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softboywriting · 3 years

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Delicate | Billy Russo

Summary: Billy takes you on a surprise weekend trip and is forced to face some truths about himself. [Fluff] [Alternate Timeline - Castle Family Alive] [Billy Russo x F!Reader] [Assistant!Reader Trope]

Word Count: 4.4k

|Masterlist In Bio|

A/N: This is in the same universe as my fic Little Moments and Meet The Parents but can be read separately as a stand alone story. I may be doing several in a series with these two.

___

"I want to take you somewhere." Billy says walking into your shared office near closing time. He's got on a pair of jeans, a sweater and his boots. Not quite the usual work attire but you love his casual wear.

"A date?"

"No. More of a long weekend trip."

You raise your eyebrows and push away from your desk. A weekend trip is a big surprise. Not that you have plans or anything. "Where to?"

"England."

"England?!" You splutter. "That is not a weekend trip Billy!"

Billy gathers your jacket and purse from the hooks behind the door. "It is. The flight leaves in about two hours."

"Billy! I haven't packed a single thing, I-I'm not ready!" You take your items from him and run a hand through your hair. Weekend trips are like in-state or nearby. They're a night at a hotel and seeing a museum for two days or something. Not flying to England and doing Gods know what.

"You cannot be serious."

He wraps his arm around your shoulders. "I am serious. I've got your stuff packed. Don't worry."

"What did you pack me?"

"Clothes. Trust me, I know what you wear."

"Why the surprise? Why not tell me sooner?"

Billy chuckles. "Don't worry about it. You'll like it."

"Where are we even going?" You sigh as he walks with you out of the office and down the steps to the main floor. "London or Wales? Are we going for business or pleasure?"

"We're going to Devon."

"Where the fuck is that?"

"England."

You smack his back and he laughs. "You son of a bitch. Why?"

"Pleasure."

"Ugh why now though? Why not later?"

Billy opens the passenger door to his car as you approach it. He leans on the roof, gesturing you inside. "C'mon the airport is almost half an hour drive, and we gotta stop at the apartment for our stuff."

You sink down in the passenger seat and glare up at him suspiciously. He's being like this on purpose. You hate not knowing what is going on and he knows it. The last thing you expected to do after work was to be hurried onto a plane that is no doubt a multi-hour flight. But here you are and there he is, staring down at you.

"Get in? I'm not the one wasting time now."

"God you're beautiful." He leans in and kisses your cheek quickly. "And I know you're pissed." He closes the door and walks around to get in the driver's seat. "I promise it will be worth it."

You lean your head back and close your eyes as he drives out of the lot. "It better be. This is very spontaneous and off my usual rhythm."

"I know. But you'll love it. I know you will."

"Mmm." You turn on the seat warmer and relax into the lush comfort. "You're also lucky I love you, and trust you."

Billy chuckles as his hand finds yours, thumb stroking the tops of your fingers.

"I wouldn't let anyone else pack me a bag, let alone take me to a foreign country for a weekend." You scoff. "That sounds so wildly pretentious."

"It's alright. It is a little pretentious, but we've earned it."

"You've earned it."

"Hey." He squeezes your hand and you open your eyes to look at him. "This company is just as much yours as mine."

"Bullshit. It is not. My name isn't on the lease, it's not on the LLC, I'm just your assistant and girlfriend."

Billy scoffs and turns the car into the parking garage of his apartment complex. He lives close to Anvil, honestly you don't actually need to drive. He just likes to show off his car. It gets dark as you enter the garage but you can tell he's not having any of your shit.

"When I marry you, your name will be on all of that."

"What?"

"When you marry me?" You swallow hard as he stops the car in a space. It's only been a about six months that you've officially been an item. A little quick to be thinking about marriage.

Billy kills the engine and pockets his keys. "Yeah, when." He opens the door so nonchalantly, like he hasn't just thrown you for a loop. He walks around and opens your door. "C'mon, up and attem sweetheart."

"You're joking right?"

"About what? Marrying you one day?" He puts his hand on your back as you head to the elevator. "You're absolutely going to be a Russo. No doubt about it."

"I don't have a choice then?"

"Of course you have a choice." He presses the button to the penthouse and puts in the security key to make it go. "You can say no."

"Are you asking me right now?" You laugh and he turns, hands on your hips as he walks you into the wall, eyes locked on yours. "W-what's this about?"

Billy licks his lip and sets his jaw. It's not anger. He's making a decision in that brain of his. Is he asking? Is he teasing?

"You'll know when I ask."

"It's only been a few months. Don't rush."

"When you know you know right?"

"Billy, c'mon." You give him a look. "Using Frank's lines now?"

Billy steps aways, hands falling from your body and he runs a hand over his hair. "Sometimes that asshole is right about things."

You chuckle. "Sometimes."

"Enough about that. We have a plane to catch." The elevator dings and the doors open to the short hall before his penthouse. "Get your pretty ass changed and let's go."

"So pushy." You giggle and he shoves your shoulder. "Hey!"

"I'm pushy." He pushes again and you stumble into the door before he pins you against it. "You're so lucky we don't have time to mess around."

"Lucky?" You wiggle your ass against his waist. "Or unfortunate. Because any chance I miss to have-"

His hand comes up along your throat and you groan, tilting your head back. "Keep talking and I'm gonna make time."

"Or maybe we'd miss the flight."

"Little shit." He drops the hand on your throat and swats your ass before unlocking the door and ushering you inside. "Go change. Now."

"Okay, okay, good grief."

"We'll just join the mile high club." He calls out as you head to the bedroom to change. "I've always wanted to see how we'd fit in a tiny bathroom!"

"Those things are filthy! No!"

"Then you can ride me in the seat in first class!"

You pop your head around the door and he is grinning, leaning against the kitchen island. You narrow your eyes and he just raises his eyebrows. "Not happening."

"We'll see sweetheart."

"Whatever."

"Mmm. I'm very persuasive."

You roll your eyes and go back to changing clothes. If he thinks you're gonna do the dirty on an airplane he has a world of disappointment coming.

_________________

Billy always gets his way it would seem. Because less than half an hour ago you were on his lap, bouncing on his dick while he grinned oh so smugly. The flight was less than full for the first class seating, your nearest neighbor was across the aisle and six sections back. There were dividers between the seats, privacy walls. That's what really ended up convincing you in the end.

All that and you maybe sort of got off to the thought of being semi public about the whole ordeal. A kink you didn't know you had until Billy was whispering filth in your ear and making you squirm.

"How much longer?" You ask, curling into your seat and yawning.

"Three more hours. We'll land in Exeter."

"Seven hours to a spontaneous weekend? This is insane. When we arrive it's going to be dark. I assume you have a place for us to stay?"

Billy rolls his eyes. "Of course I do. We're not camping out in a train station."

"Oh fuck you."

"Get some sleep."

"I'd love to but I don't sleep well on planes."

"You fuck well on 'em."

"Billy!" You kick his leg and he grins. "Shut up!"

Billy puts his hand out and you take it. "We can go another round to kill the time."

You grab the complimentary earbuds in a little package and rip them open to stuff them in your ears. "Can't hear you."

"Bullshit."

"What?" You smirk, gesturing to the earbuds. "Can't hear ya."

Billy leans in and your eyes lock with his. "Maybe I should raise my voice then. And ask if YOU WANT TO F-"

You slam your hand against his mouth and he grins behind your palm. "Son of a bitch."

"You know I am." He licks your palm and sits back in his seat. He side eyes you, gauging your reaction to his childish move while nonchalantly opening a travel guide pamphlet.

You wipe your hand on his thigh and he chuckles. Whatever awaits in Devon in three or four hours better be good because he is really dancing on your last nerve. What has got him so wound up, you have no idea.

____________________

Devon is... breathtaking. It's the English country side on the ocean. The town you drove through was all cobblestone homes and shops and it looked like a fairytale honestly. Places like this didn't actually exist in your mind but here you are. It's so radically different than New York, even the country side of the state. You're stunned silent for the majority of the drive to your destination. Even in the evening it looks incredible.

Billy turns onto a road with a gate through a dense wooded area. The gate is open and he slides the rental car through carefully as not to scratch the sides on the narrow stone walls along the roadway. The path winds and winds until it opens up, the drive lined with a shorter stone wall as it leads to a large beautiful house.

"Where are we?"

Billy turns the car into the dirt and rock parking area in front of the door to the house. "We're in Dartmouth, just outside of it actually."

"Why? This place is beautiful, don't get me wrong. I'm just confused why we're here."

He looks over at you and brings your hand up to kiss. "I told you I was taking you on a weekend vacation."

"So you rented this house? Or does someone live here that we're staying with?"

"I bought it." He looks up at the door from beyond your window. "It's ours."

You turn and look at the house. "What? Billy you don't just buy a house! What on Earth is going through your head?!"

"What's going through my head is that I saw an opportunity and I took it. A friend of mine, Martin, had this place here after he got out of the Marines. His wife was English. Anyway, the family moved recently, and left everything behind because it is too expensive to haul across the ocean to Texas where they were relocating."

"So you bought a house with someone else's whole life inside?"

"Well, they took their personal belongings. It's furnished and decorated but we can change that."

You look over at Billy and lay a hand on his chest. "This is insane. Why would you buy a house in England?! What could you possibly want to do with it?"

"Live in it."

"Billy. Anvil is in New York. How do you propose to move here, bumfuck nowhere England, and run the company?"

Billy smiles and kisses your cheek. "Semantics. C'mon let's go see the house."

"Billy!"

He climbs out of the car and walks around to open your door. "It's beautiful, you're going to love it."

You step out with his hand in yours and he pulls out his keys to unlock the front door. As the door swings open you're hit with the smell of cinnamon, warm earthy spices, and vanilla.

"Come inside." Billy pulls you in gently. "It's incredible."

Inside is far more than incredible. It's like a dream, a home from some show book. The floors are dark natural wood, there are stairs with intricate banisters by the door, three archways to various rooms that are just the epitome of a country house. It's rustic, traditional like a farm house that's been updated to the modern century but kept it's charm. You feel like you're in a fairytale still, but it's real. It's so real and the house is so beautiful. You've never seen anything like it with your own eyes.

"Billy...this is...why?"

"You're very attached to that word y'know." He chuckles and rubs your shoulders. "Stop asking why and start enjoying."

"I will, I mean but- this is...I don't know what to say."

"Stunning right? So different than the penthouse or your apartment."

"Radically different."

"Come explore with me." He takes your hands and walks backwards leading you into a dining area.

You look around at the empty china hutch, shelves with various pots and pans for storage and decor, the huge wood table that looks like it was handmade by someone many years ago. "You're going to propose."

"What?"

"You're going to propose to me here aren't you?"

Billy laughs and steps close, cradling your face in his hands. "Maybe."

"Maybe?!"

"Yeah, maybe." He kisses you softly. "And maybe I just brought you here to get away from everything. Work, family, obligations. We can be us here. You and me, no one else."

"Billy we can be us at home, in the penthouse."

"I know, but this is a good place. The air is cleaner, life is simpler, everything is just easier here. We can unwind."

"You really bought this place?"

"Hundred percent. I've got a few payments still but it's almost paid off." He leans on a counter and you step between his legs. He gathers you close, hands on your sides. "It's got five bedrooms."

"Expansive."

"I think if...well..." He ducks his head in a chuckle, eyes refusing to meet yours. "If kids were ever, y'know, on the table. It'd be a good home."

"William Russo, you cannot be serious about that. You've thought of having kids? You?"

"No! No, fuck no. Maybe. I don't know." He pushes away from the counter and you'd stumble back as he walks into the enclosed patio off the side of the kitchen. "I'm just saying, it could accommodate kids."

You step down into the patio and look around. It's a simple screened in area, a sitting area and a terracotta chiminea sit on the right. "You'd have to marry me first."

"First?"

"Before I have a kid."

He laughs, leaning on the door to the outside area. "Of course."

"I thought you were afraid of having kids. Didn't want them to end up like you."

"Yeah well, I told myself a long time ago I'd never mess my kids up like I was messed up if I had them. I'd love 'em every day, make sure they know their dad loves them." His voice cracks and you cross the patio to lay a hand on his arm. "I won't have my kids wonderin' if their dad loves them. I won't."

"Hey, hey, you're not your parents okay?"

"I know. We'd be good, learning from our fucked up childhoods." He laughs joylessly and gathers you into his arms. "We'd have the happiest kid ever."

"We could. Maybe. One day."

"Lotta maybe's goin' on today." He bites his lip and puts his hand in yours. "It's late. We should go to bed."

"We've got a few days right? We can explore the house and grounds tomorrow."

"Absolutely."

You slide a hand over his jaw and pull him down for a kiss. "I do love this by the way. It's very romantic."

Billy smiles against your lips. "I'm not all hard edges and sharp wit." He kisses you slowly, pulling your lip between his teeth. "I do love you."

"I know." You bump your nose to his. "And I love you too."

_____________________

The sound of rain wakes you and you open your eyes to an unfamiliar room. It takes a moment to remember where you are. England. In a house Billy bought. Right. You rub your eyes and yawn big.

"You awake over there?" Billy asks, voice heavy and raspy with sleep.

"No."

"Yes you are." He reaches over under the blankets and wiggles his fingers up your side. "Little liar. How long you been awake?"

"Few moments."

"Mmm. It's raining. Can you hear it?"

"Yeah." You roll onto your back and Billy lifts his arm up so you can snuggle into his side. "It's nice."

Billy's hand finds your hair and twirls a piece between his fingers. "It rained the first time we met, remember?"

"It did?"

"Mmmhmm. The day you interviewed for the position at Anvil. It was pouring rain, I remember because when you came in you had on bright orange rainboots that you changed out of in the main room before coming up to do the interview."

You look up at him and his eyes are closed like he's picturing that day. "You saw that?"

"Of course I did. I see everything in Anvil."

"That's been so long ago, it seems like ages."

"Almost two years now."

"Crazy how things have changed."

Billy's hand leaves your hair and joins your hand on his chest. "Things will continue to change. Always."

You hum in agreement. He's right, logically, things will always change. But you feel he means more by that. "Billy, if you were to propose to me, how would you do it?"

"There is no fun in telling you."

"There is. It's healthy to discuss this in a relationship. So, how?"

Billy sits up a bit and you slide down his chest, face on his stomach. "Now, that's not fair. What about you? How would you propose to me?"

"I think, well, I think you're too smart. I think you'd figure it out before I could get it set up. I'd have to be blunt, slap a ring on the table and ask if you wanna do this."

He laughs, hand going to his chest as he struggles for words and air. "That is a hell of a proposal sweetheart!"

"You're a hell of a pain in the ass."

"Oh baby I know." He drops a quick kiss on your head. "I know. Now for me, I like to think I'd be a classic man. Dinner, dancing maybe. I'd get on one knee in a doorway somewhere and ask you, surprise you."

"You like to think? What's the reality look like then?"

"Reality is that you'd probably find the ring before I could plan something. You little snoop."

"Hey! You gave me free reign of the penthouse. No secrets."

"Yes yes. Alright, maybe I'd just surprise you. On a walk or something."

You rub over his chest and he hums. "I'd like that. But you don't wanna marry me yet. It's too soon."

"It's not too soon if you know."

"Yeah...let's get up. We have a house to explore." You sit up and he follows. "Maybe we can go into town for some breakfast too."

"Sounds like a plan."

______________________

The house is huge, well cared for, and beautifully designed. It's nothing like the apartments you grew up in your whole life. You never had a house, always dreamed of one. You like to think this one is exactly the summation of all those dreams. Like somehow Billy knew exactly what you wanted one day before you even knew yourself.

The gesture is lovely, the intent is good, but you cannot help but wonder why. Why now? Why this house? Why this place? Surely you shouldn't be one to look a gift horse in the mouth, but damnit you and Billy have just begun living together at his penthouse. You've not even settled the lease on your apartment. Now he's gone and bought a house in another country. It makes you worry, it makes you suspicious.

You don't want to push him. He has made it clear he doesn't want you to ask why, but to just accept it. That's not like you though. You can accept up to a point.

"Billy, I want to talk." You say as he sinks down in a chair beside the pool in the back area. You've gone out there post dinner for a swim after the rain.

Billy sets his phone on the side table and raises his eyebrows at you. "We've been talking all day sweetheart."

"I want to talk seriously. No antics, no sarcasm."

"Yeah, okay." He runs a hand over his hair. It's his nervous tick. A dead giveaway that he is truly listening to your words. "What's goin' on?"

You take a seat opposite him and take a deep breath. Where to begin. "Why did you buy this house?"

"I told you. Martin's family was moving and-"

"No." You say softly. "No, you didn't have to buy it from them. You chose to. Why?"

"I liked it."

"Okay. A house like this is a lot of money I presume. And yes, maybe the family gave you a discount or something, none the less it's a major expense for it to be a place you only come to now and again. What is the plan here?"

Billy chuckles and looks back at the house. "The plan is to live in it. Obviously. It's a house."

"Billy."

"What?"

You stare at him, lips pursed.

He looks away.

"We've only just moved in together, back home in New York. Do you plan on moving everything here? I'm just not understanding how this works Billy."

"Maybe someday we could move here. I suppose that's the end goal."

"You're thinking long term then? That I will surely be in your life for the rest of it?"

"I don't like where this is going." Billy's eyes harden and you know that look too well. "Don't do this."

"I'm not doing anything. I'm just saying that we're still very new into this relationship. It's been about six months, and a year of aqaintance-ship before that. I just feel like maybe you're making some very big moves and it's a bit much."

Billy leans back on the chair and closes his eyes. "I knew this was a bad idea."

"No, hey, no. I love this place, it's beautiful."

"I should have waited but I was just so excited about it."

"Honey."

"No, listen I don't know how to be in love. I've never been in love before, I'm sure of it." He looks over at you and you reach out and grab his hand. "I wanted to do this for you, to start putting things in motion because I don't want to lose you. I know that sounds so ridiculous, how does buying a house make you want to stay with me? I don't know honestly."

You squeeze his hand gently. "I'm not going anywhere I promise."

"I've never had something like this." He gestures to the house. "A stable home, a loving family. When we started dating, I knew I loved you. Hell. I blurted that shit out that night in my apartment. You had every right to be freaked out, to leave and quit Anvil. I was half shocked you didn't."

"I do love you Billy. The feeling was a hundred percent mutual. Don't doubt that."

"I don't. But I doubt myself all the time. Am I in love with you? Or do I have love for you? Over the last few months I've sorted out that I'm in love. I don't know how to be in love. I don't know what steps to take, how fast things should move. I can count on one hand the number of relationships I've had that were more than sex, and they obviously didn't end well. If the house is too much, we'll wait. I don't care if it's years, we'll wait to move here. Or if you don't want to then we don't have to."

"I'd like to, one day."

"I just-" his lip trembles. "I think I bought it because I wanted a better life for us. We both had messed up childhoods. I had a messed up early adult life in the military, did shit I didn't want to because I had to. This house is our chance to start over, to be new people."

Your eyes widen and he threads his fingers between yours on the hand you've been holding. "What about Anvil?"

"I can relocate. Or just...do something else. Anvil seemed like a great idea when I got out of the Marines. But now it's tethering me to my past." He brings your hand to his lips. "I want to be more than a dog of war. I want to be a normal guy with a wife and a kid or just a dog is fine too. I never pegged myself as one to want the white picket fence life but here we are."

You lay your hand on his cheek and he leans into it. "Three years. Give us three years together and if you still feel the same, and we're still together, we'll do it."

Billy leans in, bumping his nose with yours. "You drive a hard bargain."

"Learned from the best."

He smiles big, lips meeting yours for a quick kiss. "It's a deal. But I do still want to come here for vacations, long weekends and the like."

"Absolutely." You hold his face, his beard scratchy under your palms. "It'll be our private getaway."

"Mmhmm." He guides you up as he stands. "Now, time for the fun we actually came out here to indulge in."

You glance at the pool and he plucks at the sleeve of your tee. "It's our pool."

"Yes it is."

"It's very private." You giggle. "Not a neighbor for a few miles."

Billy lifts your shirt hem. "That's right."

You step back and pull your shirt off, pushing your pants down quickly. Billy quickly shucks his own and you both laugh at how ridiculous you look. You jump in and he follows suit.

"I've never skinny dipped before. It's so strange, like I shouldn't do it."

"It's freeing." Billy says, floating up to you and cradling your face. "Revel in it. Feel alive."

You press your lips to his. "I've felt alive since the day I met you."

"Me too." He presses your foreheads together. "Me too."

__________

end

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longing-and-heartache-and-lust · 3 years

Text

offer me that deathless death

Jaskier has never shared the bed with a man before. Geralt is more than happy to take him every step of the way, allowing him to explore his body and the pleasure it can bring him.

[Written for the “Inexperinced” prompt for the milestone celebration]

(10.9k words, explicit, also on ao3)

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There were so, so many things that Geralt absolutely adored about Jaskier.

The look in his impossibly-blue eyes when the witcher kissed him and then broke away, so full of love that it almost hurt sometimes; the softness of his skin under Geralt’s fingertips, warm and smooth and flawless; the scent of something sweet and almost intoxicating, like pomegranate, hidden right under the sharp of his jaw and on his delicate wrists.

But above all that, Geralt loved knowing that most of those things were new to the bard. That Jaskier was completely, utterly his.

It stirred something deep in his chest, something hot and possessive, to see Jaskier’s hands tremble ever so slightly when he would reach out to him, run his hands down Geralt’s shoulders and chest, studying the lines of his body. The way he bit his lower lip to try and stop the colour from spilling over his cheeks while doing so.

Geralt would’ve never thought him to be quite so coy when it came to physical closeness but then again, Jaskier was only twenty-two and though he’d already made his way through more beds than either of them would care to count, all of his lovers were women.

Over the four years they’ve been travelling together, Geralt had seen the bard flirting with other men countless times, have seen him with kiss-swollen lips and marks on his neck but, as he had come to realise very quickly once he became the one leaving those marks, it had never gone any further than that yet.

Jaskier was almost self-conscious about it for the first few evenings but then, as he’d learned just how much Geralt loved having him all to himself, it had quickly become a weapon that he used against the witcher shamelessly.

The way he leaned and arched into every touch, little breathless gasps escaping his lips whenever Geralt would find his way to his neck, leaving bruising kisses in his wake, the way he tangled his hands in his silver hair to pull him closer still, the way he trembled under what seemed like every touch - all of that was driving Geralt insane, slowly but surely. And it wasn’t helping at all that when it all started - a little over a week ago - they were in the middle of nowhere, and the villages that they would pass on the Path were all too small to have an inn.

The bright side of it, however, was that Jaskier was growing beautifully impatient.

Every night, when they would set up their camp, the summer nights warm and kind to travellers, he would grow more and more frustrated when, drunk on the taste of Geralt’s lips on his own, he would get his hands intercepted at the wrists and seized before he could as much as strip the witcher of his shirt. No matter how much Geralt wanted him, he was going to get him into a proper bed first.

Jaskier pleaded, whimpered and threatened but nothing worked, and his impatience was growing so hot and overwhelming that Geralt could almost feel it on his skin whenever the bard was close. Though also a torture, it was an absolute delight to know that he’s the cause of it.

And even so, when they finally reach a town a little south-east of Tretogor, Geralt can tell that Jaskier is nervous. In a good way, but nevertheless.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Geralt wonders if he’d been like this the first time he had shared a bed with a woman but he also knows the answer. He remembers his own first sexual experience, a young and beautiful barmaid somewhere in Kaedwen, grateful to him for saving her father from a water hag and fascinated by his silver hair and golden eyes. She was warm and soft and gentle, taking her time with the buckles of Geralt’s armour and breathing sweet little moans into his lips.

Geralt was twenty-four then, only a year out of Kaer Morhen where all he’d really learned about sex were the stories he and his brothers would tell each other, all of them so obviously made-up that when he thought back on it, he was genuinely impressed by their imagination.

But even so, he remembers how easy it was to figure it all out, how effortless it was to find the right pattern. So he knows that no, Jaskier wasn’t like this the first time he had slept with a woman. And that thrills him even more.

He doesn’t mention it, though, allowing everything to go at its own pace and, when the door of their rented room closes behind them, he busies himself with his bags and armour, just like he always does.

Jaskier is telling him something about a fellow student he had in the Academy that is now a poet at the Tretogor court and, slowly but surely, he can feel the tension bleed away from the bard’s shoulders. He knows that on some lever Jaskier had been expecting to be tugged to bed the moment they got to the room, and that anticipation was what was making him anxious. Geralt did ask himself what did he do wrong for the bard to feel like he’d be given no time but then again, it’s hardly his fault, too much anticipation tends to do that to people.

So when Jaskier relaxes again, Geralt just smiles to himself.

“When was it that we’d last slept in a proper bed?” the bard murmurs, coming closer to wrap his arms around Geralt’s waist from behind and hooking his chin over his shoulder. “Let alone this big.”

Geralt chuckles, leaving his bags alone and covering Jaskier’s arms with his own, tilting his head to brush his lips over the bard’s temple.

“Hmm,” he hums, considering. “Three weeks ago?”

Jaskier huffs a laugh, touching a gentle kiss to Geralt’s shoulder. Through the fabric of his shirt, Geralt can feel the warmth of his lips and, despite all his self-control, it sends a shiver down his back.

“We can stay here for a couple of days,” he says, turning around in Jaskier’s arms to dip his head and steal a proper kiss from him. “If you want to. It’s been a long couple of weeks and the only way I can think of making up for them is not letting you out of my arms for a day or two.”

Jaskier smiles and bites his lips, a beautiful tint of pink spilling over his cheeks. He hides his eyes and Geralt knows better than to tip his chin up now. He knows that in a way, Jaskier is enjoying his own nervousness now that the edge of it is taken off, and he gladly allows him to savour it.

Jaskier runs the tips of his fingers down Geralt’s chest and then moves back up, over his shoulder and neck, until he can get his hand into the witcher’s hair and pull him to his lips, closing in what little distance there is between them.

He kisses him slow and sweet, and Geralt parts his lips obediently when he feels Jaskier’s tongue on them. It’s a pleasure of its own - letting the bard explore his body slowly and carefully, in whichever way he likes, allowing him to feel in control of everything that happens.

When Geralt thinks about it, he’d never known anything sweeter.

As Jaskier moves his other hand over his torso and chest from where it had been resting on the small of the witcher’s back, Geralt gladly leans into it, chasing the touch, ready to both follow Jaskier to the bed, and let him go.

Jaskier rests his hand on Geralt’s shoulder, fingers digging into the skin just hard enough to keep the witcher close, and only breaks away to suck it a breath before his lips are on Geralt’s again. It’s impossible to resist and Geralt doesn’t even try to, catching the bard’s lower lip between his teeth and drinking in the gorgeous little gasp he gets in response. He’d had more than enough time over the years to notice the way Jaskier looks at him whenever he smiles in a way that shows his canine, elongated and sharpened by the mutations and the Trials. And though the bard never openly admitted anything, it wasn’t necessary.

The temptation to bite just a little harder and see how Jaskier will react is not the one that Geralt can keep at bay and so he gives in, tipping Jaskier’s chin up and biting at his plush lower lip, not so hard as to draw blood but enough to have the bard arch his back, chasing the feeling and flinching away from it at the same time. The choked moan that escapes his chest sounds more like a whimper and, by the gods, Geralt can barely breathe with just how much he wants him.

Fortunately for him, they’re close enough to one of the walls that it only takes Geralt two steps to press Jaskier up against the wooden panels and kiss him again, keeping the initiative to himself this time, licking into the bard’s mouth and keeping him close with a hand on the small of his back.

If there’s anything that he’d learned over the last week and a half is that even though Jaskier loves his freedom to touch and kiss whichever way he wants, he also loves just how much stronger Geralt is, how, if he wants to, he can just take, asking no questions.

Geralt had first discovered it a week ago when, after they had settled in for the night, the kisses had grown hotter, hungrier and Jaskier, his hands everywhere at once, had finally caught on the hem of the witcher’s shirt only for Geralt to intercept his wrists and pin them above his head. He wasn’t really expecting anything aside from displeasure from the bard, keeping his hands away simply because telling him to do so would not have been enough but the way Jaskier looked at him them, pupils blown so wide that there was barely any blue in his eyes, had told Geralt everything he needed to know.

And it would’ve been a terrible mistake to deny them both such pleasure.

Careful not to overstep, to always make sure that Jaskier doesn’t feel trapped, he indulged them both, knowing perfectly well that more often than not Jaskier wouldn’t keep his hands to himself for the sole purpose of having them pinned above his head once more. He struggled against the grip with little to no intention to actually escape it and Geralt could feel his pulse pick up when all of those attempts failed and Jaskier knew that he’s helpless against the witcher.

If his life depended on it, Geralt would not have been able to decide what he loves more: allowing Jaskier to do anything he wanted to him, mapping out his body with careful hands and lips, or having full control over him.

Moving even closer, Geralt shifts just enough to push his thigh between Jaskier’s and he can’t help but grin at the way the bard gasps, already half-hard.

“You’re so easy to turn on, I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of it,” he murmurs into his ear, breaking the kiss and finding his way to Jaskier’s neck, still bearing the marks he’d left two nights ago.

He doesn’t see Jaskier blush but he feels it in his scent, sweet and heady, like peach blossoms. He breathes it in, lets it fill his lungs, barely suppressing a low moan as he undoes the hooks on the bard’s doublet one by one.

“Geralt--” Jaskier breathes, eyes fluttering closed as the witcher sucks a new mark onto his neck, the sparks of pain only adding to the pleasure.

His hands are shaking as he cups the sharp of Geralt’s jaw, making him lift his head, and pulls him to his lips to kiss him again. Geralt lets himself be manoeuvred willingly, giving the control back and something low in his abdomen ties into knots at the way they can play with power like that.

He’d never been the one to obey easily but letting Jaskier take things his own way held a different kind of power within it.

Knowing that Jaskier cannot keep his hands off him, always so open and sensitive despite his own nervousness and fear, was better than any control Geralt could imagine.

“Bed,” Jaskier breathes into his lips, stepping away from the wall. “Please.”

Without looking, Geralt takes a step back towards the bed, leading Jaskier after him without ever breaking the kiss and it’s when the back of his knees already hit the mattress that there’s a sharp knock on the door and Jaskier flinches in his arms, eyes flying open.

“The bath you ordered is ready,” comes a female voice from behind the door. “When you’re done just leave the towel on the door handle and my boys will deal with the water for you.”

Geralt recollects himself faster, thanking the innkeeper and, as he listens to her make her way back down the stairs, the heels of her shoes tapping against the wood, he can feel Jaskier rest his forehead against his shoulder, laughing breathlessly.

His cheeks are bright-red either with the heat or with the sudden embarrassment for the state he’s in, and even though Geralt is dying to tease him about it, he’s trying so hard to hide it that the witcher chooses to pretend that he doesn’t see the blush.

“You’ve ordered a bath and forgot about it?” Geralt asks, pressing a calming kiss to Jaskier’s temple, his own shoulders shaking with laughter, as well.

“Turns out it’s very hard to keep such insignificant things in mind with you around,” the bard smiles, still hiding his eyes and so gorgeously embarrassed that Geralt can’t help but lean in and steal one more kiss from him.

Geralt lets him go when he pulls back and as he sits down on the bed, watching Jaskier fumble with the ties on the sleeves of his doublet, his fingers still shaking, he realises, though not for the first time but with an intensity that he has never felt before, just how hopelessly in love he is with him.

“Jask,” he calls softly, extending an arm towards him and pulling the bard closer when he takes his hand. “Everything alright?”

Jaskier allows himself to be pulled down into Geralt’s lap and, after a second, takes in a breath and finally looks him in the eyes.

“Yes,” he says, brushing a stray lock of the witcher’s silver hair out of his face. “I’m sorry, I just got a little… overwhelmed.”

Geralt can feel it in his scent but he doesn’t say it, dipping his head to touch a gentle kiss to the curve of his shoulder, instead. Jaskier relaxes under the touch, tilting his head to give better access.

“We don’t have to do this if it’s too much,” Geralt says softly. “If you’re not ready.”

“No,” Jaskier says immediately, pulling back to look the witcher in the eyes again. “I want to. You don’t even know how bad. But I just… can we wait until the evening?”

The blush is now slowly fading from his cheeks but his eyes are shining just as bright as before, and he looks so impossibly beautiful like this that Geralt can feel his heart skip one of its slow beats.

He leans in, brushing his lips over Jaskier’s warm cheek, and smiles at him, pulling away.

“Of course.”

***

Over the four years that they’ve spent together, they’ve never really seen each other naked, so when Jaskier leaves for the other room to take his bath, Geralt knows better than to follow him, no matter how close they’ve gotten over the last days or what’s going to happen in the evening.

He gives Jaskier the space they both know he needs right now and heads downstairs, where more and more guests are gathering around the tables as the sun is starting to set.

At first, he wants to get himself a drink for the time to go by faster but then, after giving it some thought, decides against it and instead orders a bath for himself, as well. It takes a little bargaining but in the end, he manages to successfully convince the innkeeper to set it in one of the empty rooms. Fortunately for him, this inn is big enough to have the baths and the beds in separate rooms instead of just behind a panel screen.

It’s not that he necessarily needs a bath, since the night before they camped close to a riverbank and he’d sneaked out for a swim when Jaskier fell asleep, but he just wants one. While summer nights are warm and the water in the river was more than pleasant, it still cannot compare with a proper hot bath.

And, well, when he thinks of it, he does want his hair to still be damp and smelling of herbs when he comes back to bed tonight, wants his skin to be warmed and softened by the water, wants to be as close to perfects as he can be - for Jaskier.

He can imagine the way he’s going to touch him once finally given full permission, the way he’s going to look at him, with those impossibly-blue eyes, and it feels… special. Gods know Geralt’s never been the one for sentiments but there is only so much one can do when there are so many feelings mixed into the equation.

As he sheds his clothing and steps into the steaming bath, just on the right side of too hot, he thinks back on what it felt like when Jaskier had kissed him for the first time. It was mostly his own doing, he supposes, for he couldn’t keep his hands to himself when they’ve settled in for the night but at the same time, he could hardly be blamed for it. With Jaskier pressed close to his chest, a sleeping arrangement they’ve somehow fallen into sometime in the last year, his scent was so overpowering and he was so close that it barely even registered with Geralt that he’s got his nose burrowed in the bard’s chestnut hair, just breathing him in.

And, well, it was only a matter of seconds after that that Jaskier was turning around, reaching over to get his hand into Geralt’s hair, and kissing him.

Then, finally, everything fell into place.

If Geralt had known sooner that that was the reaction he was going to get, they would’ve probably been sleeping together for months not, if not years, but the longing did have something special, almost bittersweet within itself.

The way Jaskier kissed him, both gentle and absolutely desperate, justified the previous three and a half years that Geralt had spent yearning for him, convinced that his feelings aren’t reciprocated because why would Jaskier flirt with just about everyone right in front of his eyes?

“Because, you goddamn idiot,” he laughed when the witcher had asked him. “I thought that if you get jealous, you’ll finally do something about it.”

Ah, so that was his strategy.

But none of that really mattered anymore, not with Jaskier parting his lips oh so obediently for his tongue and trembling so sweetly that it didn’t take Geralt long to realise he’d never really went further than kisses with other men and that anything the witcher was going to do to him would be a first. Oh, the way it made his blood boil.

But on some level, he was worried, too.

All the men he’d been with before were… well, more experienced. They knew exactly what they wanted and what Geralt wanted from them, it was a practised pattern, easy to fall into for a night or two and then fall out of it just as easily.

But with Jaskier, Geralt knew it would be different. And he couldn’t help but think that he might do something wrong, might be too much. After all, he was a witcher and his hands were made for a sword rather than a body as beautifully delicate as Jaskier’s. He would never hurt him, of course, not deliberately, at least, but he was still… a witcher.

Geralt shakes those thoughts off before he can concentrate on them too much and closes his eyes, slipping lower into the hot water, instead.

As it washes over him, Geralt allows his mind to wander until he can think of nothing but the feeling of Jaskier’s lips on his own.

***

When Geralt comes back to their room, the bed is still empty and he can hear soft splashes of water from behind the door to the bathroom along with Jaskier’s humming of a song he’d been composing lately.

Geralt rolls his eyes in fond exasperation, already used to the bard always taking forever in the bath whenever he’d get his hands on one. But, well, he’d always come out smelling of his oils and salt, mild enough not to cause the witcher discomfort, and then Geralt couldn’t really complain for after a long bath Jaskier had always searched for more warmth in his arms.

Geralt can’t imagine this time being different, so when he gets into bed, having left his trousers on an armchair in the corner of the room, there’s a sweet little thrill of anticipation that runs through him. Even if Jaskier won’t want to take it any further than kisses, just the feeling of his warm, slender body close to his own is enough for Geralt to consider himself a very happy man.

He stretches on the wide bed with a soft pleased rumble, his hair, still damp from the bath, brushed back with only a few loose silver strands falling into his face, and reaches for a book that he’d been carrying around for the last couple of weeks. When Jaskier asked, the witcher had told him that it’s about the flora of the Skellige Isles and that he needs it for future reference on elixirs and salves, because he couldn’t bring himself to admit that it’s a romance novel he’d bought when they were passing Rinde. The story was ridiculous but the erotic scenes were hot and decently written, so he wasn’t complaining. After all, everyone’s allowed a little guilty pleasure.

Geralt wasn’t really paying attention to how much time had passed but he was just about to finish a chapter when he’d realised that the splashing in the other room had stopped and after just a few moments, Jaskier slipped through the door, nothing but his smallclothes and an oversized shirt on.

It’s what he usually sleeps in when they have a proper bed, and so does Geralt, because wearing trousers to bed is a form of torture, and Geralt should be used to it except now, when he’s finally allowed to touch and kiss and feel, he can’t help but bite his lip at the sight.

It doesn’t help at all that Jaskier’s wearing his shirt, as well.

“Is that mine?” Geralt enquires, still.

Jaskier smiles at him, almost teasingly.

“The shirt or me as a whole?”

He crosses the room, coming closer to the witcher and takes the book away from his hands, closing it and putting it aside, on the bedside table.

“Either way,” he says, his hands coming to rest on Geralt’s shoulders as Jaskier straddles his hips in one effortless, almost practised move. “The answer is yes.”

And oh, how good he is with his words.

His body is a pleasant weight on Geralt’s hips and the witcher barely notices it when his hands come up to rest on Jaskier’s waist, his skin warm even through the fabric of the shirt. From this position, he has to tilt his head up to look at the bard but it’s not something that Geralt minds.

He’s aching to reach up and kiss him but even more than that he wants to let Jaskier be the one to set the pace, and so he waits, just rubs little circles into his sides with his thumbs and even that, somehow, makes the bard shudder.

“Do you still want me?” he whispers, brushing a silver strand away from Geralt’s face and letting his fingers linger on the sharp of his jaw.

Geralt can feel his heart skip a beat.

“Always.”

Jaskier lets out a shaky breath and then his fingers are under Geralt’s chin, tipping his head up more, and he’s kissing him, just as gentle and desperate as he did the very first time.

Geralt can’t help but moan softly into his lips, the realization of finally being alone and in bed fully catching up with him at last.

He slides one of his hands up Jaskier’s back, barely holding back from getting under his shirt so soon, and pulls him closer, letting the bard’s scent wash over him, fill his lungs from wall to wall. He can feel the oils Jaskier’s used for his bath, the herbal soap he uses on his hair, but under all that, he can feel his own scent - sweet, heady pomegranate, with something even richer, even sweeter slowly mixing in and he knows Jaskier well enough to recognise the scent of his desire.

Jaskier breaks away for only a second, their lips never fully parting, and takes in a shallow breath before kissing Geralt again, slower this time, his entire body leaning into the witcher’s touch. And then again. And again.

Geralt kisses him back gently, his other hand moving up to tangle in Jaskier’s hair, still wet after the bath. He runs his tongue over the bard’s bottom lip but, when Jaskier parts them obediently, withdraws, earning himself a disheartened little whimper as a reward.

“Teasing me, Witcher?” Jaskier asks, a little breathless as he breaks away.

Geralt grins, showing off his canine.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says, not even trying to sound innocent.

Jaskier’s eyes are already darker than they usually are, transfixed on the witcher’s grin, and Geralt knows perfectly what exactly he’s looking at, what draws in so much of his attention.

“You and your fucking witcher mutations,” he hisses, dragging his thumb over Geralt’s bottom lip and leaning down to kiss him, hard.

Geralt laughs somewhere deep in his chest.

“What about them?”

Jaskier leaves him without an answer for they both know it well enough, and dips his head to touch his lips to Geralt’s neck, right under the sharp of his jaw. The touch sends sparks of pleasure up Geralt’s spine, and his eyes flutter closed as he tilts his head to give the bard more access.

The neck had always been a sensitive area for him and as much as a couple of well-placed kisses could have him biting his lips but right now, with Jaskier kissing him, he can barely hold back a moan.

“How long have you wanted this?” Jaskier asks, pressing a wet, open-mouthed kiss to Geralt’s throat, his hands slowly making their way down the witcher’s chest.

Geralt has to bite his lip, hard, to keep himself from getting under Jaskier’s shirt.

“More than three years,” he says, catching the bard’s lips with his own when he lifts his head. “Pretty much ever since we met.”

“Ever since we met,” Jaskier echoes, kissing him again and slowly, carefully rolling his hips against Geralt’s, tearing a sigh out of them both. “And yet you waited all this time.”

His breath is hot on Geralt’s lips and before the witcher has the chance to answer, he’s silenced with a kiss, Jaskier’s tongue hot and wet when he licks into his mouth. Geralt doesn’t mind being led, not with Jaskier, so he allows for it with pleasure, arching into the touch when the bard finally slips his hands under his shirt.

