#“take off your jacket its hot” “GOD why are you FAT”

[calorey]

when i cut myself and my mom tells every9ne

[witchersmistress]

The road to Hell

Hello my darlings!! this man almost, ended back in the punishment room!

Trigger warnings: age gasp, foul language sassy FMC, forced marriage

Word Count: 2.7 K

Amelia’s POV

Your wedding day is supposed to be one of the most exciting days of your life. Just like my mother, I’m about to marry a man I didn’t choose and who I don’t love. I actually despise him and everything he represents—money, greed, and power are just a few of them. My mother hates my father, but there was nothing either one of them could do. Their fate was decided, their destiny sealed. Same as mine. Same as my children’s. And my grandchildren’s. We are bred for the sole purpose of power. Control in numbers. Fuck that!

Women in my world—the secret society of the Ravens—should not reproduce. I don’t want children. The cycle will end with me. It has to.  The Ravens will only find a way to use its members. They marry us off to ensure we add to their army. The next generation of Ravens and Ravenia will help them take over the world.  Phil though he was so smart and allowed me to see a  Raven approved Drs only, well the joke was on him, that particular doc, i saw his wife instead who was a fellow Ravenia and a Nurse practitioner. By the end of my first appointment, I had an IUD and that idiot was none the wiser. I’ll be damned if I allow them to have any say over a son or daughter I'll never have.

 I stand in the middle of the room, overlooking the white dress in the mirrored wall, running my hand down the mulberry silk—some of the finest silk available in the world. I take in a deep breath. It cost a whopping two million. Two million dollars for a fucking dress? My soon-to-be husband had it custom-made by a designer in France. I know this because my mother reminds me every chance she gets. Why would I get to pick out something so important in my life? That’s insane, right? Give that money to charity, or he'll let me loose in a bookstore, not that i could spend two million dollars but i'll try like hell.

 To think I should have any say in what I wear on the day I give my life to another. It’s as if she thinks his wealth will impress me. It’s blood money. I know this because it’s the same fortune I grew up with. I never did want the finer things in life. I know a poor person would roll their eyes at that statement, but it’s true. Give me a beer, a cheap hoodie, and a hat to hide my three-day old mop of bleach-blond hair, and I’m happy. But no. That’s unacceptable. The one percent aren’t allowed to look anything less than perfect. Not in public anyway. I’m surprised they even let us speak. We as women might as well walk around with duct tape over our mouths dressed in nothing but chains. A Raven needs a Ravenia but not because of the reasons you may think. It’s a way to hide who he really is. He’ll have fucks all over the world, but we’re expected to cook, clean, and spread our legs for him when he’s home. Worship him like he’s God himself and birth his children. I’ve never been religious, and I’m not going to fall to my knees and start worshiping a man now.  

My brother comes up behind me, his eyes scanning over my dress in the mirror. “At least he has good taste.” I roll my eyes. “As if that matters.” “Just pop out some kids and get fat.” He shrugs. “Then he’ll screw anyone but you. Oh! Hire a hot, much younger nanny.” He nods to himself. “Let me try her out first, though. Make sure she’s good enough.” His words just prove that all Ravens are the same. He’s been a Raven for years but has yet to marry. He has the privilege of fucking his way around the world while I’m forced to sign my life away. A cell rings, and he pulls it out of his tuxedo jacket to answer. “Hello?” Sighing, I pick up the dress and walk over to the stained glass window. You can’t see shit out of it. This place is ancient. The Cathedral is to a Raven as a church is to a religion—their sanctum. It holds a hundred years of secrets like a sarcophagus encloses a mummy. 

It was handed down to them years ago—a place to perform their sick and twisted rituals. There’s nothing fancy or special about it, if you ask me. I could be walking down the aisle in blue jeans and a T-shirt or lingerie. Doesn’t matter. Not all Ravens and Ravenia are required to wed here. But it’s where my future husband picked. Our parents wanted it to be as traditional as possible. It’s a bullshit reason. They just want to make a spectacle of handing me over to him. We might as well be standing in a courtroom with a judge sentencing me to life in prison without the chance of parole for a crime I didn’t commit. I place my hand on the cold glass, listening to the rain fall. It’s been storming for the past two days. It's like the world knows I've been destined for a lifetime of servitude to a man I'd rather kill than kneel and suck his dick. 

I blame my mother. She raised me to be strong-willed and determined. But now, I’m just supposed to turn it off and believe that I'm to devote my life to a man that will neglect me during the day but demand I spread my legs at night. I won’t accept that. I deserve more. I want more. My brother ends his call, getting my attention, and looks at me. “We have a problem,” he states. My whole life is a fucking problem. “What?” “Phil is missing.” I snort. “Don’t toy with me like that.” That’s not a problem; that’s a prayer answered. “I’m serious.” He swallows, looking around the large room nervously as if Phil’s going to appear out of thin air. “He’s not here. He never arrived. He’s also not at his house. He’s missing. No one has seen him.” “I’m not sure why that’s a problem.” I don’t want to marry the sick bastard. Phil Buxton is the highest-ranking Raven you can come by, which just makes this even worse. Ravens are like anything else in this world. You have some at the bottom, and others at the top. There are different tiers. 

But honestly, it doesn’t matter; they’re all sick fucking bastards who will kill anyone to get to where they are. Even the bottom feeders will destroy anything to get a chance at serving. He steps over to me. “Amelia …” The door opens, and my father enters with my mother. I cross my arms over my chest. “I’m guessing this good fortune has nothing to do with you two?” My mother’s injected lips seem to thin a tad at my comment. She’s told me a million times that this is just the life we live. That it’s a “tradition” and I just have to accept it. That as far as Raven and Ravenia goes, we’re royalty. Bull-fucking-shit. I’d rather be someone’s bitch than a Raven’s Ravenia. My father, however, stares at the floor while running a hand through his dark hair. “Daddy?” I step over to him, holding my dress in my hands so I don’t step on the hem. “What’s going on?” His throat works, swallowing before his eyes find mine. There’s a look of regret in them, and hope fills my chest. Maybe he’s realized that I don’t want this life. He clears his throat. “I just received a call …” “Please tell me you did this—called off my wedding?” I rush out, my words hopeful. “I’m sorry, Amelia, but the wedding is still on.” He sighs. And what little hope I had is now smothered. “But Dylan said Phil’s missing.” I point at my brother. Had my father received the same phone call that my brother did? Or was it someone else? “You are no longer to wed Phil.” He yanks on the collar of his tux. Picking up the dress so I don’t trip over it in my six-inch hooker heels—that my soon-to-be husband also picked out—I take a step back, my heart picking up speed. This is good news. Why does he look so concerned? “I don’t understand. If he’s not here—” “A new Raven has chosen you,” he interrupts me. My mother places her hand over her mouth, trying to quiet a sob. “No,” I argue. “That can’t be.” It was decided that Phil would be my husband when I was eighteen—three years ago. 

Things like this aren’t just changed at the last minute. I’ve lived the past few years preparing for this day. To be his wife. What he wanted. A Raven can’t choose to marry me, not when I’m already promised to another. “Who?” my brother demands. “Who in the hell would make this change?” He fists his hands at his sides. I reach up and grab the pearls my mother gave me. She thought they would give me some kind of comfort, and I laughed, but now I hold on to them as if they’re an anchor to a lifeline. “I—” The door swings open once again, this time hitting the interior wall and making me jump. A set of baby-blue eyes meet mine, and my stomach drops. The wind knocked out of me. I haven’t seen them in years, but they’ve haunted my dreams ever since.

Three years ago

 “Where is she?” my mother demands, entering the hospital. She received a phone call that my sister was brought in tonight, but no other information was given. “Ma’am—” “Where is my daughter?” she screams at the nurse, pounding on the check-in desk. I turn around to see my sister’s boyfriend walking toward us. His white T-shirt and jeans are covered in blood, and my chest tightens to the point it restricts my air. My mom’s legs give out when she sees him. “N-o,” she chokes, placing her shaking hand over her mouth. Walter catches her and holds her body to his, but his baby-blue eyes meet mine, sending a chill down my spine so cold, it’s paralyzing. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers. “She’s gone.” 

“Walter,” my brother growls, shoving me to the side and pulling me out of that memory, and steps in front of me.

[justyouraverageficwriter]

I Know What You Did

Mina x M Reader

Genre: Shorts, One Shot(?), Smut

WC: 1887

You're getting your ass kicked by some demi-god/Valkyrie boss in a game you recently bought. Her waterfowl dance always fucks you up. It's getting a bit annoying; your pride is really hurting. Your girlfriend beat the hell out of this boss in just a couple of tries, why can't you? It's already 1 AM, you've been playing ever since you got home from work and you're still on the same boss. It's not because you're a bad boyfriend, that you don't allocate time for her. It's because your girlfriend is Mina Sharon Myoui, and she is still filming for the group's new song.

After another You Died screen, you ultimately decided to resign for the night. You reach out for your phone to send Mina a text message, to let her know you'll be sleeping. Before you could type something, you received a text from her that she is coming down. Yes, you live a couple of floors below the units where Twice members live. The message took you by surprise, she never marched into your unit without asking if you are okay with it first. Also because she didn't even let you know that she got home already. A minute later, your door swings open and there she is. She is really beautiful even if you can see that she's tired after a long day.

You automatically lock yourselves to a hug. She smells heavenly even after her schedule. Mina looks up at you, as if she is studying your face. You return the gesture, giving her a smile. Its public knowledge that she is ethereal, elegance personified. The streaks of highlights on her hair really suits her.

Then a kiss. You knew it was gonna happen eventually. Her lips are soft and sweet, a fitting description of her as well; the other side of her to be specific. The kiss transforms into a sensual one, it's still sweet but it also is wet as your tongues slip inside each other's mouths.

"You are not that tired, huh?"

"Just shut your mouth and make love to me." She cuts you off with a kiss at the first movement of your mouth in a failed attempt to reply to her.

Mina unzips the oversized jacket she is wearing over the outfit she was shooting with today. It is more conservative compared to the black ones but it's Mina and her exposed midriff, it's more than enough for you to lose your mind. Besides she has been sending you pictures earlier while at work in this very outfit, some images are a little slutier than usual. For your own eyes only.

"I have been wanting your cock already even during the shoot." It seems all that slutiness was all part of the plan.

She takes off your shorts and underwater in one single stroke. Your already hard dick whips up, standing proudly. She wants it right then and now, skip all that foreplay. Mina is quick to get a hold of it and pumps it with her soft hands. Her handjob is perfect, the pace was spot on and her thumb is fiddling with your tip slathering your precum all around. Sharon really came out to play tonight and is filled with lust.

Of course something inside you snapped, it's impossible to keep being gentle amidst all the pleasure. Your hands land on her fat ass, cupping them through her safety shorts. It is super jiggly and soft and you're giving it a slap every now and then. The contact of the slaps makes her whimper, adding to the ever growing sexual tension. The kiss deepens in lust, the tongues dance, the occasional lip bites. You take off her green sleeves to expose more of her. Obviously, you want more.

Her light blue top is sinful on its own, it hugs her body so well. Mina is absolutely sexy, too hot for her own good. The curve of her waist, her perky tits pushed up by her top, her insane abs. It's a view everywhere you look. You slip out of the kiss to enjoy the scene for a moment before busying yourself by licking and kissing her exposed chest.

"Fuck me now babe, I want you so bad." She's too horny to complete her sentence the way she started it.

"Beg for it."

"Please fuck me, I need your cock deep inside me. Please?" She can be really persuasive.

Of course you will, who will deny her? Besides, you have your pent up frustration to the game you're playing and this is the perfect way to let it all out. You hook your fingers to the hem of her safety shorts and easily take them off, it looks like the belt is really just for aesthetics. You lift her and place her on the nearest table. Finding the perfect spot between her creamy thighs, you align yourself to her already dripping wet entrance.

Then two become one. She gasps at the first entry. Mina has been craving obviously and you finally inside her is the best vindication, the perfect solution. You could not stop yourself from fucking roughly, you're overwhelmed with lust. However, judging by her moans she would not have it any other way.

"You're so big baby. It feels so good, please don't stop."

"Your pussy is so tight Mina." Indeed it is, you still can't get used to it.

"Fuck me like that, please, ahhhhh!" Her voice is full of pleasure, needy at the same time.

You continue to move your hips, sliding your dick in and out in a steady rhythm obliging her needs. The slick sounds of sex and slapping flesh heightens all senses. Throw in the dirty talk and profanities you both utter in the mix, it's an absolute carnal scene. Her skirt is obstructing the view of your lovemaking but somehow it adds to the thrill.

Mina's arms on the back supporting her position to keep herself upright ultimately give in to the pleasure as she completely lays down the table. You adjust yourself to fuck her comfortably, not wanting to slow down your pace. She is a mess under you, a beautiful mess though. Arms reaching out to the edge of the table on top of her head while moaning ragged and breathless. She is getting close to her climax; it is evident in her tightening walls.

"I'm going to cum baby. Don't stop, don't you dare stop."

Those were her last words before her orgasm drowns her. Her legs wrapped around you to keep you inside as she rides her high. Mina is glistening, skin flushed pink with sweat, eyes half lidded. It is obvious that she enjoyed the sex you have given her, full of satisfaction getting what she wants and how she wanted it. Slow to get up, you help her to sit back straight. You kiss her, she is just so irresistible.

"Let's get you finished up." She climbs down the table and turns around, offering her behind.

"I know you want it this way." All smiles, seductive and provoking.

"Slut!" The word slips out your mouth.

"As if you don't want it."

"Fuck you Sharon!" She is right though. You always want to fuck her from behind if there is a chance.

"That's right, fuck me!"

You raise her skirt and is absolutely amazed by how full her peach is, even if you've seen it many times. Her body is a complete wonderland. Diving inside her pussy from behind is a different kind of pleasure. The view of her bouncing ass makes the fuck much more lustful, primal and instinct driven. You watch as your dick disappears from view, hidden by her jiggling behind and inside her hot tight insides.

"Yeesss! Oh my God, you fuck so good baby." Mina lets out a loud moan.

"You're such a slut Sharon." Whispering in her ear.

"Yes baby! Sharon's a big slut for you."

"I know! I bet you're all wet thinking of me while shooting your music video." You tease her while continuing to fuck her pussy.

"Yup I'm so horny, I touched myself in the dressing room just to get by."

You mentally shake your head in disbelief, you know you have this effect in Mina but it's news to you that she's capable of masturbating at work.

"Damn what will the staff say if they know about your adventures." You hold her hips against your thrusts to reach deeper inside. Mina is panting and moaning your name in response validating your actions. Her back arches as she reaches for your lips. Eyes fixed on you, struggling to keep it open in the middle of all the fucking.

"It's your fault baby, making me crave for your dick always."

It was all you need to hear. You're now fighting for dear life to last a little longer.

