turn it on you, finding a clever way to frame you as the villain. “I mean nothing to this company. I’m only ever your secretary when there’s a lot of work that needs to be done. It’s Jade who handles the actual work. I’m just your errand runner.”

That’s a start, the tiny voice in your head pipes up encouragingly. You can do this. He’s not as scary as the ocean.

But when he holds full control over your corporate fate, he might as well be the monster dwelling in the darkest trench.

“And I… I can’t just nod my head and pretend like I’m fine with it. I want to be useful, but when you tell me to get you tea or to continue looking my best it feels like I can’t apply my skills at all. It feels like I just exist without any purpose.” The more you talk, the more distraught your voice sounds. Every strangled syllable reaches your ears and it hurts more than physical pain. “I’m lucky to even be in this position, but every day spent with this company feels more like misfortune.”

His hand twitches as if he intends to reach out and pat you. “I wasn’t aware you felt that way,” he admits. “For the record, I never saw you as my errand runner. You’re so much more than that and I should have made that clear from the very beginning. Secretary work should be split evenly between you and Jade, not skewed in the latter’s favor. From now on, I will ensure you’re given the recognition and respect you deserve.”

“Okay. Yeah. S-Sure…”

He slides a magazine across the desk and your eyes follow it. Home Decor is written on the cover in bubbly script. 

“I’d like to give you your own office space and I want you to choose the furniture for it.”

The admission slaps you across the face, raw and real. “My own…office.”

“No strings attached. It will not come out of your pay.” He hazards a tiny smile. “If I’m to truly appreciate you and the work you do for this company, you should be given a space where you can work without interruption.”

Even if this revolutionary news implies you’ll never have to run into Jade or Floyd unless it’s absolutely necessary, the taste it leaves in your mouth is more bitter than sweet. You don’t want an office. You want a proper apology. You want Jade and Floyd to be punished for all that they’ve done. You want to be treated like a human being. 

You want all of those papers detailing your past to shrivel into ash in a gruesome blaze.

“But I… I snapped at Jade this morning. I caused a scene. I’ve been a terrible employee. I don’t deserve a private office.”

“Who said one bad day was allowed to dictate what you deserve? We all have our fair share of rainy days.”

“This was more of a thunderstorm…”

“May I ask what prompted such a storm?”

I have to tell him my side of the story before Jade can twist it. I can do this. It’s just a conversation. I can handle a simple conversation.

“There was a folder in my desk. Its contents were…disturbing. Jade happened to be nearby. I sort of... Um. I sort of lost it when he offered to help.”

“Disturbing content?”

“It was… W-Well, it’s not important. It’s just stuff from my childhood. I thought I’d gotten away from it.”

“Would you mind elaborating? Only if you feel comfortable doing so.”

I don’t, but my job’s on the line right now.

Most of your tears have dried, but you still struggle against the lump in your throat. It’s been years since you last recalled that day, but it’s as fresh as bakery bread in your head.

“There was an incident,” you start, “w-when I was nine. I didn’t fit in at my school. I was bullied frequently. I…couldn’t tell anyone about it because no one wanted to listen. I guess they finally decided to listen when they found my unconscious body on the shore.”

Mr. Ashengrotto looks at you as if you’ve just sprouted ivory wings. "You were bullied, too?” It’s a murmur so soft it’s practically wrapped in clouds. 

“The story was big news in my small town. Everyone wanted to know what happened.” You gaze at your lap, unable to bear the weight that’s been crushing you ever since you stepped into his office. Mr. Ashengrotto is not your therapist; you shouldn’t have to spill such a traumatic story to him solely because he’s curious. But if you don’t, your behaviors will be taken out of context and you’ll be branded with an unsavory label. “It’s not every day a little girl washes ashore, right?”

“I...” He clears his throat and suddenly he looks small in his leatherette chair, as if your retelling of the event has forced him into a box. As if the horror of it has struck a chord within him. “I suppose not.”

“A friend led me to the beach. He wanted to play and I trusted him.” Your hands curl into tight, trembling fists. If only you’d had the strength to use your fists back then—to defend yourself against everyone who ever threw an insult or a stone your way. “I couldn’t swim, but he and his friends still managed to convince me to get in the water. And once it was up to my waist... W-When I was deep enough...” You rub furiously at your eyes, shaking your head as the memory replays itself in horrifying detail. “I’m sorry. I can’t... I really can’t…”

“It’s all right.” His blue hues sparkle with understanding. “I can tell it’s a rough subject for you.”

To give your hands something to do, you grab the magazine and open to a random page. The photographed display distracts you for a moment, replacing all images of the sprawling ocean with potted plants and comfortable cushions. Mr. Ashengrotto remains silent as he observes you. Eventually, you exhale slowly and force yourself to look at him.

“Do... Do you have a pen?”

“A pen? Yes. Yes, of course.” He’s quick to hand it to you, nearly fumbling in his hurry.

“If you really won’t fire me, I guess I’ll choose some stuff for the office.” A box of tissues is held out to you next and you pluck one from the opening. “Thank you, sir.”

He nods while you dab at your eyes and blow your nose. There’s a certain comfort that envelops his office while you sit there and mark the magazine pages in scribbles, circling various things that catch your eye. When you locate a glass paperweight in the shape of a bird, you glance at him.

“It’s like your paperweight, only it’s a bird.”

“Are you fond of birds?”

You shrug. “I think there’s more life in your paperweight. This bird paperweight looks...dead.”

“Is that so?” He lifts the octopus from the desk, tapping at one of its curling tentacles. “I suppose you’re right.”

Unable to continue the conversation, you say, “I think I’ve finished looking.” Setting the magazine and pen on his desk, you rise from your seat. “I don’t know if any of it is useful in an office and you don’t have to get any of it, but I’d like to thank you for giving me my own space. Even if it’s empty, I’ll still accept it. So thank you for giving me another chance, Mr. Ashengrotto.”

Adoration blossoms on his face, but you mistake it for sympathy. “I’ll always give you another chance, (Name). Please take the rest of today off. Use this as an opportunity to recuperate.”

“I couldn’t possibly—” you start to say before realizing something. Why are you going to stay here any longer if he’s allowing you to leave? “Then I’ll see you on Monday.”

Bright and early. A fresh start. A new week.

A knock at the door causes you to flinch and you turn to view Jade as he walks in, carrying your bag with a polite smile. You’ve had enough stress for the day, but seeing your things untouched and packed neatly provides some closure. Besides, you’re in the presence of your boss. Jade wouldn’t try anything unless he was a fool and he is anything but foolish.

“I’ve cleared your space of the offensive materials and will look into who was responsible for printing them and placing them inside your desk. As of now, no one else has received a copy of the documents.” He holds your bag out to you. “Your things.”

“Thank you. And… Um. I apologize.” You’re not actually sorry, but it feels like the proper thing to do in this moment. “For saying that to you. I didn’t mean it.”

“It’s water under the bridge.”

As you drive back to your house, feeling both relieved and exhausted, you lean towards the passenger seat and pull your messenger bag onto your lap. With one hand on the wheel and your eyes glued to the road ahead, you reach into the cluttered confines in search of your phone. The only person you wish to hear from right now is your boyfriend, and as your fingers fish through the inside it dawns on you that it isn’t there at all.

“Don’t tell me I left it on my desk,” you mutter with a groan. “Seriously, where is it?” 

By the time you’ve made it home and have emptied the contents of your bag onto the counter, you can firmly conclude that your phone is missing.

I guess I’ll have to get it next week, you think. I’m definitely not driving back there. Not after what happened. I’ll look like an idiot.

You trudge into your shared bedroom to change out of your work clothes, already having made up your mind to nap the day away until your boyfriend returns home and you can confide in him.

But as the hours drag on and the sun sinks into Earth’s pocket, your boyfriend does not arrive. You sit on the sofa, flicking through TV channels, when you’re hit with an intense feeling of loss. You know it’s not because you’ve misplaced your phone. There’s more to it than that. It feels like you’ve just lost the most important thing in your life and you’re not sure why.

Before you can spiral, the door knob rattles and your boyfriend enters, holding a bag of carry-out and wearing a proud smile.

“Work ran late, but I brought your favorite.” He shakes the bag. “So I hope I’m forgiven. You weren’t answering your phone. I thought you were mad at me.”

The sight of him pushes your anxieties away, and you jump up from the sofa to throw your arms around him.

“I could never be mad at you. I misplaced my phone, so I couldn’t read any of your texts. But thank you for getting food. I love you.”

“N-No problem, love.” His pride ebbs away until all that’s left is the bashful grin that stole your heart two years ago. “Let’s eat before it gets cold.”

You nod enthusiastically, ready to put this day behind you. “Let’s eat.”

“Your phone?” Jade seems to mull over its whereabouts for a few seconds before shaking his head in dismay. “I’m afraid I didn’t see it on your desk when I gathered your things. Perhaps you put it elsewhere and didn’t realize?”

“I looked at home, but it wasn’t there. I know I left it here. I’m positive.” You glance at Floyd, who’s rocking back and forth on his heels and licking at a peppermint-flavored lollipop. “You didn’t take it, did you?”

“Nah. You wouldn’t have anything interesting on it anyway,” he says and chomps down on the candy. It shatters from the force of his bite. “Besides, what am I gonna do with your phone?”

“Good point.” You’re still not over the lingerie incident or the fact that his childish mischief resulted in the harsh tongue-lashing from your cold-hearted boss, where your employment was severely threatened. But you have to ask both of them about it because they’re your top suspects. “Did anyone else come near my cubicle while I was gone? Was anyone here over the weekend?”

“Beats me. I never go over there unless you’re in.” Floyd bends the lollipop stick until it snaps and then tosses the pieces in the waste bin.

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to check the security footage,” Jade offers. “As of now, we have a few possibilities. One: Someone did indeed take it and there’s a chance the camera caught them in the act. Two: It could still be in your possession and you don’t know it. Three: Someone found it and turned it in for safekeeping until it’s claimed.”

“And where would they turn it in?” You hold your hand up to silence Jade’s response as the answer finally comes to you. “The place that’s most secure here—that would be Mr. Ashengrotto’s office, right? Either that or security.”

He nods. “If your phone isn’t with him, we can rule the third possibility out.”

“In that case, I’ll go see him now.”

“You can’t.” Floyd steps in front of you. “Azul’s in a meeting, so you’ll have to wait.”

“But my phone—”

“The world isn’t ending, shrimpy. Relax. You’re as spooked as a guppy caught in the midst of a feeding frenzy. Honestly, is your phone really that important?”

It’s not as if it connects me to my friends and family and emergency services. No, Floyd, it’s not important at all.

“I’ll wait until he’s finished with his meeting. Do you know how long he’ll be?”

“I’d say another thirty minutes or so,” Jade replies. “I do hope you’ll find it.”

“Me too. I’m not usually this forgetful.”

“Considering the meltdown you had last week, I’d say it’s not that surprising.” Floyd’s comment is met with a sharp glare from you and a disapproving tut from Jade. He snickers in response. “I bet it was a real sight.”

“I’ll just get some work done while I wait.” You snatch the coffee you had prepared from the counter and stride towards the door. “Please don’t bother me today.”

“You’re no fun,” Floyd mutters as he watches you go. 

A few invasive stares follow you to your cubicle, but you do your best to ignore them. Once you’ve settled into your chair, you open your laptop to the document you started on last night. The cursor blinks back at you, awaiting more letters. Slowly, you tap each key until a sentence has been formed and then, with a dissatisfied huff, you delete it. Thirty minutes doesn’t feel like a lengthy wait, but sitting at your desk, lacking motivation, is all it takes for the seconds to feel longer than they actually are. You try to distract yourself by opening a new tab to play a game, hoping that the sight of the pixelated T-Rex jumping over cacti will cure your impatience. 

Instead, you allow the poor dinosaur to run headfirst into a prickly cactus after reaching four-hundred points. Its eye widens in shock just as Game Over flashes on the screen. You glance at the time; only three minutes have passed since you left the office kitchen and sat down. Three measly minutes. 

I can’t do this, you think, clicking out of the tab. I’ll just peek inside, look around for a bit, and then leave. Mr. Ashengrotto won’t even know I was there.

Content with your decision, you head for his office, careful to avoid crossing paths with the twins. It might not be the smartest thing to do, especially since you’ve been on thin ice ever since your boss called you into his office to scold you, but you need to find your phone. Who knows what someone might do if they have your password. The thought of a stranger peeking into your private life unsettles you more than being caught, so you reason that your decision isn’t entirely foolish.

Your hand closes around the door knob and you inhale a nervous breath before entering. 

So much for a secure office... 

After shutting the door, you analyze the empty room. The blinds are open, casting odd shadows along the floor, and you turn the light on to brighten the space. There’s a small aloe plant on his desk with a ribbon tied around the pot. You disregard the succulent and move to stand behind his desk. A stack of papers rests under the octopus paperweight, which is positioned beside a cup of pens and a stapler. Your gaze crawls to the cabinets and drawers and you reach for the nearest handle. It doesn’t budge no matter how much you pull. 

Locked, huh? He probably has the key.

You take a few steps away from his desk until your legs bump into the swivel chair he always sits in. 

“If I was my boss,” you mumble, brows knitting in concentration, “where would I keep the key? I’d keep it on me, but in the event that I left it somewhere... Or if I misplaced it... That’s it! A spare key!”

You snatch the cup and dump the pens onto the desk without ceremony. Unfortunately, a key doesn’t fall out amongst the pile, so you turn your attention on the aloe plant. Its verdant leaves seem innocent enough, as does the soil it’s growing out of. You doubt he’d bury the key, but you still lift the plant to check under it. 

Sighing, you glance at the clock on the wall. Nine minutes have gone by since you left your cubicle. 

Maybe there isn’t a spare key after all. 

But just as that thought occurs to you, you glimpse the paperweight again and something clicks within you. When he had picked it up that day and tapped on it, it made a hollow sound. Again, your eyes dart towards the door and then the clock before falling on the paperweight once more. You test its weight in your palm before giving it a gentle shake. Something rattles inside, bouncing around within the ceramic walls, and your chest fills with hope. There’s a rubber stopper in the bottom and you force your fingernails under it. Unfortunately, the stopper won’t come free from the ceramic as easily as you had hoped and you struggle to yank it out for a few minutes. 

Eventually, it becomes clear that you’re only wasting time, so you give up on the stopper altogether and resolve to use another method of extraction. Drawing your arm back, you move away from his desk until you’re a considerable distance. And then you pitch it directly at the opposite wall, watching with great pleasure as it shatters into shards of black and purple ceramic. 

“I’ll buy you a replacement,” you tell the air as you rush over to the debris, sifting through it for the object that was inside. It fits into your hand, small and cold. A brass key. “Yes! I knew you’d have a spare!”

Ignoring the ticking clock, you turn towards the cabinets and begin the tedious process of fitting the key into every hole until one of them unlocks. You find where it goes after a few tries, but to your surprise it doesn’t unlock any of the filing cabinets. It unlocks his desk drawer, which is a slim space that houses more papers, file folders, an unopened package of pens, and a tape dispenser. You grab the files and set them on his desk before peering inside, desperate to find any hint as to where your phone might be. 

Did someone actually take it? Why? It’s cracked. The battery is going bad. It’s not even a good phone. 

Frowning, you lift the file folder and are about to slip it back into the drawer when the word scribbled onto the tab catches your eye. In elegant cursive, your name meets your puzzled stare. For a moment you stand there, stunned, as your brain attempts to comprehend your discovery. 

“Shouldn’t this be filed in one of the cabinets?” You flinch at your timid tone, having been so lost in the moment that the quiet began to feel pleasant. 

You’ve snooped through his things, damaged his paperweight, and broke into his desk. What’s one more offense added to the list? Although as soon as you open the folder, you wish you hadn’t. The article about the incident from your past is at the very top, as are some of the other documents that were part of the file you received, and as you flick through each of them trepidation crawls up your spine. 

A sheet of lined paper rests under everything else and you set the other documents down. Your name has been written in the center, circled in black ink that bleeds onto the page, and an entire network of lines extend outwards. The diagram reminds you of something you’d see in a biology class, where students would label parts of the body and its functions. Notes about you clutter the margins and some of the writing has been scratched out and corrected. You read assumptions and facts about your fears, your boyfriend, your personal life. Even the color of your underwear has been catalogued: White, according to Floyd. Black, according to Jade. The back of the page is just as alarming. He’s compared himself to you, marking every similarity and difference in an effort to determine overall compatibility. 

The realization digs into you like a shovel cutting through soil to hollow a grave.

“He’s obsessed,” you whisper, horrified. “He knows all of this information. Hell, I don’t even remember my meals and yet he’s... He’s documented all of them for every single day, down to the total caloric intake.”

You’re quick to pocket the evidence before turning your attention on the last two pages in the file, both of which have been stapled together. You separate them with trembling hands, desperately wishing for a sign that all of this is just one terrible joke and nothing more. But when you read his detailed plan on how he intends to kidnap you, where he’ll potentially keep you at various locations, and what your future will look like you can’t help the bile that rises in your throat. He wants to marry you, start a family with you, live with you for many years to come. He never saw you as his secretary to begin with, and he’s been planning to make you his for a while now. Years, as the writing suggests.