It’s not that Jaskier’s hands have never been on his chest or sides before, because of course they have, helping wash off blood and wrapping bandages around fresh wounds but it was always a necessity, with no time to actually feel, to study the firm muscles and the pale scars. Geralt did catch Jaskier looking a couple of times but that too wasn’t nearly enough.

Geralt can feel Jaskier’s hands tremble slightly as he rucks his shirt up and moves just far enough from the headboard of the bed for him to pull it off over his head. Jaskier drops the shirt to the floor beside the bed, his hands finding their way to Geralt’s broad chest and for a moment, he just looks, brushing his thumb over a healing cut on the witcher’s collarbone.

His hands are warm against Geralt’s skin and though he’s not used to such direct attention, it feels good.

“Like what you see?” he teases, watching Jaskier slowly move his hand down his chest, stopping just between his ribs, just the tips of his fingers touching skin.

That gets him the result he wanted, a flush of colour spilling high on the bard’s cheeks and Jaskier bites his lip, hiding his eyes in a gesture that Geralt had grown to love a little too much.

“Yes,” Jaskier says, only a whisper. “Gods know I’ve been dreaming about you for years.”

He dips his head, brushing his lips over the cut he’d been tracing and, after a moment of hesitation, slips lower, to Geralt’s chest, eyes fluttering closed.

He’s careful with his every touch, like it’s Geralt who’s never been in bed with a man, not him, but it sends Geralt’s head reeling regardless, knowing where that tentativeness is coming from. Unable to help himself anymore, he gets his hands under Jaskier’s shirt, tearing a soft little gasp out of him, and runs his hands up his back, both encouraging and calming.

Jaskier kisses a line down his chest, touching his tongue to the skin every time, and there’s only so much that Geralt can take before he’s searching for the hem of his shirt.

“Can I?” he asks, tugging on it just a little to indicate his intentions.

Jaskier goes still for a moment, his breath heavying, but Geralt can tell that it’s anticipation rather than indecisiveness. And it’s only a second before he nods.

“Yes,” he breathes. “Gods, yes. Please.”

More than anything Geralt wants to flip them both around, lay Jaskier down on the pillows and just kiss him until there’s no air left in his lungs, wants to make him tremble with pleasure, hear those little choked-off moans and whimpers, but he knows that there will be time for that, and right now what Jaskier needs is time. And that is something that Geralt can give him.

He pulls the bard’s shirt off him slowly, letting his hands brush over his sides, and once it falls down onto the floor, he keeps his eyes locked with Jaskier’s for a long moment before running his gaze down his shoulders and chest, all the way down to his lower abdomen. Jaskier’s heart rate picks up even more so than before, and Geralt leans in to brush his lips over his neck, feel the carotid pulsing under the tender skin.

Jaskier leans into it, until they’re chest to chest, and gets one of his hands into Geralt’s hair, pulling him closer, giving him more access, more freedom, while his other hand never quite stills on the witcher’s chest, like he’s mapping out every curve and line.

“Talk to me,” he pleads, throwing his head back with a soft moan when Geralt presses another open-mouthed kiss to his neck, sucks a mark into it with just a hint of his canine scraping over the skin.

Geralt knows just how inexperienced Jaskier is, can feel it in every touch of his hands and lips, but the bard had never told him directly, and it’s too tempting for Geralt to deny himself the pleasure.

“You’ve never been with a man before, have you?” he murmurs, letting his voice drop to a soft purring rumble that gets Jaskier’s heart beating faster every time.

He doesn’t have to see the blood rushing to Jaskier’s cheeks to be able to feel it.

“No,” Jaskier admits, his hand catching on the witcher’s medallion and wrapping around it. “I wanted to, a couple of times, but I never quite had the courage. Or maybe I just never really wanted to be with anyone but you.”

Those words run through Geralt’s body like a shockwave and he breaks away from Jaskier’s neck to catch and hold his gaze.

“Gods, you perfect,” he whispers but before he can capture Jaskier’s mouth in a kiss, his lips are already back on his chest.

He seems braver this time, his kisses turning into teasing bites, like that confession was what he needed to feel more confident. It’s getting harder to breathe and though Geralt manages to keep his breathing more or less even as Jaskier makes his way down his chest, once the bard’s lips close around his hardened nipple, he fails to suppress a gasp, hips jerking involuntarily.

He’s fully hard by now and the pressure of Jaskier’s hips against his own sends sparks of pleasure through his lower abdomen.

Jaskier seems to take that as an encouragement, pressing himself closer to the witcher and rolling his hips slowly, his own cock hard and throbbing beneath the thin fabric of his smallclothes.

For a second, Geralt is overwhelmed with the desire to flip Jaskier onto his back and get his mouth on him, make him come just like that, finally learn what he tastes like, but he makes himself hold back. After all, they have the entire night.

“What about you?” Jaskier asks, and Geralt is so lost in the feeling of his hot tongue that it takes him a second to register the question. “Who was the first man you’ve slept with?”

He chuckles, pulling Jaskier up to his lips for just a second before letting him get back to his chest.

“Another witcher,” he says, nearly choking on a moan when Jaskier catches his nipple between his teeth before shifting in Geralt’s lap and moving lower. “I was eight, maybe ten years out of Kaer Morhen. He was a little younger than me.”

Jaskier takes his kisses lower, down the centre of Geralt’s abdomen, and though his hands are slightly trembling again where they’re resting on the witcher’s thighs, he doesn’t stop in one spot for too long. And if Geralt’s voice is what it takes to take the worry away, how can he refuse?

“We met in the Pont Vanis court, in Poviss. There was some kind of a creature in the harbour that was killing seamen and dockworkers at night, and the king needed a witcher to take care of it. When we asked which one of us he wants to take on the contract, he said that whoever brings him the head of the beast will get the coin. We spent two nights searching the docks and growling at each other, and all the other nights we spent in one bed.”

Jaskier’s head snaps up from where he’d been following the trail of short silver hair running down Geralt’s lower abdomen, and his eyes are widened with both surprise and amusement.

“Hatesex, Geralt?” he asks, not quite managing to hide a grin. “That’s… hot.”

Geralt laughs, shaking his head.

“We didn’t hate each other,” he says. “Coën is… well, he’s certainly something. On the third night that we were supposed to go looking for what turned out to be a vengeful siren, I’ve decided to show up on his doorstep and tell him to stop getting in the way of my hunting but instead of telling me to fuck off like I’ve been expecting, he just rolled his eyes and pressed me up against a wall.”

Jaskier’s eyes widen even more and his grin is now not concealed in the slightest.

“I’ve always thought you to be the one doing the pressing,” he says, running the tips of his fingers up Geralt’s thigh.

Denying anything is useless at this point, so Geralt just accepts that Jaskier now knows a little secret of his. Considering that there are fresh marks blooming on the bard’s neck, it’s a small price to pay.

“I am,” he agrees. “But he’s very… dominant.”

Jaskier hums something dismissive, the grin never leaving his lips even as he pulls himself up to steal a long, sweet kiss from the witcher.

“You still sleep with him, don’t you?” Jaskier enquiries, willingly allowing Geralt to pull him back into his lap and leaning into the touch when the witcher rolls his hips slowly.

When Geralt wants to, he can look just as charming as the bard, and that is exactly what he does right now.

“From time to time,” he grins.

He’s half-expecting the bard to be jealous, though he doesn’t want him to be, but Jaskier just laughs and kisses him again, blindly searching for Geralt’s wrists to guide his hands to the waistband of his smallclothes. His fingers tremble where they’re pressed against Geralt’s skin, but he doesn’t stop.

Geralt kisses him back gently, calming him and letting his hands rest on the bard’s hips for a long, comfortable moment before breaking away when there is no air left in his lungs.

“Are you sure?” he asks softly, and Jaskier just nods, a little nervously, his lips already back on Geralt’s in search of consolation.

Geralt undoes the ties on the bard’s smallclothes with practised ease and, when Jaskier shifts just enough, slips them off him, careful not to let his hands wander too soon.

Jaskier sucks in a breath, breaking away from Geralt’s lips, and his cheeks are flushed with blood again, too beautiful for the witcher to be able to hold himself back from placing a kiss on both of them.

“Alright?” he asks, tipping Jaskier’s chin up to get his attention.

Jaskier’s darkened eyes snap up to meet his, and he smiles, open and warm.

“Alright,” he breathes.

He rolls his hips, pressing himself close to Geralt, and they both moan softly at the pressure. It’s almost unbearable, taking it so slow, but it’s better than anything Geralt has ever known. He desperately wants to get a proper look at the bard, now completely naked and so, so close, wants to study every curve and line of his body, but Jaskier’s already blushing, and he doesn’t want to push it too far.

Jaskier, for his part, seems determined to finish what he’d started, so before Geralt gets the chance to as much as kiss him again, he’s already spilling back down, his lips low on the witcher’s abdomen and his hands blindly tracing the lines of his thighs.

There’s a long uneven scar that starts just above the witcher’s hipbone and curves halfway around his lower abdomen, and Jaskier halts just above it, lifting his head hesitantly.

“May I?” he asks.

It’s just now that Geralt realises he’d been avoiding his scars. And not because he didn’t want to touch them but because he wasn’t sure if he’s allowed.

Geralt lets out a shuddering breath, running his fingers through the bard’s hair.

“You can do anything you want to me,” he says.

Jaskier flashes a happy smile at him and then he’s dipping his head down to kiss a line along the length of the scar, starting from its inner side and making his way to the witcher’s hipbone, tugging on the waistband of his smallclothes just enough to give himself access.

His breath is hot against Geralt’s skin, sending tingles up his spine, and the witcher gets so lost in his pleasure that he barely registers the moment Jaskier undoes the ties on his smallclothes and tugs them off him, for he lifts his hips almost instinctively.

But once there are no more barriers of clothing left between them, he’s suddenly hyper-aware of just how close they are, and that sends his head reeling.

“Fuck,” Jaskier breathes, licking his lips in a gesture that Geralt can’t help but follow with his eyes. “You’re even bigger than I thought.”

Geralt has about five different ways of replying to that but just as he opens his mouth, Jaskier’s lips wrap around the head of his cock, and all words fail him.

He moans, clenching his hand into a fist in order to keep himself from getting it into the bard’s hair, and it’s so overwhelming that for a second, he thinks that he could come just like this.

“Jask--” he chokes out, taking in a deep breath and grounding himself to gently run his fingers through the bard’s hair, calming and reassuring him. Them both. “Fuck, you’re incredible.”

Jaskier smiles without pulling away and wraps his hand around the base of the witcher’s cock, stroking torturously-slowly.

He doesn’t move any further yet, just sucks lightly at the head, moving his hand over the entire length every time, but that is more than enough to have Geralt trembling, his breathing deep and heavy. He keeps his hand in Jaskier’s hair but doesn’t try to guide him, just plays gently with the chestnut locks, his eyes fluttering closed as the bard lets his cock slowly slip deeper into his mouth.

Geralt doesn’t even try to bite back a moan as Jaskier presses his tongue closer, runs it over the underside of the tip of his cock where the tender flesh is especially sensitive, and the bard echoes, the vibration going through what seems like Geralt’s entire body.

Jaskier sinks even lower, a little too fast this time, almost choking for a second, and Geralt runs his fingers down his cheek to stop on the sharp of his jaw, gentle and grounding.

“Don’t rush,” he murmurs softly, finding Jaskier’s other hand and pulling it up to his lips to press a kiss to his palm. “Don’t rush, I’ve got you.”

Jaskier pulls away to take in a proper breath, and the way he looks, with those darkened eyes, ruffled hair and lips glistening with spit and precome, is almost too much for Geralt to take.

“Come here,” he beckons, reaching out to pull Jaskier closer. “Gods, just come here.”

Jaskier obeys without hesitation, climbing back into Geralt’s lap and finding his way to his lips easily, sharing his own taste with him.

Geralt runs both his hands down the bard’s back, over his waist and hips until he can finally dig his fingers into his thighs, letting his self-control slip just a little.

He just can’t take it anymore, can’t stay in the position they’re in, his entire body aching with the need to be closer, and he wraps one arm around Jaskier’s middle to keep him close as he flips them both over, lowering the bard down onto the pillows. Jaskier gasps sweetly but doesn’t protest, throwing both his arms around the witcher’s neck.

“I’ll get you back into my lap later, if you want,” Geralt promises, breathless as he breaks the kiss and immediately finds his way to Jaskier’s neck. “All you have to do is ask, alright? Anything you want, I’ll give you.”

Jaskier nods, his bottom lip caught between his lips, and Geralt takes that as a permission, pressing his hips into Jaskier’s and paving a path of wet, open-mouthed kisses down the column of his throat, moving closer still when the bard wraps his legs around his waist, his hands tangled in the witcher’s hair.

He can feel Jaskier’s cock against his abdomen, hot and throbbing, can feel the smears of precome on his skin, and his mind blacks-out completely for a second as he moans and leaves a bite on the curve of the bard’s shoulder, making his gasp and arch his back off the bed.

“Gods, Geralt, please,” he whispers, edging on a sob. “Please.”

He doesn’t have to specify what he’s asking for for Geralt to know, and he gladly obliges, biting him again, just a little harder this time, letting Jaskier feel the pressure of his canine against his skin. Jaskier tugs on his hair and whimpers, his breath coming in short gasps.

Geralt presses his tongue to the faint mark left by his teeth and moves lower, to Jaskier’s collarbone, nearly growling with pleasure when he sinks his teeth into it, making the bard shudder all over, his head thrown back onto the pillows, lips parted and kiss-swollen.

He’s growing overly sensitive and it sends a thrill through Geralt’s body, makes his blood boil in his veins. If Jaskier is this responsive now, how much further can he push his before it becomes too much?

“Jask,” Geralt calls softly, getting the bard’s attention. “You can stop me at any moment, alright? Always.”

Jaskier nods frantically, rolling his hips against Geralt’s and breaking off into a breathless moan. Oh, the things Geralt is ready to do to hear that.

He kisses a line down the centre of Jaskier’s chest, keeping his balance with one hand and never quite letting go of the bard’s thigh with the other.

It only seems fair to give what you get, so Geralt doesn’t even think about it as he sucks Jaskier’s nipple into his mouth, circling it with his tongue until the bard is writhing and whimpering under him, and then bites down, making Jaskier cry out.

“Please--” he sniffles, and it’s just now that Geralt realises that there are tears in the corners of his blue eyes. “Fuck, Geralt, please, you’re going to kill me.”

For a second, a wave of cold fear runs through his body, and his mind races, trying to figure out what he did wrong, but then he takes in a breath, takes in Jaskier’s scent, and he doesn't feel distress or pain, only the deep, rich sweetness of lust. And something more. Something that he doesn’t quite dare to think about just yet.

“Shhh--” he murmurs, touching a calming, grounding kiss to Jaskier’s shoulder. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

Jaskier pulls him closer, catches his lips in a rushed, desperate kiss, all sharp teeth.

“Please,” he says again, and Geralt can barely even think because of how easy it is to get Jaskier to this state, hyper-sensitive and desperate.

He doesn’t want to make him wait any longer, doesn’t want to deny him the pleasure, so he just nods, unclasping Jaskiers’s ankles on the small of his back to climb off the bed and reach for one of his bags, searching through it quickly to find the oil. And once he’s got the vial in his hand, he comes back and finally, finally runs his gaze over the bard’s entire body, splayed out on the dark-red bed covers just for him.

Jaskier flushes under his tentative eyes but doesn’t tense, doesn’t hide. If anything, he spreads his legs further and it’s an invitation that Geralt cannot decline.

He climbs back onto the bed, settling in-between Jaskier’s knees, and dips his head down to press a wet kiss to the inside of the bard’s thigh, making him gasp softly and flex his muscles, both leaning into the touch and trying to get away from it. His cock is throbbing and leaking precome onto his stomach, and there’s nothing that Geralt wants more than to take it into his mouth, but Jaskier seems to see right through him, for just as the witcher moves to go through with his intentions, Jaskier stops him with a hand on his shoulder.

“No,” he says, breathing hard. “No, not right now. Believe me, love, I’ve been thinking about this what seems like every night but I know what it feels like. And right now I want something I’ve never felt before. With you.”

He looks so open, so vulnerable that Geralt’s heart seems to stop completely for one endless moment, and then his lips are back on Jaskier’s thighs, peppering calming kisses over the tender skin.

“Alright,” he breathes. “Anything you want.”

Geralt spreads the bard’s knees further, giving himself more access, and uncorks the vial of oil without looking, too preoccupied with sucking a mark into Jaskier’s thigh that makes him shudder and whimper, pain mixing in with pleasure.

The oil smells pleasantly of lavender and Geralt is just about to drip it into his hand, when Jaskier asks:

“Will it hurt?”

His voice is so small that Geralt would not have heard it were it not for his heightened senses. Oh, it tears his heart into pieces with just how much it makes him feel.

“No,” he says, smoothing both his hands down the bard’s thighs and leaning down to touch a kiss to his hip bone. “Maybe just a little. We’ll go slow, alright? I won’t hurt you.”

Jaskier bites his lip but nods, loose strands of his damp hair falling into his eyes. But he still seems worried, and in Geralt’s mind, there’s only one thing for it.

“You know,” he murmurs, running his tongue over the fresh mark to get Jaskier’s attention. “I could start with my tongue.”

Jaskier’s darkened eyes light up with interest.

“With your tongue?” he echoes.

Geralt just grins, closing the vial of oil again and setting it aside for now. He should’ve thought of it from the start.

“Turn around for me,” he says, and Jaskier obliges immediately, though his arms shake when he props himself up on his elbows. “Just like that.”

Jaskier doesn’t seem to know exactly what Geralt wants from him, and when the witcher runs his hands down his sides only to slip them under his hips and lift them up until Jaskier’s propped up on his knees, he gasps in what almost sounds like surprise.

He looks incredible like this, his chest still pressed to the bed and the perfect swell of his ass on display, the blush that never seems to leave his cheeks only making it better.

Geralt doesn’t torture either of them with anticipation, running a line of dry, calming kisses down Jaskier’s back and getting a better grip of his thighs to keep him in place. As he runs his tongue over the crease of the bard’s thighs for the first time, slow and wet, he can hear Jaskier gasp into the pillows, and it’s all the encouragement he needs.

Geralt presses his tongue closer and swipes it up again, listening to every little noise that Jaskier makes. He lets the bard rock his hips into the touch but keeps him at a steady, slow rhythm, until he relaxes enough to whimper in response to every touch. Only then does Geralt allow himself to go further, applying more pressure with every drag of his tongue, teasing at the bard’s hole, and Jaskier trembles under him.

His cock is leaking steadily onto the bed covers, and Geralt knows that they’re going to absolutely ruin them by morning, but that doesn’t concern him in the least. Not with Jaskier panting and whimpering because of him.

Jaskier is eager to get more, and he relaxes quickly, allowing Geralt to press harder, push his tongue inside, his lips and chin slick with spit. If he could, he would gladly spend the entire night like this, licking into the bard’s hot, tight body and feeling his thighs shake where his fingers are digging into them.

“Oh, fuck, Geralt, please--” Jaskier sniffles, and Geralt can feel the salty tang of his tears. “Please, don’t stop. Do anything you want to me but just don’t stop.”

Geralt is happy to oblige, ignoring his own throbbing cock, painfully hard and leaking just as much as Jaskier’s. But he can’t help but think about what it will feel like to sink into that hot, pliable body that’s taking his tongue so eagerly, and his vision darkens for an agonisingly long moment. His entire body responds to the fantasy, tingling and aching, and he just barely has it in him not to wrap a hand around himself.

He makes himself focus completely on Jaskier, on the way he claws at the sheets, rocking his hips faster, fucking himself onto Geralt’s tongue, and it takes him everything he’s got to keep his own movements slow and gentle - a sharp contrast to the bard’s eagerness.

He presses in close, sinking his tongue deep into the bard’s body and then withdrawing almost fully, and gets completely lost in, fucking him just like that until Jaskier’s moan suddenly breaks off into a sharp cry and his hips snap forward as he comes, spilling all over the sheets.

Geralt fucks him through it, his head reeling with the overwhelming scent of the bard’s pleasure, and when he finally breaks away, he has to steady himself with a hand on Jaskier’s hip because for a second he feels completely disoriented.

Jaskier’s entire body trembles with the aftershocks of his orgasm, but he keeps his hips up even as he hides his face in the pillows, his breath coming in short uneven gasps.

Geralt allows him his time, peppering kisses all over his back until he finally reaches his shoulders and Jaskier turns around, his arms wrapping around Geralt’s neck and pulling him into a heated kiss. All tension is gone from his body, and when Geralt pulls him closer, until their hips are pressed together again, he allows himself to be manoeuvred willingly.

“Gods, that was--” he chokes out, voice hoarse. “That was incredible.”

Geralt just smiles into his lips, kisses him again, slower and deeper this time, licking into Jaskier’s mouth and sharing his taste with him.

“Now that didn’t hurt, did it?” he teases and Jaskier bites on his lower lip, breaking the tender skin.

“No,” he grins, licking the blood off and rolling his hips against Geralt’s, his cock already half-hard again. “But I want more.”

Oh, that Geralt is more than ready to provide.

He laughs somewhere in the back of his throat and reaches for the previously abandoned vial of oil, leaning into every touch as Jaskier runs his hands down his shoulders and back, gripping and scratching everywhere he can reach.

“Do you want me to start with one or two fingers?” the witcher asks, nosings at the bard’s throat and sucking new marks into it as he drips the oil into his hand and warms it between his fingers.

Jaskier spreads his legs further, full of impatience.

“Two,” he says, running his hand all the way down to the witcher’s ass and digging his fingers into the flesh with a pleased moan. “I want you inside so fucking bad, Geralt, please.”

Geralt is growing just as impatient as he, so he doesn’t wait anymore, just props himself up on one elbow, his lips never leaving the bard’s neck, and slips his hand between his legs, circling two fingers around Jaskier’s twitching hole before slowly pushing them inside.

Jaskier arches off the bed with a broken moan, and his sharp nails rake down the witcher’s shoulders, leaving burning scratches behind. He rolls his hips, taking Geralt’s fingers in deeper, and throws his head back, exposing his neck.

Geralt takes advantage of it without hesitation, switching his lips for his teeth and biting down, not hard enough to draw blood though only just. Jaskier’s mouth falls open as he suppresses another moan, and all of it is so overwhelming that all Geralt can concentrate on is his scent and the hot tightness of his body where he fucks him with his fingers. It’s only a matter of minutes before there is no more resistance and he adds a third one.

“Gods, Geralt, if I didn’t kiss you then, how much longer would it have taken us?” Jaskier pants, a whine escaping his lips at the stretch.

Years, maybe, Geralt thinks, Until one of them would finally break. Or maybe just a month or two, until they would get drunk and would no longer be able to keep their hands to themselves. But nothing that could’ve been would not have been better than this. If they waited longer, maybe Geralt would not have been the first one. If they waited longer, maybe Jaskier would have just stopped waiting for him to make up his mind, and gave himself to someone else.

That thought runs through Geralt’s entire body like a wave of suffocating heat and he growls.

“You don’t even know what it does to me - knowing that I’m the first man to touch you like this,” he breathes into the bard’s ear.

Jaskier seems to be about to answer when Geralt’s fingers brush over just the right spot inside, and his eyes fly open as he gasps.

“Right there,” he pleads, curling into Geralt’s body. “Right there, please, Geralt, please.”

For a second Geralt wonders if Jaskier could come three times in a row, if he could get hard again if he was to keep fucking his just like this until he’s absolutely ruined, but he just can’t ignore his own desire any longer. He’s lightheaded with it, almost dizzy, and he just won’t make it through another round like this.

He moves his wrist faster, keeping the same angle, and Jaskier whines and trembles under him, his cock hard and leaking again, making a mess of his stomach. And as soon as he relaxes enough, Geralt withdraws his fingers, swallowing the bard’s disheartened moan with a kiss.

“Breathe for me,” he says softly, dripping more oil into his hand to slick himself up and clenching his jaw at the friction of his own calloused fingers. “Just breathe, Jask.”

Jaskier does as he’s told, wrapping his arms around Geralt’s neck again to keep him close, and Geralt holds the gaze of his darkened eyes as he aligns himself and slowly pushes in.

They moan in perfect unison, and Geralt drops his head to rest it against Jaskier’s sweat-slick shoulder, his eyes fluttering closed as he sinks deeper into his hot, welcoming body, barely able to breathe.

The sense of time is completely lost to him, and he’s not sure just how long it takes before he finally bottoms out, but once he does, Jaskier’s ankles clasp together on the small of his back, and the bard pulls his closer, hands fluttering blindly over Geralt’s face until he finally tips his chin up and captures his lips in a kiss.

He’s still so impossibly fucking tight that it almost hurts, and Geralt moans into his lips as he slowly rolls his hips, carefully starting to move.

“Fuck, Geralt, I’m not letting you out of this bed for days,” Jaskier breathes in a loud whisper, moving to meet the witcher half-way.

They fall into a perfect rhythm easily, slow and careful at first, but faster as Jaskier gets used to it, staying close enough to breathe the same air, gasps and moans falling off their lips and getting lost in tender kisses.

Geralt had slept with a lot of people in his life, both men and women, but it has never felt like this, like they’re not just having sex, not just fucking but making love. And fuck if he can see himself opting for anything else ever again.

His chest feels tight with emotions, and Geralt hides his face in the delicate curve of the bard’s shoulder, kissing and biting everywhere he can reach, moving faster until Jaskier is whimpering again, snapping his hips just in time to sink as far down as possible every single time.

“There are so many things that I want you to do to me,” he whispers, voice shaking as his nails dig deep into Geralt’s shoulders. “So many things I want to do to you, if you only knew--”

The temptation is too strong to withstand, and Geralt doesn’t even think as he snaps his hips, hard and deep, making Jaskier cry out and drag his nails down his shoulders, leaving bleeding marks behind. Geralt moans breathlessly, always the one to mix pain into his pleasure, and the smell of blood is so intoxicating that it nearly pushes him over the edge.

“Fuck, Geralt,” Jaskier gasps, wrapping his legs tighter around his waist, encouraging. “Again.”

Geralt doesn’t have to be asked twice. He snaps his hips again, just as hard, and Jaskier’s entire body trembles in response as he throws his head back onto the pillows, his cock twitching where it’s pressed against Geralt’s stomach.

They’re both close, and Geralt can’t keep the slow pace up any longer, shifting just enough to brace himself better against the bed and picking the speed up, one of his hands coming down to squeeze Jaskier’s thigh and keep him close.

He’s vaguely aware that the headboard of the bed is knocking into the wall behind it with every thrust of his hips and that it’s already late at night but that’s not something that really concerns him right now, because all he can concentrate on is the heat of Jaskier’s body and his moans and gasp that drown in messy kisses.

Jaskier scratches Geralt’s back and shoulders raw, arching off the bed and desperately trying to keep up with the witcher, pushing them both closer to the edge.

His hands are shaking when he reaches out to intercept Geralt’s wrist as the witcher lets go of his thigh and slips between their heated bodies, and Geralt only hesitates for a second before obliging and returning his hand to where it was.

“Let me come untouched,” Jaskier pants, and his eyes glisten with tears again. “Please, just don’t stop.”

The knot low in Geralt’s abdomen ties tighter and tighter, making him tremble with the sharpening pleasure, the tips of his fingers numb from hyperventilation, and it only takes him one more sharp snap of his hips, one more set of bleeding scratches on his back for the orgasm to crash over him in a suffocating wave. He bites into the bard’s lips, spilling deep into his body and still moving, and he’s still trembling when Jaskier catches up with him and comes all over both their stomachs.

He clings onto Geralt’s neck, both their bodies shaking with the aftershocks, and Geralt can’t even imagine just how much time passes before they let each other go. He pulls out carefully, knowing just how sensitive Jaskier is right now, but the bard still gasps softly, though whether it’s from pain or pleasure Geralt can’t tell.

He falls onto the pillows beside the bard, his body lighter than he can remember it ever being, and pulls Jaskier into his arms, tucking him against his chest, safe and warm. They need to clean up, to take the bed cover off but all of that can wait, and right now all that matters is the way Jaskier leans into his touch, pressing a smudged kiss to Geralt’s chest. He’s still trembling, though barely perceptible, and it sends Geralt’s head reeling all over again.

A few long, comfortable minutes pass by in silence as they just breathe together. Then, Geralt asks:

“Was it like you’d imagined?”

Jaskier laughs quietly, pulling back just enough to look Geralt in the eyes, steal a gentle kiss from him.

“No,” he smiles. “It was much better.”

Geralt snorts, propping himself up on one elbow to get a proper look at the bard, run his gaze down his entire body, slender and beautiful. The words are right there, on the tip of his tongue, and while he still has the courage, he needs to say them.

“Jask,” he calls softly, getting the bard's attention. “You do know that I love you, don’t you?”

Jaskier’s eyes widen slightly and Geralt can hear his heart skip a beat, but then he’s smiling, so bright and happy that it almost hurts.

“Oh, Geralt,” he says, voice breaking like he’s about to cry.

He sits up, throwing his arms around Geralt’s neck when he does the same, and hugs him so tight that he knocks the air out of the witcher’s lungs. When he pulls back, his eyes are shining with tears.

“I didn’t know,” he says, sniffling and laughing when Geralt reaches up to wipe the tears from his cheeks. “Not until tonight, at least. But with the way you touched me, the way you cared so much about my comfort, oh, Melitele preserve me.”

He covers Geralt’s hand with his own and pulls it to his lips to press a kiss to the witcher’s fingers.

“I love you,” he whispers, lifting his eyes to meet Geralt’s. “Gods, of course, I love you, I’ve loved you ever since we met.”

And then his lips are on Geralt’s again, and it’s so much, so much that all the witcher can do is kiss back, his heart beating against his ribcage so hard that he feels like it might actually break through it. He wraps his arms around Jaskier’s back, and when the bard breaks away, breathless, the corners of his lips are still curled up in a smile.

“Do you think we’ve woken all the other guests up yet?” he enquires, eyes sparkling.

Geralt falls into pretend consideration for a second then shrugs with one shoulder and grins.

“Not all of them,” he says.

Jaskier mirrors his grin.

“Wonderful,” he says, pushing the witcher down onto his back and straddling his hips. “Then we ought to fix that.”

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #my writing #calton writes #oh gods this one was a ride

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ritz-hell-hotel · 3 years

Text

Retail Therapy - Luke Patterson

Julie and the Phantoms

Request?: Nope.

Word Count: 4.8K+

Summary: Alive!Luke x Alive!Reader/ Alive!JATP x Reader. After a fight with your parents, you go out for a little retail therapy and meet a certain Rockstar. I think I will prolly do a part 2 or more let me know if you want one, btw this is not proofread or edited. Luke sings to you in this chapter and he sings ‘Can’t take my eyes off you’ by Frankie Valli and The Four Seasons, so you can listen to that if you want.

Warnings: I don’t think there’s any.

“Julie please, my parents and I just got into another huge fight about my art and I need moral support.”

“But my dad wants me to watch Carlos and I can’t bail again.”

“Please just get here! I need you, Jules,” Y/N radiated distress and it was clear to all the people in the Claire’s she was currently in.

“Fine, I can call my tía. I’ll be there in an hour, but you owe me an ice cream cone!” Julie said laughing, Julie had been Y/N’s best friend since they met in the seventh grade when they both accidentally wore the same shirt three days in a row and became friends, they often would laugh about it. Y/N told her where to meet and thanked her friend quickly hanging up the phone. She heaved all her shopping bags up and looked around.

“Why am I even in this store?!” She hmphed loudly drawing the attention of the other shoppers once again. She marched out of the store towards the food court where she was meeting Julie. A new store caught her eye and she stopped for a minute debating if she had enough room for more bags. She quickly made her mind up deciding that she could make room, after all, she had her dad’s Platinum Amex and she was not going to waste this opportunity. Y/N walked quickly to the entrance of the quaint book store. She turned into the book store slamming into something, it was just her luck to run into a wall today and I mean why not seeing as the rest of her life was falling to pieces around her. She fell onto her back looking at the ceiling her bags scattered around her.

“Oh my god! I’m so sorry! Are you okay?” A boy came into her sight. He had shaggy brown hair and was wearing a light yellow apron with a name tag. Guess she didn’t run into a wall after all, but again that was just her luck. Her eyes began to water as all the emotion crashed upon her like a tsunami. She gritted her teeth pulling herself together.

“I’m fine,” Y/N looked at his name tag. “Luke.”

“Woah how’d you know my name?” Luke stepped back and Y/N let out a breath of laughter.

“Nametag,” She said as the tears began to pool in her eyes.

“What? Oh my god, why are you crying?” Luke looked at her panicked, he didn’t do the best around crying girls. She held up a thumbs up.

“I said I’m- I’m,” She coughed lightly trying her best to get out the words.

“Here let me help you up,” Luke stuck out his hand to her nervously. She grabbed it and using her other hand tried to wipe the onslaught of tears off her face. Luke kept a hold of her hand pulling her to the back section of the store.

“Um you can stay back here as long as you’d like,” He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly and accidentally running into the desk behind him knocking a book off the desk he looked at it quickly.

“Here you can read this maybe it’ll make you feel better,” he picked the book up shoving the book into her arms. He ran out of the room quickly.

“Oh? I- Thank you!” Y/N called out into the store. Luke ran back into the room his arms heaving all the girl’s bags.

“How were you carrying this much?” He wheezed dropping the bags by her. She laughed wiping more tears away and smearing her mascara. Luke backed up again.

“I have to get back to work but just leave when you want and if you need anything I’ll be up at the front counter,” he nodded at the girl giving her a thumbs up, and walked out again. She sat at the back of the store composing herself. She picked up the book looking at the title. It was ‘The Outsiders’ and a pretty beaten up copy at that the book was filled up with loose pages, she flipped through it and set it down on the table next to her. She turned to grab her bags. She didn’t notice but the book slipped off the table into one of her bags. She also didn’t notice her journal/ sketchbook drop from her purse as she grabbed everything trying to flee as quickly as she could. She collected the rest going out into the main store and heading to the counter.

“Thanks again for the help,” She leaned on the counter gazing at the boy in front of her.

“No problem, um you can come back anytime, that is if you want to of course no pressure,” Luke stumbled over his words.

“Of course, yeah,” She nodded, but she was not going to come back, not after that humiliating experience. He smiled dopily at her.

“Can’t wait,” he leaned on the counter as well.

“Um yeah,” she felt a twinge of guilt at the totally sweet look he was giving her. Her phone chimed loudly and she pulled it out.

“That would be my cue to leave,” She turned quickly dashing out of the store making her great escape.

“Bye then,” he waved confused. Y/N pulled out her phone checking the text.

‘Where are you? I got here 10 minutes ago.’ - From Julie. Y/N sighed speeding up her strides to get to the food court quicker. She spied Julie sitting at a table in the middle of the court. She made her way through the throng of people and sat down at the table setting her bags down under it.

“What happened?” Julie asked eyeing the girl.

“I had a bit of a break down in a store, but a nice employee helped me out so I’m good,” Y/N laughed quickly.

“Are you okay, your eyes are really puffy. Do you need eye drops?” Julie stuck her hand in her purse and Y/N stopped her laughing again.

“I don’t need anything I’m good I promise, I just want to spend time with my best friend,” Y/N laid her hands down on the table in front of her. Julie rested her hands on top of the girls.

“If it’s any consolation I am supportive of your art,” Julie smiled sweetly. Y/N’s heart melted at the girl’s words, it did mean a lot to her.

“Thanks, Julie, now if you could convince my parents to do the same then that would be a dream come true,” a weak smile crept its way onto Y/N’s face. Julie squeezed her hand.

“How about we go get that ice cream and we can talk a bit and walk around, I think we both need it,” Julie stood up interlocking her hand with Y/N’s and pulling her towards the creamy treat.

It’d been a few weeks since the mall incident and things were not getting any easier for Y/N. Fights seemed to be on the daily now and the yelling was beginning to drive the girl insane. So she spent as little time as possible at her house only going over to sleep and do school work, other than that she was at the park painting or reading through the book that had slipped into her bag. She had planned on returning it to the booking clerk after she had read it, but now it had been three weeks and she had yet to. She would have hung out with Julie, but she was busy with her new band and nonstop rehearsals, they were set to debut at a spirit rally at school next week and they needed to be perfect. She still hadn’t met the band, but she had permission from Julie to crash anytime she wanted and she was planning on taking full advantage of this pass soon.

Her favorite pass time though was reading the book though so she had kept it, she loved to just read and look at the little notes and doodles in the margins, it really gave her a view of what was going on in Luke’s head. Although sometimes it was hard to decipher the hieroglyphics that was Luke’s handwriting.

She had discovered that the writings of S.E. Hinton were not the only thing hidden away in the eggshell-colored pages, there were journal entries and songs. She didn’t feel comfortable reading through the entries but she sure did love reading the works of musical genius, Luke’s, songs. They were so well written and heartfelt it helped her understand this boy that she barely knew, this boy so full of passion, feeling, emotions, and kindness.

And that’s where she was now reading a song of loss and regret under the cloudy sky. One that she related to personally, it reminded her of her parents and that even if she was having a hard time with them she would always love them even if they weren’t in the picture.

“If you could only know I never let you go,” she hummed along to the words, and sure she didn’t know the tune the words were initially meant for but she could sure try and make her own melody. But her phone interrupted her startling her out of her own little world within the words. She hurriedly wiped at her tear-stained cheeks and took the device out. It was 4:30, Julie and the Phantoms were at rehearsals right now and this was the perfect opportunity to infiltrate the jam session, so Y/N hopped on her bike and sped towards the Molina residence.

Y/N stopped on the cobblestone path leading to the studio loft and set her bike against the stone wall. She could already hear the music drifting from the open window of the studio. She crept to the porcelain white door and stood on her tiptoes looking through the long windows. Y/N could see Julie on the piano and three boys surrounding her. There was a tall lanky one wearing a pink shirt and had a fanny pack slung across his chest, he had blond hair and was on the drum, there was a raven-haired one clad in flannel and leather he was on bass guitar and another one that wasn’t facing Y/N, from what she could see he was a brunet and was wearing jeans and a blue sleeveless hoodie, and he was on a guitar she thought. Julie looked up and jumped a little but she just laughed it off stopping the music and gesturing for Y/N to come inside. Just as Y/N was about to move away from the door the brunet turned around her her heart stopped she could hear all the blood rushing and it was deafening.

It was Luke from the bookstore. Y/N felt herself pale and she quickly hid from view she slid down to sit against the door and the pavement, her eyes darted around looking for a place to hide, any place at all. But before she could move the door gave way and she fell onto her back. Julie had opened the door at the whole band formed a circle around the starfishes girl. Luke broke out into a fit of giggles.

“We have got to stop meeting like this,” he managed to get out through the laughter. Y/N deadpanned and scoffed.

“Tell me about it,” she sighed. Luke came to a stop and offered her a hand. She did not grab the hand though instead opting to roll onto her stomach and push herself up. Luke lowered his hand awkwardly and Alex snickered.

“You two know each other?” Julie asked looking between the pair.

“Kind of,” Y/N shrugged looking at the dopey grinned boy. “We met at the mall a few weeks ago, you remember Julie we had an ice cream cone that day.

Julie nodded and looked at Luke.

“Oh, so this is the guy you stole a book from!” Julie laughed at the panicked face you made. Luke sent Y/N a confused look.

“Oh my god! I’m so sorry I’ve been meaning to return it,” Y/N dug through her backpack and pulled out the book victorious. She handed the book to Luke quickly and added a quick explanation and a sorry.

“Hey it’s okay, you kind of left something too, I had been wondering where it had disappeared to though,” he laughed and snatched Y/N’s journal from his bag handing it to her. Throughout their exchange Julie, Alex, and Reggie just stood awkwardly shuffling their feet.

“Oh! I thought my dad took this... Oh My god wait please tell me you didn’t look,” Y/N paled again. Luke and Y/N stared at each other for a minute silently.

“Um only a little,” Luke looked down to the ground guiltily. Julie coughed and clasped her hands together.

“Why don’t we play something for Y/N while she’s here!” She said sitting down at the piano. The rest of the boys picked up their instruments, Alex sitting at the drums, Reggie standing with his bass next to Alex and the door, and Luke standing next to the piano and the couch. Y/N took a seat on the couch farthest away from Luke, she was feeling a bit awkward.

“So this is Bright,” Julie said to Y/N as well as making the boys aware of what they’d be playing for her. Julie played the first notes on the piano taking a breath and smiling, she was really in her element right now and it showed.

“Sometimes I think I’m falling down. I wanna cry, I’m calling out,” Julie sang out hitting each note with perfection. Y/N got goosebumps on her arms while listening to Julie’s voice, it was really breathtaking.

“For one more try, to feel alive.” The boys still hadn’t played their instruments and Y/N looked at each of them confused. Luke sent her a wink and threw his guitar over his shoulder with finesse. Y/N smiled brightly and gave him thumbs up. She reached into her bag pulling out a paper and a pen. She wrote a 9.5

“What?! I deserve a 10,” Luke frowned strumming a note as Julie sang, “Life is a risk but I will take it, close my eyes, and jump.”

“It’s because you’re a show-off,” Y/N held out the f sound. Luke laughed and threw his head back.

“I’ll you show you what showing off really looks like,” he grinned at her. Just ask he said that Julie sang, “Come on let’s run!”

And that's when the boys hopped into action the music hitting Y/N like a wave. Luke played the guitar his hands moving effortlessly on the frets, he had so much passion in his eyes and Y/N couldn’t tear hers away. Luke looked at her holding her gaze intently.