"I'm cumming Sharon."

"Cum inside me baby, empty yourself inside me."

The pace is now increasing but uneven, as much as you want to chase your orgasm you want to last as long as possible, her pussy is a goddamn paradise.

"Give it to me, please!"

Her words ultimately lead to your end as you explode inside her, shooting ropes of cum, emptying yourself and letting it all go.

"Fuck baby, you're so fucking good." You whispered again in her ears. Panting and still catching both of your breaths, you turn her around and corral her on your arms.

"It's because you fuck so good." She smiles as she obviously had her fill of what she came for.

"It looks like we ruined your outfit." You noticed her outfit has become disheveled after your rough fuck.

"These are expensive; it's going to cost you."

"You're the one who barged her uninvited though."

She smiles at the fact.

"I'll let it slide this time. And, don't make it look like you are against the idea." Sticking out her tongue to tease.

"You're mine." You know it is more than just a statement. It's a claim of ownership. "I know what you and Sana did."

You obviously want to explain but she kissed you to shut you up. She has been doing that tonight.

"I don't want to hear your explanation. I know Sana can be really irresistible."

You're guilty as charged. There's no use in denying it.

"Are you mad at me?"

"I would not be here begging for your dick if I am. I'm here to show you that I can be a slut too."

"I'm sorry Mina, I promise I will not be seduced again."

"I don't care if you fuck her again, as long as it just stays as that. I'm just afraid if you develop feelings for her."

"My heart belongs to you, yours alone."

There is silence after your words. Both of you stayed there in each other's arms. She notices the screen of the game you're playing still on. A welcome distraction.

"I'll help you beat that boss later, come with me for a shower first. Show me how you and Sana spend a shower together."

You realize she knows everything that you and Sana did. You are absolutely shocked and amazed at the same time.

"Did Sana tell you every detail?"

"Nope! That's why I wish you could show me."

__________________

A/N: Should I continue the story? :D Thanks for reading as always.

[warmblanketwhump]

Idk if its too late to send this in but if it isn't, how about ⬤ and ✿?

✿: feeling so out of it, they need constant attention

⬤: being called soft things like baby, sweetheart or honey

(note: this MIGHT be cheating but my poor brain was stuck on ideas SO this is a part two to this prompt fill! would recommend reading that first for context, but pretty sure you can enjoy them independently :)

To any other person, the remote cabin would have looked like any old shack – slightly dilapidated, covered in moss, nested away among the trees. But to a lost, soaked, chilled-to-the-bone A, the cabin looks like a warm little slice of heaven, and it takes all they have not to run up the stairs. Instead, they slide an injured B off of their back and help them hobble to the small porch.

The pair limp across the threshold of the cabin and leave the pattering rain behind them, entering a small, spotlessly clean living room that smells of cedar and pine. A large, squashy-looking couch faces a dark fireplace with a tall stack of split logs nearby, and to the right of the doorway is a small kitchen. In the back, A spots a darkened bedroom, a tiny bathroom, and a linen closet. The cabin's rustic, so there's no electricity or hot water - just a single spigot and a gas stove for cooking.

They set a trembling B on the couch, pushing away the guilt of yelling at them earlier, of making them come out here in the first place.

“I’ll find us some towels and blankets. Can you start getting your wet clothes off?” Amid their violent shivers, B nods and starts shedding A’s raincoat and their own denim jacket with pruned, fumbling fingers. The sight nearly crushes A, but they know someone has to go find blankets to help them both get warm.

A pushes into the bathroom and locates several clean, threadbare towels, then heads to the linen closet. They nearly burst into happy tears when they see the large bundle of hideous plaid blankets and a couple piles of flannel and thermal clothing stacked neatly in the corner (forgotten by whoever rented it last, they guessed) and grab as much as their numb fingers can hold.

When they return to the couch, they find B in nearly the exact spot they left them - denim jacket off one arm, on the other, rain jacket fallen to the floor. They're hunched over, stiff with cold, arms crossed tightly.

“Oh sweetheart.…” A sighs, dropping the blankets on the couch and rushing to them.

“T-tried to ch-change. F-fingers won't-t work-k. I’m s-sorry-”

“B, you have nothing to be sorry about. I should’ve helped you in the first place.” A unthreads the soaked clothing from B’s shaking frame, gently patting their wet skin dry and lightly squeezing the water droplets out of their hair with a towel.

B’s eyes are bleary and unfocused, but they respond to A’s simple commands as they dress them in a pair of warm red flannel pants and a grey thermal long-sleeve. A casts a glance towards B's swollen ankle - it's not the worst injury they've ever seen, but it's definitely got to hurt. They dart back to the bathroom and locate a small first aid kit with a cloth bandage, and tenderly wrap up the sore ankle to immobilize it.

When they’re finished, they wrap B in two blankets: one around their legs and elevated ankle, and the other over their wet head and trembling shoulders. B sneezes, cinches the blanket tighter and groans.

“Look-k like a Russian p-peasant woman.” B grumbles, and A can’t help but let a chuckle escape. They really do look like a grandma, with only their face sticking out of the blanket cape.

“Alright, then, babushka. Let me get a fire started, and I’ll join you in a minute.”

Mercifully, it only takes a few minutes for A to get a roaring fire going. A drapes another blanket around B's shoulders and gives them a quick, reassuring rub.

“I’m gonna change, okay? You just worry about warming up.” B moans weakly and pulls the blanket over their nose, edging closer to the flame’s heat.

A peels off their wet clothing in the drafty bedroom, hurriedly drying their own cold skin and pulling on their own warm clothes - a cream thermal and blue flannel pants. The brief exposure makes them shiver, and they chafe their arms and legs to rub away the goosebumps and the damp chill that sinks into their marrow. For just a moment, they acknowledge how cold they are, too. God, they wish this place had hot water.

The adrenaline of the moment begins to fade, and several facts strike them at once. They were freezing. They were stuck in a remote cabin with no electricity for the weekend. This whole weekend was their idea - and all their fault. And they felt guilty as hell about it.

Squeezing their wet hair, they shove the intrusive thoughts from their mind and grab a blanket from the bed to wrap tightly around their own shoulders, along with a couple pillows from the bed for B.

On returning to the living room, they see B managed to hop on their one good leg over to the fire, leaving a trail of two of their other blankets behind. They’re huddled as close as possible to the warm glow, head resting on the hearth. A drops the pillows on the couch and kneels down, running their fingers through B’s damp hair, now exposed by the fallen blanket.

“Feeling any better, love?”

B gives a small, wan smile that fails to light up their peaked face and shakes their head, turning to cough. When they’ve finished, they shudder weakly, pulling the blanket tighter.

“Can’t shake the chill in my bones.” B coughs again. A can see them rubbing their arms under the blankets. “Heat’s bouncing right off me. And I ache all over, not just my ankle.” Another chill rattles their teeth, and they pull the blanket up to their chin. “I just can’t warm up at all.”

A pulls a shivery B into a hug, rubbing their shoulders and trying to share the little body heat they’ve created - unlike B, the fire’s warmth is beginning to thaw them out. In the dim firelight, A can see a sheen of sweat on B’s forehead, and alarm bells go off. Instinctively, A reaches out to press their cold hand to it. It’s warm now. Too warm for someone who just spent two hours trekking through the cold rain.

"Sweetheart, you're feverish. That’s why you’re achy and chilled.”

“S’pose it makes sense. I’m just freezing.” A gust of wind rattles the cabin, and a draft snakes its way into the living room, making B shudder and curl up even closer to A. “I’d kill for a hot shower right now.”

“Don’t go all ‘The Shining’ on me yet - we just got here.” A grabs a towel to try and further dry B’s damp hair. It was probably an old wives’ tale, but they didn’t have many options to keep a sick person comfortable out here, and wet hair couldn’t feel good.

B had complained about feeling a cold coming on a couple days ago, and mentioned that they might not want to go this weekend. A had made fun of them for it, joking about how someone like B never let a little cold get them down. And now, thanks to them, B was even sicker. They really were the worst friend in history.

“Do you think you could manage some tea?" A asks quietly. B closes their eyes and nods, laying their head back on the hearth.


It takes a few minutes, but A manages to light the gas stove and locate a kettle, along with a dusty box of herbal tea tucked away in a cupboard. Whoever they had rented from had stocked it high with all kinds of canned soups and dry goods, so at least they’d be prepared for the long haul.

A sudden glance out the window reveals that the rain has turned into fat, white snowflakes, whirling in the sky and dusting the porch. A rubs their hands together, holding their chilled fingers as close to the stove flame as possible. The kettle whistles and A pours two cups, reveling in the warm steam that tickles their nose.

Once the tea is brewed, they make their way back to the fireplace. B's too weak to lift their own head, so A sits behind them and props them up, holding the teacup and helping them take small sips of the warm liquid. Once the cup is empty, A helps B lay their head back on the hearth before adding a few more logs to the fire and starting on their own tea.

Despite the warm fire, A can feel the ambient temperature of the room dropping. There's no way B's going to stay warm enough in the bedroom, so they’ll just have to make do out here for now.

After pushing the couch until it's just inches in front of the fire, A sweeps B into their arms and helps them back to the couch, easing them gently onto the pillows they've laid and tucking a blanket back around them. Even this close to the fire, the brief movement had set off another round of bone-shaking chills in B, and they grip their blanket so hard A’s afraid they’ll tear it.

“A?" B's voice is weak.

“I’m right here.”

“A, can you hold me? Please?” The desperation is palpable. B’s breathing is hoarse and they're close to tears, arms wrapped tightly around themselves. “Shivering hurts, but I can’t stop. I know you probably don’t want to get sick from me-”

A’s heart breaks. “Don’t be silly. Of course I’ll keep you warm.” They slide onto the couch and wrap their own blanket around the both of them, pulling B’s fevered body to their chest. B clings to their body, and A can feel the shakes that ripple through them. A gently massages their arms and back in slow circles and B presses closer, the vulnerability almost too much to bear.

Finally, A says what’s been eating away at them for hours. “B, I’m so sorry for what I said on the trail. I shouldn’t have said it, and I didn’t mean it. I do want you here. And now we’re here, and you're sick and hurt and it’s my fault, and I’m sorry for that too.” The apology comes out in such a rush, and B is quiet for so long in their arms that they doubt B even heard it.

But then they feel B’s trembling arms squeezing their waist. “Nature’s not your fault, A. Besides, if being taken care of is a part of your apology, it's warm and I'll take it."

A grips B even tighter, fighting back tears. “Whatever happens this weekend, I’ve got you. You know that, right?”

“‘Course I do. You always have,” B mumbles as they slip into a restless sleep. In front of the warm fire, A reasons that the drafty bedroom was probably too cold for anyone to sleep in. No, they were perfectly content to stay right here with B - and not even the promise of a warm shower could lure them away.

[hwangsies]

LIMERENCE

(n) the state of becoming infatuated with another person

pairing: hyunjin x female reader

summary: you haven’t spoken a word to hyunjin since he ghosted you after a fun new years eve together, so what’s the worst that could happen when fate (or chaeryong,...well, same thing) pairs you up for a road trip across the country?

warnings: e2l (ish), university student!au, non idol!au ,a lot of swearing. alcohol consumption,long flashback, mentions of infidelity, hyunjin is a giggly sweetheart, smut as in: dom!hyunjin, unprotected sex (wrap it up luvs),fingering, oral (f recieving), slight choking, praise kink, hand & strenght kink (manhandleing oopsie), slight overstimulation, hyunjin is really enthusiastic about consent (as you should be, periodt), reader is nervous and scared of hyunjins big pickle (ew i hate myself), motel sex (but it’s not trashy i promise!)

8.6 k words ,meaning grab a snack and a drink,

and enjoy!<3

---

"alright everyone" your professor rubs his hands together "that was it for today... i hope you all have a great break and i'm very exited to see all of you again next semester. hopefully in person again" he chuckles.

You and your classmates exchange goodbyes with him before one after the other exits the zoom call.

"fuck" you sigh after closing your laptop and lean back on your bed.

"you did it girl" your dormmate chaeryong claps, at which you giggle before shifting your eyes to her on the other side of the room.

She's sitting on her bed, folding her clothes before putting it in her suitcase thats placed in front of her.

"finally" you sit up and watch her roll up a pair of socks.

"my last class was yesterday and mrs kim teared up" she giggles "it was kinda cute not gonna lie"

"oh god" you snicker.

"hey did you find someone to take to yongin?" you ask, remebering chearyong talking about wanting to find someone to share gas expenses with in exchange for a ride to her hometown.

"oh yea, i did" she turn to you "i think you know him, seo changbin?"

You furrow your brows in thought, you feel like you've heard of the name.

"he's a music major, one year above us, hes also from yongin" she continues folding a pair of jeans "funny you'd ask actually cause he told me one of his friends was looking for a ride to seoul, isn't that where you're going?"

"Yea i was thinking about finding someone honestly because gas is really fucking expensive if you aint rich" you say, placing your laptop onto your nightstand.

"Mm you aint gotta tell me girl" chaeryong mumbles, folding a sweatshirt.

"so who's that friend?" you ask, stretching out on your bed.

"he's in his grade, hyunjin"

Your neck almost cracks from how fats you whip your head “hwang hyunjin?”

"Oh yea" she points at you "you know him?"

"unfortunately" you huff.

"o-oh, what"s the tea?" your roommate wiggles her brows at which you shake your head.

"nothing much really" you sigh, leaning back again "he's just like the most arrogant and stuck up fuckboy ever"

"wow, well thats not nothing" chaeryong laughs "any reason as to why you think that?"

"you could probably ask any girl on campus and she'll tell you the same" you scoff.

"really girl?" chaeryong squints an eye at you playfully "cause i've only heard of him being hot but never of him being a hoe. And you know i'm the first to know the hot gossip" she winks.

Laughing defeatedly, running your hand through your hair.

"it's just- we hit it off at the campus' new years eve party, like really hit it off- at least thats what i thought"

"oooh spill it spill it" chaeryong leaps over to your bed to sit at the end of it.

"well there's really not much to spill, i gave him my number and he was talking all that smack about taking me out and stuff aaand to make a long story short i never heard from him again"

"well" chaeryong speaks slowly, biting her lip guiltily "i dont think you'll be very happy about me giving changbin your number for him, then?"

"you did what???" your eyes almost pop out of your head.

"sooorryy" she jumps up from your bed, clutching her hands apologetically "i didnt know"

"aaaaarghh" you whine, burying your face in your pillow.

"maybe he won't even text you though" chaeryong tries to console you, but the damage is already done...

-

unknown number - hey i got this number from changbin, i heard you're driving up to seoul, i'd love to tag along if you're looking for someone to share expenses with -recieved at 9:12 am

You huff looking at the message on your phone.

After chaeryong had left last night you really convinced yourself that he couldn't possibly dare to reach out to you.

