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eddie-van-munson · 2 years

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Prom Queen (Eddie Munson x Reader)

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Requested by @katamcauley

Summary: Eddie and the Reader have been secretly together since Jason forced them into "Seven Minutes in Heaven" as a prank, but now, as Eddie watches Jason and his goons flirt with you, he finds himself not caring who knows you're his.

Warnings: Bullying, Cursing, Spicy Kissing, Sexual Themes, Drug Use (Weed), Mentions of Blood, Sexual Harassment (Nothing Graphic), and Violence (Series Typical).

(I will get a "Read More" cut on this ASAP. I am slowly knocking out requests! Thanks for your patience. Requests are OPEN. Send an ask or comment below to be added to the tag list. I've been thinking of doing full on Seven Minutes/Truth or Dare/Spin the Bottle hcs, so let me know if that's something you want)

***********

"Jason, stop!" You groaned, trying to keep your feet planted, but the muscley blonde and his laughing friends were easily able to move you.

"Nah, babe. If you like trailer trash so much why don't you spend seven minutes in heaven with it?"

You knew you should've stayed out of it.

But you'd heard his stupid voice all the way from where you were sitting with the cheer squad, that afternoon. And god, it was Max Mayfield, of all people. Jason had been friends with her brother. They were on the same basketball team the year before, and it seemed he was keeping Billy's traditions alive. Patrick yanked her backpack from her arm and rifled through it as Jason grabbed her headphones.

"What the hell is wrong with you!?" She spat as they dumped her bag, papers flying every which way.

"Nothing personal." Jason said coolly, putting on her headphones and studying her Walkman. "We just have to be safe with you trailer park kids. You know how they are. One moment you think everything's fine..." He pulled the tape from the Walkman, tossing it haphazardly to the ground. "And the next? Well they're starting riots and cults! Bringing weapons to school! Stealing from classrooms! Other students, even!" He gave her a sticky sweet smile, "We wouldn't want that."

Max rolled her eyes at his implication, groaning as he crushed the cassette beneath his heel. Patrick tossed her bag to the side, tucking anything he'd found of interest into the pockets of his varsity jacket.

"Just doing our routine checks, freak."

You stood as soon as they were gone, running to help her with her things. "Are you ok? Did they hurt you?"

"No." She groaned, picking at the pieces of her mangled cassette. She cursed under her breath.

"Shit, what happened?"

You looked up to find a brown eyed boy staring back at you, his shaggy dark curls sticking every which way.

"Jason." Max muttered under her breath.

He cursed under his breath and dropped his bag, helping you gather the papers. He paused when he saw Max scooping up the pieces of the crushed cassette.

He sighed, "Who's our casualty?"

Max's head hung a little, running her thumb over a piece of the long tape, pitifully, "Kate Bush."

He gave a sad smile before sitting up and puffing out his chest. He pulled off the bandana he had tied around his forehead, holding it to his heart. "Long live the honorable Kate Bush. Our fallen soldier."

Max fought a smile at his dramatic speech, and he laughed, giving her shoulder a playful shove when he caught her grinning. "Go on, then. Give her a proper burial."

You tapped the papers on the ground to stack them evenly in your hands as Max ran off to toss the broken tape. You stood, and the brown eyed boy passed you Max's backpack with a bright smile. You couldn't help but smile back, blushing a little.

"You'll have to excuse me, Princess. Don't meet Hawkins royalty often." You giggled, rolling your eyes. He held a hand out to you, "I'm Eddie."

You took the handshake, laughing softly at the formality. "Y/N."

"Oh, I know who you are." He's got mischief in his eyes as he looks at you.

You quirked a brow, "Yeah?"

"Oh hell yeah. Everyone knows you, Prom Queen." You blushed at his nickname. "Didn't expect you to be such a sweetheart, though."

You shuffled your feet at bit, eyes scanning the floor shyly. "Why not?"

"It's just the crowd you hang around is all." He reassured. "Didn't peg you as one to be saving lost sheep."

A friend called your name from the cheer table, and you heard giggles and whispers. They were hard to make out, but the word "freak" was unmistakable. You shot them a dirty look, your expression melting into sympathy as you turned back to Eddie.

He rolled his eyes, shrugging, and gave you a knowing smile. "I'll see you around, L/N."

You watched him walk away, giving Max her bag and mussing her hair before jogging over to Hellfire.

Jason, obviously, had found out about the interaction.

He held your face, now, as he patronized you. "My girl wants to be friends with the freaks, huh? Fine by me, baby. I'll let you get real acquainted with one another."

You groaned, rolling your eyes "Christ, Jason. I'm not your girl. Leave me the hell alone."

You thrashed your arms and kicked, but it was no use. Jason shoved the door open and threw you inside, slamming it again.

You landed on your ass in Jason's bedroom, staring up at a bewildered Eddie Munson.

"Jesus, are you ok?" He knelt beside you, giving you his arm to help you up.

Your legs were shakey, but in an odd way, the sight of him relaxed you a little. "W-What are you doing here?"

He clutched his chest. "What, you assume I wasn't invited? I'm wounded, Princess."

You rolled your eyes as he sat with you on the bed.

"I thought I was dealing for the party." He sighed. "But then when I got here they shoved me in here and locked the door." He laughed humorously, "I gotta say, I can't tell you how fucking relieved I am to see you. Thought they were gonna beat the shit out of me and hide my body or something. "

You sighed, "Well hopefully Seven Minutes in Heaven beats that."

He crawled further up onto the mattress, crossing his legs lazily and propping his arms behind his head. "You know, I always thought Jason hated me, but now, he's going around locking me in rooms with pretty girls. I guess he's warming up to me." You snorted, his friendliness relaxing you, and your eyes fell to the floor shyly. He stared at you warmly, "I suppose he's more using me as the punishment this time though, huh? Spend some time with the freak and if you make it out alive, you can sit at the popular table?"

Your heart sank. He seemed so exasperatedly resigned to it all. As if it were just another Tuesday.

"I don't think it's a punishment." You countered his deprecating words, crossing your arms.

He gave a lazy smile, chewing on his necklace passively, "No?"

You shook your head with a smile, peering at him over your shoulder.

"He really is a meathead, you know." You tested the waters carefully, holding his gaze. "He locks me in a room with a pretty boy and expects me to be upset about it? Ridiculous."

Eddie froze, a shit eating grin tugging at his pretty lips. "You're flirting with me."

You smirked, blushing. "You started it."

"Maybe," He crawled closer, sitting behind you on the bed with your body turned to face him, "But you liked it enough to keep it going."

The air was thick with tension now. He was close enough for you to see the faint spattering of freckles on his nose. A tiny scar at his temple. "How much time do we have left?"

He grinned, "Why do you ask? You got somewhere to be?"

"I'd just rather not have Jason Carver walk in on me jumping your bones."

"Oh, is that what you're gonna do?" He chuckled when you blushed, a hand coming up to hold your chin. "I've gotta disagree with you there. I think that's an ideal senario, really."

You laughed so sweetly he couldn't help but grin.

"You didn't have anything to drink, did you?" His voice is soft, nose nudged against yours. It felt like electricity in your veins as his lips teasingly grazed your own. You shook your head no. "Good."

When he kissed you it was like liquid warmth spreading through you. He tasted sweet and tart, like he'd been eating Jolly Ranchers before you happened to dropped in, and he smelled like green apples and good weed. His curls tickled your cheeks ever so slightly as you let his hands slide over your neck to cradle your face against his. You moaned softly, your tongue grazing his, and he cursed against you. He was needy and messy, nipping and sucking at your lips when you laced your fingers in his hair and tugged gently. He made a delicious sound at that, reaching blindly for your thighs and pulling you up into his lap. He held you, his hands drifting beneath your shirt to rub your back. You whined his name breathlessly.

"Fuck, Hey..." He hummed against you , your breath was shakey when he as he pulls back to look at you. He was gorgeous...all kiss bitten and smiley.

"Now, as eager as I am for you to jump my bones, tiger..." He pecked your lips again, chastely, as if he couldn't help it. "I think you 'ought to let me take you home first."

You frowned, "Home?"

He grinned, giving your thighs a little pat with one last kiss, signaling for you to stand. You did, though relucatantly, and Eddie wandered over to the window.

"Like you said..." He smiled at you, easily pulling up on the frame and opening the window. "Meathead."

************

It had been Eddie's idea to keep it a secret. If it had been up to you, you would have been making out with him in the halls like every other god forsaken couple at Hawkins High.

You'd wanted to sit with him at lunch. Watch Hellfire do their thing. Go see his band play. And while this made Eddie's heart sprout little wings and fly around in his chest, he knew better.

"You...God, you have no idea how much I want that." He whined, burying his face in your neck. You were laid out on his bed with him, sharing a joint as you rambled.

He pressed kisses to the crook of your neck and you squirmed when they tickled, grinning at him, "Then let me come, stupid." You mussed his curls playfully and he gave a croaky laugh.

"You know you I can't do that, Prom Queen."

You rolled your eyes, blowing smoke up towards the roof of the trailer. "Why not?"

"Babe." He held your chin as you looked up at him, "He heard a rumor that you had a single conversation with me and he shoved you on your ass and locked you in a room with a stranger." You frowned, knowing deep down he was right. "God, you have know idea how much I want to show you off. Kiss you whenever I want. Especially when you're walking around in that little cheer skirt. Like, holy fuck, are you trying to kill me?"

You laughed, rolling your eyes.

"But I'm not going to let those assholes make your life hell because of me. Trust me. I'm not worth it."

"Fuck off." You whined at his self-deprecating words. "You're worth everything."

He smiled, crooning down to graze your lips, "Everything huh?"

"More than everything. Everything and then even more on top of that. Have you ever seen Carrie?"

He nodded, looking amused, and laid the burnt end of the joint in an ashtray.

"That's the kind of shit I'd put up with for you."

He laughed loudly, "Aw babe...I can't believe you'd become a blood thirsty telekinetic monster for me." He clutches his heart in faux sentiment.

"Any day, Munson."

His arms wrapped around your waist and he sighed, rolling onto his back so you were laying atop him. "Well as much as I appreciate the offer..." he combed his fingers through your hair, and you nearly purred. "I'm not letting anyone give my Prom Queen a pig's blood bath."

***********

Mike had been rambling about El for nearly fourty five minutes, now. He'd just gotten a new letter from her and he was over the moon, relaying to the group all of her stories about Jonathan and Will and Rink-o-Mania, Lucas and Dustin interjecting every so often to gush over Suzie and Max. Eddie was trying to listen. He really was. But his eyes kept getting lost in the thick rule book he'd propped up in front of his throne. He sighed softly, picking up one of his tiny silver figures to toy with it while the boys talked.

"Are we gonna play?" He finally groaned, his leg swung over the arm of his throne lazily. "You guys have been rambling like idiots in love for a half hour."

"Aw, are you jealous, Munson?" Mike teased with faux sympathy. "Don't worry, buddy. You'll find someone someday."

"Nah man." Eddie smirked, picking at his fingernails. "I'm off the market. Don't get me wrong, you guys are cute and all. I've just heard so much about these Señoritas that I think I know them better than you do at this point."

Lucas paused, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in his chair. "What do you mean you're off the market?"

"Don't worry Sinclair. There's plenty of me to go around." He spread his arms goofily, grinning.

Dustin looked unimpressed, "You expect us to believe you've got a girl?"

"Not a girl, Henderson. A woman."

Mike rolled his eyes, "He's lying."

Eddie scoffed, "Come on, man. You're allowed to to have a girlfriend that's just casually a superhero, but the moment I have a girlfriend at all? That's when you call bullshit?"

"Who is she?"

Lucas countered, crossing his arms.

Eddie paused, debating if he should tell them. "Y/N L/N."

The table groaned, sending Eddie into a fit of laughter.

"Sureeee."

"Come off it, Eds."

"Whatever man."

Eddie rolled his eyes, crossing his arms behind his head, "When have I ever lied to you guys huh? I don't have to prove myself to you little assholes."

Lucas shook his head. "A girlfriend is one thing, Eddie. A cheerleader girlfriend? That's another. But Y/N L/N? Dude...that's something else entirely."

***********

You gasped, throwing your elbows and struggling when someone came up behind you and wrapped their arms around your waist in the empty hallway. Your hallpass fluttered to the ground. "Get your hands off of me, assho-"

Their arms loosened, "Oh come on, angel, I know I'm no Prince Charming, but I thought you liked me better than that."

You froze, immediately turning and throwing your arms around the curly haired, brown eyed boy in front of you. "Eds..."

He held your waist with one arm, rubbing your back with the other. "Hey, I've got you. I didn't mean to scare you, baby. Is something going on?" His brow furrowed with concern, cradling your face.

You buried your face in his chest, voice muffled. "I'm sorry." You fought to catch your breath, hands shaking with adrenaline. "Jason and some other idiots from the basketball team. They always flirt, but they've been...touchy, today." You swallowed thickly. "They've been following me around like dogs."

"Hold up, touchy? They put their hands on you?" Anger flashed in his eyes as he looked you over, protectively. "They've pulled shit like that? Running up and grabbing you?"

"They've only held me like that once," You croak. "Normally they just push me back up against the lockers."

Eddie's face hardened, his jaw clenching. His lip trembled, and you could tell he was hiding rage just beneath the surface. He nodded, pulling you close to hug you against his chest. He kissed your forehead. "If this happens again, you tell me. You come tell me right away, ok? You did the right thing. If they put hands on you like that again I want you to do exactly what you did just a minute ago. Just swing your arms and kick like hell alright?"

You nodded, looking up and him, and he pecked your lips, mussing your hair. "I'm not gonna let them touch you again, ok?"

Again, you nodded, and hugged him tightly, enjoying the familiar smell and feel of him again before you heard a door open down the hall, and you jumped apart.

***********

"What's wrong, Eds? Things getting rocky with the ole imaginary girlfriend?" Mike sat his tray down beside Eddie, but he couldn't take his eyes off of Jason Carver's table. The more he thought about it, the more anger he felt.

Sure, Jason had always had some sort of sick fascination with you, but if this was happening to you, it was happening to other girls too.

Eddie's stomach churned.

His gaze immediately turned to you when he saw you walking back to the cheer table with your lunch, sitting beside Chrissy Cunningham.

He felt a little twinge of relief, seeing you snug in between two of your friends at the table. He took a few bites of his food, trying to pay attention to what his friends were debating about this time.

His muscles tightened when he saw you stand from the table, presumably, to throw away your trash and return your lunch tray. Jason stood with his tray as well, closely followed by two of his goons. Eddie's jaw clenched, and he quickly turned to watch the scene more closely.

"What's he riled up about, this time?" Gareth muttered. The other boys laughed, taking teasing jabs, but Eddie didn't process a word of it at this point.

He watched Jason like a hawk as the blonde muttered something to his friends, pointing over at you. Eddie shot up from the lunch table.

You'd just put your tray down when you felt someone come up behind you, grabbing your waist. You gasped, feeling Patricks hot breath on your neck. "Why don't we go find a spot under the bleachers and you can show my friends and I what you wear under that pretty uniform?"

You struggled, just like Eddie told you, but Patrick shoved you foward into Andy's chest.

Eddie sprinted across the room, elbowing through the crowds as panic bubbled in his stomach. "Hey!"

You took a step back, but Andy's hands were already grabbing your hips. You shoved your fists against his chest. "Aw, Don't be like that. It won't do any good. I like it when girls play hard to g-"

A fist found Andy's jaw, and he fell backwards, pulling you down with him. Eddie gathered you quickly from the floor up into his arms, his eyes looking you up and down for any sign that they'd hurt you. "You okay?"

You nodded, tears in your eyes, and Eddie held you close, letting you cling to his chest as Andy stood up again, looking pissed.

"What the hell is wrong with you, you freak?" He spat, nose starting to bleed.

"What's wrong with me? You're the one feeling up my girlfriend in the middle of the goddamn lunch room!"

The room seemed to freeze, laughter breaking out slowly across the tables. Hellfire was on its feet, every single member watching with their jaw dropped.

"Girlfriend..." Jason scoffed, wandering over. "You really are nuts aren't you?"

Eddie swallowed thickly. You could feel him trembling. "I'm going to tell you this one time, Carver. So, you better get it through your thick fucking skull."

The room went quiet again. Jason crossed his arms over his chest, looking amused.

"If I see you lay a goddamn finger on another girl in this school, I will personally beat in every pearly little tooth in your fucking mouth."

There was a long silence. You'd never heard Eddie's voice so dark.

"You understand me?" His breathing was heavy with anger.

Jason rolled his eyes, chuckling. "Jesus, Y/N. Tell this freak you're not his. I think he's been playing pretend a little too much with his boyfriends. It seems to have gotten to his head."

There was a long silence. Eddie wasn't sure what you would do. In a way, he would understand if you did tell him to fuck off. The whole damn school was watching, now.

Trembling, you took Eddie's chin, turning him to look at you. His eyelashes fluttered, giving you silent permission, and you pulled him down into a sweet, comforting, long overdue kiss.

The silence dissipated into shocked murmurs, and Jason watched in horrified confusion as Eddie pecked your lips one last time before turning to look at him.

"Like I said...Hands off."

He slid his arm around your waist, squeezing your hand comfortingly as he walked you over to the Hellfire table. The boys were silent, staring at the two of you like you had three heads.

"Boys, I'd like you to meet Lady L/N...Newest member of the Hellfire Club."

Dustin stared, jaw still slack with amazement. "Eddie..."

Eddie's brow raised expectantly.

"That was...so fucking metal, dude."