“Life is a risk but we will take it, close my eyes and jump,” Luke’s voice came out gravely and husky, giving Y/N goosebumps once again. Reggie sang along with him dancing around the middle of the loft. Y/N felt like the breath was knocked out of her, the band was, to put it simply, dazzling. She had so many thoughts for them but she knew she it’d be impossible to tell them how amazing they were in words. Luke walked closer to Y/N kneeling in front of her while still playing his instrument.

“Come on let’s run!” Luke sang to her, the rest of the band along with him. He hit the high note with ease and Y/N breathed in deeply. Luke continued to sing, but he pulled her up quickly and they danced together, it was a mess of rocking together and lots of spinning on Y/N’s part while Luke jumped up and down still having to play. Reggie came in and joined them, and he and Alex shared a look. They all jumped around in a circle and Y/N jumped onto the couch singing along with the chorus.

“Shine together bright forever!” Y/N picked up her water bottle using it as a mic. Luke couldn’t keep his eyes off her, she was electric.

“In times that I doubted myself, I feel like I needed some help,” Luke sang and the only instrument playing was coming from the piano. Luke walked up to the couch below Y/N and they stared at each other.

“Stuck in my head, with nothing left,” Luke sang to her. Julie shot Y/N a look telling her to sing with him.

“And when I feel lost and alone, I know that I can make it home,” Y/N sang nervously fearing she’d mess up the words, but Luke just smiled at her and Y/N instantly felt at ease. Y/N looked away from Luke for a minute nodding at Julie and they sang together.

“Fight through the dark, and find the spark!!” Julie raising her voice and held out the note. Luke still couldn’t pull his gaze away and he lifted Y/N off the couch spinning her and making her squeal, she was set on the ground and she started dancing again.

“We will fight to shine together! Bright forever!” They all sang out and the song ended. Y/N laughed with glee and jumped up and down.

“You guys are amazing!” She smiled at Alex and hit Reggie’s shoulder, feeling at home with the guys already, even if they only met a few minutes ago.

“I’m gonna run inside the house and grab some snacks and we can hang out!” Luke ran to the door and exited. Y/N laughed, he didn’t even ask if she was free, she was but still. She enveloped Julie in a hug and they laughed together. Y/N’s phone rang in her pocket and she pulled it out and looked at the screen, her mom was calling. A deep frown set into her face and she clutched the phone.

“I’m gonna take this,” She said and made her way out sitting against the stone wall and taking a deep breath trying to prepare herself. She hit the answer button and held the phone to her ear.

“Hello?” She whispered.

“Y/N Y/L/N, you need to get home right now, you have been gone long enough. Get over yourself, you will not become an artist and you will do what we say we are your parents,” Y/N’s mom and dad said, not even letting Y/N get a word in. She breathed in deeply and shut her eyes tight willing herself not to cry.

“Mom, Dad, I’m not coming home,” Y/N got out her voice faltering. Her dad scoffed.

“Don’t be ridiculous you will come home immediately,” Her mom sighed. Y/N shook her head even though her parents couldn’t see.

“I’m not coming home not again and not ever, not until you support me,” she almost lost herself there but she shut her eyes again keeping the tears at bay, she wouldn’t cry for something she needed to do.

“I’m gonna be staying somewhere else from now on, I’ve already got all the stuff that I need and you won’t see me again until I prove you wrong.”

“People will like my art and even if they don’t I like my art and it’s what I’m passionate about and I won’t stop, I won’t give up, I can’t,” Y/N hung up the phone not even giving them a chance to respond, she clicked into her settings turning off her location and stuck her phone next to her. She brought her knees to her chest and she breathed deeply, she heard someone taking a seat next to her, she didn’t look assuming it was Julie.

“I know what it’s like,” Luke laid his head against the wall and put his hands at his sides. Y/N’s head shoots towards Luke.

“It’s you! I thought you were Julie,” Y/N said. Luke started to get up.

“I’m so sorry I’ll go,” he stood up all the way. Y/N grabbed his hand and pull him back down they were now sitting shoulder to shoulder and looking at each other. Y/N breathed in deeply again the tears finally going away.

“Stay.”

“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop drop, by the way,” Luke laid his hand on top of her hesitantly. She laughed shaking her head.

“It’s okay, can you tell me about it?” She asked him referring to what he said earlier. He nodded slowly trying to articulate what he was thinking.

“Okay, but bear with me I’m gonna start at the beginning,” he stated and Y/N intertwined their finger hoping to make him more comfortable.

“My mom and dad bought me my first guitar when I was about 8,” he started squeezing her hand.

“When you said beginning I didn’t think it’d be beginning, beginning,” she laughed. He sent her an annoyed look and she giggled laying her head on his shoulder.

“They didn’t get me into lessons but my neighbor ended up teaching me, I knew immediately that music was what I wanted to do and my parents didn’t quite feel the same but they let me continue playing regardless, but then I started a band called Sunset Curve when I was fifteen, that’s when they tried to take my guitar away,” he deflated slightly and Y/N nestled into him a bit more.

“Of course I hid it where we were practicing and didn’t tell them where, but the fights got so bad that I ran away, on Christmas Eve.”

“Now I’m staying here, but I get how it feels to not be supported by the ones who matter most, so if you need someone who knows what you’re going through you can come to me if you want,” he said facing her as she took her head off his shoulder. They were centimeters apart at this point, they were practically breathing in each other’s air.

“You’re staying at Julie’s?” She asked their noses almost touching.

“Yeah in the loft with Alex, he’s not living at home either, his parents weren’t cool after he came out to them,” he said sadly his eyes fluttering shut. She studied his face, he had freckles that you could only see close up, and there was a small scar just on the bridge of his nose.

“It’s cool that you guys have each other,” Y/N interlocked both their hands.

“You could have us too,” he whispered. “If you want us.”

“I’d really like that I think,” she moved in closer, her lips ghosting over his as he whispered, “I’m glad you want me, us.” They knew each other better than anyone, sure they hadn’t been together long but they’d seen into each other's world through music and writing and art, they saw the most intimate parts of each other. A crash from the garage and Alex fell through the crack in the door and he shot up looking like a deer in headlights. Luke and Y/N jumped away from each other and Y/N hit her bike knocking it over and the contents of her other bag on it spilled out, a mess of clothes and tampons came out and Luke looked horrified. His eyes fell upon a single bra and he stumbled back covering his eyes. Alex ran back into the studio slamming the door behind him. Y/N quickly scooped up her stuff putting it back into her bag making sure to zip it up this time. Luke still was on the ground covering his eyes.

“You can look now,” Y/N let out an airy laugh. Luke shook his head.

“I’m too embarrassed,” he sat up still covering his eyes. Y/N scooted over to him so that she was sitting in front of him on her knees, she brought her hands up to his slowly moving them away. She and Luke looking into one another’s eyes for the millionth time that night. She slowly tore her gaze away and stood up.

“I should probably go find a hotel to stay at,” she whispered picking up her bike. Luke jumped up grabbing her wrist.

“You can stay here! I mean if it’s okay with Julie, we’ll have to ask,” he said holding onto her hands and grinning at her.

“It’s okay with me!” They heard Julie’s voice from inside the studio. Y/N laughed pulling Luke into a tender hug, he didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around her hips. She rested her head in the crook of his neck and whispered, “Thank you for everything Luke.”

“You’re welcome,” he kissed the top of her head lightly pulling her in tighter. Drops of rain began to dribble into them until it was a downpour. Luke tried to pull her inside but Y/N pulled him back and they spun together in the rain. Y/N let out a joyful and bubbly laugh that had Luke laughing along with her.

“Sing to me music man,” Y/N spun Luke around and dipped him. He grinned at her and began to sing.

“You’re just too good to be true,” they spun together again.

“Can’t take my eyes off of you, you’d be like heaven to touch, I wanna hold you so much,” Luke spun Y/N in and they rocked together. Y/N slid her arms up around Luke’s shoulders and they smiled at each other.

“At long last has arrived and I thank God I’m alive,” he smiled to himself at the line. Y/N spun away and jumped in the rain and a puddle of water exploded under her baby blue converse.

“You’re just too good to be true, Can’t take my eyes off of you,” and the lyrics were true for Luke he could pull his gaze from the magnetic girl in front of him. She held out her hand and Luke grasped it as she spun in her back hitting Luke’s chest. Luke sang more to her and he was almost to the chorus now.

“There are no words left to speak. But if you feel what I feel, please let me know that it’s real.”

“You’re just too good to be true, can’t take my eyes off of you,” Luke hummed and Y/N got ready to sing the chorus with him.

“I love you, baby!” They both sang out at the top of their lungs.

“And if it’s quite alright, I need you baby! To warm a lonely night!” Y/N sang out Luke practically had heart eyes. This wasn’t like before in the studio during Bright, Y/N wasn’t hesitant at all she had the aura of a thousand burning stars and the confidence to show it.

“I love you, baby! Trust in me when I sayyy!” Y/N sang again and Luke continued this time.

“Oh, pretty baby! Don’t bring me down I pray,” Luke spun down onto his knees and held his hands out to Y/N.

“Oh, pretty baby, now that I found you, stay! And let me love you, baby!” Luke sang pulling Y/N in they were once again close, chest to chest the rain streaming down their faces and their foreheads pressed together.

“Let me love you,” Luke sang in a whisper. Y/N hooked her arms around his neck and their lips were close, but not close enough to connect.

“You’re just too good to be true...” He closed in, their lips connecting for half a second but once again they were interrupted by a car beeping from in front of the house. Y/N pulled away quickly and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

“That’s probably Julie’s dad with the pizza,” Luke said sadly knocking on the white door for the rest of the teens to come out.

“That was quite the show you two put on,” Reggie said as they came out. Y/N blushed which is something she didn’t normally didn't do so you knew she was very embarrassed.

“Shut up, dude,” Luke punched Reggie’s shoulder. They all began walking to the house, the rest of the teens holding umbrellas but Luke and Y/N were still exposed to the weather. They lagged behind a bit and Y/N took Luke’s hand into hers. They got to the door and they were the only ones out there. The rain pitter-pattered against the covering of the porch. Y/N and Luke faced each other and Y/N smiled at him.

“Thanks again for everything, Luke.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Luke stepped up to her.

“How did you know that was my favorite song?” She grinned at him.

“I have my ways, star,” he cooed and Y/N smiled at the nickname. She stood on her toes and pecked him on the cheek and she dashed inside. Luke stood there alone and touched his cheek softly and grinned, she’d be the death of him, but he was ready to do anything for her. He was falling, and falling hard for that matter.

Thank you for reading and let me know if you want a part two, and feel free to enter my taglist link in bio!

186 notes · View notes

not-playable-character · 3 years

Text

Edit: new link https://archiveofourown.org/works/32099263

ITS DONE!!!! Finally, the RE8 meets RE7 fic is finished and posted! so for everyone wondering and if you didn't figure it out already. The image I posted earlier is the seating arrangement of the gang as they play the game. As always its posted on AO3 and under the cut. I hope you enjoy @ibest14 I never actually played RE7 but I watched a walkthrough to write this.

It was a normal Saturday afternoon when the Winters family got a very strange package. It was addressed to the whole family and had no return address.

“What the heck is this?” Rose wondered aloud carrying the small package inside, “Hey mom! Did you order something online?”

“Not that I remember, why?” Mia asked curious why her daughter was asking about the mail, “Who is it addressed to? Maybe your dad ordered something.” She went and stood next to Rose to look at the package.

“Hmm, I think we should wait for dad to get home to open it, I mean it is addressed to all of us.” Mia agreed with her daughter and went to continue making dinner.

Ethan got home a few hours later and was greeted by his daughter with a warm hug, “Haha, hey there kid how was your day?” He asked returning the hug and picking Rose up.

“It was good! We got a weird package in the mail, mom and I decided to wait for you before opening it.” Rose said leading him into the kitchen after he put her down.

“Welcome home, Hon! How was work?” Mia asked kissing Ethan on the cheek.

“Ugh, Williams was an absolute pain again. He somehow unplugged all of his equipment and disconnected his computer from the ethernet cable again.” Ethan complained sitting down at the dinner table next to Rose. “Chris somehow changed his computer to Arabic and Sal’s computer was changed to have wingdings as the default language and it bricked the whole thing, he said it was an accident, but I think it was one of the dicks that keep harassing him. I told Chris and he’s looking into it.” Ethan picked up the package and looked at the outside.

“Ugh why can’t these douchebags see that Sal is way better than them. Probably just jealous of him.” Rose said frustrated at the harassment her uncle was receiving.

“We should invite him over for dinner sometime, lift his spirits some!” Mia suggested placing a glass of juice down for Ethan. He agreed and thanked her for the juice.

Ethan handed the package back to Rose who tore into the packaging. Inside was a video game box, “Resident Evil? Isn’t that a game from the nineties?” Rose asked confused.

Ethan leaned over to get a better look, “Yeah it is, I played almost all of them, but I’ve never seen that one. It looks like its supposed to be the seventh one, but they only made six that I know of.” Ethan became confused taking the box from Rose studying it, it strangely didn’t have a back cover.

“Weird, maybe they are rebooting the series, but why wouldn’t there be a lot of news about it?” Rose asked. Ethan’s face lit up at the possibility of a reboot of his favorite childhood series.

“Man, I hope so, I always loved Craig Bluemarsh and Leo C. Harrison. They were the best! The whole M.O.O.N.S squad from Badger City. Special Ops turned paranormal investigators was the twist of the decade! And the whole thing with Egbert Walberk and how he possessed himself with countless demons to become basically a god.” Ethan sighs as he reminisces.

“You clearly have bad taste honey because Julie Easter was the best character in the series. The ace of the M.O.O.N.S squad, the one that Walberk kidnapped to force demons into her with a mind control amulet. Oh, and don’t forget Chloe Bluemarsh, college kid turned aid worker for those affected by the demons.” Mia added as she chopped vegetables for dinner.

“Ahh yes, how could I forget! Anyway, this looks like a cheap bootleg or fake. Probably just a prank from Dani or Angie.” Ethan said tossing the case further on the table looking upset.

“Aw man…. That’s lame dad.” Rose says dramatically throwing herself over the back of the chair. “I’m keeping it anyway; the box looks cool.”

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A month after the whole package incident, Rose bursts into the house beaming. “Dad, Uncle Chris just told me that we are having a meeting with the whole gang! We should totally bring that janky game we got and show it off!”

“Whoa, slow down Rose! You’re gonna hurt yourself running around like that.” Ethan says watching his daughter bounce in place. “Why do you think we should bring that thing anyway? I doubt there will be anytime to just sit around and play a game, if it’s even real.” Rose rolls her eyes at him.

“Dad, I’m sure Uncle Chris can pull some strings so we can have a little get together. We never get to see each other all at once!” Rose states, putting on her best puppy dog eyes, “Don’t you want to see the gang, Dad. It would be so much fun. You know how much I miss them all.” She begs.

Ethan can physically feel his resolve crumbling at his begging daughter, always caving into her once she pulls out the puppy eyes, “Fine, I’ll talk with Chris and we can bring the game with us, but you are responsible for the PlayStation and if it gets damaged or broken you have to buy the new one.” He says in his dad voice, trying to be stern. Rose squeals and jumps into his arms hugging him.

“You’re the best dad ever!” She says running off to prepare for their long weekend at Blue Umbrella.

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“Ok, is everyone comfy, I’m about to start the game!” Rose said excitedly setting up the PS4 in the Blue Umbrella lounge room. Everyone was present, Rose even convinced Miranda and Elena to join them after Milena was put to bed.

“I am unsure of what we are even doing sweet thing.” Alcina said settling into her chair near Donna.

“Well, I’m gonna play this weird game I got, maybe Dani can take over if I get tired. We are just gonna check it out, if its good, Great! If not, we can make fun of how bad it is!” Rose explained sitting down on the couch wedged between Daniela, Angie, and Heisenberg with Bela and Cassandra on the floor in front of them. Alcina wasn’t convinced that it would be fun, but she couldn’t deny Rose’s request considering how excited she looked. She sighed and pulled out her reading glasses seeing the small text on the screen.

“Psh, what are you a grandma?” Heisenberg teased. Alcina growled at him.

“Oh, please grow up you child.” She replied trying to de-escalate the situation knowing Rose and her daughters hated when they argued.

“I see making your head bigger didn’t help your eyesight.” He continued to tease sensing her anger.

“I grew proportionally you ignoramus, becoming larger would not fix my farsightedness.” She growled out becoming angrier.

“Guys….” Rose said sadly at the two arguing. Heisenberg immediately stopped his next sentence and turned to give Rose a side hug.

“Sorry kiddo, I forgot you hate it when we fight. I’ll stop, I promise.” He says sincerely as Alcina nods looking guilty, Rose smiles accepting their apologies.

“No more sappiness get to the action I’m getting bored!” Angie cried out from Daniela’s lap. Rose rolls her eyes at the doll’s bratty attitude and begins the game.

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The game begins with a very familiar video to Ethan and Mia and the sight of Mia recording her warning message on the ship.

“What the…. How is this happening? It showed the recording from my eyes, but I never recorded that…” Mia says stunned.

The next scene starts with the sound of a phone ringing and the overhead video of a car driving down a highway. Ethan begins to speak to and unknown man in the voice over explaining how he was contacted by Mia and that she wants him to come and get her.

“This has to be a sick prank! How did these people get that phone call!” Ethan shouts getting more and more upset as the clip plays. Mia places a hand on his arm to comfort him.

“Maybe there will be an explanation later. There has to be….” Mia says trying to calm Ethan.

Rose pauses the game as it shifts to Ethan’s perspective in the car, “We don’t have to keep playing if this is making you guys uncomfortable.” She says to her parents.

Ethan takes a deep breath, “No, no… it’s fine, you were really excited for this. I was just shocked. I’m okay to keep going, as long as you are okay too Mia.” She nods in agreement with her husband clearly rattled but pushing through. Rose nods continuing the game as she walks Ethan through the thick Louisiana swamp towards the Baker house.

The first obstacle they encounter is a locked gate. She moves him down a path leading to a trashed car with camera equipment scattered around it. Looking in they find a scrip proposal for Sewer Gators Ep. 17.

They then come across a broken gate with a sign that says, “Accept Her Gift”, “Oh yeah definitely just walk through that incredibly ominous gate into the disgusting swamp.” Heisenberg says gesturing towards the screen, “I’d just say, ‘sorry lady I’m not that desperate for a wife’ and dip.”

“He has a point dad, I mean really its been three years. Just move on.” Rose says to her father.

Ethan blushes, “Hey you can’t judge a man in love. I had to know what happened.”

“Nah man, just accept the death bro. Totally not worth it.” Daniela says interjecting.

“I’m right her you know.” Mia says scolding them. Rose giggles and continues on. They come across the remains of a fire with Mia’s purse laying there. They then enter the Guest house finding it to be disgusting and in disrepair.

“God, I forgot how gross this place was.” Ethan says wrinkling his nose.

Rose looks around the living room area, finding a hidden chain that opens a hidden room they go through. Exploring further leads them into a flooded basement they are forced to crawl through.

“Oh, please Ethan, I know you are insanely stubborn but the corpse in the flooded basement should have been an indicator to leave immediately.” Alcina says as the dead body floats up in front of them.

“Ok, Ok I get it I’m a crazy person for going on, but can we please stop commenting on it. I’m aware of the insanity.” Ethan replies as Rose comes up into a basement room with a jail cell containing Mia as well as other information on people who were listed as turned or dead. They pick up the bolt cutters and break open Mia’s cell. While they are being reunited Mia acts strangely warning him of the dangers and of Daddy.

“Pft, seriously? Daddy?” Dani snickers at Mia.

“Don’t start. I was possessed by a child obsessed with family.” Mia says glaring at Dani.

Rose follows Mia through the basement where she and Ethan stop to talk about the last three years.

“Come on! This is a life or death situation, get a move on!” Cassandra yells out at the screen.

Rose continues to creep through the basement following Mia as Ethan learning more about her capture as they walk. They come across a living room type area where Mia starts to act strangely, talking about family and when Ethan leaves, they hear her crash through the wall revealing a staircase to the house. They move through the house looking for Mia. They hear crashing coming from the stairs they came from and return to find Mia on all fours crawling up the stairs. She attacks Ethan looking monstrous as she throws him back up with superhuman strength. She then attacks him with a knife stabbing him through the hand. After a struggle she regains control rambling about a strange her as she slams her head against the wall.

“Jesus man, that is hard core…” Heisenberg says in awe. Mia grimaces at the memory. Rose continues on wandering before they are attacked by Mia once again. They fight her off with an axe. “Ethan, my friend, you always have to double check that your enemy is dead. She is definitely gonna get up again, classic horror trope.” Heisenberg says wisely.

“Karl, this actually happened. I wasn’t thinking about ‘horror tropes’. I was focusing on surviving.” Ethan says to him.

“Also, of course I’m going to get up, I’m sitting right here. I’m clearly not dead.” Mia says exasperated.

Rose moves on with the game ignoring them and answers the phone that had begun to ring. “Dad why did you answer the phone? Just leave.” She says as Zoe gives her warning to Ethan. “Oh yeah let’s listen to the random phone lady and not just break a window.” She says rolling her eyes.

They move on solving the puzzle for the stairs catching a glimpse of the not at all dead Mia. Replacing the fuse, they are jumped by Mia again who attacks him with a screwdriver pinning him to the wall before chopping his had off with a chainsaw.

“My god man! How did you keep going!” Sal exclaims looking at Ethan who just shrugs.

They find a pistol in one of the rooms and use it to take care of the attacking Mia as she rants crazily. Finally taking her down, they are ambushed by Jack Baker who punches him in the face.

“See I told you that you should have moved faster, now ‘Daddy’ caught you.” Cass says as Ethan falls over and is stomped on by Jack. They see him being dragged and Mia being carried by Jack, the scene changes to Ethan strapped to a chair with Zoe staples his hand back on. He finally fully awakes to a disgusting family dinner with the whole Baker family.

“Ugh, I miss Momma’s cooking so much.” Mia says reminiscing happily. Everyone stares at her as they see the disgusting meal on the table in game. She blushes, “Before she went fully crazy, she was an amazing cook. Her gumbo was to die for, oh and Daddy’s fried chicken, mmm.” She explains to them. No one seems convinced as the scene continues with Lucas throwing food at him and Marguerite tries to get Ethan to eat, and Jack cuts off Lucas’ hand. Jack comes over and forces the rancid food into Ethan’s face as Marguerite rants and leaves angrily, Jack then cuts Ethan’s face before being interrupted by the doorbell. They escape and flee through the house trying to find an exit. They find a key and are chased by Jack before escaping to the crawlspace.

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They explore the house before a police officer tries to ask Ethan questions.

“Man, that officer is kind of a dick…” Heisenberg says realizing how rude and unprofessional the officer is.

“He was a massive dick.” Ethan says frustrated at the memory of their interactions. They make the way to the garage to meet the rude officer who refuses to take the situation seriously which leads to his death and Ethan’s continued entrapment. “See, massive dick, we could have escaped, but noooo.” He says.

Rose nods in agreement as she avoids Jack in the garage and tries to defeat him with the car. The car crashes and catches fire revealing an on fire Jack who is knocked down by the resulting explosion. They collect the items in the room before climbing up the revealed ladder. Jack stops Ethan and shoots himself in the head with Ethan’s gun.

“I’ll say it again, he ain’t dead. He’s coming back sooner or later.” Heisenberg says again.

“Yeah, no shit Sherlock. This game’s been full of tropes so far.” Cassandra responds to him rolling her eyes.

Rose continues on solving puzzles and making their way through the labyrinthine house avoiding the obviously not dead Jack and the molded that are scattered around the house. They see Jack mumbling to himself about being “her” and talking about how he is going to kill Ethan.

“God he’s so cool.” Dani says as he leaves the room getting looks from the others, “What? He’s a cool villain.”

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The fight with Jack was a bit of a struggle for Rose, but she made it through with Heisenberg, Dani, and Cass cheering her on.

When he finally exploded, both Heisenberg and Dani called out in joy, “Now that’s how you kill a villain!” Heisenberg shouted out with a laugh and high fived Dani over Rose’s head. As they make their way through the house again completing puzzles and finding Grandma in random places.

“She is the one who caused all this.” Alcina says pointing at Grandma. Ethan and Mia looks shocked.

“How did you know that?” Mia asks. Alcina scoffs as if it is obvious.

“She hasn’t had the focus at all, yet she appears at random seemingly following Ethan, who we know is the next victim in mind. She is clearly Eveline.” She says smugly to everyone’s shocked faces.

Rose moved on ignoring the gloating. She came across a trailer in the yard, exploring it revealed that it was Zoe’s home containing some useful items that she ignored moving to leave as the phone rang. Zoe explained about the mold and how to progress.

“Why are you so trusting of this woman, you don’t know her, and she has admitted that she is a part of the family trying to kill you?” Bela asked turning to face Ethan. He opened his mouth to answer but nothing came out, he paused thinking and shrugged. Bela rolled her eyes at him, “Typical man thing.” She mumbled out returning to her original position.

They move on to the old house and Marguerite just as Zoe instructed. Coming across baby dolls strung up from the rafters of the bridge. “Whoever made those should be killed.” Donna said quietly. Everyone looked at her confused. “The look like such poor quality dolls, anyone who cares would never let them fall apart so easily. Cheap plastic is the worst fate a doll can experience.” She explains confident.

“You aren’t upset at the fact that they are strung up, just that they suck?” Rose asks her.

“Of course, you can do what you like with them, but the craft must be respected. These cheap factory made ones are a disgrace.” Donna explains upset at the virtual dolls. Rose mumbles an ok before moving on into the bug infested old house. They make their way through the house avoiding mutant bugs and solving puzzles.

“Gotta say girls, these things really remind me of you three.” Heisenberg says as Rose burns her way through the nests of bugs.

“How dare you compare my girls to these disgusting things! They are clearly superior in every way.” Alcina says angrily defending her girls.

“Thank you, mother, but he has a bit of a point.” Bela says to her mother with Cassandra nodding in agreement.

“Momma has a point though too! We are better than those things!” Dani says beaming at her mother. Cass mumbles suck up under her breath and is smacked by Dani.

Soon after they find Mia in game again, she explains her amnesia and is taken away by Lucas. Not being able to help they continue on through the house again. Eventually they are found by Marguerite who begins to stalk them through the house attacking them with her swarm of insects, insane rants, and vulgar obscenities.

“This lady is something else…” Heisenberg says cringing at Marguerite.

“For once we agree on something Karl.” Alcina agrees cringing as well. The others nod in agreement with them.

They make their way through a secret passageway revealed by the spider shadow puzzle. The wall space was infested which had everyone cringing at the writhing masses of centipedes. They collect the crank and the crow key and try to enter Marguerite’s room before she throws him down the stairs and through the floor. After a short encounter, she falls into the hole and melts into black goo. They collect information on the D series pieces and Zoe calls again, and she mentions they only need the arm piece as she has the D series head. They return to the hole to see the goo gone and a long spindly arm take the lantern needed to progress. They follow the monstrosity to well in front of the old house returning to Zoe’s trailer. They return to a new section of the old house where they are attacked by a mutated spider like Marguerite.

They run around the house, avoiding her swarms and attacks while burning her with the flamethrower and peppering her with shotgun shots to the disgusting nest on her lower half.

“I take it back; you girls are way more similar to the bug lady.” Heisenberg says once she finally dies. Alcina slaps the back of his head and growls at him.

“Momma can we mutate like that too!” Dani says excitedly as Bela and Cass cringe.

“Absolutely not. Do not even think about trying.” Alcina scolds while Heisenberg and Rose chuckle at them.

“Why would anyone want to have a gross bug vagina?” Cassandra turns around asking her sister.

Dani shrugs, “I don’t know, I just think it would be neat.” Rose shoves the controller into Dani’s hands and takes Angie from her.

“No more bug talk, you play, I’m getting tired.” Rose says stretching.

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They find their way into Eveline’s secret room and collect the arm. They go to meet Zoe in her trailer only to find that no one is there. They answer a call from Lucas where he tells Ethan that he has both Zoe and Mia, and that Ethan needs to play his game to save them and get the head. They make their way back to the main house’s dissection room where they pull the snake key out of the dead deputy’s neck hole. Lucas’ voice come out through a speaker explaining they need to find two keycards so they can meet.

“Ohhh, I love this guy! I’m getting so many ideas for new games, hehehe!” Angie says excitedly bouncing in Rose’s lap. Donna glares at the doll chastising her through their mental link. Angie pouts at the scolding.

They make their way through the increasingly molded main house solving Lucas’ puzzles and dodging the molded shambling around. They find the blue keycard and make their way down into a secret room containing the red keycard. Lucas calls again at the phone in the main hall, leading Ethan to a party in the barn.

They enter the barn to thumping music and glowing paint under a black light. They come across a room with a television showing Lucas ranting and waving the D series head around, ranting about how he doesn’t want to give up his gift and that they can only get the serum from him before the television explodes. They make their way through the barn avoiding trip mines and coming up to a locked gate with a passcode. Lucas makes an appearance taunting Ethan and giving him incorrect passwords before a trap springs and a secret door opens up.

They wind through the barn avoiding the traps and taking out the molded arriving at Lucas’ arena where they fight off a giant molded. After the fight they find the correct passcode to enter the birthday room. They solve his puzzles and escape through the hole created by the dynamite. They see a television with Zoe and Mia, Zoe explains where they are before Lucas cuts the camera to himself ranting about nothing. They collect the D series head and leave the barn making their way to Zoe and Mia. They release Zoe and Mia before collecting the completed serum. Just after they are ambushed by a fully mutated Jack.

“Wait he isn’t dead?! I can’t believe I didn’t call it!” Heisenberg calls out as Dani fights Jack.

After a long grueling fight, taking out Jacks many swollen eyes and using one of the two serums to calcify him at Zoe’s request. Walking down the pier they are faced with a choice to cure either Zoe or Mia.

“Well clearly we are supposed to cure mom. Its what dad did in real life.” Rose says.

“True, I did. I did feel bad though, Chris ended up saving Zoe and her uncle, so it all ended up good.” Ethan says.

“Yeah, sure choosing Mia is what really happened but what if we chose Zoe?” Dani asks hovering over Zoe in game.

“No! We can do it later right now we are choosing mom.” Rose says sternly.

“Fiiiiinnnnnee.” Dani whines out giving Mia the serum. They take the raft down the river listening to Ethan and Mia talk about the situation before they come across the wrecked boat Mia and Eveline arrived on. They are attacked by the mold, and they switch to Mia’s perspective as they hear Eveline speak to her through their mental connection.

“Well, this is going to be interesting, I’ve never seen this before.” Ethan says as they move into the ship. They find an unconscious Ethan who is taken by the mold deeper into the ship. They move through the mold infested ship as Mia, getting flashbacks as they move on. They follow the phantom Eveline to a room containing a television where they watch a video tape that blends into them playing through the situation leading to the crash of the ship and the infection of the Baker family.

They see Mia’s partner Alan who explains he is the reason Eveline escaped he explains that she needs to fix his mess and they begin to track Eveline through the ship. They finally come across Eveline in the engine room before she runs off again. They find Alan again in the room next to the one where they started the video tape. As he explains that Eveline is deteriorating, he insults her, and she overtakes him with the mold. The mold then spreads to Mia infecting her. They then see Mia recording the warning video from the beginning of the game. The section ends with Mia being blown off the ship and floating unconscious in the water, before returning to the present with Mia and the Phantom Eveline talking. Making their way to the bridge they use the surveillance cameras to find Ethan trapped in mold in the engine room. On the way there they are impeded by the phantom Eveline and the remaining molded.

As Mia finds Ethan, the perspective swaps back to Ethan’s mind as he speaks to a sane Jack. He explains that Eveline is the cause of all the murders and kidnappings. He says that they were infected when He rescued her from the crashed tanker. Jack also explains that stopping Eveline will stop the mold. Before Ethan awakens to Eveline and Mia arguing. Mia rips him free from the mold prison and gives him the tissue sample before locking him out of the engine room urging him to kill Eveline. They continue through the bayou to a salt mine near the Baker house. They hear a military broadcast explaining a team was sent in to take down Eveline. They traverse the salt mines finding an underground lab with information on Eveline and the E series mold. They use Eveline’s tissue samples to make the E- Necrotoxin that is used to kill her permanently. As they exit the mine, Ethan sees flashes of Eveline as she sends the molded to kill him. They exit the mine into the original room Ethan found Mia in where he has a vision of Mia panicking. He continues to see visions of Mia’s attack on him and Eveline controlling her. They stab Eveline with the serum, and she reveals her true form as Grandma before melting away and mutating into a large monstrosity.

As Dani fights the massive face of Eveline, Miranda mumbles to herself, “Absolutely fascinating. How she responds to different stimuli and the delayed injection of the Necrotoxin.” Rose and Dani scream forgetting that Miranda was sitting behind them.

“Jesus Christ! What is wrong with you! You scared the living hell out of us!” Rose yells at her turning to face Miranda who has a notebook open in her lap. “What are you even doing?”

Miranda blushes at being caught, “I was taking notes on how E-001 reacted and how the family responded to the infection. It is incredibly fascinating that the whole Baker family mutated without becoming one of the shambling molded.”

“Trust me she was about to run off and work more before I stopped her.” Elena interjects into Miranda’s rambling. “Don’t worry, I won’t let her work on the Eveline project outside of simply watching videos.” Miranda’s blush deepens and she looks embarrassed at being called out by her lab assistant.

“Good, no more mind control children allowed.” Dani says rudely turning back to the screen continuing the final fight.

Ethan is thrown from the house and sees helicopters arriving at the house as he is attacked by Eveline. He uses an unknown gun to shoot Eveline calcifying and crumbling her finally. After the battle, Ethan and Mia are rescued by Chris. The final shots of the game are Ethan speaking over clips of marshlands and the reveal of the Blue Umbrella helicopter.

“Well that certainly was something….” Ethan says as the credits roll. Mia wide eyed and shocked nods in agreement.

“So, all that actually happened?” Rose asks her parents, they both nod. “Ok well that doesn’t explain how the heck this got made or why we were sent it or by who!” Rose rants.

“Who cares, it was awesome!” Dani exclaims high fiving Angie who cheers with her.

“Can we leave now? My back is beginning to hurt.” Bela complains standing up and stretching.

Rose boos her, “Fine be boring. What did everyone else think?” She asks everyone left in the room.

“Amazing! Fantastic! Ten out of ten!” Dani exclaims clinging onto Rose.

“It was interesting, very cinematic. A bit tropey at times but it works in its favor. Especially since this technically happened. The villains were enjoyable and empathetic at the same time.” Heisenberg critiques.

“Yeah, whatever it was fine.” Cass says getting up and leaving the room.

“I had quite a nice time, I’m glad you suggested this, Rose.” Alcina says picking up the sleeping Donna. “I’m sure Donna will apologize for falling asleep tomorrow morning. Have a good night.” She kisses the top of Rose and Dani’s heads and leave the room.

“It was quite informative, thank you for inviting me, Rose. I truly appreciate it. Now I must go and review my notes.” Miranda says looking at her notebook as she slowly leaves the room.

“We are actually going to bed, but thanks for inviting us, Rose. We’ll have to do it again soon!” Elena says grabbing Miranda’s arm and taking her notebook.

“I think your mom and I have some talking to do, but you guys have a good night sweetie.” Ethan says getting up before kissing Rose on the head.

“Yeah, outside of the horrifying content of this ‘game’ it was fun. Have a good night honey.” Mia says following her husband to their room.

“Alright seems like the party is dying down and someone has to get Sal to his room. Seems like he and Donna can’t stay up late like us cool kids.” Heisenberg laughs out shaking Sal awake. Sal stands up groggily and leans ion Heisenberg as they leave to their respective rooms.

“Lame everyone left. You want to stay up or are you hitting the sack too?” Dani asks Rose.

“I think I’m going to bed too. I have a lot to think about.” Rose says hugging Dani, “See you in the morning Dan.” Dani decides to follow Rose and they head to bed.

In his assigned quarters, the Duke watches the group scatter to their rooms for bed, “I’m glad they enjoyed my little gift. Hopefully, it answers some questions for them.” The Duke says to himself chuckling.

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oristromboli · 3 years

Text

If You Be Our Star, We’ll Be Your Sky | 6

Chapter Title: Punishment

The fierce sounds of arguments melt into clashing weapons in the Liyue landscape as all frustrations are released in bloody fury.

Punishment is thus dolled out on the sore, sore loser.

(Smut this chapter: Reader/Childe, M/F)

(Warnings: rough and angry sex after a fight, power dynamic struggles, being very very mean to each other - not a fluffy first time between them given that it's Childe and his implied mission. please be careful if this isn’t your cup of tea!)

CW: the first segment describes Childe making a hunt! Canon-typical violence, but just in case: one paragraph starts with "Childe kneels down - " and another one is "With a firm - "

Childe takes a slow breath in, and on his exhale, releases the arrow, watching as it sinks into the boar’s side.

Damn, he was never good with a bow. He strolls leisurely up to the animal, frowning when he notices the pitiful struggle as it tries to move despite the mortal wound. Poor thing thinks it still has a chance.

Childe kneels down and reaches out to the pig, running his hands gently through the matted fur. He watches as its breathing becomes labored; each unsteady drag likely pushes its lungs against the arrow. How many ways did he watch the abyss deny death to the unfortunate prey wandering in? A quick death was mercy never granted in that suffocating darkness.

He feels black armor fighting to grow from his skin, feels the electricity pulling him taut as he smiles softly, running his hand up to cup the boar’s head.

With a firm twist, Childe snaps its neck and the body goes limp.

Blood from the arrow wound trickles onto his gloves, and he raises his hand to lick it idly away. His frown returns when he realizes that the flaming need in him is barely sated.

Warbled and demented noises creep up towards him from between the cracks in the earth.

Grunting, he hoists the animal over his shoulders and starts walking again while whistling a lullaby.

---

Birds call overhead while the wind rustles through the emerald leaves around you in this little outcrop by the river. The sun felt warm, kissing the back of your neck gently as you took in your surroundings, counting each fish that crested the surface as they leaped further upstream.

Though you normally take these moments of isolation to regain your internal serenity, you didn’t necessarily hate the fact that Childe insisted on tagging along. Yet, confusion still wrung your head as to why he came along on a commission so far off the beaten path. Even Aether would complain at such a wildlife excursion.

“Hey girlie,” Childe calls, grinning wide and bubbles up a rare, genuine laugh when he sees your surprised expression. “I got lunch!”

Your eyes bulge as you watch him carrying one of the largest boars you’ve ever seen with a skip in his step like the animal weighed nothing. When he drops it unceremoniously to the ground, you hear the resounding thud and decide firmly that yes, Teyvat’s animals are ridiculous.

Childe cracks his knuckles and materializes his hydro knife to kneel at its side, and you just… You just watch.

Some deeply primitive part of you is hooting like a shameless dog as you watch him handle the meat with ease. Good man. Strong man. Can feed and protect.

“ – girlie, hey, you listening?”

You shake your head and blink at him. He starts laughing and gestures to the fireplace. “O-oh, right!” In a flash, you turn your back to him to hide the rising heat to your cheeks. “Um… That’s a lot of meat, you know.”

“Well, nobody ever complained to me about that, pretty bird.”

Nevermind. Big, strong man gone. “Why are you always cracking jokes? It’s like you never take things seriously.”

Childe pauses for a moment, stilling his hands. He never looks at you before he resumes skinning the boar, though you recognize the flash of a bygone memory nonetheless. “Nothing wrong in trying to get people to laugh occasionally in this shithole of a world. What else can you do? Tell your siblings that this place isn’t the fairytale they grew up believing in?”

You swallow and nod. Some time passes, and as you finish setting up the makeshift stove, it occurs to you that… There’s two of you. And one very big, very fat pig.

You’ll need a bigger fire.

“Hey, how do you plan on cooking this?”

“You’ll see.”

---

An hour later and you’re in awe at how good the food is. The meat is practically melting off the bone as you eat the roasted pork, slight drool dribbling down.

Childe just stares as you lick your lips. “Did you learn this in Fatui boot camp or something?”

“Yeah,” he mumbles, voice a pitch lower. “Closer to the ‘or something’ part though.”

Idle chatter starts between you two, soft banter and long talks about nothing. You ask about his past, he gives curt answers and you do the same, but there’s this silent understanding between you two about it. There’s little to say on the matter as neither party wants to remember. At least that’s something you have in common with Childe.

“So, along your travels,” he starts, wiping his mouth with a crimson handkerchief. “Did you come across any gods? Besides our resident funeral consultant, of course.”

“A few,” you reply. “Some also stepped down to join mortals too, but in those lands, they gave up their full divinity instead of just the title.”

“Why anybody would ever give up power willingly is beyond me.”

You laugh, though it sounds more vindicative than you intended. “Don’t you know? The gods envy mortals because their lives are fleeting and any moment can be their last. It’s all the more beautiful to them.”

Childe narrows his eyes. “Who said that? Seems to me the gods here don’t really care for us.”

You smile bitterly. “Yeah, I can see your point. The gods in Teyvat are different, but what about Zhongli? Don’t you trust him?”

“Ha, I trust him to pursue his own self-interests. If they align with mine, then great, there’s no problems between us. He’s reliable and stubborn. Shockingly, he has my honest loyalty, and I trust I can predict his next move.”

“Always the tactician.” You both chuckle at the thought. “I would’ve thought there was more than that.” You pray he doesn’t realize how you test the waters, and with the way he looks in the distance, you’re safe.

“You’re not wrong. I care about him. He drives me insane, but come hell or high water, he’ll be my friend to the bitter end.”

Friend. Your heart throbs again, though in deliverance or bewilderment for their strange relationship, you’re not sure.

“With your powers, were you ever seen as one?” Childe says, breaking your thoughts.