But here you are reading his message after just waking up, and your day is already ruined.

you - who is this? - sent at 9:56 am

You know who it is, but you're not going to give him the satisfaction of thinking that you do.

Scoffing when he answers almost immediately.

unknown number - this is hyunjin, did i reach the right person? - recieved at 9:57 am

You have two choices at this point.

1. be petty and bitter about a boy who probably doesn't even remember you.

Or 2. move on and help someone who is also just trying to get home and also maybe get some closure.

So you curse your mother for rasing you so well and suck it up.

you - yea sure, i planned on leaving tomorrow at around 6 pm - sent at 10:02 am

Damn you and your common human decency.

he sus - oh okay great :) i only have one suitcase and a backpack btw so i wont take up alot of space or anything - recieved at 10:05 am

he sus - also i feel weird bc i dont know ur name or anything changbin literally just sent me the number and nothing else lol, also 6 sounds good should we meet at the main building then? -sent at 10:06 am

You're quite honestly not shocked that he seems nice over text because he was the same when you met on new years eve.

you - sure lets meet at the main building, my car is white and my name is y/n - sent at 10:09 am

Cringing as you press the send button because you are 99% certain he won't answer anymore; not that you'd care, obviously.

he sus - alright y/n see you tomorrow at 6 then :) - recieved at 10:14 am

You raise your brows when your phone lights up with his message, does he really not remember you?

Was he that drunk?

Well, it doesnt matter because you don't want to pay for all this gas alone and he seems to be the next best option to fix that.

So you shrug it off and get out off bed to run some last errands and start packing.

-

Your heart is beating unreasonably fast when you take a turn towards the main building at 5:55 pm the next day.

Calm down y/n it’ll just be 5 hours and who says you have to talk to him?

However you do know deep in your heart that you only wanted to arrive just a little early so you could complain about him being late.

That plan got cut short because your eyes fall on him as you pull up to the main building.

He’s- oh my god he’s blonde. You stop your car and he looks up at you.

“it is you!” hyunjin smiles at you when you step out of the car.

“who else would it be?” you ask, a little irritated at his reaction.

His face drops a bit when he sees you clearly annoyed by him, but the doesn’t blame you; he’d be mad too.

You open your trunk for him to put his weirdly small suitcase into, looking him up and down as he lifts it inside.

He’s wearing dark baggy pants and a windbreaker jacket, the top part of his chin-length blonde hair is pulled back into a messy ponytail.

He seemed to have bulked up as well, shoulders looking broader than what you remember.

The hair is different than the jet black hair that you remember on him, but it suits him very well; to be honest he would look good in any hair colour, not that you’d care though.

The first thirty minutes of the ride go by agonizingly slow and in complete silence.

When you drive onto the freeway you can’t take it anymore and mumble something among the lines of ‘wanna listen to some music?’.

You don’t wait for an answer, pressing the radio button right as you finish your sentence.

“uh, actually” hyunjin starts, his hand lifting to turn the radio back off, your eyes snap towards him, is he serious? Turning off your radio in your car?

“I wanted to address this situation” he says rather quietly.

You scoff “what? You realized that this is awkward just now?”

“no- I mean- yes I understand why you would think that but I just really want a chance to explain myself” he stutters.

“explain yourself” you repeat after him before mumbling “sure because there’s so much to explain”

“listen, I know you think I’m an asshole who just ghosted you b-“

“listen, I can handle rejection, you could’ve just said that you weren’t looking for something serious and I would’ve accepted that. The thing I’m mad about though is you literally making false promises and shit” 

Hyunjin blinks at you “can I please just explain to you what happened?”

You let out a long huff “sure” you wave your hand “go ahead”

“when you and your friends left at around 4, you wrote your number on my arm with your eyeliner, correct?” he asks.

Glancing over at him, you nod.

“after you where gone, I was already pretty drunk but then my friends decided to drag me with them to a different party that was still going” you see him fiddling with his hands in your peripheral “well I got super fucking shitfaced at that party and ended up puking on this one guys shoes”

You raise your eyebrows and hold back a laugh, which he notices.

“its okay you can laugh” he chuckles as well.

“anyways that guy was not very happy about it and busted my lip before kicking me and my friends out, so then back in the dorm my roommate sat me in the shower because I was full of alcohol, blood and puke”

“ew” you chime in.

“and when I woke up the next morning your number was gone” hyunjin looks over at you “we don’t have any mutual friends, I didn’t know what your major is so I couldn’t even asks for you in the administrating office, and then the covid lockdown happened and here we are”

“you called the administrating office?” you look over at him, he nods a little smile on his stupid pretty lips.

“yep, so, sorry to tell you but your eyeliner is not waterproof” he jokes at which you playfully knit your brows at him.

“believe me, I wanted to text you. I really wanted to take you out; and when you sent me your name yesterday I didn’t know if this was a lucky coincidence or if you’re a different y/n, that’s why I didn’t say anything” he explains.

You take a deep breath as you realize you have to apologize for going off on him just now, you believe him but you hate apologizing.

“well, I feel like an ass for going off on you like that after hearing all this” you chuckle “I’m sorry” you eye him shortly before looking back on the road.

“it’s okay, you don’t have to apologize I get how it looked, very much sus” he laughs with you.

-

Coming back to your car after you took a bathroom break on a highway rest-stop, you see hyunjin sitting in the drivers seat.

“what do you think you’re doing?” you smile as you sit down on the passenger seat.

“I thought maybe you’d like to sleep since its dark already and you’ve been driving for almost 3 hours” he suggests while putting on his seatbelt.

“well, I wont say no to that” you shrug and put your seatbelt on as well.

“so when did you go blonde?” you ask curiously.

“uh- around end of june” hyunjin chuckles “it was a dare if I’m being honest but I ended up liking it and got it redone”

“oh okay” you check out his profile once more and follow his hair with your eyes “I like it”

“yea?”

“yea, which is weird cause I’m usually not into blondes at all” you wonder.

“hm” he grins “must be me then” he says before winking at you.

“pfff, in your dreams” you rebuttal playfully, at which he laughs and mumbles a ‘true’.

You don’t react to it because you think your ears are playing tricks on you.

“hey I have a question too” hyunjin says.

“what’s up” you lean your arm against the window as you look over at him.

His face is slightly lit by the lights of the other cars, no seriously, how can a side profile be so perfect?

“why did you even agree to take me with you if you thought I ghosted you?” he grins.

You laugh “well, I’m a nice person and I know not a lot of people there are from seoul and my mom raised me right, okay?”

“okay okay” he giggles, the way his eyes crinkle when he does makes you smile everytime.

“or…did you have such a good time with me on new years that you just had to jump on this opportunity?” he quips, carefully stealing a peek at you.

“sure, why do you think I was so upset when you didn’t text” you feign sadness.

The both of you laugh before falling into comfortable silence.

When looking outside your window, you think back to said new years eve.

-(flashback)

“oh my god” you said, stepping into the big hall that usually is the universities gym. But whoever planned this outdid themselves.

A dj was placed on one of the tribunes and a whole buffet of drinks and punches on the other, as well as a big disco ball hanging from the ceiling, making the room shimmery and shiny.

You could see people coming out of the doors that connected into the universities hall on one side and into the locker rooms on the others, as if it wasn’t already packed.

“this is fucking insane” lia, your roommate from last semester, squeaked while grabbing your arm and jumping a little, her voice overpowering the blasting music..

“I wanna get fucking hammered tonight” you turned to her.

“oh babe don’t worry,  we didn’t come here to drink soda” she laughed before spotting some of your other friends.

About five minutes before midnight you and some more girls gathered at the buffet of drinks and started doing shots.

You all had decided that instead of kissing someone at 12 o’clock you’d ring in 2020 with a shot, because alcohol can’t cheat on you.

You were laughing at something when some people started the countdown.

10!

9!

8!

7!

6!

5!

4!

3!

2!

1!

“HAPPY NEW YEAR”

Every one shouted and celebrated in union as you downed your shot.

“happy new year babe” lia hugged you after downing hers.

“happy new year!” you shouted into her ear, full of relief that this stressful year was over.

“lets do another one” she grinned widely after your whole friend group had shared their wishes with each other.

A girl you didn’t know very well handed you another shot, just as you emptied your glass you heard a guy yell something before stumbling into your back.

“jesus” you stumbled forward a bit before turning around, ready to throw someone a dirty look.

“I’m so sorry, are you okay?” in front of you suddenly stood a tall dark haired young man with almost too perfect facial features, frowning a little out of concern.

“nothing happened” you smiled, taking a step towards him so he’d hear you better.

“I’m glad” he replied, a grin slowly stretched across his handsome face

“I’m y/n” you giggled as you held out your hand.

His eyes crinkled with his smile as he took your hand in his “I’m hyunjin” he said before pressing a kiss to the back of your hand.

“okay guys let her have her fun lets go over there” you hear lia usher your friends away from behind you.

“happy new year y/n” he said before instinctively pulling you a little closer to him when a group of people passed behind you.

“happy new year hyunjin” you replied, a slow blush creeping on your face from how intensely he was taking in your appearance.

“well yea happy fucking new years to me for running into you” he joked before taking a sip, your brain wasn’t able to function anymore so you just giggled and nervously pushed your hair behind your ear.

It had been way too long since you’d talked to a guy, especially someone as attractive as him

“you’re fucking stunning” hyunjin complimented you and lifted your hand with his to make you spin for him, to which you complied because you took a long time getting ready and always appreciate being appreciated.

“thank you” you were crimson red by now but hoped he wouldn’t see because of the dimmed lights.

“how come I’ve never seen you around? I would’ve remembered you” he tilted his head.

“oh this was my first year here and I live on the other side of campus so…” you nodded slowly “but yea I would’ve remembered you too”

He grinned before downing his drink and putting on the table next to the both of you.

“wanna dance?”

That’s how you found yourself on the dance floor with hyunjin pressed against your back.

Slowly but surely the alcohol made you braver; and it didn’t take long for the dj to play perfect songs to grind yourself against his toned body to.

His reaction was instant, hands gripping even harder at your waist and his own movements matching your own.

You looked back at him just to have the air knocked out of your lungs, a barely there sheen of sweat was covering his forehead; his pupils were dilated and his lips were slightly parted before his tongue swiftly swept over his lower lip.

He looked like sex on legs and moved like it too.

His plump lips formed into a grin when he noticed you staring, you didn’t know if it was the alcohol running through your system but you so desperately wanted to kiss him.

“can’t stop looking at you either, pretty” he lowered his head to mumble against your cheek before pressing a kiss there.

“you’re so goddamn sexy” you blurted out as you turned around to face him, running one of your hands through his dark hair before positioning them on his firm chest.

He threw back his head as his chest vibrated with laughter.

“don’t laugh at me” you laughed as you locked eyes again.

“you’re cute when you’re drunk” hyunjin brought one hand to your face to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

“you dont even know me sober” you giggle “also i’m not drunk!” you protested playfully, his hands found your waist in the meantime to pull you flush to his body; at which you gasped almost inaudibly.

“oh really?” he looked down at you, clearly amused “didn’t you drink like 5 shots half an hour ago?”

“well well well, I didn’t know I had an audience” you countered, looping your arms around his neck.

Hyunjin prodded at the inside of his cheek with his tongue before looking away for a swift second, slightly embarrassed because he just exposed himself.

You felt yourself gush a little when he licked his lips again after bringing his gaze back to you.

“so you almost knocked me over on purpose?” you grinned even bigger when he shook his head laughingly.

“listen” he chuckled, leaning down unnecessarily close because you could hear him perfectly fine but you weren’t going to complain.

“I actually didn’t run into you on purpose, that was my friends doing after he saw me notice you” he said.

You mouthed an ‘ahh’ while nodding, feigning disbelief.

“I’m serious” hyunjin laughed “I still have to thank him later; I would’ve probably chickened out”

He got quieter at the end of his sentence, his eyes jumping to your lips when you wet your lower lip with your tongue quickly.

“i-m glad he pushed you then” you replied, trying to hide the fact that your heart was pumping your blood in record time.

“yea” he inched his face closer to yours as you tilted your chin up to meet him in the middle “me too”

His eyes switched from your lips to your eyes one more time before closing the gap between the both of you.

His lips were firm but soft at the same time in the way they moulded against yours, you swore you could hear lia squealing from somewhere but maybe you were just hearing things.

But when his tongue touched yours in the most tentative way you lost contact to what was going on around you, slinging your arms tighter around his neck and deepening the kiss.

A tiny groan escaped hyunjins throat when you carded your fingers through his hair to tug on it and release some of the adrenalin that rushed through you.

He was slow and explorative and let you take control from time to time before sucking on your lower lip and making you loose it.

You didn’t know how many songs had passed; to be honest you didn’t even remember what song was playing when you started kissing.

All you knew in that moment was hyunjins lightly flushed cheeks, swollen lips and dark glistening eyes.

“let’s go somewhere else?” he questioned in a whisper when you bit your lip, nodding at his question.

He grabbed your hand in his before manoeuvring the both of you through the dancing and celebrating crowd.

Before you knew it, hyunjin pulled you into the entrance hall of the university where multiple people had the same idea as you.

Couples scattered across the big room, some just talking, most of them however making out heavily.

“come on” he softly tugged at your hand, smiling when your gaze falls on him.

He lead you up the big flight of stairs onto a floor of the building you’ve never been to, stopping in front of a random room before pulling a small set of keys out of his back pocket.

After unlocking the door, he opened it to let you step inside.

It was a dance studio, the wall right across from you was just one huge mirror through which you could see the big couch in the back of the room and the water dispensers next to it.

“why do you have the keys for this room?” you asked, giggling.

Hyunjin grinned as he closed the door “I’m a dance major, we all have keys for the practice rooms”

“that’s so cool” you beamed “I wish I could dance” you looked around the room, walking towards the mirrored wall a little bit.

“you were moving just fine earlier” hyunjin came up behind you, nimble hands finding your waist as he looked you up and down through the mirror intensely, now that you were under the bright lights of the room.

You couldn’t help but to smile a little at that, the tight little glitter dress that you had chosen really did accentuate your curves in the best way possible, paired with the cute black heels which made your legs look way longer than they actually are.

“but that was like club sexy dancing, you know?” you elaborated.

“hm” he hummed amusedly “whats wrong with sexy club dancing?” you turned around to him.

He didn’t look to shabby himself, all in black, a chic button up with some jeans and a belt; accessorized with rings on his pretty fingers, a  dainty silver necklace and some small earrings.

Some might say he was underdressed, but the way he carried himself with such confidence, and that face of his must for sure be a panty dropper, you thought.

“nothing but… I don’t know, teach me something” you pleaded.

“what do you want me to teach you?” he laughed.

“I don’t know a pirouette or something” you suggested, laughing as well.

“okay” he grinned “this is like the base stance” he positioned himself correctly before looking at you to see if you were following his instructions.