Years of a secret love that spiraled out of control, growing rapidly and stifling all forms of reason and logic. A sick obsession he’s managed to hide under many meticulously crafted layers. Layers you never thought to peel back and question.

The gross feeling only persists when you read the plan he’s penned for your boyfriend. In his usual curling script, he’s listed ways in which he can dispose of him and each one is more terrifying than the last.

Apparent suicide - Gunshot to the head (too messy; traumatic for angelfish should she discover his corpse).

Apparent suicide - Hanging (also traumatic, but not as bloody). Will need suicide note.

Kidnapped and killed elsewhere - Lost at sea? Drowned? Reported missing but never found? May need electric saw to scatter remains. Will have to separate him from angelfish. 

Suddenly, as you stand in the silence of your boss’s office, finding your missing phone isn’t your top priority. 

This can’t be real, you think, shaking your head in disbelief as you read over the words once more. Mr. Ashengrotto is so upstanding. He’s not like this. He’s running a business. He doesn’t have time for…whatever this is. There’s just no way.

You hazard a glance at the clock and gasp. Fifteen minutes have passed, and you scramble to put everything back where it was before you’re caught. If you can scurry back to your cubicle, Mr. Ashengrotto will never know you trespassed and you can take your evidence to anyone who’ll listen. Because they definitely will. It doesn’t matter if the world is his oyster; these receipts will prove his danger level and then you and your boyfriend will be safe once he’s locked in a cold, dark prison cell. Someone will hear your desperate voice. 

You gather the ceramic shards in your hands and throw them in the rubbish bin beside his desk. It’s impossible to put the key back in its original place, so you stuff it in your pocket. It’s practically burning a hole through the fabric of your blazer as it rests alongside the folded papers. After arranging the top of his desk to resemble how it looked when you first walked in, you smooth the nonexistent wrinkles in your pencil skirt and stride towards the door. Inhaling a sharp, anxious breath, you will your nerves to relax and then you reach for the door.

It opens and your entire body stills when you make eye contact with your boss, who looks equal parts surprised and confused to see you.

“Can I help you, (Name)?” he eventually asks, brows quirked. “Are you looking for something?”

“A-Ah. Um. I am. Well, I was a minute ago. I mean—” You swallow thickly as your composure cracks.

Shit. I can’t let him know that I saw everything. He can’t know. If he knows…

“I… I was looking for—um—for you!” You’re wrapping your arms around his neck in a hug that’s much too tight before you can stop yourself. He stiffens in your hold and you take this as your opportunity to pull him into the office, kicking the door shut with the tip of your toe. “Because I’m so grateful. I wanted to thank you for everything you’ve done for me, so I waited for you in your office. I know that probably wasn’t professional or polite, but I just couldn’t wait to see you.”

“R-Really?” His arms snake awkwardly around you. 

“Yes! I feel so ashamed for my behavior that I wanted to take the time to let you know that I’m really happy to have you as my boss. You’re so forgiving and kind. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You pull away from him and force as much gratitude into your wide grin as possible. Mr. Ashengrotto’s hands linger on your waist for a mere moment before he allows them to fall to his sides. You’re ready to excuse yourself and run as far from his office as you can get when he suddenly steps forward, arms darting out to seize your wrists. Before you can register what’s happening, he’s pushed you down onto his desk.

“I hate to sour such a genuine moment, but snooping is not something I can forgive so easily.” He gazes past you at the empty space where his paperweight once sat and breathes a hollow chuckle. “I see. So that’s how it is.” When he peers down at you, there is darkness in his eyes—pure, unbridled darkness. You lose yourself in the abyss that is his gaze, failing to sense his tightening grip or the way his lip curls in annoyance.

You’ve never seen your boss look anything less than perfect, but in this moment his expression is fraught with an anger that doesn’t quite fit on his handsome face. He looks monstrous in the light.

“Whatever you think I saw, I didn’t see it,” you say, but the obvious fright in your tone betrays you. “I promise…”

He scrutinizes you for what feels like forever until, eventually, he releases you and steps back to straighten his tie. “If that’s the truth, then I’ll have to kindly ask that you leave. I’m very busy at the moment.”

“R-Right! Of course!” You peel yourself off of his desk, heart beating so fast it’s gone into overdrive, and beeline for the door.

“Before you go, I would like you to empty your pockets.”

“My pockets?” You pivot slowly. “I don’t have anything in my pockets.”

“I’d rather not dig it out myself. I’m not a barbarian, so spare us both the trouble.”

“Mr. Ashengrotto, I really don’t have—”

“Your pockets, (Name).”

For a minute you hold his glower before promptly surrendering. Exhaling a defeated sigh, you reach into your blazer and withdraw the papers and key, sheepishly offering them to him like a kid whose hand was caught in the candy jar.

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“If I were you, I would be conscious of the mistakes you make from now on. Curiosity is known to kill pesky felines who can’t keep their noses out of other people’s business.”

“O-Of course. It won’t happen again.”

“I know.” An easy smile tugs at his lips as he gestures to the door. “Now get out.”

You don’t have to be told twice.

The rest of the week passes in a blur of sleepless nights and tiresome workdays. Your boss carries on as if nothing ever transpired in his office, even going so far as to leave the new phone he bought you on your desk with a note that read: I’m sorry you couldn’t find your old phone. Please accept this one as a replacement. Part of you expects Mr. Ashengrotto’s plans to come to fruition the moment you lower your guard, so you’ve started reading up on self-defense techniques and how to fend off a stalker. Because that’s what he is, right? A stalker. Or maybe a pervert. Perhaps he’s both and you’ve been doomed from the very beginning.

He’s definitely going to kill us, you had caught yourself thinking when you woke at midnight and glanced at your sleeping boyfriend, who was wrapped up in a peaceful dream. One day he’ll break into our house, chop us into pieces, and cover everything up like an expert killer. He has the resources and money to get away with it. We’d end up as another murdered couple who fell victim to an unknown killer. Would anyone even bat an eye?

As a result of your constant overthinking, old nightmares have started to resurface and, in order to fight the clutches of sleep, you’ve resorted to drinking more coffee than you normally would. Your boyfriend thinks you’re being overly paranoid, but you know your fears are justified. If your boss has been hiding this side for a while, it’s only a matter of time before he reaches his breaking point. The same goes for you. You can only lose so much sleep before exhaustion pulls you under and you falter.

But what can you do to stop him? What are you supposed to do in this situation? You can’t go to the police without solid evidence. They’ll just assume you’re a scorned woman trying to dirty her boss’s promising reputation and then no one would take you seriously. You can’t tell your boyfriend about it either because you don’t want him to complicate this matter more than it already is. As of now, you’re stuck harboring this soul-crushing secret, witnessing the weeks fly by as your sanity thins.

When the plans he’s painstakingly orchestrated bloom, what will become of your current life? What happens when he kills your boyfriend and then sets his sights on you? He has so much to lose. Surely he wouldn’t risk his life just to make a mess of yours. 

Maybe he isn’t serious. Maybe those documents weren’t written by him and were instead created by the same person who shoved them in your desk. You highly doubt that’s the case, but you want to hope that that’s all this is—that he’s just holding it as evidence. That he’s not actually obsessed with every aspect of your life. 

Despite your boyfriend’s reassurance, you feel so small and alone in his house—a mere ant cut off from its underground civilization. A bird that has fallen from its nest. A human on a desert island. And Mr. Ashengrotto is the foot who will crush the anthill, the hands that will pluck the bird’s feathers individually, and the creature who lurks in the ocean, meters from the shoreline. And when you drag yourself into work, you feel like the world’s going to collapse on you. 

You rub at your eyes and take another gulp from your bitter, lukewarm coffee. Your laptop screen blinds you when you stare at it, but you continue to work in spite of the brightness. You’re not sure if the office is the safest place to be at night, but at the very least the security cameras will serve as your witness should anything happen. As wearisome as it is, you’ve been spending most of your evenings in the office under the pretense of working overtime. And even though that’s partially true, you’ve been wanting to find a way back into Mr. Ashengrotto’s office so that you can secure the evidence and be on your way. Then you’ll show it to the authorities and they’ll have no choice but to turn their attention on your boss. If he hasn’t destroyed those papers yet—and you’re truly praying he hasn’t—you might have a chance at bringing him down. Maybe. You have no idea whether your idea will work or if it’s any good. You’ve never had to deal with a creep like him before. 

But the odds are in your favor. He’s left for a business trip in the next few cities over and he won’t be back until tomorrow. You couldn’t get into his office yesterday because Jade had stayed late to finish some paperwork, but tonight the coast is clear. You have a chance; you can do this.

Your phone brightens in the dimly lit room and you glance at the pristine screen. You almost miss your old phone and its dwindling battery life and ugly crack. Leaning back in your chair, you snatch your phone from the desk and unlock it to view the text. The message doesn’t quite register at first until you read it again and the breath sticks in your throat. 

we need to talk. 

There’s a picture that accompanies the sentence. In it, you’re sprawled on a bed in a dark room, illuminated by the phone’s flash, and your dress has been hiked up to reveal your underwear and thighs. You look completely out of it in the crisp image, eyes screwed shut and lips parted in a daze. You zoom in on the photo and your heart plummets into your stomach. The spring dress you’re wearing is the same one you wore to the luncheon, and its straps hang loose on your shoulders, nearly exposing your chest to the camera. You can’t understand why or how this picture came into your boyfriend’s possession and you don’t want to know the explanation for its existence.

Another message pops up under the image: where is this picture from? have u been cheating on me?

That evening flashes through your mind in a whirlwind of sound and color until it all circles back to when you asked Mr. Ashengrotto how you managed to get home. He claimed he had driven you back, but that’s not true. He’d taken you to another location before that, and as the photo suggests he brought you to his place and then he...

With a hammering heart, your fingers type out a rapid reply: that’s not what it looks like I promise!! I would never cheat on you. Never.

The ellipsis pops up, an indication that he’s writing a reply, and it remains like that for eternity until it disappears altogether. Without wasting another second, you slam your laptop shut, stuff it into your bag, and sling it over your shoulder. 

I was drunk!!! you’re typing, fighting the urge to cry. Eventually you delete your message and call him instead. The phone rings twice before he answers and you don’t give him any time to respond before diving into a hasty clarification. 

“That’s me in the picture, yes, but I was drunk. I was passed out! I don’t have any memories of that night. You have to believe me. I’d never dream of cheating on you. I love you!”

You stumble in your heels as you click down the halls, no longer interested in breaking into your boss’s office. You finger taps impatiently at the elevator’s call button and once the doors part you throw yourself in, press the button for the parking garage, and wait in silence as you descend. Your boyfriend doesn’t say anything while you rant about your innocence, and it doesn’t occur to you that he hung up until you move your phone from your ear and stare at your background instead of the outgoing call screen. When you attempt to call back, it directs you to voicemail. 

Gritting your teeth, you lurch out of the lift, listening to the automated message as it plays. And then you break into a run as you make your way through the parking garage, stumbling under the sickly glow of a yellow light. Your steps echo in the shadows and as you talk into your phone your voice comes back to you in a distorted waver. 

“I... I’m sorry. Please just call me back. I really need to talk to you.”

Shoving your phone into your pocket, you dig through your bag for your keys and search through the gloom for your car. It lights up when you unlock it, emitting a faint beep to help guide you. Your brain is whirring with thoughts as you walk, heart pounding out a terrifying rhythm. 

Is this his plan? the tiny voice muses. To make you seem unfaithful so that your boyfriend abandons you?

What could he possibly gain from all of this madness?

You.

Just as you reach your car, your fingers curling around the handle, someone’s strong arms emerge from the darkness to wrap around your waist. Your mouth opens to scream, but someone claps their hand over your lips to muffle all sound as they yank you against them. You thrash wildly, kicking out in a blind panic, and attempt to recall the few self-defense tips you read online. But everything turns up blank as the primal urge to survive overrides all coherent thoughts and it’s impossible to remember every step one must take in subduing an opponent. Your elbow digs into your assailant’s stomach and their hold loosens for just a moment, but it’s all you need to wriggle out of their arms. 

With a shuddering gasp, you stumble away from them, feeling around for your car. Your heels skid against the concrete, sending you tumbling to the ground. Everything is happening so fast and you hardly have time to react when someone kicks you back down, digging their foot into your backside. 

“P-Please!” you hear yourself cry out, voice thick with terror. “Take my money o-or my car. I’ll give you my keys! Please just let me live.” You drag yourself as far from their foot as you can manage, squinting up at them in the darkness. Their tall figure looms over you, silently watching. 

“Do you want more? You... You can take my laptop and my bag! Everything’s yours! I promise I’ll hand all of it over without a fight!”

Their leg retreats into the shadows and you heave a relieved sigh. You feel around for your bag and its spilled contents, and when you grab your phone you hold it out to the stranger. The screen brightens with another message and it bathes their face in a fluorescent glow.

You recognize him at once.

“W-Wait. What are you—”

That’s as far as you get because he brings his foot down on your ankle with so much force that you hear the bone splinter and crack. The howling comes next. It’s a sound that shreds your throat, so foreign and riddled with agony that you hardly recognize it as yours.

Floyd glares down at you. “You’re really annoying, you know that? Just shut up and—” another cruel stomp— “fall asleep!”

When he gathers you in his arms and lifts you from the cold concrete, your consciousness soon starts to fade away. You’re certain it’s because of the sharp pain that races up your leg and the anxiety that has thrown you into survival mode. Floyd sets you down in the backseat of a vehicle that smells too sterile for your liking, but you don’t have any energy to fight back. Tears stream down your cheeks and you reach out for him, hoping he’ll reconsider.

The door slams shut and a few moments later he returns with all of your belongings, which he drops haphazardly onto the passenger seat. Floyd slips into the driver’s seat, buckles in, and turns the key in the ignition.

“You ready for a road trip, shrimpy?”

The half-whimper, half-groan you grind out is the only reply he receives, and once he’s exited the parking garage you’re sinking into an ocean of unconsciousness. And this time no one’s there to rescue you from the depths.

Every muscle in your body screams in protest when you sit up in bed, but nothing smarts more than your leg. It’s unbearably sore and the slightest movement has you grimacing. When you pull the blanket off of you, you find that it’s been bandaged tightly. That’s not the only befuddling thing. The bedroom you’re in isn’t yours, and the king-sized bed is far too big for one person. You swing your legs over the edge, mindful of your ankle, and slither off of the bed. Pain seizes your ankle when you put your weight on it and you flop onto the mattress with a hiss.

“Okay, take it slow,” you mutter through grit teeth. “Slow and careful. You can do this.”

You lift yourself from the bed and limp towards the door, only pausing to grip onto the bedpost to steady yourself. As you catch your breath, you observe the sparsely furnished bedroom. Despite the grand vanity and its matching stool, you recognize some of the other decorations strewn about. When you approach the desk, you find something peculiar. The glass bird paperweight from the home decor magazine you looked through is there. That feels like such a distant memory now, even if it’s only been a few weeks since. A houseplant sits on the windowsill, where the sun shines through in bright rays, and you hobble over to the window. It doesn’t budge when you try to force it open, so you peer outside at the lush lawn that seems to go on forever.

“Where am I?” you ask the houseplant, running your finger over one of its leaves.

It takes a few minutes, but you manage to drag yourself out of the bedroom and into the hall, which stretches onwards and breaks off into multiple rooms. The path dizzies you as you travel down it, counting every door you come across. You emerge in a monochrome kitchen, complete with a granite island and a hanging light fixture, and continue through the doorway into what you assume is the sitting room. The man lounging on the L-shaped sofa catches your attention, framed by the morning light that spills in from the expansive windows behind him. He’s focused on a tablet screen, feet propped up on a fluffy pillow, and is dressed in an oversized sweater and a pair of sweatpants.

“Mr. Ashengrotto?” You lean against the wall, half expecting him to vanish if you blink hard enough.

His gaze snaps up to meet yours. “How’re you feeling?” He sets the tablet down on a circular coffee table before coming over to assist you. “It’s best that you avoid putting weight on that leg.” His narrowed eyes and furrowed brow match his aggravated tone when he adds, “That brute. What am I to do with him? I made it very clear that you weren’t to be injured. My deepest apologies, dear.”

As soon as his fingertips brush your arm, you stagger away. Last night comes back to you in a flash—the messages, the struggle with Floyd, and the sickening crack of bone. All of it comes crashing down on you like a massive tidal wave.

“D-Don’t come any closer!”

Mr. Ashengrotto rolls his eyes. “Be reasonable, (Name). If I wished to harm you, I would have done so already. You’re safe here.”

“No… No, you kidnapped me. You—you’re crazy!”

“Right.” He folds his arms over his chest. “Okay. Since I’m so ‘crazy,’ I won’t move from this spot. Does that make you feel better?”

“What do you want from me? I… I’m not someone worth kidnapping… Please think about this, sir.”

Abhorrence twists his deadpanned expression into something frightening. “Azul. That’s my name. Use it.”

Your back connects with the island and you realize he’s been advancing while you retreat towards the kitchen with slow, cautious steps.

“A-Azul...”