“A god? Sometimes, though only if people haven’t seen real divinity. We were also called demons. Unnatural. We keep to ourselves mostly and avoid too much trouble, but with our powers sealed, we don’t even have that going for us. We’re not really welcome among humans or divine, hah.” His eyes relax briefly, shifting to an indescribable emotion. There’s something in them, some light of understanding.

You hate it.

“Don’t act like you care,” you say, turning away and hugging yourself. Yeah, you know you’re being unfair, but you can’t handle Childe’s pity at the moment. He sighs as he tosses his leftovers over his shoulder and tries putting a hand on your shoulder.

“Hey – “

“Don’t.”

“I don’t care. Look at me,” he says, tone sharp and commanding you to listen. During easy exchanges, it became so easy to gloss over the fact that Childe is, indeed, a general of the Fatui.

He’s all but glaring down at you, matching your petulant stare. “What is with you? I’ve been trying to fix things between us, but I’m starting to feel like I’m the only one. This goes both ways, you know.”

“Us? There is no us, Childe. It’s just you. It’s always been about what you want,” you seethe. Stars, you sounded so much like a kid, but some sick part of you is enjoying this. All your words are underhanded and you both know it. “Did you even care? At any point, any at all, did you care?”

His blue eyes slowly widen as realization dawns on him. “Ah. You’re still mad about that. About me using you, huh?”

“What the f – Yes, I’m still mad! Congratulations, you’ve got a pair of eyes. Don’t you know that I – nevermind.”

“No, say it,” he says, placing both hands on each of your shoulders now and caging you in. His face leaves no room for argument as he says your real name. “Say it. Don’t back out now.”

“Stars, you stupid, selfish son of a – “

“Hey, don’t you bring my mother into this,” he says, though a lopsided grin works its way onto his face regardless.

“Very funny, Childe. I just… I kept it, you know? It’s no Mr. Cyclops, but it’s still mine,” you say, looking down. His eyes flick to the starconch dangling from your journal.

“You didn’t have to,” he murmurs, tightening his grip on your shoulders.

“Of course I did. I made a promise to you, and I have a feeling you’re the type to actually cut my pinkie off.”

“Ha. Who’s being funny now?”

You shake your head. “My question still stands: did you care? I’ve forgiven you – you know that – but I’m mad because… I need to know if our friendship was...”

When you look up again, he’s – oh holy – when did he get so close? His deep blue eyes are resolute and you’re holding your breath. Childe is close enough that you can practically feel the heat radiating off of him as his lips parts. “Honestly? I didn’t at the time.”

Oh. Of course not.

You close your eyes as you feel your heart plummet to your stomach. Great. Just fantastic. Nothing can get worse than this.

“But now…”

His fingers gently grab your chin and lift up as he tilts his own down at you. “I can’t remember that time without guilt. When I saw how Teucer showered you all with adoration, it just reminded me of what we had.”

“What we had? What was that? Friend? Enemy? Sparring partner?” You scoff and lean out of the space he made that threatened to suffocate you. “I don’t want to believe a word you’re saying, because even though I’ve been honest every step of the way – “ You pull his right hand off your left shoulder and lock a pinkie with it. “ – I can guarantee that you haven’t.”

Do you feel a sense of joy when you release his hand with a glare?

“You’re no better than the gods you hate.”

When he has the gall to look offended?

Yeah, you do, and know what? Fuck him.

Suddenly, your hand is harshly yanked up as he leans close again, locking a pinkie before you can escape. “You don’t want to believe me? Fine. But don’t pretend you wouldn’t do the same for your duty if push came to shove. At least this time I had the decency to tell you why I’m here, why I’m ‘using’ you again. You beat me to it though, or did you forget?”

Childe sneers, fury now raging in those watery depths. “I’m not mad, I’m happy that you’re as shrewd as you are strong. Yes, I didn’t care then. Yes, I care now, even if I don’t regret it. I want to leave that in the past because today, this moment, is all that matters. C’mon, eye for an eye.”

“What are you even talking about?” You’re seething now, matching his frustration. Seriously, he can’t spout this crap and expect you to suddenly understand. “I am not doing this with you, to you, whatever ‘this’ is. Despite being upset, you’re still my friend.”

“No, we weren’t just friends and you know it,” he growls. “Or enemies. So just give the word and get it over with, comrade. Fight me, use me, do something and get it out of your system.”

He’s… He’s crazy, he’s just insane, you have to get out of here. You swiftly stand and pull your hand away, staring down at him. “I said no, Childe. Not everything is a battle. I can’t believe you… You would think that. Think that I’m no better than the people who treated you like some pawn.”

You sigh and turn away, but your hand is yanked behind you again. May the stars give you patience.

When he turns you, he’s looking at you with a familiar glint as his lips curl. It’s the same expression he wore in the aftermath of Osial.

“Don’t you dare compare yourself to them. You aren’t one of those out-of-touch bastards. I just… I wasn’t sure what else to do to get you to believe me.”

Who would’ve thought a Harbinger could be so maudlin. Torpor replaced your irritation and quiet resignation flickered in your mind. Why you still bickering with him? It’s pointless.

You take the hand holding you and bring it up to the center of your chest.

He freezes and stares at his hand, breathes growing shallow and quick.

“This is going nowhere. Leave it in the past, right? There’s always more to argue over, ha.”

When you squeeze his hand, you smile at him, meeting his bloodthirsty eyes. “You’re right, Childe. Let’s get this out of our system.”

You don’t want to, you really, really don’t, but seeing the way his shoulders relax with barely contained relief shoves that regret aside. Childe was never the best with words – while his fellow Harbingers wove tale after tale with silver tongues, he simply collected others’ tongues with that sharpened silver.

As you both pace yourselves apart, you pull out your journal, long modified to be a weapon of sorts in this world. You know you are at a severe disadvantage as you were never great with other tools, so you had to find a way to either stay out of his range – difficult with his bow – or get close enough to his personal space to land a direct blow with energy gathered in your hands – difficult with his water shields.

Childe summons his hydro blades and begins twirling them, head bowed as he watches your every step. Slowly, you circle one another as both try to find weak points to exploit. His eyes are nothing short of predatory, and as his lips barely twitch into a snarl, you’re once again reminded of just who is in front of you.

Tartaglia, the Vanguard of the Harbingers, whose arrogant and ruthless madness could only be soothed on the battlefield. He’s not so much like a wolf in sheep’s clothing, but a monster in wolf’s clothing.

On instinct, you immediately tilt your head as an arrow whistles past your ear, nicking the edge. You feel warmth trickle down and your ear stings something fierce as you start to dodge his incoming folly of arrows.

Is it too late to back out? Like, right now? You can handle the proverbial tail between your legs but you cannot handle –

You curse as water rises from the river to wrap around your ankle and shackles you when you drew too close. Cruel laughter bubbles to your left as you turn and see him charging, serrated blades out for the slaughter.

When he gets close enough to leap, nearly too close for comfort, you immediately summon a wall of stone in front of you. A soft thud echoes, so you form a fist and push the wall forward and away from you as the hydro chains break with Childe’s concentration shifting to his predicament.

Normally, you would be more prepared and calculating in your attacks, but the sheer ruthlessness of his onslaught took you by surprise.

Russet-colored hair juts out from the top as he leaps up and over, twirling in the air. With a clear opening, you reach out energetically to the smattering of small – yet sharp – stones around you to use as projectiles. He laughs as he slices each stone, but your goal of interrupting his trajectory is accomplished.

Childe lands a distance away as you sprint farther back, summoning small pillars of stone between you two as he immediately chases after. Though he’s chaotic, his movements are somewhat predictable; you summon one stone in a bluff to get him to move to his right to dodge, but immediately slam another stone to his ribs on his side from the direction he moved towards.

He grunts, but hardly flinches as you see him double his efforts in chasing you. Belatedly, you realize he’s been herding you towards the massive waterfall the entire time. Either you finish him here or he finishes you there with the elemental advantage.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, you’re not as fast as Aether, this is why you stay on the backline, fuck –

Childe’s lance smashes the shoddy stones rising quicker in your panic to separate you two. Not your finest work, but it’s a bit hard to focus on their construction when you have a maniac sent from hell on your ass, thank you. When you see how he leaps from your most recent stone, utilizing the momentum in its rise to propel himself forward, you tuck tail and run.

Safe to say, two thoughts occur as he tackles you and his iron grip is wrapped around your body to restrict movement as you both tumble along the ground.

One, you’re absolutely torn between humiliation and feeling shameless as you realize your undergarments are soaked with his husky pants filling your ears. His head tucked against your own in the roll.

There’s definitely something wrong with you, you decide, since you were nothing short of terrified two seconds earlier.

Two, when your head slams against the ground and you open your bleary eyes, you realize how lovely the snapdragon flowers lining the riverbank are this time of year.

You hiss as you feel heavy thighs cage your arms to your side and look up. Childe is leering down at you and snarling as his right hand curls into a fist, purple lightning slowly dancing across it. His left hand glows blue as you recognize the sensation of the infamous riptide mark forming over your chest, eyes glazed over with concentration.

In a moment of paralyzing horror, you realize just how far from civilization you two are.

Ha, haha, good one Childe. He’s… He’s playing, right? This was just friendly brawling. Ha. Oh shit.

He’s not slowing down.

When his hand clamps on your shoulder to still your frantic movements, you whine – high and feeble – at the pain blooming from his grip. For a split second, he falters as his eyes regain clarity, hand loosening a fraction to no longer being unyielding. You take the opportune distraction to flick your hand and throw a stone to his chest.

It’s not much, not without the power of your book – now discarded somewhere – but it does the job as he is knocked to the side and off of you.

In the action, you scramble to keep with the flow and slam him on his back, perching on his chest as your hands glow with accumulating geo energy.

Seeing his soft pants, a sparkle in his eyes, and how blood trickles down his forehead, the shattering in your heart is deafening when you realize how young he looks. His laughter is wet and harsh as his arms are splayed.

“Do it,” he grunts. “End the fight, ‘cause I won’t stop.”

No. No, you’re not doing this.

“Aw, is little birdie too scared?”

You lower your hand and wrap it around his throat, and stars, is his grin growing?

“Come on, just do it – “

“Shut up,” you hiss, leaning forward. “Stop it Childe, I’m not punishing you.”

“What if I want you to?”

You freeze as your mouth parts in a silent gasp, his expression never faltering. When you jump back, you grind against something hard and insistent against your ass, and oh. Was this his plan all along…?

Childe’s hands fly to your hips and pull you down, and oh fuck, a moan fumbles from your lips before you harshly cut it off. Your eyes glance down to see his hooded eyes and he’s panting as he watches you. “Pretty bird is suddenly backing out now? So weak, you won’t even take your venge – “

His words are muffled as you lean forward and kiss him, but you yelp when you feel sharp teeth suddenly bite your bottom lip. Something angry twittering in you possesses you to reach into his hair and fist it, yanking his head up to meet your irritated gaze. When he moans again, loud and shameless and grinds against your core, you’re seized by the same fierce need.

“You’re sick,” you say as your tongue darts out to taste a hint of blood.

For some reason, those words still him as his eyebrows furrow slightly. “I know.”

Stars, you hate how he stares you down, daring you to do something about it. You hate how it feels like it was your fault, that crack in his shield as you see your own shocked eyes reflected in his ocean blues. They flicker between yours, and that something whispers in you again: for whatever reason, he wants to be punished.

Maybe that’s how he gets his sick kicks. Yeah. That’s it.

(You shove aside any lingering doubts.)

You pull him to you this time, kissing him as you simultaneously begin a slow, rhythmic roll of your hips against his throbbing bulge. When Childe’s mouth parts in a strangled moan, you take the opportunity to dive your tongue into his and hum in approval as he rubs his hands along your thighs.

As you part, a thin trail of saliva stained red with blood connecting you two, you lean back and smirk at his whine from the loss of contact. Instead, you lean back and arch your back to apply more pressure to his bulge. “You’re such a challenge sometimes,” you murmur, scanning his features.

Childe moans, ragged and hoarse, as his hands find purchase on your hips. “Please,” he replies desperately.

“When was the last time someone put you in your place?” you say as your hands slowly trail down to his chest and meticulously begin undoing each button. Each time your nails scrape his skin, the contact is minuscule but enough to hitch his breath.

“N-not since the Tsaritsa,” he whispers, keening as you dip your fingers beneath his jacket to open it fully, baring his pale chest. “The people in Liyue are too… Let’s call it traditional in bed, hm? A bit too tender.”

You both snicker (unknowingly at the same man), but his laughter is cut off as you lean down to kiss along each scar littering his chest. There is a smattering of slashes and burns, enough to paint a picture of a life hard-won and deserving of his name.

When you ghost your lips back up, you pause at a pale, crescent-shaped… Is that a bite mark? You raise your hand slow to that juncture between his neck and shoulder, and you feel blue eyes watching you intently. As you trace it, you murmur, “What’s this? Did a lover leave this? Doesn’t seem very becoming of a Liyue native.”

Childe releases a puff of air instead of a laugh and rolls his head back. “Let’s just say it’s a trophy for the one time I managed to get a stupidly sentimental man to realize I’m not fragile on my last night here. He even apologized for it.”

Huh. You choose not to comment on the strange memory, but instead, opt to kiss the scar lightly. Childe openly moans, breathes becoming shallower as you move down the expanse of his creamy abdomen from there.

Gloved hands fly to your head and grab. His shallow thrusts against your chest halt when you lift away from him, glowering at him to stop. Childe’s eyes narrow, but when he tries again, you lie your palm flat against his bulge and push down.

Childe cries out at the border between pain and pleasure, and good, that fucker needs to learn when to stop.

Oh, gods, when did you get a mean streak? Except, when you lay your eyes on the Fatui again, memories of each time he’s pushed your buttons surface, directly compromising your promise to Aether to be kind to the locals in Teyvat to expedite finding Lumine.

Yeah, Aether isn’t here right now. You can make a special exception.

“You’re enjoying this too much,” you grunt and you lean up again, choking back laughter when you see how his eyes widen at your abandonment. Ha. “Maybe I’ll go slower and, how is it called, ‘make love to you like the people in Liyue? Maybe I’ll stop pursuing you like this, where none else dared challenge the almighty Harbinger, huh?”

Admittedly, the lust in you skyrockets when you see how he tries putting on an intimidating façade again, yet the flush across his face and chest absolutely ruins it. Oh man, you can keep doing this all day.

Only… When the devil smirks at you, your heart begins hammering.

“Oh? Maybe you should,” he pants, and you pointedly look at his erection now forming a slight damp spot on his pants. “Tch, but don’t tell me you’re not curious. You’re too fucking nice all the time, you’d hate that slowness as much as I would.”

Irritation seers through you again as you suddenly – and perhaps unnecessarily roughly – grab his pants, purposefully dragging your nails along his skin as you begin to pull it down. “What makes you think I’d hate it?” you huff.

Childe aids in your struggle, shimmying his pants down and off as he kicks off his boots while you clamber on top of him again.

“Come on,” he sneers, snaking his right hand around your neck to pull you closer while his left makes begins to slide down your belly. When he leans closer, he pauses short of kissing you and stays like that. “Don’t you want a taste?”

“You – “

Fuck, you didn’t realize how he distracted you until one finger brushes your clit and slides along your folds. Fuck, fuck, you hate how he drinks in your quiet and strangled moans as it begins to slowly dip into you. When you feel something smooth and cold instead, it hits you that he never took off his gloves.

“Come on, sweet girl,” he coos and rolls his hips upwards to grind against your ass. You grit your teeth, though Childe takes this moment to kiss you again and suck on your bottom lip, massaging you all the while. It’s… It’s not enough, damn him.

"Give me a safeword," you rasp as you break apart. "Right now. So I know this isn't a trick up your sleeve."

He grunts and leans forward again to press his lips against your nose, though he pauses in his ministrations. "This isn't -"

"Childe."

"... Calla lily."

You nod and sigh, tilting your head to the side.

The hand formerly around your neck slides down to pull down your clothes, allowing more access as it pools around your thighs.

You pull away entirely – ah, there goes his fingers – and stand, beginning to strip. As he watches you, you see how his jaw clenches, impatient and yet thoroughly enjoying the impromptu strip dance.

When you’re bare, you begin to walk over and have to bite back a whimper at how Childe’s tongue darts along his lips as you approach. Hmm…

You pad over to his head and grab a fistful of his hair again as you kneel by his head, concentrating on how his face contorts with pleasure again.

“What makes you think you’re so special, huh?” you gruff at him as he grins up at you in that wicked, wicked way.

“Because I’m all the sins you never had the courage to commit,” he responds daringly.

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

Oh, stars forgive you if you (not so) accidentally strangle this man. You swing one leg over his head and pull it up as you lower yourself. At least he needs no further instruction as he immediately rests his hands on your thighs and tilts his head to lap at the wetness dribbling down.

Let it never be said that Childe didn’t know how to use his mouth, because fuck, the eagerness he begins devouring you out with is nothing short of a man approaching his last meal. You become hyper-aware of your wanton moans, how you grind your core further along his lips while his aching cock is behind you, devoid of all attention.

When his tongue dives deeper between your folds, truly fucking you with it, you slam a hand behind his head to prevent your fall. Fuck, you can’t fucking think –

Your thighs are trembling as the pleasure shoots through you, building with each rock of your hips. It’s slow and steady, but you feel yourself surfing the rising pleasure when you mentally short-circuit. At some point, he crept one hand under you and – without warning, the asshole – plunged two fingers deep as he turns his attention to your clit.

It’s pathetic how you mewl, it really is, and like a bloodhound, Childe senses your weakness. He doubles his efforts while humming against your clit, vibrating it with the motion, and fuck, you feel it coming, it’s, it’s –

You open your mouth in a silent scream as it shoots up, pulling you taut and your muscles stiffen. It’s like you’re a bow strung along and Childe is the man just using you like this.

Stars, he needs to stop, he needs to – stop it, it’s too much –

“Stop, Childe, fu-ah – “ When you frantically roll off of him, falling on your side, he merely turns and grins. It’s absolutely sinful how he slowly licks each finger that was knuckle-deep in you, never breaking contact.

You wish he’d say something because for once, he’s not actually talking. He just. He followed your initiative and was promptly shut up, drinking you in. You don’t know what to say to him, so you opt instead to reach over and grab his scarf, yanking him up.

He follows, nearly as eager as a pup, and crawls to you on all fours as you sit up. Childe blinks at you, the smile never wavering as his eyes wander to your chest rising and falling with soft pants. Something in you, some small and evil voice whispering on your shoulder tells you to ruin this man, this arrogant warrior still clad in his Harbinger jacket and gloves and mask –

“Your mask,” you gruff. Childe tilts his head (oh no, that was cute), but follows your command nonetheless.

When he hands you the item, you fidget slightly and fight back that creeping uncertainty. Fuck it, you’re the one punishing him, so why are you getting embarrassed?

In a desperate bid for confidence, you hum and refuse to look at him, pretending to inspect the mask as if just now seeing it. A shaky breath escapes him as he watches you, so you firmly pull on the scarf like it’s some leash. “You always get your way, don’t you?” you hum.

When silence meets you, you yank on the scarf again. “Answer me.”

“Yes,” comes the immediate reply. You smile softly and look at him, look at his wide eyes as you’re met face-to-face. Each of his arms has settled next to your sides as his legs hold himself over you.

You hazard a glance at his cock and smile at how it twitches in response, leaking driblets of pearlescent pre-cum and just throbbing red. Oh, he wants it so badly. “Beg for it,” you say, looking back into his eyes.

Childe narrows his own, gritting his teeth in a snarl. “Beg for it,” you repeat slowly, “or we stop here. Your choice.”

“Please,” he mumbles, and… Oh, oh is he shy? Pink begins to dust the tips of his ears as he dips his head.

“Please what?” you tease and he huffs.

“Please, let me… I want it, I want you.” Each word is punctuated and forced out like it took all of his willpower to hold himself back from taking you then and there.

Some quiet, dark part of you is slightly disappointed he didn’t.

Well, you’re merciful, and he did say please. You lean forward and tilt your own head, catching his lips in a kiss entirely too soft – and yet, Childe doesn’t complain, only sighing in relief as he moves his head with yours.

But this is still supposed to be a punishment, you remind yourself vehemently. That lustful side of you rears its head, screaming at you to stop whatever it is you’re planning because Childe is here, on his knees and begging to fuck you.

But this is still supposed to be a punishment. Damn it.

Childe seems to recognize the idea swirling in your eyes when he pulls back and he frowns. You smirk back and slide his mask into place, thoroughly relishing in how his breath hitches seeing his own face staring back at him.

“You’re enjoying this too much.”

He jerks his head back like he’s been slapped. “Oh, you’re kidding me, right? You just made me beg, you charlatan.”

“Exactly,” you chirp back. You push him back while retaining your hold on his scarf and run your hand down his abs, pausing at the naval above his aching cock. He moans when your nails dig in there and he spreads his legs wide to allow you to move closer. When you finally, finally grasp his cock with a firm squeeze, a strangled groan is wrenched from his chest from somewhere high and deep like he wasn’t expecting the noise either.

“I’m still mad at you, so this is all you get. Nothing more than this, not even spit.”

Gods, how badly do you want to weep and take it back, but you have a point to prove, damn it.

Childe opens his mouth to protest, but you pull on the scarf to effectively cut off his air, watching how his eyes haze over with pleasure when you do an experimental pump. Is this… Is this how you looked when you fought for dominance with Zhongli?

Oh, you really can keep doing this.

Slowly, you shift forward more until you’re pressed close enough to lean next to his head as you gather the pre-cum leaking in torrents to twist around the head of his cock. “Does the Harbinger like this?”

Childe releases another strangled moan and nudges his head against yours, bucking his hips in demand for you to just go faster. You don’t, you’re mad at him, but the insistence is cute. That infamous earring of his dangles in front of you, tantalizingly close, so you grab it with your teeth and pull sharply as the pressure from your hand increases.

Childe cries out in a mixture of shock and pleasure, hands flying to your back to pull you closer to him as you release it to begin whispering filth into his ears.

With each movement, each tug and twist and sin tickling him, you watch as he slowly becomes unraveled and pulled from the seams. The contrast between you two, how you watch with startling clarity as Childe loses his sanity in chasing after that edge, serves only to thrill you. Your core starts to throb again, practically weeping with your own slick as you fight back the instinct to mount and ride him to hell here and now.

As his thighs tense and his breathing drawing quicker, you pause abruptly to stop him from cumming and – oh shit – he yanks your hair back as he growls in your ear, “Don’t you dare – “

Wish granted. You laugh openly and release his scarf to cup his jaw, leaning forward enough that he can catch the whites of your eyes through the slits in the mask. ��Then don’t look away.”

And, blessedly, you resume your ministrations with a sudden increase in speed that has Childe panting so beautifully, so raggedly as he whines at the sight of his own mask staring him down. His hips rock into your hand needily, clinging to your back like his life depended on it.

“Ah, f-uck – “ Childe’s words are cut off as he flushes red and you feel warmth spill over your hand. You never pause as you continue milking his cock, jerking it well past the point of pleasure and deep into oversensitive pain. His blue eyes are squeezed shut as a string of Snezhnayan curses tumble from his lips, clinging to what shreds of euphoria are left before you slowly stop.

His chest is heaving, each exhale hoarse and dry as he buries his head against your neck.

Huh, what does a Harbinger taste like…?

As you idly bring your hand up to lap at the cum, you smirk behind your mask when you hear Childe’s breath hitch and he begins mumbling something indistinctly, watching you all the while.

When he’s this close, you can nearly count each freckle dotting his cheeks and nose, and… And you can almost draw constellations between them.

After a moment, he leans back to stare at you before pulling off the mask. When you both see each other again, a lazy smile tugs at his lips before he looking you up and down, then towards the scene around you.

“… Well, this is unsanitary.”

What – what the fuck? You bark out a loud laugh and Childe joins you, though his sounds huskier still as he recovers. “That was a little mean of you to keep going,” he says, pouting when you snort.

“You wanted it.”

“I wanted to fuck you,” he grumbles. You shrug and try to stand, though admittedly you’re no better than a colt with how your legs shake.

Eventually, you manage to waddle your way to the river and take slow steps into the freezing waters. Fish dart between your legs, barely brushing by with slick flutters, and you sigh as you force your muscles to relax.

Some time passes before you hear movement and splashes behind you, though you don’t turn to meet him. If Childe is upset with you, he can deal with that himself, you’re too busy trying to find some peace.

You just need a hard reset. Just once, you need to get one merciful moment alone.

Still, that wish remains ungranted as strong muscles wrap around your front and you jolt at the sudden contact, but more so when you feel Childe rest his head against the back of yours. Neither of you move, opting to instead sway lightly with the currents drifting by. Each wrist is wrapped in a leather brace with a Vision inlaid in the right while the Delusion is in his left.

When you glance down at the water, you suck in a breath upon realizing he’s been staring at you through the reflection the whole time. Soft aquatic plants dance at the corners of your feet, brushing ever so slightly with each tug.

It’s nice, but something about the stillness sparks uneasiness in you. But… It’s not the kind you felt staring down Childe’s lifeless eyes seconds before he struck, no, this is different. This feeling left you feeling both heavy and light, clear and foggy like you were alone with the dawn breaking and somehow that fact makes it all the sadder.

You… You want this to last, you realize. Stupid. You’ve gotten yourself stupidly attached already, two for zero with these men in your life.

He sighs as one hand reaches up, tracing idly over your chest again. “Do you ever feel like it’s some game,” he begins delicately like each breath is an affront to the world around you.

“What do you mean?”

“These gods, these… Not-humans, I guess. The one that took Aether’s sister, the ones that laughed at you for not being good enough in your travels, the adepti that thought Liyue too fragile… Do you ever think it’s a game to them? Like we’re just puppets on strings?”

He whispers these words, writing them like clandestine letters, ones that will surely get him executed should the gods ever see yet he writes them all the same.

“Like the fabled strings of fate?” you reply, and his lips twist in a wry laugh. “I don’t know if it’s fair for me to answer, since I’m not…”

Human.

Childe hums, understanding the tacit sentiment. “Doesn’t matter, you were never welcome among the divine anyway, right?”

“As if the humans would welcome us instead.”

“I would. I already have.”

Without skipping a beat, Childe continues hastily, once again obscuring that something in his voice. “Do you think they understand us? Actually care about their people?”

You shake your head, a barely-there motion, and should any soul look upon you two now, surely they would never see how you squeeze his hands. “I don’t think gods understand true strength.”

You don’t know why, but those two words, that single combination seems to still Childe completely as he listens, utterly rapt with another memory flickering across his expression. At least, that’s what you think, judging from the reflections.

“Gods may shape the world and play with the pieces, but mortals are the ones living in it. I don’t think they remember that humans are not – “

“Things.”

Another beat of silence passes before Childe breaks it again. “They think we don’t understand anything just because we haven’t had an eternity behind us, ha. I don’t blame them, I think I’d take the opportunity to be immortal too.”

You frown and turn in his arms, coming face-to-face with him. “Why?”

“So I can finally make right everything that’s wrong,” he mumbles, placing his hand on your chest again. When you look down, you see how water tickles and caresses your skin – almost lovingly if you were so bold, but you’re not – as it forms a vague riptide mark. You feel cool hydro energy seep into your skin before disappearing entirely, though you suppose more elemental energy could always trigger its appearance once more.

Childe sighs again, massaging the spot from the mark before roving hands move to your shoulders, rubbing along them. When he looks at you again, your heart stutters at the glittering image of wide-eyed wonder and determination staring back at you – the sight of it renders you mute. A cheeky grin pulls his lips. “And more time means more journeys, right? When my plans are complete, I can finally put this all to rest and go adventuring.”

(You vow then to never tell him that Teucer long spilled these secrets to your motley group.)

And then. And then he smiles, though it’s all teeth and wicked intentions, and then you feel your heart race with sudden fear as the sweet moment left as soon as it arrived.

“You know comrade,” he begins charmingly (oh no), “I did warn you about one thing.”

“Y-yeah?” Oh no, you didn’t mean for that to come out as quiet and breathy as it did. Childe chuckles as he slides one hand to cup the back of your neck.

“That I won’t stop.”

That’s all the warning you get before your world is turned askew, everything blurring together in motions of blue and rippling colors.

This is… He’s taking you somewhere, you realize belatedly, this is how he escaped the Golden House. When his face materializes before yours, peering out of the water as the element obeys its master’s commands, he holds one finger up to his lips in a signal to keep holding your breath.

So you do. You hold as long as you can, eyes darting as the world passes by and you’re struck by the kaleidoscope of light as it ripples along the outside of this shell.

When Childe leans forward, slotting his lips against yours, you swear then that he meant to steal your breath.

Hard rock slams into your back suddenly and you break the kiss, gasping for air and flopping your hands about you for purchase. Air, hallelujah, there’s air –

You grumble at him, sulking at the unexpected journey as his drenched hair trickled droplets onto you. Childe rears his head back, roaring with laughter at your cross attitude, but you can’t hear it. As a matter of fact, you can’t hear anything really.

Wait, did he just take you behind the waterfall?

Amusement dances across his face as he watches you drink in the sights around, of how you two are in a small enclave behind the waterfall roaring overhead. It’s not much, probably two lengths of Childe’s body long and wide with temperatures freezing you to the bone.

So, why did he bring you back here –

You keen when he suddenly dips his head to kiss along your sternum, one thigh nudging your legs apart. His hot breath fans across your skin, licking a long stripe up your neck to your ears as he brings one hand up to squeeze one breast.

“Sweet girl is always so far away,” he whispers huskily. “Will you finally let me hold you?”

“Childe,” you huff, your soft breath cutting off into a moan as he pinches one nipple. His teeth graze your jaw, kissing along it and moving steadily towards your mouth. “All this time, you never needed to ask. You already had me.”

He groans, capturing your lips again with the barely constrained ferocity of a starved man as the hand fondling your chest moves down. Stars, you’re already so slick with anticipation; Childe moans appreciatively as one finger slides easily in, then two, then three.

“Fuck,” he mumbles. “Fuck, fuck, you’re so hot, sweet little thing.”

If you were thinking straight, you’d realize that Childe is whispering something about fair trade and equal punishment, is sinking his fingers knuckle-deep into you and ruthlessly finding that sweet spot in you with a single goal in mind. You encourage him further, opening your mouth and welcoming his tongue as he explores your mouth with near-invasive energy.

If you were thinking straight, you’d realize how his cock is already at attention and ready to spear you, how it waits patiently for you to cum first.

Oh, but you’re not thinking straight. You wail as his fingers press harder, palm now rubbing your clit while he nips along your jugular and scatters your thoughts. Childe shifts so he no longer needs his other hand to hold himself over you, and instead places it over your throat as he pulls back to stare into your eyes.

The devil grins at you. “Don’t look away now.”

“Ah – oh, Childe – “ His hands squeeze, tentative at first, then with more conviction – and a terrifyingly practiced technique – around your neck, cutting off just enough air to leave the images blurring around you. Fuck, fuck, you’re clinging to consciousness, holding onto that pleasurable spike for dear life and –

“Come for me, pretty girl,” he pants, leaning forward to brush his nose against yours and you wail. It comes out softer and quiet, like a lamb being laid bare before a wolf, and you’re shivering with the fuzzy pleasure blanketing your body. Calloused fingers work you over as he grins, murmuring praises as you come undone from his unrelenting pace.

Your orgasm is nothing fierce like when he ate you out, but as air steadily becomes harder, the pleasure refuses to fizzle out like the fireworks you felt earlier. No, it only builds and builds and builds like it refuses to let you go, dragging you through this sex-addled haze whether you like it or not.

“Stay with me now,” Childe grunts, dark hunger swirling in his eyes. “Come on, don’t black out on me now, that’s too easy. Do I have to be mean?”

What the fuck is he talking about –

You cry out in sheer panic and blinding euphoria as you feel light sparks dance along your clit. He’s using his fucking electro element, all fine control and just playing you like a fiddle while you writhe underneath him. You can’t take it anymore, this is too much to all once and impossible to describe, you can’t –

Childe blessedly releases his grip and you gasp in lungfuls of air for the second time in a short window; though his fingers slow, they don’t stop. He coos at your writhing underneath him, moaning with you as you ride out a second orgasm from his electro currents.

You’re biting your lip to stop from whining even more, but that must’ve irked Childe because he moves down to kiss you again, pulling your bottom lip away with his teeth. As the stimulation slowly pushes into pain, you hiss and swing your left leg up to kick him away.

Of course the fucker caught your foot and exploited the momentum to wrap it around his right shoulder, of course. “Pl-ease,” you cry out as tears prick at the corners of your eyes, the pleasure quickly becoming too much again. “Please!”

“Mm, you’ll have to beg for it,” he replies, too casually for a man whose fingers are working up a storm to bring you to a quick and merciless orgasm again. Your hands fly down to his wrist in a pathetic attempt to slow him, but he curls his lips in a challenge and speeds up, shifting closer to you to brush his cock along your cheeks.

Fuck, fuck – You cum again, though somewhere in you tells you that you never actually stopped. A last-ditch idea desperately hits you. “F-Fuck me!” you cry out, voice pitching a tune that’s dangerously needy. “Please!”

Childe laughs again, all cruelty and thrilled at your begging, but you can’t find it in you to give a damn, you just need him to stop fucking you with his fingers. You need a break.

But the Harbinger is a merciless god.

He hums as his fingers slowly, slowly withdraw and he makes a show of sucking each one clean before he takes his cock to line up with your entrance. As he does this, he tilts his head and looks at you again, pretending like he doesn’t see you plead for – for what, exactly? For more? For less?

And in a single thrust, he enters entirely into you. Two voices bounce off the walls, pitches varying but both as broken, and Childe immediately begins a harsh pace.

“Please,” you whine and he tilts his head again, grinning through each harsh thrust. He’s rubbing one hand along the thigh draped over his shoulder while the other holds your hips in a bruising grip.

“Please? You’re such a greedy thing, look at that, sucking up my cock like that.” Each word is punctuated with another harsh thrust, each word is met with your loud cries – and when he angles his hips enough that you can see the outline of it pushing against your naval with you on your back, you cum again.

The Fatui starts speaking in Sneznayhan again as you clamp down around him, squeezing and milking his cock for all you’re worth, but gods you can hardly care right now. Your back is surely going to be scraped raw with how you’re being dragged across the floor, but you fucking love it, love how pain and pleasure mix in some addicting cocktail you’re absolutely drunk on.

You make a long, anguished whine as Childe begins kissing along your leg and peppers your skin with nips to pierce that pleasurable fog. His words sound slurred, you’re willing to bet your life that he’s trying to call your name, but you’re not sure if it’s him or your perception that’s screwed up on this side of the river.

And then he’s laughing. The bastard’s laughing at your blissful misery.

Oh. Oh no no, no you’re not about to be humbled by some Harbinger –

“T-tartaglia!” you keen suddenly when a particularly fierce thrust hits you.

You both freeze.

Oh no. Oh shit. Cold panic rushes through you at that, at how you just admitted defeat by calling him out – and when he purrs your real name, low and husky and thoroughly vindicated, he knows it too.

“Pretty thing wants to wear my mask, but you forgot who’s fucking you like you wanted,” he snarls.

After he hoists your other leg over his shoulders, he presses his body into yours and folds you in half, the new angle devastating for your pleasure as he somehow reaches deeper. His hips start again, mercilessly hitting that spot deep in as his hands cage you in by your head. Childe leans in and nudges your head aside, brushing his nose along your cheeks. "What's the safeword?"

"C-calla lily," you murmur and he nods, turning to stare you down again.

When you try to look away, close your eyes, do something, one hand brutally squeezes your jaw to open your eyes again.

And it works. You gasp as he forces you to attention, forces you to address him as those dangerously blue eyes threaten to swallow you whole in the treacherous deep ocean. “Baby, look – hah, shit – look at me. Y-you want Tartaglia, huh? Isn’t that right?”

Your throat is betraying your mind, whining and begging and blabbering something in response as the grinding pleasure continues to drown you.

It hurts so fucking good as euphoria tears you apart, rips your insides as you start openly sobbing from the pleasure he’s dragging out, and the fucker has the audacity to shoot forward and press an open kiss to your tear-streaked cheeks. Chi- Tartaglia lets you claw at his back – hell, he encourages it with how he groans – and he torturously continues his pace.

You’re not sure if you have the energy to continue, so you smack at his back weakly as you mumble against his lips. Your cunt is squeezing and spasming around him in a vice grip, but he continues fucking you through it. “P-please, please c-cum, please, I don’t know if I can keep going,” you beg desperately.

“N-no,” he grunts and your heart sinks. “Fuck, pretty birdie is letting me finallyy – hah – fuck her, I warned you, I won’t st-hhop.”

“It’s too much,” you hiccup through the overstimulation and scream – your throat hurts with the force of it – as you feel electricity twist your muscles, clenching around his cock as white-hot plasma seems to seer you from the inside out. He moans in response, a low and gruff noise.

“Then suffer.”

And he keeps going.

---

You never notice how he traces along a barely-there geo sigil with the smallest, briefest Cor Lapis glow beneath your navel. You never notice how it throbs in time with his thrusts, with each exertion of his elemental visions as if protective over your body in a lingering memory of whatever divine beast spurred its awakening.

You never notice how he grins.

---

The Harbinger is a cruel and merciless god.

---

He ruins you, thoroughly devastates you with a meticulous precision befitting the Vanguard of the Harbingers. You’ve been manhandled and manipulated into a myriad of positions until pebbles and scrapes litter both of your bodies. True to his word, you suffer through each orgasm he tears from you.

And fuck, do you love it.

Your back is to the wall as your hands are interlocked with his own by your head, hips rapidly thrusting you up and down against it as you wrap your legs around him for purchase while he nips your neck like a rabid dog.

Stars, you can’t concentrate, your eyes keep losing focus – and each time Tartaglia notices, he bites or thrusts or squeezes with that iron grip, electricity lacing each action jolting you to the present. He refuses to let you sink, refuses to let you black out as you’re dragged through hell and back by the devil himself.

“Please,” you weep as he rests his forehead against yours, dutifully watching how your chest bounces with the movement and how his cock is thoroughly drenched with your juices. The ease with which he slides in and out of you is downright criminal.

“T-tartaglia, please,” you whimper and his blues meet yours again. “Tartaglia… I want…”

A single eyebrow arches as he presses his body impossibly closers, now chest-to-chest as he cages you in and looms over you. “I want you,” you gasp between thrusts, “all of you, please. I – ah – I trust you, please.”

Tartaglia freezes for a split-second before groaning, raw and thunderous and wild as the storms that herald his coming, and when he kisses you, you feel wetness dribble down both of your cheeks.

In your haze, you weren’t aware you were crying again from it all, but a lot of things snuck past your attention.

You don’t know what happens after that, but you know it’s hot and wet as his body flexes over yours. Somewhere in your consciousness, you hear a voice cry out Tartaglia’s name, utterly shredded to ribbons from how it was abused.

Was that your voice?

His cock is throbbing in you as you feel him empty load after load of cum, more words in a foreign language wrapping you in warmth his tone lightens, his eyes grow soft and his lips curl up. It’s all you can do to squeeze your wet cunt around him, tightening around him to milk more out of him until Tartaglia is gasping desperately in time with the stutter of his hips.

Eventually, he slumps over you, draping his muscled body over yours with sheer exhaustion and sweat glistening in a thin sheen over his skin.

He whimpers your name, almost going unheard and the noise is halting as if he didn’t expect to say it either. Frankly, you’re too tired to unpack all the layers woven into that right now. So you don’t. Instead, you squeeze his hands as you start to feebly sing softly in your native tongue.

Childe freezes instantly as he sucks in a sharp breath. “What is that?”

“Hm? My people’s language?” you respond and he nods dumbly. “Sorry, probably sounds bad.”

“No,” he mumbles, shaking his head enough that his auburn locks bounce lightly. “Just familiar.”

Huh? Whatever. He’s probably too blissed out to make sense right now.

You both stay like that for a time in a slow-going bid to steady your breathing. You… You never honestly expected this to happen when he invited himself along your commission. Not that you’re complaining, of course, it’s just… It’s not what you expected.

Some lust-addled part of your brain, utterly fucked out and blissful, is already planning another ‘excursion’ into these deep woods.

And then you start to giggle at the gooey mess pooling between both of you. Childe huffs against you and you feel his smile against your cheek. “What’re you laughing at, pretty bird?” he slurs out.

“Oh, just. This is just unsanitary.”

Childe just grunts, too tired to join your laughter, but that’s okay. Your bubbling joy is enough for the two of you in this little enclave behind the waterfall.

---

Hours have passed, and somehow – through sheer and utter spite – you both manage to drag yourselves back to Liyue Harbor despite the protesting aches from your muscles. Nerve endings are set alight with each step, but judging from how Childe winces, he feels it too. Night has long fallen and you remind yourself to apologize to Aether and Paimon, since you said you’d be back by dinner at the latest.

Do you regret it though? Nope.

Eventually, you stumble (literally in your case, tripping over a rock in your lethargy) across Zhongli scrutinizing various wares on display with a careful eye.

Zhongli’s smile is brilliant and warm as he spies you two, immediately weaving his way through the crowd to make his way over. In a way, the movement is serpentine as he manipulates each person away. It’s fitting, really.

“I expected you two to be back much earlier,” Zhongli rumbles, though there’s no disappointment. He looks pleased to simply see you both safe and sound.

“Ah, it was a little far,” Childe chuckles as he rubs the back of his neck. “Y’know how it is.”

“Where are the others?” you interject, too tired to maintain any sane conversation. Or sanity in general. You need a bed and you need it now.

The former Archon tilts his head as he peruses through his memories. “I believe they moved to Wangshu Inn. They said that since you both took too long, we are to meet again at midday tomorrow near Jueyun Karst.”