“mhm” you hummed, replicating what he was doing.

“and then you get momentum with one leg to be able to swing yourself around, like this” hyunjin explained before executing a perfect pirouette and ending it back in the base stance.

“that was fast” you chuckled.

“your turn” he grins before moving behind you “try to keep your eyes on yourself in the mirror otherwise you’ll loose balance”

“okay” you said unsurely.

“I’ll catch you if you fall” he winked at you, at which you scoff playfully before carefully swinging yourself into a pirouette.

You landed on wobbly legs but before you could tip over hyunjin stabilized you with a firm grip on your hips.

“you’re a natural” he grinned at you through the mirror.

“well thank you” you playfully feigned cockiness before he spun you around himself.

A few seconds pass of the both of you taking in each others features in silence, the only thing you could hear was the faint music of the party downstairs, before hyunjin spoke up.

“can I kiss you?”

You fell into giggles again as you let your forehead rest against his collarbone before looking up again “we’ve kissed before”

“yea but that was like a moment and I don’t want to catch you off guard or anything” he mumbles cutely.

“mm” you nod “ you can kiss me”

And with a smile, he does.

You weren’t surprised when his first gentle ministrations turned into more desperate ones rather quickly because you could feel the warmth spread in your lower regions as well.

He walked the both of you over to the couch, only parting from your lips when he sat down on the black leather material of the couch.

“come here, pretty girl” he took your hand to help you straddle him, your dress riding up but you couldn’t care less if he saw your safety shorts, and he didn’t seem to care either by the way he feverishly connected your lips again.

His hands travelled down to squeeze at your waist before smoothing over your ass and grabbing a handful of each cheek, you moaned into the kiss when you realized how big his hands were.

Your own hands were squeezing at his shoulders before one moved into his soft hair while the other softly rested on his cheek.

The kiss was messy and desperate, teeth clinking together and tongues licking at each other.

The things that riled you up the most however were his groans and praises.

“you’re so fucking sexy” he groaned before moving down to kiss at your jaw and down your neck.

A needy whimper escaped from your throat when he started suckling the sensitive skin at the base of your throat.

“fuck-hyunjin” you moaned when his teeth grazed over your clavicle.

Your hands fumbled before landing on his belt, at which he pulled away from your skin, gently taking your hands off of his belt.

“I’d love to take you out first, actually” his pretty kiss swollen lips twitched up into a shy smile as he pants.

“oh” you were taken aback, you were almost certain that this was something regular for him “I thought-“

“I mean if you just want to fuck we can fuck of course” he chuckled “but- I actually think you’re really cute and fun and I’d love to get to know you better”

Your mouth stood a little agape “uh- I mean-I” you stuttered, your brain not functioning properly because of the alcohol running through your veins but also him!

“its okay if you just want, you know-“

“no!” you blurted out all over sudden, making him flinch a little “sorry, uhm- its just been a while since I had a date” you smile apologetically.

His expression visibly brightens “that’s okay” he giggled “so is that a yes?”

You grinned, leaning in to just barely brush your lips with his, his head twitching upwards in an attempt to connect them fully.

“yes” you whispered, at which he smiled brightly before pulling your in for a kiss by your neck.

-(flashback end)

“y/n”

“hey, y/n” you grumble when you feel someone gently rocking your shulder.

“mmm-what?” you peek your eyes open just to see hyunjin smile at you.

“good morning sunshine” he teases as you sit up in your seat when you realize you aren’t driving anymore.

“just kidding its not morning” he says as you look around your car, realizing your on a parking lot.

“where the fuck are we?” you whip your head towards him “did you bring me here to kill me? kidnap me?”

“wha?- no” he laughs “no, I’m sorry. Right after you fell asleep there was this huge traffic jam because of an accident and we stood there for almost 3 hours so I drove off and found this” he points out the rear window, where you see a small motel building.

You look back at him before checking the time on your phone, seeing it was indeed almost midnight.

“fuck” you swear to yourself.

“I didn’t know if you wanted to keep driving because I was getting tired so I thought maybe-“ hyunjin starts rambling guiltily, not wanting you to thing that this was an attempt to get in your pants.

“hey” you put your hand on his shoulder after taking off your seatbelt “this is good, you made the right decision I think we both could use some sleep” you say.

You each take your suitcases and walk inside, it’s an old building but it looks pretty clean for a motel off of the highway.

“good evening you two” an old lady sits behind the, probably just as old, reception.

“good evening, could we get 2 single rooms, please” hyunjin speaks up politely.

“I’m afraid we only have 2 double bed rooms available, if you’d like to take them, they will however be more expensive than the rooms for one” she explains politely.

“its okay, we’ll take one of those, please” you decide, hyunjins head snapping towards you.

“is that okay?” you ask him.

“yea- sure” he nods.

“alright, room 301 it is” she hands you the key before stating that you’ll have to checkout before 12 pm and what the room costs.

“do you accept card?” hyunjin asks at which the friendly old lady nods before taking his card and swiping it through her little machine.

“I’ll venmo you half of what you paid” you say after unlocking room 301.

He tsk’s at you before shaking his head “don’t, it was my idea so I’ll pay”

“are you sure?” you ask closing the door behind you when he turns on the lights.

“yup-oh” he exclaims.

“this room is cute” you say, it’s small but the walls are a soft sunflower yellow, decorated with paintings of autumn leaves .

The bed looks clean, and when you smell the mouse gray blankets and pillows, they smell fresh as well.

“stop smelling the pillows” hyunjin laughs.

“I’ve never been to a motel, I thought everything would be dirty or ancient” you confess comically.

He chuckles as he comes out of the small bathroom “the bathroom is clean too, don’t worry” he says when you look at him expectantly.

“I’ll sleep on the floor if you want” he offers as you open your suitcase to get out your toothbrush and pj’s.

“it’s fine, hyunjin I’ve slept in the same bed as a male before” you joke.

“well how am I supposed to know that?” he counters, at which you throw your pj shorts at him out of reflex.

When you realize what you had done it was too late, he was already holding them out in front of him before giggling.

“very cute choice” he mocks the small white shorts with red hearts all over it.

“stoop” you whine, trying to fish it out of his hands but he holds them over his head like a kindergartener.

“I remember why I don’t like you” you pout, crossing your arms.

His face drops alongside with his arms “I thought we were past that”

You use his moment of weakness to snatch your shorts out of his hands “gotcha”

-

“see I told you I was gonna take you out” hyunjin beams at you before looking down at the various snacks he took from the motels vending machine, which were laying in between the both of you on the bed.

“and so luxurious too” you joke, crossing your legs.

“only the best for you” he grins when you open a pack of fruit jellies.

“you know, I was thinking about new years” you say “ and I realized that it was your fault!”

Hyunjin throws his head back as he groans playfully “why?”

“if you hadn’t lost your phone when we got back downstairs, I wouldn’t have had to write my number on your arm; or you could’ve just given me your number and I could’ve text you. But you didn’t even know your own number!” you laugh in reminiscence.

“listen” he laughs “I was drunk and you’re hot! I couldn’t think” he defends himself before taking a bite off a chocolate bar.

You blush a little but play it off with a laugh.

“but yes, I admit, it was indeed my fault” he dramatically holds his hand in front of his eyes.

“yeeees!” you exclaim victoriously.

“I’m kidding though” you pat his knee “I forgive you”

“I’m glad” he smiles.

After the both of you are done eating way too many sweets, you find yourself being really comfortable when talking to hyunjin.

He’s funny, doesn’t seem like he’s full of himself and just in general seems like a very kind person.

“I thought you were a fuckboy when me met” you confess, looking at him.

Propped on one elbow looking down at you, while you lay on your side towards him, his face illuminated only by the little lights on each of your nightstands.

“you did?” he asks confusedly.

“yea” you chuckle “you were so confident and…sexy I don’t know” you place your hand over your face in embarrassment.

“oh that was the liquid courage talking, I’m usually pretty shy” he shakes his head smilingly when you peek through your fingers.

“don’t lie” you push his shoulder softly.

“I’m serious!” he laughs.

“you were the first guy to approach me at a party” you pause “like ever”

“no way, you’re lying now” he furrows his brows.

“nope” you shake your head.

“but I was really close to not talking to you as well, I’m sure there were many guys before me that just didn’t have the liquid courage, like I did” he speculates.

“maybe” you say.

“have any exes?” he asks after a few seconds.

“yea, one”

“well how did you meet him?”

“he showed me around on my first day of freshman year, I transferred like in the middle of the first semester so I wasn’t with any other freshmen” you tell him.

“why’d you break up if I may ask?” hyunjin asks carefully.

“oh we were only together for like three weeks, you can’t even call I relationship. He used me to make his hot ex jealous and cheated on me with her” you say “but hey they’re back together at least” you scoff.

“i’m sorry” he mumbles at which you look up at him.

“it’s not your fault” you chuckle.

“well, still no one should feel that way” he says “you know that you were way too good for him right?”

You nod.

“what about you? Have any exes?” you ask back.

He snickers “only one in seoul”

“why didn’t you last?”

“it was a long distance situation, she was super jealous and couldn’t trust me. which I can understand to a certain degree but everytime I went out she wanted me to facetime her and show her what kinds of people were there with me. That was just too much” he explains.

“wow” you chuckle “that doesn’t sound fun either”

Hyunjin shakes his head “nope, but hey we got rid of ‘em, didn’t we?”

“yea” you giggle “plus if I hadn’t broken up with him I would’ve probably never gone to the new years eve party”

“I guess I owe him something then” he grins as you scooch up on the bed.

“can I kiss you?” you ask after a few seconds of silence.

“hm?” hyunjins eyes almost spring out of his head.

“I don’t want to catch you off guard” you grin as you repeat his words from the night you met, sitting up.

He licks his lower lip as a grin stretches over his face as he sits up as well “do your worst”

You get up on your knees to shuffle over to him, when you get close enough hyunjin grabs one of your thighs and lifts it over his legs so you’re straddling him.

Once you sit down on his lap, your eyes lock again and you’re once again baffled as to how someone can be so god damn attractive.

His eyes flicker from your eyes to your lips expectantly, a shaky breath leaving his lips when you lean in.

Your lips connect and it feels like all the pent up energy of liking him since that night finally gets set free, sparks glowing behind your lit and his hands leaving a trail of fire where ever they go.

They squeeze at your thighs and waist, pulling you impossibly close to himself.

A whimper tears from your throat when his tongue licks at yours, he tastes like chocolate and what could only be described as him.

He moans into the kiss when you tug at the blonde locks that weren’t pulled back into the ponytail; before pulling the hair tie out of his hair to free it and finally card your fingers through all of the blonde glory.

Before you realize what’s going on, hyunjin lifts the both of you before dropping you on your back and crawling above you.

The fact that he just lifted the both of you from a sitting position as if you weigh nothing makes you feel all types of hot.

“you’re so hot holy shit” you pant as you push his long hair out of his face.

“ditto” he only grins before attaching his lips to your exposed collarbone and sucking a bruise into the skin.

“take it off” you moan as you tug on the dark blue calvin klein shirt he’s wearing.

His lips release the skin of your collarbone before sitting up to pull the shirt over his head.

If your mouth wasn’t already open from your heavy breathing, you would’ve opened it now because his body is more sculpted and toned than you had expected.

Your hand lifts to smooth over his abs, muscles flexing as he connects your lips again.

His one hand slides from your waist up to cup one of your breasts, gently palming the soft flesh.

“I know I said I wanted to take you out first but-“ he mumbles against your lips.

“you bought me a lovely dinner” you interrupt him, threading your fingers through the hair that’s falling down into his vision.

He grins, dropping a short peck to your lips before his the grin gets wiped off his face “I don’t have a condom with me”

“I’m on the pill” you let him know “I got tested before the lockdown and I haven’t been with anyone since soo…”

“yea, me too, I was tested a few months ago” he nods.

You nod back, biting your lip as you absently play with his hair.

“do you trust me?” hyunjin asks, observing your demeanour.

“yea- yea I do I’m just nervous” you smile awkwardly.

“no” he coos before kissing you “why are you nervous?”

“just haven’t been with anyone for a while” you confess.

Hyunjin nods understandingly “if you don’t want to do this we’ll stop”

“no I really want to” you look into his eyes as confidently as you can.

“okay” he smiles, planting his lips on yours again.

“can i?” his voice gives you goosebumps when he mumbles against the sensitive skin under your ear, his fingers slowy undoing the loose knot of your heart shorts.

“yes” you say when he locks eyes with you.

“I love these shorts” he softly presses a kiss to your knee, trying to calm your nerves a little, before he gently rocks your hips to pull them off of you.

You blush a little out of embarrassment but smile when you lift your hips to help him.

“cute” he whispers when he see’s your panties have a little bow on the front.

He chuckles when you hide your face in embarrassment, pulling you closer to him again by your thighs before you let him kiss you again.

“can I take this off too?” hyunjin whispers, softly pulling at the fabric of the tank top you’re wearing, at which you nod.

You are still wearing a bra when he pulls it off so you take it into your own hands and unclasp your bra.

Your nipples stiffen a little at the sudden exposure to air, as well as to hyunjin’s admiring gaze.

“fuck” he muses when palming your breasts in his big hands, gently pushing them together an running his thumbs over your nipples.

A whimper involuntarily leaves your lips when he wraps his plump lips around one of the perked up nubs and sucks gently.

“so fucking pretty, princess” you feel yourself pathetically clench around nothing at his praise.

You feel one of his hands wander downwards to provide some friction for you, he slots his lips against yours when you tentatively roll your hips against his hand.

Hyunjin feels his cock get even harder when an almost desperate moan tumbles from your lips against his. So he ads a little more pressure and starts circling your clit with two fingers, your sighs of pleasure mixing into the kiss.

“you’re so sensitive baby” he whispers as he parts his lips from yours “can I go down on you?” he grazes his lips over your chest, looking up at you seductively.

You nod as you bite your lip, hyunjin placing a few kisses on your tummy before shortly sitting up to also free you from your soaked panties.

The first stripe he licks up your slit, and how he swirls the tip of his tongue around your clit expertly sends you to heaven.

His hands are gripping your thighs to prevent you from closing your legs, your hands are tangled in his hair and the sheets.

“hyunj-fuck” you cry out when his tongue enters you.

He carefully prods one finger at your entrance “is that okay?” he asks, his voice hoarse and dripping with lust.

“yea” you sigh.

Once you adjust to one finger, he adds a second one, curling them upwards to search for that specific patch inside of you.

“yes-fuck right there” you moan when his fingers press onto the sweetest spot inside of you, tugging at his hair a little harshly. But you feel him moan against you, getting lost in your taste as he sucks your clit in between his soft lips.

Your hips buckle against his mouth as your eyes roll backwards, feeling the warmth of your orgasm approach rapidly.