His first name feels far too casual in your mouth. Awkward and not right, like a shirt that just barely fits. If you were back at the office and you’d addressed him in such a way, you’d feel so unprofessional. After all, you’ve been calling him ‘Mr. Ashengrotto’ and ‘sir’ for so long now. Anything other than that is difficult to stomach. But you’ve already crossed the line of a healthy employee-employer relationship and have fallen off the precipice into a perilous pit.

“I don’t expect you to understand or accept my reasoning, but I hope you’ll listen to me.” He counts the years on his fingers with a delighted hum. “It’s been five years since I took on the role of CEO, hasn’t it? I believe I met you a few months after that. Do you remember that day?”

You muster the courage to nod. “T-The painting. I was supposed to bring it to you.”

“If I’m being honest, I didn’t think you were all that spectacular. You didn’t stand up for yourself, you let that woman raise a hand to you, and you were the one to apologize in the end. Truly pathetic.” He sighs and his voice takes on a dreamy undertone. “We’re the same, you and I.”

“We are most certainly not.” You glare at him. “I don’t care what you wrote on that stupid chart. We have no similarities at all!”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” He takes a bold step towards you and grabs your hands. “You’re not made of steel. You were bullied. You cry. You make mistakes. You’re so naturally vulnerable. And I… I can relate to that sort of helplessness.”

“I’m human. Those are human traits.”

“And that’s what makes you so fascinating! Even when Jade and Floyd pushed you to breaking, you picked up every piece and continued on as if it didn’t bother you. Even when I brought you into my office and scolded you for such obvious lies, you still apologized and went on with your day. I really wondered how far I could push you until you cracked. Perhaps it was a little mean to subject you to so much stress, but these tests were all necessary stepping stones.”

“Hold on. You knew I was innocent?” When he doesn’t answer, you rip your hands from his grasp. “Are you serious? Do you know how shitty I felt afterwards? Do you know how much I suffered while your lapdogs got off on it? How much they touched me. Harassed me. You don’t, do you? Because you were too busy writing an entire thesis paper on my meals!”

“Speaking of that, your diet will change to accommodate mine. If we’re going to be compatible—”

“We’re not compatible! Mr. Ashengrotto, you can’t act like all of this is okay. You put me through hell. You let me get drunk at that luncheon—that same luncheon that I hated because every minute was horrible and I was so scared, but I endured it for the company’s sake—and then you took advantage of me! You sent that picture to my boyfriend and now he thinks I’m a lying cheat!”

He scoffs. “I only positioned you for the camera. I’m not a monster who preys on incapacitated drunks.” He frowns when he notices the disbelief etched on your face. “That’s the truth. I needed a prop for the final act and at the time it felt reasonable. A young couple, divided by damning evidence, and the heartbroken boyfriend disappears shortly after his devastating discovery. It’s a little cliché, but you have to work with what you’re given.” He shrugs nonchalantly. “Consider yourself lucky I deviated from my original plan.”

The craziness of this entire situation has yet to truly land. You’re unable to absorb everything he’s saying and all you can gather is that he’s been obsessed this whole time, so much so that he’s gone to insane lengths just to get to this moment. You’re moving on autopilot when you pull the largest blade from the knife block, brandishing it before you as if it’s a sword and you’re a valiant knight ready to slay the dragon.

“Let me go. If you don’t, I’ll kill you.”

He gazes at the blade, unflinching. “You’re shaking.”

“I’ll still kill you.”

“Angelfish, think logically. Who else will be here to ferry you on and off the island if you kill me? Who will feed you? Who will care for you? You’ll rot in here alongside me if you bury that blade in my heart. I imagine the sight and the smell won’t be very pleasant.”

“The…island?”

“That’s right.” His lips twist into a smirk so sharp it rivals your blade.

Still gripping it in a resolute fist, you limp past him. He trails after you. When you make it to the window, you stare out at the sprawling landscape, searching for any indication that this house rests on a strip of land in the middle of the ocean. It’s hard to believe, but knowing how wealthy Mr. Ashengrotto is you’re certain he can afford it.

“Allow me.” He opens the door and offers his arm. You push past him, hissing with every step. “You’re only hurting yourself.”

“Don’t care,” you snap. Your legs carry you across the lawn and down a steep slope, where a dreadful seascape awaits you.

“At first I thought you were fearful of ships,” he says, stepping into your line of sight with the grace of a cat. “But then I truly considered it. You’re scared of the ocean, aren’t you? I came to that conclusion once I learned of your past. Your thalassophobia is not ideal for you, but it benefits me greatly.”

The wind grabs at you with cold fingers, threatening to drag you down the hill and into the yawning mouth of the water. You swallow around a lump of nerves. “Why would you… I… The ocean…” You sink to your knees in the grass, staring at your lap and the knife in order to dispel the sea from your mind. “I’m on land. There isn’t any ocean. It’s not here. I’m…here. Land. G-Grass and dirt. This isn’t the ocean.”

No matter how much you repeat those lines, they don’t stick. You can’t fool yourself this time and the same voice that was once so comforting has become an unsettling horror.

“And to think I considered selling this property…” He bends down to your height and places his hand on your shoulder. “You won’t have to lift a finger while you’re here. I won’t force secretary work on you either. We can live in peace together. Just you and me. No one will disturb us. No bullies. No troublesome clients. No distractions.”

You heave a shuddering breath just as the tears start falling. The thought of being confined to a chunk of land with no means of escape is downright terrifying. But what’s scarier is the ocean that surrounds you, its deceptive depths calling to you—reminding you of your childhood and the days spent cooped up in a humid classroom, too nervous to leave in fear of the bullies lingering in the courtyard.

And the only connection you’ll ever have is with your boss—the only one who knows you exist here.

“Why?” you’re whispering, voice snatched by the greedy sea breeze. “Why are you doing this to me? I… I can’t live here. N-Not if the ocean is… No. No, no, no! I can’t! Please take me back to the mainland! I need to be on r-real land. Please, I’ll do anything.”

He pulls you in for an embrace despite your initial aversion. His hand rubs soothing circles into your back while you remain still, glassy eyes confronting the sea. The waves roll in from afar, smashing against the rocks below in a spray of surf and salt.

“‘Anything’ is a strong word, angelfish. Be mindful of the things you say while wrapped up in your emotions. If you aren’t, I might just take advantage of your willingness to do anything.”

“P-Please.” You clutch his sweater with shaking hands. “It’s too close. If I’m in the house and the tide rises… If it swallows me—” You break off with a gasp, shoulders shaking. “I can’t swim. I’ll drown. I—”

The first few drops of rain land on the tip of your nose. Slowly, you pull away from him to peer up at the cumulus-spotted sky. Despite the drizzle, the sun remains bright, mocking you with its happy shine.

“You’ll get used to it.”

“Will I?” Just as he opens his mouth to respond, you shove him away, overcome with a sudden, adrenaline-fueled frustration. He stumbles on the too-perfect grass. “Because I don’t think it’s possible to ‘get used to it’ when the one responsible for this is my fucking boss! I trusted you and you let all of this happen to me! And why? Because you think I’ll fall for you if I’m shoved into an expensive house? Is that it? Do you think I’ll like you if you swoop in like a prince and admit that everything was done for my sake? To protect me? Am I supposed to accept that?”

Mr. Ashengrotto’s eyes travel to the knife and, though you’re trembling and crying and sucking in breath after breath, he doesn’t move, mindful of the threat.

“I’ll never love you. I have a boyfriend.”

“Not anymore.”

“What?” Once you comprehend the meaning of those chilly words, the breath sticks in your throat. “W-What do you mean?”

“You read my notes. I’m certain you can guess.” He holds his hand out to you, tutting. “You’re in no state to be wielding a knife. Hand it to me and we’ll head inside before it starts raining harder.”

But you’re not listening. You’ve buried your face in your arms and pulled your knees up to your chest as countless sobs rack your body. The knife is still gripped in your hand, but it’s trembling along with your cowering form. That intense feeling of loss returns, an old sensation you thought you’d buried, and all you can picture is your boyfriend as he’s held under the water just like you were. And all of the demons from your past did to him what they couldn’t do to you: They killed him.

You’re not sure what you can do anymore. It’s too late to act on any plan you might have been formulating whilst still on the mainland, and you certainly can’t play hero to a corpse.

Mr. Ashengrotto lets out an impatient huff. “Two years are not that remarkable.” When that fails to get through to you, he risks moving closer, still conscious of the hysteric wails coming from you and the weapon in your possession. “You’ll be happier here. Once you overcome your thalassophobia, I’ll move you to a new location. That’s fair enough, isn’t it? If anything, I’m doing you a favor.”

There are so many emotions swirling within you that you’re not sure how you’re meant to feel anymore. Most of all, you’re filled with grief as you mourn all of the mistakes that led up to this point. If you stayed home, perhaps Floyd wouldn’t have kidnapped you. If you found some way to schedule another group of meetings right after he returned from the short-lived business trip, perhaps you wouldn’t have woken up in this hollow house on this strange slice of earth.

What’s worse is that the ocean surrounds you, a deadly reminder that there won’t be any escape unless you find a way to cross it. And you have no idea how far the mainland is or if you’re even still near the city. Although it’s not like you could ever hope to leave this place via the water. You can’t swim and you have no idea how to pilot a boat—if one even exists on this island. Just how big is it anyway?

You lift your head to view him through tear-filled eyes. He smiles at you and it’s so lovesick that it twists your insides.

“Please let me go.”

“Begging won’t serve any purpose here, and there will be no negotiation on that subject either. This will be your life now.”

He reaches out to wipe your tears away with his thumb and you react on impulse, instinctively swiping at him with the knife. It almost happens too fast, for you’re unprepared to confront the slash on his palm or the cyan blood that rises to the surface. You freeze when you see it.

It’s blue.

“Angelfish...”

“H-Hey…” You scoot away from him while he observes the laceration in disapproval. “I didn’t mean to do that. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. It was just… Just a reaction.”

Why is it blue?

His fingers close into a tight fist and he inhales a steadying breath. “Of course. A reaction. Right.”

You can’t tell if he’s angry or genuinely accepting of it, but when he towers over you and holds his other hand out with the same expectance of a schoolteacher admonishing a student for stealing you have no choice but to relinquish the knife. Some of his blood has gotten on the blade and you stare at the foreign hue in awe. The sun shower is quick to wash it away, and you force yourself onto your legs, avoiding the ocean and focusing solely on the house. It’s a typical modern design you’d expect from someone with Mr. Ashengrotto’s wealthy tastes: all glass and wood, bathed in colors of white and black and brown. If anything, it looks like the houses you used to see whenever you searched for ‘fancy homes’ online.

“I’ll…go back inside.” You suppose the house is better than the ocean. It’s your only other choice and as of now it’s the lesser of two evils. “C-Can you help me walk? My ankle really hurts…”

Wordlessly, he sidles up to you and wraps his arm around your waist. You grab onto him, relieved that you’re no longer putting your broken ankle through a world of agony. He climbs the hill with you, and the only sounds that follow are the crying seagulls circling above, the fierce howling of the wind, and the crashing of waves along the rocky shore. You catch sight of a boardwalk once you’ve made it to the top, partially hidden by the trees.

With Mr. Ashengrotto’s support, you manage to make it inside before crumpling on the sofa, heaving exhausted breaths as your ankle tingles painfully. He disappears into the kitchen and it’s a while before he returns, but when he does his hand is wrapped in bandages.

After draping a blanket over you, he holds it up for you to see, a delighted glint in his stormy blues. “Now we match.”

Your nose wrinkles and you curl into yourself on the sofa, gaze shifting to the wide aquarium in place of where a TV ought to be. Fish of all sizes and colors swim within, ignorant to your predicament but just as caged. Your heart won’t stop its frenzied beats and, beneath all of the hopeless sadness, an underlying fear remains. You’re not sure if you’re more scared of the ocean or your boss, but when he sits beside you on the sofa and pats your head you think it’s the latter.

No sane man could act this way in a situation that’s far from normal.

“I should let you know that if you try anything that may cause harm to either of us you will find yourself restrained. I’d rather not treat you like an animal, so please don’t make this harder on yourself.” He curls a lock of your hair around his finger, toying with it as if the two of you are actually lovers relaxing on a rainy morning. “It hurts to see you so distraught, dearest, but you must realize that I’m doing this for us. I’m protecting you.”

“You k-killed my boyfriend. You kidnapped me. You’re sick.”

“I didn’t kill him.” Mr. Ashengrotto tucks the strand behind your ear, still smiling down at you like you’re the most precious thing in his world. “Although I might as well have the moment I laid eyes on you.”

“Oh,” you mumble brokenly, and it sounds more like a defeated sigh than an actual word. “I don’t know what else to say. You’re so…” Whatever hateful adjective you intended to verbalize dies on your tongue.

Your thoughts are dyed in a blue so deep it calls forth the surging tide, washing over your emotions and swallowing what’s left of your tears. You want to think this is a dream and that when you fall asleep you’ll wake up in the office, in front of your gleaming laptop, at the crack of dawn. But even the dream world you slip into is not as promising as your current reality, for it is tinged in the same blue that colors Mr. Ashengrotto’s blood.

“Get some rest, my dear.” He presses his lips against your forehead and you don’t have any energy to retaliate. 

There is no boat by the dock, but there is an office that overlooks the empty space where it ought to be. Out of the many rooms in the house, this is the one that has been furnished according to the scribbles you made on the magazine. The tall windows lack curtains and the desk faces them, so you’re forced to confront the ocean through the trees. It’s a room you refuse to enter, even if Mr. Ashengrotto has told you it’s yours to use however you’d like. But there’s not much you can do with it when it’s lacking all forms of technology. Does he expect you to doodle on sheets of paper with crayon? Does he want you to sit in there and contemplate the benefits of reciprocation? Now that you’re no longer his secretary, that room is about as useful as your ankle right now.

Maybe you’ll storm in there and break things in a fit of rage. One day. It won’t be today, but you’re certain it’ll happen the longer you spend trapped inside, allowing frustrations to build and swell. Once your ankle heals and you’re no longer stuck under the soothing thumb of painkillers and stacked pillows, you’ll utilize your newfound mobility to scope out the rest of the property—should you manage the courage to do so—and conjure ways to escape.

You’re secretly happy there isn’t a boat. It means Mr. Ashengrotto is just as stuck as you are and that fact satisfies you. Neither of you can leave.

You’re not sure how long it’s been since you woke in this abstract house, where your daily routine consists mainly of bedridden boredom, in which Mr. Ashengrotto dutifully brings your meals to you on a tray and insists you maintain a balanced diet while you bicker with him and ignore your hunger cramps. He’ll read from books, newspapers, and magazines while you fix your stare on the houseplants in the bedroom (He adds a new one with each passing day, and you haven’t the faintest clue where they’re coming from). You never listen to any of the stories he relays, but he still tries. He still reads on. You hate that about him—his persistence. He’ll hum a soothing melody while he changes your bandages, pressing kiss after kiss upon your slowly healing ankle as if that’ll speed up the process.

And then he’ll help you walk around the house, allowing you to lean on him and the cane he’s provided for you. It’s supposed to be exercise or something akin to very early physical therapy, but it just succeeds in hollowing your soul. Mr. Ashengrotto likes these walks the most because he gets to hold you, guide you, praise you. You’ve observed him in this private setting long enough to realize the Mr. Ashengrotto you interacted with at the office is so very different from the Azul who’s patient, tender, and loving.

When you began to show some progress with your scheduled walks, he put a record on and offered his hand to you. For a slow dance, of all things. You don’t want slow dances and sugared soirées. You want your freedom. But you’d accepted his invitation, unable to do much aside from rest your head on his chest and sway with him in the emptiness of the living room, basking in soft, crackling jazz. You never knew he had a penchant for collecting antique records.

And you hate to admit it, but Mr. Ashengrotto is a good dancer.

The more time you spend examining the house when you aren’t resting in the bedroom, the stranger its design becomes. Doors open to cold, slanted rooms—most barely furnished—and the halls are thin and lengthy, stretching like taffy. There are hardly any decorations on the walls, so it feels more like you’ve stumbled into a house that’s been put up for sale rather than something inhabited by another person. Then again, Mr. Ashengrotto did mention something about his considerations for selling the property. Oh, how you wish he would’ve gone through with it.

Instead, he reassures you that he’ll do all that he can to make this place more cozy for you and him. 

You’ve seen your fair share of thrillers, and kidnapping is always a terrifying what-if that would have you sitting as far from the TV as possible. Your boyfriend used to comfort you—tell you that he’d never allow any of that to happen to you. It feels like an empty promise now. But all this time spent in captivity isn’t as bad as you thought it’d be. Perhaps it’s because you know Mr. Ashengrotto doesn’t intend to hurt you. Even so, you hate thinking that this situation is boring when you ought to be relieved it’s not worse. At least he keeps you fed, washed, and clothed. He could very well do whatever he wanted and you’d have no choice but to obey out of fear and the animalistic instinct to survive.

Instead, he’s tending to a bird’s broken wing, nursing it back to health until it’s ready to fly again. And when that happens, he’ll clip its wings and the cycle will repeat.