You nod weakly and tune out their conversation, trying to muster what little energy you have left to begin the trek to get outside the city.

“I saw the most interesting thing,” you hear Childe say conversationally. The tone feels off, though. “Did you know geo sigils can stay on skin? I got a most intimate view of it! Even left a little hydro mark of my own,” Childe’s teasing voice continues with something else lacing the undercurrents of it.

Your heart sinks and you slowly turn around, thankful that in your brief glance at their faces, Zhongli was all-too distracted with Childe’s words to see you. However, when one eyebrow raises, you immediately duck your head.

Fuck. What the fuck. You’ll sprint if you have to, but for now, walking away is okay too.

“Oh?” You hear a curiously deep rumble from behind you as you slowly make your way out, but you can’t place the tone. Zhongli is as stoic as ever and you can’t get a read on him from his voice alone, oh no. “Is that so.”

It’s not a question. It’s a statement, a fact, an observation, and it’s delivered so flatly you want to cry from sheer mortification and horror as your mind shifts into maximum overdrive with panic at all the worst possibilities.

What’s he thinking? What does either of them think of you now? Did you cross some unspoken line?

Well then! Now’s as good a time as any to flee.

“See you at Jueyun Karst!” you throw over your shoulder as you wave, but the words are broken since you’re shaking like a leaf in a fierce wind.

As you make your exit, you feel two pairs of eyes burning into your back as neither man says anything.

Haha! Terrific! That’ll surely help you sleep tonight!

notes:

i love how the 1.5 leaked cutscene says there’s a liyue saying that goes something like “waiting for rain to fall on earth once again” like hello?? metaphors??

#childe #Childe fanfic #genshin childe #genshin fanfic #childe x reader

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taexual · 4 years

Text

i’d love you to stay but that’s simply insane // JJK (2)

jungkook is an uncontrollable lead vocalist of the campus band, and you’re a goal-oriented top student that’s known his rich and complicated family since childhood. you don’t want anything to do with each other, until each other is exactly what you want to do.

pairing: jeon jungkook x reader

genre: college au

warnings: sassy!jungkook vs sassy!MC, mentions of drunk driving

words: 5.2k

chapter two

The hospitals were usually glum and even off-putting and yet when you showed up to pay Jungkook an obligatory visit the next day after the party – because for reasons beyond you, you felt like you had to see him at least once to make sure he really was okay even though the paramedics that pulled him out of the totaled car had already told you he’d be fine – it felt like you were on set of a medical drama.

The entire hallway where Jungkook’s hospital room was located was full of people who weren’t there to visit but rather to make sure that the sole heir of JJ Holdings was not disturbed or, God forbid, photographed. The tabloids were already speculating what had to have happened to him to make him crash his car so close to his own house, and, frankly, there weren’t a lot of answers that made sense.

And yet, despite that, Jungkook’s family fought their hardest and denied every accusation, claiming that their beloved son, their youngest family member, could never drive under the influence and that it was, really, the horrible weather conditions to blame.

It had been a clear night – albeit a little windy – but you knew better than to get involved in this.

You had assumed that this situation had to have set Jungkook’s family on edge but then his mother enveloped you in a warm hug as soon as she saw you, so maybe not. You’d always liked her – it was Jungkook’s father that intimidated you – so you didn’t mind the fact that you hadn’t seen her since you went off to college three years ago.

“It’s so sweet of you to come,” she said kindly, but she seemed surprised to learn that you knew of her son’s accident.

It took you a while to understand why that was – as it turned out, in the wild chaos that erupted when Jungkook was brought to the hospital, no one bothered to ask who had called the ambulance. And it didn’t really matter anyway, you supposed. Maybe you shouldn’t have even come.

“It’s nothing,” you said with a polite smile. “How is he?”

“Oh, he’s alright,” she said and, just like with Jungkook last night when you’d asked him how his mom was doing, her answer was automatic. He could have been in a grave condition and she’d have still smiled and said that her son was doing just fine.

His family was constantly playing a role for other people. Most of the time, they acted like they walked on paths covered entirely in rose petals, and that nothing could ever inconvenience them.

It was painful to see that she felt the need to keep the act around you too, but, then again, your mother was now the only one that was still in touch with Jungkook’s family, so that made you an outsider.

“Can I see him?” you asked, starting to feel more awkward by the second. “I brought some comfort food. Even though I don’t know if he even likes this anymore—”

“He’ll really appreciate it,” his mother cut you off and, maybe it was just wishful thinking on your part, but it sounded like she meant it. “His dad is there with him right now but it’s been a while, so you can probably go in there, too. Maybe they both fell asleep.”

You doubted that very much – the Jungkook you used to know never lowered his guard around his father, at least not enough to fall asleep in his presence – but you swallowed whatever objections you may have had and simply nodded.

“Okay, thank you,” you said and walked past her towards Jungkook’s hospital room.

You had to round a corner to reach it and, as soon as you did, you felt yourself exhale in relief. You’d forgotten what it was like to be around Jungkook’s family. Constantly participating in their game of we-are-a-perfect-family-please-oh-please-believe-us was exhausting.

You were about to knock on the door, the chocolates you’d brought for Jungkook clutched tightly in your hand – you felt stupid to have brought them now because, really, what were the odds that he still liked the same candy as he did when he was 12? – when you heard talking inside and stopped short.

Clearly, Jungkook and his father were very much awake and, by the sound of it, currently in the middle of a very heated discussion (because the Jeon family never argued, they just talked louder than usual sometimes).

“I’m tired,” his father was saying. You debated if you should walk away or just wait it out in case their exchange was coming to an end. “I’m sick of this, you hear me? How many times have you tried to sabotage everything we’ve worked for? How many times—”

Inhaling sharply, you pulled away from the door and leaned against the opposite wall instead. You hoped you couldn’t hear them from over there but, unfortunately – or, perhaps, luckily – you still could. And, before you even considered returning to Jungkook’s mother to wait with her, you were already too curious to move.

Yes, you were the cat, and you knew you were about to get killed. But, oh, the satisfaction!

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook said quietly inside of the hospital room and you could almost see the shame all over his face. He had never lived up to his father’s expectations but this seemed to be the last straw.

“Listen to what I say because I am not going to repeat myself,” his father said as a nurse walked past you and you had to pull your phone out to pretend that you weren’t being nosy. “You can forget all about the company – hell, you can forget all about your own future if you keep going like this.”

“Dad—”

“You’re still so young but it’s like you’re purposefully looking for a tragic end of your life,” Jungkook’s father continued, not letting his son interject, “you’ve been acting like a completely brainless idiot ever since you started high school and, you know what, now it’s time you stopped. You’re in college now and I’m done watching you destroy yourself and our legacy.”

“I’m an adult,” Jungkook said, sounding very much like a child, “you can’t tell me how to live my life.”

His father laughed and you could have shivered if you weren’t so busy pretending not to be listening as nurses and doctors coursed back and forth in the hallway.

“You’re also my son,” he said then and it would have been a very nice gesture if he stopped there. But he didn’t. “And the heir to our family’s company. What you do is a reflection of us, and your latest stunt will certainly paint us in the most beautiful colors. So, you can think you’re the only one responsible for your life all you want, but the truth is, you’ll always be tied to the rest of us.”

“Right,” Jungkook lost the previous restraints he had, “so, what? Will you have me drop out of college so you can supervise my every move, starting now?”

“Absolutely not,” his father replied. “You went to university to learn how to run a business, to gain leadership skills, to learn how to be a proper grown-up. You might be an heir, but that doesn’t mean you’ll get to sit back and relax while money falls from the trees around you.”

“I know that,” Jungkook said and you knew he meant it. His parents had taught him to work hard since day one – surely not a lot of toddlers learned how to read even before they stopped using the potty.

“You don’t know anything. Don’t embarrass me by saying you do,” his father countered. “You haven’t put any actual work towards your future. You’ve got that band of yours, which is all good, there’s nothing wrong with having a hobby—”

“It’s not—”

“—but if that’s the reason why you’re in this situation right now,” his father continued, not even hearing Jungkook object, “then maybe it’d be better if you focused on your studies instead. Otherwise, I don’t see the point why you should join the company this summer.”

It was quiet for a while after that and you thought they finished talking. You even put your phone away, ready to head down the hallway and act like you just got here, but then Jungkook spoke up again.

“The things that I do in college,” he said slowly, “will not interfere with my job at the company.”

“You can forget that job – and any other job, actually – if you don’t pull yourself together,” his father said.

“Well, what should I do, then?” Jungkook asked. “What do I have to do to prove to you that I don’t need to pull anything together because I’m fine? It’s just that you--”

“Admitting that you’re not fine would be the first step.”

“I-I’m serious,” he said, sounding a little more discouraged now. “What should I do?”

“Well, you’re an adult,” his father said, using his own words against him. “Why don’t you figure that out yourself?”

The room fell silent again and, a few moments later, you heard footsteps approaching the door of Jungkook’s hospital room. Jumping away from the wall, you jogged down the opposite hallway and only turned around when you heard the door open. But Jungkook’s father left the room and walked away without bothering to even glance your way.

When he disappeared behind the corner, you stopped behind Jungkook’s open door, not daring to enter just yet. You felt even less confident about being here now that you’d overheard his conversation with his father but you only had yourself to blame for that – you could have walked away as soon as you realized they were still talking.

The saying should have mentioned that curiosity may not have necessarily killed the cat, but it certainly made it feel very uncomfortable.

Taking a deep breath, you braced yourself and gave the door of his room a gentle knock before poking your head inside. Jungkook was laying down, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, but he lifted himself up on his elbows when he saw you.

“Wow,” he said and a smile crept up to his bruised face, “you’re the last person I expected to see here.”

If you hadn’t just witnessed the fiery scolding he’d received from his father, you would have never been able to tell that something happened. Acting must have been in his blood as he continued to smile while you entered the room and closed the door.

You had to admit, he looked much better today – excluding the saline drip next to his bed, the fresh stitches on his forehead, and the several cuts and bruises scattered all over his face, of course – but that had to be due to the fact that his face was no longer stained with fresh blood.

“I felt like I had to come since I was the one who called the ambulance and then refused to ride with you to the hospital,” you explained yourself.

“Thanks,” Jungkook said, teasing. “I appreciate that.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you’d expected this reaction, “it was already awkward enough to talk to you after so long, I didn’t think we were close enough for a ride in the ambulance together.”

“But we’re close enough for you to visit me in the hospital?”

“Like I said, I felt bad.”

“You should,” he said with ease. “I could have died.”

You rolled your eyes. “Your injuries weren’t that bad. The car took the brunt of it.”

“How do you know that?”

You asked the paramedics, that’s how – although, that was a massive understatement. What you really did was cry and beg them to tell you if Jungkook was alive – you even pulled on the sleeves of their jackets like a child, demanding attention – but you’d never admit it out loud.

In your defense, Jungkook’s entire face was bloody when the paramedics pulled him out of the car – courtesy of the nasty cut on the upper corner of his forehead that the doctors have stitched up now – and he was unconscious so, really, your reaction was completely rational, all things considered.

“I asked before they took you away, of course,” you responded simply. “I’m not heartless.”

“Well, that’s good to know, then,” he said. “And, for what it’s worth, I would have definitely taken the ambulance with you if our situations were reversed.”

“It’s not worth anything because there’s no way our situations would ever be reversed. I’m smart enough not to drive when I’m drunk,” you said and he was the one to roll his eyes this time, “and, anyway, you had your members in the ambulance with you. It would have been suffocating with me there, too.”

He didn’t respond but kept his eyes on you and the same awkwardness you’d felt in the hallway outside of his hospital room returned.

You couldn’t seem to find a place to settle in – there was only one chair in the room and it had his jacket laying across it; you didn’t dare move it – so you stood still, switching your weight between one leg to the next, while his eyes burned into you.

“I… I brought you something,” you finally managed to say – mostly because the chocolates in your hands were now in danger of melting due to how hard your palms were sweating. “It’s not—”

You had extended your hand to put the candy on the cupboard next to his bed and, as soon as he noticed them, he didn’t even wait for you to finish.

“You remembered!” his cry reminded you of the nine-year-old Jungkook who’d stuff his face with these chocolates until he couldn’t even breathe anymore. You stopped and turned to look at him in surprise. “Oh, man, I haven’t had these in so long. Where did you even find them?”

“I know a store,” you said with a soft smile. You put the candy down and took a step back, feeling even more out of place now that your hands were empty. “I—”

“Well, sit, have one,” he encouraged, leaning out of bed to pick his jacket up from the chair, and tossing it on the floor instead. The catheter in his hand must have strained his skin as he did that but Jungkook didn’t let it show. “Mind you, I said one. I’m selfishly saving the rest of them for myself because I am barely getting fed here.”

You chuckled. “That’s okay, you can have all of them. Is the hospital food really that bad?”

“Oh, don’t get me started,” he groaned, unwrapping the candy and putting it in his mouth while you sat down on the now empty chair.

He closed his eyes as soon as the chocolate touched his tongue, leaning back and sighing blissfully – but just loudly enough so you’d know how much he had missed the taste – in a way that made you look down and swallow heavily, your nails digging into the soft material of the chair.

“This is heaven,” he spoke up after a moment and you didn’t dare to tell him that it wasn’t the candy that was heavenly but rather the sight of him enjoying it so much. “It completely makes up for you abandoning me when I was dying.”

You groaned but Jungkook saw the small smile that managed to make its way to your lips. “You weren’t dying. Why are you being so dramatic?”

“Because I need pity,” he confessed, making it all sound like a joke even though you had a feeling there was more than just a pinch of truth in his words. “None of my friends came to see me. Looks like I really fucked up this time, huh?”

That surprised you. “What do you mean? They went with you when they took you to the hospital.”

“No, I don’t mean my members,” he shook his head, “they were here this morning but I made them go home and clean. I meant my other friends.”

“Oh,” you looked down, unsure if you were in any position to comfort him. “Maybe they’re busy?”

“Please,” he scoffed, unwrapping another chocolate, “it’s Saturday. They may be hungover but they’re definitely not busy.”

“Well, in that case,” you said, “maybe they’re not really your friends.”

“Yeah, I came to that conclusion, too,” he said, toying with the candy instead of putting it in his mouth. Bits of chocolate stuck to his warm fingertips and he licked them off before turning to look at you only to catch you watching him. You looked away when your eyes met, though, so you didn’t get to see the pleased grin that appeared on his face. “So, what are you up to? I thought your schedule was full until graduation?”

You smiled, recalling your words at his party.

“Your drunk-driving incident made me push some things around,” you played along, not missing the chance to scold him. Jungkook just rolled his eyes and popped the chocolate into his mouth. “So, you should consider yourself special.”

“I definitely do,” he said, putting the wrappers down on the cupboard next to his bed. “It’s weird to see you like this. I don’t mean here, but just… not in a hurry, you know? I thought you had classes every day of the week, weekends included.”

You had no idea he ever gave your schedule any thought – and hearing that he did made your stomach twist in ways you’d rather it didn’t – so you weren’t prepared for this. Taking your silence as uncomfortable, Jungkook tried to ease into the conversation differently.

“Are you still thinking of owning your own business?” he asked.

He remembered that and suddenly it was like your stomach had decided to tear itself into two.

“Sure,” you said with an awkward chuckle. “It’s definitely still one of the few things I’d like to do after graduation.”

“Good,” Jungkook said simply and, thus, reminded you of how long it’s been since you had last talked. Usually, whenever the topic would turn to you, wanting to own a business of your own, he’d always say, ‘you’re so bossy, so it would suit you.’ Now, however, he added a very considerate, “I know you’ll get to do it. You’re the kind of person that makes her dreams come true.”

Lowering your eyes – because you’d found that praise was hard to accept when it came from someone you were close to but it was even harder when it came from someone whom you used to be close to – you mumbled, “thanks.”

“It’s just the truth,” Jungkook replied with a shrug of his shoulders – it was an attempt to make you feel less awkward. He could see the way your whole body tensed up as soon as he mentioned how weird it was to see you.

“So, what about you?” you asked, turning the spotlight away from yourself. “Do you still want to be a worldwide famous superstar?”

He laughed, his childhood dream sounding ridiculous now. “No. I’m fine where I am right now.”

You smiled but your mind returned to the conversation you’d overheard before you came here.

Slowly, so as not to pour salt on an undoubtedly fresh wound, you asked, “what about the, uh, family company?”

Jungkook sighed. Not because he was angry at you for asking this question, but rather because it was a very natural question to ask, so – naturally – everyone around him always brought it up.

“What about it?” he asked you.

“Well, it’s a family business,” you shrugged, not wanting to put any extra pressure on him. “Your parents were always sort of prepping you for it.”

“Yeah,” he wasn’t looking at you anymore as his eyes settled on the corner of his hospital room. “They’re changing their minds about that.”

Feeling like you were committing a crime by sitting here and acting like you hadn’t just heard him talk to his dad about this, you proceeded nevertheless.

“What do you mean?” you asked.

“I mean… well, my mom definitely wants me to take over the business one day,” he said and, just like you remembered, his voice softened when he spoke about her, “she’s constantly talking about how proud of me she is – but you know my mom,” he paused to give you a knowing look and waited until you nodded before he continued, “she always had a lot of love to give so she wanted to have a lot of kids and, after that didn’t work out, she focused all of her love on me.”

“Yes, go ahead and blame your mother as the reason why you’re spoiled,” you teased.

“It’s the truth!” he insisted with an unexpected smile. “Anyway, she always wanted me to work in the company and—”

“What about you?” you cut him off.

Already lost in whatever he was going to say to you, Jungkook didn’t catch your question. “Hmm?”

“What do you want?” you asked again.

“I…” he considered this for a moment, not quite used to being asked about his own wishes when he lived in a family that essentially decided everything for him, “I guess I just don’t want to let her down,” he said finally. “My dad, however… he—well, let’s just say he doesn’t really think I’d make a suitable employee, let alone a CEO.”

Unable to resist it, you bit, “hmm, I wonder what could have lead him to feel that way.”

“I know, I know, there’s no need to sound so condescending,” he rolled his eyes – in that same bratty way that you remembered; no one could ever tell this boy anything without him getting offended – and then sighed. “I haven’t been the ideal son.”

It was hard not to allow your memories to overwhelm you – because of how many times you’d been in this same position before: finding Jungkook cooped away somewhere after an argument with his father and trying to cheer him up with his favorite chocolates – but you tried to focus on the present.

“I’m sure you’re trying your best,” you ended up telling him because that was something you were supposed to tell someone who was having a hard time.

Jungkook chuckled at the optimistic statement.

“Not really,” he said then, “I’m not trying at all. I’ve just been doing whatever I want to do and, I don’t know, I guess I wasn’t really thinking of the consequences. Or, rather, I didn’t care about them because—well, because I was satisfied with my life,” he continued to talk and you were starting to feel your pulse in your throat because it’s been seven years – seven fucking years – since you’ve heard him confess something so personal and it was almost suffocating, “but then my dad—oh, you should have heard him today. It was one of the more severe variations of the Jeon Concerto in A Major.”

The comparison got you to smile despite the seriousness of the conversation. “It was that bad?”

“Worse,” Jungkook assured you. “He kept going at it for hours. Actually, he left, like, two minutes before you came in, so my head is still sort of pounding.”

You knew that, of course, but you didn’t say so.

“Are you sure it’s not from the hangover?” you asked instead.

He took the jab with dignity, smiling as he nodded, “that, too.”

Gathering his thoughts for a moment – as he played with the frayed edges of the hospital blanket – Jungkook stayed silent and, when he started to speak again, his voice made it clear how desperately he was trying to make light of a situation that had clearly wounded him much more than the accident last night had.

“My dad, uh—he told me to suck it up and get my shit together,” he said. “And that’s almost a direct quote, by the way. I think he’s been holding it in for a while now and today he just exploded.”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t given him reasons to yell at you before,” you said.

“Oh, no I’ve given him plenty of reasons,” Jungkook said, “you know he’s not one to refuse a good yell. I just didn’t give him any opportunities,” he stopped and, just when you began to frown in confusion, he explained himself, “I… I moved out of my parents’ house in my junior year of high school and I’ve only been home a handful of times since then.”

It hurt to hear that for some reason. You hadn’t heard much about him ever since he stopped talking to you in the ninth grade but you figured that was just your mom filtering out any information about Jungkook that she learned from his mom. You had no idea that it was really because Jungkook was deliberately distancing himself from his whole family, not just from you.

It hurt because you were once best friends and then you went seven years without speaking to one another only to end up talking again in a hospital room.

It hurt because of how easily the two of you returned to your natural rhythm, how simply you recognized each other’s facial expressions, how normal this felt.

“What about your mom?” you asked in a croaked voice. Your throat was closing up and there was no concealing that. “Doesn’t she miss you?”

If Jungkook noticed the ball in your throat, he didn’t make it known.

“She probably does but she’s never said anything. I think she understands that I had no other choice,” he said instead. “I’d have gone insane in that house with my dad. You know we never spoke the same language.”

“Yeah,” you nodded, “but maybe it’s because neither one of you ever tried to understand the other.”

“Maybe,” he sighed, laying back down on the bed and shuffling around under the blanket until he got comfortable, “probably.”

“That’s a good place to start, isn’t it?” you said, your tone far too hopeful and optimistic – all because you were trying to refrain from getting emotional. “To get your life together, I mean.”

“What?” he turned his head on the pillow so he could face you. You looked down immediately. “You mean, listen to my dad and obey him blindly?”

“No—well, not necessarily. Just… talk to your parents more,” you shrugged, “find a way to communicate with them both and let them know what’s going on in your life. I think you really hurt them by disappearing on them like that and then resurfacing again in the hospital.”

You lied. You didn’t think. You were sure. Because he didn’t just hurt them, he hurt you, too.

Your first conversation in seven years ended with him drunkenly crashing his car into a tree trunk – or was it a lamp post that he didn’t notice? – and now you had to clutch the seat of the chair you were sitting on with all of your might so you wouldn’t start crying. You couldn’t even understand why your eyes were getting watery but they were and you really needed him to look away.

“Hmm, I—I didn’t really think of it like that,” Jungkook admitted and – mercifully – looked back up at the ceiling.

Sniffling as quietly as you could, you added another teasing dig, “maybe also consider drinking less.”

“Yeah, no, funnily enough, I figured I’d have to do that myself,” he replied and you snickered, only daring to look up again when you were sure your tears, that had rushed to the surface, finally receded.

“Good to know you do have a functioning brain despite making it seem like you didn’t last night,” you told him – because you had to – and he glared at you instead of replying, but he did hear what you were saying. He understood.

You wanted to properly lecture him about his reckless behavior but right now you weren’t in the best position to explain your aggressive need for him to start thinking before he acted – and, technically, you had no reason to care about him that much, anyway – so, you took a deep breath, blinked several times to make sure you really weren’t going to start crying, and then started to speak.

“I hope that… uh, no matter what you decide to do and however you choose to handle this thing with your parents,” you swallowed and the words were unexpectedly hard to say, “I hope that you don’t get behind the wheel of a car while drunk again.”

Jungkook looked at you for a long time before speaking and you lost yourself in his eyes like you had done countless of times before. And how could you not when you were faced with his already legendary gaze; the one that controlled entire crowds at Parental Advisory gigs?

You couldn’t see your reflection so you didn’t know, but Jungkook had noticed the redness of your eyes. He noticed the slight puffiness that appeared on your cheeks. He’s seen you cry before, he knew all the signs.

But he was also aware of the gap in your friendship and the tightrope that the two of you were walking over it – he didn’t dare to bring your crying up and risk throwing both of you down into the pit of not-talking again.

“I won’t,” he said instead, his voice gentle. “I promise.”

As he said this, you realized that, perhaps the reason why you felt like crying was because you knew that the second you’d walk out of his hospital room, the two of you would go back to your seven-year-long silence.

Even though you’d had no problems reconnecting today, it was just one day. It would end tomorrow and, eventually, the connection that you’d had and the friendship that you’d developed as kids, would turn into a distant memory. You’d return to your world and he’d return to his and, even though you both lived on the same campus, you might as well have lived on two different planets.

But, even though that hurt, perhaps it was for the best. It was painfully pointless to carry hopes of a restored friendship when it was almost doomed to end eventually. He’d stopped talking to you once, he could do it once more.

So, you wanted to cry now and then put this weekend-from-hell behind you, so you wouldn’t have to cry later, after losing Jungkook again.

keep reading | masterlist

#bts #bts fanfiction #jungkook #jeon jungkook #bts reactions #bts imagines #bts scenarios #college au #bts college au #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook au #jeon jungkook fanfiction #bts angst #bts fluff

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emerald-amidst-gold · 3 years

Note

17, 21, and 24 for the OTP ask? 😁

Well, hello, friend! I shall answer for that is DUTY! >:D

17. What senses (sights, smells, feelings, etc). remind them of each other?

I did answer this one in another ask, but I can think of a few more to share! (I got so much for these two, don't worry~)

So, another thing that reminds Fane of Solas is any kind of painting, namely frescos. Surprise, surprise! But the reasoning is mainly because Fane used to dream of frescos painted in a temple, one he always finds himself traversing in his dreams in the earlier years of his life. The style was nostalgic, impeccable, as if the hand that had held the brush was fixated on getting every line, every detail, every color, and every proportion just right. The paintings were like little anecdotes, way points trying to guide him in a direction with paint and plaster, but the story was always left unfinished, and it isn't until all the memories flood back that Fane realizes who was the artist of his dreams. *winks*

Now, I'm not usually one for 'smell' references, but oddly enough, Solas is reminded of Fane through one. Namely, chamomile. This was something I thought of one day when I was fighting with a headache and I was just watching a Twitch stream, and I was like, "Chamomile is a natural stress reliever. Fane doesn't like tea, but there are bath oils and incenses infused with chamomile, right? He would definitely be given that by someone or maybe even takes initiative to get it himself." Thus, the headcanon was established! Fane smells like chamomile, and Solas can't help but smile when he smells it from another source, knowing that his dragon is trying to help himself in some way.

21. How have they changed each other for the better/for the worse?

So, there's a little bit of A and little bit of B for this question. There has indelibly been a positive influence on both Fane and Solas due to each other. Basically, it all stems from pre-Inquisition, aka Elvhenan/Arlathan.

Fane, as a dragon, was inherently tasked with observing elvenkind, watching the flow of which they progressed and if their machinations benefited the world in which they lived. Each dragon had this inherent task, albeit in different ways. Dragons that lived in arid regions were tasked with controlling the sandscape, preserving the ancient temples by covering them with said sand, making inaccessible areas accessible for wildlife, so on, so forth.

Fane, and the others of his specific kin, not only watched the Elvhen, they guided them, but only if it was deemed necessary. White dragons could not want for anything beyond what the world needed, and their powers of absorbing, reflecting, and understanding emotions was what made them highly sought after by the Evanuris. When the Evanuris began enslaving elves, they began enslaving dragons, too. And this is around the time Solas and Fane met; when Fane was the last of his white kin. Fane had gone into recluse, hiding; he turned his back on those who were suffering because he couldn't bear to see them be subjected to magic bending and breaking their minds, turning their eyes grey where they were otherwise a multitude of colors. Solas found him through a curious venture as we all know the dear wolf is prone to curiosity.

Their beginnings were rough. Fane tried multiple, multiple times to kill Solas. He saw him as no different than those who had thus far enslaved his kin. He held anger, rage, resentment, and pride, which warped his nature of calm observation and cool acceptance to preemptive prejudice and scornful indifference. Fane stopped caring; about everything. Solas reached out to him, wanted to help him, and for the sake of keeping things somewhat short, they grew close after constant revisits and...silence. Solas allowed Fane to watch him, learn about him, read his eyes, and in turn, Fane began to open up, rediscover his original nature, and learn about another side from a more personal view. Solas taught Fane that nothing can change or return to what they had been unless he tried, and he did, even though it ended poorly. And even though it takes him twenty-four years and a lot of hardship, Fane finally remembers that important lesson and he's forever grateful, even as they walk onto the same stage that burned before.

Now, Fane has helped Solas do something we all know the dear wolf is a bit hesitant to do, and that's show his emotions. I stated once upon a time that my interpretation of Solas a little more...personal. Basically, I'm exploring a side of Solas that we don't really get to see, and that's an emotional one. My stories encompass a lot of emotion, a lot of grey morality, so I try to do that while keeping Solas in character with how we know him. However, with this AU of mine, Solas is more in touch with his emotions when with Fane. Why? Because Fane did what he was tasked with from birth; he guided. Through silent looks and seemingly disgruntled huffs, Fane allowed Solas to open up, to feel safe when every corner held a knife.

He let him be him. Not the Dread Wolf. Not the Rebel God. Not anything more than what he was naturally, and that was a being who needed to let their emotions go as freely as the magic so intertwined with their nature. They were friends, companions, even though they were two completely different species, and for all intents and purposes, enemies. They loved each other, but couldn't say it. After Fane died, Solas locked up again, kept his emotions sealed away, but when Fane reappeared in his life, both unknowing of who the other was, it all came back so easily, so fluidly. And what you'll see in a lot of my stories of Solas and Fane's early acquaintanceship in Inquisition is that they flow, they let the other be weak even though they don't want to be weak.

As for how they change each other for the worse...well, that ties into a lot of what I have planned during Post-Trespasser arcs. My stories are 'fix-its', but again, grey morality. There's a happy ending, but not without opposition first and a lot of hard lessons. Solas and Fane will do shit that makes people go, "Why?!", but aren't we already saying that with what Solas canon-wise is doing? Why not add an Inquisitor into the mix and live the fantasy we weren't allowed to choose?

24. What is something they have each had to forgive the other for?

Okay, so Fane's isn't what you'd think it is. You all know me, I like to go, 'You thought not! AHA! >:D'. Most people who've read my stories might think, "Oh, Fane has to forgive Solas for erecting the Veil because it's driving his kin insane." That makes sense, but it's not what Fane has had to forgive Solas for. Fane has had to forgive Solas for doubting him.

What I mean by this is that Solas tries to steer Fane away from helping him (Look! It's canon after all! XD). And mainly it's because Solas sees Fane thriving in this new life, connecting with people, seeing the world from a different perspective, and so he starts to think that Fane wouldn't want to help him. Which is complete bullshit because Fane, even when Solas tries to gently steer him away, is like, "I'm here. I'm not going to abandon you again." But typical Solas is typical Solas and is weighed down with grief and his doubts, but eventually he relents after a dragon fight. I won't say when this will occur, but...yeah. It's a bad time, and it shows Solas that Fane wasn't thriving as well as he'd thought. It takes a bit, but Fane comes to understand why Solas was trying to guide him away, and it helps when you're a stubborn dragon in love with a stubborn wolf! :D

Now for Solas, I have a little excerpt from a short story (the one I've been sharing a lot in tag games!). It kind of gives a basis of what Fane can sometimes do when he's not thinking or if he doesn't talk to Solas.

***

“F..Fane..!”, Solas growled out, a surge of heat invading his head as he felt his dragon’s dormant fury within his soul. It was thrashing, knocking, pounding against the confines of their link, wishing to be set free through him and his actions.

“This is..ugh..important, dammit!”, Fane grunted out as Solas was finally starting to push back, as well as his own minor discomfort with the magic that was slowly building around them.

“Then..ngh..speak of it!”, Solas snapped, feeling something like a pinch against his mind before that sensation ricoheted outwards, a lesser burst of magic managing to separate their bodies, but not their tethered souls. “Hiding in your mind only inflicts more harm!”, he almost yelled, his mind clouding with unusual rage. He was never ruffled this easily, but this wasn’t him, was it?

No, this was Fane, or more accurately, Fane’s mind. And it was red hot with fury.

He watched with slightly haggard breathing as Fane slid back a few feet, a grimace on his face from the smell of ozone, but shook it off easily. Now fully golden eyes glared with steamy ferocity upon him, a broad chest heaving with Veil born ire and excitement at finally having a challenge. Solas straightened himself a bit, clearing his throat as the distance between their bodies allowed him to think a bit more clearly, but he could still feel the thread that connected them intensely.

“Ma’isenatha, please--”, Solas attempted to reach the unhinged being before him, even as he could feel his own mind beginning to cloud again as Fane stalked towards him. They needed to cease this dance before one of them got hurt or insanely ill!

“Quit…”, the fuming dragon began before whipping the staff in his hand around in a near perfect arc towards him. “..talking!”, he snarled furiously, deftly hitting the other end of the staff with his wrist to cut off its intended path for a shorter route.

Solas was a bit curious by the adept usage, but shuffled that thought away quickly to block the blow that was inevitably aimed for his jaw. Now wasn’t the time to ruminate! As much as he loathed to admit it, and encourage it, there was only one way out of this foolish scenario!

“Enough!”, a cry harboring necessary command releasing from his lips, making the link between them snap like a bowstring. “Ngh..!” The heady, harsh sensation had the air leaving his lungs before he swept one end of his staff upwards without volition, missing his mark by a hair. He blinked when the sensation eased off, grimacing as he stared at the staff poised just next to Fane’s face, precisely at the point where his scar was. How ironic, but he knew what was happening now with that.

The involuntary reaction had been too planned, too memory bound. It was like when they had viciously fought as Haven burned with fire and corruption, and he had had no choice but to wound the otherwise perfect face before him - a deep scar left on his left cheek from his staff blade. His arms had been wrapped, then strung up in invisible bonds that radiated desperate heat and furious rage, guiding them to repeat the action due to a desire for something unsaid.

In simple terms, he was being controlled by emotions alone - emotions that were not his own.

“Interesting.”, Solas said, but narrowed his eyes upon the fierce man. “Emotions are your strings.”, he pointed out, more realization dawning on him as to where all these minor outbursts, sudden movements, and disorienting sensations were coming from. Fane..

...was manipulating emotions, guiding them to the destination he desired.

Fane’s eyes narrowed, emerald reappearing to deepen with rage as tufts of his hair fluttered from the air behind his swipe. “I’m intervening.”, the draconic side of his love coming out in full bloom now.

“Why?” He issued it as more a command than a true question. He was mildly miffed by this usage of abilities, but he needed context to decipher why Fane had thought this was necessary. It was unusual and worrying for him to use them like this.

“It’s necessary.”, Fane said with a flat tone, but there was fire crackling beneath its supposed embers, as well as the deep emerald gaze bearing down upon him before he twisted his staff upwards to once again aim under his chin. Solas dodged the movement by an inch, feeling the amount of force behind it with air alone.

His dragon was steadily losing his control, and it wouldn’t be long until he was truly unhinged.

“Fane!”, Solas met the glare with one that felt just as furious as he called out, but finally began to retaliate, no longer wishing to play on the defensive and draw this out longer. “Very well..”, he said lowly, gripping the staff tightly as he pressed in harder, matching Fane’s footwork step for step as their blows connected with near splintering cracks. “...if you are so..”, a harsh crack of their staves reverberating through the air. “...intent on not speaking of what troubles you, then I will make it so you have no choice but to!”

A long, muscled leg nearly knocked into one of his knees as it swept under him, its pace incredibly fast for something intended to withstand punishment. It was like a dragon’s tail as it swept aside massive boulders, and uprooted century old trees.

Fane let out a gasping laugh. “You’re still..ngh..t..talking?!”, he roared, snowy brows furrowed in growing pain as sweat began to form along a lightly flushed temple, hand trembling where it nearly snapped his staff in half.

“I am doing what you refuse to do!” A jab with his staff nearly connected with a muscled arm, but it went through the gap between itself and the toned body it was attached to. “Gh..!”, he winced as he felt a sharp yank on his mind, as well as the staff in his hands as Fane grabbed a hold of it to pull him forward harshly.

The world halted suddenly, its furious, heated pace slightly cooled as their gazes connected, all sound flushing out to where the only sound was their combined, harsh breathing. Emerald and gold swam, ebbed around each other like a phylactery did with its magical blood as the face that bore them was lax in stunned silence, sweat trickling down flush cheeks before it would disappear along a strong neck. Solas felt his face was no better, feeling how droplets of sweat rolled down the sides of his face and how his mouth was slightly agape as he fought for a shred of breath.

What was...going on? This feeling, like their desires were coalescing, taking shape before them like spirits shaped the Fade around them...it was intoxicating, comforting, and serene amid the furious battle they had been engaged in moments before. Their link was still there, but it was soft, velvet against his mind as the gentle essence wrapped around it in an embrace.

It was no longer painted...red.

“Hnn..”, Solas let out a quiet sigh, breath hitching after as the blanket around him became warmer, silken. When had it shifted? He hadn’t been aware because of rage painting the world before him in crimson..

“Too...much..”, he heard Fane whisper out between pants, but it was more to himself than to Solas. “...You shouldn’t feel that like I do.. Shit..”

Solas blinked a bit to reorient himself, the softness of his mind making it hard to think before he saw Fane’s face near inches from his, the hand that had grabbed his staff now making itself known upon the back of his neck, steadying him. When had that gotten there?

“What..”, Solas started, closing his eyes for a moment as the world spun for a second before reopening to try again. “What..was that?”

“My mind.”, Fane muttered, eyes flitting across his face worriedly. “I didn’t think..”, he trailed off with a light growl as brilliant eyes turned downcast. “I fucked up… I’m sorry...”

***

So, yeah. It doesn't take Solas long to forgive Fane, but when he first demonstrates just how dangerous his abilities can be and actively uses them to manipulate our wolf gets a little miffed. Solas wants Fane to use his voice more, and these are moments in which Fane doesn't and taps into that warped perception of himself; the one that got him killed.

#oc asks #asks #oc: fane lavellan #solas #solavellan #dragon age #sorry for how insanely long this is!#i just have so much nuanced crap for these two that I get carried away XD #and forgive if the excerpt is a bit...sloppy. it's still a wip! :3 #there's also a lot of stuff that i'm just playing with in regards to Fane and Solas but i know the basis of how they operate X3 #thank you again! <3

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not-safeforsanders · 3 years

Text

Be My Baby/Devil Like You

Fic Synopsis: Roman knows how to dance, Patton knows how to pray, Remus knows how to use his mouth and Logan knows how to shut it. Meanwhile, Virgil and Janus think they’re all idiots and are begging for some healthy communication. (University!AU) (18+)

Chapter Synopsis: There’s no time frame for ‘ready’ Patton thought it would take longer, but in his experience so far trying is usually what gets him on that path.

Warnings: It ends on a bit of a cliffhanger regarding Patton’s general wellbeing

Ships for the whole fic: Intrulogical, Royality, Anxceit, Logan/Remy/Remus/Emile. (Lomile and Remus/Remy separately too)

Word Count: 7857

Have ur age in ur bio or DNI.

A/N: I have re-written this six times, edited it like at least ten I’m so sorry if this is not perfect, I really wanted it to be but I need this damn chapter out before i commit murder.

Monday

“I want to talk about something,” the words leave Patton’s mouth so firmly that he shocks himself with his own confidence. He’s stood with his back against Roman’s door whilst the dancer looks up from the plates he’s just about setting down carefully on the bed, (trying to make sure the contents do not get knocked all over his covers) the apparent routine they have, to be followed up by a film on Netflix for the two of them. He looks up attentively, his back straightening out at the commanding tone that he’s not quite used to coming out of the other man. “I want to…” Patton swallows dryly. “I want to talk about sex.” Again, the firmness is unexpected, and Roman’s eyebrows raise.

“Uh...okay.” The redhead replies with far less conviction, feeling like his entire brain is melting just from the tone the other man is using. It doesn’t sound like Patton, it sounds so firm and confident, which he’s sure is to some degree false. “Then, by all means, let’s talk, but you don’t have to stand up to do it.” He gives a small and slightly weak smile that is received by a nod and a relieved exhale before Patton steps further into the room; Roman places his laptop down on the chair but doesn’t play the movie just yet. They both pick up their plates and sit down on the bed.

For a moment, the blond just stares firmly straight ahead, gathering his courage. Roman notices his hands are shaking but doesn’t call attention to it, instead he turns to look up at his partner’s face. “I’m all ears,” he encourages quietly.

Patton nods, biting his lip. “I…” he clears his throat a little “...I’ve been spending a lot of nights here now, and that’s okay, that’s good I love it but...I...uh…” ‘Just talk honestly, be communicative,’ he can hear a voice that sounds strangely like Emile at the back of his head. “I keep waking up feeling very hot and sometimes…” he bites his lip again, gesturing with his head as if he’s hoping Roman will get the message.

“And sometimes…?” Roman repeats back to him, demonstrating that he is not, in fact, a mind reader.

“If I say wet will you laugh at me?” Patton mumbles, the confidence slipping.

“Oh! You’re having wet dreams?” There’s no tact or embarrassment in this man, he swears to God. “Well that’s fine, it’s normal, it’s nothing to be emba-”

“Yes, but I specifically only have them when I’m sleeping with you.” Patton rushes out quickly. “And the point is I can keep trying to run away and pretend that it’s not happening but it’s frustrating me and driving me up the damn wall and I just want…” he takes a deep breath inwards, his whole body shaking with the forcefulness of the exhale. “...I want to try something more, it’s my understanding that these things come in stages, and...I think I’m ready too, if you are, if you want too that is...to at least try? And then if I want to stop or I don’t like it I can say stop, right?”

Roman goes very quiet for a moment, staring at his plate. “Are you sure?” he asks finally, Patton nods. “Are you really sure?”

“I am, it’s all I’ve been able to think about since the first time you touched me...well, I’m fairly certain I’ve been thinking about it since I met you, actually.” He gives a sheepish sort of smile. “Now though, I actually have some control over my thoughts a-and I trust you, I trust you to stop if it’s too much for me, but I’ve gotten used to thinking about it, that doesn’t scare me so much, and now I’m used to uh…” he clears his throat a little again, his cheeks heating up the more he rambles, barely pausing for a breath “...touching myself, so I think I’m ready to try more; because it’s always scary at first but then it stops once I get used to it so I think the next step is that.”