“fuck fuck yes-hyunjin” you cry out just before he tipped you over the edge with his skillful ministration, your orgasm rushing up your spine and into your head, endorphins spreading everywhere.

A cry of pleasure fills the room as your thighs starts trembling with the aftershocks, clamping around his head when he drives you into overstimulation.

“oh-shit-“ you pant as you softly pushed on his forehead to get him away from your clit, his fingers still inside you, guiding you through your high.

He nibbles on your inner thigh apologetically. You can still hear your heartbeat in your ears after hyunjin removes his fingers from you and sits up, gently holding your legs together to help you calm down.

“fuck” you mewl, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

He’s wanted to do this for so long and there you are, with all of your naked glory in front of him.

While he’s daydreaming about you, you sit up and start fiddling with his sweatpants.

“you want more?” he quips, once he realises what you’re doing, leaning in to kiss you.

“mhm” you humm into the kiss affirmitavely when his hand holds you close to him by your jaw.

With a quick last peck to your lips he simultaneously shimmies the soft black sweats and his boxers off of himself.

You apparently visibly gulp at the sight of his cock because hyunjin smirks cockily “like what you see?” as he crawls above you again, his lips finding yours again and not waiting for an answer.

“I don’t know if you’ll fit” you mumble when he suckles at the soft nook of skin under your ear.

“we can stop here” he offers softly before locking eyes again.

You shake your head as you reach down to fist his length, slowly pumping it and smearing the few drops of precum around.

“no, you’re just really big” you huff with a shy smile on your lips at which hyunjin groans.

“you’re gonna be the death of me, you know?” he mutters against your lips before kissing you deeply, his hand smoothing over the slope of your waist before coming up to gently pinch at one of your nipples.

Eliciting a soft high pitched moan from you, this only spurs him on.

Rolling his tongue against yours desperately and making you taste yourself before sinfully sucking at the wet muscle.

All the while you’re stroking him with your small hand before cupping his balls, as if he didn’t already feel like he’s gonna blow his load way too early.

“please” you whine, guiding his reddened tip towards your entrance.

Hyunjin releases a shaky breath before replacing your hand with his, rutting his hips against yours a few times, coating his length in your wetness.

This already had your toes curling, suppressing a whine as you lock your legs around his waist.

“tell me if it hurts, yea?” he breathes, only pressing inside you after you nod, dropping a kiss to your swollen lips.

“fuck” he swears softly, tucking his face in the crook of your neck when he breaches your tight walls for the first time.

Your fingers tighten in his hair at the back of his neck when a subtle sting flares up inside of you.

“ah-“ your body flinches a little when he presses further inside, hyunjin notices, observing your expression before kissing your cheek and sitting up slowly.

“you’re doing so good, baby” he lifts his thumb to his lips, swiftly kitten-licking the digit before bringing it to where your bodies join.

Gently rolling your clit under his thumb to distract you from the pain.

“you look so perfect like this” his other hand travels over your stomach to gently squeeze at your breasts “all spread out for me”

You whimper, arching your back when hyunjin thrusts into you carefully; the pain slowly subsiding and the ache to be fully filled up by him growing exponentially when his cock rubs against your g spot.

“hyunjin” you moan, gripping onto his hand, which is resting atop your breast.

“yes baby, I’m here” he groans at how tight you feel once he’s balls deep inside of you, abandoning your clit to grab you by the hips for leverage.

His other hand resting on your cheek now, after a few trusts you moan “harder, please”

Hyunjin groans and fulfils your wish, at one particularly harsh thrust, you latch your lips around his pointer and middle finger, sucking at them.

“oh my god-that’s so fucking hot” he grunts through clenched teeth.

His cock dragging along your walls deliciously, filling you up to the brim as you hum around his slender fingers in pleasure.

“you like my hands that much baby?” his jaw is clenched and the grip on your waist is rough , the contrast to how sweet he was just a few minutes earlier had you clench around him furiously.

“fuck-“ he breathes when you nod to the best of your abilities, eyes wide open and holding his gaze.

You only release his fingers from in between your lips in favour for a loud high pitched moan when his other hand finds your clit again, rubbing harsh circles into the bud.

“-gonna cum-huynjin” you dig your nails into his biceps, eyes squeezing shut.

“yea?” he grits through his teeth the fingers that were previously trapped in your mouth now wrapping around your bared throat.

Not squeezing tightly, just resting there as if to show you that you’re his now.

Your thought gets confirmed when he rasps “you’re gonna date me after this, right pretty girl?”

You do look so pretty right now, tits bouncing and skin slapping because of the fast rhythm that he’s snapping his hips into yours, not to mention the subtle sheen of sweat that’s coating the both of you.

A desperate breathy chuckle tumbles from your lips “ yes-yes fuck” you feel your second orgasm creeping up on you.

“cum for me princess, all over my cock” he urges you on, his tip hammering into the sweet spot inside of you repeatedly before you crash into your second high of the night.

Your body convulses in pleasure as you call out his name mixed with profanities, your toes curling so hard you’re not sure if you can ever uncurl them again, and your nails probably leaving painful indents in his skin.

His thumb on your clit slows down until you grab his hand for him to stop, his hand around your neck grabs your free one, holding both of your hands over your head now.

“so good, baby” he mumbles, kissing your lips; mostly just breathing into each other as he rocks you through every wave of your orgasm.

Hyunjin looses himself in you not long after with a guttural moan and his eyes squeezing shut.

You coax him through it when he rests his face against your neck again, running your fingertips through his damp hair and over his broad back, muscles tensing under your gentle touch.

i“don’t fall asleep on me” you whisper sneakily, grinning when he chuckles against your neck, tickling the soft skin there.

He props himself up again to scan over your features, pushing some hair out of your face before kissing you tenderly.

“you okay?” his hand resting at your temple as he gently runs his thumb over your hairline.

“more than” you assure him, cupping his cheeks to pull his lips onto yours again.You think you can never get enough of his lips, anything about him for that matter; not when he makes you feel so cared about and safe.

“so does this mean we’re dating now?” he whispers after he has cleaned you up and tucked the both of you in bed.

“hmh” you nod your head sleepily, positioned on his bare chest.

“so I can spoon you once we fall asleep?” he asks, grin evident in his voice.

“you can spoon me but you can’t wake me up in the middle of the night if you get horny” you mumble jokingly, enjoying his fingers running down your spine as your eyelids get heavier.

“okay” he giggles softly, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head before you whisper your good nights to each other.

And as promised, he doesn’t wake you up in the middle of the night because he’s horny.

It’s you who wakes him, because after 10 months of wasted time, you have a lot of catching up to do.

-

a/n: oml this is my first ever long fic so pls pls pls give me feedback, i had so much fun writing his even though it made me feel even more single but hey :))))

allsooo i waited til after work to publish this and i just saw i hit 500 followers?!?!?! thats crazy to me omg i started this like 2 months ago and so many ppl liked my stuff so much that they decided to follow me?? so i just wanna say thank u thank u thank u for hitting the follow button even though im very unorganized and everything i do is spontaneaous and not thought out well. but hey i guess there is a reason that u followed me so thank u!

(i’d love if u sent me an ask with the first one of my writings that u stumbled across, and how <3 ...only if u want tho no pressure) 

anyways thank u so much for reading if you’ve made it this far! i hope you have a great day/ night! much love

-aj

(this is a work of fiction and does not represent the real actions of stray kids or hwang hyunjin)

[hotwings0203]

This is so utterly stupid but I have a few HC’s about Muslim Dabi(again obv this isn’t canon I just think it’s funny)

-Dabi would def be the type of Muslim dude who claims to be super religious cuz he never eats pork and “goes to the mosque to pray”(which is actually just code for hitting a blunt in the back of the parking lot w Hawks and Shigaraki💀), but yet smokes^^ and still has hella sex with like every other girl who bats her lashes at him from across the dining hall

-he also is a big cat lover, he claims since the Prophet Muhammad had cats of his own it’s sunnah to keep one

-on Eid namaz he’s the most dripped out one at the session, I’m talking black kurta dress, nice ass watch, slicked back hair...but funny enough, no one has actually seen him in line for the prayers themselves

-if he were back at home with the rest of the Todoroki’s, he’d most definitely be THE MOST spoiled one. Fuyumi would get on his ass for not cleaning the dishes, but he’d wave her off and tell her it’s training for her to be a better housewife for her future husband(cue a soapy sponge thrown at his head)

-Snitches.Constantly. Bro like this dude catches Shoto on his phone when he’s supposed to be doing a dua? Boom, instant callout followed by a long ass lecture about how he’s straying away from his religion and how he’s going to hell just because he spent one measly moment on his device instead of praising da lord

-Hes also always telling fuyumi to cover up her sleeves that come just a bittt before her wrists, claiming that she’s showing too much skin(especially when Hawks is over, that fucker’s got his eyes on every single one of his family members). But she’s quick to point out his secret tattoos, piercings, and hair dyes. He just scoffs and pulls the “women were created lesser than men so it’s okay for me to act a fool but not for you” card🙄stg I can’t stand him

-Since he’s the closest to Natsu, he’s always giving Eid money to him the most. The dude will slouch against his favorite brothers’ door, watching him play 2K. “What do you want?” Natsu asks with no real malice, not taking his eyes off the changing screen, furiously clicking away on his controller. “Mom says you gotta iron your clothes, Fuyumi’s doing her own so she can’t do yours as well. Oh, and Eid Mubarak by the way.” Natsu pauses him game and stands to stretch his arms above his head, groaning at the tendons popping in place on his back. “Yeah man, you too-what’s that?” He points to a fat parcel in Touya’s hand. The white-haired boy grins and chucks the bulging package at him, which Natsu catches easily. His eyes widen when he tears open the cream-colored paper envelope and reveals dozens of bills exceeding the usual 5-10$ family limit. “Yo, what-how-thanks Touya!” He sputters, throwing the package on his bed and throwing an arm around his brothers’ back in a man-hug. Touya rolls his eyes and barely suppresses a smile at Natsu’s excitement,(something he’s always wanting to be the source of) pounding his back to let go before he asphyxiates. He lets go and Touya smirks before heading towards the door, calling out over his shoulder, “Oh, and I’d thank Sho-turd as well while you’re singing my praise.” Natsu stops in his tracks and looks suspiciously at the withdrawing slender figure. “Why?”. Touya’s voice is distant as he moves to close and lock his door. “‘Cuz it’s his money after all.”

-The two brothers are always waking up at Sehri the earliest in Ramadhan, just so they can scarf down a majority of the food in the fridge and go to sleep without having to interact with the rest of their family at sunrise. And in the case that their family DOES wake up in time to see them chomping down food made for a WHOLE FAMILY and not just two boys, Touya is quick to grab his keys and jacket and cackle that him and Natsu are going to iHop to eat some more. Natsu ofc is quick to follow pursuit, throwing an apologetic grin towards his parents and other siblings.

-When they’re at the mosque and Enji has somehow bullied him enough to sit the hell down and actually ATTEND the lectures for once, Touya still has one up his sleeve. Planned out strategically, he always simpers to Rei that he wants to donate to the mosque, causing her eyes to water and a handful of cash thrown his way, her voice wobbly as she praises her son for actually taking the foundations of his religion seriously. Unbeknownst to her however, this just means that he’ll take a little bit more than he gives. Hawks will be standing at the front of the hall, bowing his head and using his silver tongue to graciously thank the many men and women who come forth to drop their allowance into the money basket. When he sees his best man approaching, he has to stop the smug grin from reaching his ears, instead slanting his brows and holding the basket out to the now black-haired thief. “Glad to see you’re taking eternal damnation seriously, for once,” Keigo flashes his perky whites and Dabi drops Rei’s money into the donation basket, dipping his hand a little lower for a second. “Glad to see you’re still standing here like some busboy peasant, as usual,” he fires back, the two boys catching each other’s eyes and stifling their cackles as the patched hand withdraws, a copious amount of bills in his hand, more than what he put in.

-100% steals shoes. Usually you hear about older men doing this, but age aint nothin’ but a number to Dabi, baby. “Nice kicks,” he nods to a boy Natsu’s age, noting the blue and black minimalist patterns adorning the shoes. The boy recognizes Dabi as one of the most revered figures at the mosque (and the most featured by adults. Who’d want their kid hanging out with the eldest Todoroki as an influence?) and bobs his head excitedly, spewing out the manufacture and release dates of the shoes. Dabi looks at the fanboy amusedly, continuing to lean against the shoe rack as more people crowd around and start to push the boy inside. “See you later Dabi!” The eccentric kid calls out as he’s pushed into the hall by grumbling uncles. The ravenette snickers fo himself, “Yeah, but you won’t be seeing these shoes anytime soon.”

-A notorious playboy in the community. Uncles glare at him, unable to scold him outright for his shenanigans due to his father’s close presence, and aunties steer their children away from him at dinner parties. Speaking of, Dabi’s at a dinner right now. He’s lighting up a joint in amongst 3 mesmerized girls sitting on the floor in front of him and 2 jealous dudes his age in a locked room, away from all the screaming little kids. “Wow Dabi, doesn’t it burn?” The youngest of the three girls asks him with imploring eyes. He smiles a charming smile down at her and he thinks he sees the other two swoon. “Nah, sweetheart, you get used to it after a little while. Don’t be like me though, keep yourself pure and clean,” he shoots a wink at them and they giggle, faces turning red. The other two boys sitting at the far end of the bed scowl at his successful flirting, but Dabi doesn’t care for any of them, honestly, they’re just target practice. Right as he inhaled the fumes of another puff, a little body throws itself at the door, banging its fists on the wood. “It’s time for food!” They all jump at the intrusion and chuckle as the intruder runs away, containing to scream about food being served. The group gets up to leave and exits through the door, but Dabi takes his time. He wasn’t done with his joint, and he has to waft the smell away anyways when he leaves. He’s opening a window to let out some air when he heads a soft shuffle from behind him. “Shows over guys, go eat-“ but when he turns around, the oldest girl of the three stands before him, fiddling with her hands and looking at the floor. “Um, Dabi? I know you said not to try it out by ourselves so...I was wondering if you could-if you could teach me how...?” She looks at the half-used roll in his hand, and he looks from the blunt to her face. He looks behind her. A closed door. Perfect. Taking a step forwards, he relishes in how she takes a hesitant step back, the breath in her throat catching but she still doesn’t back down. She looks to him like he’s a god, and he feels like one right now. And so he steps closer until she’s backed against the wall, his lids lowered to her wide ones, and he placed a hand next to her head. “Didnt your mom ever tell you not to take things from strangers?” He ghosts by the shell of her ear, and she shivers. “She never told me the strangers would be this hot,” and he has to laugh a bit at her tenacity. He pulls away and flops back on the bed, signaling for her to join him. “Well come one then, I’m hungry, better hurry up before I change my mind.” And 5 shotguns later, Dabi barely wipes off her bright pink lipstick from his face and straightens his kurta along with his hair before bounding down the steps, eager for food. At his command, she comes down a minute after him as to not cause any suspicion, but it doesn’t stop Rei from shooting him a knowing glare from the living room as he piles his plate with food. He shoves a veggie roll in his mouth as he turns to join the boys in the dining area, but his path is blocked by a large woman. “I know you’re up to no good. The children told me what funny smell was coming from the room upstairs, and I know you’re to blame, Touya Todoroki. I respect your mother a lot so I won’t make a scene here-“ he interrupts her, mouth half full with a roll, “-I mean, you already kinda are,-“ but she continues her tirade. “-I don’t think you’re a good influence on these kids, especially your siblings. What self respecting family would be okay with their son acting like a hooligan, having piercings, smelling like weed?” He smirks and swallows before swerving around her. “I don’t know Aunty, why don’t you ask your daughter? She didn’t seem to mind my, ah, influence.”