***********

#eddie munson #eddie the freak munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #stranger things #stranger things imagine #eddie munson imagine #eddie imagine #eddie imagines #stranger things imagines #eddie x reader #eddie x you #stranger things x you #stranger things x reader #eddie munsen x reader #eddie munsen imagine #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munsen

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etherealstar-writes · 4 months

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PAINTBALL | ARSENAL WOMEN X READER

pairings: arsenal women x reader

summary: in which you're involved in a chaotic paintball battle with your friends

warnings: none

✦ ——— ✦ ——— ✦

Beth gasped as you shoved Katie down, taking a hit to the chest.

"I've got her!" Katie yelled, dragging you to safety and checked your pulse. "She's still alive!"

"Of course she is," Viv mumbled, taking aim and shooting Leah in the leg as she ran into the open. "This isn't a real battle."

You sat up, giving Katie a thumbs up. "Just paintball, Katie."

Beth shrieked as a series of paintballs hit the towers behind her and Viv, both of them ducking down.

"Give it a shot." Katie nudged you with her gun and you nodded.

Rolling onto your knees, you poked your head above the small fort and spotted Kyra with two paintball handguns. "What! Where did she get those? Not fair."

You closed one eye and aimed before pulling the trigger as three paintballs shot out and hit Kyra along her shoulders and arms. "Ha!"

"Get down!" Viv chided you three, getting back to her position. "If you stay up too long, you'll-"

A pink paintball was splattered behind them with paint flying everywhere and added to the array of colours in Viv’s and Beth's hair.

"AH!" Viv swore under her breath in Dutch.

"Viv, no! Wait!" Beth tried to grab Viv and pull her down, but she was already standing and shooting randomly at where Kyra, Leah, Caitlin, and Lia were hiding.

Caitlin jumped up and made it one step forward before paintballs were pelted at her everywhere. And while everyone was distracted targeting poor Caitlin, Kyra rolled out, aiming her gun and shot Viv in the chest.

"Vivi, nooo!" Beth dramatically wailed out.

She yanked Viv down, half cradling, half strangling her while Viv tried to break free. "Oi! Let me go! I'm fine! I'm not dead!"

Beth wiped away a fake tear. "In the world of paintball, you are."

As Viv rolled her eyes at Beth's melodramatic display, the three of you huddled together, plotting your next move. The battlefield was filled with laughter and shouts as paintball pellets whizzed through the air.

You wiped a streak of paint off your cheek and exchanged determined glances with Katie and Beth.

"We need a strategy," you said, your voice low. "We can't let them take us down one by one."

Katie nodded, her eyes scanning the field. "Let's focus on Lia and Caitlin first. They seem to work well together, and if we eliminate one of them, the other will be easier to handle."

Beth sniffled theatrically, still cradling Viv. "Vivi, my love, we shall avenge you! We will paint the field with the colours of victory! Your sacrifice will not be in vain."

Viv couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. "Just make sure you actually hit them, unlike the sorry attempt you made to save me."

The three of you broke into laughter, and once the giggles subsided, you set your plan into motion. Sneaking through the field, you took cover behind barricades and crates, moving stealthily towards Lia and Caitlin's position.

As you approached, you signalled to Katie and Beth to be ready. With a coordinated attack, you emerged from cover, firing a series of paintballs at Lia and Caitlin. The two opponents fought valiantly, but your combined assault overwhelmed them.

Lia was the first to go down, her colourful attire now adorned with splatters of paint. Caitlin, still defiant, tried to retaliate, but Beth, channelling her inner warrior, charged forward and unleashed a flurry of paintball fury. Caitlin's resistance crumbled, and she joined Lia in paint-covered defeat.

"Two down!" Katie exclaimed, exchanging triumphant high-fives with you and Beth. "Now, Leah is next."

You regrouped, strategising your approach to take down Leah, who was proving to be a formidable opponent.

“You can’t get me, losers!” Leah yelled out as she sprinted away from you.

“Don’t be so sure about that!” With a combination of flanking manoeuvres and coordinated attacks, you managed to corner Leah. And with a well-aimed shot, she had no choice but to surrender to the colourful onslaught.

“Hah! Take that, Williamson!” You jumped in joy while Leah playfully glared at you as she was dramatically sprawled out on the floor. “Who’s the loser now?”

Your little victory was cut short when dramatic gasps were heard from Beth and Katie. While you’d been busy with Leah, Kyra had taken the chance to sneak up behind those two and had surprised them with a rapid blast of paintballs.

“Gotcha!” Kyra exclaimed, grinning at her successful ambush as those two went down. “It’s only me and you now, Y/n!”

The battlefield was now eerily quiet, with only the distant sounds of laughter and shouts from other ongoing matches. You and Kyra were the last ones standing, facing off against each other.

"Ready to surrender, Kyra?" You called out, crouching behind a makeshift barricade.

Kyra's laughter echoed across the field. "Not a chance, Y/n! I've still got a few tricks up my sleeve."

The two of you engaged in a lively exchange of paintball shots, dodging and weaving through the obstacles. Paint splatters filled the air as the vibrant colours painted the battlefield. The tension between you and Kyra was palpable, but there was also a shared sense of enjoyment in the competition.

As the battle raged on, you managed to catch Kyra off guard with a well-timed shot. A burst of laughter erupted from your lips as the paintballs landed on her, covering her shoulders and arms.

"I gotcha, Kyra!" You exclaimed, revelling in the sweet taste of victory.

Kyra dramatically staggered, clutching her chest in mock defeat. "Noooo!"

Theatrically, she collapsed to the ground while your teammates rushed to join you, cheering and celebrating the hard-fought victory. Beth and Katie, still covered in paint, embraced you, and Viv playfully patted you on the back.

"You did it, Y/n!" Beth laughed. "You've avenged us all!"

You then approached Kyra with a playful grin, offering her a hand. "You put up a great fight."

Kyra took your hand, pulling herself up with a grin. "You too, Y/n. You got me this time, but I won’t let you win next time."

The two of you chuckled and joined your friends, huddling together for a group photo that you no doubt would cherish deeply.

#arsenal women x reader #arsenal wfc x reader #arsenal wfc imagine #arsenal wfc #arsenal women #leah williamson x reader #katie mccabe x reader #beth mead x reader #kyra cooney cross x reader #vivianne miedema x reader #caitlin foord #lia walti #woso x reader #woso imagine

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underdark-dreams · 8 months

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[Poll results]

A smut piece for Rolan that became a 7k word fic. I don't know what it is about him--I just need him to be happy. 🖤 For anyone else who feels the same!

In Amber

Rolan can't remember what made him this way. Bitter, insufferable. He only knows he wants things with her to be different. A series of encounters between Rolan and the person who is teaching his black heart how to hope.

Tags: Fem Unnamed Tav, Explicit Sexual Content, Mild Hurt/Comfort | Word Count: 7,033 [Read on AO3]

The beloved hero of the Grove has saved them all from the Shadow Curse, apparently.

Word spreads fast, and it's all Rolan hears the Harpers talking about in their rush to take final leave of Last Light Inn. Nearly all had gone to Moonrise Towers with the Druid, but a small group stayed behind with Isobel in case the fight turned to the worst.

Rolan was the first one packed. With the shadows lifting, all he wants to do is travel the road to Baldur's Gate and finally reach his destiny. Leave this hollow place behind him.

At last they are finally moving in the right direction again--the three of them along with Lakrissa and Alfira, led by the Harper rangers.

He glances at Cal and Lia walking beside him. They're in the middle of chatting about the first things they want to do when they reach the lower city. Rolan can't seem to stop checking that they’re still there–as if he might look to find them gone once more.

He hasn't seen their savior since the night she brought his siblings back to him. That made twice now that she'd saved all three of their lives. Few things bristled against his nature more than owing a debt that couldn't be repaid. Rolan didn't like the feeling of being under anyone's thumb.

She wouldn't even accept a reward for saving his brother and sister's lives, just waved him away with a smile on her lips. The memory frustrated him endlessly. He couldn't understand why she took such an interest in helping him and his family. He was even beginning to consider that goodness of heart might really exist…at least when it came to hers.

Half of his mind felt tormented by her inscrutable kindness. The other half thought he'd very much like to kiss her.

Before he could brush away the alarming idea, the Harpers in front threw up a cheer. Rolan looked around to see the commotion.

She and her companions were covered in more blood than he'd seen on them yet, but they were still standing as they led their small army down the path from Moonrise Towers.

His eyes light automatically to her face–it shines with a radiant smile, but Rolan recognizes the way her shoulders slump under her armor. He is flooded with relief. At least she's alive.

Their groups converge on the road outside the tower. Everything is a jumble of cheers and shouts as the Harpers jostle forward to reunite with their comrades; a man he's never met claps Rolan’s shoulder hard enough to make him wince.

"Go on, then," says Lia beside him. She's following his gaze knowingly. "While you've got a chance."

He only manages to throw his sister a scowl before she trots away. Is it that obvious?

He decides to take her advice after all. She was right that this could very well be the final time their paths converged. Baldur's Gate was a large city, and whatever grand adventures their savior would face next, he doubted they would involve spending much time browsing magical emporiums.

She gave him a little wave as he approached, the kind one might give an old friend. It pricked his conscience. He'd thanked her for saving Cal and Lia, true, but his mind tossed up all the countless other times he'd been needlessly unpleasant toward her.

"Seems we owe you thanks yet again," he said, hoping it came off sincere.

She shook her head wryly. "I've never done any of it alone, you know that. Every one of these people fought like hells in there."

Standing close, his nose was hit by the thick tang of blood that coated on her armor. How much of it was hers?

"You should go to see Isobel," Rolan insisted. He'd drag her straight to the cleric himself, if she'd let him.

"Do I look that bad?" She was teasing, but there was a strain to it. "As long as I make it to my bedroll in the next hour, I'll be fine. You're sweet to worry, though."

"Stop saying things like that," Rolan snapped, unable to contain himself. "You're so nice, and I'm just a bastard."

Her eyes widened at him, taken aback. "I don't think you're a bastard."

Rolan looked down at his hands. "That's what makes you so nice," he said. He had to get to the point. "Look…I know I haven't been the easiest person to get along with. I've been rude and awful, ever since the Grove, and you didn't deserve it. So." He straightened up properly. "I'm sorry for that."

It's far less eloquent than he'd rehearsed, but she seems to understand the sentiment.

"Don’t worry about it," she tells him. "You feel responsibility for the people you love. That can make anyone forget themselves for a while."

"I suppose," is all he can manage to say. How well she seems to speak what's in his mind.

Her Githyanki companion approaches with a clear intention to speak with her, and Rolan turns away, not wanting to intrude on the company of her true friends.

"Rolan, wait–"

The flutter in his stomach humiliates him. Will he ever get used to her saying his name?

She rummages in the pack at her waist. "Almost forgot. I found something–well, stole, but it doesn't matter now."

A fist is held out to him, closed around something.

Uncertain what to expect, Rolan offers his hand. Her fingers graze softly against his as they deposit something small and hard. He looks down at his palm.

"A rock," he says, deadpan.

"Not just any rock, it's a topaz."

Rolan blinks at her. "And…what am I supposed to do with this, exactly?"

"I don't know," she shrugs. "Keep it, or don't. It just made me think of you. Matches your eyes." The admission brought a flush of pink to her cheeks.

He felt his heart skip at the sight, followed by a jolt of fear–as if she might be able to see the hope blooming inside his chest.

He turns away with a tut. "Absurd."

She gave only a satisfied laugh before taking her leave. Once she'd retreated out of sight, he tucked the gem securely into the folds of his robe.

Rolan has long abandoned the fantasy that he is his master's apprentice.

Whipping boy would be a more accurate job description. Perhaps test subject. He is trapped in an impossible game that he can never win, and his highest purpose is to be the canvas where Lorroakan paints his next magical experiment.

His mind shudders at the way the red wizard's eyes rest on him during "lessons": casually devoid of all concern or care. No matter how hard Rolan concentrates, no matter what he answers, it won't be good enough. And then the pain will follow.

The mindless Constructs are worth far more to his master than he is.

There was a time when someone made Rolan feel like he could deserve more, but that time is gone now. All he can hope is to learn enough, train hard enough, and one day claw his way through to something better.

Today, however, will offer the chance of a reprieve. He's been sent to deliver a message on foot across the lower city. Weeks ago he would've seen the task as an insult. Now he wonders whether it might take all morning, if he's lucky.

If he often feels like a drowning man, these moments of escape are like a sweet gasp of air. He walks with his face tilted up to soak in the sun's warmth.

The marks of abuse that paint his features have long stopped troubling him. An occasional passerby might stare at the bruises, but since the Absolute army's march, most Baldurians give Tieflings a wide enough berth not to notice. One wearing fine robes is no different to them.

As he passes the bridge to the Counting House, his eyes land on her figure. He stops short in surprise, earning himself a rude remark about clumsy devils from the woman behind him.

Rolan would recognize her face in any crowd. She stood on the bridge in the middle of some kind of confrontation between two women; one of them a beggar, by the state of her, the other finely dressed.

As he watches he very clearly sees her invite the rich one to "piss off", to the woman's indignation.

An affectionate chuckle escapes him. Then he winces, hand rising to the cracked skin on his lip. He tastes a drop of blood.

Swift panic grips his chest. She can't fucking see him like this, not once–more broken and pathetic than ever. Not after how many times she's already played rescuer to him. He cringes in shame at the thought.

At least she hasn't found him trapped behind his desk, there's a chance he can slip away unnoticed yet–

"Rolan?"

He missed his moment by a hair. It's unfortunate that hearing her voice after all this time freezes him straight to the cobblestones, or he might consider dashing away like a coward.

"I thought that was you! I'd recognize those horns anywhere."

Resigned, he turns back toward her. But he keeps his face cast down toward the pavement.

"What do you want?" He asks stiffly.

"Hello to you too," she laughs, and he stifles the impulse to watch her do so. "It's been a while. Cal and Lia, they're good?"

"Thanks to you," he concedes. No thanks to me.

"I'm glad to hear it." He watches her boots step closer, tentative. "Everything okay with you?"

She can never just leave him alone, can she. Why does she insist on caring when so many others don't bother?

"Fine, busy with my studies," Rolan deflects. "I've got to get back to the Sundries."

There's a tight pause, and then her voice grows firm. "Look at me."

He curses himself for being unable to disregard her, and for his eyes wanting to take her in despite everything. Slowly, he raises his head to meet her gaze.

Her face is somehow lovelier than he remembered. As he watches, it shatters in shock. He can see her eyes flit from mark to mark as if taking inventory.

"Who did this to you?" She whispers, aghast.

He turns away, unable to hold her gaze. "Believe me, it's nothing that can be helped."

"Rolan–" Her hand extends toward his jaw.

If the thought of her touch thrills him, the thought of being touched by her with pity is unbearable.

"I don't need your help," he spits, slapping the hand away with his own. "And I certainly don't need your damned sympathy!"

The shock and hurt on her face are the last things Rolan sees before he turns on his heel.

The archwizard was not pleased with his late return. That night, Rolan comes home with a large fresh bloom of purple over his left eye.

Lia's already limited patience snaps. She flies into his face with angry tears and threats that she'll march straight into Lorroakan's tower herself with shortsword in hand. Cal stands between them, pleading for peace, eyes wide and sad.

"Enough," Rolan orders them both. "Don't you see we're nothing but hellspawn refugees to these people? My position is the only thing keeping us under this roof, the only thing."

He doesn't stop Lia as she storms out–she didn’t take her sword with her. The door rattles on its hinges as it slams behind her. He pushes wordlessly past Cal to his room, and collapses in a heap against his bed pillows.

His face aches enough that he knows sleep won’t come easy tonight. One hand reaches into the robe at his chest, and he slowly pulls out the small amber stone. His fingers turn it over and over as he closes his eyes once more to escape into imagining.

In some other world, he could've been the one powerful enough to save and protect her. Even be the person who makes her smile.

He would not be the pathetic, broken man that he is. He could feel worthy to return her tender touches with his own, drawing her close to him instead of pushing her away. Feel her lips on his own…her hands circling his shoulders…

Rolan rouses himself to stare down at the topaz shining in his palm. He feels his rotten heart crumple.

He can't remember what made him this way. Bitter, insufferable. He doesn't like the man he is. He wants to be different–he wants things with her to be different.

The stone grows warm in his fist as he clenches it. She crept deep into his heart a long, long time ago. He'll probably never get the chance to tell her, so he might as well admit it to himself.

And even if he did see her again–what chance did he have that she might feel the same? None. She single-handedly managed to improve every part of his life that she touched. What could he possibly offer her?

In this world, precious little.

Lorroakan of Ramazith lay dead on the ground.

Rolan felt a numb hatred as he stood over his former master, eyes frozen wide in the final shock of death. Months from now the expression might have given him cause to laugh. Today, Rolan can only stare mutely.

One more sick megalomaniac who possessed more power than Rolan could have dreamed of wielding…brought down by his insane, insatiable lust for more. Always always more. For what? In the end, he was just another corpse.

It was she who dispatched him, of course. Why wouldn't it be?

After all this time, it was perfectly inevitable that she and her friends would be the ones to fly in and deliver him from yet another tragic end. He felt like he was stuck on a wheel going around and around. He couldn't escape her, either in reality or in his own mind.

Rolan comes to himself and looks down at his robes. Blood splatters his front and soaks up to his elbows; a crust of frost coats his boots, from whose spell he can't remember. All at once an overwhelming tiredness soaks into his bones.

The dream of destiny that had carried him here…had it ever existed, really?

He decides to slip away while she's distracted, speaking urgently to one of her companions. Her plans probably extend far outside this room and beyond, but this is where his path reaches a bloody dead end.