“Okay,” Roman says simply, picking up his fork. “Then we can give it a try,” then he just eats, like the conversation isn’t the biggest one they’ve had in their relationship; internally he’s screaming, he’s a little terrified but overwhelmingly excited. “I have one condition; you tell me immediately if something’s wrong, and we take it slowly, I don’t want to try too much at once.”

He says this like his mind hasn’t spent a good seven or so weeks thinking about what that would be like, what Patton would be or feel like.

But this is a one-step-at-a-time situation, they both need it to be one foot in front of the other, not an avalanche at once.

“I will,” Patton meets his eyes with a small smile that looks far more excited and nervous than Roman is used to seeing on his face.

“Do you want to...set a date or time or?”

“I’m not that awkward,” he laughs softly, turning back to the meal that is getting far too cold to be comfortable digesting. “Let’s just let it come naturally.”

Tuesday

The next morning comes and goes. Although Patton wakes up feeling flushed and a little too hot, he has classes to get through, so he presses a kiss to Roman’s forehead and says he’ll see him later. He doesn’t want it to be rushed, the experience that is, but he takes no qualms stepping under the hot water of his own shower, resting his head against the wall.

He’s getting quite used to waking up feeling a little too hot, and very much hard. Especially once he started sleeping in Roman’s bed, he’s not entirely sure why he thought it wouldn’t have an effect on him at all, but he knows it’s normal. He hadn’t so much as a hug for years so the physical contact (no matter how small) drives him insane emotionally and sexually.

He thinks about Roman touching him a lot lately, too, but quite like the masturbation, the more the thoughts came the less they distressed him. He indulges them, thinking of Roman’s hands on the back of his thighs, squeezing. He thinks about the way his hips had jolted then, imagining the hands had drifted to his growing arousal. Patton thinks about that, now, in the shower, his breath fogging up the glass cubicle with the steam.

Sometimes, he gets bad thoughts too, Emile said that’s normal and natural and the key is not to push the thoughts away but to let them be there, and reason with them. Forcing the thoughts out just makes them come back stronger, and that can make recovering from his upbringing harder in the long run.

But this time around there’s no bad thoughts, there’s just him panting under the hot water of the shower until his legs shake and he has to hold himself up a little, hips jerking into his own touch as he moans out Roman’s name with his whole chest.

He loves how Roman’s name sounds on his tongue when he says it like that. This must be the third or so time now. It sounds different, heavier, somehow more...reverent.

When he steps out of the shower and looks at himself in the mirror, he almost doesn’t recognise his own face; he doesn’t know why at first, but then he understands it’s because he’s smiling.

Wednesday

Roman went shopping in the morning, apparently in desperate need of some new clothes. He went with Virgil, on the pure coincidence that the two needed to go into town and figured they may as well have some company. Patton spends the majority of the day trying to figure out if there’s a certain way to act during sex.

The curly-haired boy is thinking about it as he pushes food around his plate in the kitchen, Janus is cooking and talking about something, but when they fall into silence (bar the sound of food being scraped out of the pan) all the bubbling insecurities fall out of him.

He blurts out that question to Janus: “Is there a certain way to act during sex?” The other man had already told him if he has questions he’s welcome to ask before, both he and Virgil had, and somehow Patton doesn’t think Logan can help with this one.

The blond had laughed, not unkindly, just amused by the way he’d asked. “Roman would want you to be you, no more or less, besides, if sex was a performance no-one would ever want to do it.” He’d sat up on the breakfast bar and narrowed his eyes a little, studying Patton’s face. “It’s a bit fast, you’ve only been together...five weeks? Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I don’t know,” Patton shrugs truthfully. “I just know it’s what I want and I feel like I’m going to go insane if I don’t have it, it’s also not like I can’t say no if I change my mind.”

The other man hums a little bit, sighing. “Will you know when you want to say no, though?” Patton’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Sometimes it’s not always easy to tell, for some people who often have confusing and conflicting emotions and that’s been their norm, it can be harder to tell.”

“I can usually tell when something is wrong.”

“And do you manage it?” The curly-haired man nods, he does, he knows how to manage the bad thoughts and the good thoughts too and how to untangle them from each other. “Good, next question is do you have any idea what the fuck you’re doing? Have you set boundaries? Educated yourself?” Patton’s mouth opens and closes again. “Oh for fuck’s sake, come on church kid, let’s get you an education.”

Which is how he ended up sat on Janus’ bed, eyebrows furrowed as he reads a computer screen. “That’s how that works?” He whispers, eyes wide. The other man, cracking open a can of cider with a sigh, gives an amused smile and takes a drink. “Okay, so I think I get the basis of it.” He mutters.

“What’s the first thing you remember?”

“Lube and a condom,” Patton relays, more concerned with being right than embarassed.

“And when do you use those?”

“You can use lube any time that you need, including masturbation, but should definitely be used for penetrative sex…” Janus nods, encouraging him along “...and condoms should be used for oral and penetrative sex, or if you just don’t want to make a mess.”

“Good!” He grins wide, placing his can down to pull open his drawer, he digs around for a moment. “...and also use a condom if you share toys although...that probably is not an issue for you,” he states this with an amused but not mocking smile. Out of the drawer, he pulls out a paper bag and then chucks Patton a small bottle. “You can have that, it’s not been opened yet but you might find jacking off a little bit more pleasant, if you need condoms just come and knock, I don’t care if you’re just about to go at it or it’s awkward, would rather you be a little embarrassed than get sick.”

The smaller man nods, staring at the bottle in his hand.

“When you run out of that, you can get it at basically any drugstore, I’m sure Roman will take you.” Patton nods again, starting to feel like one of those bobblehead dolls. “Now, here are some truths about sex that literally no porn will tell you: actually have you ever even watched porn?”

“I...uh...no,”

“Okay, well if you want to see how the logistics of gay sex looks, hop onto pornhub, however, don’t take it as truth or fact, they’re actors and they’re paid to look and sound like that.” How he has so much composure is utterly impeccable to the other man, who is starting to wish he had not asked but is simultaneously relieved anyone is teaching him this at all.

Like Emile had said, he has friends willing to teach him. So here he is, being taught, by maybe the only person in this flat that wouldn’t make that a little weird. Janus always has that sort of calmness about him that is both serious and light-hearted, and Patton doesn’t think he’s ever seen him give so much as a blush. When Remus makes overly explicit jokes he’s the one that laughs.

“So, weird truths about sex; it isn’t all serious and you’re allowed to have a laugh, sometimes it can feel like you’re bloody marrying someone and sometimes it’s like a casual conversation, the more you get to know someone’s body the less intense it seems too.” Patton has never heard someone describe sex as a ‘casual conversation’ but something about that seems intimate and pleasant.

“Your body will sometimes make strange noises, more noticeably during penetrative sex, if you’re having all that air fucked into you it’s going to need to come out, sometimes you’ll accidentally make a strange noise, or you’ll get tickled and need to laugh...it’s fine, and your partner won’t mind.” The taller man says that with a delicate sort of smile that has Patton thinking he’s recalling something from memory; but also when his eyes drift a little to the patched-up hoodie on the back of his own desk chair (an item that definitely belongs to Virgil), Patton thinks he must really love the other man to get that sort of look on his face.

“You might take a break halfway through and come back to it, you might have a whole conversation during it, there’s no real script to this and it’s alright to just say ‘look, I need a second, physically or mentally’.” Patton knew this one, he’s heard that before but he can’t remember if it was Roman, Emile or Logan who said it, these days all his information seems to swirl around. He supposes what matters is that he remembers it.

“There’s no endgame; if you never have penetrative sex or you don’t like it...that’s completely fine, it’s no more or less intimate to jack someone off, at the end of the day someone is touching you and you are touching them and that’s already a level of bravery that takes most years to undergo.” He’s definitely not heard it described as ‘brave’ either. It gives him a small smile to think of it like that, he supposes it is brave in a way. Actually yes, he decides, he is brave for making this decision, maybe very stupid too but there is always going to be a panic in him he can’t shake.

“Also, cum tastes weird if you ever taste it...it’s not a pleasant taste; chances are Roman will get tested or will have gotten tested beforehand so under the assumption he is the person you’re fucking...if he’s not I have a handful of questions and a bottle of wine to open...ask him beforehand if he’s gotten tested, he won’t be offended believe me.”

“That’s a lot of information,” Patton whispers.

“It is, but it’s important information to have; you can’t spend the entire experience worrying or feeling embarrassed all the time, you’ve got to acknowledge that sometimes strange things happen during sex, like getting accidentally tickled, or your stomach rumbling, or needing to fart...it’s not all glamour, it’s just bodies doing what bodies do.”

Something about that sentence shucks half of the fears Patton had had right off of his shoulders, making a soft ‘huh’ noise in response. Just what bodies do. That makes him feel somehow...less tense about the entire situation. “Can I ask a personal question?”

“You can ask, I can’t guarantee I’ll answer though.” Patton gives a small, tired smile.

“What’s the worst experience you’ve had?”

Janus hums with a small grin that reassures Patton he’s not asking a deeply personal question. “It’s kind of funny now, but the first time I had sex with Virgil I was so anxious that I threw up afterwards, he finds it really funny now, and he thought it was cute at the time that I’d gotten that worked up over it.” The other man bites back a half-covered laugh whilst Janus takes another long sip from his can, still grinning.

“I feel bad that I’m laughing but...that sounds like something I would do.”

“And if it is, then I promise you you’ll end up laughing about it for the rest of your lives.” He gives a fond smile, it sinks in on Patton that the rest of his life is something he gets to live, and the idea of living it with anyone at all is exhilarating. Janus seems pretty aware of the fact he intends to spend his with Virgil, but they’d known each other for so long the idea of being with anyone else must seem strange to them both.

“At the end of the day the reason you have sex, and the reason I have sex is more than just scratching an itch, it’s because you desire to be vulnerable with someone and in return...them with you.” Patton’s shoulders relaxed a little, a small smile on his lips, that does make sense. He’d been thinking about this in terms of sexual desire, something his body wants.

But there’s a reason that his desire is for Roman. He’s found plenty of men attractive, even, although he wouldn’t admit it at the time, arousing. But he wants Roman, his body wants Roman too but his heart and soul wants him to be close to the other man. He craves it.

They both hear the heavy front door opening and closing and Janus tips his can towards Patton with his eyebrows raised. “And there’s our peace and quiet gone.” He says it with so much amusement that Patton knows he isn’t being serious, especially as there’s no way of hiding the way he sits up that much straighter at the sound of Virgil’s voice, like a lost puppy looking for it’s master.

Now that’s a thought.

Janus’ door opens and the purple-haired man stands in the doorway with several bags, his head tilted to the side over his shoulder as he props open the bedroom door, still chatting to Roman before he turns to face the two in his second room. “Hey I got...oh, hi Patton, Roman you’ve lost your boy, he’s with mine!” The redhead comes into view, a grin on his face as he holds his own shopping bags.

“Your boy?” Roman asks, amusement in his tone as he leans against the doorframe. “Patton is his own boy.”

“I’m his boy,” Janus nods, agreeing “I’m not arguing with that, I want to know what’s in the Ann Summers bag far too much.” Virgil’s smile turns a little more flirtatious. Patton figures he does not want to hear any more of that conversation. “You might want to camp in Roman’s room tonight Pat.”

“Thank you,” the smaller man is still clutching onto the bottle of lube, he holds it a little awkwardly as he brushes past Virgil, who raises an eyebrow but he doesn’t look suspicious, just mildly amused. The door locks behind Patton and he stands in the hallway, in front of Roman, still holding the bottle in his hand. “I...uh...asked one question, and I ended up being given sex education.”

“That...that sounds like Janus, yes.” He holds up his shopping bags. “I got you a present!” Patton straightens up at that, following the other man to his bedroom as he places the bags down. “Logan told me your dress size, but I figured as you seemed to really like your last one…” He hands a bag over, which Patton takes gingerly. This one is a deep red, the same sort of style as the last one, a tight bodice with a floaty skirt, but the sleeves were long and...almost net-like in texture. The smaller man beams ecstatically, holding the dress up to his chest. “Do you like it?”

“I love it, thank you!” He grins giddily, wrapping his arms around the other man.

“And I figured, in that vein, how would you like to go on a date tomorrow night?” Patton inhales sharply, biting his lip a little, before nodding. He wants to wear his pretty dress, and he wants to go on a date. “I found this really nice restaurant in the gay district, it has gender-neutral bathrooms so you’ll feel comfortable using the toilet and stuff in this attire...if that’s what you want to wear, the staff are lovely too.”

Patton smiles and nods, enjoying the sound of Roman’s heart beating. “I’d love that.”

Thursday

Thursday passed by so slowly it was agonising. Patton had his morning and afternoon classes and they dragged by so torturously slow that he’s sure the day might halt and start running backwards.

Finally, the evening comes and he slams his books shut, hardly able to contain just how giddy he feels. He showers, washes his hair and shaves the very little facial hair he manages to ever grow (the hair on his face is very thin and very light and never amounts to much, whilst the hair on his arms always seems a little thicker, probably because he doesn’t eat enough)

He slides on that dress, and again he struggles with the zipper, staring at himself in the mirror with a frown. A knock at the door has him practically growling in frustration as he tugs it open to find Logan on the other side. “Remus told me that Roman told him that he’s taking you on a date tonight and I was instructed by Remus to give you these, he said they’ll look nice with your dress and that they’re new and he’s never worn them.”

Patton takes the bag suspiciously, a gift from Remus usually comes with a price. Logan stares at him for a very long moment, seemingly having an internal argument before he sighs. “Let me do your hair, it’s getting way too long.” Which is how Patton ended up getting his hair combed and pinned in Logan’s bedroom, (thankfully the other man had helped him zip up the dress too). “I used to do my mother’s hair,” he explains with a little smile as if it’s a fond memory he has. “Sometimes she wouldn’t be able to do it herself, so I would do it for her.” He slides the last hair grip. “Since I’ve been growing my hair out, incidentally, it wasn’t really a conscious choice, I’ve found these help keep it out of my eyes.”

Patton’s hair is not long, but the fluffy curls that usually fall straight into his glasses are now clipped out of his eyes, instead of merging with the ones that fall down to the base of his neck. If he grew it out a little longer, maybe just past his shoulder blades, he thinks that would look quite nice.

He thanks Logan and disappears back to his own room, opening the bag. They’re...something, he doesn’t know what at first as he opens the packaging and then gives a short laugh, right, of course this is something Remus would own. They’re tights, he thinks that’s what they’re called, except up to just above the knees they’re black, and shaped into little cat ears at the top, and then the rest are almost see-through, he understands they must be delicate as he pulls them up carefully.

He looks nice if he does say so himself.

He puts on that little angel necklace, it hangs just above the crucifix around his neck. Patton’s fingertips come up to trace the jewellery, wondering why the sensation makes him feel...warm, not in a flustered way, but an erotic one. He realises after a second that it’s the sensation of the tights on his thighs that are doing it, and makes a small sort of ‘huh’ noise in response.

The sensation leaves after a moment and he shakes his head, he gets the feeling he’s constantly going to be finding new things out about himself from here on out.

Roman knocks at his door and he opens it, smiling up at him; the taller man always has this look on his face when he sees Patton, a little bit of awe, a lot of reverie, like he’s looking not at a person but some sort of mystical creature. Roman makes him feel just that much powerful too, sometimes.

And Roman, by the way, looks amazing. He’s wearing a white shirt made of some thin, floaty material, the front tucked in and the rest out, and black jeans that are so tight that Patton’s fairly sure he can’t stop staring at his thighs if he tried. He’s definitely sure he can’t stop thinking about squeezing them against his palm and feeling them tense the way his own do when...he catches his own thoughts and instead takes the arm offered, thinking he could really do with getting through the evening without all of his blood abandoning his brain.

They get a taxi to the restaurant and he wishes he was a little less nervous as he takes Roman’s hand in his own. The place is big and pretty, near the club they’d been to twice, there are fairy lights hanging up everywhere and strips of fabric hanging down from the ceiling. It smells like cinnamon and herbal teas and something very nice.

They’re seated at a table and Patton is just a little bit enthralled by the groups of people sitting on couches at tables, leaning into each other and laughing, drinking and eating. He’s a little bit overwhelmed to see couples being affectionate with each other so easily, and even one group of three people who seemed equally invested in each other. He takes a deep breath in and wonders if this is what coming home should feel like.

Roman squeezes his hand and picks up the menu.

The server comes over to take their drinks order, he smiles a lot and walks the way Remus does, like he’s on a mission and high on life; he must feel safe here, Patton knows he does, as he holds Roman’s hand over the table and not under it. They drink tea in a flavour that tastes like berries, that absolutely drives the smaller man insane. “They make tea that tastes like berries?” He’d exclaimed, completely absorbed by the whole page of teas, Roman had just leaned his head on his hand and smiled at Patton like he was the entire sun itself.

Then they ordered food, it’s not a big meal but Patton is not a big eater anyway, Roman, however, loves his food, and ends up with one and a half desserts (the half being the remnants of Patton’s, which was more like three quarters).

By the time they get outside Patton is walking on light itself with his happiness, ecstatically talking about his night as though Roman was not there for it. His partner just watches him gesture and spin on the spot, tripping over his own words as he understands that Patton has never really had a community before. This must mean the world to him. Roman catches his hand and leans down to kiss him, unable to resist a second longer as that smile sinks against his lips and Patton’s hands grip his shirt.

Then the taxi pulls up and they pull apart.

Halfway back, the adrenaline starts to wear off and Patton rests his head on Roman’s shoulder, yawning as his body curls up to his boyfriend’s, sinking under the arm that wraps protectively around him.

He’s tired by the time they’re back at their flat and Roman chuckles softly, kissing the top of his head. He sits Patton down at his desk chair and carefully pulls the pins from his hair, his fingertips carding gently through the free curls as they message against his scalp with the softest touch. The threads of his hair tangle carefully around his fingers and Patton leans his head back into the touch with a gentle sigh of content, his eyes closing.

Roman smiles down at him, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead, it lingers, firm but not oppressive. Then he pulls back and moves to the front of the other man, his hand coming up to brush a curl from Patton’s eyes with a gentle brush of his fingertips. Then he kneels down on the floor to undo Patton’s shoes for him, sliding his feet out of them slowly, trying to make sure he doesn’t pull too hard or too fast, and although neither would hurt Patton, he feels like he needs to treat him with the same amount of delicacy one would a butterfly. The bright blue eyes open slowly and took in a deep breath as he takes in the sight of Roman on his knees in front of him (for him).

Oh, he wishes he wasn’t tired, because there’s something very wonderful about the redhead staring up at him like that.

Roman’s hands slide up his legs gently, fingertips and palms ghosting over the length of him from his heel up to his knees. He leans up with the movement and Patton leans down to meet him halfway, kissing him slowly, his heart rate rockets in his chest as those calloused hands move to rest on his thighs with an ease that is almost featherlight.

He takes Roman’s hands in his own and slides them up the sides of his thighs. Roman doesn’t look as Patton lifts his hips and he slides the tights carefully down his legs. His hands graze against Patton’s skin and his breath hitches deeply against his own lips, then the smaller man leans back, just to watch Roman’s hands slide them off his ankles and feet, placing the article of clothing near his shoes. There’s a heated look in Patton’s eyes, his cheeks flushed as he smiles down at his partner (a very small smile, dazed and wanting).

“Bedtime for you,” Roman whispers, voice catching in his throat, his whisper sounds like a shout in the static silence. Patton’s smile widens a little, a little laugh exhaling through his nose.

“I can’t reach the zipper on this dress,” he manages back, just as quietly and yet far too loudly. “Could you get that for me?” The look on Roman’s face would be priceless if it wasn’t so endearing, his eyes going a little wide and his cheeks almost as red as his hair.

He stands from his knees (Patton wishes he’d stay there, in front of his slightly spread legs and his hands on his thighs, he looks so good knelt in front of him, he doesn’t really know why his whole body flushes under that thought), he holds out a hand and helps Patton to stand, the blond faces the wall with a movement far too graceful to be naturally his own.

Roman’s hand comes up to the zipper and slides it down far too slowly, his knuckles graze Patton’s spine and the smaller man feels eyes close from the movement, his skin feeling hot where their bodies touch even just slightly. He looks back a little at Roman, his eyebrows raised almost defiantly, the other man grins at the mischief in his eyes and shakes his head a little. Then, his hands slide the dress down Patton’s shoulders, his palms pressing to the skin that’s exposed as he drags the material off of his arms. The smaller man leans against him, his eyes closing at the touch, as it falls to the floor and pools around his ankles, Patton steps backwards, out of it, and presses their bodies flush together.

The feeling of Roman’s clothes against his almost naked body has him feeling so heated, but as Roman’s hands fall to his waist he gets a much more immediate, fierce, sensation (like boiling water crawling through his stomach), fast and twisting. Roman’s fingertips trace the waistband of his boxers with no intention to do anything more, but Patton feels his abdomen tense when his palm pressed to his lower stomach. He can’t help it, he shifts a little, his body pressing back against Roman’s.

He presses back hard, his head leaning against the taller body that fits against his own like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Roman’s nails dig in against his skin by half an inch and the sensation, oh god, the sensation that brings has Patton’s whole body feeling weak. His body rocks back like a shockwave had shorted in his veins.

There’s a little sense of pride, and fear (but not terror), when he feels that Roman is almost hard, pressing against the curve of his ass. He knows if he turned around now he could have whatever he wanted from the other, whose hands are shaking against his skin (nails digging in just a little, just enough, he feels like he can’t breathe and yet he’s so alive). He could kiss him and prise whatever it is he desired from those hands.

Will he ever stop thinking about those hands?

Still, he’s tired, and Roman’s tired, and he doesn’t want this to be rushed, and he wants it to be remembered. So he just steps forward a little, his fingertips intertwining with the hand on his stomach. He turns to face Roman with some distance between them, pressing a kiss to his knuckles.

“Thank you,” he smiles, bending down to pick up the dress and hang it on the back of the desk chair. “That felt nice.” Roman smiles back, not upset by the distance but a little confused at what had just happened.

Still, he undresses and offers Patton a shirt, and asks him if he wants him to wear a shirt too, but Patton just shakes his head and rests his glasses on the bedside table. No, he wants to feel as much of Roman’s body as he can right now (feel him rest his hands on his back, he wants to feel them on his body). If he were brave enough, he might’ve taken off his underwear too.

Friday

Patton wakes up lying half on top of Roman, his leg and arm lying across the other man’s body. He half opens his eyes to find Roman staring down at him with slight amusement, leaning over the side of the bed to offer him a bottle of water that he must’ve gotten up and filled whilst Patton had been sleeping, Patton lifts his head a little, indicating he has no intention of moving; the other man laughs softly, shaking his head as he unscrews the cap and lifts the bottle to Patton’s lips.

He swears the other man makes very deliberate eye contact with him as he does.

Then Patton rests his head back down against his chest, still half asleep as he lightly squeezes the other man with his arm, his hand tucked up next to Roman’s ribs whilst the other man traces circles through his spin comfortingly.

“Fancy a bed day?” Roman asks. “We can just watch movies.”

“Don’t you have class?”

“Yeah, about three hours ago.” Roman laughs softly. “It’s nearly one in the afternoon Pat.” The blond lifts his head in surprise. “I didn’t want to leave you alone so I just told them I wasn’t feeling well.” The moment Patton looks like he’s about to protest, Roman hushes him. “Let’s have some breakfast.”

Patton pulls on a shirt and rolls up the cuffs of Roman’s sweats to make some waffles, they eat, brush their teeth, and clamber back into bed with the laptop set up on the chair, playing a film they hadn’t yet watched. The smaller man holds onto Roman like he’s terrified he’ll disappear if he lets go, his mind playing the previous night over and over again. Where had that confidence come from? He wonders this to himself, tracing Roman’s fingertips on his skin with his mind.

He remembers his arousal pressing against his body and never in his life had such a primal need overtook him. It was almost cannibalistic, the way he’d wanted Roman’s teeth to sink into his skin in that second. But it wasn’t the right time, the right mood. Is there a right time or mood? He isn’t sure how this works at all, but he untangles their bodies to pull the shirt over his head because the room is suddenly far too warm (although the laptop plugged into the wall didn’t help either).

Roman’s hands.

He can’t stop thinking about it, how natural it felt to have him touch him. He wants to drown in that touch, he wants to scream and gasp for air like the sea swallowing him whole, he wants...he wants Roman. His hand slips up the other’s shirt and feels the way Roman sucks all the air into his lungs at the movement, but he just rests it there on his stomach.

“Can...Can I…?” Patton asks, finally, after a long moment, his hand finds the hem of Roman’s shirt and he tugs a little. The dancer smiles fondly but nervously and leans up just to tug it over his head, letting it fall to the floor. Patton stares long and hard, his fingertips tracing invisible lines over the other man’s body. He wonders if his touch feels as wonderfully jarring to Roman as the other man does to him. Does it feel hot? Does it feel impossibly overpowering, like a drug? When Roman shivers just a little, Patton’s fingertips tracing his chest, he thinks he gets his answer.

His hand slides up his body and it maps out the curves of his being, feeling Roman breathe deeper and deeper the harder he presses, his fingertips curling over the chest of the other man. Roman has such a nice body, he’s caught glimpses of him changing before but this is different; he leans up and presses a soft kiss to his ribs.

The way Roman looks back at him, his eyes half-closed, lips parted and breathing like a shudder, like a gasp for air, like he’s shivering under the weight of the other man’s body. It makes him feel so powerful he aches, his whole body aches.

For a moment there’s just absence in Roman’s eyes as Patton’s lips press to his skin, savouring the taste. Patton’s eyes closed as his tongue and lips move over him, and then he opens them to take in the breathless expression on the other’s face. Roman’s hands come up to his back and sides, driving up his warm skin gently.

And then Patton has just had enough.

He surges up and kisses Roman so firmly that he feels the way the other heaves in a breath in surprise. He leans up, and Roman leans up too, the leg that had been laid over his body presses into the mattress on the other side. As the red-haired man leans up on his elbows, chasing the kiss, Patton slides down his body just so his thighs are resting over Roman’s hips.

The curly-haired man leans forward a little more, their hips pressing together. Their bodies fit together and slide so easily, Roman’s hand curls up Patton’s spine and feels the jolt of his shivering body to his touch. His hands are large to Patton, who has always felt so small that he’d crack if someone so much as touched his cheek too hard. His body is small, and Roman is tall and strong and his personality fills up rooms, but Patton realises finally just why he loves Roman’s touch.

He doesn’t feel small. For the first time in a long time, perhaps forever, he feels utterly unbreakable.

Roman’s hands touch his skin and he’s so full of fire, so full of desire, but despite that large personality and the body that’s usually a whole head above Patton’s, but he stares up at Patton, for the moment their lips part and he sees Roman, he stares up like Patton he’s devoted to him.

So he pushes Roman down gently, more guiding him than anything, and presses their lips together whilst their bodies move, slowly but surely. He can feel every drag of their bodies together and he’d never felt anything like it before; not the physical pleasure, but Roman’s body against his own makes his entire being filled with a whole different kind of heat.

His hands cage Roman’s head against the mattress, swallowing the sounds the other man makes as their tongues brush against each other. The sounds he makes.

“Are you okay?” Patton asks softly, pulling away from him a little so he can still feel the breath against his lips.

“I am, are you?” Roman replies, his voice scratchy and breaking.

“Never been better.” That’s not a lie either. Their lips meet again, briefly, before one of Roman’s hands part from Patton’s skin to tilt the other’s chin to the side with care, leaning up to press his lips to the other man’s jaw, kissing open-mouthed along his flushed skin. Patton makes a small noise that is somehow both surprise and relief, but it’s replaced by a soft moan when Roman reaches his neck and sucks. The sensation runs straight to his cock, his arousal bubbling inside him as Roman’s lips and tongue and then teeth work over his neck and collarbones, tasting his skin.

Patton pulls back again, and leans down to repay the favour. He sucks at the skin tentatively, gently at first but when he drags it between his teeth and Roman makes a noise that is almost a beg, almost a plea, most definitely a whimper, and he finds the sound so addictive, he repeats it again and again, marking his skin.

The look that meets his eyes as he leans back to catch his breath is not a way he’s ever seen Roman before; Roman is always so in control of himself, but he stares up at Patton like his entire life is currently in his hands. So Patton grinds his hips down with more force, their bodies rocking together. The skin of their stomachs and ribs graze to each other’s, creating friction in their movements, Roman’s hands drift up the length of his back and then back down again where they gently grip his hips.

He doesn’t remotely want to look away from Roman’s face, doesn’t want for a second to stop seeing the way pleasure is demonstrated in his dark green eyes, or the panting of air ghosting his lips.

Patton’s usual shyness and unsureness drained with the sheer desire to bring Roman pleasure. His face was determined, grounded through arousal and the most primal kind of want.

Roman’s shaky hands dip under the back of the waistband of his sweats. Roman’s sweats, on Patton’s body, trapped between their too-warm, too-clothed and not clothed enough bodies. He grinds up against the other, their cocks trapped between their bodies with their rocking movements. The bed creaks underneath them and the film is still playing in the background but all they can hear are the whimpers and moans.

When Roman’s end of the kiss ceases, Patton pulls back to ask if something’s wrong, but he doesn’t get the chance.

He’s never going to forget the way his name sounded being ripped from Roman’s throat as his entire body jolts against him, gasping and panting and whimpering. He almost gets shocked out of his own arousal as he looks down at the other man’s face, his head pressing back against the bedsheets and his face twisted with the most intense pleasure Patton has ever seen.

He wants to document the way Roman’s eyebrows draw in, furrowed, the way his eyes screwed shut so tightly it’s as if he’s avoiding some horrible (or beautiful) truth. His lips hanging open, dragging in all the air that he can’t remember how to take in, his body pressing up against him, his nails digging in against Patton’s skin, his cock twitching through the layers of their clothes, his whole existence some beautiful symphony that has Patton purely wonderstruck.

He did that to Roman.

And how powerful that makes him feel.

If only all those times he had felt small, too small, he could see how untouchable he feels in that moment.

The taller man relaxes into the bed, his chest heaving, he chokes on his saliva for a second as he tries to breathe normally again. A short laugh of disbelief ghosts his lips, peeling his eyes open to look up at Patton, who still looks like he’d been punched in the gut by some eye-opening secret. Roman leans up to kiss away the dumbstruck expression. “Your turn,” he mutters.

The next second Patton knows he’s on his back, Roman’s face buried against his neck and his thigh pressed between his own. His own cock is so sensitive and he feels like he’s been waiting for years somehow for this moment. He grinds up against Roman’s thigh, one hand knotting in that wonderful red hair and gripping much harder than he intended.

The overwhelming crash of his orgasm has Patton making so many noises he didn’t really know he could make. He knows he says Roman’s name, he knows he says it several times, he thinks he says thank you somewhere along the line as well, because politeness can never apparently go amiss.

He knows it’s the most intense pleasure he’s ever felt, rocking against Roman like some sort of animal, and he knows that thought alone gives him another jolt of arousal that his sensitivity definitely doesn’t agree with.

He knows afterwards he drags Roman into a kiss that’s so hard he promises himself his lips will bruise.

He feels like an animal starving for something. He’s wondering if there’s an amount of times he could taste Roman on his tongue before he couldn’t be satiated by it. He’s very aware of the fact he’s shivering. Then finally it all drains away, and he’s just still, breathless, a little out of it, and this underwear is not feeling comfortable with his come drying in it.

“Good?” Roman asks.

“I can’t breathe,” Patton replies, closing his eyes. “I think I’m having a heart attack.” Roman laughs, it’s loud and wonderful and any sinking sensation that Patton had even thought of having, gets shaken out of him as he opens his eyes to look at the other. But Roman doesn’t stop laughing, he kneels up to cover his mouth but he just can’t stop. And Patton starts laughing too, because he can’t believe that happened, and he can’t believe he’s...okay, he feels okay.

He thinks as long as Roman is around to laugh, he’ll be okay.

Saturday

Patton is okay. He’s fine.

Sunday

Patton is not okay.

#bmbdly

29 notes · View notes

lovelyirony · 4 years

Note

pls 33.) “He said oh my god you’re piecing it together/You are just a shadow of me/oh my lord you’ve never left the mirror/You were never ever free” Mirror Master with Peggy and Sharon parallels and some Steve/Sharon mayhaps? OR 12.) “It’s on pretty lady/born to be angry/grip of the vice/click on the trigger, girl/sip wine on ice” It’s About Time with rivals to lovers Nat/Maria

Sharon loved visiting her Aunt Peggy. From investigating the various nooks and crannies around the house to the “don’t tell your father I told you this story...” tidbits, it was her favorite place. Her house always smelled of tea and linen, and sometimes Aunt Peggy allowed her to try on some red lipstick.

“With red, you’ll be unstoppable,” Peggy says teasingly. “And who knows what will happen when you’re unstoppable...”

Being a kid means you don’t see a lot of the things that go on behind the scenes, so to speak. Sharon doesn’t know why her mother never likes that it’s Peggy who watches her when she can, doesn’t understand why her father doesn’t want Peggy to tell her what her job is.

She doesn’t know why her mom steers her away from any talk of “being just Peggy!”

“You want to do something else,” her mother says worriedly. “Didn’t you want to be a ballerina?”

“Peggy said they can’t work as a ballerina for very long because of repetition,” Sharon says, frowning.

“Then you can be a doctor. Or a lawyer!”

“Lawyers are boring,” Sharon says, rolling her eyes. “Why can’t I be like Aunt Peggy?”

“Because...just don’t ask,” her mother tells her. She’s irritated, voice getting sharp. Sharon knows that her mom is never a fun person when she’s mad. So Sharon doesn’t say anything, not until her mother is lying down for the night and she sneaks out to her dad’s office.

“Mom doesn’t want me to be like Aunt Peggy. Why?” She whispers, crawling into his lap. He smells like printer ink and the woodsy smell of his cologne.

“Peggy...she’s chosen a dangerous career. It gets her in a bit of trouble sometimes. Your mother doesn’t want that for you.”

“She wants me to be a boring lawyer,” Sharon whines. “I don’t wanna be a lawyer.”

“You don’t have to be,” her dad whispers. “You can be what you want. But with Aunt Peggy’s job...there’s more of a chance that you don’t get to see family as often. She’s lucky that she doesn’t have to move to England or Paris again.”

“She lived in England?” Sharon asks, eyes bugging out.

“Yes, for a bit. You know that we were raised there. She wasn’t there to visit anyone. She had to work the whole time.”

“That doesn’t sound like fun,” Sharon says, frowning.

“No, no it isn’t. But I think saving lives as a doctor could be fun, yeah?”

“Maybe.”

Sharon doesn’t stop wanting to be like Aunt Peggy. Peggy is fierce and Peggy is liked by a lot of people and holds influence.

Peggy Carter probably doesn’t sit alone at lunch because girls called her weird and guys say she’s too much like them.

Peggy Carter has loads of friends, like Aunt Angie and Mr. Jarvis.

If Sharon was more like Peggy, then maybe things would be different and her mom would quit asking her if she wants to invite Mackenzie to her birthday party.

Sharon is very similar to Peggy. Scarily so. She has the same intensity to her gaze, the same drive to help others in her own way. She doesn’t suffer fools easily, and Peggy knows that if she’s not careful, Sharon will end up like her.

And that is one thing that she is terrified of. Peggy knows a lot of the things that have led her to survive are either lucky or questionable. She’s done lots of things she’s not proud of. She doesn’t always check in on her kids as much as she should, doesn’t miss the drifting commentary of not being something/somewhere/someone “again.”

Again. What a damning word, to be something/someone/somewhere “again.”

So when Sharon asks her if she can start training--after all, she was already thirteen and needed to get a headstart if she really wanted to be like her aunt--and Peggy looks at her.

“No.”

“What? Why not?” Sharon asks, sipping the rest of her tea. “Is it still too early?”

“My job is not easy,” Peggy says. “It is not a game.”

“You think...what?” Sharon asks.

“You wouldn’t take it seriously,” Peggy says. “This isn’t some adventure of Betty Carver, this isn’t a Captain America adventure. No.”

Sharon blinks back tears. She can’t cry in front of Aunt Peggy, not here. Not now. She wants to prove she’s not some fucking little kid who thinks this is her thinking it’ll be like Betty Carver, the stupid nurse from the old radio show about Captain America.

“I-I’ll go home now,” Sharon says, voice brimming with tears. She can’t hide it. Doesn’t have the training for it, obviously. “See you later.”

Peggy knows it hurts Sharon. She knows it does, knows that she will never look at Sharon like she usually does. But she needs Sharon to be nothing like her.

Because if she’s everything like her...oh god.

Her mother is relieved. There’s a lighter air to her demeanor when Sharon says she’ll just walk home from school anymore.

“I don’t wanna bother Aunt Peggy,” she says lightly. They can’t know what was said. She can barely think of it without tears coming back up. “Do you think I can sign up for anatomy in high school?”

A doctor. That’s what she’ll be. That’s what she tells herself.

But then there comes a night when she’s home alone. Her parents are on a date night, playfully telling her to not do anything dangerous. She knows they mean have anyone over, light the house on fire.

They don’t think she’ll reconsider her career path.

Aunt Peggy doesn’t think she can do it. She thinks that Sharon is just some kid who thinks this whole thing is some stupidly fun mission and she’ll tell stories by the campfire when she’s old.

Sharon’s not stupid. She still may be a kid, but she doesn’t know why the hell anyone thinks kids are stupid.

She can still pretend like she’s gonna be a doctor. She’ll just need to add some necessary lies. Like saying she needs to study foreign languages to a.) make sure she knows her patients, and b.) get scholarships. Saying she needs self-defense because she wants to work in DC.

“To work on politicians, huh?” her dad asks with a grin. “Don’t pull the plug, they’ll throw you in jail.”

“I won’t get caught,” Sharon jokes.

“Don’t,” her mother warns. “You’ll get us all in trouble one day, I swear. What made you decide to focus more on all this, hm?”

“Future’s important,” Sharon says. “Isn’t that what you always say, mom?”

“So you can listen to that but not me telling you to put away your laundry seven times?”

“Mom!”

Her mother chuckles.

“I’m proud of you, honey. Just think, our next doctor! How fun...”

She prattles on about her insanely-boring Uncle Jimmy, who could make paint beg to dry quicker.

Sharon starts studying, and studying hard. She memorizes languages, at least enough to get by. She starts going to the gym and kickboxing. And she remembers that she wants to do this in spite of Aunt Peggy, because she wants to be there to help people.

She remembers Peggy’s stories of Steve, which always varied with Captain America’s. Steve was a sweetheart who liked to draw and had a surprisingly vicious sense of humor.

“You and him would have gotten along like a house on fire,” Peggy would say, chuckling. “Of course, he owed me a dance...I’m not sure if I would have taken him up on that.”

She would gaze fondly over at Uncle Daniel, who smiles in response and kisses her on the forehead and tells her what’s for dinner.

Steve always did stuff for the right reason. Didn’t matter that he was as skinny as a telephone pole, didn’t matter that he could get around New York by categorizing which streets he got beat up on. He kept going. He kept trying to be the best person he could under the circumstances.

That’s what Sharon likes about Steve Rogers. Of course Captain America most likely ended World War II on a much quicker pace and gave hope to millions, but it was Steve who at the end of the day promised a dance and had smiles on his face that were endearingly familiar to her.

When she goes to college, she goes on scholarship and moves into a dorm. Her mother tries to convince her in vain to join a sorority.

“Don’t you want built-in friends?” Her mother asks. “After all, you know that I still talk to Roberta and Missy from mine--”

“And they’re such a delight,” dad mutters, ignoring the dirty look his wife gives him. “Sharon, do what you want. You wanna join a sorority? Fine. You don’t? Cool.”

“They’re beneficial, Sharon. Who knows how many connections you could get for jobs?”

That makes Sharon pause.

She joins a sorority. Not her favorite thing, but some of these girls have mothers and fathers and family members that sway decisions. And if she wants a favor later, she’ll have to see Lindsey puke out three margaritas in a shitty bar to do it.

Class, of course, is difficult. She plays the part well of studying to be a doctor and finding out it just isn’t for her.

“Oh that’s okay,” her father says. “I wanted to be an archaeologist at some point. Can you imagine how ridiculous that would be? I misplace my socks half the time, I don’t know what I’d do with dinosaur bones...”

Sharon giggles. Says she’s thinking about switching to be a communications major.

They okay it, she’s set. She also has more time to train, practice languages, and get a minor in Spanish.

She keeps a lookout for SHIELD. Listens carefully to what her dad says about Aunt Peggy.

He knows something happened. Neither party will tell him, but something is off in the way Sharon makes too sharp a remark and Peggy hasn’t the faintest idea what Sharon’s actually up to.

“I worry about both of them,” Harrison tells his wife.

“People grow apart some times,” Amanda answers sleepily. “And it’s good that Sharon grew out of that phase where she wanted to be Margaret. Of all things...”

He supposes his wife is right. He sets down his newspaper, takes off his reading glasses, and heads to bed.

Meanwhile, Sharon has ditched her sorority’s party night to interview at SHIELD. She’s submitted her applications under Agent Thirteen, waiting for a response. When she gets an email from someone named “Phil Coulson” to meet at seven o’clock for an interview, she dresses in business casual and waits at a cafe for him.

He blinks.

“Does...does Director Carter know you’re here?”

“No, and I would prefer it if she didn’t,” Sharon says. “Especially since she’s retired and SHIELD is no longer under her eyes.”

Coulson clears his throat.

“Of..of course. May I ask why?”

“Family connections are dangerous things to have in this business,” Sharon tells him, taking a swig of coffee. “I would prefer to avoid it.”