Sighing, you shake your head to dispel those thoughts and continue hobbling through the main living room with Mr. Ashengrotto in tow. You’ve only traversed the first floor. Mr. Ashengrotto told you he doesn’t want you climbing the stairs unless he’s there to help you, and since you want to ease the pressures applied to your ankle you’ve settled on investigating the floor you’re currently confined to. Everything about this house feels so vacant and lonesome. There is no personal touch. There isn’t even evidence that it’s been thoroughly lived in. The master bedroom, which is where you’ve slept for the past however many days, is the only room that has a semblance of life to it, but that could just be due to the abundance of plants spilling out the door. Mr. Ashengrotto has resolved to sleep on a futon beside the bed, insisting that he’ll only sleep with you when you’re comfortable.

Comfortable. Right. Like you’ll ever find comfort in this situation. You hate that he’s genuinely trying to acclimate you to this new environment. Most of all, you hate that it’s slowly starting to work. You hate that you’ve begun enjoying sitting at the dinner table with him because he’s the only one who will indulge you in lighthearted chatter, as one-sided as it usually becomes. You hate it when he reads fairytales before bed, hoping that by providing you with enough candied fantasy your dreams will be just as sweet. (And, much to your displeasure, they usually are.) You hate how careful he is with you. You hate his eyes and the love that threatens to spill out when he admires you. You hate his warm lips. You hate his smile. You hate him.

Do you really?

There’s one room on the ground floor that you’ve yet to peer into. Its door is unlike anything you’ve ever seen: a solid hunk of metal with an accompanying keypad and a retinal scanner. You’re not sure what he’d need to hide that would warrant such drastic security measures. Just thinking of all the possibilities is enough to root you to the floor. Your boyfriend could be in there, just barely clinging to life. That could be your prison within a prison when you act out of line. He could have corpses piled high behind the door. Or maybe not. You haven’t smelled anything. This house is always so clean and crisp, reeking of the sea (a constant reminder that dredges up old memories and fears), and you’ve worked with Mr. Ashengrotto long enough to know how much he values tidy spaces.

A hand on your shoulder shatters your train of thought, and then his smooth voice invades your ears.

“You’ve been admiring this door for quite some time now.”

Your ankle has improved over the course of a few weeks—has it already been weeks? It’s still awkward to walk on, but you’re no longer in need of Mr. Ashengrotto’s shoulder to lean on. You suspect he dislikes this newfound freedom of yours, for he always frowns when you avoid the arm he offers.

“I’d like to know what’s inside.”

“Someone’s curiosity is getting the better of them.” He chuckles, but the circumstances are far from humorous. “Are you that desperate to know?”

“Not desperate,” you say, folding your arms over your chest. “But knowing would ease some of my anxiety. I walk past this door every day and I’m worried that…”

“That…” he prompts with a sly smile. “That something terrible lies within?”

You nod and chew your lip.

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to show you. They say transparency is important in relationships. Although I would’ve preferred to unveil this when you need it most.”

Where was this transparency when you let me suffer at work? you think, glaring at him as he moves over to the door.

He bends down to meet the retinal scanner, briefly removing his glasses so that his eyeball can be analyzed by the red beam of light produced by the scanner. After it flashes green, he fits his glasses back onto his face and types a code into the keypad, which releases a soft beep and grants him the access he requires. The door slides into a thin crevice in the wall on automatic hinges, humming with hidden machinery, and you don’t have any time to prepare yourself for the sight that burns itself into your brain. Light illuminates a padded room that’s been furnished to look like a nursery, complete with a small bed, a crib and its matching mobile, and all of the essentials a pregnant mother and her child might need. Boxes of diapers, empty milk bottles, breast pumps, stocks of baby food in glass jars, vitamins, towels, a first aid kit, and more line the bookshelves that stretch up to the ceiling, arranged with such precision you’d think this was a display for a magazine.

“This once functioned as a panic room,” Mr. Ashengrotto says as he strides inside, ever so nonchalant. You watch him in horrified silence. “But, as you can see, I’ve converted it into a nursery. It’s fully soundproofed and there’s no way to truly hurt yourself in here.” He glances at you. “So in the event that postpartum depression strikes you, your environment can’t be weaponized.”

“W-Why?”

It’s a foolish question. You know why, but you don’t want to confront the answer.

He smiles shyly and you wish you had the courage to lunge at him. But fighting won’t accomplish anything, and if you seriously injure him—if you kill him—you’ll be all alone, forced to turn to the sea for a way out. So you wrap your arms around yourself and inhale a deep, shuddering breath.

“I’d like to start a family with you.”

“A… A family.” Your nails dig into your sides. “Mr. A-Ashengrotto, I’m not—”

“Azul,” he corrects.

“I’m not…” Not your lover. “I don’t want to start a family with you.”

“I figured you might say that, and that’s all right. Love takes time and creating a family is a big commitment. We won’t rush into it right away.”

“But this isn’t love.”

It will never be love.

“Don’t say that, my dear. You know very well how much I treasure you. You’ll come around eventually. We’ve been making progress so far.” His hands are clutching yours moments later and he pulls you into the nursery. You gaze at the empty crib. “You’ve complained about how desolate the house feels and I agree. It’s much too bland. Wouldn’t a child liven the atmosphere? I’ve already penned dozens of names. We can look at them during breakfast.”

His hand trails along the length of your arm until it gravitates towards your stomach, where he rests his palm against it. You stiffen under his touch. You’d read his note about his wishes to have children with you, but you never thought such a desire consumed his every thought. To go through all the trouble of creating a nursery, of gathering every supply needed for a healthy pregnancy, of contemplating possible names for a child that doesn’t even exist yet (and will never exist, so long as you have anything to say about it)… His dream is your encroaching nightmare.

“It’s a thought that’s lingered in the back of my mind for a while now. I’ve always wondered how you’d look with my child growing inside of you.” His finger traces a heart into your clothed stomach and you shiver in disgust. “You’d look so pretty. So round and sweet and domestic... We’ll build such a happy family together. Just you and me.”

“I don’t want that. I’ll never want that,” you whisper and take a wobbling step away from him. His hand pursues you.

“You will. We just need more time.” 

“You’re delusional if you think I’d willingly have your child.” You swat at his reaching arm. “I’d rather die.”

“Surely you don’t mean that.” The vitriol burning in your fierce glower has him sighing. “Angelfish, stop avoiding me. Let me hold you.”

“No!” You stumble backwards, grabbing onto the doorframe for support. “Get away from me! I’m not having your kid and that’s final!”

“But you’ll be so much happier!” he insists, spreading his arms, palms up, as if he intends to show you a materialization of such joy. The desperately hopeful look in his eyes births raw unease within you. “Think of how wonderful it’ll be! If it’s the nursery you’re worried about, I can always allow you time outside—like how we’ve been doing our walks through the house. We can make this work. Just consider it for a moment and then you might—”

“I don’t want that! Mr. Ashengrotto—”

“Azul.”

“Mr. Ashengrotto, I don’t want any of this! I just want to go back to the mainland!” Frustrated tears gather in your eyes. “I never did anything to deserve this. I put up with the unfairness at the office. I sucked it up and smiled and worked because that was my job. I never misspoke or caused any trouble. I’ve never once complained. So what did I do to offend you? What did I do to you that would make you want to do any of this to me? If all of this is just some crazy form of revenge, then please tell me what I did and I’ll apologize.”

“Angelfish, you didn’t do anything wrong.” His features soften despite the abhorrence shimmering in your glassy eyes. “I’m aware that this situation isn’t ideal, but you’ll find comfort in it eventually. You’ll love me soon enough, and when you do we can finally start a family. Then it’ll be as if all this strife never occurred!”

“That’s never going to happen! Do you honestly think I’d ever want to spend the rest of my life locked up in this stupid house with a stupid criminal?! You can’t act like this is a normal relationship when you kidnapped me and killed my boyfriend. You took me away from my life. You ruined it. I’ll never love you. Not even a little bit. Not in a million years.”

“You’re just speaking out of anger, darling. You don’t mean these things.”

But you do, and that much is obvious in the way you clench your jaw and tighten your hands into fists. Everything about this situation is unfair and sickening. Mr. Ashengrotto’s true colors are much darker than you would have ever imagined. But you couldn’t imagine—not when you were busy fighting humiliation at the hands of the twins. You’ve spent so many years of your life working in misery, but now that you’ve made it to this point all of that suffering feels meaningless when compared to this twisted arrangement. 

“And what about work? You’re the CEO. You don’t have time for family or me or...any of this.” 

“That’s nothing you should concern yourself with.” 

“But people will have definitely noticed we’re not showing up to work. It doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together, sir.” 

“Ah, so you think someone’s reported us missing? The truth is that we let you go. Your behaviors haven’t been very collaborative or appropriate in recent months, and since I have the final say in these kinds of decisions... Well, no one’s going to question the word of the CEO, right?”

A proud smirk sprawls on his lips. Of course he’d have this planned out, you think as you recall the notes he kept hidden in his desk. He’s had this excuse tucked away since the very beginning. Everything has always been in his favor. It’s because of his status and power that he’s able to get away with such a terrible thing. It’s because no one bothers to question him. It’s because you mean so little when pitted against him—an insignificant, flightless bird versus the vast sky that houses it. 

“Besides, it’s not that challenging to leave this island. I can come and go as I please, but you, my dear, cannot. I hate to break such tragic news to you, but your absence doesn’t impact the company in the slightest. A shame, considering you’ve always done such good work. But that’s expected of the spineless yes-man. Would you have eaten glass if I had told you that doing so would earn you a raise? Would you let Jade and Floyd go further in their exploratory touches if your employment status was threatened? Would you have gotten on your knees for me if it meant you could continue to work as my secretary?” He chuckles, cold and cruel. “That’s all right, though. I love every side of you, even the most troublesome ones.”

His every word is as grating as nails on a chalkboard, and the last fraction of your contented soul disintegrates when he paints your nature in harsh wording. You are a yes-man. You’ve always been a yes-man, even when you were a child. You’d willingly agreed to meet up with your bullies because you didn’t want them to hurt you if you’d said no instead. You willingly apologized to the gallerist and accepted her slap without standing up for yourself. You’ve been submissive to Jade and Floyd, fearing termination should you speak out, and it’s allowed them to harass you for so long now. Even if it was an elaborate act orchestrated by your boss—a scheme meant to snuff your spirit and drive you into his waiting, outstretched arms—that doesn’t excuse the fact that you never did anything to change their treatment. You took it all as you’ve always done.

You feel so filthy listening to him as you stand just before the threshold of the nursery, not daring to cross it and get closer to the monster who lingers within. Under the too-bright light, in a room meant for permanent captivity, he looks...

“Ugly.”

The smug glint in Mr. Ashengrotto’s pale eyes drains at once, and his posture stiffens as the word digs into his composure, cracking it slowly like a stone that’s been dropped in still water, ripples expanding on the surface of faux tranquility.

“(Name), sweetheart, what do you mean by—”

“You’ve always been ugly.” You wipe furiously at your eyes as the haunted admission hangs heavy in the air, filling the space with its toxicity, like the poisonous spines on a pufferfish. Expanding, expanding more, until it pops and catches you in the fatal undertow. “You lie and you cheat and you put others below you so that you can stay on top. I can’t believe I actually thought you were nice.”

I can’t believe I thought your voice was calming.

He grits his teeth. “I am nice,” he declares, but the way he practically hisses it says otherwise. “I’ve always been nice to you, haven’t I?”

“Last time I checked, doing all of this for the sake of ‘love’ isn’t nice. Pushing me to breaking isn’t nice. Accusing me of things I didn’t do isn’t nice.” You cross your arms and fix him with a nasty scowl. “You’re mean and ugly.”

It feels childish to insult him, but it’s all you can do. You can’t fight him. You can’t run from him. Your only weapon is your tongue, sharp and malicious. His features sour—almost unnaturally, as if he’s a creature testing various expressions in order to pass as human and dissatisfaction is one that can’t fit on his face—and there’s a broken tremble in his intonation when he speaks next.

“Don’t… Don’t say that. I’m not those things.” An unsteady laugh rises from the depths of his throat, but it doesn’t sound right. It sounds strangled, as if he’s trying to get past the object lodged in his throat and can’t quite force the sound out clearly. “T-Tell me I’m nice. Please, angelfish… Please take it back.”

“Why should I? I’m not going to sugarcoat an obvious lie, but you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Lies are easier to stomach.”

“I’ve done all of this for you, so why must you be so ungrateful? I’ve shown you immense kindness. I’ve cared for you, I’ve fed you, I’ve helped you. I only want to protect you. I just want to love you. There’s nothing ugly about that,” he rants, and the sudden uptick in volume alarms you. Before you can react, he’s seized your wrist and yanked you into the room. He shoves you so hard the breath is nearly knocked from your lungs, and you’re sent tumbling into the bed. “But if I’m as ugly as you say, then you can stay here and reflect on your own undesirable qualities!”

You hardly register the sting in your ankle or the fact that he’s moved swiftly to the other side of the threshold when you catch sight of the door as it slides shut, and the last thing you see before you’re locked inside is the grieving countenance of Mr. Ashengrotto. The sorrow he wears fits perfectly on his face, and you wonder if he’s always looked so...sad. So lonesome and small. Perhaps you’ve never noticed it because of the lofty grandeur that drapes itself over him in the forms of expensive suits, luxury colognes, and money-making smirk-grins.

As soon as you’re on your feet, you throw yourself at the door, bringing your fists down upon the metallic surface with panicked haste.

“Wait, don’t go! Don’t leave me here! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry. Mr. Ashen—no, Azul, I didn’t mean any of that. I… I’ll love you from now on, so please open the door!”

Ironic as it is, he doesn’t answer those ugly lies.

Your frantic cries are met with silence, and you press your ear against the door in hopes of hearing something. But this room is soundproofed. No one could hear you even if you screamed your throat raw. Your panting breaths fog the reflective surface and you peel yourself from off of it.

You’re alone in the nursery.

“It’s fine,” you murmur, shuffling over to the bed and lowering onto it. “I’ll be okay. He… He’ll come back. He has to. T-To feed me. To change my bandages. He’ll come back.”

He doesn’t.

You remain on the bed, sometimes lying down and staring up at the ceiling, sometimes sitting up and counting the many items he’s stocked the shelves with, and Mr. Ashengrotto does not return. That door remains closed, trapping you inside as if you’re nothing more than a bad memory he’s chosen to seal within his panic room-turned-nursery. Hunger descends upon you and it only grows more insatiable as the hours pass. You’re not sure how much time you’ve lost while stuck here and you’ve resorted to snacking on the baby food he’s kept on the shelves, if only to give yourself false hope and a momentary respite from the horrors of isolation. At least you had some form of freedom in the bedroom. Now you’re successfully stuck, enclosed on all sides, and it doesn’t seem like your captor is going to rescue you from this room anytime soon.

Despairing, you curl into yourself on the bed and allow fresh tears to fall. The salty liquid follows you into your dreams, and this time you can’t fall asleep to Mr. Ashengrotto’s melodic voice as he reads from a page in a book of fairytales. You drift in a dark sea while the waves wash over you, cradling you, before swallowing you. You’re held just above the surface by a lurking beast, your nose and lips inhaling brief quantities of oxygen, and then the water sloshes over your face again. It’s like you’re a boat being rocked to and fro, just barely drowning.

You wake to the jarring crash of glass upon a tiled floor. It almost sounds like it’s come from your own dreamscape, a muffled sort of note that electrifies your every nerve. Snapping your eyes open, the lights are dimmed and the door that was once fastened shut is now opened wide, revealing the darkness that presses in on the windows outside, painting the hall in grey shadows. Another sound pierces the air—this one distinctly moist. Like a lump of tongue spattering on the floor, cold and wet and slippery. You almost expect the door to slam and lock you in when you get off of the bed, gathering bits of your bravery as you step out into the hall. There’s the faint glow of light at the very end, spilling out into the empty corridor from the kitchen. 

Something else smashes to the floor. More shattering glass, which is then succeeded by a slew of unhappy curses, and you feel along the walls as you guide yourself through the dark. You’re not sure what sight awaits you when you peer into the kitchen, but the mass of writhing tentacles, sleek obsidian appendages that wind and curl, unfurling from a well-built form to reveal dozens of suckers lining the violet-hued underside, momentarily stuns you into a frozen stupor. A single, choked breath sticks in your throat and the creature’s head snaps towards you—so inhumanly fast that you don’t even realize you’re backing away until one strong tentacle shoots out to twine itself around your waist. 

He’s trembling as he grips you firmly, not hard enough to splinter your skeleton—though you’re certain a creature of his size and strength could easily do so if he wished—and you shiver in his unyielding grasp, unable to pinpoint whether it’s a byproduct of your fear or his shaking frame. You realize two things in that moment. One: This is unmistakably Mr. Ashengrotto. His icy eyes cut through the dimness in the kitchen and his glasses have been crushed under a thick tentacle, one that writhes uncomfortably on the floor, twitching bonelessly. And two: He’s crying. Muted sniffles wrack through his body, tears slipping in salty globs. You’re not sure if you’re more terrified of his emotional state or this new form or the fact that you have no idea what to do or how to act. You’re helpless as you gawk at him, opening and closing your mouth as the words wither on your tongue. 

“I’m sorry,” he finally admits, forcing it out like it’s an impossible phrase. But you can hear the anguish that thickens his voice, and he raises a tentacle over your eyes, blocking your view of him. “I’m so sorry... I... I pushed you and...locked you away. I could have—no, I did hurt you. I’m very sorry, angelfish…”

“It’s… It’s okay,” you whisper, though somehow your voice comes out louder than intended.