-When they were all younger, there was a time where End*avor wanted the boys the toughen up a bit and stop messing around so much. He brought the family up to the mountains in a nice cabin, purposefully choosing an area with farms nearby. It was around the time of Eid-e-Adha, so naturally goats and sheep’s were going to be sacrificed for the family feast. Touya already knew what was going on, so Enji left it up to him, a scrawny preteen boy to take over the initiation. Fuyumi wanted to come to the farm too, but Touya glared at her and told her to stay home because “girls are too emotional for this.”(he really did think that, but above all he held a secret soft spot for his only younger sister). Natsu and Touya both started heading down to the field to pick out a goat, and ofc little Shoto wanted to come along to. He begged and begged for his older brothers to bring him along and to not leave him at home for once, and with a sly glance to Natsu, Touya relented. He leaned down to Shoto’s eye-level and asked with serious eyes, “You sure?”. Shoto nodded eagerly, standing straight up as to look more solemn and mature. Natsu held back a snicker and grabbed Shoto by the collar as they dragged him out to the pasture. Oh, the little boy was in heaven among the bleating sheep and fluffy coats. “Go ahead, pick one out!” Touya said eagerly, nodding to the clueless toddler to choose a sacrificial sheep. And so the heterochromatic child pointed to one, looking to his big brothers for assurance, to which they gave an excited nod. Shoto yelped with glee and spent the rest of the afternoon frolicking with the soon-to-be-mutton chops, completely oblivious to its grim fate and creating a bond with the animal. So when it was finally sunset and the time came to start preparing for the feast, Touya walked over leisurely to Shoto, pushed the grubby hand away from the animal’s collar, and started pulling the creature towards the chopping block. “W-what’re you doing?” Shoto asked uncertainty. “Well, we gotta eat, right? Thanks for picking out such a fat sheep, ‘wonder how it’s gonna taste,”. The eldest grinned with malice at his youngest brother, who started to sniffle and ball his fists. “You’re lying! Leave it alone!” He cried out. “Nope, m’not lying, ask Natsu.” Natsu turns to Shoto and shrugs his shoulders without any real regret. “You’re the one who wanted to come along, right? Think of how proud dad will be of his favorite-he finally sacrificed his first sheep!”

-the first time he was ever asked to lead the namaz, Keigo and Tomura kept kicking the back of his legs so he would fall over while trying to recite the prayers, and in turn he’d immediately whip around in the middle of the whole damn hall and shoot fire at the two howling boys. Needless to say, he was never asked to read again

(one would think since Dabi knows sooo much about being a gOoD mUsLim and how to follow the rules he’d take some of that advice HIMSELF)

[therealvalkyrie]

What Could’ve Been Without the War

Pairing/setting: Jean Kirschtein x Female!Reader, modern!AU within the Walls, set after the War; canon divergent w/ modern tech

Summary: You and Jean embark on your weekly trip to the grocery store.

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: equal parts angst and fluff, idiots to idiots, mutual pining, unsatisfying ending (i’m so sorry)

AN: Surprise Jean! I hope you are all having a wonderful Friday evening and that I don’t ruin it too much with angst. This piece started out as a super fluffy drabble involving grocery store shenanigans and kinda....uh....got away from me. Ahem. It was also originally intended as a 157 follower cool prime number thank you! I think we’re up to 180-something now, but we can still count it. Big thanks yet again to the love of my life @ghostlightprincess for her edits and encouragements:) Please come let me know what you think in my DMs/askbox/comments!!  ~valkyrie

Jean opens on the third knock on his apartment door, already shrugging on a jacket. He greets you with a short “hi” and receives the kiss you plant on his cheek out of habit.

“You ready?” You’re practically bouncing on the balls of your feet, car keys jingling off of the magenta key ring looped around your finger. It’s cute, and he finds himself matching your enthusiasm with a grin of his own.

“Almost,” he replies, reaching back to his coat rack to grab a scarf. “Honestly, I still don’t understand why you’re always so excited for the grocery store.”

He looks back to catch you rolling your eyes. “I don’t understand why you’re not. A grocery store is a magical place, with all of the cheesecake and ice cream you could ever wish for!”

He chuckles and joins you in the hallway, leaning down to lock his door behind him. “Need I remind you that you’re lactose intolerant?”

“That’s what Lactaid is for, stupid. Come on!” He lets you pull him down the hall, your small gloved hand in his big one. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Croft!” you greet his elderly neighbor as you pass her open door, sticking your head in with a wide smile. “You need anything from the store? Jean and I are just on our way.”

Jean stands beside you awkwardly, avoiding eye contact with his shrewd neighbor. You haven’t let go of his hand and he can feel a blush working its way up his neck. 

“No, that’s alright, honey, I just went this morning.”

“Okay! Well, let us know if you think of anything!”

“Thank you, dear.”

“Have a good afternoon, ma’am,” Jean chips in as you wave. 

“You kids have fun.”

The next second, you’re pulling him away again and he misses the way Mrs. Croft chuckles knowingly and looks back to her knitting. 

—

“What’s next on the list?” Your voice drifts down the aisle back to him, and Jean pauses in pushing the cart to shuffle the papers in his hands. 

“Umm… AP flour, vanilla extract,” shuffle, shuffle, “brown sugar, olive oil, yeast.”

You hum in acknowledgment and he watches as you flit from shelf to shelf, gathering items in your arms. He pushes the cart up to join you.

You dump everything in haphazardly, and he sighs, leaning down to straighten it all out into categories.

“What’s next?” You’re already halfway down the rest of the aisle again, gazing up longingly at the Oreos on the top shelf.

God, she’s cute.

He joins you, reaches up to pluck a pack of Double Stuf off of the shelf, and wordlessly places it in your section of the cart, suppressing a smile of his own as you grin up at him.

“You sure know how to treat a girl right, Jean-bo.” You reach up to ruffle his mullet. 

“Don’t call me that,” he grumbles, ducking away and flushing red like a smitten schoolboy. “Next is the frozen aisle.”

—

“Was it the lasagna that she liked last time? Or the shepherd’s pie?”

“The lasagna.” He accepts three frozen dinners as you pass them over from where you’re leaning past the glass freezer door.

“Hey,” he looks up sharply at your soft call to see you staring down the aisle like you’ve seen a ghost, hand still holding the glass door open. He follows your gaze and sees him just as you say, “It’s Erwin.”

It’s not, but Jean’s heart twists all the same at the resemblance the stranger carries. Same neatly parted blonde hair, broad shoulders. But he’s shorter, still has both arms. And he’s alive. 

“It’s not, sweetheart,” he murmurs, reaching to wrap an arm around your shoulders.

“It is, look he—” you insist until the man turns and instead of the Commander’s piercing blue gaze you’re met with brown eyes that flick between you and Jean in confusion. “Oh.” Your face falls and you allow the door to close, turning into Jean’s side.

“You alright?” He tilts his head to catch your expression. It’s pure pain, mouth twitching into a frown and eyes unfocused. Your hand comes up to grip the bottom of his jacket, and after a second he can see you physically force your face back to neutral. 

“Fine,” you nod. He knows you’re faking, that it’s a survival tactic, so he lets it go for now, only steps back to let you in between his body and the cart. 

“Up you go,” he prompts you to step up, feet on the bottom shelf and hands clutching the bar. He starts to push as you ride, walking first then running down the aisle until you finally throw your head back and laugh genuinely. 

He misses the exasperated look an employee gives him as the pair of you whizz past, too preoccupied with your smile.

—

“What do you need three dozen eggs for, anyway?” you ask incredulously, nevertheless opening each carton to inspect before handing them over. 

“They’re a good source of protein,” he defends. “Plus, you always end up running out and coming to me to complain. Ran me dry last time.”

Another playful eye roll. “It’s only ‘cause I messed up my brownies! And I needed them to entice the landlord to finally fix my heater.”

“Your heater’s been broken?”

“Well, it’s not anymore. Espresso brownies work wonders, I’ll have you know.”

You’re trying to brush it off as you normally do when he worries, but the thought of you shivering and blue-lipped keeps him pushing. “How long did you not have heat for? It’s February!”

“Not the point, Jean-bo!” You poke at his cheek and twirl away towards the cheese. 

“It definitely is the point. Come to me next time and I’ll fix it.”

“And lose my deposit?” You scoff, reaching for mozzarella. “Fat chance.”

“Freeze, then.”

You grin back at him. “Why d’you think I came over so much last weekend?”

“Is that all I am to you? A hot water bottle in your time of need?” He feigns hurt, but some pride swells in his chest that he kept you warm, after all. 

“And a cute one, at that. Think fast!”

His hand flashes up to catch the mozzarella you toss deftly. 

“You wound me.”

“Eh, builds character. What’s next?”

Shuffle, shuffle. “Wine and flowers.”

—

Jean watches as you bounce in the driver’s seat, hands almost dainty on the wheel, leaning forward to stare resolutely out the windshield at the darkening road. You’re singing along to some song he doesn’t know that’s playing from the stereo.

It’s so familiar, this Saturday evening ritual with you, and it wraps Jean up like the softest blanket. He knows why you’re always so excited about grocery shopping, and it’s not the cheesecake — it’s the way this routine has centered itself in both your lives. He feels it too, the semblance of normalcy, of domesticity, that you’ve cobbled together with him in between hard weeks and harder nights.

You navigate the bends and odd intersections of his old suburban neighborhood with ease, having driven to his house maybe thousands of times since you were teens. The elementary school passes, then the vet clinic, until finally, your old black sedan pulls into his mom’s driveway alongside her silver minivan.

You shift to neutral and yank on the parking brake habitually, then turn off the car and settle back into your seat.

You’re both quiet for a moment: you staring out the window lost in thought, Jean checking the time on his phone.

“Jean?”

“Hm?”

“Do you ever regret enlisting so young?” This catches his attention, turning sharply to look at your contemplative profile.

“Never. It was the right thing to do.” He’s resolute in this conviction, always. The War had seemed to be at its worst when you’d joined up, driven by the promise of Wall Maria’s reclamation and impassioned by your comrades’ fury. It had been the only choice, in his view.

“I do, sometimes,” you admit quietly, eyes downcast to where your fingers twist in your lap. “Maybe then my head wouldn’t be so messed up,” you laugh dryly and tap your temple, then shoot him a sideways glance. “And maybe—” you cut yourself off.

“Maybe what?”

“Never mind.” You’re out of the car so fast Jean almost questions if you moved at all. It reminds him of your natural grace on the ODM gear, how you’d whoop and holler as you hurtled past him among the trees during training. He wonders for a moment when your agility turned from a source of joy to an escape mechanism, then stops himself. He knows exactly when that happened.

—

The grocery store tulips thankfully survived their ordeal in the trunk of your car, bright against Ma Kirschtein’s tile kitchen backsplash as you arrange them in her favorite vase. After a minute of fussing, you take a step back, give a nod of satisfaction, and scoop up the trimmed stems off the counter. The rest of the groceries are already put away, organized so she can reach them without trouble.

It’s as you’re stepping on the trash can pedal to open its lid that the voices from the living room catch your ear. You pause, smiling as mother and son converse.

“Have you been eating enough, Jean-bo? You look so skinny….”

“Ma, I—”

“What am I saying, of course you haven’t. You’d waste away to nothing if you were left to your own devices. I’m so glad that darling girl is there to look after you.”

“Ma, she’s not my keeper—”

“When are you two getting married, again? I could’ve sworn I wrote it down in my book, but I looked the other day and couldn’t find the date anywhere.” She sounds serious. Confused, even, not a hint of teasing in her tone. Must be an off day. A symptom of her early-onset dementia.

“Ma, we’re not even together.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’ve been together since high school.” She’s so convinced, so sure, and you squeeze your eyes tight against the reality that you and Jean have only ever been friends. In the adolescent insecurity of high school, in the intensity of military training, in the fucking heat of battle, all you’ve ever shared is friendship.

“Ma, I don’t think… I don’t even think she—” He pauses and your ears strain in the silence to catch his last quiet phrase. “She doesn’t think of me that way.”

You just know, you can tell, he only says it like that to ease her confusion. It’s the opposite, really, he doesn’t think of you that way. Before you can hear more sideways rejection, you toss the flower stems and make a beeline for the bathroom.

—

“What was that movie you were telling me to watch, again?” You ask around a mouthful of spaghetti with sauce fresh from the jar, covering your mouth with one hand.

The pair of you are eating shoulder-to-shoulder on the floor of your apartment two floors above Jean’s. It’s got the decidedly better view out your picture window, complete with the perfect Eastern perspective of the river that cuts through Trost and its famous bridges. It’s this, the third leg of your traditional Saturday evenings together, that makes you feel the most warm.

Jean has the manners to chew and swallow before replying. “Once Upon a Time in Hollywood? Connie, Sasha, and I went to see it when they visited last month—”

Your snicker cuts him off and he raises his eyebrows as you roll your eyes and take a sip of wine. “The feet movie? Sasha said it was pretentious.”

“Really? I thought she was too preoccupied with the fact that the theater sold chili fries to pay attention.” He teases back, twirling more pasta onto his fork.

“I’m telling her you said that,” you warn with a jab of your own fork in his direction.

“Snitch.”

“Hey!”

He ducks to avoid your swat to the back of his head, grinning at your pout. “No, but seriously, apart from the feet it’s a good movie.”

“Hmm. I’ll consider putting it on the roster for next week.”

You take a moment to relish the comfortable silence, looking out at the city lights as you chew thoughtfully. His thigh is heavy and warm against yours under the thick knitted blanket his mom gave you last Yule. Your belly is warm and full, your shoulders relaxed in the company of your closest friend, your lungs breathing easily.

Jean says your name quietly and you turn to see him staring pensively down at the plate in his lap. “About what you asked earlier… in the car?”

You nod, eyes wide and mouth serious.

“Sometimes… I do regret it.” He grits the words out through his teeth, like it’s difficult to force the truth into the world. “Not because I regret what we did in the War. But because sometimes I wonder,” his eyes cut to yours for a split second, “I wonder what could’ve been. Without the War.”