She gets a trial run. She’s put in a course with the other new recruits. Calls her parents and says it’s a boot camp for leadership. (She’s not wrong...technically.) She tightens her ponytail and listens as the senior agents tell them all it isn’t a walk in the park.

“This isn’t some ‘save-the-day’ routine that you get to brag about once it’s done,” Agent Coulson says in that infuriatingly even, boring voice he has. “You’ll have nightmares. You will have to lie to everyone you love about everything. And people will leave you and you cannot blame them for it, you cannot tell them the real reason. Are you ready for that? Do you think you can handle that?”

Recruits nod. Sharon says “yes.” Because verbalizing it? That means you have a dedication. Simply nodding never means what it is. It means you cannot dedicate yourself to a problem, but you think you can.

It is that night when she sleeps on an uncomfortable cot that she understands Aunt Peggy a little bit more. She understands why she couldn’t always be there, why her own kids didn’t like visiting, or so mom had said.

(Maybe why she told you to stay away, her brain whispers. But she remembers her throat burning, remembering that her aunt had told her that she couldn’t train someone like her.)

Sharon keeps that thought away. Better not to have personal connections.

Of course, everyone wants to know why she’s Agent Thirteen.

“You like numbers or something?” One girl asks. “Come on, you can tell me. We’re friends, right?”

They are not friends. Lily seems to think they are because she wants Sharon to let her guard down enough so she can beat her time on the obstacle course.

“Nope,” Thirteen says. “Just call me Thirteen like everybody else. You’re not gonna know it.”

“Fine, be that way,” Lily says. “I’m still gonna kick your ass on the obstacle course, Thirteen.”

Sharon grins.

“Do your worst, Lily.”

(Lily’s worst is...well it’s worse than most everyone’s. She’s rejected from the field academy and doesn’t let anyone see her cry. But everyone can hear it over the steady thrum of the shower.)

“So, why the number Thirteen?” Agent Barton asks. He’s different from most recruits. For one, he’s from Iowa. That in itself is...something. Secondly, he was recruited from an honest-to-god circus where he wore purple sequins.

“Thirteen is my favorite number,” she responds, rewrapping her hands for the sparring session. “Why purple sequins?”

“They were out of hot pink,” Clint says, and she laughs. “Come on, I think if we hurry to the cafeteria we can get a meal that is only questionable and not highly questionable.”

Thirteen scores well on tests involving body language. She reads people like a book. Her aim could use work, but it’s proficient enough to impress. She can turn on the charm, turn on the lies like she’s meant to do it.

(And she’s spent so long lying to everyone around her, is it any wonder?)

When she gets officially inducted, Fury asks her if her aunt knows.

“No, and I would rather she didn’t,” Sharon said tersely.

She understands Peggy now. She understands her in the way that agents are lost and people get frustrated and drop the training because they have a spouse that they love more than life itself. God knows how Peggy balanced it.

She thinks that maybe Aunt Peggy was scared that Sharon would disappear and never return, become like so many others on the wall of remembrance.

Sharon touches Steve’s placard every time she passes it. It’s more tarnished than others, the first one on the wall. Her fingers trace the “S” and the “R” every time, and she smiles as she remembers the stories of him.

People see similarities. The higher-ups don’t spill any secrets to the lower agents, they can’t. But they know that she’s related to Peggy in the way her voice becomes clipped when she’s frustrated, in the ways her eyes flash in rage.

She’s too similar, she knows that.

The comparisons won’t stop. Because she knows she’s too similar. Dear god, sometimes she’s worried that she’ll look into a mirror and see her.

The older agents, the ones that have been in the field and now deal with all the boring paperwork and paper trails whisper to her that Peggy made a lot of the same decisions as she did, stayed behind to make sure the job was done.

“You’re just like her,” Agent Veering says, his spectacles slipping down his nose. “She would be proud of you, you know.”

No, no she wouldn’t. To have someone turn out exactly like you?

Well...you know your shortcomings. You know your failures. You know how you will die, nearly. And someone having that same pattern?

God, Peggy would die.

So she pushes that out of her mind. She focuses on the mission at hand and reads the various notecards on the fridge about “please don’t touch this meal or you will die.”

She’s one of their best. Of course she is, people say. Fury is reminded of Peggy’s legacy, of how Sharon acts. She puts herself out there first, luring people away with expectations. It’s...eerily similar.

Sharon gets a call from her parents. They think she has an office job dealing with communications in security fields. (Technically not a lie. Also not a complete truth.)

“You need to come visit Peggy,” dad says quietly. “Please.”

“What happened?”

“She’s been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s.”

It’s a terrible thing. Because it can’t get better, it will only get worse until you have someone who doesn’t know a damn thing.

Peggy doesn’t like all the fuss.

“Don’t worry about me darling,” she tells Harrison. “I’m fine. Just a bit forgetful. I’ll be out of hospital in a week, tops. I’ll be back to work!”

She thinks she’s going back to work a lot.

They actually have to keep her in a special home, one monitored by SHIELD agents. She keeps revealing secrets, ones that people absolutely cannot know.

But on good days, Sharon visits. And on bad days.

“I cannot believe you joined SHIELD,” Peggy says sharply. “It’s exactly what I didn’t want you to do.”

“Should’ve told me to go for it and then told me about the recruit training,” Sharon says. “Would’ve turned me off completely.”

Peggy laughs. She holds Sharon hands.

“Promise me you’ll be careful. Don’t...don’t be like me.”

And it means more now. It’s unavoidable, what Peggy has. And yet there’s always the “what if.”

“Okay,” Sharon says, knowing she is lying. “Okay.”

Sharon cries in her car. For longer than ten minutes. Which is fine, she knows that.

But she gets a call from Hill.

“Thirteen?”

“What?”

“Okay over there?” Maria asks. Sharon can feel the eyebrow raise from here.

“Personal issues. I’ll be okay. What is it?”

“You’re gonna want to get here as quick as possible. I’m talking a hundred miles an hour.”

“What, did Fury finally wear white?”

“No, way better than that.”

They fucking found him. They found Steve Rogers. He’s in a block of ice and he’s alive.

Sharon’s horrified. Everyone else seems to be losing it, smiling and grinning because Cap is back.

They don’t know how badly he’s going to be out of time.

She goes straight to Fury.

“You can’t push him immediately,” she says. “You can’t.”

“And what, you know Cap better than us?” Fury asks.

“I know Steve better than you,” Sharon says, leveling with him. “And this is gonna suck and he’s going to need to learn how to be himself before Captain America is even an option. Trust me. Trust the psychologists who are gonna tell you the exact same thing.”

Fury looks at her for a moment.

“Tell me the difference.”

“Steve is going to run out of that room because you messed up,” Sharon says, gesturing to the woman they’re having going in. “You got the fashion wrong, you got the hair wrong. In the army, her hair would’ve been up and away. You’re also playing a baseball game that he was at. He knows that he won’t be.”

“We’re not sure the state of his memory.”

“He memorized strategies and sites of attack in one glance and could recall even the smallest detail about a stranger, he’ll remember,” Sharon argues.

Steve Rogers runs.

Sharon curses. She fucking knew they’d pull this, knew that SHIELD wanted Captain America back so badly they’d forget that he’s still just a guy.

He stares at Times Square with all of its people, all of the lights, and he looks lost.

“I...I had a dance.”

Fury ushers him back inside. Sharon says nothing.

This does not explain why Steve Rogers gets moved in right next to her apartment.

“What the fuck,” Sharon seethes into her phone. “When I told you to get him help, I didn’t mean me!”

“You’re the one who has the closest connection to him. Seeing your aunt is gonna depress the living shit out of him,” Clint says.

(Yes, she told Clint. In her defense she was wine-drunk, had eaten the best burger to that point in her life, and Clint had made her laugh for ten minutes straight.)

“Is he seeing a therapist?”

“As soon as he agrees to one.”

Sharon knocks her head against the wall. And then goes over to see Steve looking forlornly at the space.

“What’s up?” she asks.

Steve turns, blinking at her.

“Who are you?”

“Sharon. Carter.”

“You’re...?”

“Related? Yes. But that’s not important right now. You need help unpacking your kitchen stuff.”

“I’m fine.”

“I don’t think you realize how bad new agents are at packing things,” Sharon says. “I’m helping.”

Steve is truly and really lost. It reminds him of when he went through the city for the first time by himself and got lost around a streetcar and he couldn’t find his way back until Bucky had happened to walk by with a cute girl on his arm.

He should really tell Bucky about all of this, he just needs to find--

Stamps. For a man who’s MIA. Or KIA. Most likely the latter.

Then he can’t breathe. And he sits on a chair that’s too modern and he stares at a carpet that looks weird, and Sharon is by him.

“Hey,” she says. “Breathe. You’re here in your apartment. I put away dishes. I’m making you get new coffee mugs because the ones you have are disgusting.”

“Where the fuck do I get those?” Steve asks. “Woolworth’s? Do they even have those?”

“Missed it by a decade or eight,” Sharon says. “No, there are other stores. Better designs, too. Or we can go and paint custom mugs. Ever wanted to see what it looks like to paint ‘fuck you’ on a mug?”

Sharon is pretty sure she’s fucking everything up.

But Steve laughs.

“You can....you can do that?”

“Of course you can,” Sharon says. “Let me show you some stuff...”

Steve is taught the worst and best of American pop culture. He hates rock music for now.

“I’m down the hall, the first room on your left,” Sharon says. “Don’t hesitate to knock for anything. I know you will need things, do not tell me you are fine. You’re not a good actor yet.”

He breaks a wall. A fucking wall. It’s the one leading into her room, and luckily her bed wasn’t against it. He’s covered in dust and wood and plaster, and he speaks a litany of apologies.

Sharon can’t help it.

She laughs.

“Only you would make sure we had a shared apartment,” she says.

“I can fix it I know it isn’t proper--”

“I don’t care about proper,” Sharon says. “At least now I can keep a closer eye on you. We’ll have SHIELD do some renovation work while I show you potentially the worst or best places you will ever go.”

Steve gets a tour of DC. He remembers when there were stories and pictures of President Woodrow Wilson’s sheep “mowing” the lawn. He’s surprised at all the security measures, and is not happy that there is more security on public transit.

“We can still break in if you want,” Sharon says. “But I’ll get you a pass.”

“It’s the future and it sucks,” Steve mutters.

Sharon laughs out loud at that.

“Well I’ll show you something that doesn’t suck, and that is a restaurant that I only take few people to, such as Agent Barton. You’ll meet him later, he’s a real disaster.”

Steve loves the burger place and all of its seedy decorations and kitschy photos of old celebrities visiting.

Sharon takes him grocery shopping. He’s overwhelmed.

“How are there more than one type of orange? How can you afford them?”

“We get good pay from SHIELD,” Sharon answers. “Tell me, have you ever had a strawberry margarita?”

“What?”

“Adding to cart,” Sharon answers. “You’re about to enjoy alcohol, finally.”

“Peggy tell you I hate it?”

“Just figured you would,” Sharon says. “She said the only time she saw you drink was when Bucky disappeared.”

It’s sad after that. Steve’s shoulders hunch in on themselves.

“You ever lost someone?” Steve asks.

“I am,” Sharon says quietly. “Do you want to make a pie?”

“What?”

“I’m going with no,” Sharon answers back. “We’ll make good brownies then.”

Steve’s frame is hilariously slim when you wrap an apron around it. Sharon can’t see she doesn’t admire it.

“This is amazing,” Steve says.

“Quit licking the batter,” Sharon says. “We have to eat these, you heathen.”

“Oh, like you’ll die from it,” Steve answers back sarcastically. “I was frozen for seventy years, I wanna lick batter.”

Sharon nods.

He doesn’t want to see a therapist. Insists he’s fine.

Sharon gestures to the wall that is now tastefully decorated with curtains.

“...fine. But if I don’t like it I’m leaving.”

“Would never force you to stay,” Sharon says. “Keep in mind one therapist is not your end-all solution. Sometimes you need to look around.”

“Do you...?”

“Yup,” Sharon says. “Can’t be as sexy as I am without a few issues that need working on.”

Eventually, Steve finds one.

He shows Sharon his world. He shows her records that he keeps buying off online sites, the player that he swears he can fix up.

“We could probably get you a functional gramophone if you wanted,” Sharon says. “Like yeah it’ll be expensive but we can do it.”

“I want one that’s well-loved,” Steve says. “One with character.”

Not for the first time does Sharon smile.

They sit together at dinner sometimes, and Steve tells her about what Brooklyn used to be, and she tells him stories of how she would climb trees until she couldn’t go any higher, and she used to memorize all of the cassettes and CDs that her parents had. She could still sing along to ABBA with no prompt.

She makes Steve watch Mamma Mia! after that, laughing as he stares wide-eyed.

“This is incredible.”

Steve looks at Sharon like she’s his world. And in some respects, she is. But he can’t get over how different she is from Peggy. And that’s the damning evidence, isn’t it? That she’s a connection, but she’s...she’s not.

She doesn’t wear red lipstick, doesn’t own any. Told him one day that she looked stupid in it. “I’m unstoppable without it, I don’t need it,” she says, and it feels like there’s something more there.

How she reacts in some ways like Peggy would, but how communicative she is with others. How she laughs and makes sure people are comfortable in the situation. Not that Peggy wasn’t any of that, but she was focused on getting to the end, to proving that it was a success. Sharon wanted the same thing, but what mattered was that people were okay.

He doesn’t stay with Sharon all the time. She encourages him to get out “into the big, bad, scary world.”

She meant interacting with college art students, which is quite scary. He agrees. He thinks it’s very cool that you can dye your hair now, and buys the shittiest dye ever.

He dyes his hair blue and accidentally smears some down his neck. He shivers as Sharon traces her hand down, laughing.

“Oh my god. Steve, what did you do?”

“Marcy in my class has pink hair, I wanted to dye my hair!” Steve says defensively. “You left me bored.”

Sharon smiles up at him.

(What would it be like to wrap his arms around her? To hold her and let the universe pass them by?)

He shakes his head out of the thought.

“Ooh, showing off the hair?” Sharon asks, grinning.

“Of course.”

“Nerd,” she teases. “Well come on, I got some ice cream from the store. Your favorite which is disgustingly basic, but here we are.”

“It’s basic for a reason, it’s good,” Steve teases right back. “Need to ask you about my new art project.”

“Shoot.”

“I need to draw someone. And you’re basically the only person I really, um, want to draw.”

“What, afraid that you can’t capture Coulson’s strong personality on paper?” Sharon asks wryly. Steve snorts.

“Oh yeah, his vivacity would fly off the page. Really and honestly, truly.”

“Well, what do I need to do?”

“It has to be a stylized portrait from any historical era,” Steve answers. “And I already have the materials and stuff, we just need to go shopping for some clothing and stuff. Maybe accessories.”

“Okay.”

Sharon thinks her heart is absolutely stupid for beating this fast. It’s been doing this more recently.

Natasha keeps making fun of her.

Steve wants to do a Baroque style, over-the-top goddess style. He has her dripping in drapery and gold chains, thin as can be. He delicately sets a crown that he weaved into her hair.

“You look gorgeous,” he says, blinking. “Just...wow.”

“All thanks to the cute artist,” Sharon flirts back, winking. “Tell me how you want me.”

Silence after that.

But Steve positions her reclining, and she can’t stop herself from raising an eyebrow at him.

“I feel ridiculous, just so you know.”

“You look great, if that’s any connotation.”

“It could be.”

She smiles at him, and that’s the winning expression. “Hold please.”

Sharon tries her best, stilling. Benefit of SHIELD training. She can stay still for hours. Her smile, however, moves.

This is fine. Steve smiles back.

“Break time,” he announces a couple of hours later. Sharon sags on the couch, swinging her legs over.

She overestimates her abilities and the fabric, as one foot gets caught and she falls forward.

Steve’s catching her in a flash. She grins.

“Being my hero, huh?”

“Of course,” Steve says. “Where would I be if I didn’t save the pretty lady?”

Sharon smiles, leans closer.

“Can I...I wanna kiss you.”

Steve blinks. Goes for it.

Sharon smiles into it.

Months later, when everything’s going to shit and Natasha asks if that’s the first kiss he’s had since 1945, he smiles to himself.

“No, it’s not,” he tells her. “You knew that, didn’t you?”

Natasha smiles to herself.

“Sharon’s not gonna be mad at me, is she?”

“Of course not,” Steve says. “Especially after I tell her I convinced you to wear these terrible shoes.”

“Hey!”

When he wakes up at the hospital, Sharon’s standing at the side and Sam’s sitting down.

“On your left,” Steve pants out.

“You--” Sam hangs his head, laughing. “You got me on that one. Got your shield. We don’t know where Barnes is. Your girl is here, by the way. Gotta say, you got lucky.”

“Damn right I did,” Steve says weakly. Sharon waves. Steve tries to wave.

“You got thrown from a Helicarrier, don’t,” Sharon says. She sends Sam off with a goodbye hug and a promise to deliver some dessert as a thank-you.

She looks at Steve.

“You have so much explaining to do. So much. But later.” She takes his hand, kissing it softly. “I was terrified.”

“So was I.”

They sit like that for a moment. Steve turns, seeing the bandage around her arm.

“What’s that?”

“Rumlow’s a bastard with a knife, played dirty,” Sharon says. “It’s nothing. He got crushed under a building. Karma, you know. Whole thing.”

Steve laughs. Winces. Sharon puts her hand over his.

“Get some rest,” she says. “I’ll be back tomorrow to visit and evaluate if you can go home or not.”

“I’ll be fine.”

Sharon rolls her eyes.

“Of course you are.”

She presses a kiss to his forehead.

“I love you, honey. Stay safe.”

“You too.” He squeezes her hand.

Things will be okay.

#HOLY FUCKING SHIT. HOLY FUCKING SHIT THIS IS SO FUCKIGN LONG. WHAT THE FUCK DID I DO #peggy carter #sharon carter #steve rogers #clint barton #yes clint is her bff yes i do what i want #of course i do what would you have expected #lovelyirony writes #any single time jess (not me) requests a prompt from me i just HAVE to go feral #staron

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vios-rockland-corner · 4 years

Text

Dollmaker Talk PT 2

*snaps fingers* Guess what? I got the “okay” sign to talk a little bit more about Runawayoutlaw’s unfinished Dollmaker build.

That means yes I will be going into my thoughts about the characters and setting this time. I focused on Dollmaker being outside the Rockland canon and the game mechanics last time.

(MAJOR spoilers below for the unfinished Dollmaker build)

First of all, what is the plot of Dollmaker? Well the MC this time around is a medical student attending a seminar that day on improving relations between demons and humans for the greater good. One of the very speakers at the lecture is none other than Dr. Sano Kojima. The MC apparently catches his eye and you two seem to get along fairly well considering you admire him for his position (he’s a demon ambassador) and he appreciates that you seem to be specializing in demons for your medical degree. All seems to be going well and you look forward to discussing the profession with him more...only to get caught off guard when he knocks you out and brings you to his home. The atmosphere quickly changes when you wake up and he cuts straight to point that his main goal is turn you into a human doll! He puts a binding spell on you so you can’t escape the house, but he gives you the freedom to walk about as you please.

That’s pretty much the gist of the game. From there it’s about exploration and getting to know the inhabitants of the house, and on rare occasions, seeing some visitors.

Sano Kojima

As I stated in my previous post, both Sano and Akira have been introduced beforehand in BTD. This game was meant to revamp the characters and stories. For the most part, I’d say personality wise that Sano stays very similar to his BTD counterpart. He’s very calm and professional. He’s very much into his research and appreciates compliance from the MC. He can still kill you in this, but the only such ending I found is if you fight back repeatedly right away. Like I said, he prefers compliance. He is probably one of the more sane of the three main house inhabitants and possibly the nicest? It’s hard to say when I feel like both Sano and Annabelle’s routes weren’t quite finished yet. That or I haven’t found everything yet.

I will say compared to the BTD game, Sano here doesn’t show nearly as much sadism or malice. He DOES still want to turn you into a doll though, but again I don’t think his route was fully finished (or I haven’t found the right paths yet). I didn’t get a full ending with him completing the doll transformation, so other than the beginning, we don’t get to delve into that obsession as much as I would have liked. I remember playing BTD and getting that one ending and thinking, “Oh! I love that concept, I wish I could have seem more of the character focused on that.” Dollmaker is obviously supposed to do that, but the creator didn’t get around to the finishing touches. I kept getting stuck in the same loops with “Sano’s route,” so I can’t say much else.

Annabelle Winter

Annabelle is a brand new character. There’s a bio for her luckily in the game to explain some of who she is (a former lead singer), but otherwise I probably was able to get the least information about her in the game. I remember some notes about her one tumblr way back when Dollmaker was being developed. Basically, she’s supposed to be Sano’s “first doll.” You, the MC, would then end up being the second doll. You can tell this really doesn’t sit well with Annabelle, even if I couldn’t get much more information about her feelings in the game. There’s a conversation between Akira and her you can spy on, but you really aren’t quite sure what’s happening. Her room was also always locked for me. I don’t know if the programming for it all hadn’t been completed like Sano’s wasn’t, or I just wasn’t performing the correct actions.

The existence of Annabelle is interesting though because then it does make you ask questions like: What’s her relationship with Sano? Are they lovers or something else? Is she jealous that he’s making a new doll? Does Sano plan to throw Annabelle out after he has you? Does this mean the MC could also get tossed out later? What’s her relationship with Akira? Stuff like that adds more tension to the atmosphere. On the plus side, at least you know Sano’s successfully turned someone into a doll before, so you know the procedure should go fine (yay?). Personality wise, I didn’t have enough to go off of to get a real good idea of what she’s like. She can be a little bitter and creepy, that’s for sure, but also talks sensibly with someone like Akira. It’s hard to say.

Akira Kojima

Ah Akira! Probably the character that was the closest to completion in my opinion. That doesn’t mean his whole path WAS complete, but compared to Sano (one death ending vs. couldn’t progress) and Annabelle (hardly any progression and no ending found), Akira actually had decent introductions, quality time with the MC and an ending. Granted, it was mostly the ONE ending...but I kind of loved it and it wasn’t a death ending at least. Before I get into that, what’s he like in Dollmaker? Well he definitely has more of a domineering and feisty personality I’d say, contrasting nicely with Sano. He also can be both naughty and tender I’d say when it comes to romance. He can be pretty sensitive at times. You also learn he’s a contract killer in this game, but he doesn’t seem to really enjoy the work. That’s the only major hint I’d say of the guy being unhappy. I remember during the development process it was hinted that Akira has a LOT of baggage in this universe. Baggage unfortunately that seems to make unstable enough that he will completely flip his lid if he thinks someone is turning on him. What I’m saying is...the dude actually has a yandere ending XD I’m not joking. For those who know of my main blog and are probably thinking, “Did YOU enjoy that?” the answer is obviously HECK YES! See what happens is if you get too cozy with Akira, apparently that makes him latch onto you.

I swear to god when I played my first run, I was NOT trying to make him jealous. I thought there was more to do so I didn’t think it was a big deal if I didn’t wake him in bed (it seemed rude to me), go to the kitchen and compliment Sano’s eye. But those Telltale mechanics from the last post I talked about? This is where I realized too late they were hinting that Akira gets VERY aware of what you do in the house once he starts to like you. He doesn’t like it AT ALL if you either seem like you’re trying to leave or get friendly with anyone else then. He goes full “snap.” What he does is try to “train you” so that you agree the MC belongs to him and him alone then. I love how he does it actually because I find it pretty realistic. Yeah he gets really rough with you initially once he’s snapped, but the big thing is he throws you into a large closet. He just leaves you with a bucket and nothing else. And then he makes NO CONTACT with you. You go through...who knows how many days with occasional bottles of water or food placed on the floor without Akira talking to you or even you seeing him. Depending on your actions, sometimes he’ll pop in to check on you, but if you show that your spirit isn’t broken yet, he goes back to the no contact. He’s essentially driving the MC insane through isolation. It’s very simple but incredibly effective. Imagine literally being given nothing to do for days on end with limited food and water and just a bucket to relieve yourself in. It can start to wear on you. Humans are social creatures too (we NEED other people). I love MC’s with stronger spirits actually that don’t bend to a yandere’s whims all that easily. So yeah, I kept the MC yelling and tried to just hold out as long as I could. This puts you in a loop though and Outlaw did a nice little touch where there’s this static effect over the screen when you continue to make decisions. This helps to emphasize how monotonous this routine is becoming for the MC and you really feel less of the urge to fight back anymore. I can see why the MC broke in the end. Once they are broken, Akira comes to collect you and that’s pretty much the end.

Obviously I loved playing through Akira’s path the most. I will do one small critique here since...I’m kind of a nut about yanderes. I think it would have been nice to have a FEW more hints before Akira’s “snap” that he suffers from something like anxiety or separation over losing people. There might have been some and I just got lost in the build maze finding this information XD Like I said, I knew he had baggage (and even lost a lover) from the creator’s tumblr page during development, but I think it would have been nice to have some hints like that in the game. Just food for thought in case they want to try another yandere character in the future. Some people don’t like if you pull a “yandere snap” out of nowhere without at least dropping some kind of hint of instability with the character prior. I mean I’ll always enjoy yandere endings regardless honestly XD It depends on how serious you want to take it though. This situation was different than say Marcus from Till Death Do Us Part only because....that game basically is ALL about the “snap” there (no real progression to it like in Dollmaker). You had just enough backstory (The MC and Marcus are divorced and Marcus gives you nightmares) that him coming back as the ex from hell isn’t surprising. People can fill in the blanks and fantasize all they want there about what went wrong with the relationship beforehand. With Akira, you’re seeing the relationship progression play out, so there’s a little more pressure to make the “snap” a little more believable.

I don’t know how fair it is to critique an] game that’s clearly not finished though 0.o

There’s was other stuff in the game I enjoyed like all the little Easter eggs with the plants and paintings, and Cain even popped up briefly in a bad end :P There was other stuff I also didn’t learn about though like Mio (sorry I scared you lol), but it is what it is.

Still a nice treat.

#dollmaker #runawayoutlaw #Sano Kojima #akira kojima #annabelle winter #unfinished build

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greyygracee · 4 years

Text

heroine - sal fisher x reader

Fandom - Sally Face

Summary - A fanfic that in which describes the events that may follow if Ashley & the reader were a little earlier to saving Sal in his execution and the cult had been dealt with.

Notes - No pronouns for the reader are mentioned, if you do see they/them (referring to the reader) within this fan fiction, please replace them with your preferred pronouns. I did post this on AO3 as well a couple days back, so if you want to read it there, the link is here.

sorry if this is long haha. I hope you enjoy it never the less <3

General Terms - Y/N = Your Name, S/C = Skin Colour, E/C = Eye Colour, H/C = Hair Colour, H/L = Hair Length, C/N = Cat Name, D/N = Dog Name.

Waiting. It's painful. Hearing the same sound of the clock that was on the wall adjacent to where I was sitting in my living room above the TV was enough to drive me insane. I remember it so well the ticking of the clock that occurred, every passing second, minute and hour never failed to reminded me of the time I was wasting.

I was sitting on the sofa of the living room inside of the house that I bought soon after the 'Sally Face murder' waiting for him to arrive. I didn't know why exactly I felt as if was wasting time, maybe because 10 minutes felt like an eternity to wait for someone of significance. Someone who wouldn't be alive right now if it weren't for Ashley Campbell. A dear friend of mine and an old crush of the man her and I saved. I closed my eyes and squeezed them tight as I tightened my jaw, I increased my grip on the pencil and I remembered the horrible things people have said about him. The man I loved deeply and held dearly to my heart, even though he destroyed all that I had- all that I lived for, i felt as if it were my duty to protect him and to forgive him despite the crime he committed.

Some called me stupid and most called me outright insane for falling for a psychotic, delusional murderer who killed a whole apartment of adults and children. I knew he wasn't like that, and seeing that polaroid photograph that Ashley took on that fateful day made me even more certain in that belief that he was innocent. I remember running until my legs gave out in front of the officers carrying him to the room that decided his face, the electric chair. The hallway of which the officers, him and I stood reeked of death and those who have moved to another life. I remember shouting that he was innocent, and showing the police officers the polaroid photo Ashley took 20 minutes prior to arriving.

The police gave each other a look of disbelief before looking at him, I could read the man in handcuffs emotions like a book even without seeing them first hand, his eyes were watering beneath the mask and he was nodding, he knew freedom was just within his grasp. The police officers took the man in orange back to his cell while another police officer who was watching the saga unfold before him helped me to my feet, I called for the police men who were taking him away from me, one of them simply smiled back at me before turning around the corner.

The police officer who in which was aiding me in standing once again told me to calm down and that everything would be okay and that they needed to ask me a few questions. I remember nodding at the police officer beside me with my eyes full of tears, my blurred vision making everything in front of me unclear. The man who was helping me to my feet seemed nothing but a cluster of blurred, coloured dots that filled my vision.

My grip on the pencil I was holding eased, and my jaw unwinded as my eyes opened, tears that I couldn't feel were falling down my face and onto the paper that was resting on my lap, the watery solution discolouring certain parts of the paper and making it frail.

I placed my hand to my S/C cheek as I held my hand in front of my face, certain parts of my hand glistening slightly to where it had made contact to where tears have left residue on my cheek. I used my bare arms to wipe the residue of my tears away, I was determined not to cry before I faced the person of my childhood. I once again looked at the time, 5 minutes remained until I was faced with him again after ~10 years of not facing him. Then again, he had a knack for being early to everything like the gentlemen he was, he never liked keeping someone waiting, so he took it upon himself to always be early to literally everything- even if that meant forgetting to use deodorant or to brush his teeth. He never did it to impress someone, he always did it because he felt as if it was his duty to be a little bit earlier to help with the festivities a little. Sometimes, he stayed late to help clean up, that often happened with movie nights that his group and I had to catch up or to make fun of a new movie that had just came out. Since my parents were the most easygoing in the group, all the movie nights were hosted in apartment room 404, which is the room of which my parents and I lived.

Most times he stayed back, he'd end up sleeping over and staying until the late afternoon the next day. My parents adored the boy- god I miss my mum and my dad. My train of thought was interrupted by a noise at the door, knock, knock, knock My head shot up from where I was looking in my note book, my knees felt heavy as the pencil I was holding fell out of my hand and onto the page beneath it. I stared at the door in utter disbelief for a good 5 seconds before the knocks came again, with the same strength and same order. knock, knock, knock I knew who stood behind that door, the man who in which Ashley and I saved, he had his name tarnished by news channels and people of the public alike. I pulled myself off of the chair I was sitting on as I ran over to the front door, I slammed my hand onto the golden doorknob as I pulled it down and hoisted the door open, my H/L, H/C coloured hair following the sudden movement of the door as it was forced backward toward where I was standing. My eyes brimmed with tears almost immediately after setting my eyes upon the shorter male who in which stood in front of me, Sal Fisher- Sally face. Sal's mask needed polishing and cleaning since it was scratched up and seemed extremely dirty upon further inspection.

Sal wasn't wearing orange anymore, those dehumanising jail clothes that stripped one of all of their respect and reputation- instead, Sal was wearing a grey jumper and maroon sweatpants from what seemed like years ago. They were kept in something close to a somewhat pristine condition as both the sweater and the pants that he was wearing, haven't been worn in over 5 years. He was 36 and I was 35. Sal put his hand up and waved, his cheeks scrunching up his eyes a little from what I presumed was from smiling. Before he could get another word out, I launched myself forward and wrapped my arms around his neck and below his left arm. Tears streamed down my face as I desperately sobbed, tears running down the cheeks of my face, staining it and everything in its path. My fingertips and nails (or lack thereof) digging into his grey sweater that he was wearing at the time. I pulled him closer to me, well- as close as I could get him, his chest was against mine and I could feel his warm breath grazing my neck "Sal! Sal Fisher- Sally Face! Y-you're alive!" I choked through the tears, I felt two arms wrap around my torso and my upper back- admittedly, it was an uncomfortable hug, but I didn't care whatsoever- WE didn't care. He was there, he was in my arms and most of all, he was free- he was alive despite losing everything. My legs were so shaky that they gave out, bringing us both to the concrete beneath our knees, Sal stroked my hair gently as he laughed a little through the tears, "I'm here, Y/N, I'm here" His voice was music to my ears, I let out a couple more sobs, expecting tears to come out but there was none. I reluctantly pulled away and placed my hands on his prosthetic mask that posed as a barrier between him and I. A smile found its way onto my face as I leaned my forehead against his prosthetic one, "I know, Sal... I know" I whispered, my voice was weak from sobbing and my bare knees were aching from kneeling in the concrete like we were. Sal eventually pulled away and took my hand, he pulled me up and caught me when my knees threatened to give out, causing me to fall forward. We both laughed as we headed inside, I closed the door behind me as I made my way into the living room and sat down on the sofa. I turned on the TV and moved everything that was on the coffee table in front of me to the side, Sal stood in the middle of where we entered, the kitchen was in front of him and the living room was beside him, both had no complete wall, nor did they have a door. Instead, they had a half wall that divided the entry and the two rooms so you would just look over the top of the half wall and into the room. I looked over at Sal, confused, "Hey, what's up?" I asked as I got up and walked beside him, he turned his head around to face me only to be greeted not with a mask, but with Sal's actual face- the one behind the mask. I had seen his face before so there was really no issue with facing it once again, however it was surprising to see it after 5 years of nothing. Tears were rolling down his cheeks, "I... Y/N, this house- when did you get it? It's beautiful" He asked, he seemed as if he were proud of me, my eyes widened as I shook my head, "I bought it a little while after the murders took place" I explained, Sal fell silent as his eyes filled with even more tears, "Y/N I-" He tried to explain himself, I shook my head and smiled, "There's no need. Would you like some coffee? tea?" I offered, he shook his head as he wiped his tears,. "Then go and sit in the living room, I'll join you in a second. I'm going to get water, mmk?" I said, he nodded before wordlessly moving over to the living room behind me. I let my smile fall into a frown as I walked into the kitchen that was to the right of where I was standing. I walked into the kitchen as I walked over to the white cupboard that I grabbed a glass that sat inside, I walked over to the fridge and pressed town the toggle for water, and followed that up with ice.

I walked out of the kitchen and into the living room where I saw a news report with Sal's face on it. Sal had the remote in his hand and he seemed to be facing the TV, presumably trying to turn it off. His head was still turned, so I guessed that he hadn't have noticed I had come in the room. I placed the glass down on the coffee table and I grabbed the remote out of Sal's hand, Sal's head whipped around to face me in surprise, I smiled at him as I pressed the top button that was located in the upper left of the black, rectangular, remote control. It turned off the TV, as well as the stereo it was hooked up to. Sal groaned and shook his head as I laughed and placed the remote down on the coffee table, it was wordless exchanges like these that I treasured and held dear to me. I took a seat next to Sal and I smiled sweetly at the boy, I took a sip out of my glass of water and placed it down on the counter in front of me, Sal sighed and smiled back, "So, what happened with you while I was gone?" He asked, I nodded and sighed, "I figured you were gonna ask that, it isn't that tragic- however it is long, I will tell you." I replied, he nodded in anticipation as I sighed and looked up at the ceiling, "Before the events that lead to you getting imprisoned happened, I was asked by my parents to get food for my cat and my dog- who in which did reside here before they passed due to natural circumstances- thank you for not killing them by the way, they helped with my parents' death and your possible death." I explained, Sal laughed and shook his head, "I couldn't even if i needed to" He explained, I nodded and smiled, "That's what I love about you, Sal Fisher- anyway, as I was saying, when I came back, there were police outside of the building. I thought another murder had happened, so I contacted my parents, I tried calling my mum and my dad, but neither worked. I shook it off and walked up to the police officer who was taking care of the scene, he said that everyone in the apartment complex had been killed by a man in a mask and he couldn't disclose any information to me yet. My heart sank immediately and I asked if there were any survivors in room 404, he replied saying that a black and white cat named C/N and a black puppy by the name of D/N were the only survivors as they were locked in my room at the time of the mass murder." I recalled, Sal nodded and bit his lip, "How do you not resent me even after all that I have done? I killed your parents, Y/N. Any sane person would hate my guts right now-" He asked as he fiddled with his fingers, I shook my head and furrowed my eyebrows, "I was not about to believe a group of boomers and one of my old childhood friends who knew little to nothing about what happened." I said, Sal looked at me in surprise, his mouth was wide open and his face was flushed pink, I coughed and nodded, "That wasn't like you, Sal. Everything impossible happens in Nockfell, so I gave you a chance." I explained, Sal nodded, "... Continue?" He asked, I simply nodded in response and looked back forward, "Soon after, I saw Ashley arrive on her motorbike like some sorta fuckin' heroine. I got off the gutter I was sitting on and ran over to her with my eyes full of tears, my cheeks were red and sticky from the residue left behind by the tears- after I explained what had happened to my family, she blanked out for a second before actually answering me, she said that her family was willing to house me and give me somewhere to live until I got back on my feet again.” I explained as I traced the top of my glass of water with my finger,

“I agreed to staying with Ash, and so after she talked with the police and found out what had happened, she took me and both C/N and D/N with her on her motorbike back to her parents' house. They had a spare room that I could decorate to how I so desired. I got my personal belongings back soon after the incident, so I decorated the room with what remained" I said, Sal looked at me, tears were rolling down his cheeks that he wasn't aware of. I looked back over at him as I smiled sheepishly and put my hand to his cheek, I wiped his tears with my thumb as my smile disappeared,

"The thing that really tore me down, however, was when the court decided that they were going to give you capital punishment... My world just crashed all around me. Sal, you were all I had" I explained as I started to cry, I took my hand off of Sal's cheek and let it rest beside me. The hand that was beside me curled into a fist. Sal remained silent as he watched me with close eyes, "My family were gone, Larry was gone, Todd was recovering from cult shit, Ashley testified against you- I didn't know who to trust and who to believe." I continued, "And with you- only 5 years away from being on your death chair-" I paused, raising my gaze from the couch below me to stare in front of me and at Sal, "I was afraid... I was afraid that freedom was something you were never going to get" I managed to say before starting to sob, Sal shook his head, placing his hand on my cheek as he held back tears of his own. He eventually broke his silence, saying "You and Ashley saved me when no-one else wanted to, Y/N, and because of that, freedom is the present." "Sal..." I choked through the sobs, Sal pulled me into another hug as he cried a little himself, we both held each other close as we cried. It was a moment of complete vulnerability that we both shared, and needless to say, it was therapeutic to allow all of this bottled up emotion to come out at once- and I bet it was nice for Sal, too. Sal eventually pulled away from the hug that we both shared as he placed his forehead against mine. His ocean eyes pierced my E/C eyes as we both eventually calmed down from the sobbing, "Please... Promise me that you'll never leave me again. Not until the void finds us." I asked, practically begging for him to comply with what I was saying, in affirmation, he nodded and tucked some H/C hair behind my ear, "I promise. I love you, Y/N, I don't plan on doing it ever again for as long as I live" He agreed, my face flushed as I smiled a wide smile, "I love you too, Sal. I always have, and that'll never change" I replied as I pressed my lips against his. The kiss was messy, but it was the first one the two of us shared together within our 22 years of knowing each other. His chapped and scarred lips nipped at mine every so often, I smiled as I pulled away from the kiss that we had just shared. A wide smile was painted on the faces of the both of us as we stared at each other in a moment of pure bliss, "You're my heroine, Y/N. You always have been" He admitted, I giggled as I gazed at the boy in front of me, "Lets hope is stays that way for as long as we both live, yeah?" I replied as I held out my pinky, Sal laughed as he nodded and kissed the top of my forehead while linking his pinky with my own and shaking, "Yeah, lets"

#sal fisher #sally face #sal fisher x reader #sally fisher #x reader #reader insert #sally face x reader #sal fisher fic

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galivantingg · 4 years

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Alpha and Beta

Old Friends

It was the beginning of a new school year. The weather was still warm out, so the school field was filled with groups of kids lounging around during lunch and after school ended. Sometimes even before. With the new school year came the much loved atmosphere of stress, the smell of energy drinks and coffee, and of course, exhaustion. Alex and Cal witnessed the high school student slowly descend into madness. The lights in the communal spaces of the pack house stayed on throughout the months, albeit dimmed, but still on, so students could work late into the night on certain projects that they didn't get to during the afternoon.

Alex and Cal were seniors now, turning eighteen on the first of July and January respectively. Alex was excited, because he had been waiting for his mate for as long as Cal could remember. Cal, on the other hand, was dreading this, because it meant he would be able to find his mate. He still did not want to meet his mate. He had witnessed not only his parents but also Alex's parents do horrible things because of the mate bond, and he wanted nothing to do with it. He would not allow something he had no control over make him abandon everything he stands for. He would choose his own path, he would choose his own mate, not now, but much later in his life, when he knows who he is.

Another reason he was dreading this season was not only because of the start of his senior year, but also because of the Mate Hunt.

It was an arbitrary thing, old fashioned and out dated. Sure they had modernized it a little, but Cal still didn't like the whole idea of it. The Mate Hunt used to be a gathering where all the unmated young women of each pack would travel around to neighbouring packs and participate in a sort of 'hunt' for their mate. Originally, it would only be the girls of age, and they would literally be hunted down. Now it's a little different. Everyone of age or near age participates, and they travel around to different packs to find their mates. If someone thinks they've found their mate, but has to wait for their birthday, they stay there with that person and their pack until their birthday rolls around. Then, if they aren't mates, the person catches up with their pack. Cal and Alex were technically exempt from this, since they are the Alpha and Beta of their pack they will not travel, but they will have to participate in every other sense. They needed to find their mates, since wolves who are mateless for too long after their birthday go insane, but Cal still didn't like it.