His suckers brush your face, not quite affixing themselves. Now you understand what must be done to placate him. You can deny and fight and cry all you want, but it won’t sway Mr. Ashengrotto. It won’t change the fact that you are, undeniably, permanently, trapped. But you can at least change what lies ahead with honeyed half-truths. You’re downright terrified of him in this moment—that’s a feeling you can’t choke down no matter how hard you attempt to do so. Still, you try because it’s all you know how to do. It’s all you’ve ever done.

Slowly, your hand searches for part of him. It isn’t a difficult task, for he’s everywhere. Your fingers brush slick skin, and the picture paints itself in your mind. Glasses of water, tipped over to provide just enough wetness to keep the gills along his sides from drying out. He’s almost…clumsy in this form. Your boss, the always perfect, never faltering Azul Ashengrotto, is struggling. It would have satisfied you if you weren’t so gripped with fear and a tentacle that tightens out of some emotion that’s currently foreign to you. Is it desperation? Fear? Disgust? Regret? He’s rigidly stiff under you, but he allows your hand to wander and trace soothing patterns into his skin.

“What do you like to do in the summer?”

Mr. Ashengrotto hiccups through a strangled sob. “S-Summer?”

“Do you like summer, Azul?”

“I… I suppose it’s an enjoyable season.” He clears his throat in an attempt to build himself from the ground up, still just as guarded and defensive as before, but the tentacle around you loosens its possessive hold slightly. “I’ve always wanted to try that thing… What was it? Movies in the dark of night, sitting in the back of a car, wrapped in thin sheets and…smelling of citronella. And there’s an abundance of junk food. The stars are brighter than light itself and the sky looks so expansive…”

“Oh, a drive-in cinema. I’ve never been to one.”

“Really?” Lighthearted shock replaces sorrow. “You’ve never been? I would have thought… Ah. Well.”

“I’d like to go to one.”

“As would I.” He coughs awkwardly when your fingers curl into his tentacle and adds in a discontented grumble, “I never should have gotten careless. This is what happens when I lose track of time.”

“We can have our own cinema here. Just you and me.” Your other hand pries the tentacle from your eyes, and he cowers when you look at him. “It’ll be our first date. I’m sure the stars are much prettier out here than in the city.” You smile at him and his shoulders tense and relax all at once. “How does that sound? A movie date under the stars. We can even put little plastic ones on the ceiling since I…can’t exactly go outside anytime soon. The ocean is…s-still there and…”

“That sounds wonderful!” he blurts and then flusters. Surely he’s not this easy, but if you can delude yourself into thinking otherwise then Mr. Ashengrotto can easily do the same. “Ahem. I mean. Well… I… I look forward to it.”

You exhale through your nostrils. “I’m sorry for arguing with you. We can start a family someday. Not today or tomorrow, but one day.”

Those words don’t feel as empty as you would’ve hoped, for you know that he’ll get what he wants eventually. All he has to do is exercise patience, and Mr. Ashengrotto is immensely patient when it comes to long-term investments.

He smiles, real and raw, and relieved tears gather in his pearly eyes. “Thank you… I’m also sorry…that you have to see me like this. I didn’t intend on—ahem. Well, in any case, I’ll change back and explain everything as soon as I—”

“It’s okay.” You cradle the tentacle in your arms, nuzzling it with the same gentleness of a mother, and he melts under your careful touch. “I’ll like all of your sides, too.” It’s another lie. There is no side to him that can be liked, for he’s made himself so cantankerous. “Even the ones you like to hide. That just means I’ll have to uncover all of you for myself. If you’ll allow that, Azul.”

His name, spoken so sweetly, in a tone you’re certain he could only relish in his deepest dreams.

“Of course,” he whispers, weepy with joy, fully submitting, and you know you’ve hooked him. For now, at least.

Now it’s your turn to toy with him much like how he did to you throughout your years at the company. And luckily for you, you’re very familiar with the high-stakes chessboard Mr. Ashengrotto adores playing on.

#yandere twst #yandere azul ashengrotto #yandere azul ashengrotto x reader #slight n/sfw #azul thought three #ceo azul: i want to spend the rest of my life with you <3 #reader: how about you spend the rest of your life in JAIL #he very well should for his crimes (but also because it took me so long to finish this fic orz) #now to continue azul thought 4: the contractual fwb mwahaha >:D

[hbdttg]

Eddie, or something that used to be Eddie, wanders the Upside Down in the aftermath of it all.

He may not know where or who he is, but he knows he belongs. His heartbeat syncs with those of the screeching creatures that soar up above. The thrumming in his veins mirrors the pulsing of the vines that cover the ground at his feet. The hunger at his core is shared by the flower-faced beasts that roam the earth on all fours. He belongs, so he must be home.

Weeks after waking—or months, or years; time is unpredictable in this place, moving at whatever speed it so chooses, sometimes not moving at all—Eddie happens upon a gate. It's located on Morehead Street and small enough that he might have walked right past it if not for its peculiar orange glow.

Curious, Eddie digs his clawed fingers into its center, tearing through the viscous membrane until there's enough space for him to crawl through. He drags his scarred body through the tiny opening, dropping onto the other side with practiced grace. He finds himself atop what appears to be a crumbling staircase, overlooking a decrepit landscape that stretches on for miles.

Gone are the blue-gray skies, replaced with hazy red, roiling fog, and flashes of vibrant lightning. Gone is the air damp with rot, replaced with a sticky blanket of humidity and the scent of acrid smoke so thick he can taste it on his tongue.

Eddie descends the staircase, heedless of the wet squelch his shoe makes when he steps through a puddle of black, oily liquid at the bottom. Intrigued, he runs a pale hand lightly over a nearby tower of stalagmite. The place is littered with them, pointed spires made of knotted, dormant vines.

Eddie steps toward one of the larger spires, taking in the figure encased in its vines. It's a human girl, fair-haired and slight in stature, held upright against her tower by large, twisted tendrils. There's no life in her, just the stench of death and decay.

For a fleeting moment, Eddie thinks he might know her. But that's impossible. He knows only his brethren, knows only their chitters in the dark and their shrieks overhead.

He turns away from the girl, staunchly ignoring the deja vu that grips him as he walks away from her. It unsettles him, that niggling feeling he's missing something important here.

Without warning, a bell begins to toll, its ominous knell crashing through the air like thunder. The distant sound of footsteps reaches his ears next, accompanied by heavy, panting breaths and the occasional hissed curse.

Eddie conceals himself behind a partially standing wall, peering through its broken glass windows in search of his interloper. He spies a figure approaching, running through the fog in a zig zag pattern, as though trying to evade something. As the figure gets closer and Eddie can make out more of its features, he realizes it's a boy, carrying a bat embedded with nails and dressed in a brown leather jacket underneath a battered denim vest.

Denim vest?

Eddie doesn't have time to dwell on the vague sense of familiarity that flashes through him at the sight of this boy—of the vest—because the fog and miasma behind him slowly start to clear, revealing a large, gnarled creature walking calmly after him.

"Why do you run from me, Steven?" the creature says, its voice sinister and seductive, a long-stemmed rose laden with thorns. "You asked me to find you. You begged to be mine. Because you know, Steve, that only I can end your suffering."

The boy skids to a halt beside the body of the girl. He whirls around to face the creature, throwing an arm up to point at her remains. "End my suffering like you ended Chrissy's?"

Steve? Chrissy?

The creature laughs, an ugly, croaking sound that sends shivers up Eddie's spine. "She is beautiful now," it croons. "And you will be, too, once you join us."

And that confuses Eddie. Because despite his dirtied appearance, windswept hair, sweat-slicked face, and scarred neck, the boy before him is already beautiful.

"You want me?" the boy—Steve—spits as he brings both hands together, knuckles going white as he tightens them around the handle of his bat. He raises it between him and the creature, widening his stance and shifting his weight between his feet in anticipation of a fight. "Come and get me!"

As soon as the words leave his lips, the vines at his feet spring to life, shooting up and thrusting him back against a nearby spire. The force of it visibly knocks the breath out of Steve, but he was apparently expecting something like this, because he managed to bring one hand up to the level of his eye before he was fully immobilized, trapping his wrist in the hold one of the vines has against his neck.

"Poor, foolish Steve," the creature says, slowly approaching him. It huffs out a derisive laugh as it steps over the fallen nail bat, then reaches out a thrawn, leathery hand, hovering it over Steve's face, clawed fingers curling as if to grasp him, puncture him. "You cannot run from me."

Steve gasps and struggles against his binds, but goes still when something new resounds through the air—the sudden blare of an electric guitar, followed by a series of deep and distorted notes that Eddie can feel in his very bones.

Drums come crashing in, loud and unapologetic, and he revels in the sheer power of it all, letting the music wash over him and set his nerves alight.

"Try and stay very still," the creature murmurs, giving the noise no mind. "It will all be over soon."

Slowly, Steve's brows unfurrow and he actually smiles. "Yes, it will," he manages to choke out, the challenge in his voice apparent despite its compromised state, "but not in the way you think."

As if on cue, a voice rings out, rough and raspy and angry and perfect above the thunderous melody that fills the air. The words are familiar, seared in Eddie's mind like a memory. Without a doubt, he knows this song. If only he could remember how he knows it.

With the voice comes a gate, though it's unlike the one Eddie came in through. Its edges are wispy, like the fog itself cleared to make an opening, and he can see clearly through it to the other side.

The scene features three unconscious bodies. The first is Steve's, wearing a set of headphones and levitating several feet off the ground. The second is a young girl's, floating in a bathtub with a blindfold tied around her head. The third is a boy's, slumped over the side of the tub with his fingers intertwined with the girl's.

A gaggle of children are split between them, some kneeling by the tub and others standing below Steve, jumping and screaming up at him. Their faces are so familiar. Eddie wishes he could place them. But all he has to go on are the frantic pounding of his heart and the bone-deep feeling that these people, these strangers, are important.

There are older kids scattered about, too, one of which has her hands wrapped around Steve's ankle, yelling as she tries to keep him tethered. Her voice is muffled, but Eddie can make out her panicked, "That's enough, dingus, it's time to come back! They've got it from here!"

The song swells, powerful and ferocious, and Eddie feels the chords right in his very heartstrings. He looks down at his hands, watches some muscle memory react viscerally to the song's fury, watches his fingers start to curl as if itching to rest on a fretboard.

"This is for Eddie, you ugly son of a bitch!" Steve yells up at the creature. He manages to leverage a bit of space with his trapped hand, then—at the crest of an absolutely face-melting guitar solo—drops his head to take a huge, violent bite out of the vine wrapped around his neck.

Several things happen at once:

1) The creature—Vecna—rears back, affected enough by Steve's display of unhinged ferality that the vines loosen their grip on him. Steve bursts out of Vecna's hold and starts sprinting toward the gate.

2) Two figures materialize behind Vecna: the girl and the boy from the other side. He must be Will the Wise, in all his bowl-cut glory. And she must be Supergirl, if the way she blasts Vecna straight through a nearby wall is any indication.

3) Eddie fucking remembers.

He remembers Hawkins and the Upside Down. He remembers Vecna, and Chrissy, and nearly every single face on the other side of the gate.

He remembers Dustin sobbing over his dying body; he remembers Max offering up herself up as bait; he remembers Lucas turning on the basketball team to help his true friends; he remembers Erica thrusting a belt made of literal bullets into his hands; he remembers Nancy wielding a felonious shotgun into battle; he remembers Robin's knowing expression at hunt the freak. He remembers Mike Wheeler, and Jonathan Byers, and—well, not the long-haired guy next to Jonathan, but that's probably fine.

And of course, he remembers the boy who'd stripped off his yellow sweater and thrown it in Eddie's slack-jawed face, who'd worn Eddie's battle vest over his still-bleeding battle wounds, who'd walked side-by-side with Eddie in a forest full of danger and decay, who'd blushed so prettily when Eddie called him big boy, who'd held Eddie's gaze and warned him not to play hero.

Eddie remembers Steve.

Later, once they both tumble through the gate and end up on the ground in a pile of limbs, Eddie will groan low in his throat and try to untangle himself from Steve's heavy body. Steve, terrified that he might have brought something dangerous back with him, will twist on top of Eddie and nearly slam his head down into the tiled floor, stopping himself only once he realizes exactly who he has pinned under him.

Later, once the party finally stops screaming in response to Eddie's sudden appearance—to his literal resurrection—Steve will drag him into his chest and clutch desperately at his back, rocking their bodies back and forth in near-catatonic shock. Eddie will clutch him back just as tightly, drenching his shirt with hot, wet tears.

Later, after Vecna is reduced to mere dust and Eddie struggles to heal from his months of being trapped alone in an alternate dimension, he'll dial Steve's phone number in the dead of night just to hear another person's voice. Steve will talk about nothing and everything, hanging up only when he can hear Eddie's breaths slow and finally even out through the line.

Later, Steve will admit he purchased Metallica's record shortly after Eddie's supposed death, wanting to hear the song he played in the Upside Down, the legendary song he used to brand himself as bait before running off to protect Dustin and buy the rest of the party more time. Eddie will hide the pleased little thrill that rushes through him at Steve's admission by throwing an arm around him and insisting they'll make a metalhead of him yet.

Later, Eddie will bring the subject up again, curious to know how the song became Steve's Vecna song. Surely he had other options that he'd cherished for far longer than the several months he'd known Master of Puppets. Steve will quietly confess that the song made him think of Eddie, of a fiery, vibrant life snuffed out too soon. And though Steve made the mistake of not turning from the Creel house and running back to Eddie that night in the Upside Down, he knew if he'd ever have to fight for his life trapped in a Vecna mind prison, he'd do it right. He wouldn't for one second hesitate to run toward the song—to run toward Eddie.

Later, Steve will gently cup Eddie's cheek and press in, close enough that they both have to go slightly cross-eyed to keep eye contact, that they feel each other's nervous, shallow breaths in the space between them. Eddie will grapple with the slew of feelings swirling messily in his ribcage before his stubborn resolve wins out and he presses his lips against Steve's in a long overdue kiss.

Later, Steve and Eddie will fall in love. But now?

Now, Steve runs.

And Eddie, or the something that never truly stopped being Eddie, follows.

#stranger things #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie #steddie fic #been fixating on this hc that steve's vecna song became master of puppets after they lost eddie #and instead of being normal and writing about it in his pov i decided to do this instead #also this isn't a full kas!eddie situation but i love the idea of eddie losing himself in the upside down #maybe his body's a lil wonky when he comes back who knows? depending on your level of monsterfucker you can choose to believe what you want #spot the phantom reference lol #fic writing #hbd

[penny00dreadful]

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4 AO3

5th July 2015

Steve's head was fucking throbbing.

It had been a long fucking time since he’d been taken out by something so barbaric as a knock to the head.

And he didn’t miss it one bit.

The only positive thing he could glean from everything was that he wasn’t concussed, thank Christ. 

There was pain pounding from the back of his skull but that was from the impact more than any potential brain damage. His vision wasn’t swimming, he wasn’t confused and he knew where all his limbs were.

So, score one for Steve Harrington.

But if that was the one positive, then everything else was a negative. 

Because as he came back to himself he could feel that he was restrained. Tied down to a metal chair of some kind, hands behind his back.

At least the ropes weren’t harsh, they weren’t gnarled or roughly made. 

They were smooth and soft against the delicate skin of his wrists, but strong. The way he was tied was almost comfortable and a little familiar.

The bindings were well practised, not putting too much strain on his shoulders or arms.

If the circumstances were different Steve could find himself being into it.

Who even used rope anymore?

He kept his head dipped and tried to move as little as possible, hopeful that he could get a feel for the place before whoever was watching him noticed he was awake.

He could just make out a blank concrete floor. There were old specks of blood that had soaked into the natural cracks and grooves in the ground. 

They told a story on their own. 

Someone had tried to clean the blood away but the concrete had soaked it up. The fact that it was a concentrated red colour told him there were multiple layers, multiple instances of blood being spilled here and cleanups happening after. But never able to get into those cracks effectively enough. 

So he hadn’t been the first person to be tied to a chair in here and he wouldn’t be the last. 

He probably wouldn’t be getting out of here without any spilled blood. 

Ugh, torture was so arduous. 

Hell to put up with and hell to recover from. He’d really rather not, but the chances of talking himself out of this situation were slim to none. 

There was a faint buzz in the room, coming from above him. One fluorescent bulb on the ceiling then. Bare necessities. 

He couldn’t hear much, no traffic, no voices, no birds and a faint smell of damp. Underground more than likely. So no windows, probably one door with a maze of corridors or staircases behind it.

That made things a little more difficult.

What the fuck had happened?

He’d been staking out that fucking warehouse, freezing his ass off on the roof. Then Eddie had shown up, nearly gotten his face shot off and then…

Someone had knocked him out with a fucking baseball bat of all things.

And Eddie stood up for him.

But where was he now?

What had happened to him?

Two boots stepped into his line of vision and a tattooed hand grasped his chin, wrenching his head upwards.

“Rise and shine, sweetheart.” 

Steve's heart stopped, breath shuttering, mouth open.

Well, that answered that question.