He allows himself one last look at her profile before stepping quietly to the portal. He wants only a bath and the release of sleep.

His feet drag along the streets of the lower city as they carry his body home, ignoring any frightened stares at the state of his clothes. Silent as he can, he slips through the front door and down the hall to his room. Cal and Lia's voices carry from the kitchen. He'll face their questions when he wakes.

In the end, exhaustion and relief overtake him. There will be no more lessons. He falls to bed in a heap and drifts off, still wearing his master's blood on his hands.

In retrospect: letting Lia discover him face-down in his bed covered in dried blood was not the smartest decision Rolan had ever made.

After he'd groggily yelled himself hoarse enough to stop her screams, a sharp pang of conscience drove through him like ice. During the time he thought the two of them were lost to the Shadowlands, he wanted nothing more than to drink himself to an early death.

He never wanted either of them to feel that emptiness. For once, he let Lia hold him tight without protest.

With a few days' rest, and some of Cal's better efforts in the kitchen to date, Rolan's spirits had rallied sufficiently that he felt well enough to leave the house. Even to attempt a cautious return to his place of employment.

To his surprise and distinct confusion, no one at Sorcerous Sundries had a thing to say about Lorroakan's disappearance, or about any possible employee involvement.

If anything, the mood around the shop was noticeably lighter. He even caught Tolna humming a soft little tune to her bookshelves. “The tomes never respected him, you know,” she whispered to Rolan.

And once he got over the bizarre sight of Lorroakan's projection, hovering with a vacant smile behind his former desk, he found a perverse humor in it. Who was the fucking errand boy now?

Most of all, Rolan found himself free to finally do what he came to this place for: study magic. He had no archmage master, but he was intelligent, and he now had free access to all of the tomes in the tower library that Lorroakan had enjoyed dangling under his nose.

These days he preferred to spend his days alone in the upstairs, absorbed in theory and practice. His skills grew, and so did his confidence in himself.

If he also felt drawn to the spot because it was the last place he'd seen her…well, he was far too late on that score. He could've finally confessed the feelings that had long been bursting through his chest.

Instead he had slunk away in silence, too scared to stand in front of her and admit how misguided he'd been all this time. She must think very little of him. She probably didn't think of him at all.

Who knew if she was even still in Baldur's Gate? He searched every face he encountered on the streets, hoping for an answer. It had become a reflex.

At the end of another day, he trudged alone across the twilight square. His hands ached from practicing the gestures for elemental conjurement over and over. One of the Steel Watchers clomped mindlessly past, looking about like Rolan felt.

The thought of going home filled him with weariness. Cal and Lia's cheerful bickering always annoyed him, in an affectionate way. But tonight, he truly felt he might not be up to it.

He felt sad. Lonely.

Glancing up, he found that his legs had carried him to the steps of the Elfsong. A drink…that would soothe his sorrows for an hour or two, at least.

The doors swung open to usher a wave of stimulation over his senses. Warm firelight, the smell of roasting venison, tables packed with conversation and clinking glasses.

He was grateful that many others seemed to have had the same idea this particular night. It made it easier to slip through the crowded taproom unnoticed, catching meaningless slices of gossip and flirtatious banter on his way to the bar.

The surly bartender didn't look overjoyed to be serving a Tiefling. He took Rolan's gold without comment, however, and left him alone with his wine.

As the alcohol spread a welcome relaxation through his limbs, Rolan passed the time by idly watching the groups around him.

A halfling sat alone with shoulders slumped, staring down his tankard as if he wished to drown in it. Across the way, a large bearded man was leaning across the table in open pursuit of his female companion. Clearly getting nowhere, from her expression. But he looked far too drunk to notice.

In front of the great hall fireplace, a pale elf sat in conversation with a pretty dark-haired young woman.

Rolan's brow furrowed; he knew those two. His eyes quickly scanned over the room's faces until he found her.

She was removed a ways from her usual traveling companions, seated at a small table in the far corner. He watched her swirl the cup in her hand idly. Her eyes followed the liquid’s pattern, but the look behind them was leagues away.

For the first time in days, Rolan felt his heavy heart lift. She was exactly the person he wanted to be with tonight. Even if it was just sharing a drink.

This was it, he told himself. He had to speak with her or he'd regret it the rest of his life.

But first–he knocked back a very large mouthful.

His heart pounded in his ears as he drew closer to her. With each step he expected she might look up, piercing him with those eyes that visited most of his dreams. But she remained transfixed by the wine even when he drew up beside her table.

Improvising, he cleared his throat. "Hello."

She glanced up at him in pleasant surprise. "Oh!"

They stared at each other for an awkward silence. Then, somehow, he found himself laughing with her.

"Sorry, it's so strange. I was just thinking about you," she said, her face brightening.

The fact that he occupied any space in her brain would consume him later, but he shoved it aside for the moment.

"Mind if I join you?"

She patted the chair next to her. As he sat, he wondered if the spot had been a tactical choice on her part. Their table had a view of the whole room and both exits, yet the wall behind offered a sense of privacy.

"You're not drinking with your friends tonight," Rolan observed.

"Just taking a little break. We're celebrating another family reunion," she explained, gesturing her glass toward the group around the blazing hearth.

Rolan looked back over his shoulder. He recognized the one-eyed young man with curling horns, but not the older one whose hand was clasped on his shoulder. Quite clearly father and son to anyone with eyes.

"I'm glad for them," Rolan said. To his surprise, he found he truly meant it. The Absolute had ripped apart so many families in so many ways, including his, leaving the lower streets flooded with the hopeless and broken and displaced. He counted himself and his siblings incredibly lucky, and it heartened him to see another happy scene among so much misery.

“You know–” She eyed him curiously. "I was hoping I’d see you. You ran off before we could talk that day."

He looked down at his drink. "I know. I've regretted it since then. At the time, it was just…a lot to take in."

Her eyes narrowed, but not at him. "I hope you don't mind me saying, but that man can burn in Avernus for all I care. For what he did to you. For what he tried to do to Aylin."

Rolan recalled the runic circle in Lorroakan's library, the one whose mysterious power had at first awed and enthralled him. And then he'd seen the aasimar with the shining wings, and watched the demented hunger in Lorroakan's eyes, and the horrible realization had run through him like a sickness.

"Lorroakan was a monster," he agreed. "I just wish I'd seen it sooner. Or even found the strength to open my own eyes."

He felt a hand rest on his forearm.

"I saw what you went through to get here,” she said. “It’s natural that you thought you had to see it all through, no matter what.”

Rolan said nothing for a while, just let her kindness soothe into his chest like a balm.

“On the bright side,” he added suddenly, “He did keep an excellent library. I’ve learned more from one of his books than I ever did from him.”

“That’s because you’re a proper talented wizard,” she laughed. “And he was an idiot.”

“A dead idiot.”

“To that,” she said with a lift of her cup, and they both drank. He noticed she used her free hand, not moving the one that laid on his arm.

When he caught her eye after, she was watching him with a smile. "You look so well, Rolan."

He knew what she meant. The last time she saw him, his face had been dappled in marks and bruises from Lorroakan's brutal instruction, with more that she couldn't see under his robes.

Now, the last mark across his cheekbone had faded almost to nothing. He hoped it would take the memories of the meaningless pain he'd endured along with it.

"Thank you," he said simply. "So do you."

He meant it; he realized now that he'd only ever seen her dressed for combat. Tonight she wore soft hide pants tucked into her hunting boots, a linen shirt half unlaced at her collarbones. It softened her. Close beside him and bathed in firelight, she set his heart racing again.

Perhaps it was her closeness or her touch that gave him the courage, or perhaps it was just the wine. He shifted his arm slightly to capture her hand in his.

"No one else has ever shown me the kindness you have. Not even Cal and Lia, though I do love them."

She watched him speak in silence, and he gazed back at her, as if the answers to everything might be found in her face.

"I don't understand you,” he said earnestly. “Why you've kept giving me chances. You've been so much more generous with me than I deserve. I've insulted you, yelled at you, I've been an absolute unbearable prick–"

Before he could think, she leaned in to silence him with her lips.

The kiss lasted forever and only a second all at once. Rolan closed his eyes, breathing in the faint smell of lavender on her skin.

Before he was anywhere near ready, she gently pulled away.

"Because," she murmured, "you're a good man, Rolan. And I like you." Her words, the lingering taste of her on his lips, they made his head spin. He felt like he was watching the door to a new world swing open before his eyes.

Before anything else, Rolan had to kiss her again. He released her hand to smooth the hair back from her face, watching the way she tilted into his touch, and gently guided her toward him.

It was deeper this time; he tasted the heady wine on her mouth, her breath a soft tickle against his cheek. As his fingers tangled her hair, he felt her hand wind sweetly over his shoulder, holding on to him.

A wet stripe flashed across his lips. His mouth gasped open in surprise, allowing her tongue to softly meet his, then draw slowly over his pointed teeth.

The unexpected sensations brought his mind back to reality, and to the fact that they were in a public place. With effort, he wrenched himself out of the kiss. They breathed against each other for a moment.

"I've got a room upstairs," she murmured. "If you want to?" Her cheeks were flushed from firelight and wine, and possibly even from him.

Whether or not he wanted to was no question: her words sent a fervent rush of blood to his groin. But first, he mustered enough control to hold her back from him for a moment. Her lips were parted in question.

"I adore you," he said. "I think I have for a long time. It's–very important to me that you know that. Before anything else." Even if the anything else was a dream that had kept him awake more nights than he could count.

Her soft hand cupped his cheek; he thought he might combust if she didn't say something. "Thank Gods," she laughed breathily. "I swore you hated me for a while there."

"I had no idea what to do with my feelings for you, I was a fucking idiot." It was all tumbling out of him now. He opened his mouth to continue, but her fingertips went to his lips.

"Rolan–" Her voice was full of relief, and he was charmed to see the blush across her face deepen. "I feel the same way. I really, really like you."

His rotten heart could have flipped with joy.

“Now.” She cocked her head askance, and he felt her fingers twine with his. "Make it up to me?"

Yes. Please, please, yes. He nodded in a daze, reeling like he'd sustained a blow to the head. All he could feel was the elation and anxiety swirling around and around in his stomach as he followed her toward the staircase, let her lead him by the hand like a lovesick idiot.

As they passed her companions he pointedly averted his eyes; he couldn't afford to lose any of the nerve building inside him. He'd need every bit of it in a moment.

The dark staircase seemed to ascend forever. Part of him wanted it to–he was no virgin, but the hand she held tight was shaking with anxiety. He wanted to make this perfect.

Overthinking proved pointless. The moment the heavy door closed behind them, he found himself pinned against it with a thud by the length of her body.

His involuntary groan was lost in their kiss. She was everywhere around him at once: hands pinning his shoulders back against the wood, hips grinding into his thigh with no pretense, her tongue pressing against his lips and slipping past his teeth to taste him. She moaned against his mouth, and the sound reverberated from his head to his feet.

His erection was practically instantaneous. He hooked his thumbs over her hip bones, sharp nails finding purchase in her pants, and rolled himself against the yielding softness between her legs.

Whatever release the pressure provided multiplied it tenfold. Desire coursed through him, burning in his veins hotter than he thought possible.

The maneuver brought an approving hum from her throat, however. Encouraged, he ground her into him again, and again, as slowly as his body could be convinced to go.

Her hands released his shoulders to rake upward through his hair, pulling his face toward her.

Pulling him deeper into the room, he realized. He stumbled slightly against something; tasting her lips was infinitely more important than breaking the kiss to look where he was going. He trusted her lead, impatient to reach whatever destination she had in mind so he could freely explore her.

Their connected bodies bumped up against the edge of something soft. She pulled away, and his immediate disappointment rapidly turned around as he felt her fingers fumbling with the clasps of his robe. He guided her hands, struggling at the same time to kick off one boot and then the other.

As his robes pooled on the floor, her palms pressed him away for a moment.

Rolan stood frozen and panting in his trousers. She licked her kiss-swollen lips as she looked over his bare shoulders, his chest. When her eyes reached the obvious hardness straining in his pants, she let out a delicious sound.

Rolan's hands grabbed for her of their own volition. They slipped under the hem of her shirt, against the bare skin of her waist, and wrenched the garment up over her head in one motion.

To look at her directly was almost too much–he felt love and desire churning together inside of him. "Beautiful," was all he could say.

He buried his face in her shoulder instead, fang-like teeth brushing over her skin as he left a trail of kisses along the curve of her neck. She let out a gasp when his hand gently stroked her breast.

"You're so warm," she murmured into his hair. To him, she was pleasantly cool; he shivered when her fingers traced the small set of ridges that ran from his collarbone to his sternum.

But he needed more of her. He hooked both thumbs over her waistband and tugged ineffectually. She quickly took over, shucking them off with a shimmying motion.

The sight of her bare, for him, was almost enough to make Rolan come then and there. He reached out to her hips to steady himself. She was so much more divine than anything his paltry imagination could have conjured.

Through his blazing arousal, he was barely aware of the hands unlacing his pants until she tugged them down to finally let his cock spring free.

A sigh of relief escaped him. He watched her take him in, her eyes half-lidded with arousal.

"You're incredible," she whispered. Then her arms slid around his neck, pulling him down into a kiss.

He tried to concentrate on her mouth, but the way his cock brushed and nudged against her skin every time she moved was taking over his brain.

With a motion of her hips, she captured his length between her thighs and rocked forward and back, sliding her dripping wet center over his cock. The revelation of her own state of desire sent his mind spiraling with want.

Rolan let out what could only be called a whimper. He clutched her to him, capturing her bottom lip between his teeth as firmly as he dared, as if she might suddenly disappear and leave him in an aching pile.

She made a pleased sound, then gave his shoulders a push. With his pants still around his thighs, he lost his balance–knees buckled as he fell backwards onto the mattress behind them.

He propped himself up on his elbows just in time to see her kneel on the floor in front of him. Her two hands pushed his knees apart, as far as the straining fabric would allow–

Rolan tried and failed to breathe normally, heart pounding in his ears. It felt like time was slowing to a crawl. Her eyes glanced from his face to the stiff erection between them. A droplet of moisture shone at its tip.

"Can I–?" She was asking him for permission, hands poised on his thighs, her expression heady with arousal.

"Anything," Rolan swore, and he meant it. She could do whatever the fuck she wanted to him right now. Before he could prepare himself, her mouth closed wetly around his tip.

Truly, nothing could have readied him. He let out a gasp–his head dropped back as his hips rose involuntarily to seek more of her soft, cool mouth.

He had scarcely adjusted before she took him in further, sliding her tongue down along his length to his very base–then slowly, achingly slowly, back up again.

He heard the rip of fabric as his nails gripped the bedding. He gathered the will to raise his head up to look.

Rolan was mesmerized by the sight of her lips wrapped around taught red skin, his length disappearing into her mouth and returning wet with saliva. She was working him over almost reverently slow, eyes closed as if tasting him.

Tasting herself on him. His cock twitched inside her mouth at the realization. She glanced up at him, releasing him from her lips with a soft, wet pop.

He could have groaned at the loss of her. Instead, he used the moment to work off his constraining pants and toss them away. Before she could reach for him again, Rolan pulled her up and onto his lap.

Her knees sank into the bed on either side as she straddled him, but she kept herself hovering well above him without contact. He pushed aside the ache between his legs to focus on more important things.

He leaned forward to press a soft kiss between her breasts, allowed his mouth to explore. She sighed with pleasure as he alternately licked and kissed across each curve, then drew sharp breath as his teeth sucked at the soft flesh under one breast.

Her hands, at first resting on his shoulders, flew to grab two fistfuls of his hair. The sensation sent a shiver down his spine.

Rolan pulled away for a moment for admire the purple mark blooming on her breast. He glanced up as though looking for approval. She gave it, tugging his hair to tilt his face into a waiting kiss.

Ever so carefully…mindful of his fingertips, he placed the flat of his palm on the heat between her legs.

“Rolan–” she gasped, breaking away.

The sound of his own name had never been dearer to him. He was run through with a thrill, and a fervent desire to do whatever it took to make her say it again.

He massaged gentle circles into her, the base of his palm pressing against her clit in slow rhythm. Her wetness coated him with each stroke. She quaked under his touch, eyelashes fluttering, and his other arm circled her back to support her. He felt her lean against him without a second thought. Trusting completely.

“I can’t believe I have you,” he heard his voice say, perhaps to himself.

As he spoke he felt the core of her tightening under his hand. Abruptly, her fingers closed around his wrist to still his ministrations. He froze, immediately afraid he had scratched her somehow. But her face shone with nothing but desire for him.

"On your back," she directed.

Rolan nearly pinched his tail under himself in his haste to obey. He swept his legs out from between hers and stretched out as she climbed over to straddle him.

Now they were finally here, she wasted no time leaving space between them. Her hips rolled down onto him and drew the wet folds of her center across his tip. His entire length throbbed at the blessed return of her touch, the head of his cock burning against her.

Smoothly, simply, she lowered herself onto him.

The shuddering exhale from his lips met against her moan of relief. Rolan willed himself to keep his eyes on hers, even as her inviting walls gripped him, even as he practically felt his pupils dilate with want. Her features relaxed into a state of pure, unadulterated satisfaction.

Then she started to move her hips.

She pushed her palms against his chest for leverage, riding his cock at a steady pace that felt entirely too slow. Whatever will he had to follow her lead was immediately tested; he was overcome with the need to touch her everywhere at once.

Care forgotten, he gripped the soft flesh of her back with his fingertips. She cried out softly as his nails dragged from her shoulders to the base of her hips, but he felt her walls clench around him in response. His tail curled up and around her waist of its own volition, holding her as she took him in further with each bounce of her hips.