Not to mention what a headache it was to house and feed on average twenty more teenagers. Plus they were always so moody. Cal felt old. He was sitting in his office, what used to be his parents room, staring out the window facing the Lawn. It had taken him a long time, but he had finally mustered up the courage to flip this room, along with the rest of the bedrooms. Iphigenia had his old room to herself, the twins shared a room in the basement, Asclepius and Nestor shared the spare room upstairs, and Cal was in the smaller room upstairs. It wasn't a big house, the bedrooms were quite small and he heard complaints from his brothers all the time, but they managed. Not to mention that Alex was here almost every night too, sharing Cal's bed. Honestly, it kinda bugged Cal. At least Alex helped get the kids ready and cleaned the house too.

Cal understood why Alex stayed with him most nights. Alex was scared that Cal was going to leave him, like his parents. Cal was never going to leave him, Alex knew too much about him.

He heard a soft knock on the door. "Come in," he spoke softly, his voice a little rusty from disuse. He glanced at the clock, not realizing how long he had been there for. The door creaked open and in came little Iphigenia. She was six now, but acted like she was eight. She took care of them all, not by cooking or doing laundry, but by checking in one them. She made sure they were all still mentally stable, which was really confusing cause she was six. How did she even learn how to do that? She walked up to him steadily, asking him to be lifted up by lifting up her arms. He grabbed her gently and Set her down on his knee, pointing out the window.

"That's where I'll be in," he checks the time again, "shoot, right now. Okay Nia you're coming with me to meet Alpha Jacobson and the teenagers here for the mate hunt. Sound good?" She nodded, sticking her thumb in her mouth. In her hand was the stuffed animal bunny Cal had kept close to himself as a kid. He thought about it for a second, thinking of his first best friend, Daisy Duke, and how she had given him that rabbit when they were so little, before he had left. She had a matching one. His bunny was wearing purple tartan, with a yellow boy around its neck, from Daisy's bunny. Her's is wearing yellow tartan. Well, it was. He didn't know if she still had it after all these years. He had left when they were five, and now he's seventeen. He barely remembered her, he doubts she remembers him either.

Nia put her hand on his cheek, snapping Cal out of his thoughts. He stood quickly, walking out the room and down the hall towards the front door. As he did, he heard the cars pull up just in front of the Lawn in the parking lot. "Shoot shoot shoot," he censored himself, knowing that Iphigenia would repeat anything he said. He hastened across the grass towards the front stoop on the pack house where Alex was standing.

"You're late," Alex gritted out underneath his breath, knowing full well that Alpha Jacobson could most likely hear them. Cal was out of breath.

"Sorry," he panted, "got lost in the paperwork and then Nia came in to remind me it was time."

Alex's voice changed as he reached over and gently took Nia out of Cal's arms. "Cal should have been keeping a closer eye on the time, hey Sunny?" She nodded and smiled. Betrayed by his own sister, Cal would never get over this. He grinned at them, and they all jumped when they heard a cough from in front of them. Alpha Jacobson and his teenagers were standing in front of the cars, staring at them. Cal's ears burned.

Alex's face went stoney. "Welcome Alpha Jacobson and the teenagers of the Velvel Pack. I am Alpha Alex Edwards and this is my Beta, Calchas Edmonds." Cal scowled at his full name, Alex would be hearing about that later. Instead of calling him out now, like he very much wanted to, he instead put on a smile.

"Please," he interrupted Alex. Oh boy he was gonna hear about that later. "Call me Cal." He looked over at Alex, urging him to keep going. Surprisingly Alex didn't look pissed.

"Thank you for coming," Alex continued, looking out at the teenagers. "We understand that you are primarily here to find your mates, but you are also staying long enough that you would be missing school. We have taken the liberty of enrolling you all for the three week period that you are all here, and all of our resources for everything from school to personal lives are at your disposal. Please come see either me or Beta Cal if you have any questions."

"Thank you Alpha Edwards for your warm welcome," Alpha Jacobson smiled. Alex smiled back, and that was the first time Cal had seen him show much expression since they had realized the other pack was here. Alex handed Iphigenia off to Cal, and Alpha Jacobson lead his pack forward to be toured through the pack house. Cal was going to be bringing up the rear, so no one got lost or left behind.

Cal watched as the teens filed past him, some stretching their arms up and others yawning from the long drive. The Velvel Pack was about a seven hour drive from them, and Cal's pack was the closest to them. They had many more hours to travel on their trip, but the drives would be shorter from now on. There were two girls at the end of the line, chatting animatedly. Something about one of them seemed so familiar, but Cal couldn't quite put his finger on why. She breezed past him, glancing at him and Iphigenia, then froze and looked back.

"That bunny," she stammered. "I have one exactly like it!" The two connected eyes and suddenly everything fell into place. Those eyes, the familiarity. Everything makes sense now.

"Daisy?" Cal murmured. She frowned.

"How do you know my name?"

"It's me," Cal said softly. The second girl kept looking between the two of them then walked a little bit away, giving them some space.

Finally, she smelled him. Her eyes widened. "Cal?!" He nodded. Her face broke out into the same smile he knew so well from his childhood. "Oh my god Cal! It's been so long, where have you been?"

He shrugged, inexplicably happy all of a sudden. "My parents brought us here. Where have you been?" Her eyes clouded over, and he had a chilling sense of foreboding. Something had happened at their old pack, something bad. "Ah, never mind," he waved it off and watched as relief pooled in her face. "It doesn't matter now. What matters is that we found each other again, and this time I will not let let go." They stood there smiling at each other, not noticing that Alex was staring at them from inside the house while talking about the history of the pack house. His eyes were clouded, but he hid his pain well. All he could see was his best friend hitting it off very well with a very pretty girl. But the other girl noticed.

"Come on," Cal said suddenly feeling like he was doing something wrong. "Let's catch up with the others." They turned and caught up with the other girl Daisy had been walking with, and she introduced herself as Elizabeth Chen.

They were walking behind the group silently, when Elizabeth spoke up. "So," she said awkwardly. Cal looked over at her. She wouldn't meet his eyes. "What's the situation with you and the Alpha?" She still wouldn't look at him.

"Alex is my second oldest friend, we've been inseparable since a little after I got to this pack. Why?" He was a little confused. Where was this coming from?

Elizabeth looked up at him in surprise. "Oh! It's just I saw the way you two handled the little one you're holding, and I was wondering if you two were together and had adopted her."

Cal burst out laughing. He didn't know why he found it so funny, maybe he was covering for some other emotion, but he laughed nonetheless. "Alex and I? Nah, this is my little sister. We raised her together, along with all my other brothers."

"Other brothers?" Daisy questioned. Last time she had seen the Edmonds family, Tia had been very pregnant.

"Yeah, Tia had twins, then proceeded to have two more sons, then little Iphigenia." Cal tickled his little sister on the stomach and she giggled, shoving his hands away lightly. She was by far the easiest of all of them, even Remus. She was just so happy, so warm. Cal didn't notice the shadow that had crossed Daisy's face at his use of his mother's first name.

"What are your brother's names? Do they know about me? How old are they? What are the like? How are your parents?" Daisy shot off, hitting Cal with question after question. He smiled and laughed lightly, not able to hide the pain behind his eyes white fast enough.

"Tia passed, and Henry is god know's where. But I'll introduce you to my brothers, they have heard about you. My first best friend. They refuse to believe I had a best friend before Alex though, so we might have to tell some embarrassing stories to prove it." Cal and Daisy grinned at each other, and Elizabeth was suddenly hit with a feeling of not belonging. She and Daisy had been best friends since Daisy had joined her pack, but she was different with Cal. Lighter. Elizabeth was jealous for a second, before shaking that thought. She had no reason to be jealous. She had a different relationship with Daisy, and that was fine.

Elizabeth slipped away unnoticed, heading to the front of the tour, silently joining Alpha Alex. He didn't notice her at first, but when she coughed lightly he jumped and turned his head to look at her. "Well hello there, you are terrifying," Alex said. He took in her face, she was pretty, short hair and bright brown eyes, lovely skin. She smiled, revealing straight white teeth. How could one girl be this pretty?

"Hi," she said, sticking out her hand for him to shake. "I'm Elizabeth."

After a pause he took her hand and shook it firmly. "Hi Elizabeth, I'm Alex. Nice to meet you."

Alex glanced back and saw Cal still hitting it off with that girl, then he noticed Elizabeth studying him.

"They come from the same pack," Elizabeth explained. Alex nodded. It still hurt seeing him so close with someone else. He started to panic, but felt something grab his hand. He looked down to see another hand, which led to Elizabeth. She smiled tentatively. "Maybe we can help each other?" He smiled too, and squeezed her hand once.

And just like that, a new friendship was born.

#alpha and beta #chapter who gives a fuck #part whatever #em writes #werewolf #werewolves #wip #new wip #story #book #novel #original idea #original wip #original #moodboard

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loudest-subtext-in-tv · 5 years

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A Study in Fate teaser

Here’s the first 2200 words of a novel-length fanfic that I’ll finish sometime this year. It’s a WiP on an atypical schedule: At a later date I’ll release the rest of the first chapter, but then I’ll release everything else all at once.

Some authors don’t like if you hassle them to hurry up, but I may find it motivating. I’m going to attempt to get better at answering my asks/comments so feel free to ask me things about this fic, but keep in mind there’s a lot of things I won’t answer. Please be aware that no one cares if you don’t like first person perspective.

Though a big aspect of this story is about how to manage depression, it starts in a relatively dark place and weaves in and out of it. If you can’t handle unresolved distant thoughts of suicide right now, maybe wait until the entire story is posted.

Finally, I am doing okay financially right now, but two of my fandom friends are not. If you’ve ever wanted to give me money, I now have a Patreon. Anything you give me will help me help them.

Description: After the events of The Empty Hearse, Sherlock struggles to figure out who he is now that John no longer seems willing to play a prominent role in his life. As his mind runs in circles trying to parse their relationship and determine who threw John in the bonfire, his world is shattered by an enigmatic visitor: himself, bearing bad news from the future.

Series 3 time travel remix; series 4 compatible.

Tags and warnings: first person present, agonizing slow burn, explicit but romantic, depression, suicidal ideation, NOT FLUFF, self-actualization

Read on AO3 or under the cut:

Chapter One - The Curtain Rises

One can’t get far without an organizing principle. Every man needs one drive to which all others are subordinate, a touchstone that seizes him with purpose.

I had one once.

Now I have chips.

Dreadful organizing principle, chips: once you’ve got them, there’s nothing propelling you forward anymore. Have enough of them and you hardly want to move at all. God. I was in the best shape of my life, body and mind, and now I’m turning into Mycroft.

Except Mycroft has already transcended these struggles — or so he claims. Yet again, I’m lagging behind on a path I never wanted to follow. Splendid.

Any moment Mrs Hudson will come out and start chattering away about you. That will set me back the rest of the day, yet I won’t ascend the stairs. Does no part of my mind demand control of my brain stem? I’m meant to be some kind of genius: Any visionary corner of my psyche eager to make something of me? No takers?

No. Life is now nothing more but the wandering of here to there. And thoughts like that are why everyone thinks I’m a baby, so for god’s sake stop.

I am all too stopped.

Depression is a dowsing rod: shows you where to dig. So: Why do I halt here, at the bottom of the stairs? Why can’t I face the only place I’ve ever belonged?

It’s not merely that you don’t live here anymore. Not quite. That would be too easy.

Where are you wandering now, John? You got off work an hour ago. No one's called to alert me you've been kidnapped, so there's one thing I didn't miss today.

Still figuring that out, darling. Off my game. Maybe was never on it. Against my better judgment I let romance rot my mind, and you're the one who's suffered most. But I've recovered from less noble chemical weaknesses than your company. Against all odds I still draw breath. If I make myself do nothing else, I will turn this around. I'll prove you can rely on me.

Any threatening emails? You don't just attempt to incinerate a man and move on. For god's sake, give me something.

Oh. A text. Not a threat; a video from the homeless network. Must have been delayed whilst I was on the tube.

There you are, alive and unwell, and here responds my heart but it's nothing. Mere streets away from me, and nowhere near her flat. Why do you do this, John? Is your phone broken? We could just talk about this. Give me another chance and I swear I won't come on so strong. I was too presumptuous when we last spoke weeks ago. I broke your heart, I'm monstrous; you're no longer fond. I get it.

You're no longer fond, but you're in need of a hit. Which is curious, you realize. You understand how a man would get the impression... But no. I won't presume. Life is boring and I'm dangerous and bless you, you need a hit. Just come get one. I'll pretend I'm managing, I'll find a way to switch on that whole persona for you and you can do your hero worship thing. I won't act desperate.

Just show up, and I will respect your wishes.

Do anything but pensively stop on the sidewalk in front of shops you have no intention of entering. It just screams, I'm distracted! Kidnap me! It's been an age and I know you despise me, but if you keep doing this I'm going to have to conduct surprise drills again.

Maybe you're trying to get kidnapped. I wouldn't put it past you. Maybe it would be charity to send a car around for you to blithely climb into. Do you even think about how that would make Mary feel, John?

Of course, it's me you're thinking about right now. The tension in your posture, the unconscious clenching of your hand, the conflict evident on your face even from this distance: definitely me.

You know, I wasn't the only one who presumed. The papers presumed, the entire British populace presumed, even your sister presumed and surely she'd -- No matter. You've made yourself clear. Just: spare a thought for "the best thing that's ever happened" to you. I've no talent for consoling women on my best days, and I'd hate to see how I'd fare in a worse state than her.

No, I don't know that. I don't know that I love you more than she does. She's never broken your heart.

Oh. Wait, why...? For god's sake, Pilar, why would you approach him? He'll notice.

Well. Can't complain about seeing your eyes more clearly. Not good for my recovery. And there, yes, you've noticed. Paranoia in full swing, hackles raised, and a step forward. 'Can I help you?' in your usual tone that fashions a threat from etiquette.

Not good for my recovery, no. The things you do to my blood, John.

'Got a pound?'

'For someone recording me?' You scoff, narrow your eyes. 'Are you...?'

'Say, aren't you John Watson?' Oh, clever girl. Look at him, pretending he's not pleased to be recognized.

Yet nothing is ever simple with you, John.

'Yeah.' You're either too smart or too suspicious for your own good. (Freud would presume. I'm only saying.) 'Did he...?' You look directly at the camera; at me.

Come on! You assume it’s me? When roaming bands of criminals have set you aflame? Oh here we go, that spark in your eye -- you're going all in:

'Did you put her up to this?'

Oh well.

'Who? What makes you say that, sir?'

'Uh, well he does it all the time.' I don't. 'You know what? Just send it to him.'

'Not sure what you mean, sir.'

'Oh,' you laugh, 'you're not sure what I mean. Stop bloody recording me.'

And that's the end of that.

So. Guess you won't be coming over this week either. Or will you? Are you angry enough to confront me? It's not stalking when it's for your own protection -- just ask my brother, John. God knows he could use the conversation.

I’ve got to find more discreet operatives.

> Next time don't be so obvious.

When did she send this? Ten minutes ago. No, if you were going to come over, you would have arrived by now.

I suppose you’ve already said everything you have to say. But not even a text for stalking, John? I thought we had a connection.

Or we did. Before Moriarty won.

Not your fault. All mine. I underestimated him, failed to foresee the lengths to which he'd go for his insane plan. Didn't realize how many pieces he'd put on the board. Stupid.

A ping:

i thought youd like it? before you whinged you cant hardly see him

It was only supposed to be months, John. Then dozens of pulled threads later and you'd already gone and shacked up with a woman! That's what I get for being thorough.

And not even thorough enough. But if I wasn't thorough enough then neither was MI6, John. If Moriarty still had operatives in London, that's on Mycroft. And me. But definitely on Mycroft.

I don't know. Hate not knowing.

Are we really never going to talk about this? I took down an international crime syndicate for you, and you broke up with me on your blog?

No, no -- sorry. I take full responsibility.

This is ridiculous. I don't know why anyone comes to me to solve their problems. I can't even make it up the stairs.

Ah.

That's it, isn't it? I don’t live up there anymore, either.

Yes. Everyone says you can find Sherlock Holmes just up those stairs, back from the dead and cleverer than ever! Like most things everyone says, it’s not true. I search for him in these rooms daily, and all the evidence points to this: Sherlock Holmes was a character created by John Watson. An exciting story. A fairy tale. (Dare I say a fantasy?)

People will believe anything you tell them, John, and they did. You were so sure I was a hero that even I came to believe it in the end. Now they only keep believing it because I lied. I was never steps ahead, never as infallible as you made me out to be -- and now that you've quit writing me I'll never be anyone at all.

But I'm doing it again. Getting histrionic. I'm not the first nobody to have his heart broken. They all get on with life.

Well: usually. Technically speaking, the most invested ones turn to murder or suicide. On the upside, murder is still in the cards: Assuming I can pull it together long enough to hunt down the appropriate parties, they are murderers and it would be doing the world a favor to murder them right back. In the course of any such investigation there will tend to arise situations in which I would have no choice but to murder them -- or, fortune willing, sacrifice myself so that you may live. Or both! Now that would be a power play: cleanse the board of evil, preserve the king. The ideal way to die may yet fall into my lap.

It's nice to have things to look forward to.

But say it doesn't pan out. Given my recent track record it would be foolish to place undue faith in my forecasting abilities, and after all, I don't know for certain this has anything to do with Moriarty's network. He pulled so many rugs out from under me I'm always half expecting yet another rug. I may grow as paranoid as you, John, with him skulking about in my head. For all I know everyone involved was in Moran's network, and I'm chasing after people who are already in custody. Maybe there's no grand end, no power plays, no relief.

That leaves suicide.

I'm not saying I will, John. I refuse to break your heart again. And it would be no way to honor the lengths to which you've gone to preserve my life. They're mere thoughts. They come and go -- always have, and I always haven't. I'm not going to do it, and if I am, I can always do it later.

But no appealing alternative has revealed itself. Only the obvious path for the invested: live like everyone else, and finally sever myself from aspiring to anything meaningful or exciting. Growing up, they call it.

Freud called it repression, so let's hold off on drastic measures. I made this life work before and I can make it work again.

Of course, that was easy for Freud to say: Being invested in life isn't an exercise in masochism when you have a lifelong companion. Not to be maudlin, John, but I wasn't making it work until you came along. Not truly. You were the gear that made it all click. I couldn't become Sherlock Holmes until you facilitated it.

It felt like the strength you granted me persisted during our years apart, but it's no surprise I drifted off course the moment you weren't at my side. That's not superstitious, John, that’s just a cold fact. You would have caught the little things I didn't. You would have kept my ego in check.

But what's done is done. I'll muster some strength for you. Reinvent myself again. Reorder my mind, keep myself off the needle and the pavement until I tie up these loose ends. Then... who knows.

Maybe someone else will come along.

Well. Feels good to laugh.

I’ve got to get on with it. Life may be a flight of uncarpeted stairs, but I'm sick of being down here.

'Going out, dear? John didn't call, did he?'

Will I always be this damned slow?

I sigh loudly, not that it will make any difference. 'No, and no.' You scowl like you do when I talk about him. 'Just getting in.'

You frown. 'But we were just talking.'

My heart leaps. 'You and John?'

'No, silly.' My heart falls. You tilt your head; smile. 'You and me.'

'You were talking. I was out.'

You shake your head and laugh, a cheery, infuriating tinkle. 'You had quite a lot to--'

'Mrs Hudson.' For god's sake, do not go senile on me. Not one more straw.

'Is it drugs, dear?' Terrible, hushed pity. Everyone always leaps straight to drugs! 'Oh don't get angry, I know all the signs! The nerve of him, putting you in this state. I'd say a few things to him, if only he'd come around once in a--'

Anything has got to be better than this.

'Project much?' The stairs are fine two at a time.

'I need those for my hip!’

'Adjust your dose! You're clearly...’ What?

What in the world?

'That would explain so much,' he says, and the room tilts.

Through the door. There I am. There he is.

Sherlock Holmes.

End notes:

In The Lying Detective, Sherlock tells Faith that chips are “the only perk” of being suicidal. In The Empty Hearse, he was eating chips when Mary told him John had been kidnapped.

John’s most recent blog entry before this story takes place is The Empty Hearse. It’s a mindfuck minefield for poor Sherlock, but we’ll get into that more soon. For now, know it contains this doozy: “Oh, and in other news, I’ve got engaged. But, it’s not something I’m really going to talk about much here. I want to keep some things private. I will say, though, she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Sorry, Sherlock :)”

I borrowed the name Pilar from Sherlock Holmes and the Baker Street Irregulars: The Fall of the Amazing Zalindas, a novel by Tracy Mack and Michael Citrin. I’ve never read it, mind, it just seems like it wouldn’t be the sort of thing Sherlock would assign to Wiggins, and Wiggins would never be so sloppy.

Sherlock is obsessed with Freud. One Freud reference in The Abominable Bride, which was constructed entirely from Sherlock’s drugged out brain, came from Mycroft, who asked John if he was aware of theories of paranoia. Freud believed paranoid people were closeted homosexuals, heavily insinuating that Sherlock believes John is a closeted homosexual. Freud meta to come later; he’s very important.

Freud was with his wife for 57 years.

“Life is a flight of uncarpeted stairs” is from the poem “Spring” by the early 20th century queer poet Edna St. Vincent Millay. She ended up dying of a heart attack that made her fall down the stairs, which is itself poetic. Though she was a woman, I think it’s realistic Sherlock would know about her: the Casebook notes that Sherlock reads the agony aunt columns in women’s magazines because they contain all of life and are pertinent to his line of work, and in the same spirit I’ve made him familiar with all old famous love letters, for which she’s renowned. We also know Sherlock is familiar with Shakespeare and moved enough to remember entire soliloquies, so there’s no way Sherlock could read “Spring” and not retain some of it — especially as John and Mary had been aiming for a spring wedding, and the poem references April, which is just wrapping up as the fic begins.

#tjlc #johnlock #fanfic #my fanfic #A Study in Fate #this was a nightmare to format on an iPhone

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starkerforlife6969 · 5 years

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So I saw this post and got inspired. What if Peter was the one who died? And Tony makes him into an AI. (psst, this has a happy ending)

Steve keeps giving him worried looks.

Tony doesn’t care though. Tony can’t even bear to look at Steve. He just keeps his head down and works on his latest piece of tech. It’s going to be the best damn AI ever. It’s going to be the last thing he ever makes. Of course Steve is fucking alive. Of course he and Steve had survived. It’s not like there were other more deserving people who hadn’t seen nearly as many years as-

When it’s done, he puts on his suit and soars over New York and waits.

“Hey Pete,” he says eventually, building his courage by looking up at the stars. Somewhere, up there, in the deep endless dark blue of the night sky, he lost everything that mattered.

“Hi, Mr Stark!” Chirps the AI excitedly.

Tony’s heart simultanouesly breaks and heals. It’s him. It’s Peter. He’s cracked it. It’s his voice and his energy and if Tony closes his eyes and lets the tears fall he can picture those warm brown eyes and those chestnut curls and that look of ever-present wonder.

“Am I an AI? This is amazing! You are so smart.”

He can’t even wipe away his tears and a tiny litle part of him says (in a voice that sounds a lot like Steve, the dick) this probably wasn’t a very good idea. “Yeah, I made you.” He says softly and Peter whoops.

“This is so awesome! I’m inside the Iron Man suit, this is insane!”

It hurts so bad that he flies straight home, puts the suit away and doesn’t think he’ll ever put it back on.

It’s his fault Peter’s dead. It’s his fault that he turned to dust and ashes right in his hands.

But of course, it never really is the end. Not with attacks from planets nobody even knew existed, and before too long, the shield and the man of metal are back on the scene. People act like nothing’s changed, that the avenger’s isn’t half the size it was, but Tony knows.

He knows.

So, he fights harder than he did before, he’s more reckless because really, at this point- what is there to lose? Why is he even fighting? Because there’s nothing else.

“On your right, Mr Stark!” Peter cries, and Tony jerks at the last second to avoid a flaming missile.

“Thanks, kid,” he breathes, and then he freezes. It’s all instinct and muscle memory but for one, non-aching second, it had been like…like Peter was here. Was with him. For one second there was no pain, no hollowness in his chest.

He swiftly becomes addicted.

Sometimes it’s just like it was before, and Tony can quip at some alien while Peter laughs in his ear, or Peter will reference some old outdated movie and give Tony the idea that he needs and everything in the world for half a second seems okay.

Of course, he has to keep updating it. It has to be perfect. He spends hours going through every piece of footage of Peter he has (which is to say: a lot) until he gets every single thing right. The occasional stutter, the nerves, the excitement, the joy, the concern. The friendly neighbourhood Spiderman and something else, something entirely Peter that he just can’t quite seem to pin down.

Fury is starting to give him looks now. Almost like he cares.

“Maybe he does care, Mr Stark,” Peter hums curiously as Tony eats a hamburger over the brookyln bridge.

“Nah, kid. He wouldn’t know how.”

“I care about you, Mr Stark.”

Tony closes his eyes, and the gooey cheese doesn’t make anything better. “Tell me, Peter,” he whispers, like he does on nights when he feels like he’ll break. “Tell me.”

The AI doesn’t hesitate. “I do love you, Mr Stark. I really do. You didn’t program me to feel this, I always did.”

Of course, Tony’s programmed him to say all that. It hurts like a knife cut, and it heals like a salve. “You don’t.”

“I do, so so much.”

God it hurts. Should it hurt this much? Should anything have any right to cut this deep? “I programmed you,” he spits, more to himself than to the AI. “You always just say the right thing.”

“Oh,” The AI sounds surprised, “why did you program that?”

Because the real Peter always said just the right thing.

He should probably delete it, but he can’t.

Every day is harder and everyday he leans on it just a little bit more. He’s driving himself mad trying to fix it up to be perfect, but of course it can never be. Only Peter, the real one, the one who faded away so far from home it isn’t fair-

“Mr Stark?” Peter, the AI, asks one day as he stands on a building and looks out over a setting sun. Is Thanos doing the same somewhere?

“Yeah, Pete?” He croaks, voice hoarse.

“I didn’t say anything, Mr Stark.”

“Mr Stark?”

Slowly, churning metal and disbelief, Tony turns around.

There’s Peter.

His Peter. And he’s…smiling and cherub faced and rosy cheeked and in his suit and he looks…fine. There’s not a cut on him. He looks like he’s just come out of school and put on his suit and is ready for an adventure.

Tony steps out of his suit and stares. Is he going mad? Is this a hallucination? has he finally tipped over the edge?

Peter runs up to him and hugs him and no, no his memory isn’t this good. He can smell him. Smell him and feel him and he holds him so tight because he is never going to let this go, and he can hardly see, hardly breathe, he can just feel Peter here in his arms again. “Mr Stark!” Peter cries, beaming with joy, “I’ve missed you so much! Oh, I have so much to tell you! I fell into something called the multi-verse! And look- look I met like other me! You have to meet them, come on…” he’s tugging on Tony’s hand and Tony looks up and in the distance there are other figures, other shapes.

Other Spidermen who all look different is that a pig?, but he has only eyes for Peter.

“Pete,” he whispers, pulling the boy back to him and back into a hug. “I thought you…I was…”

“Oh,” Peter pulls back, eyes wide and he seems to understand. “Oh, you thought I…Mr Stark,” he whispers softly. He hugs him, and Tony can’t- he can’t go another seocnd without saying:

“I love you, Peter. I…I always have and…” It’s not as scary as he thought it would be now it’s out there. In fact, it feels kinda good.

Peter’s face spreads into the most beautiful thing Tony’s ever seen: a smile, so awed and pleased and disbelieving and- “I love you too, Tony,” he confesses, breath sweet as anything. “I- I’ve always loved you.” And then he’s straining onto his tiptoes and ksising Tony and everything in the world is perfect.

This moment is eternal and Tony wants for nothing and for the first time in his life, he knows contentment.

The next time he puts on the suit, the AI is gone. Self-deleted. Smart enough to know. Tony programmed it that way.

He doesn’t miss it at all.

Feel free to picture Tony with a bunch of dog leashes but instead of dogs it’s all the different spider people and he’s trying damn hard to keep them on the path but they’re all crazy and exploring -apart from Peter who’s happy to perch on tony’s shoulders and lean down and kiss him which makes everything a little bit better

#starker #drabble #angst #pain #sadness #tony stark has a heart #and he needs a hug #from peter #peter x tony #peter parker #tony stark #getting together #death #not sure i should tag this #but I'm going to #HAPPY ENDING #FIX IT

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calliecat93 · 4 years

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Top 5 Things I Liked About RWBY Volume 4

(Top 5 Dislikes)

This is going out later than I was hoping, but hey better now that never. Anyways, I honestly think that V4 is a pretty underrated Volume. There’s a lot that I really enjoy about it and after the insanity of V3, I’m glad that we got a more lowkey season that let everyone begin to heal. I’m hoping that RvB18 will follow that path tbh, but that’s not important here. There’s a lot to like, so let’s talk about the Top 5 Things I Liked About RWBY Volume 4!

#5. The Switch to Maya/Improved Animation

For Volumes 1-3, animaiton was primarily done in a program called Poser. This was mainly because it was what Monty liked to use, especially for fight animation. Poer isn’t an animation program, it is a modeling program that Monty was able to work for what he needed, but again it is not a proper animation program. V3 looks amazing, but I think that it was clear that they had reached their limit on how much they could push it. Add that with now having a larger animation staff, and it was time for a change. As such, they shifted to Maya, a common animaiton program in the field, and I am going to say it… it was 100% the right choice.

The animaiton in the Poser Era wasn’t bad, but… there were plenty of times where it felt like expressions and casual movements were very stiff. V4 changed that massively. There is so much more facial expression, but not just that. Take Blake’s cat ears for example. They are SO expressive in every scene that she’s in. Sure it might be because she threw out the bow, but still! I really don’t think that they could have done that in Poser. Animaiton models improved, like Sun’s abs no longer being glued to him for example and his little necklace sometimes daggling about. Environments look more vibrant. Environments have improved. Things like shading look better. And while the fight scenes aren’t Monty-like anymore, they are still really good! Seriously, Qrow vs Tyrian is still awesome~

I know that the shift wasn’t something liked by everyone, though I think that the vast majority have come around since V4. The animaiton has only kept improving after this, and it’s crazy going back to V1 and seeing the difference. But they sold me the second that they released the Ruby Trailer in the lead-up to the volume. Maya has allowed for a lot of improvement and new opportunities, and I believe that RT made the right choice in transitioning over to it. V4 looked so good, especially with how many new locations that it introduced us to, and I freakin’ love it~

#4. Expansion On The World

Volume 4, above all, is a world-building volume. We spent all of our time in the first three volumes primarily in Beacon and the city fo Vale. The only locations that we got a substantial amount of time in otherwise were Mountain Glenn and the Amity Arena for the Vytal Festival. Otherwise, we’ve been stuck in one place despite knowing that there is a much larger world out there. Thankfully though, this volume takes us outside the Kingdom of Vale and finally allowed us to explore the rest of Remnant… well, parts of it. Still, more than the other volumes had.

This was an advantage of using the multiple plotlines.. We got a really good amount of new locations. RNJR was in Anima, which had a lot of Asian-inspired scenery and naming. Yeah, we mostly spend the time on trails and villages, but you can still see the difference between the villages and Vale. Which we got to see what it’s like outside of Vale. Some villages like Higanbana are nice, while others like Shion or Kuroyuri… well… it emphasizes just how bleak the world truly is. Vale was an overall safe place, and even that wasn’t safe. If you don’t live within a kingdom though? Hope that luck is on your side.

We also get to see Menagerie for the first time. Sadly we don’t get to see as much here or in V5, but we do get to see how cramped it is and it overall looks nice. You can see that, as Blake said, they tried to make it a welcoming place for Faunus. We get to see Weiss’ home, which is as empty and cold as you would have imagined it being. It looks grand, but it’s just… empty and quiet with Weiss, more or less, alone aside from Klein. Patch is nice, you can certainly see why Tai would raise his kids there and in contrast to Weiss’ home, it’s small but the peaceful and comforting environment that Yang needed. Salem’s realm is eerie. Oscar’s farm is… a farm. And Mistral? Amazing.

What I’m getting at here is that we learn so much more about the world. Even outside exploring new locations, we learn about the Relics and the God Brothers. We start to get an understanding of the war between Oz and Salem, though of course, we learn the true scale in V6. The volume does a lot to make Remnant feel more like an actual world full of stories, problems, and history. It took us out of the hub that we were used to with Volumes 1-3, and I think that they did so very well. Very much appreciate it~

#3. Yang Plotline

While Yang got the least amount of focus, I… don’t view that as a bad thing. A story can’t be dictated by screentime alone. You have to look at how well they executed what they needed to do in the amount of time that they had. For example, they didn’t do very well with Ruby in V5 with the time that they had, but we’ll save that for the V5 posts. For V4, as I said, Oscar didn’t get the proper development and they didn’t utilize the amount fo time that they had for him well. But Yang though? I thought that they did her very well here.

Yang’s plot is, of course, recovering after losing her arm and getting back into fighting condition so that she can go after Ruby. We see that she has PTSD, having flashbacks and nightmares and her emotional state is… not in the bright place that we’re used to. Chapter 4, the chapter mainly focused on her, shows how concerned she is about taking the first steps of recovery, though we do see her start to laugh and joke around again. With Tai’s encouragement and support, Yang ut son the new arm, trains again and Tai helps her see the disadvantages of her fighting style/Semblance reliance, and opens up to her about Raven. In the end, Yang’s ready to go after her sister. She’s not 100% healed, but she’s got her drive back and is ready to move ahead.

Now again, Yang gets the least amount of focus. She only gets one chapter dedicated to her, and otherwise, her’s appears the least out of the four RWBY girls. But they utilized that time very well. They don’t drag it out or rush through it. They set up Yang’s mental state, show us signs of her PTSD, have Tai give her the proper encouragement, and have her start to get back on her feet. I’m glad that they were just straightforward with it, there was no need to drag it out especially since V5 and 6 show that there are still things that she has to work through. The point for this volume though was to get Yang well enough mentally for her to get back out onto the field, and they did that very well. She was in a positive environment as well, and that probably helped her.

So yeah, when I look back at the Yang plot, I have no issues with it. I think that it was given the amount of attention that it needed. It wasn’t rushed, but it wasn’t dragged out either. Yang didn’t fully recover, but she got well enough to move forward. That was the ultimate goal for everyone’s plotline, and they achieved it here. But I’m gonna leave it at 3 since it is a bit of a bummer that she got limited screentime. But for what it’s worth, they used that time properly and I am happy with the final result.

#2. Weiss Plotline

Out of all the plots, Weiss’ is my favorite and imo, the best one done. This is because this is the conclusion to her three volumes worth of character development. As I said n the V3 Likes post, her plot had her decide to finally cut herself away from her father for good and move ahead with the life that she wanted. Sadly, due to the Fall, Jaques had the perfect excuse to got o Vale and force her to return to Atlas with him. So just as quickly a she was able to embrace her freedom and the choice to never turn back, fate dealt her a bad hand and she was her father’s prisoner once more. Which she literally becomes a prisoner after her outburst at the charity event and gets stripped of her title. It’s just… horrible to watch that scene. Really, any scene with her and Jaques is uncomfortable, especially when he slaps her.

This is when we truly get to see Jaques abuse first hand, and it is as horrible as the previous hints indicated. He’s condescending and passive-aggressive to Weiss. He treats her like she’s a child and an employee more than as a parent. Compare it to Tai or Ghira with Yang and Blake, where they are nothing but caring and supportive to their daughters. Ghira especially welcomed Blake back with open arms despite how she called them cowards in the past and was just glad that she found her way again and was safe. Jaques only cares about Weiss for his image and to use her when it suits his needs, whether Weiss is willing to do it or not. He makes her sing rather than ask her. He refuses to let her out fo his sight during the charity gala. He talks down to her. He tries to gaslight her into everything being her fault and like her outburst was wrong.

Weiss did NOTHING wrong. She, and maybe Ironwood, were the only ones at that charity who gave a damn about Vale. Seeing her in that environment, where people were snobby, argumentative, and only cared about their own petty problems makes you really, really appreciate how much she had grown. She had broken out of that mindset after V1 and when the Trophy Wife claims that Vale deserved what it got, she rightfully calls her and everyone else out on their bullshit and refuses to let Jaques shut her up. Yeah, it ends badly with Weiss losing her title and Whitley rubbing it in. Weiss had no one aside form Klein, who is an actual good person who showed Weiss kindness and care moreso than her own family ever did. When Weiss breaks down, ti just… hurts. But luckily, at her lowest point, Weiss decides that enough is enough. She gets back out Myrtenaster, perfects her Summoning Glyph, and decides to break free once and for all. Klein helps her escape, and she manages to get onto a plane heading for Mistral. Which leads to… more problems, but that’s for the next volume.

Weiss’ plotline was very well done. It gets you to see how far that she’s come since Volume 1. She wanted to break free and become better, and she did. Jaques tries to lock her away again, but he failed. Weiss had gotten a taste of freedom, and she was going to reclaim it. She was going to redeem her family name her way by being a Huntress and no one was going to stop her. As This Life is Mine stated, “I won’t be possessed/burdened by your royal test/I will not surrender, this life is mine.” Yes Weiss, it is indeed.

Weiss was great, but there is one character whose focus I appreciated not just because it was good, but because it saved that character in my eyes.

#1. Ren Becoming a Character

I haven’t talked much about Ren and Nora, and that was because up until now… there wasn’t much to talk about. While I liked them fine enough, in V1-3 they’re just… there. It felt like they existed just because Jaune and Pyrrha had to be part of a four-man team because they’re nothing more than supporting characters there. Nora at least was funny and bubbly so she was at least fun, but Ren? He was just… quiet and the straight-man to Nora’s antics. That was it. He didn’t feel like a character, he just felt like a necessity needed to fill in a spot. My biggest hope with V4 was, now with JNR traveling with RWBYt hey would do something, anything to flesh out Ren and Nora. At least for one of them.

Fortunately, I got my wish.

To be fair, RWBY Chibi had gotten me to warm up to Ren since they got a lot out of him in several of the skits. More than I thought that they could. But I also like Chibi!Neo FAR more than I like Canon!Neo, so that wasn’t saying much. But fortunately, Volume 4 came around! Ren was really great in this volume! He’s still the quiet one, though he gets more here than any other volume. Which is something to note real quick. Neath has done a fantastic job as Ren. I can’t imagine how it had to have felt since he was taking over Monty’s spot. His brother’s spot. But he has done a perfect job since Day One, and I can’t imagine anyone else int he role at this point. He especially shows his range in this volume, and for a guy who had never voice acted until he started doing Ren, he pulls it off perfectly. I love Neath.

Ren is from Anima, but outside Mistral, so he’s of course the most knowledgeable of the area. We get to see more of his tracking and fighting skills, which is as fun to see as it was in Volume 1 which was the last time he got to showcase his fighting style. We get to see him interact with not only Nora, which was really nice especially with Jaune. But most of all, we get to see how Ren’s past affected him. His reaction to the destruction fo Shion perfectly fits due to what happened to Kuroyuri. His refusal to go back there makes sense since… well, no one likes to revisit the source of their trauma. He tells us about Oniyuri, and through him we see just how difficult it is to live outside the Kingdoms. We saw that with what happened to Shion, but Ren is a character that we’ve known for years and we get to see and hear about it through him. Which makes it hit us harder because it affects a character that we’ve known for so long. And when we get to the flashback and see how happy Ren’s life was and how it all went to Hell in just one night? It breaks your heart. We also finally learn his Semblance, which fits him perfectly so that was also appreciated.

But most of all, we get to Kuroyuri, and it’s the first time that we see Ren lose it. He’s always been a very calm, very tranquil person but when the Nucklavee attacks, he is understandably terrified… and then just lose it. We’ve NEVER seen him get angry before, but seeing the monster that ruined his life, killed his family, and destroyed his home? Yeah, that’ll make anyone snap. But thankfully, Nora snaps him out of it and this is when we see just how strong their relationship is. When Ren lost everything, he found Nora who had absolutely no one, and befriended her. They fought together. They survived together. They went through everything together, both good and bad. So fo course Nora could see that Ren was losing it, and she was the only one who could pull him back and stop him before he lost himself I’d still like them to be more clear on if Renora is canon or not cause I still really don’t know. But at least we get to see that their dynamic isn’t just the ‘hyper girl, calm guy’ dynamic. There is a true bond there, and it’s just beautiful.

It ends with Ren suing his father’s knife, the only thing of his family that he still has, to kill the Nuclavee. For his parents. For all the lives stolen. And, of course, for himself. This was him confronting his trauma, and finally putting it to rest and moving forward. That’s the biggest theme of this volume honestly, taking what brought you down, and moving forward. Yang began to stand up again after her trauma. Blake decided to quit running and to rise up against the White Fang once and for all. Weiss broke free of her father despite him trying to pull her back. Ruby saw just how bad the world truly was along with the Fall of Beacon still haunting her, but took ti and strengthened her resolve to be a Huntress and make things better as much as possible. And Ren? He chose to go back to Kurroyuri to save his friends and destroyed the monster that made so many suffer but without giving in to his sorrow.

The volume just made me love Ren and see him more as a character than I had before. He’s one of my absolute favorites no. I’m hoping that V7 is going to do the same with Nora since at this point, I feel that she’s the most under-developed of the main cast. But we’ll just have to wait and see. Regardless, V4 changed my opinion of Ren completely and his story was done very well. As such, it my favorite thing about RWBY Volume 4.

And another volume done! So… next we get to Volume 5. Ho boy, I haven’t revisited it since it ended and not for the reasons that you think. But we’ll talk more on those posts. For now, thanks for reading everyone~!

#rwby #rwby reviews #top likes/dislikes

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