Eddie was standing over him, his loose and comfortable posture were in stark contrast to the way he’d held himself the last time Steve had seen him. 

He no longer had a perpetual pinch in his brow and giant puppy dog eyes. 

Now his face was relaxed and cocky, his eyes sharp and searching.

Eddie dropped his chin, sauntering back over to a second metal chair, throwing himself down and crossing his legs up on the table to the side.

Everything about him was different. It was like he’d been inhabited by an entirely different person. The way he moved, the way he was at ease here in this space where people had been tortured before.

He was smooth, almost fluid with how he positioned himself, like he knew where every limb was, every hair and knew how to strike out if he needed to.

Gone was the cute, fumbling drug dealer.

This Eddie was…

This Eddie was dangerous.

He almost laughed at himself as he thought it.

Eddie?

Dangerous?

But he was comfortable here, amongst dried up blood and cold concrete.

His body language was familiar. 

Coiled and controlled.

Calculated and strong.

Well, fuck.

Steve had been played.

And played quite effectively. Swayed by a pretty face just as Robin had predicted.

God, she’d never let him forget this.

Just as soon as Steve could assure her he wasn't fucking dead.

How long had this been going on? Had Eddie been watching him this whole time? Had their meeting been the coincidence that he had thought it was?

Apparently not.

Steve tugged lightly at the bindings around his wrists while Eddie watched on like a hawk hunting his prey.

“This your handiwork?”

“Of course.” He smiled, making dimples appear at the side of his cheeks, exuding confidence and sex appeal, the bastard. “You could say I’m well practised at it. Only the best for you.”

“Gee, thanks.” Steve rolled his eyes and slouched in his chair, splaying his knees open, trying to get comfortable. 

He didn’t miss how Eddie’s eyes darted down to where the fabric of his jeans had bunched up, practically highlighting his package and he felt a wave of smug confidence wash over him. 

At least that part of their previous interaction hadn’t been a lie.

Eddie’s eyes flitted back up to Steve’s face, completely shameless in his ogling. He didn’t hide that he’d been looking and Steve didn’t hide that he knew. 

What would be the point?

As he moved his body around, trying to find a position with the least amount of strain, Eddie watched him with a slight tilt to his head and his arms crossed.

When Steve slumped again, another throb of pain lanced through the back of his head and he managed to hold his grimace at bay. 

The only sign that crept through was a small twitch to his eye, but Eddie caught it nonetheless.

“Yeah. Sorry about the caveman knockout, sweetheart.” Eddie gave him a mocking pout, pushing those soft pink lips out. “He’s been dealt with.”

“An hour in the naughty corner?” Steve asked, desperate to shake his hair out of his eyes, but he resisted. It would only hurt his head more, mess with his perception. 

And he knew it gave him a certain dishevelled rugged look that would hopefully distract Eddie if he was lucky. 

Eddie grinned at him again. “Something like that.”

“Great. Can we get on with it then, so?”

“Eager are we?” Eddie’s eyes were glittering. “Are you gonna answer my questions?”

“Are you gonna answer mine?” Steve shot back.

“Ooh.” Eddie exhaled, laughing to himself. “You’re gonna be a handful.”

Steve did allow himself a little shake to the head then. His hair fell a little more in front of his eyes and he glared up through his eyelashes.

“I would think you’d prefer it that way, baby.” Steve simpered, just as mocking. “You seem like the type to call yourself a brat tamer.”

Eddie’s eyebrows shot up to hide behind his bangs, the smile staying on his face. “And you’re my brat in this scenario, are you?”

Steve smirked. “You think you can handle me?”

“God,” he almost breathed. “I hope not.”

Eddie’s eyes had turned hungry and Steve had to remind himself to dial it back. He’d thought he knew everything there was to know about Eddie a few hours ago but the guy clearly had played him.

He had no idea who he was. He had no idea just how dangerous he might be, if he was so able to easily slip into the persona of an adorable, down-on-his-luck dealer. 

Eddie hadn’t moved from his seat. He still had his arms crossed in front of him, still had his legs crossed at the ankle, propped up on the table and he tilted his head at Steve, his long brunette curly hair spilling over his shoulder.

“Something on your mind, sweetheart?”

Steve shrugged as well as he could in his bindings. 

Eddie had understood exactly what he meant when he said ‘brat-tamer’. He’d told Steve that he’d been the one to tie him down. Steve recognised the ropes now as the soft silken type used in bondage and his shoulders and wrists were still feeling remarkably comfortable. 

Why the fuck would Eddie have chosen to tie him down this way?

Was it some kind of intimidation?

A subtle threat of sexual violence?

Or had it been unintentional?

Steve wouldn’t have stayed knocked out forever and if Eddie had fallen back on what he knew in order to subdue him quickly and effectively, then maybe there was some kind of advantage Steve could take from the situation. 

If the guy had unconsciously let his horny brain take over then hopefully there would be a way for Steve to loosen the bindings. 

Those knots almost always had some kind of quick release, right? 

He just needed to keep talking while he figured it out.

“So what was with the song and dance in the alley? Or at the warehouse?”

Eddie shrugged, a small smile playing on his face. “Entertainment, mostly.”

“Mostly?”

“It’s important to have fun on the job.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” Steve nodded. “And what is your job exactly?”

Eddie swept his arm out, gesturing to the whole room. “Take a guess.”

Steve gave him a deadpan stare. “You’re not just some torturer.”

“Oh?" Eddie leaned forward, (flexible, Steve’s brain supplied unhelpfully), speaking in a low and rumbling tone. "And why do you say that?”

Because the thing was, Steve was remembering how those big hulking guys were scared to even look at Eddie. He remembered how the overseer had been shaking with nerves when confronting him, pointing the gun at him. 

Whoever Eddie was, he was more important and far more dangerous than he looked and even those on the bottom knew it.

“They were all scared of you. Everyone in that room was terrified to even look at you. Someone who’s only job was torture could get that kind of reaction but not from everybody. Not from men who pride themselves on their big tough personas and not from an ex-soldier who had probably seen some fucked up shit in his life. You’re something else.”

Eddie fanned a hand in front of his face. “You flatter me.”

“I’m not flattering you, I’m stating facts. And as I’ve said, you went through some big song and dance to fuck with me ‘for entertainment’ and they all went along with it.” Steve himself leaned forward now, paying no mind to the strain it put on his arms. “Because they knew who you were. Because they were terrified of you.”

Eddie’s eyebrows twitched up. “Maybe I torture as a side hobby, did you think of that? No one knows who I am.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Oh really?”

“Yeah, really. They don’t know who I am. You don’t know who I am. They know me to see me. Know I’m someone higher up, as you have oh so astutely guessed. But other than that I keep my secrets to myself.”

“Awh,” Steve pouted. “Even from little old me?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I did tell you, sweetheart. And besides, this isn’t my interrogation, it’s yours.”

Eddie stood, shucking off his leather jacket and rolling the sleeves of his dark henley up to past his elbows.

It was the first time Steve had gotten a look at his arms and they were covered in ink.

Eddie moved too quickly for him to properly be able to see them.

Not that he was staring or anything.

He was… cataloguing.

Identifying the enemy.

Yeah, right.

“Did you know I was on the roof the whole time?” He asked, hoping to delay whatever was coming just a little longer, feeling around at the ropes behind him, trying to map out how they were tied.

Eddie nodded, carefully hanging his jacket over the back of his chair.

“How?”

“I’m very talented.” He said with a wink and a smile that Steve’s stomach apparently decided it needed to react with a little flutter. 

God, he always knew he was kinda fucked up but this was a whole new low.

“How long have you been following me?”

Eddie turned back to look at him, leaning against the opposite wall with his arms crossed, staring him down.

“A while.”

“Since that first time?”

He shrugged. “I dunno. Maybe.”

“Why?”

Eddie raised his eyebrows, probably wondering why Steve had asked such an obvious question. 

He was a criminal of some variety. Steve was an Agent.

Could it be any more obvious?

Eddie pursed his lips before he tilted his head, like the newer angle would help him see through Steve better. 

“Curiosity.”

“Is your name even really Eddie?” Steve asked, hoping if he continued to barrel through questions, he’d have more time to figure out his bindings before whatever was about to happen happened.

But even as he thought about it, something was off.

Eddie hadn’t denied it when Steve had said torture wasn’t his main job, but they were still going through this act and though Steve might be more than a little fucked up and thinking about shoving Eddie against the wall for sexy reasons, he wouldn’t put it past him to at least pretend to still go through with it. 

But there were no instruments or implements anywhere.

Granted, a skilled torturer could fuck a person up just with their hands and Eddie certainly seemed like the type to enjoy working with his hands-

Stop thinking about his hands.

But even having them there as set dressing would have the desired effect on most people. 

But there was nothing.

The table was bare, there were no cabinets, no shelves, nothing.

Just a bare room with two chairs and a table. 

It was fucking Steve up a little, if he was honest with himself. 

Throwing him off. 

Eddie’s eyebrows twitched in surprise before he gained control over them again. “Why?” He looked genuinely curious. “Is your name even really Steve?”

Steve levelled him with a bitchy deadpan stare. 

“Does it matter?”

“If it doesn't matter, why did you ask?”

“Seems a bit convenient is all.” Steve continued allowing his eyes to scrape up and down Eddie’s body, keeping note of everywhere the ropes crossed behind him. “Considering your whole look. You gonna tell me your last name’s Van Halen too?”

“Suppose not.” Eddie pushed off the wall, digging into the front pocket of his ripped up jeans. “How about we move onto more pressing matters?”

Stepping closer he held his hand open just below Steve’s eyeline, rattling the hearing aid around in his palm.

“Now, what could this little device be?”

Steve stared up at Eddie with what he hoped came across as bewilderment. “It’s my hearing aid, dude. The fuck do you think it is?”

“Really, dude? Because you seem to have heard this conversation just fine considering I’ve been on your bad side the whole time.”

Well… shit.

Eddie’s arms were still close, right in his eyeline, giving Steve an intimate view of them and…

Fuck.

Fuck-fuckity-fuck-fuck.

Because god damn it, Steve recognised the designs.

He knew what they meant and Eddie probably didn’t care who had seen them up close and personal before because they inevitably would be dead soon.

Or they weren’t giant fucking nerds with an encyclopedic knowledge of some tabletop roleplaying game that every scrap of information Steve had learned about had been fucking involuntary.

He had been hanging out with Dustin and his gang entirely too much. 

And because he’d been so adeptly trained at soaking up overheard snippets of conversations and storing them away for later use, it wasn’t something he could exactly turn off on his down time.

So he knew what that cluster of geometric shapes inside his left forearm was and what they were used for. 

Dice. 

Fucking nerd dice.

There was an ornate d20 at the top, right below the crease of his elbow, surrounded by musical notes, the other dice spaced out down towards the wrist, undecorated.

In the same position on his right arm, just below the crease of his elbow was a hand grasping a sword. 

Every visible tattoo on Eddie’s body was black and grey including that hand and that sword but dripping from that hand and that sword was distinct bright red tattooed blood. 

In contrast against the paleness of his skin, the blue of his veins and the darkness of the rest of the ink on him, it was stark. 

It was beautiful.

But it was also a stupid mistake.

Because Steve could connect the dots between the dice, D&D and a bloody hand.

Or more accurately The Bloodyhanded.

Second only to Henry in the chain of command of Creel’s international criminal organisation.

Creel’s right hand.

His fixer.

His enforcer.

His master assassin.

Kas.

Fuck, it all made sense. 

Not just the tattoos, but the fear the low level guys had held for him, for Eddie, a young man who by all rights shouldn’t even be on their radar as a threat.

He’d followed Steve, talked to him, tricked him, knew he was going to be at that warehouse.

How?

Fuck.

Eddie was that fucking boogeyman.

The fucking boogeyman that Steve couldn’t remember the name of. 

The ghost that haunted the nightmares of mob bosses and international double agents.

The mythical assassin that half the underworld thought must have been made up because no one could be as skilled as that, right?

Shitfuckballs.

Eddie was so much more dangerous than Steve had given him credit for.

Kas was on par with that fucking Baba Yaga. 

He was the fucking shadow in a dark corner that anyone who ever thought about stepping against Creel shuddered to think about.

Even the Agency doubted his existence and anyone who did think he was real couldn’t agree on what his body count was. 

He’d gotten into and out of secure bunkers, panic rooms, fucking private jets without once being seen. 

He’d killed people in moving cars, in the air and in one memorable instance, the captain of a submarine while it was underwater. The only thing left behind at every scene being a bloody handprint across their faces. 

“Well what are you gonna do about it? Gonna beat the answers out of me?” 

Jesus Christ, Steve needed to shut his god-damned mouth. Eddie could kill him quicker and more effectively than anyone Steve had ever encountered and he was what?

Antagonising him?

Flirting?

Eddie snorted. “Nothing so primitive, I can assure you.”

“Really?” Steve deadpanned, finding a line on the ropes that gave a little under his fingers. “You’re telling me you’re not desperate to mark me up?”

Eddie leaned down, placing one hand on either of Steve’s knees, using them to hold himself up while he put himself on eye level.

He could make out the tattoos across his hands now. Where one set of fingers said mors, the other said vita. The skin on the back of his hands were covered in grey wispy lines, giving them a skeletal look, fading out up his wrists.

Steve looked back up. Those deep brown eyes were right in front of him, so incredibly dark and inviting, made even darker by how wide his pupils were, even under the bright fluorescence. 

“Now why would I want to mark up that pretty face?” Eddie said in a low voice, almost a whisper, his eyes flicking down to Steve’s lips before looking up again, his long dark lashes framing his eyes beautifully.

“Awh, baby.” Steve pouted, mocking and smug and he needed to stop. “You think I’m pretty?”

He’d nearly gotten a solid grip on that piece of rope and he could feel the rest of the bindings loosen slightly.

Eddie’s fingers tightened and he rolled his eyes. “Don’t give me that, sweetheart. You know you're pretty. Surely you can come up with something better to fish for compliments.”

“Oh.” Steve blinked at him, putting on his best wide eyed and corruptible look. “But it's worked so well for me in the past. Why not try now?”

Eddie looked like he was actively holding himself back from pouncing. Or biting. “Oh yeah?” He grinned, dark and inviting. “Then what? You think you're gonna seduce your way out of my captivity?”

“I’ll get out one way or the other.” He stared him dead in the eye. “Then you’ll be missing this pretty face forever.” Steve caught a loop under his finger and pulled. The bindings were loose enough now he’d be able to wiggle his hands free but not with Eddie so close.

“You think you’ll be able to escape me so easily?”

“Mhm.” Steve nodded with a smile. “And when I do, you’ll never find me again.”

“Watch me, sweetheart.” Eddie all but snapped his teeth with a smile, like a snake trying to catch a butterfly in his jaws. “I'll always come find you.”

There was a moment, just a moment where Steve was sure he was about to be kissed which… probably not how this interrogation was supposed to go.

The worst part was he was pretty sure he would have reciprocated.

With a flutter of his eyelashes, Eddie seemed to almost come back to himself, glancing around like he was just remembering the situation at hand. 

He straightened up with a quick clearing of his throat and took a few steps away, turning his back.

With a dart of his eyes, Steve saw there was a door behind him and he prayed that it was unlocked. 

In the next second he had his hands completely free and he bolted.

Wrenching the thankfully unlocked door open, he threw himself out of the room, hearing the metal chair clattering to the floor behind him and what sounded like a fucking sigh from Eddie.

The corridors outside were mercifully empty. Not like he hadn’t had to fight his way out of a building before but he would really rather not have to right now. Especially since he could feel his heartbeat at the back of his head where he got clubbed. 

He was listening out for footsteps following him or shouts of guards to come to arms or whatever the fuck but there was nothing.

No other sounds echoing off the walls apart from his own pounding steps and thrumming heart in his ears. 

Up ahead he could see the corridor let out onto a staircase leading upwards. 

Coming to a skidding halt at the bottom, he looked up, examining the stairs and the fire door at the top and waiting for someone to come at him from some hidden corner.

It looked like daylight was spilling out from behind it and as he took some tentative steps up the stairs he could hear the sounds of traffic just beyond. 

It was the best chance he was going to get.

He pressed down on the safety bar across the door, expecting to hear the blaring of an alarm as his senses were assaulted by the smell of hot garbage and the sounds of car horns beeping impatiently but there was nothing.

The door slammed closed behind him and Steve found himself standing in the exact alleyway he’d dragged Eddie into months ago.

Fucking hell had he been… herded here or something?

His apartment was nearby, he could get there in a few minutes but there was no way he was taking that risk.

Things had gotten a little more difficult for agents of his generation. In the past when there was a payphone on every street corner, they wouldn’t have to go far to get help. But now Steve had to walk past his apartment and down a couple of blocks to a payphone he knew would still be there. 

Blocking himself off inside the booth, he nearly fumbled the code. His head was still throbbing and his hands were shaking and fuck he really needed to get out of here before he dropped like a sack of potatoes. 

When he finally got the code entered properly, he waited, chewing on his thumbnail waiting for an answer.

Finally, someone on the other side picked up with a bright customer service tone.

“Welcome to Starcourts Proxy Advisory Firm, this is Michelle. Which business am I speaking with?”