She gasped and fell over him, hands braced on either side. She was already losing control. He felt his own release closing in, used the new angle of her hips to thrust up into her.

“Oh, Gods, yes–” Her mouth dropped open. She moved her hips back with each of his thrusts to take him more deeply.

Rolan thought he might shatter apart. Waves of searing desire swept harder and harder through him. She took him so perfectly, his cock almost painfully gripped by her tightening walls, so wet and lush and sweet and for him–

A hand flew up to the back of her neck to grasp and to pull her down so he could taste her as he came. Lips crashed together frantically as the pace of their bodies started coming apart at the seams.

In one bright concentrated moment, she shook and trembled violently into him as she grasped for whatever part of him she could reach. He managed one last stuttering thrust before his climax was ripped from him by her own, spilling inside of her clenching center, hurling him outside himself and into the wide Astral plane.

They shuddered against each others' bodies as white-hot waves receded outward farther and farther. Her head dropped to his shoulder as though she'd lost all muscle control.

He felt her slowing breaths fan out across his chest, and he rested a hand on the back of her head to keep her there.

As Rolan stared up at the wood-paneled ceiling above them, something cold dripped down at the base of him. He realized he was still inside of her. He swung his free arm over the side of the bed–still woozy enough from his climax that he nearly slid head-first to the floor–and snatched up his rumpled robes to clean them both.

She rolled off him then and cuddled up on her side to watch him. He mirrored her pose, adjusting against the pillows to make a spot for his horns. One of her fingers found the point of his ear and began tracing.

“How do you feel?” She asked.

Rolan sighed deeply. “Happy.” He could cast around for another dozen words, but he’d rather take her in. He smoothed a hand up and down along the curve of her side.

“So do I.” She leaned over to spread light kisses along his lips, then his jaw and cheek. His tail brushed against her leg in an idle caress.

She glanced down. “I didn’t actually know about…that.”

“Am I your first Tiefling?” He teased, though the thought genuinely pleased him.

“First and last,” she replied. The words were instantly locked away in his chest.

She gave a little shiver then, tucking her body against his warmth. He dug the covers up over themselves and wrapped her up tight with his arms and legs. The simple feeling of holding her brought him a deep sense of calm.

“I love this, Rolan.” Her lips moved against the hollow at the base of his neck. “I wish I could take tonight and carry it with me everywhere.”

Something sparked in him at her words. He opened his eyes and reluctantly released her to feel around the floor at the floor for his stained robe.

"What are you doing over there?" She lifted her head curiously to peer over the bedside.

"Just need to find something." He rummaged through his layers of discarded clothing before finally, his knuckle grazed something hard.

He slid back up under the covers beside her. She propped herself up against him, resting a palm on his chest with an expectant look.

He held out his thumb and index finger. Between them, an amber stone glinted in the dim light.

Her mouth fell open in recognition. For one second, he was afraid she might cry.

Then she buried her head in the crook of his neck, wrapping both arms tight around him. "I knew you were a darling all along."

#blowjobs and self esteem #bg3 rolan #rolan bg3 #rolan x tav #bg3 fic #bg3 spoilers #i can't be trusted with this man apparently

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lizzytheglizzydogtheglock9000 · 8 months

Note

Hi hi!! I love your writing so much!! I saw you had a prompt list and was wondering if you could do number 11 with the Tenth Doctor 👉👈 I feel like that’s something he would say. Thanks I’m advance! 🫶

Guys I am indeed actually alive, it's just been a hot minute since I've felt any motivation to really come back and write things. But I am back, and I have no idea if I'll be consistent with this or not, it just sparked my interest again. I really appreciate all the consistent support from you guys!! <3333

Tenth Doctor x FemReader

"Yes I have feelings for you, moving on."

"Y/N?! Can I come in???"

You heard a flurry of knocks at your bedroom door as an excited Doctor rushed in before waiting for an answer.

"Why yes Doctor you may enter my room," you laughed. "What if I was changing or something in here?"

"Well I uh.. It hasn't happened yet!" he fought back.

You giggled and rolled your eyes at how flustered he got, something that you noticed happening often. Although you just chalked it up to that being a part of his personality, especially when he has so many lovely women flirting with him on your trips together.

He flopped onto your bed and stared at you.

"So! What are we doing today hm? Go see the stars of Ntiri, or perhaps an alien market, or we could go back to the time of the Renaissance!" he ended with a flair.

"A ball sounds nice, like in France. Marie Antoinette times! But preferably without the Reign of Terror, running isn't exactly on my wishlist for things today," you pondered aloud.

He jumped up and twirled you around, making you go all the way up on your tippy toes.

"Well alrighty then Ms. Y/N! The Yew Ball awaits!"

You rush out to see him start slamming levers and pulling bits and bobs as your center of balance is thrown away like it wasn't even there in the first place. It always amazed you how the Doctor managed to stay up the way he did. He was by no means the most graceful man you had ever met, but the TARDIS didn't seem to throw him around the same way it did you.

As he pulled you up and brushed some stray hairs out of your eyes, a thought hit you.

"Doctor?"

"Yes love?" he replied.

"Where are we supposed to get the right attire for this? My blouse and blue jeans won't exactly fit in a 16th century setting."

"Ah, don't worry about that, I'll get it all sorted out for us," he grinned.

The two of you walked out of the TARDIS, finding yourselves in a storage closet of sorts. You walked out and around the corner, up so many stairs you thought you might pass out, and then finally a couple more turns before stopping at a large white door with gold details.

The Doctor rapped on the door gently before a small brown haired woman appeared in a plain corset and dress.

He whipped out his psychic paper and the woman's face lit up.

"Oh! Madame you must hurry the ball starts soon!!!" she chimed.

She yanked you into the room as you gave the Doctor a very confused look while he just simply grinned back at you.

You then spent the next few hours getting your makeup done and having a multitude of dresses shown for you to choose from. It took at least one of those hours to convince the women helping you to not make you wear a wig, even if it is a sign of wealth, you just can't stand the itchiness.

Eventually, you made your way to the main ball room, stopping at the top of the stairs. The Doctor stood with his hands in his pockets admiring the view around him opposite you.

As his gaze met yours his eyes lit up and a wide smile crossed his face. He was in a royal, no, TARDIS blue coat and pants, with a golden waistcoat, and creme colored tights that he looked very upset to be wearing.

The two of you met at the top of the largest staircase, where the other two converged.

"You look absolutely stunning Y/N," he whispered.

You were given a ball gown in the exact same shade of gold as the Doctor's waistcoat, with your corset and center piece of material a light shade of cornflower blue, complementing your complexion perfectly.

"You look rather dashing yourself Doctor," you cooed.

He bowed to you deeply, arose, then held out a delicate hand to lead you down the stairs.

You proceeded to wander around the room, talking to many couples, eventually getting to meet Marie Antoinette herself. She found you most exciting, and thought you were the most intelligent person in the room.

The night began to slow, and the Doctor was leading you in your final waltz for the night.

"Doctor, I wouldn't have traded this night for anything," you said softly. "Although we must go into the past more often, we don't go nearly enough."

"I agree, the nights are always wonderful with the one you love most..." he stated holding onto your hand even tighter.

"Wait.. Doctor say that again?"

You couldn't believe what he had just said, did he really just say that he loved you the most??

"Yes, I have feelings for you, moving on," he brushed off.

"Wait a minute you can't just move on from this Doctor! You really love me?"

"My dear Y/N, why in the multitude of universes, wouldn't I love you? You are the sweetest person I've ever met, you're strong, capable, and gorgeous to the moons and back."

You blushed and smiled fondly.

"Which moons Doctor?"

"Any of them love, as long as you come with me," he whispered, tipping your chin up and kissing you gently.

You felt a swirl of emotions that you never knew you could feel before, and even more as he swung you off your feet, and placing you down gently.

"Uh, Doctor.. I think we're being stared at," you pointed out.

The entire room turned to look at you both, A truly handsome couple, the queen thought.

He placed a hand around your waist and began leading you back to the TARDIS.

"Well then, they'll definitely be staring after they see us walking into broom closet together," he snickered.

Your mouth dropped but returned to a content smile, not believing the wonderful night that just occurred.

#doctor who #tenth doctor #doctor who imagine #doctor who x reader #10th doctor x reader #bbc doctor who #doctor who fanfiction #10th doctor #y/n #the doctor imagine #doctor who x y/n #doctor who x you #fluff #romance

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lucy-gray1075 · 3 months

Note

Finnick comforting reader when she is on her period?

I love your work so much<33

Tomorrow Never Came

tyy love!!

context: Finnick and reader are fellow tributes from four who are both currently at the Capitol cause they were Reaped for the Games.

a/n: Yes, Finnick nicknames reader ace lol. I've been binging s5 and 6 of Gilmore Girls and Finnick is so Logan coded <3

౨ৎ･ﾟ:*

"Ughhh!" You hated being dramatic, but you hated things not going your way even more. "Stupid blanket!"

You let out another prolonged groan when it once again slid off your legs and onto the floor. It was a blanket for God's sake, wasn't the thing supposed to keep you warm? Instead, the threadbare fabric couldn't even stay on top of your legs.

"Now, honey, there's no need to throw things around and cause a fuss." You could place the unmistakably pouty drawl from a mile away. You felt his maddeningly hot breath on the back of your neck as he leaned over your spot on the couch.

"Go away, Odair." You fought to keep your voice calm. Seeing you annoyed only egged Finnick on like some crude form of encouragement.

Predictably, he jumped over the edge of the couch, jostling you as he landed with a thump. Leave it to Finnick to annoy you when you're in your most irritable mood.

To your surprise, he held out a throw blanket. The plushy material looked so out of place in his calloused hands, so rough from all his seafaring.

"Take it, ace." He nodded encouragingly. "I can't even imagine how hard it is being on that time of the month. Especially, being here and all, away from home, and with all that pressure on ya."

"How do you know..."

"I saw you eating like three pounds of chocolate last night." At your look of mortification, he hurried to add, "I couldn't sleep either, sweetheart. I wanted to join you, but I figured if I interrupted you, I wouldn't stand a chance at even making it to the arena tomorrow night."

You chuckled at that, finding him funnier than you'd like to admit. You reluctantly accepted the blanket he was still holding out to you.

"You know, ace, we can be allies in there." He was looking at you earnestly now, gaze piercing enough to cut through glass. "I don't want this to sound forward, but I would die for you."

He swallowed as you frowned up at him. "I...I-I don't have anyone who cares about me. I don't have anyone to go home to if I come out of this thing alive. But you..."

You surprised yourself with what came out of your mouth next, "I care."

Finnick raised his head slowly.

"I mean it, Fin," you continued. "You're...Look, I know I'm not the easiest person to like, but somehow you make me seem tolerable. I never thanked you for saving my ass during the interview." You rolled your eyes at the memory.

"But thank you for spinning our story into a love tale. If it weren't for you, I would probably have a negative amount of sponsors. I mean, who wants to root for the scrawny girl from the fishing district who can't even fish-"

Finnick's plush lips found yours, immediately silencing the million thoughts running through your mind. He pulled back, eyebrows raised as if he had surprised himself. If tomorrow never came, you would be glad for it.

You pulled him back to you, the collar of his sweater clutched tightly in your hands. He kissed you slow as if you were a delicate primrose blooming in early spring.

When you pulled back again, he eyed you, the ghost of a smirk playing on his lips.

"I would root for the scrawny girl from four, who by the way, is the strongest swimmer I've ever seen." You suddenly felt yourself growing redder than channel bass. "And about that love tale, I didn't just spin it. I spoke from the heart."

"Oh, now you're done," you thwacked his chest, moving to stand up. "This does not mean you're getting in my pants tonight, Odair." You glanced at him pointedly, clutching his blanket to your chest.

You turned before you could notice that his answering smirk was more of a hopeful grin.

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nexusnyx · 1 year

Text

i'll tell you my sins | b.b.

SUMMARY: If religion was the safe haven where Bucky found reasons to be alive and see the good in this world again, loving you was where he found the freedom to be more than just expectations once again. Human emotion, connection and need more than anything else. Also, devotion. Bucky already understood that one, but with you, it reached heights he never dreamt of before.

⚠️ This work is intended for 18+ audiences. Minors, DNI. Explicit depictions of sex. Religious theme. Smut. I do not allow for my work to be copied, translated, or reuploaded on any other platform. | WC: [7.5k]

Everything about her felt forbidden.

From the moment he met her to the moment they befriended.

Every step of the way, every interaction, smile, deep conversation outside the church, random encounters in the city—Bucky knew it. He was aware of it, and yet, he did it anyway. He fell for the power in your voice, for the mind behind those eyes, for the soft and electrifying touch of your hands. Bucky was presented with temptation and he fought it until he longer wanted to. Until all that was left inside of him was desire, longing, and need. Temptation won, but only because there was no game anymore: Bucky was presented with you in his life, and for the first time in many long years, his life expanded once again.

From the moment Laura brought you to the Church's congregation party for the holidays and introduced you, he knew he should stay away.

It was the eyes.

Laura pointed at you, and said, "Father, this is Y/n, my best friend who I'm always talking about."

He had been polite back then. Bit down on his usual winning smile when meeting new people because something about the glint in your eyes hooked a piece of his chest when they met his.

Bucky had given you the polite smile, and said. "I've heard quite a lot about you. Nice to meet you, I'm Father James."

He extended his hand, which you shook without breaking eye contact.

Then, you said: "Nice to meet you, Father," and Bucky's insides burned despite the cold weather surrounding him.

That day, he couldn't escape fast enough.

You were a friend of one of his congregates, so there was no way he could be rude, but every time he glanced in the direction where you were, talking and smiling with other people who frequented the church, your eyes met his and Bucky felt like a deer caught in the headlines.

An animal in the jungle, like one of his favorite documentaries—he suddenly understood the prey when they felt the eyes of tigers and lions on them.

Frozen.

Bucky's throat felt dry every time you did it. You looked at him over the rim of your cup, and it was like your eyes searched for something, and they could see beyond his cassock and coat.

Whatever you were looking for, Bucky wanted no part in helping you find out.

She'll be gone by the end of the day, he thought all night long. There's no need to worry.

If only he knew.

ㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ — ✞ —

ㅤ

It was a fun discovery to learn that while you believed in nothing, you believed in everything at the same time.

It took Bucky three months of meeting you outside the Church when you picked up Laura from the masses and having brief, but sweet exchanges with you to accept the fact that you were a really nice person.

Funny, intelligent, sweet.

He stopped escaping whenever you were around. Stopped running away whenever Laura brought you by force to one of the fairs or events, and surrendered with ease to the reality of it all: apart from your non-belief, you seemed like someone he'd be close friends with.

Which is where you two ended up after he found you drunk at the city square and walked you home.

That was the first conversation ice-breaker. And from then on, Bucky simply accepted you.

Which meant you know popped up outside the church with good beer and the newest thing you were reading about regarding space to talk to him.

For those visits, you usually showed up at the end of the day, after your work hours. You stayed for a couple of hours talking to him about nonsensical things until a real topic was approached and you two shared things that Bucky forgot he thought about sometimes.

"You know, these are starting to feel like my own confessional," he offered.

You chuckled, hiding behind your beer. He still saw the way your nose scrunched. "I don't know if that's supposed to be a compliment or not."

"It is!" He laughed. "Why wouldn't it be?"

"Why wouldn't—Father. C'mon. Those things are creepy as hell."

"First of all: blasphemy. Second of all—stop laughing, I'm serious. That was very blasphemous." He adored listening to your silly laughter. "And second of all: they are not creepy. They're just... methodic."

"Yeah, the method being 'scare people until they talk'. I'll give it to the Church: clever, at least."

He's thinking about that day and the things you said about the hour of Twilight when he hears the doorbell.

Bucky halts everything he's doing.

It couldn't be you.

He looks at the clock—00:52.

Fuck.

What were you doing here?

This week had been hell, both figuratively and literally.

The tragedy that happened in the city and the heartache that followed everyone like a dark cloud ended up inside his church, as darkness usually does. It's where it goes to be diluted, but being the tool of change as he is, Bucky's the one who ends up feeling like a truck ran over his back.

It couldn't be you.

Bucky heard from Laura about how pissed off you were about everything. 'Religious people and their ways of meddling in people's lives and their bodies and their ways of handling life', as you claimed, and everything wrong attached to it.

He hadn't seen you around the city all week long.

"James Buchanan!"

That is definitely your voice.

Bucky swears under his breath, puts on the first hoodie he sees, and doesn't even bother checking on his reflection to know he looks like shit.

He's tipsy and tired, and there's no need to bother putting out his tobacco before he goes downstairs to open the back door for you.

Out of all the people who could see him in this state, you'd be the last one to judge him.

When he opens the door, he sees you're on the same boat as he is.

Tired, and trying to cope.

He sighs, opening the door wider. "Thought you had eloped town by now."

"I unfortunately am stuck to this hell hole."

Turning around, he sees you taking off your boots and placing them on the shoe rack.

"Put on a slipper, it's still wet outside," he tells you. "I was going to bed."

Behind him, he hears the sound of you scoffing. "No, you weren't."

"Yes, I was," he argues.

What follows is silence, and Bucky sighs. You know him too well.

He opens the door that leads to his small herbs garden outside where two chairs are already placed next to each other and waits for you to make yourself at home.

He wonders if it's one of those days.

"You know... you're really nice to talk to, Father James."

He kind of hated when you called him that. It felt teasing. Laced in the taste of wine.

"Do you?"