You don’t say anything, don’t say you understand, because you know he knows. Instead, you loop your arm into his and lean your head against his shoulder. It takes a moment, a release of breath and the fall of his chest, but eventually he closes his eyes, turns his face into your hair, and allows himself to sink into the what could’ve been. Just for now.

[spectracully]

crash the crush.

pairings : senior student!xiaojun x sophomore student!reader warnings : profanity, underage drinking, mentions of drugs genre : fluff, a bit of crack? highschool!au word count : 4.3k

summary : what are the odds of crashing into your crush during the neighborhood-friendly run and mutual friends party?

You were pissed off when your mum said you need to work your lazy ass off. Well, if it's on the summer break, you'll most likely agree with her. But it's only the weekend, and you've been studying your ass off these days. A lazy weekend is something you earned, but your mum decided to rain on your lazy parade.

With all those groans and deep sighs, you storm off your house wearing your workout gear. Not much, only a windbreaker jacket paired with shorts and running shoes. Popping your airpods on both of your ears to blast some jams, you take some light jogging steps on your neighborhood. It's only 4.30 pm, and kinda windy, why the fuck are you doing this? That's right, because mum literally compared you to your neighbor's daughter, Giselle, who recently won a karate tournament. Now mum won't even shut up how much she wants an active daughter, not the lazy one. Yikes.

Back to the streets by Saweetie & Jhene Aiko plays, and you hear a message notification on your airpods. Still on your light jogs, you glance at the notification.

yeri<3 : yo yeri<3 : wyd

You stop jogging for a while to write your bestfriend back. It's saturday, she's probably asking you to hangout along with the gang. Yeri gets easily bored at home and in constant need of hanging out.

y/n : running  💃 💃 💃 y/n : mum said i need to be giselle

You continue your pace while waiting for her reply. You can see your neighborhood clearly now, seeing the details, since you always go to school in a sleepy state, not really noticing the environment, and also going home from school mostly sleeping in your brother's car.

The notification rings again. It must be Yeri.

yeri<3 : bitch thats a dancing emoji yeri<3 : running in a weather like this? yeri<3 : damn straight u wanna be giselle

You chuckle as you’re about to type the messages once more, the weather is fine, what the hell is she talking about? But then Yeri is still typing. 

yeri<3 : n e ways yeri<3 : party at lucas' 8pm yeri<3 : be there or be fucking square 💀 💀 💀

You sigh. There she goes. No other option than tag along with her, but it's not like you hate it anyway. Lucas' party is always awesome, you and your friends also will get a VIP pass because he's a good friend of yours too, despite the fact that you're not even in the same grade as him, he's one year above you and Yeri.

y/n : weather is nice dont jinx it y/n : fine but pick me up y/n : cuz doyoung won't let me drive his car

You send the messages to Yeri to prove her the weather is fine, and indicates that you agree to go to Lucas' house tonight, it's a great night to probably get wasted after all those tiring run mum decided to toss on you. It's gonna be fun, anyways. But the thing about hanging out with Lucas and his senior friends.. You might've developed a big fat crush with one of Lucas' closest friends, Xiaojun. 

You barely had an interaction with him, though, because he's usually the quiet and calm one in Lucas' closest friends group. Lucas himself is already so fucking loud, not to mention Hendery, the good-looking clown and moodmaker. There's also Jungwoo, the one who looks very calm but actually won't shut up once you talk to him. Mark too, the giggly one with some lame jokes. Well, going to Lucas' party tonight means you can see Xiaojun, probably getting the chances that you'll have some interaction over some boozes or something is also quite high.

After feeling all warmed up, you decide to give yourself a run around the block. Yeri's right, it's a funny weather to run. It's windy, but the more you stay outside, the cloud is getting darker and darker. You also knew that you're not really alone, who's doing this athletic bullshit in this kind of weather, you noticed that a boy is also doing this silly run when you were typing messages to Yeri. Probably just another neighbor's child being scolded by his mum of how Giselle is so athletic that his mum also wants an active son? Welp, you didn't see his face anyway, you were glued to the phone when you saw the figure running from the side.

It's not even a minute after you started running, Yeri already replied again. Is she really that bored that she doesn't have anything to do?

yeri<3 : ok i'll pick u up at 7 yeri<3 : um.. its fucking raining, y/n yeri<3 : go home and take a shower yeri<3 : pick ur clothes and put on some makeup instead yeri<3 : its saturday night, activate your hoe protocol yeri<3 : mr xiaojun is going to be there tonight

You stop running and stare at her messages. Raining? Is she drunk or what? It's not even 5pm yet and here she is, hallucinating-

Oop. There it goes. You feel some water drops on your head. Your hand. It was slow at first, but then the raindrops are getting harder and harder, it's pouring. 

"Motherfu-" you let out a curse, you should've trusted Yeri on this. As an intuitive homo sapiens with XX chromosomes, you scan through the streets, looking for some shelter to wait the rain to stop. Spotting a bus stop with a large steel canopy, you run like your life depended on it, avoiding the rain.

Finally arriving, you sigh and sit on the installed chair, typing messages to Yeri.

y/n : omg bitch ur right its raining y/n : should've pretended im dead in my room so mum wont bug me y/n : u know what after the rain ends im gonna sprint back home and take a fucking shower y/n : the universe doesnt like it when im trying to be giselle, it gave me rain instead

You sigh as you shuffle through your playlist, looking for some fun jams to pass your time through the rain, when somebody suddenly approaches you.

"Hi, do you mind if I take a seat here?" a boy asks, pointing to the chair next to you. You look up, and suddenly the next thing you wanna do is ascend your soul the fuck out of your body to the sky. 

Oh boy. It's Xiaojun. The boy you won't shut up about. He’s wearing a white loose tank and grey sweatpants, drenched in his own sweat. Oh god. This is truly an attack for you. What the fuck is he doing here? And why must you meet him at your mess like being all salty because of those running fiasco and the rain? While wearing your not-so-fashionable workout gear and not-so-tidy ponytails? Oh god.

You can feel your heart is about to explode when you realize that he is actually the person who is also doing the stupid running at this very weather, you just didn't notice it sooner because you were on your damn phone. Damn, mum was right, everything happened because you were always on your damn phone.

"No, of course! Take a seat!" you answer him, trying your best to crack your sweetest smile although it's more like sweatiest not sweetest.

He smiles back at you, taking a seat next to you, then his eyes get back to his phone, completely glued. Damn this is the only cardio that is worth it, no running, no jumping, no huff that huff this, only sitting next to Xiaojun on a rainy day on a bus stop. Wonderful.

You quickly whip up the messaging app to type all kinds of gibberish and send it to Yeri. She knows what shit is about to go down when you speak gibberish to her.

y/n : FUCKJSHSJJSKSJK YERI y/n : OH MY FUCKING GOD SJSGSJSHSKJSK

Lucky you, Yeri has nothing to do than respond to your messages, she stays put on the chat room.

yeri<3 : OMG BITCH WHAT yeri<3 : SKSHSJJSKS YOU SCARED ME

y/n : HE's FUCKING HERE AHSJSHSJEK

yeri<3 : OMG WHOS HE?? yeri<3 : THE DEVIL??? IS HE GONNA TAKE UR SOUL? SKEJSJKSKSK

y/n : XIAOJUN y/n : TURNS OUT HE ALSO LIVES IN THIS NEIGHBORHOOD

yeri<3 : ASKJSJSKSK WHAT yeri<3 : HOW

y/n : KAHSKSJKS omg bitch y/n : i was sheltering myself from the goddamn rain y/n : im in bus stop rn y/n : this angel came to accompany me y/n : HE WAS RUNNING TOO OMG y/n : omg yeri just so u know if im not there when u pick me up y/n : its bc im in church getting married with my man xiaojun

yeri<3 : BITCH OMG SKSKSKSKK yeri<3 : GET MARRIED RN yeri<3 : WAIT dont waste the chance yeri<3 : talk to him rn!!!

You swear you're about to scream when Yeri sends that. She was actually right, this is your chance to talk to him, considering that you didn't really interact that much with him. But really? He didn't even say a word when he sat, probably didn't even remember your name? The disappointment slowly gets into your head.

You freeze on the spot. torn between wanting to talk to him and just let it slide, you'll see him again tonight as Lucas' house, right?

Just when you decide to give up and not say a word, he turns his head to you.

"Hey, I didn't know you live in this neighborhood too," he starts.

Oh god. If every time your heart beats fast you get a dollar, you'd probably have your own private island by now.

You try to play it cool when actually on the inside you wanna scream I LIKE YOU to his face rn. "Oh? Oh yes, my house is number 13." you answer calmly,

He cracks a smile, “13? You’re Doyoung’s little sister?”

Oh god. What the fuck is this clownery? He knows Doyoung? Why and how? At this rate you just wanna evaporate to the rain, what if Doyoung actually knows that you liked Xiaojun and he spills it? Oh god. 

You smile back at him, holding the panic you’ve been keeping since he mentioned Doyoung’s name. “Yep. I’m his sister.”

“Oh god, why didn’t I notice that earlier? I could’ve taken care of you at school!” he exclaims, and you sure you just wanna evaporate to the rain. Him? Taking care of you at school? YES PLEASE!

You let out a small giggle, trying to be as calm as possible when in reality you’re very sure you just wanna melt like a goddamn popsicle on a hot summer day. “So, how do you know my brother, actually?”

He laughs a bit, wiping away the sweat on his forehead. Oh god, he’s just so beautiful. “Well.. Doyoung and I used to be a dynamic duo in the school's choir, until he graduated.”

Oh, that. Doyoung is pretty serious about his career in the school’s choir, but you did not expect that Xiaojun is actually a part of it. Of course, he has the face of an angel, the voice is included.

“Now I know why Doyoung never let me come to his house. Turns out he has a cute- I mean, h-he has a sister, and that’s you! M-Maybe he’s afraid I’ll bother you or s-something.” he continues, stuttering a bit, and letting out an awkward laugh. You laugh again, feeling the blood rushing to your cheeks that you can’t hide no more. DID HE JUST SAY DOYOUNG HAS A CUTE SISTER? DID HE JUST SAY YOU’RE CUTE? DID HE-

But then, good things always come to an end. The goddamn rain stops. Oh fuck, no more chitter chatter with the dear crush. Just when it is the fucking time you need to hear the goddamn wedding bells, the rain decided to stop on your rain parade. Fuck.

He looks up, and seems like noticing the rain has stopped. “Well, Y/n. Lucas is having a party tonight, are you coming?”

You can feel your cheeks are still heating from his words, you shyly nod to him. Welp, maybe the rain has stopped, but this stupid crush? No. It goes on. Very much.

He stands up, straightening his white loose tank, getting ready to probably sprint back home. “Okay. See you tonight then, I’m going home. Have a good run!” he says as he walks away from the bus stop, leaving you dumbfounded. And lovestruck. That’s a win, alright.

Xiaojun slowly fades away from your view, and you’re still drowning on your pool of love. Yep, that’s it. You can’t even hold it, you quickly dial Yeri’s number to break out the news.

“What is it, Y/n? You literally left me on read for like 14 minutes straight and now you-”

“YERI LISTEN I’M GETTING MARRIED TONIGHT AND THAT’S A FUCKING FACT!” you shout to the phone, you can picture Yeri is probably goggling out her eyes right now.

“Girl, just because Xiaojun just asked you why the fuck were you running at times like this it doesn’t mean-”

“HE CALLED ME CUTE!” you blurted out,cutting her sentences for the second time,

“-you’re getting married- WHAT?? HE CALLED YOU WHAT?” Yeri yelled from the phone, now it’s pretty clear that Yeri is probably jumping her ass off right now.

You sprint your way to home, while holding your phone to your ears, continuing to give Yeri the details about the bus stop conversation you had earlier. Now she’s just yelling at you to pick the right dress and pamper yourself up, the probability you’ll marry Xiaojun at Lucas’ party is increasing. Sure it does.

-------

It’s 11.28 PM, 3 hours and a half since you and Yeri just arrived at Lucas’ house, escaping from Doyoung’s warning to you, to get back in one piece, and most importantly, sober. As if you’re gonna leave Lucas’ house sober, that’s funny, alright. You and Yeri were greeted by Yangyang and Donghyuck, who are currently setting up the table for snacks and drinks. That was probably the first time you saw Donghyuck ever setting up something, because if not, Jungwoo would’ve set his ass on fire.

The party madness has started, seems like everybody already has enough alcohol running on their system. Lucas is already losing his shirt and starts twerking in the middle of his house along with Jaemin and Jungwoo. Ah yes, the thot trio already started their thing, and all you have to do is just stay back and avoid getting dragged to the dance mess, because the chance of Jungwoo and Jaemin will start grinding at you is kinda high right now.. Considering their.. Twerking fiasco.

You sit back on the couch and watch your friends getting crazy over the playlist Yangyang made just for this event, sipping on your cocktails that Donghyuck put god-knows-what in it, he said it’s just cherry juice mixed with gin and brandy, but somehow it tastes kinda citrusy. You glance to the right, only to see Yeri making out with some random guy (probably one of Lucas’ friends named Changbin but oh well, that’s Yeri’s business).

Slightly grossed out and sad because apparently you’re not making out with Xiaojun right now, you make your way to the patio, and find the crowd that circle around a spinning bottle. Interested, you join Jeno, Mark, Renjun, Yeji, Hyunjin, Sungchan, Karina, Vernon, Hendery, and of course, the (hottest) most important person right now, Xiaojun.

“Welcome! As a newly joined member.. Truth or dare?” Jeno greets you as you take a seat between Mark and Sungchan. Well, you’d love to sit beside Xiaojun, but apparently, that seat is already taken by Hendery and Vernon.

You silently glance at Xiaojun, who is wearing a denim jacket with light-yellow knit top underneath, paired with white trousers. Damn, he looks so damn good that you wanna cry a river.

Your head comes back to the question Jeno asked. Today’s your day, be bold or bald. It’s time. “Well, I’m not gonna put my drunk antics to waste. Dare then.” you answer boldly, earning a few ‘ooooh’s from your friends.

Jeno snickers. Well, fuck. Guess you’re a bit too damn bold tonight, the realization suddenly hits you like a fucking trainwreck, Jeno is kinda extreme for games like this. Wrong choice, y/n. You gulp as you wait for Jeno to come up with something.

“I dare you to kiss Xiaojun!” Jeno exclaims, clapping both of his hands like a goddamn happy seal. Mark and Hendery are high-fiving right now, throwing whistles around Xiaojun, who is silent as a fucking rock.

Oh god. Things you’ve said about not putting your drunk antics to waste should’ve stayed in that goddamn draft. This is where Jeno takes you, even though you’re secretly happy that you finally get to kiss your goddamn crush, that shit is EMBARRASSING. If you wanna evaporate to the waters, then it’s probably the right time to do it.