“Scoops.” Steve breathed. “Scoops Ahoy.”

“Very well, sir. How can we be of service?”

“Are you ready to set sail with me on this ocean of flavour?”

“I’d be happy to. I’m just going to place you on hold while we get you sorted.”

“How long?”

“About three minutes, sir.”

“Okay, thank you.” Steve sighed and pressed his forehead against what was probably some disgusting glass, closing his eyes and letting the awful, tinny hold music play.

Three minutes later a taxi pulled up next to the phonebooth.

Steve climbed into the back with a nod to the driver, digging through the pocket on the back of the passenger seat.

Just as he pulled a hearing aid out, he glanced through the rear window as the car took off and felt his heart drop through his stomach and land on the road underneath.

Eddie was casually leaning up against the glass of the phone booth and when he caught Steve looking he shot him a wink and waggled his fingers in a wave as the taxi took off, slowly getting smaller in the distance.

Steve waited until they’d turned a corner and he couldn’t keep his eye on Eddie anymore before he turned back to the front and fitted the aid over his ear.

He could relax. 

He was safe for now.

“Dingus! Steve! Oh my god, you’re okay!” Robin screamed through the line. “I thought you were dead! Your vitals went down-”

“I’m okay, Birdie.” Steve sighed, trying to get his muscles to unclench. “I’m not that easy to kill.”

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4 AO3

@geekymagicalpotato @estrellami-1

Big thanks as always to @hbyrde36 for the magnificent beta work and to the STWG for their motivation

#steddie #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #steve x eddie #eddie x steve #penny00dreadful #steddie fanfic #steddie fic #fanfic #pennys anniversary event #spies au #spy steve harrington #robin buckley #guy in the chair robin #tw torture #or at least the implication of torture #cat and mouse spy fic

[puppypopcornpizza]

It's Okay

Warnings ➳ gore, violence, blood

Pairing ➳ Daryl Dixon x F!reader

Word Count ➳ 285

Her mouth went dry at the groans that echoed off the walls. Lungs burning as her legs carried her down the seemingly endless hallway. There weren't doors or windows, just lockers that stretched into darkness. 

She didn't need to look back to know she had at least a dozen walkers on her. Glenn broke off at a turn, she couldn't find Daryl. She was alone. 

"Daryl! Glenn! HELP!" Her screams were quiet in comparison to the walkers.

Another turn and she felt a grip at her wrist, gnarled fingers and broken skin clawing at her sleeve. She couldn't run anymore - couldn't breathe. 

Blood splattered down from her neck, dirt stained t-shirt soaked. Resistance did nothing. Daryl's eyes met hers at the end of the hall, face blank as he turned to leave through the doors of the school. The teeth in her neck seemed like the least painful. 

"No." 

Her eyes shot open - a thin layer of sweat stuck to her skin. Heart pounding against her rib-cage. Moonlight flooded the class room, tattered curtains dancing in the wind. 

Daryl's voice rang in her ears, she couldn't hear the words. A shake to her shoulder and she flinched away - blue eyes fixed on her. 

"Ya a'right?"

Her throat went dry as she searched for a response. He left her. 

"Y-you left me, they had my throat a-and you turned away and you…" Eyes stung at the thought. She didn't know why she wanted to cry. 

"M'not leavin' you." He pulled her into his arms, head falling to the crook of his neck. 

"It felt so real," voice brittle the more she tried to speak. Tears falling from lashes. 

"It ain't, you're here."

"I'm sorry."

"S'okay, sunshine."

#daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #twd daryl #the walking dead #the walking dead fanfiction #fanfiction #my writing

[bananafire11]

Home is Where the Heart is

Summary: Daryl realizes where his real home is, and he longs to be there.

Setting: a few days after Caryls departure after s11's ending.

Searching was starting to become the normal with him. Merle, Sophia, Rick. Now, he just isn’t sure what he’s looking for. Yes, he has the idea in mind, find what’s out there. What the rest of the world is, find new people. But he was tired.

Outside was his safe place, the air whipping across his face as he flew down the barren roads atop the roar of his motorcycle. The woods had always been home to him, maybe more so than his actual home in his shitty, fucked up childhood. But, this wasn’t his childhood, and he’d found home in the people he loved.

He’d lost much of that home. Many of the people he had given his all to protect, and couldn’t.

But, even through hell and high water, there stood her. Carol, the woman who had started off nothing but weak and weary and oh so pitiful. He’d watched her change, as did she. Always watching eachother, blue to blue.

Carol, the woman who had stuck to his side like glue. This force of nature who became a vital part of his life. His family, blood or not. She’s seen him at his lowest, his highest. He’s witnessed her grow in more ways than one, witnessed her unravel all the same.

Carol, who he’d left behind at the Commonwealth.

Their goodbye felt too long ago, even though he knew it was only a few days since. Only days, for the first time, since he’d uddered the words, I love you, and she’d echoed them back to him.

So he was tired of searching. Home wasn’t out here anymore. Home was with Carol, and he longed to be home.

Daryl slowed the bike to a stop.

The rumble beneath him decreased to an easy growl. He set his boot down onto the ground and peered over his shoulder, gnarled hair tickling his cheek.

Home was where Carol was, and suddenly he knew what he was searching for.

Daryl rolled the bike around in a u-turn, and set off toward home.

---

Requested by @murdadixon !!! Thank you for the request, and I hope to hear more of them.💛

#my writing #caryl feels #i think its a bit lackluster but nonetheless i kinda like it! #and i hope you do too #as much as i like his spinoff WHY DID HE LEAVE #stay with your woman you ass #daryl dixon #the walking dead #carol peletier #caryl #twd

[verai-marcel]

Your Hearth Is My Home (BG3 Fanfic, Astarion x Female Reader, Part 13 of ?)

Summary, Notes, Tags, & Part 1 are here.

Act I - Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12

AO3 Link is here, my dear.

Word Count: 6,000 on the dot

------------------------------------

Act II, Chapter 1 - The Shadow Cursed Lands

With everything packed, Gale summoned a floating disk to carry the traveling chest. You recalled with a wry grin when he had first conjured the damn thing, before you had packed up the camp near the grove.

“Why in the hells didn’t you cast this before?” you nearly screeched.

Gale shrugged. “Hadn’t occurred to me.”

“So you let poor Karlach carry the chest on her back?”

He looked contrite. “She just picked it up like it was nothing! I was a bit too distracted to think of the spell.”

You immediately picked up on his shy comment and grinned like a cat. “Too distracted by her glistening muscles, you mean?”

“What? No!” He immediately glanced over at Karlach to see her raising an eyebrow at him. “I mean, they are nice muscles,” he floundered, gesturing frantically. “Wait. That’s not what I meant. I mean they’re fine, but—”

Astarion’s laughter carried across the camp as he watched the poor wizard ungracefully fumble his words. “What he means to say,” he said as he sauntered over to Karlach, “is that he was so impressed by your feat of strength that all he could do was look on in awe.”

“That’s it. That’s it exactly,” Gale said, sounding relieved.

“And he was probably imagining your amazing thighs crushing his skull, too,” Astarion added with a flirty wink.

Karlach laughed. Hells, everyone laughed, while Gale sputtered and walked away, his face bright red.

You snickered to yourself at the memory. With your pack on your back and the floating disk following you, you and your companions opened the door to a new land.

The greenish-black ambiance immediately made you grimace, and you hadn’t even walked through the doorway. With lit torches, you stepped forward and traveled south, lighting every brazier on the way, just in case you had to run back for any reason.

For example, being pushed back by a horde of enemies.

You swallowed. You were in the middle of the group, being protected on all sides. You felt bad about being such a liability in such situations. All you could do was guard the floating disk with your own body. You still hadn't learned how to use your dagger properly. You needed to ask someone, but they all seemed so tired at the end of the day that you always hesitated and then finally chickened out.

Lae’zel might teach me… but her training might be too harsh for me. Wyll would teach me, but I’m not sure if daggers are his thing. He was teaching the young tieflings how to fight with swords before he joined the group.

You glanced at the dagger on Astarion’s belt. I could ask him… but would he say yes?

Suddenly Lae’zel and Wyll stopped at the edge of a gnarled bridge, holding their fists up to let everyone know to stay still.

A woman on the other side called out to them. “Who goes there?”

You watched the scene unfold, wariness on both sides making you grit your teeth with unease.

Then your seal tingled. 

You looked at Astarion. He was watching the strangers, but he glanced at you for just a moment. “Tingle?” he mouthed.

You nodded. 

He gripped the hilt of his dagger.

The yells of the people beyond drew your attention back to them, one of them being dragged into the darkness. Preoccupied with the search for one of their own, their attention on your party wavered.

Halsin stepped forward. “It is the shadow curse. He has been taken.”

The woman who had spoken first ignored him. “Yonas? Can you hear me?”

When Yonas burst from the shadows, green glowing eyes and covered in shadows, you knew that he was gone. He was just a corpse, powered by dark magic.

The party leapt into battle, Gale and Shadowheart suddenly appearing on either side of you, throwing spells left and right as they kept you safe.

You pulled out your dagger, wielding it in your shaky grasp, and hoped you wouldn’t need it. Fear of the enemy kept you from moving. Fear of getting in the way of the others kept you from acting. 

When the battle was over, the strangers introduced themselves as Harpers, and told you of a safe area called Last Light Inn. 

Karlach’s eyes lit up. “Harpers? As in the ones who saved Baldur’s Gate all those years ago?”

You looked at her with a questioning look. As you followed the Harpers to this inn, Karlach ended up giving you a run down of certain events in the past that you had only heard of in passing, having grown up north of Neverwinter, far from the moderate climes of Baldur’s Gate. Wyll and Gale would occasionally interject with an additional fact or two.

“And that’s how Jaheira—” 

Karlach suddenly stopped and stared. You followed her line of sight to see a half-elf with braids and severe expression. She looked as if she had seen the world burn and had saved it through sheer grit.

“So… this is Jaheira?” you mumbled.

The conversation between your group and the Harpers had been going on in front of you while you were with Karlach, and you watched as Jaheira’s eyes glowed green. You got a very strong zing to the base of your spine, and you immediately backpedaled as vines grew from the ground and ensnared the rest of your party.

Jaheira gave you a strange look, but continued to address everyone else. With the help of the Harpers the party had saved, and with the surprise vouching from Mol, one of the tiefling kids, Wyll managed to talk her down. In fact, he even convinced her to offer a space behind the main building to set up a campsite. 

While everyone else headed inside the inn, you headed to the site with Scratch and Owly.

To the north of the main building, past a makeshift graveyard and tucked away along the shoreline, was a small area for you and your companions, away from everyone else. It was clear that Jaheira wanted your companions nowhere near everyone else, in case they turned into enemies. All right, that’s a fair assessment, all things considered.

There was a small waterfall that led to a small creek that flowed to the water’s edge, essentially splitting the camping area into two parts. You mentally started to map out where everyone’s tents should go as you looked around. After setting the floating disc down in the central part of the site and unsummoning it per Gale’s instructions, you asked the two animals to guard the packs and traveling chest. 

They seemed to understand, and you could faintly hear Scratch's voice uttering an affirmative sound, though it wasn't quite as intelligible as when you had drunk the speaking with animals potion.

Walking back to the inn through a back door, you saw the tieflings from the Grove and greeted them briefly. You found Astarion standing to one side, holding up the wall as he observed everyone else mingling with the refugees. You joined him, leaning against the wall and giving a shy wave here and there as familiar faces passed by. It appeared to you that Wyll was doing the most talking, flitting about like the most social of butterflies. 

“He certainly has a talented tongue, that man,” Astarion said with what sounded like admiration.

You could only nod in agreement. The Blade of the Frontiers, silver of tongue, sharp of blade. Ever the gentleman, gallant, and when he turned around, well, you had to admit, you didn’t mind watching him walk away. 

With everything that had happened and was still happening, you hadn’t really thought about your growing fondness for, well, everyone. They were all physically pleasant to look at, of course, but that wasn’t what made your heart glow with affection. No, they were all quirky, genuine, strong, brave, and proud. They all felt so real, not like the nobles you had to deal with in Waterdeep.

That’s why your initial impression of Astarion rubbed you the wrong way. Like he had on a disguise, a specious smile, a fallacious front. The fact that he seemed to be so highly guarded had put you on guard too.

But the facade had fallen, the mask had cracked. And even when he put it back on, you could still see a sliver of his real self, hidden away, vulnerable.

You wanted him to feel safe with you. Safe enough that he’d be himself, his true self, around you, and maybe someday, around the others as well. Maybe one day, he’d tell you more of his story. 

Then maybe one day, you’d feel safe enough to tell yours.

Movement close to your legs drew your attention downwards. A hairless cat was walking by, or rather, prowling, as if he was assessing its territory. You slowly slid down the wall so you could look at him.

“Hello there.”

The cat stopped and hissed at you.

What a prima donna. “My apologies, your majesty. I only wished to admire your grace.”

He glared at you, then sat on his haunches and preened haughtily. You didn’t dare reach out to touch him, given his attitude. After a few moments, he licked his paw, gave you one final arrogant look, and wandered off.

“Good day to you too,” you muttered as you stood back up. You glanced at Astarion, who was watching you with an amused smirk on his face.

“So you can be nice.”

“Excuse me? I am nice.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I seem to recall someone purposely leaving my tent cold one night.”

You huffed and turned away from him. 

He chuckled softly.

You returned to observing the room, and one by one, your companions returned to you as they finished making their rounds. Once everyone was back together, Wyll relayed his meeting with a councilor who worked under his father.

“A councilor works for your father?” you asked.

“Oh, right,” Wyll said sheepishly. “My father… is Duke Ravengard.”

Astarion blinked. “That Duke Ravengard, of Baldur’s Gate?”

“Yes, that Duke.”

The conversation continued with you barely following, but you got the gist of it all. The Duke had been kidnapped and was held at Moonrise Towers, along with some of the tieflings and a group of deep gnomes. 

Astarion rolled his eyes. “This is getting to be more and more like a quest to save the world,” he muttered. “I just don't want to turn into a squid.”

Ignoring his grumbling, Halsin added his own request, since he had spoken with a man who lay ill in one of the larger rooms, watched over by the Flaming Fist. When he finished conveying what he knew, he looked each person in the eye, including you. “Please help me save Thaniel.”

Everyone agreed, even Astarion to your surprise, although he looked begrudgingly so. When Halsin looked at you again, you only shrugged. “I can’t do much, but I’ll help where I can.”

Halsin smiled at you. “You can do much more than you think,” he said softly. 

I can only cast a few cantrips. But whatever, he can think what he wants. You smiled back at his kind words anyway.

“I will try to talk to him a bit more, see if we can glean any more information from him,” Halsin said before leaving the group. 

As you gazed around, you caught Astarion suddenly straightening up. You followed his gaze to Mol, who was playing chess with a gaudily dressed man.

Before you could ask, Astarion made a beeline for him. You quickly followed, turning back to the others to see them also following, grim expressions on their faces.

They seem to recognize him too. Who is this man?

Through the conversation, wherein Gale offered some advice so that Mol could win, you gathered that this man, Raphael, was some kind of information broker. His gaze turned towards Astarion, and the base of your spine tingled.

Godsdamn, this has been happening far too much as of late.

“Now, let’s talk about you. I sense there’s something you want to ask me.”

You stayed silent as Astarion talked his way into a deal, and you finally pieced together that Raphael was a devil. Your heart seized in horror, but you had to trust that he knew what he was doing. Astarion was trying to be subtle about his wording, to reveal as little about himself as possible in front of the others. However…

“What scars?” Karlach asked.

You glared at Karlach. Dammit, now isn’t the time for innocent questions!

“You haven’t told them? And you’ve kept your clothes on this whole time? How unlike you.” Raphael’s grin was slick and slimy. “Why not let them see? Don’t be shy.”

With a snap of his fingers, the clothes on Astarion melted away, leaving him exposed in the middle of the room.

“Gods damn it,” Astarion mumbled, a sad resignation in his tone.

Immediately, you stood in front of him, your protective instinct roaring to life. Wyll, Gale, Shadowheart, Karlach, and even Lae'zel followed suit, standing around him and shielding him from any passersby.

Raphael continued with his spiel, but all you could do was glare at the devil until he disappeared in a flash of infernal flame.

You turned to Astarion, taking off your outer shirt and wrapped it around his waist, tying the arms off at his side. At least now his most private bits were hidden. You tried not to brush against his skin, since now your arms and shoulders were exposed, but it was nigh impossible. When your forearm accidentally touched his torso, you realized you didn't need to worry about it; he was shielding again. 

“Well. Now you know,” he said, a slight frown on his face. From his facial expression, you could tell that this wasn't the first time he'd been stripped naked against his will, and it bothered you greatly. 

“We could have helped you,” Wyll said.

“All you had to do was ask,” Karlach added.

Astarion looked around at the others. “I… perhaps I should have. I’m not exactly used to asking for help and being met with, well… help.” He frowned. “But what’s done is done, so how about we stop talking about it and just get on with things?”

He tipped his head, his usual smirk returning to his face. “Although I should probably get dressed first…” He laughed, but you caught a hint of nervousness in his tone.

Spotting a back door, you led him outside along the pathway by the water, past the graveyard, back to where you had dropped off the camping supplies and gear. It also helped that Gale cast a minor illusion and distracted anyone nearby from looking at the two of you leaving. 