"I do. You don't shy away from answering questions. People nowadays don't wanna have conversations. It's exhausting. You, though—you... think about it. Answer me. I can talk without feeling like I'm being judged—"

"Oh, sometimes you definitely are."

He likes your laughter. The more it sounds like this—free and caught off guard, the more delicious it is.

"I'll take your word for it. That was just me wanting to thank you for being a nice ear, I guess."

"The same goes for you."

It's becoming more and more common for Bucky to be stuck in a memory of you before reality calls him back to the moment.

The door clicks behind him and he looks over his shoulder to see you holding two beers, a cigarette in one hand, and the tiredness in your shoulders.

Dropping your body to the chair next to his, you hand him the beer and then light up your cigarette.

For a while, all you two do is sit there sharing sips of your drinks and looking at the brick wall ahead of you. Bucky's hyper-aware of you and your movements, as always, and notices from the corner of his eyes when you start distracting yourself with the new flowers in his garden.

It's when he sees a single tear running down your cheek that his body comes alive.

Bucky feels alert in a second.

Sick to his stomach.

He wants to reach out and clean the tear from your cheek, but it wouldn't take away the pain that let it fall.

He waits, though, because he knows you wouldn't be here unless you wanted to talk about it.

Then it hits him—she trusts me.

He has to swallow that pill down with large gulps because it would get stuck in his throat otherwise.

He remembers as clear as day hearing you say how hard it was for you to trust people. To let people in.

"Sometimes, I barely want most people in this town to know I'm a human being. The less they see of me the better, you know? They're just—fucking vultures. Waiting for a sign of weakness to start roaming your body and getting to pick it apart."

Through the sips of his beer, Bucky wonders how many people have seen you cry other than him.

You clear his throat next to him, and all thoughts are vacant from his mind.

He turns his head to you, attention solely focused.

"Did you do a mass?" You ask, voice rough as sandpaper.

You're questioning whether the people who died got a mass this week. Bucky has to breathe through the 'why do you ask, why, but WHY' and simply answers. "I did, yeah."

You nod, sniffle and clear your face in your sleeve. "Cool. That's good."

Bucky feels he'll puke if he doesn't get a little more than that, so he takes a deep breath and reminds himself that he can be brave. "There'll be a lantern reunion at the lake."

You turn to him, eyes red and vulnerable, and Bucky has to grip tighter on the can to stop himself from cleaning your tear-stained cheeks once again. "A what?"

"A lantern reunion. It was Laura's idea, actually," your friend was a blessing to his congregation, and it made Bucky smile a little to think so. "People from the congregation will go in a fortnight to the city lake a little further in the mountains and light up little candles in their names. Push it into the lake as sort of a goodbye and a desire for good passage."

"Into heaven?" you ask, smiling sarcastically.

Bucky's gotten so used to it that it doesn't even rattle him anymore.

"Into anywhere," he answers.

The sarcasm drops from your face like rain does out of nowhere from the sky, and you sigh. "That's nice."

"Is it?"

"It is." You take a sip, and Bucky feels it in his chest the blow before it comes. "Naya would've loved it. Probably reminded her of Tangled or something like that."

The name hits clear as day as part of the list Bucky read on Sunday.

"Was she a friend?" He asks.

You shake your head. "Goddaughter."

Your jawline is sharper than ever before. Razor-sharp. Bucky realizes when he pays attention to more than just your eyes, the usual lovely, deep, and telling eyes, that the rest of your face lacks any of your kindness and softness—you're angry. Properly raging, he imagines.

It's the first time he's seen the emotion on you, and it rattles something in the attics of Bucky's brain.

Ghosts of his past, of guns, violence, and the range that humans could go to.

"Tell me about her," the words fall from his lips, and Bucky feels like prey once more when your eyes snap back to him. "If you want to, of course. I—I'd like to hear it."

For a moment, you only watch him, eyes searching all over his face.

"Why?" You ask.

Bucky shrugs his shoulder, sipping a little more. "Because... offering my condolences won't do any good, although you do have them. And talking about the occurrence serves no purpose, either." Both of those options are weak at best. "Hearing about who your goddaughter was, on the other hand, sounds nice." He wonders how close you two were. Was she the daughter of a best friend? Bucky knew you had no sisters. "D'you have sisters?" He asks to confirm. "I thought you didn't."

The ghost of a real smile appears on your face. "I don't."

"Right."

"She's—was... she was my best friend's daughter. Hugh." The smile turns more real than ghost-like. "He and I have been friends since middle school."

Wow. That's longer than Bucky's been in this town. "That is a long time."

"Not that long, c'mon Father. Don't call me old."

Bucky laughs. "You're not a sweet summer child, that's for sure."

"Wow!" You say, joining him in laughter.

"Your generation is a mystery to me, I'll tell you that."

"Ugh—there you go again with 'your generation'. You're not that much older than me, Father," you give him a pointed look.

Bucky hums. "I beg to differ. There's more than a decade bridging this," he gestures between you and him.

"Fine, old man. Whatever you say," you chuckle, and sip the rest of your beer, crushing the can in your hands. "Anyway. Hugh's not usually here—he works two towns over most of the time."

"Is he married?" He asks out of curiosity.

You shake your head. "Nope. Naya's mom was a fling."

"Got it." From that, he deduced you had a lot to do with the girl while growing up. "Was she a lot like you?"

You laugh. "A mix of Hugh and me, yeah. I spoiled her quite a lot."

Bucky smiles. "Tell me more."

And you do.

Bucky listens to you tell him about Naya, and she comes to life inside his mind.

He saw the picture of everyone involved, but now he can see the glint she had in her eyes, the quirks you mention, the passions in her heart.

He does his best to stay present in the conversation, letting go of any pain related to the tragedy in order to give you a good ear as you mentioned he has.

It hurts almost as much as if he was thinking about it all.

The oscillations in your smile between heartbroken and sad, and heartfelt. He feels the changes like shrapnel under his skin.

After a few more beers, the talk changes every now and then. From kids to raising them without parents, to the dangers surrounding newer generations—like always, talking to you is a rollercoaster of topics, and Bucky thinks he's done a good job of taking your mind out of the dark places it was.

Until you stop, look at the wall in front of you again, and the tears start streaming down again.

Bucky's heart breaks all over the wet ground, getting dirt all over the pieces.

He's closing the distance between your bodies before he thinks better of it.

His arms wrap around your shoulders and you bury your face in his chest, letting go of your pain in the safe space of his arms.

Bucky lets you cry for as long as you need to, and when the quiet sobs diminish to only your sniffling, he still holds you close.

"I feel... like barbed wire. I don't know." Your voice is thick with emotion, and Bucky squeezes around you subconsciously. "There's so much rage inside me, Buck."

"That's okay. It's the normal thing to fill you."

"You wouldn't say that if you knew all the things I'm thinking. I—I'm not the best person ever, but the things I'd do right now..."

Bucky shakes his head. You're human, he thinks. "You're a good person even with those thoughts."

"You don't know that," you argued.

"I do, though," Bucky counters. "All the things you want are a response, not an initiative. That's how I know."

At that, you stay in silence. Bucky feels you moving your head—before, you had your forehead resting against his chest, but now you move your head to the side and lay your cheeks against him, making yourself comfortable.

"You'd judge me, though," your voice is barely above a whisper. "They're horrible things."

Bucky scoffs. "I've done my fair share of horrible things in life, Y/n. I'll never be in any position to truly judge someone else," he tells you.

Then it hits him—I trust her too.

"I don't believe that," you whisper.

"It's the truth." Bucky's past is his own, but he allows you to have this. "I was a tool for a long time, one that did many wrong things. I hardly think that you wanting to kill the people who did this with your bare hands is something so atrocious."

"I'd think you'd judge upon murder, Father."

"Not my place to do so," and if he was being honest with himself, never would be. The things he believed in were symbolic.

"Is this what a confessional feels like?" you ask with a chuckle.

Bucky rests his head on top of yours. "It's the idea."

"I like it. It's not so bad." You take a deep breath, and Bucky feels it.

I like it too, he thinks. Why does it feel mutual?

"D'you want some food?" he asks. He needs something to do with his hands that doesn't involve holding you.

It takes you a moment to answer. "Sure." You pull your head back a few inches to look up at him, and the smile he sees in your eyes takes his breath away. "Thanks, Father."

This feels as holy as any of my prayers.

Bucky feels dizzy.

"Thanks for trusting me," he answers, and then lets you go. His arms feel empty and cold the minute they leave your frame. "C'mon. I'll make us sandwiches."

"That's not food," you argue behind him.

"It is in this house," he rolls his eyes, knowing you're just doing it to tease him. "Ungrateful youth, I swear."

"I'm not being ungrateful, I'm being factual. You know, back during the Roman Empire in Grece, they..."

ㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ — ✞ —

ㅤ

The night of grief changes nothing and everything at the same time.

Bucky knew you were a person beneath all the exterior of perfection, but it takes seeing you cry for him to realize why he deemed everything he saw to be that way—he saw beauty even in your imperfections. He met you by chance, befriended you by fate, and because the Universe wrote you and him to be this way, something about your existence read as beautiful from top to bottom. Breathtaking. It never occurred to him that he'd find something else to look at and see unadulterated and raw light, but there you were. Whether it was talking to friends, working, running past him at eight in the morning, or crying in his arms, the aura around you glowed in holy light, and Bucky had only one night of absolute existential crisis before acceptance washed over him.

He might have found his peace in god, but the god he believed in never excluded the Nirvana existing in love.

Accepting things as they were hurt much less.

— ✞ —

Everything about him felt holy.

The whole month you stayed away from him, that's all you could think about.

Bucky felt holy. His blue eyes on you, the gentleness in his words, and the shy cocking of his neck whenever he was under the light of a compliment—holy, holy, holy.

That's why you hated how much you desired to corrupt all the purity within every thought permeated by him.

It made you a little sick at first. Desiring him and still talking to him normally as if you didn't touch yourself to thoughts of Bucky fucking you and stretching you around his cock while filth dripping from his lips was a hard task, but no one could say you were one to shy away from a challenge.

All of that goes away when he cooks for you.

The shame in wanting him.

From that day on, you allow your mind to drift wherever it pleases.

To his words, his eyes, his lips, the feeling of how strong his arms were — how did I miss that, what is that damn black thing hiding, why does it feel so warm and firm, oh my god — and anything in between. His voice. The way he curses under his breath as if Jesus is not listening if he talks low enough. How much lower his voice can go.

Letting all those thoughts roam free is both a blessing and a curse.

When you see him the day following a dream where Bucky did all the things your mind wanted him to and a bit more, you realize where the curse part walks in.

It's hard looking him in the eye when you have vivid images of his hand gripping your neck. It's sad that all you have is images, but they're more than enough to make you take a step back every now and then.

You can't get wet if you don't get a whiff of his perfume.

Can't feel embarrassed and hot all over if he doesn't make one of his silly jokes under his breath.

It takes you a few weeks of escaping him here and there before you receive it, at 11:50 pm on a Monday night:

What would you say if I told you I need my confessional bubble?

The message stares at you, and you stare back.

The feeling of his hug around you comes to you like the scent of someone being dragged by the wind.

Where are you?

The church. I was organizing some stuff. Come over?

Not one to say no to him, you drive there with your heart beating in your palms and the familiar knot on your throat of someone haunted by their own thoughts.

At the church, you find Bucky with a glass in his hands and all the pictures and remains of the shrines packed in one corner.

"Evening, Father."

Bucky turns around sharply, and you see that he's not drunk nor tipsy yet. His look is sober, and his eyes lighten in color when they see you.

"Hey." He points to the stuff on the floor. "I'm gonna put this in the back. I'll be back in a minute—you're very fast. How fast did you drive?"

Probably too fast because I was anxious. "Maybe you're just slow, Father James."

Bucky's eyes narrow, and your mind goes oh-oh. He looks at you with narrowing eyes, but then the mirth is back on his face. "Ha ha." He picks up the boxes. "I'll be back."

"Won't I burn in your absence?" You call after him, trying to contain your smile.

Bucky looks over his shoulder just so you can see him rolling his eyes.

You chuckle. Was there even a need to be nervous?

This is Bucky.

James. Father James. He's a good guy, and a great friend, and a pretty funny person for someone who is so mysterious.

In his absence, you start walking aimlessly through the church.

You're here very rarely. Paying attention to the details of it is not the first thing in your mind but, with nothing to do, you notice all the beauty in the place: the colorful glasses, how polished and shiny the wood benches and every other wood surface looks, and then it catches your eyes.

On the far right corner, close to the altar, there it is.

The confessional.

You're walking to it before you notice what you're doing.

It's bigger than you expected.

Your hand comes up to touch the wood and its patterns—the velvet drape which closes one of the sides is blood red, and you raise both eyebrows at it.

Gorgeous.

The other side is closed with a wooden door, though. You imagine it's where the priest enters, and because you're friends with the one who runs this church, you let yourself in.

The space is big enough to fit two adults if they're squeezed close together.

You take a seat, looking over the side where you can see very little from the open spots in the wood.

Then, you hear his footsteps coming back out there.

"Y/n?" He calls out, sounding confused.

You think about coming out, but then...

Confessional bubble.

You open the door minimally, put only your hand outside, and wave. "Here," you singsong.

There's a second of silence in which you wonder if Bucky is genuinely offended for the first time about something you're doing, but then you hear his laughter approaching.

You hear his body passing through the drapes and sitting next to you.

"Not where I'd expect to find you," he says from the other side.

It's with the first sentence that you realize what a terrible, miscalculated, poor idea this was.

Your senses go from 0 to 100 in a second. They're all tunneled to his voice, and you can smell his perfume permeating the small space.

"Y/n?"

"I was curious," you answer. Your voice is low, and you swallow down the nervousness. It should be fine. What could go wrong? "Plus... this seems like a cool bubble."

"I told you it was, you never trusted me in that," he answers.

You chuckle. "I didn't know about all the velvet." And the stripping of your senses. God, I feel dizzy.

"It's charming, isn't it?"

You are, your traitorous mind replies. "Yup." You take a deep through your mouth and let it out slowly. "What was in your mind, young padawan?"

Bucky laughs. "Wrong religion."

"Right, my bad—what's in your mind, my sheep?"

"You're not so bad at this."

"And you're great at deflecting," you bite back, smiling already. Your body relaxes on its seat, and you start picking on your t-shirt. "I thought you wanted to talk."

"I did." Bucky hums. "Didn't think you wanted to, though."

What? "What?"

"I was gonna ask you to go grab a bite with me so I could hear how you've been doing these past couple of weeks. I haven't seen much of you," his voice sounds a little small, and you hate yourself for a second. "I imagine you're busy."

Does trying to get rid of thoughts of your naked count as busy?

You bite your bottom lip nervously. "Not that busy," you reply. "Just... processing."

"Right. I thought about that too," he says. Bucky takes a deep breath and you can hear that too. "I just... missed your company."

You smile at that. "Awn. Thanks, Buck. I missed you too."

"Did you?"

"Of course," you say. "You know I like your company better than most. More than, like, 99% of this town, for sure."

"I'm flattered," he chuckles. "I thought I did something wrong, that's all. I—you'd tell me if I had, right?"

That ties knots inside your brain. Your neurons seem to clash with each other, and you look from side to side trying to find out if that was a joke.

"What could you possibly have done to me?" You ask with laughter.

"Dunno." Bucky seems to be thinking, so you wait. "I can be annoying sometimes."

"Have you met me?"

He laughs again. "You're peculiar."

"Most people go for 'annoying'."

"Most people are pussies," he replies back so quickly that you burst out laughing.

"Father James!" You tell him in a reprehending tone. "This is not the place for such language."

"I think you'll find out that we're in the only place of holy grounds where you can say whatever the fuck you want," he chuckles.

"Is that so?"

You can almost see him shrugging his shoulders. "It's how I always felt."

"Cool. This is the blind spot, then?"

"Exactly." Bucky seems to be tapping on the wood, and you recognize his nervous tick. "Maybe you can use the blind spot to tell me why you've been avoiding me, then."

Shit.

The silence is as much of a confession as you trying to play it dumb would be.

"Y/n..."

You hate how he makes your name sounds like a plea.

"You didn't do anything wrong," you tell him. "I swear."

There's a heartbeat of silence, and Bucky seems to believe you. "Okay." The sound of a thud tells you he rested his head against the wall at the back, and you do the same. "So... did something happen? To you, I mean."

Yeah, you did.

Thinking that's not the reply he wants, you hum thoughtfully. "I'm... trying to work with life's limitations."

There's another moment of quiet, and then Bucky snorts. "That was vague as shit, Y/n."

"It's the truth!" you laugh.

"I know it is, but it doesn't explain anything," he counters. "What limitations?"

How do I answer this? How do I tell him it's him without putting him under the spotlight? I don't wanna lose you, Bucky. I like what we have. I like this.

You like him.

"No judgments. Remember?" He asks.

Fuck. Fine, here goes nothing, you think. "I... have been thinking a lot. About someone. In ways that I'm not sure this person would want me to."

Out of all the silences, this is the heaviest one.

You hear him breathing in deep, and it feels like his body has strings attached to yours.

"You're insecure about having... feelings for this person?" His voice is rough. Carefully curated out of any emotions.

You realize you're speaking to Father James rather than Bucky.

"Kinda," you reply, surprised that you don't care about the switch in roles.

"Why would they be bothered?"

The million-dollar questions.

Your palms are sweating. Your body has the low humming of when blood is pumping everywhere at a higher speed, and all the anxiety you had when you first saw his message rushes back.

"'Cause I'm pretty sure they'd view it as... something bad," you reply.

"Feelings are never bad."

"No?"

"No. They're natural. The person might not want them, but if they view them as bad, that means they're not worthy of it."

"No—what I meant is—maybe they would feel bad about being on the receiving end of it."

"Again, that makes no sense. Why would they be offended by it?"

"I don't know. 'Cause they don't want me?"

"That's their loss. Still doesn't mean your feelings are bad. They could be unreciprocated, but never bad."

"Maybe that's what I'm scared of," you confess. Fuck, this thing works. "I don't wanna face the fact that it could never be mutual."

"That is scary," he whispers. You still hear it.

"Yeah."

"You'll never know, though. Unless you tell them, you can't know if it is or not."

You laugh, humorlessly. "I don't think I need to. Not for this."

"Why not?" asks Bucky.

"Because the chances of him wanting me or anything are slim to none."

"I find that hard to be true, Y/n."

"What percentage of priests lead a personal life outside their calling, Father James?"

The question comes out breathless and it finishes the job of setting your body on fire.

On the other side, the silence is deafening. You can't see him, but your mind paints the picture easily: Bucky standing there, frozen in his spot as the realization dawns on him.

Then, his reply comes and what was left of your body turns to dust.

"A low percentage. But some of us do."

You have to bite your bottom lip to swallow a whine. His name still comes out. "Bucky."

"You've been thinking about me all this time and you thought I would be upset about it?" He sounds breathless. Your body is not only alive now, but it's also starting to respond to the drop in his voice.

"They're not very holy thoughts," you chuckle humorlessly.

"Tell me."

Two words and your legs constrict against one another. Your core feels like a furnace, heating up more and more by the second.

"I... are you serious?"

"Very." Bucky sounds as affected as you. "Tell me what thoughts were so bad they drove you away from me."

"I... I had dreams." You want to touch yourself so badly that you start squirming in your seat. "About you."

All he does is hum in reply.

"You kissed me. And then... you told me I was going to accept all that you wanted to give me. And I said yes. So you started to get... more—of me. You took off my clothes. And said you needed to let out some... steam. To let out some things that have been inside of you."

There, your words were cut short.

The images of Bucky kneeling in front of you and eating you out like he never had a meal before in his life.

"Go on," his voice breaks through the smoke.

It sounds like an order.

Your body shudders, and you try to grip on reality before the dreams take over. "You ate me out." The whisper sounds louder than any of his sermons you had the pleasure of hearing. "And..." I can't say it. I can't. You can feel the wetness dripping to your panties, and you have to sit on top of your hands to stop them from starting to roam your body.

"Finish it."

Where did he learn to command people like that?

"I asked to do the same." How could you not? All you wanted was to choke on the weight of Bucky on your tongue. "And then you fucked me. Slowly. And... kept telling me about how long it had been. How good it felt to stretch me out." Why am I going into details? You whimper. "Bucky."

"Is that why you were away? You dreamt about me being inside of you and that's it—your brain stopped working around me?"

"I got off to those dreams too many times to not think about them when I saw you."

"Fuck." Bucky must move next to you because you hear the sound of his clothes ruffling. "You touched yourself thinking about them?"

"Yeah."

You hear his breath intake, and the next sound drops your heart to your feet.

Bucky gets up, the drapes ruffle and then, the door of the confessional is opening.

The sight of Bucky standing tall over you with his black t-shirt tucked inside his pants and the tent of his dick straining against his slacks makes your mouth dry before it starts to water.

"Show me," says Bucky. Then he drops to his knees in front of you, reaches both hands to your knees, and places them there. He looks up into your eyes to ask, "Can I?" and you nod, dumbly and shaking, as Bucky spreads your knees open. You're wearing loose pants, and his hands go further up to their hem so he can pull them down.

Allowing him to leave you in nothing but your panties feels like a fever dream.

With your pants pooling in your ankles, Bucky lets hands drag on the skin of your legs and thighs.

"You're right," he says. "It's been years." His hands reach your waist, and your shaking comes to a halt with the firmness that they touch your pelvis bones. "And yet, I think I've thought more about pleasure and connection these past months than I did my whole life." Bucky moves his body closer until he's nestled between your legs, and when his head inches closer to your cunt you realize what he's about to do, whining at the thought. "I dreamt about this, too."

He presses his nose on the hood of your pussy, inhaling deeply and making your legs turn from solid to liquid.

Bucky runs his nose there, and when he hums against your core, you feel it inside of you. "You smell so fucking good, dove."

"Oh, god."

Bucky gropes your ass and shakes his head. "No. Forgot my name already?"

"James, please. Please," you whine, your legs coming up to his shoulders.

He lets you, helping your legs to secure around his neck, and when you look down and see he's smiling, you know you're fucked.

"It's been a while, so let me take my time. I think I still remember how to do this," Bucky says.

Then, he pushes your panties to the side and groans out loud.

"So fucking wet for me. Shit." He pushes his nose again, getting it wet with your slick. "Fuck," he dives in.

Bucky's tongue gives gentle licks against your clit, as if savoring it first.

When he feels your legs spreading wider and he has more room to work with, he truly starts his job. His tongue licks on your folds, then dips from the bottom all the way up, licking a stripe across your cunt before his mouth attaches itself to your clit.

Bucky sucks on the hard nub with his tongue, alternating between slow and hard-pressured jabs to quick flicks of his tongue from side to side.

Your hands are covering your mouth to stop the screams from coming out.

He slurps on the slick and the more the works his tongue on your clit and then pushes down to your open cunt, the wetter you get.

Time ceases to exist with Bucky knelt between your legs.

He goes slow, then fast, then very slow just to hear your whines getting louder. He laughs in your pussy, and the vibrations crawl up inside of you.

At one point he looks up and with a hard grope on the back of your thighs gets your attention on him again.

His beard is glistening, wet. He's smiling like he's seeing something funny for the first time in ages, and when he asks, "Do you like penetration?" as if he doesn't know the answer, you feel like crying.

"Please."

He takes pity on you. "It's okay, dove." Bucky's right hand leaves your legs and his fingers join his mouth between your legs. He coats his fingers in your slick before he pushes the middle one all the way in, slowly at first, then he removes it all the way and pushes back in with his tongue.

"Bucky!"

"Hmhm," he hums against your pussy. "Is this what you dreamt of, dove?" He asks before latching onto you again and sucking on your clit like it's a lollipop.

The coil in your lower stomach seems like a rubber band ready to snap, but you need more.

"Bucky. Bucky," you call.

"Hm?"

"I wanna cum with you inside me. Please?"

Bucky's hand squeezes involuntarily on your leg. He looks up and kisses your inner thigh. "You do?"

"Please."

"Will you let me take you for a bite afterward since I couldn't help myself and I'm doing everything backward?" He asks, already getting up.

You nod a bit desperately. "I'll let you bite anything, just—please."

He laughs. "Get up."

You do, and it's a tight squeeze to switch places with him, but you two manage. Bucky sits on the place you sat and unbuttons his pants, pulling out his cock from the confine of his briefs.

You step out of your pants and sit on his lap, trying to keep all the feelings daring to pool out inside while you feel like everything about you is already stripped bare in front of him.

"You sure you want this, yeah?" I asked.

At that moment, Bucky pulls you close by his waist. It's almost easy (keyword being almost) to ignore the outline of his hard cock between your legs when he's holding your face like this.

There's barely any light illuminating the inside of the confessional, but there is enough for you to see him glowing. Glistening. Smiling like he's watching something unfold.

He holds your face in his hand and pulls you in for a kiss.

I hadn't kissed him yet.

Bucky kisses you with slow, soft tenderness at first.

It's almost his way of saying he means everything—he means this, and he means what he said about being a part of the cleric who still allows themselves to have a life outside their work.

When his tongue opens up your mouth sinfully, that's when you feel him twitch underneath you.

His arm around your waist pulls you even closer, and you get him. You'd want to merge with him right now if you could.

"Put me inside you," he pulls back his face only a few inches to say those words, then dives in for another kiss.

Your mind is too dizzy with everything that is James to do anything but obey.

You reach beneath you to hold his cock in your hands and guide it to your entrance.

Perhaps you should care that none of you discussed the important things you should have before you let him inside you, raw and deep like this, but all you want is this:

Feeling him stretch you out.

When his tips fit and you can let go, both of you groan at the same time. He's big.

He's thick, and he's leaking, and when the tip pushes in, gliding easy with how wet you are, you have to pull back from his kiss so you can breathe.

Bucky groans louder and hides his face in the crook of your shoulder.

"You're big," you whisper, sliding down further until he's bottomed out. "Oh my..." can't call out for Jesus, but you're still shaking and finding a new reason to worship right there and then. You might be drunk on desire, or drunk on how high Bucky made you by eating you out, or how close you were to cumming before he made you get up. Maybe all of the above. "Father James—feels so good."

The slap comes as a surprise, but the sting and your scream are both pleasurable.

"Don't call me that again," he growls. He bites your neck, and moves his hip for the first time.

"Why not," you whine. It feels so good. You feel so full. "Feel so full, Bucky."

"I know, dove." He bucks his hip upwards, thrusting deep and slow. "You're so fucking tight," his voice is strained, and you pull his face back to yours, cupping his neck. With his eyes on yours, Bucky's face softens. "Feels good?" He asks with another pointed thurst.

You nod, riding him in the same rhythm as his thrusts. "Hmhm."

"You look beautiful on top of me," he mutters, kissing your chin, you cheeks, and your eyelids, each kiss pointed with another deep thrust.

"We're gonna do this again, right?"

Bucky hums, and thrusts harder. FUCK.

"Ah, there it is," he mutters, as if talking to himself. "Was looking for that." He thrusts again, confirming to see if he's found your g spot. The way you clench and moan his name is enough of an answer. "We'll do this many more times. I just—need—fuck, need to do this proper." Bucky pins your hips in place and takes over the movements. "Shouldn't be fucking you, dove. Not here, not like this."

"I'm so fucking wet, Buck," you cry. "You wouldn't let me go home to get off thinkin'—oh—about you—fuck, right there;"

"I wouldn't?"

"Bucky." It's louder than before. Both a moan and a prayer.

His thrusts become more erratic, and Bucky's own moans and prayers start sounding much like yours.

So tight, dove. Fucking made for me. Stop clenching your pussy, Y/n, fuck. I'm gonna fill you up, d'you want that? Hm?

"Don't pull out," you whine.

"No?"

"No." You shake your head. He should, your mind says. I don't care, your body responds, hips going harder to meet his harsh thrusts.

"Want to feel me leaking out of you?"

Fucking hell. Where was this holy mouth hidden? "Yes!"

"Say it," Bucky's grunting, and his forehead is sparkling with sweat, and you feel the sweat dripping down your back.

"Wanna feel you dripping out of me, Buck."

"Fucking—Y/n, I'm gonna cum. Are you close, dove?" He holds you by the neck, and brings your mouth to his. "Tell me how to make you cum. Tell me."

"Hard. Deep."

Bucky's a good listener anywhere. He pins your hip in one place, buries himself as deep as he can go inside of you and mutters about how good it is to feel your cunt stretching out around his cock, then pistons his hips in place just like that, hitting that spot inside of you so mercilessly that you're excused to scream as much as you do.

When you yell that you're gonna cum, all he says is, "Please. Please, dove. Show me. Cum for me. Cum only for me, Y/n."

With another scream that leaves your throat aching, you feel your walls convulsing and your legs shaking as an orgasm knocks you out.

Bucky cums by muffling his own screams in your neck, and you feel the warmth of him spilling inside of you.

If there were any ways for you to not surrender and devote to him, they're all burned and gone.

This feels like the beginning of all things holy for you.

part two →

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andrewminyardslawyer · 1 month

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Okay here's a companion piece to my "Jeremy Knox What The Hell Is Up With Your Family Evidence". I wanted to have a bullet point list so it was easier to keep track of everything. I am aware that this is probably excessive lol again if I missed anything feel free to let me know! I tried to keep all of my personal theories out of it and just present the facts but I included a couple explanations

Jeremy Knox What The Hell Is Up With Your Family The Bullet Point List Edition

Home

- "The trick to starting Saturdays off in the right foot was to get out of the house as early as possible. He'd realize years ago that he'd never be the first one awake"

- is on very good terms with the butler, William Hunter. William has coffee ready for him when he leaves in the morning, and texts him that his older brother and stepfather are in the sitting room when Jeremy gets home so he can avoid them and opens the front door for him

- is required to stay at the house during the weekday while school is in session. He is allowed to go to Cat and Laila's house on the weekends and over summer break. "Jean didn't miss away Jeremy's gaze slid past him to peer into the distance, or the tight tug at the corner of Cat's mouth. Jeremy was still smiling but the light had gone out in it" when talking about his living situation

Step Family / Mother

- step grandfather is a congressman

- "he'd wasted years arguing against such events, as he had absolutely no relation to his stepsfather's father, but his mother refused to budge. If a Congress man needed a picture perfect family for photo ops, the Knox family was duty bound to dress up and smile bright for the exhausting number of cameras"

- His stepfather's last name is Wilshire

- is stated that he is permanently on his stepfather's bad side

- told Jean not to call him by his last name, Knox

- says that he will maybe do frosted tips next year after he's graduated and doesn't have to deal with the fallout and was kicked out of family dinner because of his bleached hair

- Jeremy says " 'I've never been to Europe. Dad's been stationed there a couple times, but....' " The wording makes me feel like his biological father is still alive but they aren't in touch

- Jeremy's mother picked his therapist

Siblings

- does not get along with his older brother, Bryson

- Jeremy left the house without his keys in order to avoid a confrontation with Bryson.

Later on he states that he "idly wished he'd been brave enough to get his keys"

- Bryson lives at home during the summer and goes to college on the East Coast

- does not get along with his sister, Annalise

- Annalise "insisted on keeping her own place on the other side of the city year round"

- in the one scene with Annalise she is very hostile to Jeremy:

•"more drama...". •"Overdue for a new scandal, hm?' she asked. 'End the way you started.' He didn't flinch but it was a near thing. Once upon a time she had gone to all of his high school games, but once upon a time was before the fall banquet that broke their family in half she's gone out of her way to forget everything she knew about Exy since then, and she'd never forgiven him for sticking with it. He'd walk through a hundred hypothetical arguments with his therapist in preparation for the day he finally fought back, but every time the chance came, he watched it slip past and miserable silence." • " sent him an arch look. 'What’s Grandpa think of this investment of yours?' It was obvious bait, but that couldn’t keep the edge out of Jeremy’s fierce, 'He is not our grandfather.' 'Careful,' Annalise warned him as she rummaged for her keys. 'You already destroyed the family. Don’t destroy my future, too. Door.' "

- asks Lucas if he feels safe with his brother and when Lucas says he's my brother Jeremy says that's not what I asked

- Cat hesitates when telling Jean how many siblings Jeremy has. She says there are three, one sister and two brothers. The older brother is an absolute tool and she nervously pushes her fries around her plate after speaking

- The second brother is never mentioned and seems to have a big part in The Incident. Potentially also played Exy. Is unknown if he is fully related, half sibling, or step sibling. Most likely younger than Jeremy

Money

- Jeremy keeps meticulous track of his receipts and how he spends his money. There are three different times it is pointed out that he keeps the receipt and puts it in his wallet

- "It was always best to have a paper trail when dealing with his mother's bookkeeper"

- gives Cat the remaining money in his wallet to help with groceries and rent even though "Cat was more concerned with how many hoops it took him to pull it together when he was permanently on his stepfather's bad side"

Miscellaneous

- Jeremy avoids the cops sitting at the park. Says there was little to no chance he'd know them, and no reason they'd recognize him, but Jeremy kept his gaze forward and his mouth shut until they were passed

- Rhemann says he will call the cops on Grayson if Jean wants him to and that he will "send Jeremy away first". Could be because Jean said that he did not want Jeremy in the room while Rhemann was cleaning his injuries and he figured Jean wouldn't want Jeremy there when he was talking to the police or it could have to do with Jeremy hiding his face from the cops at the park

- has specific fun ringtones for everybody except his family. Becomes very tense whenever they contact him

- automatically calls Wayne's suicide an accident and then "grimaced like it wasn't at all the word he wanted to use" perhaps whatever happened, his family calls The Incident an accident instead of what actually happened

- responds with " 'that isn't a joke,' Jeremy said, with an unexpected ferocity' " when Jean jokes about suicide

- Cat says no judgment when it comes to therapy and the right therapist can be life-changing and to look at Jeremy for proof. Insinuating that The Incident was fairly traumatic

#the sunshine court #tsc #tsc spoilers #jeremy knox #jean moreau #jean yves moreau #laila dermott #cat alvarez #jeremy know what are you hiding #the tree talks

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the-90s-music-colosseum · 6 months

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Quarterfinals, Match 1

expand to see all propaganda received! (huge wall of text warning)

Selena:

"truly probably one of the most beautiful women to have ever walked this earth. voice of an angel, dazzling smile, looks like she smells good"

"if u don't vote selena ur mexicanphobic /j"

Chris Cornell:

"The word "ethereal" was invented to describe Chris"

"His tiddies."

"Chris is the most attractive person in history."

"looks california"

"IF U DONT VOTE CHRIS J WILL LITERALLY CRY"

"Picture this - Audioslave is headlining a festival in Bologna, but rain threatens. Thunder rumbles. Wind is picking up. Chris Cornell opens his shirt - and the hand of the weather gods is stayed for the rest of the show. Three minutes after the last encore, rain comes pouring down. Chris Cornell's chiseled abs fought off the rain for a full 90 minutes. Godly behavior. Plus he sang the beginning of "I am the highway" alone on guitar before the band joined in. What a show. Say hello to heaven, Chris."