When you got back to the campsite, he went for his pack and pulled out his extra set of clothes. You turned around, giving him privacy while you petted Scratch and Owly, thanking them for watching the party's things. Kneeling on the ground, you checked them both for any burrs and debris in their fur. 

Suddenly you felt your shirt being gently draped over your shoulders. Looking up, you caught Astarion's gaze, his attention flickering to your neck for a brief moment. 

“All that delicious exposed skin is too tempting,” he said quietly. “Let's head back before I decide to keep you here to myself.” 

You quickly turned away and put your shirt back on before following him quietly back to the inn. 

Once inside, you noticed that everyone had gathered around Jaheira's table. 

“Ah, the two others of your party are finally here,” Jaheira said, her eyes lingering on you for just a moment longer.

The base of your spine tingled.

Ah shit, what now.

When she offered everyone a drink, you felt an even stronger zap in your back. Holding the cup and staring at the wine, you subtly gave it a sniff.

Oh. I know this herb.

“I can’t drink wine,” you immediately said. “It gives me headaches.”

Astarion glanced at you before putting his drink down. “You know, thank you for the offer, but I’ve been meaning to cut back.”

Lae’zel, Gale, and Shadowheart just held their cups without taking a drink, but Karlach and Wyll drank from theirs. Whether it was to be polite to a legendary hero, or they didn’t pick up on your discomfort, you didn’t know.

The conversation continued, and by the end of it, you knew that the others had been tasked with quite the undertaking. Following them upstairs to see whoever this Isobel person was, you noticed Shadowheart frowning. You touched her arm.

“I’m alright,” she said. “Just… not particularly comfortable getting a blessing from a Selunite.”

You nodded. She must be feeling conflicted, and yet she was still going along with it. The shadow curse, though it affected her less than the others, still affected her nonetheless.

Standing back, everyone let Wyll do most of the talking. Isobel gave everyone the blessing after a bit of discussion. You felt its gentle light surrounding you. Just as you thanked her, you felt a tingling, a strong one. Out of instinct, you reached out and tugged on Astarion’s sleeve.

He immediately looked at you and raised an eyebrow.

“Seal,” you mouthed to him.

He reached for his dagger. 

“While you’re in the towers, I’ll be sure to—” Isobel suddenly stopped talking and looked around. “Wait. Do you hear that? Something’s wrong…”

You started to walk backwards towards the exit as a man with wings landed on the balcony and began to speak. After a heated discussion, the man made an eerie howl. In the distance, you could hear the flapping of wings.

Wyll turned to you. “GO!”

You turned to run out the door, only to stop short at the sight below you. Looking out over the balustrade, you could see winged horrors had invaded the building, flying all over the place. You saw one fly past you, and it took you far too long to realize that it was carrying Mol.

“Mol!”

Taking a step towards it, as if that would have done any good, you suddenly felt yourself being dragged back into the room with Isobel, just as one of the creatures landed nearby, its clawed hand slashing the space where you had been. Seeing Astarion’s white hair in your peripheral vision, you let him pull you towards a wardrobe in the back of the room. He opened it, and shoved you inside. 

“Don’t come out until we get you,” he said before slamming the door shut.

Through the crack, you could see him leaping back into the fray, his dagger making swift work of a creature nearby. Hearing the raised voices, the commotion outside, the fighting… You trembled as you curled into the smallest ball and covered your ears.

I wish I was better at handling this sort of thing. I should be better, given how many times I’ve been in this situation.

You weren’t sure how long it took. Through the crack in the door, you could see the winged man fall, and the others leaving the room, presumably to help the others. You moved your hands away from your ears and listened. 

You could still hear some fighting, but it was muffled and sounded far away. Perhaps I can get out of here?

No. Astarion told you to stay put. So you did. The last time you had disobeyed a direct order when danger was close… Well, you didn’t want to think about that.

The sound of a door opening in the room was almost a relief. Maybe they’re back.

But the cadence of the steps was different. It sounded… strange.

Then you heard a soft hiss, like a creature letting out a breath through its teeth. You stared at the crack in the door, your heart pounding in your chest.

Oh fuck oh fuck

The steps came closer to the door.

Your breath hitched and you held a hand around your mouth, trying to force yourself to breathe slowly and quietly.

Suddenly an eye, undead and glowing infernal red, appeared in the crack of the doors. 

OH FUCK OH FUCK

It pulled back and slashed at the wood, the splinters flying. You pulled out your dagger, ready to fight for your life as it kept hacking away at the doors. It let out a shriek, and made one mighty swipe, tearing one of the doors off its hinges. 

You were face to face with the demon, and all you had was a shitty dagger. 

You had one moment to strike, but a red blur rammed into the demon, taking it across the room. You could hear Karlach’s raging yell, accompanied by the crushing of bones and flesh. You dropped your dagger and put your hands over your ears, curling back into a ball again. 

You felt a presence coming close and opened your eyes. Shadowheart was reaching for you, and you couldn't help yourself. 

You flinched. 

She stopped and looked at you kindly. “It's alright, it's safe now,” she said softly. “Can you stand?” 

You slowly climbed out of the wardrobe, your legs a bit wobbly. “Yes, I'll be alright,” you said, taking a deep breath. 

“Perhaps you'll feel better when you're setting up camp, take your mind off things,” Astarion said. 

“You're going to make her work when she's not feeling well?” Shadowheart snarled at him. 

You touched her shoulder to calm her down. “No, he's right, I'll feel better with something to distract me.” You straightened your back and started walking towards the door, but not before you caught Astarion giving Shadowheart an ‘I told you so’ grin. 

So petty…

As you walked downstairs, you could see everyone helping to clean up the chaos after Marcus and his minions had attacked. You offered to help on your way out the building, and after a few little chores here and there, you eventually made it back to the campsite. 

You were happy to see Scratch and Owly, seemingly unharmed. Getting down on your knees, you hugged them tightly. As if they sensed that you needed some comfort, they nuzzled you, little Owly making cute hoots and chirps while Scratch let out small whimpers of sympathy.

“Thank you, my loves,” you said when you finally felt like you had recharged your morale. Their floofy bodies were perfect for making you feel better. Giving them one last pat, you took off your gloves and began to unpack everyone’s tents and set up the site.

After a few hours, you had finished setting up everyone’s tents, making sure the temperature was just right. You had learned everyone’s preferences and had tweaked your warming cantrip to each person, humming either faster or slower depending on how warm they liked it. Karlach got your special cooling cantrip, of course. Next, you began to set up the campfire circle, collecting rocks and building the circle. Scratch and Owly helped you collect firewood, and with a high pitched little ditty, you snapped your fingers twice. Sparks came from your fingertips, setting the kindling on fire.

Looking at the small flames and the amount of smoke, you realized that the wood wasn’t quite as dry as you had hoped. You glanced back towards the inn in the distance. It seemed like everyone was still busy cleaning up, so there wasn’t much of a chance of anyone coming back here…

Reaching up, you released your hair from its usual loose bun, letting it fall down your back in waves. You ran your hands through your hair, detangling it. You took off your boots and your outer clothes and pulled on your sleeping dress. The soft, thin fabric swished around your legs as you walked up to the campfire circle. The flame had nearly died down to just a feeble ember, trying to sustain itself on the damp wood.

One step back. Then one step to the side. You stared at the fire and began to sing, a slow song as you danced around the firepit.

O flame and fire, come to me

Come and keep me warm

Stay awhile, hear my plea

Be my hearth and home…

Your dress twirled around you as you danced, the cream colored fabric reflecting the soft orange flames that grew steadily each time you completed a circle. When the fire was crackling and large enough to burn without the help of your magic, you finished the song and stopped your dance, letting yourself twirl one last time for fun.

Then you turned around and saw your whole party staring at you.

Gods fucking DAMN IT.

You shyly waved at them. “Erm. How long have you been there?”

“Not long enough,” Wyll said as he walked up to you and held out his hand. “I didn’t know you could dance.”

He looked a bit enchanted, and you immediately felt shy. “I only know dances related to spellcasting. Sorry.”

Wyll's hand dropped, but he still smiled. “That's alright. It was a pleasure to watch.”

“You looked like a goddess!” Karlach said excitedly. 

You just shook your head. “Alright, alright. I need to make the hot water rune. And we need meat for supper, can someone find a non-cursed deer or something?” 

Wyll and Karlach laughed and saluted you as they left to go hunting. The others went to their tents to relax for the night but you noticed Gale giving you another curious look. 

“Gale?” 

He scratched his beard. “About two years ago in Waterdeep, the goddess Eilistraee was seen dancing along the walls of the city, gathering her followers to the city so they could build a shrine to her.” He gestured towards you. “Your dancing reminded me of hers.”

You shrugged. If he was trying to figure out where your skills came from, he was pretty far off. 

“Not even close, am I?”

You shook your head. Why does he keep trying? 

He smiled. “Can't help but guess,” he replied. “Oh well, perhaps another answer will come to me.”

You put your hair back up in a loose bun and prepared other things for the meal in the meantime. You had traded for some flour and sugar in the inn earlier so you could make a cobbler for dessert. Placing it on a makeshift rack high above the campfire to bake slowly, you looked over at Lae'zel, who was practicing her maneuvers. 

No time like the present. 

You headed over to her, a bit anxious about what she would say. 

“Speak,” she commanded without looking at you. 

“Erm, could you“—you pulled out your dagger and laid it in your palms—“teach me how to use this?”

She finally looked over to see your dinky little dagger. Facing you, she picked it up and turned it this way and that, assessing its condition. 

“This is a poor weapon,” she said, “but well maintained.” She handed it back to you, handle first. She put her sword away and pulled her own dagger from her boot. “Watch closely.”

Twenty minutes later and you were partially regretting asking her. She was tough, not telling you how to correct yourself, just showing you her own form for you to figure it out for yourself. Just as she was about to show you how to lunge properly again, Wyll and Karlach came back with a small carton of eggs. 

“That's all?” you asked. 

They explained that the guards said there was no hunting in the area because of the shadow curse. Not a single wild creature was unaffected, and any farm animals had to be brought in carefully. There were some chickens for eggs, one cow for milk, and one ox for pulling carts, and that was about it. So the two of them had done some chores in exchange for some eggs. 

“Oh. Well, I guess I should have thought of that,” you mumbled, taking the eggs from them. “I'll think of something.”

You whipped up a quiche and let it bake in a dutch oven while you returned to Lae'zel to practice some more with your dagger. Wyll came by to comment, and before you knew it, the two of them were debating the pros and cons of offense versus defense. 

Sensing that your quiche was done, you left the two of them to check. 

“Food's on!” 

As everyone ate, they discussed their plans for the next day. With the area being so dangerous, they decided to stay as one big group and do some reconnaissance in Moonrise Towers, southwest of the inn. Hopefully, they'd be able to save the tieflings and gnomes that had been kidnapped. 

You left them to their planning, heading towards the small waterfall nearby. Out of curiosity, you took off your outer shirt and climbed around the rocks. Carefully making your way around the waterfall, you found a small grotto hidden away, a little spot perfect for meditating. 

Or practicing a few spells. No one can see me dance in here. 

It had been a while since you had performed some of the spells you had been taught. You mentally ran through them sometimes, so you wouldn't forget, and you had a notebook filled with diagrams and lyrics, with side notes that you wanted to remember for later. But nothing beats physical practice. 

You stepped through the waterfall this time, and went ahead and cast your hot water rune above head height around the waterfall to create a nice shower. 

Drying off and returning to camp, you realized that Gale had taken your cobbler off the fire and was serving it to the others. 

“You were gone for quite a while,” he commented as he scooped out a portion for you, then himself. “Karlach kept staring at it, and it seemed ready.”

For once, he was being a little modest. He had pulled it out of the fire at the exact correct moment. The cobbler looked perfectly baked, the crust golden brown, the sugar caramelized, the fruit soft and flavorful. You dug in and sighed contentedly. 

“Gods, your cobbler is the best,” Karlach said as she also happily chowed down. “You could open a bakery in the Gate, call it the Dancing Witch Cafe.”

You laughed. “That sounds cute, but food service is not really for me. If anything, I'd open an apothecary.”

“Really?” 

You nodded. “Making potions, growing different herbs and mushrooms, foraging for new plants… That sounds like a dream come true.”

The others began to share their own dreams, and it was quite a lovely chat. Futures imagined, optimism indulged. 

It was a pleasant evening, a balm to all of the darkness that was looming around you, around everyone. You knew they had a hard road to come, and you hoped that just by having a place to return, to rest and recharge, would keep them going through the dark days ahead. 

As everyone went to bed, you washed up the dishes, and cleaned and mended clothes. Quietly tiptoeing along, you set each person's stack in front of their tents before returning to your own bedroll by the campfire. 

Staring at your pillow, you noticed a shiny new dagger, smaller in size, polished and sharpened. You picked it up and noticed it fit your grip much better than your older one, and it was much lighter as well. You tried a few swings with it, just to test the grip, and you found it much easier to adjust. Just as you were about to lunge forward again, Astarion suddenly appeared, his dagger deflecting yours easily, the high pitched clink echoing in the silence. 

He smirked. “You need to be more aware, darling.” 

You sighed. “I know.” As you were about to drop your arm, he gripped your forearm, keeping you in place. His hand was slightly cool, and you could sense some fondness through his touch. Slowly, he stepped closer to you, sheathing his dagger, his gaze meeting yours. He changed his grip on your arm as he stepped behind you, wrapping himself around you. His other hand enclosed yours as he adjusted your grip on your new dagger. 

“This one is smaller, better to hold it like this.”

You relaxed your arms, letting him mold you like clay as he nudged and pulled you to the right position. Tucking your hair behind your ear, he murmured soft commands. 

“Imagine the enemy in front of you. You want to take him out as swiftly as possible, since you don't have much strength.”

His lips were so close that you could feel them move against your ear. 

You took a deep breath and stepped out of his grasp, doing what he told you to do. Moving as he directed, aiming where he told you to aim. He moved in front of you and held up his knife. 

“Now, attack me.”

You frowned. 

“Come now, darling. Do you honestly think you have a chance of landing a hit on me?” 

You frowned harder, but he had a good point. Maneuvering your feet to be in a balanced, solid position, you lunged. 

He dodged easily and tripped you, but grabbed your arm before you fell on your face. 

“Come at me like you actually want to hurt me,” he said as he pulled you back up. “Right now you're just like a helpless little animal.”

You sighed as you stepped out of his grasp and turned to look at him. “I don't think…” I don't think I'm cut out for this. 

He tipped his head, then in a sudden flash of movement, he grabbed your neck and pulled you close, his grip only tight enough to keep you in place, not to choke. His other hand grabbed your wrist, his thumb pushing on the inside of your wrist, forcing you to drop your dagger. 

You didn’t sense any malice in his touch, only frustration. You could fully empathize; you were frustrated with yourself as well.

“It doesn't matter what you think, kitten,” he growled. “The enemy is going to take advantage of every opening you give them.”

You swallowed. “I… I know that.”

“I don't think you do.”

You glared.

He glared back.

You finally relented and closed your eyes. “I know,” you whispered. “I’m weak, I can’t fight, I’m just a liability.”

The grip on your neck loosened slightly. You barely noticed, your thoughts spiraling ever downward.

“I don’t know why you all keep me around. At some point, all the benefits I offer will be outweighed by the fact that you have to slow down your travels because of me.”

His hand moved from your neck to your shoulder. “Look at me.”

You looked up at him. He seemed blurry. Ah fuck, I didn’t want to cry in front of him again.

“If we wanted you gone, we would have already dismissed you.” Astarion looked infinitely uncomfortable as he patted your shoulder awkwardly. “Now stop crying. I don’t like having salt on my sweet treat.”

Through your tears, you let out a soft huff of amusement. 

“Besides”—he cleared his throat—”I’ve grown accustomed to having you around.”

You blinked and looked at him. His head was turned to one side, but he glanced back for a moment before looking away again, as if he was too embarrassed to maintain eye contact after such a confession.

He finally let go of your shoulder. “Right. Well. I think we’ve had a long enough day.” He stepped back. “You should get some rest.”

Grateful for the excuse to get some time alone, you nodded and went to your bedroll, but not before retrieving the dagger from where you had dropped it. You turned your head to look at him, but he was already starting to walk away. “Thank you for the gift,” you called after him.

He shrugged. “Don’t look at me. I wouldn’t know where it came from.”

But you caught a hint of a smile on his face.

Liar.

----------------------

Act II, Chapter 1 End notes: Here we go into the Shadow Cursed Lands, and we’re already a quarter of the way through, I think? I don’t think the rest of the chapters will be this long, but I couldn’t find a good stopping point, and also I was hedging my bets about posting next week, since I’ll be out of town with the fam, and I sure as hell don’t want to be caught writing fanfic in front of them, haha. So there may or may not be a chapter next week, but hopefully this extra large chapter will hold y’all over until then. Thank you for your continued reading of my story, I hope you all have a great end of the year!

Tag List: @numblytemporary @xalphafox @avitute

#bg3 #bg3 fanfic #astarion #astarion x f!reader #baldur's gate 3 #female reader #writing #bg3 spoilers #your hearth is my home