"I want to cook the skrunkly alive"

"i want to rip the flesh off his tits with my bare teeth cjdkdjdjwsln i am way too in love with him for my own good i want to suck out all of his blood like a vampire but just for him (i have a massive fear of blood) i have probably like over 500 photos of him shirtless on my phone i NEED to squeeze and bite on his arms until his blood vessels pop i want to (almost) drown him in honey and sugar and eat every square inch of his body i want to rip out his voice box and vocal chords and keep them in a jar in the back of my closet if he doesn’t win i WILL disintegrate into thin air i will simply cease to exist i am already planning to get his signature tattooed on my arm this man is the second coming (HA) of jesus christ he’s not just the most attractive 90’s man he’s the most attractive person to ever exist (this definitely did not take an absurdly long amount of time to write what are you talking about??) (please send help)"

"I think Eddie & Stone themselves put it best when they said: Eddie - If he is the devil, I have to say the devil’s a beautiful person! Stone - he’s got a nice chest too…Jesus…"

"One of the humblest, most caring and creative man I've ever seen. I'd give him my last reserve of food, my car, my house if he needed. I'd go to the moon and back if he'd ask. Just one look into his beautiful blue eyes make you feel at peace."

"I mean, just LOOK at him! He’s so beautiful it makes me weep. AND he was incredibly talented musically and lyrically. His lyrics paired with that unique beautiful soulful voice of his feels like he’s stirring my soul around with his bare hands. I love him forever <3"

"hes like jesus to me. cant sleep if i dont think about him before bed. i even built a lil shrine for him uwu"

"i wanna suck on every inch of him. by the time im done itll be like an octopus attacked him"

#most attractive 90s musician #poll #polls #selena #selena quintanilla #selena quintanilla perez #chris cornell #soundgarden #temple of the dog #90s music #tournament

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yandereharrypotter · 1 year

Text

My Love

Summary: Draco Malfoy who is in love with his archrivals sister, Y/n Potter [Lol, some of this is written by AI, what do yall think about it? I obviously edited some of it]

Draco Malfoy found himself in the most unexpected situation. He had fallen in love with the sister of his archrival, Y/n Potter.

Draco had always despised the Potters, but there was something about Y/n that he couldn't resist. Her fiery personality and unwavering determination had captivated him from the moment he met her. She had a kind heart that he couldn't help but be drawn to and was everything he wasn't.

Draco knew that pursuing Y/n would be risky, but he couldn't shake the feeling that she was worth it. He spent countless days and nights trying to muster up the courage to confess his feelings, but something got in the way each time he tried.

It wasn't until the Battle of Hogwarts that Draco realized how much Y/n meant to him. As he held her tight in the fire and even seeing her dead body did something to him. Though he had never been happier when she was revealed to be alive and fought him. He was so uncharacteristically in love with her and now he knew for sure; He would never love another like he loved you. He had to tell her how he felt, even if it meant risking everything.

After the battle had ended and peace had been restored, Draco sought out Y/n. He found her sitting alone in the courtyard, staring off into the distance. He approached her slowly, unsure of what to say.

"L/n," he said softly.

"Malfoy."

He took a deep breath, before speaking, "I know we've had differences and challenges, but I need to tell you something."

"Which is?"

"I'm in love with you."

Y/n's eyes widened in surprise, but before she could respond, Draco continued.

"I know it sounds crazy, and I know that I've done some terrible things, but I promise that I'll make it up to you. I'll do whatever it takes to prove myself to you."

Y/n stayed silent for a moment, taking in everything that Draco had just said. She could see the sincerity in his eyes and knew that he truly meant what he said.

"Malfoy," she said finally. "I don't know what to say. I never thought that I would hear those words from you."

Draco took a step closer to her, his heart pounding in his chest.

"Please, L/n," he said. "Just give me a chance. Let me show you that I can be the man that you deserve."

"I'm only giving you a chance because your mother saved my life," she said.

From that day on, Draco worked tirelessly to win Y/n's heart. He eventually proved himself to have changed, and captured Y/n's heart.

#yandere draco malfoy #harry potter #yandere harry potter #draco malfoy #yandere malfoy #yandere draco #yandere draco x reader #draco malfoy x reader #draco x reader #malfoy x reader #malfoy #battle of hogwarts #wizards

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nomoreusername · 2 months

Text

In My Heart

Pairing:Newt x gender neutral reader

Summary:When survivors guilt hits you extra hard one night Newt comforts you.

By the time I realized it was happening I couldn't do anything to stop it. What seemed to be a million tears poured from my eyes.

Even though it was late I didn't want to be here. I don't cry so doing it near people feels wrong. I'm the optimist.

How can I be optimistic now though? Every time I close my eyes I remember those I've lost, and it takes everything inside me not to scream. Sometimes I am filled with nothing but guilt that I get to live, and my friends are dead. It's nothing more than the luck of the draw. If Gally hadn't gotten stung Chuck would have lived, and he might have. If Winston was immune he could be able to wake up tomorrow. If Minho wasn't in danger Jeff wouldn't have saved him, and so on.

So what did I do differently to deserve to live?

As these dark thoughts overwhelmed my head I started pacing. Despite it being dangerous I needed to be alone. I was just sick of being around everyone breathing right now.

Because I am one of those people. I am alive, and almost everyone else I knew is dead.

I found a small rock and leaned against it. As I did I let it all out. Every single emotion I hid was finally here, and there was no stopping it.

My heart felt heavy as I sat there below the stars. Were my friends stars now? Were they in the sky watching me? Did they hate me for living or were they looking after me?

"Hey,"Someone whispered, tapping my shoulder. I wiped my eyes and turned around to see Newt with a solum look on his face.

"Hi,"I managed to say.

"Can I sit?"He asked quietly. I just nodded before staring at the ground. My friends could be in the ground right now, rotting and on their way to becoming skeletons.

"Survivors guilt,"He whispered. I hesitantly nodded.

"How did you know?"I mumbled.

"It comes to everyone sooner or later,"He whispered, closing his eyes.

"I just-don't know what I did to deserve to live. They fought just as hard to live. What sets us apart?"I mumbled, pulling my knees to my chest and wiping my eyes.

"Do you really want to know what makes us different than them?"He asked slowly, sitting beside me.

"If you have an answer then please,"I murmured, feeling more and more drained each second.

"Nothing,"He stated.

"What do you mean?"I whispered, glancing up at him and looking at him through my blurred tears.

"It was luck and circumstance. It's sort of a messed up circle. Gally getting stung killed Chuck which killed him. Minho being in danger killed Jeff. If Winston was immune he'd be here. The people who stayed v.s the people who ran, both options were unclear. It's dumb luck and the different reactions. Nothing more. Nothing less,"He answered, his voice gentle yet firm and sure of himself.

Hearing him say what I had always been thinking seemed to pull just an inch of pressure off of my chest. I had feared that there was something wrong with me. Still, there was another thing I needed and answer for.

"Do you think they hate us for it?"I asked.

He didn't say anything. Instead, he placed his arms around me and pulled me into his chest.

"I can't answer that, but I can tell you this. They're our friends. Some of them gave their lives for us. That's the way we want to remember them. Not their death but who they were. Strong, loving, and kind,"He whispered, rubbing my back. I couldn't help but tremble as I was unable to respond.

"They haven't left us, Y/N. They never will."

"How could you be sure of that?"I asked, not moving away from him.

"Because as long as we carry them in our hearts we carry them with us."

"I always will,"I swore, seeming to run out of tears.

"I know, love. I know,"He whispered, pressing a kiss to my forehead. I leaned against him and felt exhaustion start to overcome me.

"Go to sleep. I'll be here when you wake up,"He promised. I took his word for it and allowed my eyes to flutter shut.

Only months later I would have to keep his words with me more than ever. Because unfortunately the only way I ended up being able to hold him was in my heart.

#newt x y/n #newt x reader #the maze runner #one shot #tmr #tmr newt #newt tmr #light angst #light fluff #hurt/comfort

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imabeautifulbutterfly · 2 months

Note

Congratulations on hitting 450!

Maybe you could do Tech x Jedi!Reader post Order 66?

I've recently been obsessed with all youre writing, youre doing GREAT!

-<3

Awww thank you anon! That's so sweet of you.

I hope you enjoy this little fic.

Love oo

Alone

Warnings: Order 66 mentions, deaths, loss, angst, fluff, comfort, I think that's it. If I miss any please let me know.

Main Master List | Star Wars Fic Roulette

The datapad gave off a faint glow as you looked at the list of wanted Jedi in the galaxy. There were so many that had been declared dead, even your name had a line through it. You were no longer a threat to the Empire, that is until they found out you were actually alive, and living with Tech and his brothers on Pabu.

You let out an exhaustive breath, it was all gone. Everything you had grown up knowing. All your friends, family, people you looked up to. Gone. Tears pricked your eyes and you did your best to stifle a sob, the last thing you wanted to do was wake up Tech, but you’d failed.

He stirred and sat beside you putting on his glasses, “What is it?” his fingers played with your hair, hoping the action would calm you down enough to tell him what was wrong. However, he didn’t have to take too long to guess, as soon as he saw the datapad in your hand, he let out a sigh.

He wanted to comfort you, to take away the sadness and pain, the loss you felt from that day. He slipped the datapad from your hand and placed it on the stand beside him. As he pulled you into his arms and leaned back into the mattress, he slipped off his goggles and placed them on top of the datapad, and then turned his attention back to you. He squeezed tighter as he kept you tucked into his side, kissing your temple and forehead.

“It’s okay.”

“They’re all gone. Everyone …” you stated as you tried to fight the sobs.

“Shhh … it’s okay. I know.” He pressed another kiss, “But you’re not, and I’m still here.” He held you tighter in his arms, tucking your head under his chin. “And obviously that list is faulty, so who knows how many truly survived.”

“Maybe we could try and find them.”

This was a point of contention between the two of you, you wanted to go out there and find other Jedi, track down every lead; and he could understand your desire, but for Tech that would put you needlessly in danger, and it never sat well with him.

“No.”

“Tech!”

“Listen, cyare, I know you want to find your people. I understand, however … you’d be putting yourself in harm’s way, and you wouldn’t even know if it was worth it. If you’d even find the ones you’re looking for… no one is as important as you. I know I’m being selfish, however … I don’t want to lose you.”

You couldn’t really argue with him about that, you didn’t want to lose him either. You wanted to stay on this paradise island, and remain in his arms, but you couldn’t.

“I know, and you are the most important one to me too, but … I need to do this. Alone if I have to, but … I need to know. I need to know I’m not the last one.”

Tech fought back the tears, he would gladly go with you, gladly stay by your side, but not if it meant you’d be putting yourself in harm’s way. He couldn’t handle seeing you in that vulnerable position again. It took everything within him to find you after Order 66, and when he did he thought the galaxy gave him one final gift knowing you were still alive and in his arms. But now … now you wanted to leave.

“There’s nothing I can say that will change your mind, is there?”

You shook your head, staying tucked under his chin and holding him close. “I’m sorry. I love you, Tech. I do. However, I … there’s a calling deep within me that won’t rest until I know there’s at least one more Jedi out there. I … I don’t want to be alone. I don’t want to have the weight of the Jedi order on my shoulders alone. I’ll stay in constant contact, and I’ll start looking for those who were already declared dead. I know some of them died on Coruscant, but there are others whose deaths were confirmed but their bodies were never found. I can start there. It’ll be safer, for now at least.”

“And what happens if you do find out you are the last?”

“Then I’ll come back to you.”

“I’ll come with you. I … I don’t want to be apart from you, and not being by your side and worrying will be worse.”

“Tech, you don’t have to, I know how much staying with your brothers and looking after Omega means to you…”

He shook his head, “No. They’re my family, but you’re my cyare. It was my duty to make sure Omega, Hunter, and Wrecker were safe. However, Echo already left to pursue his own sense of duty, it’s now my job to make sure you’re safe. We’ll tell everyone in the morning. Hunter can take us to a space port, where we can ‘borrow’ a ship.”

“I love you, Tech. Thank you.” You shifted and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“I love you, too. But so help me if you die on me, I’ll bring you back just to yell at you.”

You laughed as you pressed your forehead against the side of his face, “Okay. You have my approval to bring me back from the dead and yell at me.”

“Good. Now go to sleep cyare. I’ll keep you safe.”’

“Thank you, Tech. I love you.”

“I know.”

You closed your eyes and let out a deep sigh, as though a weight had been lifted off your shoulders. You didn’t know if this was a smart idea, but the force was telling you, you needed to look for those on the list, it was telling you to help. How could you say no to the force?

Main Master List | Star Wars Fic Roulette

Tag list:

@liadamerondjarin @badbatch-simp24@spicymcnuggies@lady-ren @firstofficerwiggles @darkangel4121 @discofern @kavecika @monako-jinn-stories @ladykatakuri @avathebestx @theroguesully @furyhellfire66 @carodealmeida @ciramaris @sprout-fics @twinkofthedink @dindjarin-mandalorian @ulchabhangorm @littlemisspascal @tortor-mcgee @vodika-vibes @clonethirstingisreal

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underdark-dreams · 7 months

Note

I just binged all your Rolan x Tav fics on here (about to go to A03 and give kudos ❤️) and just wanted to say 😩😩 Perfect! AND! I saw you wanted suggestions! i would love to see the first interact/first meeting of Rolan and Tav from his POV if you felt inclined! No pressure! Thank you, keep up the good work! ❤️

I've grown so fond of this vague fem Tav I keep pairing with Rolan...so I hope these pronouns are ok for this request! Tav gets her name finally. (Cal and Lia also barged their way into this one in a big way)

Blades and Spells

A sanctimonious soldier isn't Rolan's idea of a good person to know, but is seems Tav is doing her damnedest to prove him wrong. The day of their first meeting at the Grove.

Tags: Fem Tav, Fluff, First Meetings, Sibling Bonding

Word Count: 4,322 [Read on AO3]

"We don't even know these people—"

"They're the closest thing we've got to kin, and you know it!"

The bright and promising midday had been punctured by a bloody ambush at the gate. Kanon was dead—a goblin booyagh's arrow and a nasty fall behind the front wall. No doubt his body was still cooling just a short walk from where the three siblings stood inside the shaded mouth of the Grove.

Their caravan's brief respite was shaken by the attack. Zevlor had retreated to strategize; the other Tieflings were on edge, a few downright panicked, the fresh tension around them only fueling the siblings’ words.

It had been weeks since he and Lia had a proper fight—Rolan felt all the pent-up anger rolling out now.

Lia stood with fists braced on her hips. "And what about the goblins? I know you're handy with a spell, Rolan, but I seriously don't fancy our chances alone on the Risen Road."

"Did you not see what just happened?" Rolan said, casting an arm behind his sister toward the gate. "That treasure-hunting idiot just led them right down on our heads. There’s bound to be more, and I don’t want us sticking around to find out how many."

"That’s all the more reason to stay!” Lia’s voice rose to match his. “These people aren't fighters, Rolan. We’d be cowards to leave. We can protect them—we should—"

“Or keep making a scene,” Cal said from the sidelines, to no one in particular. The other Tieflings had grown used to their bickering many miles ago.

Lia was undeterred. "Is this about your precious Lorroakan? Because I promise you, Rolan, he'll still be there when we finally get to Baldur's Gate."

Rolan's voice dripped with sarcasm. "Oh of course not, why would I want to achieve my lifelong dream, see my family finally be safe and provided for along the way—"

"Don't put this on me and Cal," his sister warned. "It's all the same excuse, you'd have left these people yesterday—"

"Because they're not my kin!" Rolan practically shouted, not caring how far his voice carried. "No matter how many times you say it! I'm not going to risk all three of our lives, our futures, on people who can't seem to keep themselves alive. How do you think I'd feel if I let anything happen to you? Either of you?"

"We know, Rolan," Cal interjected, trying to bring a little understanding.

"If you care about me and my future—" Lia jabbed a sharp nail at Rolan's chest—"you won't ask me to turn my back on these people when they need our help."

As Rolan opened his mouth to respond, he caught motion in his periphery. He turned to see an unfamiliar face standing at the edge of their conversation. The stranger rested a hand on her sword pommel, looking on quietly curious at the scene.

"Yes?" Rolan snapped at her. Sticking your nose into a private conversation hardly deserved politeness.

“Wait," Cal piped up beside him. “I saw you at the gate after the goblins."

Lia was quick to follow, disagreement all but forgotten. “You fought out there just now?” She sounded practically jealous. “Sweet hells, that must have been a rush. We owe you.”

"Good timing, that’s all," the stranger replied, shifting her weight a little. From real or false modesty Rolan couldn't tell.

He finally recognized her then—the one he saw speaking with Zevlor for quite a while immediately after the attack. Judging by the flecks of wet blood on her equipment, and on that of her companions behind her, these were the surprise reinforcements he'd already heard other refugees chatting about in energetic tones.

They weren't so impressive in person. Scrappy, in Rolan's private judgment. His eyes passed over the pouting cleric, the murderous-looking Githyanki with a massive sword on her back, the elf who was glancing around himself as though trying to decide which element of his current surroundings he disliked most.

The other wizard looked sane enough, Rolan allowed. He could practically feel the ripples in the Weave all around the man's shoulders. Perhaps Rolan would have a chance at an intelligent conversation in this place after all.

As for the one in front—she smiled pleasantly at Rolan despite having just walked from a goblin ambush. That, to his mind, marked her as the most eccentric of all.

"Tav," she said, extending her sword hand. Rolan glanced down at the dark stains on her fingers.

Wasn't this hovel filthy enough? His clothes already smelled of smoke and grease from days in close quarters; he drew the line at smearing them with goblin blood.

Tav tracked his eyes, letting out an awkward laugh as she moved to wipe her palm on her pants. From beside him, Lia firmly intercepted the handshake.

"Lia. Forgive my brother, you know how wizards are about their robes." His sister's tone was light, but she shot him a look from the corner of her eye.

As if Rolan cared what some passing stranger thought of him. If he’d had his way, they wouldn't be here to have this conversation at all. But Cal introduced himself as well, looking a bit starstruck.

“Well met,” Tav told them, Rolan included. “Sorry, I know I’m interrupting.”

Perhaps sensing Rolan was about to agree, Lia jumped in. “Please. It’s a pleasure to meet people willing to risk their necks for a bunch of strangers, especially Tieflings. You all heading to Baldur’s Gate?”

“Aye. Same as you, I imagine—”

The inanity was enough to drive Rolan mad; it was like their first days on the road from Elturel all over again. He crossed his arms and zoned out as she and his sister made their meaningless smalltalk. He'd rather get his tail stepped on than do this painful getting-to-know with one more person they’d never see again.

Then he heard Lorroakan's name, and his ears perked up.

“He’s taken Rolan as an apprentice,” Cal was telling Tav proudly.

"Have you met Archmage Lorroakan?" Rolan asked her, suddenly interested in the conversation again. Tav looked at him with hesitation.

"Not personally. Gale said—" She glanced down the slope deeper into the Grove, and Rolan realized that the companions behind her had all trickled away in the short moment he hadn’t been paying attention. Seeking rest and recuperation, no doubt. "Gale was saying he's heard of him."

The human wizard, Rolan gathered. Hearing a stranger speak the archwizard’s name somehow rekindled the fire in Rolan’s chest, one he hadn’t realized had grown so low on fuel. He clenched his fist beside his robes and felt the crinkle of Lorroakan’s letter there in his pocket.

Tav was regarding him with a quizzical expression. "I mean, if an archmage that famous has an apprenticeship waiting for you…I guess I can’t blame you for wanting to move on sooner than later."

"Naturally," Rolan said, a bit stiff. It annoyed him that this newcomer could see more sense than his own siblings.

Then she continued. "But Lia's right. You three seem like you can handle yourselves, and I'm not sure the same could be said for everyone here. We'll need every fighting soul to defend against that goblin nest. Especially you—" Tav directed the comment to Rolan. "Having another Weave caster could make all the difference."

Well, so much for sense. Speaking of we and us as if they all had the same goals. A transparent tactic. Rolan wasn't sure what altruistic world Tav had waltzed out of, but he'd heard enough rousing speeches on kinship and unity from people like Zevlor to last him a lifetime. He wasn't about to listen to one from a stranger.

She was correct, however, to acknowledge the value of his skills. No one on the road here had displayed anything close to what Rolan knew he was capable of.

He glanced one more time between his siblings. The set of Lia's jaw told him her mind was well made up. Cal just looked hopeful for a resolution.

Rolan swore. "Fine. We've only taken our damn time getting here, what’s a few more days lost? If we’re lucky, we’ll reach the city with a good story, at least."

"Thank you, Rolan." Lia was meek now that she'd gotten her way.

“You must be quite skilled,” added Tav, sizing him up a bit. "To catch the eye of the Archwizard of Baldur's Gate."

Rolan didn’t miss a beat. "I am.” Cal rolled his eyes over Tav’s shoulder, but Rolan ignored him. “I’ve been manipulating the Weave since I was a child.”

“It’s true,” Lia confirmed. Still feeling guilty about winning the fight, perhaps.

“Really?” Tav broke into a grin, clearly impressed. Rolan drank in the admiration. "Good thing you're staying, then."

Behind his pride, Rolan couldn't help but feel a bit manipulated. Perhaps Tav wasn't the unsophisticated sellsword that she’d appeared at first.

"Well, I should go find the crew before they make too much trouble.” Tav was turning to leave before she paused, sheepish. “Say—don’t suppose druids keep a blacksmith around? One of those worgs’ teeth put a big scratch in my baby here.” As she spoke she looked down at the sword belted to her hip, almost like an indulgent parent.

“Dammon can fix you up,” Lia told her at once. “He’s one of us, a Tiefling. And he’s damn good. Take a left down the hill and you can’t miss him. Follow the loud noises,” she added, with a grin to match.

“Cheers,” Tav told her. “See you all later?”

The three of them watched her figure disappear deeper into the Grove.

"She stabbed a warg right up close,” Lia murmured, sounding morbidly inspired. “That’s incredible.”

Rolan scoffed at her. “Better to kill it from a distance and not damage your most valuable piece of equipment in the process.”

“Hey.” Cal glanced over to his older brother. “Did you even tell her your name?”

Rolan wasn’t concerned. “I’ll tell her later, if she’s still around.” She and her companions would remember his name soon enough—them and all of Baldur's Gate.

—

In these cramped quarters, it didn’t take long before they encountered Tav again. Her hands swung a bit awkwardly at her sides, as if she didn’t know what to do with them. Her scabbard clanked empty against her greaves; presumably, Dammon was hard at work repairing her blade.

Cal and Lia practically swooped down beside her as she approached. Rolan tried to hide his scowl at their eagerness.

"Have you been around the place yet? Cal and I can show you around, if you’ve got time.”

“I’d like that,” she told them both with a genuine smile. “Perhaps later, if you’re willing? Zevlor told me about your…druid problem. I promised him I’d have a talk with Kagha.”

Who had elected her emissary? Rolan glowered. "I assure you, the druids will tell you it's a foulblood problem."

It wiped the smile from her face, and Rolan found it difficult to feel bad. She wanted to dig through other people's problems? She could get used to uncovering ugly things.

"Yes…well. I'd prefer to keep an open mind," she told him evenly. With another small comment to his brother and sister, she continued on toward the deep clearing where the druids were gathering in preparation for their rite. A place strictly off-limits for Tieflings.

Lia rounded on him. "I swear, you embarrass me worse than Cal sometimes."

Cal frowned. "Hey—"

"Because you care too much about what people think," Rolan answered his sister. "Believe me, she and her people don't care about us. Didn't you hear her little speech before? She only wants more bodies for the fight."

Internally, Rolan was still bristling at the idea that Tav had complimented and cajoled him into staying at the Grove. He didn’t truly believe that was the reason for his decision, but the fact that she’d gotten to him at all unsettled him.

“Come on.” Lia knocked her arm against his playfully, an effort at reconciliation. “I’m just saying, Rolan. It costs nothing to be a bit nicer to people around here.”

Rolan heaved a sigh. Even he was growing weary from all the bickering they’d done today, though he’d never admit that to his sister. “All right. I’ll try, if it makes you happy. But believe me—people like her look after themselves. And I intend to look after us.”

—

Tav hadn’t been in the heart of the Grove for more than ten minutes before she reappeared, practically stomping up the path from the Kagha’s inner sanctum. Apparently the emissary work wasn’t going so well. Without her sword, her hands were clenched at her sides in empty fists. Her expression was thunderous.

“Have you seen Zevlor?” She asked the three of them as she approached, bypassing the smalltalk Rolan was beginning to expect from her. He directed her back toward the carved door in the corner of the cave.

“Everything all right?” Rolan asked, curious in spite of himself.

Tav exhaled sharp through her nose. “Kagha was having a grand time interrogating a hostage. That little girl, Arabella.”

“What?” Cal’s voice rang with alarm.

“I guess she tried to steal the druids’ carving of Silvanus,” Tav told him. “The one they need for their ceremony. Her mother was nearly out of her mind…the child’s all right,” she added in haste. “Back safe with her parents now, but shaken up.”

Lia quivered with outrage at Rolan’s side. “Thank the hells you intervened.”

“Of course,” Tav replied at once, as if the situation called for nothing less. “I understand it’s the idol of their deity, but by all the gods…Kagha was ready to call her asp down on a terrified child.”

“That fucking viper."

Cal wasn’t referring to the snake; his siblings both glanced at him in surprise. He was a gentle soul, but if Cal cared about anything, it was protecting the young ones.

Tav seemed of the same mind. “There’s something about her,” she agreed with a dark look. Abruptly, she wheeled on Rolan. “What do you think?”

She sought his opinion as a wizard, he realized. All three of them were watching him, in fact, hanging on for his answer.

“Ritual magic is quite different from the Weave,” Rolan replied carefully. “Especially druidic magic. I don’t have the same feel for it. But Kagha…”

He cast his mind back to the first day their bedraggled caravan arrived in the Grove. The lot of them exhausted and bloodied after fighting off goblins and gnolls just up the road. Halsin, the massive elf who was then First Druid, squaring his shoulders above the smaller woman who somehow seemed to tower to his same height.

“She’s powerful,” Rolan decided. “Quite. Where it comes from, I couldn’t say.”

Tav was staring at him with an intensity Rolan hadn’t seen on her face yet. She looked far more intimidating than she had to him before.

But then she let out a thoughtful hum, and her features were back to their usual lightness. “I guess that’s one more reason to find this Halsin sooner rather than later.”

They all watched her take her leave toward Zevlor’s makeshift war room, the stone door sliding shut again behind her.

—

As the sun dipped below the horizon and a stiff evening breeze picked up at the cave’s entrance, Rolan and his siblings settled toward the insulated back wall of the Grove where Okta was tending hearth. Whatever the old woman had simmering in her massive cauldron smelled a bit like damp wool, but the warmth of the coals underneath was toasty and wonderful against the skin on Rolan’s face and hands.

Cal and Lia were in wistful discussion on either side of him—something about which landmarks of the city they wanted to visit first. Rolan let the feel of the conversation wash over him without hearing the words. His eyes were on the glowing coals, but his mind was also on Baldur's Gate—that and its great archwizard.

You are fortunate, young Rolan. The flourish with which Lorroakan had written his name floated through his mind's eye. Even the parchment itself was heavy and fine, almost promising of better things. Rolan’s fingers brushed the hip pocket of his robes again as if to assure himself. He still carried the letter with him everywhere, though he’d long since memorized its contents.

From behind him Rolan heard the sounds of a friendly disagreement and turned to look. Tav again. He shouldn’t be surprised; the woman seemed to be everywhere today.

Across the path, she was engaged in a polite argument with Dammon at his tent. The smith held a hand up as if refusing something. Rolan caught sight of the polished sword pommel back in her scabbard once more, and surmised that Dammon must be turning down payment for the repair job after her help at the gate today. That seemed like his chivalrous style.

Indeed, Rolan watched her tuck her leather coin purse away and offer a hand instead. Dammon accepted and shook it with a warm smile.

As he continued watching, the two struck up a friendly conversation. Rolan supposed a soldier would find much more to talk about with a smith than with an apprentice wizard. Her hand was draped at rest over her sword hilt again; that seemed to be an idle habit of hers.

He remembered the city guard back in Elturel displaying the same gesture while posted at watch, and wondered whether she might be in a similar line of work. Back in…wherever it was she hailed from.

Insipid questions that Rolan nevertheless filed away in his mind to ask her at some point. If nothing else, it would make Lia happy to see him making an effort. Being nice.

Rolan glanced again at the dark stains on her fingers. She hadn't taken time to wash and rest yet since the fight. It was all over her, goblin blood and human, small flecks of it visible on her clothing and chestplate and even on the side of her face. Didn't she find it unpleasant? It would drive him mad. But it didn't seem to concern her, and Dammon certainly didn't look bothered.

The smith said something that made her laugh then, and a dimple appeared in Tav's blood-spattered cheek.

Dammon had an easy way about him that always seemed to earn him fast friends. Right now, Rolan found he was a bit envious of the trait. He didn't intend to come off as such a prickly ass, as Lia so affectionately liked to call him—though time and again he seemed to manage it.

The constant setbacks between them and Baldur's Gate had just soured Rolan's mood in recent weeks, he told himself. His apprenticeship was all his mind could dwell on at rest, and each delay was harder to bear than the last.

But none of that was really Tav's fault. Inwardly, he could admit that Lia would have talked him into staying on her own anyway. Rolan found himself hoping that he'd made a non-terrible impression on the newcomer.

An elbow in his ribs broke his line of thought. "What?" Rolan looked around, rubbing the spot with a hand.

"I said, you're staring," Cal repeated. He and Lia were both looking at him—Rolan didn't like the expression on either face.

"Shut up," he said, though neither of them had spoken. "She's got blood all over her, who wouldn't?"

"I'm just saying." Cal put up both palms, his eyebrows raised. "From your face, you didn't seem that put off."

"Maybe she’d like to see your Thunderwave, Rolan," his sister suggested.

"You're both idiots." Rolan turned around with arms crossed, watching Okta pluck a dead chicken as though it might be interesting. The idiots on either side were not so easily deterred.

"There’s something about a woman in armor, isn't there, Cal?"

"I've always thought so." Cal leaned a forearm on Rolan's shoulder, sounding quite sincere. "Hey, you could offer to magic the bloodstains off her stuff for her. Use that presto—presti—"

"Prestidigitation," Rolan supplied, eyes still on Okta's cooking. A shockingly good idea from Cal. But it would be strange to offer that to a person he'd just met; Rolan dismissed the thought.

"She should've just taken the time to clean it herself before it all dried," Rolan said aloud. "The way her companions did, no doubt. Instead of running back and forth back here all day."

"Yeah," Lia drawled. "Saving little girls from pit vipers. What a waste of time."

“Well, only one way to find out if she’s interested.” Cal turned around and cupped a hand to his mouth. “Hey, Tav—”

Rolan would have smacked the back of his brother’s head had the woman not already turned toward the sound of her name. She approached their spot near the hearth looking politely curious.

“Lia was just wondering,” Cal started in—leaving Rolan’s name out of it, a smart choice for his skull— “won’t it take a long time to get all the stains out of your armor?”

“Oh.” Tav sounded taken aback, but glanced down at herself as if just now noticing the state of her equipment. “Oh yeah, this’ll cost me a good half hour at least. And probably both my elbows,” she added with chagrin. “Damn. Got distracted by everything, I guess.”

“Because Rolan can magic it off in a second,” Lia said in a rush.

"Really?" Far from averse, she was looking at Rolan with sudden enthusiasm. "I didn’t know magic could—I mean, of course it can. I guess. Why, are you offering…?” She glanced between him and his siblings then, as if finally picking up on the strange energy between them.

Rolan felt all three pairs of eyes come to rest on him. He could hardly back out now. “If you’re interested,” he told her.

“Hells yes,” Tav laughed. “Are you kidding?”

Lia clapped her hands together softly. “Excellent. Well, since Tav’s interested—” She placed a strange emphasis on the word, one Rolan hoped only he noticed— “Cal and I should get going to set up camp. See you both later?”

“Right,” Cal agreed at once. With that, the pair of them slipped off in a few flicks of the tail.

What a couple of damned children. Rolan let out a heavy sigh; they seemed determined to try every last slip of patience he had.

Tav followed him to a spot closer to the back corner of the Grove, a bit removed from the sounds and smells. A stream of cool air seeped in from somewhere outside the walls, and Rolan breathed in gratefully. He had found it hard to concentrate in the stale surroundings of this place.

“Right.” She stood opposite him, looking a bit unsure. “How does this work, exactly?”

“Just keep still,” Rolan advised her. This would be easier if she took off the pieces of her half-plate first, but asking her to do that seemed unthinkably familiar.

She did as he directed. “Sure you’re not going to transform me into a pigeon or something? Give me wings?”

“This is the simplest spell there is, I’m not an idiot.” Rolan’s tone was irritable, but it only made her laugh. He realized that she was teasing him.

Regardless, Rolan steadied his stance and reached out to the Weave. Whether or not it was technically correct, it was the way he’d taught himself.

Breathe in—quiet each thought—feel the air above and the ground below—

Like a warm embrace from the oldest friend, the Weave flowed as a golden light into his cupped hand. Rolan formed the clear intention in his mind and guided the magic toward her.

“It tickles,” Tav said in surprise, but he could tell she was doing her best to keep still. Her eyes were squeezed shut for some reason.

Rolan blinked at her, not sure how long she had expected this to take. “You can—it’s done.”

“Really?” Tav looked across her chest and shoulders and the greaves on her legs, admiring their new shine. “Wow…neat trick, that. So you’re saying Gale’s been watching us polish our armor and weapons every night when he could just use the Weave for two seconds?”

“The manipulation does take energy,” Rolan told her, not wanting to discredit a fellow wizard while he wasn’t here to defend himself.

Her expression changed a bit. Then she reached a hand to his shoulder. “Thanks for this, Rolan. It might be simple to you, but—” She dropped her arm and cast around with a tired laugh. “Life has honestly been…kind of terrible lately. Thank you for making it better.”

Rolan felt he could stand to hear more of that story, but he doubted she'd want to tell it. “You’re welcome,” he told her instead.

It was a bit awkward traveling back through the winding Grove together toward the entrance, but it could hardly be avoided. Their camps were both in the same direction.

The night patrol were watching vigilantly from the wall; the massive carved gate raised before them as if in anticipation. Rolan stepped out into the dark, cool evening with another grateful breath.

Beside him, Tav sighed wearily. "Well, 'night. Off to enjoy my extra sleep," she said with another smile to him before she turned away.

No such easy goodnight for him, Rolan knew. He imagined Cal and Lia perching awake on their bedrolls, eager to hear what chaos or embarrassment or both their meddling had caused for him this time.

More concerning to him right now was the way his shoulder seemed to radiate where she'd placed a grateful hand before. Rolan rolled his arm a little, trying to shake the tingling warmth near his collar bone. It didn't quite work.

But perhaps he'd think about that tomorrow.

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