But why Xiaojun though? Is your big fat crush on him too obvious?

You freeze on the spot as you awkwardly smile and stare at Jeno. This shit can’t be real. Jeno is goddamn crazy. You can feel the air is getting hot, whether it’s because the alcohol starts kicking in, or just because the blood is rushing through your head.

“Scared, aren’t you?” Jeno taunts you, sipping his beer as the rest of the group laugh except you and Xiaojun, who is currently staring at you with a questionable expression. Is he pleased? Or is he pissed? Oh god.

“I-I’m not!” you answer him, leaning to Xiaojun, gulping once more before asking him, “You’re okay with this though?”

Xiaojun smirks, “How can I say no to you?” he asks back, accompanied by a few ‘ayyy~’ from the boys, sending butterflies to your stomach. Your face is probably as red as a tomato by now.

Good god. Is this the same Xiaojun who is quiet, calm, and collected among his friends? Why suddenly he is so bold? Oh, he’s probably just drunk and won’t remember this kiss anyway.. You lean closer to him, closing the gap between his face and yours by sealing the kiss. His lips are soft yet firm, almost like a grape jelly you had earlier this afternoon, with a hint of vodka, of course.

After a few seconds, you finally pull out and linger your eyes on him. It’s beautiful, and mesmerizing. You just wish that you can see it again, and only for you, no one else. As you get back to your seat, you take one more last glance at him, that is currently also glancing at you, with his cheeks red.

Okay. You definitely heard the wedding bells, thanks Jeno. That’s probably one of your dreams, and thanks to Jeno, it came true. But unfortunately, Xiaojun probably won’t feel the same, or worse, he’ll probably forget about it tomorrow.

Everyone claps, exchanging happy exclaims and cheers as if you just said ‘I do’ to Xiaojun lol, when in reality, you were just doing the dare Jeno gave you. You gulp bitterly as the game goes on and on.

-----

It’s an hour past midnight, 1.12 AM to be exact. Thank god you’re not that shitfaced, but Yeri is. She is not even capable of doing anything anymore except being all smiley and shit, Changbin already drove her home like fifteen minutes ago, leaving you behind in Lucas’ lair. You suddenly felt the urge to thank god that Yeri made a fantastic decision last minute before picking you up, she used a taxi instead of driving. If she hadn’t, you’re probably stuck driving her home right now.

You scan through the house while leaning through the stair railings, looking for an easy target to get a free ride. Finally spotted your friends, you now have 3 choices : Donghyuck (who is currently seducing some random girl), Yangyang (who is now playing mobile games with Jaemin and Chenle), or Mark (who recently just hit a goddamn blunt, but he’s very capable to drive).

You sip your glass of water, making up your mind for your ride home. But then, suddenly someone taps on your shoulder.

“Do you wanna go home? Like, right now? I can drive you- I mean, our house is like, near.” you hear Xiaojun speaking to you, holding his car keys on his left hand.

Good gracious, is this even real? Like, Xiaojun, is actually asking you to go home with him? Is this real? Or are you just hallucinating from the goddamn weed you take 10 minutes ago from Lucas?

You stare at him blankly. He bit his lip, “I mean- If you wanna stay longer- or probably-”

“Yes, of course! Let’s go.” you smile at him, cutting off his words.

3 times in a day. Good job, Y/n! The wedding is up ahead!

He smiles and gives you a gesture, “Ladies first.”

-

The drive is not as awkward as you thought. Turns out, Xiaojun is full of surprise though, you nearly choked when he said he once formally apologized to Doyoung before he stood up to defend the dignity of Mint Chocolate Chip flavored ice cream. It’s delightful to find out that he has similar tastes as you, from ice cream flavor to music and school subjects.

Xiaojun also told you the reason why he was on the run earlier, he was bored. Damn, look at it, the difference between a forced daughter whose mum wants an active child, and a bored model-student. He said he didn’t expect to see you because he was embarrassed, he was drenched in sweat.

You can feel the butterflies on your stomach grow wilder and wilder from every word he said, or maybe it’s just the way he smiles when he talks to you? Welp, if it’s anything to do with Xiaojun, you’ll most likely get butterflies.

Just when you thought he was drunk, he is not. He’s capable of driving you home and carrying on some fun convos, also remembering little things. So.. perhaps, he is not going to forget the kiss you shared because of Jeno’s dare?

As you keep on exchanging conversation with him, suddenly it’s time to get off his car and get back to your house, get ready to deal with Doyoung’s nags and scolds for getting home this late.

You giggle as you take the seat belt off, smiling at the brown haired boy.

“Thank you for driving me home, Xiaojun. It was fun.” you say to him, waving him goodbye as you open the door. He smiles and waves back at you.

Just when you’re about to open the gate of your house, you hear the sound of slamming car doors. You turn around and see Xiaojun standing in front of you, eyes sparkling like a goddamn star. Unfortunately, it’s not Christmas.. If it is, all you want for Christmas is to stare at Xiaojun’s beautiful eyes all day, and probably get married to him.

“Um.. Y/n.. I don’t know how to say this but.. The kiss you gave me earlier, it’s kinda..” he starts, smiling sheepishly.

Oh god, what now? It’s kinda what? Gross? You swear you’ll kill Jeno if you hear that from Xiaojun.

You gaze at him as you wait for him to complete his sentences.

“It’s kinda.. Making me feel.. Things.” he finally continues, rubbing the back of his neck while looking away from you, flustered. It’s pretty cute.

You giggle at him a little, the butterflies come back, or maybe they never even left?

“Don’t laugh, Y/n. I’m being honest, I was pretty embarrassed to run into you during sheltering, and now you’re laughing at me for-”

You let out a big laugh before you pull him to another kiss. This one is a bit longer, more passionate and intimate, unlike the one you had before. He cups your cheek as you feel him smiling during the kiss.

“I’m sorry if I invaded your privacy- but your fast typing was very.. Intriguing.. I might’ve seen you texting Yeri at the bus stop.” he giggles after you pull out from the kiss.

Yikes. You feel like you’re about to burst now. He saw you texting Yeri? What kind of clownery is this? Did he see you typing- oh god, that’s too embarrassing to remember.

“No! That’s too embarrassing!” you cover your face, he laughs once more.

“Now, which church are we going to? I’m pretty sure you said we’re getting married tonight, right?” he takes your hands off your face, grinning widely.

You pout and lightly hit him, only to be attacked by his hugs a second later. Aww, finally, dreams do come true. You stay on his embrace for a few more minutes, no talking, just comfortable silence and realization that you’re on Xiaojun’s arms right now.

You glance at your watch, Doyoung would be furious by now. Telling him that you really have to go before Doyoung can rise from his sleep and beat your ass, you finally wave goodbye to him as he gets back to his car.

Finally entering the house, you’re greeted by Doyoung who’s standing in front of you, holding a bowl of salad on his right hand.

“So, kissing Xiaojun in front of my salad?” he raises his eyebrow.

You stick out your tongue as you make your way upstairs. Technically, not in front of Doyoung’s salad, because the door was closed. He’s probably looking through the window, such a nosy brother. You laugh at the thought of Doyoung getting furious while eating his salad as you get a message.

Xiaojun : so, see you at school? Xiaojun : can’t wait to hold your hand on monday ;)

[remmushound]

Beyond the Bay chapter 7: Mutant Town

Tags: @brightlotusmoon @digitl-art-monstr @scentedcandlecryptid @selfindulgenz @ilo-artistry

Mikey fell, and he screamed all the way down. A large pile of garbage softened his fall— in fact, it was more like a mountain than a pile. A mountain that he tumbled down like a tossed rock, and once he pulled himself into his shell to escape the tumbling whiplash, he even resembled a rock. The slope of his shell ensured that he landed on his plastron, and only once he was still for several moments did he crawl back out of his shell and look around the environment.

The first thing he noticed, with a wave of relief, was that it was night. The next thing he noticed was the wall; a great, big wall of wire and metal sheets around the perimeter that stretched several feet taller than the highest trash peak, and along the top of it were tangles of barbed wire that made the place look almost like a prison yard. No, not a prison yard— a junkyard! And a pretty big one at that! Mikey couldn’t see much from where he was, expansive walls of junk blocking his view and giving him the sensation of almost being in a giant maze.

Mikey struggled to his feet. He was unstable but, as long as he had the wall to lean on, he was sure he could find his way. The cold, tickling tingle washed over him, but he forced his way through the cloud of misery. He tested the steadiness of the wall before he dared to lean his whole weight into it; at his size, even the most sturdy of things were at constant risk of collapse. The wall supported him just fine, and he was thankful as he used it to guide his way while his other hand cupped around his stomach. Mikey made his way down the first walkway. Trash, trash, and more trash was all he saw, packed together so tightly together that their integrity surpassed even some of the houses back in Mikey’s city.

“Man, and I thought my New York was dirty!” Mikey whistled. He was sure this wasn’t actually a part of his counterpart’s city, but the joke helped him to not completely shut down. “Raph? Leo? Dee?”

No response came. To the left of Mikey’s path was a disturbance that made him yelp and grab his nunchaku expecting a threat; the perceived threat was, in fact, a giant rat running down the side of one of the closer hills. The rat ran over Mikey’s feet, bolting down the path while its pursuers, three very fat cats, were hot on its tail and seemed to take no interest in Mikey.

Mikey practically squealed. “Kitties!”

Mikey hurried after them as fast as his still-stiff body could carry him. For as long as he could remember, he had always wanted a cat! The ones back in his world always seemed to run from him, but maybe these ones could be different! If he was extra quiet, maybe he could even pet one!

“Here kitty kitty. Pspspspspsp…” He fell to his knees when he caught up to the cats; they were all crowded around a small hole in the trash, too small for them to fit through, batting through the opening with sad mewls. “Aw… hey kitty kitties…”

One of the cats almost immediately responded to Mikey’s calls, the other two still too focused on trying to get the rat to care about the mutant. The cream tabby, tail held high, trotted over to Mikey with all the confidence in the world and pressed his face against the mutant’s finger, immediately starting to purr as he danced around Mikey’s hand. Mikey gasped out a sob and started to cry as carefully deft fingers began to massage the tom cats cheeks and head, and in response the cat squinted his eyes closed and started to knead his claws into the dirt; he was even drooling a bit!

“Oh my god…” Mikey sniffled and, on impulse, slowly scooped the fat cat into his hands. The cat didn't seem to mind, so Mikey picked him up and held the cat securely to his chest. “I never wanna leave…”

“Babies!” A voice echoed through the junkard and immediately both Mikey and the cats were at alert. “Babies babies babies!”

The cat kicked himself free of Mikey’s grasp and took off running toward the voice; the other two cats snapped out of their trance and ran just as fast. That voice had been close, really close, and Mikey certainly didn't want to stick around and see the human that it belonged to. In his mind, he still saw the hate in the eyes of the officers that had cornered him and his brothers. He saw it so clearly, and he felt that same fear, and that same sense of smallness like the humans were growing and he was shrinking and he was alone and—

Mikey had to hide. The footsteps were approaching, and the only place to escape to was behind an old, rusted car, and that was exactly where Mikey went. He covered his mouth to hopefully hide the fact that he was breathing so heavy, and he saw the shadow of the stranger as they passed by on the other side of the car. Mikey held his breath. The shadow paused. Surely they didn't know Mikey was? How could they know?

The car gave a groan and Mikey soon realized that it was being moved. Lifted, as if it was nothing more than cardboard, and to Mikey’s horror he looked up to something tall and definitely not human. White eyes were the only part of the creature that wasn’t cast into shadow, two massive claws clicking together in a threat. The stranger was completely covered in thorn-like spikes, and when his eyes focused on Mikey, his lips curled into a sneer.

“Whatchu doin’ crawling around down there?”

Mikey screamed. It wasn’t a very long scream, more like a high-pitched yelp, but it was enough for color to flood back into the other mutant's eyes as he kneeled, looking far less threatening now he was at Mikey’s height.

“Hey hey, it’s okay.” The mutant waved a claw in what was intended to be a deescalating manner, “Don’t scream, kid, I ain’t gonna hurt you.”

Mikey was able to see more of the mutant now that they were closer. His skin was purple and he had dark hair with streaks of aging gray. His outfit was simple, a stained white t-shirt and a leather jacket, both torn by the jagged spikes that littered his body. Around his waist was a belt that looked like it could have once been the collar of a junkyard dog, black with silver spikes, though it wasn’t holding anything up because the mutant was without pants.

“Didn't mean ta scare ya kid…” The mutant offered a claw and Mikey slowly accepted it, standing with the help of what he now recognized as a praying mantis around the same height as Donnie. “Jus’ wonderin’ why you’s pokin’ around is all.”

Mikey swallowed what little spit was left in his mostly dry mouth. “Hey… you’re a mutant!”

“And uh… so’s is you.” The mantis smiled and pointed at Mikey.

“I didn't know there were other mutants here!” Mikey’s voice did that thing where it went loud without intention, but he didn't care. “Oh my god that is so cool!”

The mantis laughed jovially. “Man, where have you been that you don’t know about other muties?”

He swung his arm around Mikey’s shoulders and prodded the tip of his claw against the turtle’s plastron with nothing but friendly intention. He started to guide Mikey down the path and Mikey was more than willing to go with him.

“Uh…” Mikey rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m… pretty new in town.”

The narrow path they had taken opened up to show a wide, mostly-clear area in the heart of the junkyard. The first thing Mikey saw, much to his delight, was a congregation of fat, happy cats feasting on a large assortment of food laid out for them

“Well, let me be the first to introduce you, then. I’m Repo Mantis...” Repo motioned to the area beyond the cats, “Welcome to Mutant Town.”

“Wha…?” Mikey’s mouth fell open. The longer he stared, the less he could believe what he was looking at.

What was once junkyard opened up into what could almost be mistaken for a town or, more accurately, a village. The space wasn’t particularly big. And from what Mikey could see of the layout there was only one road, but to him it was the most beautiful thing. Mutants— lots of them! Mammals and reptiles and birds too; Mikey could have almost mistaken it for an actual street if not for the colorful creatures that called it home instead of humans. Then Mikey realized that the structures that filled the area were meant to be houses! Some of them were cars, hollowed out and filled instead with personal items and sleeping spaces, while others were more innovated; ramshackle sheds out built of scrap metal acting as small houses. There were tarp canopies that covered outdoor sleeping spots, and there were tents, and there was random furniture scattered around for shared comfort space. He even spotted a few shipping containers that had been renovated into small hotels with four or five rooms side by side.

“Woah…” Mikey almost forgot to breathe.

“Cool, innit?” Repo smiled, laughing once more as he gave Mikey a playful shake. “Come on! I’ll show you around!”

The mantis led Mikey deeper into the compound. For the first time in his life, Mikey was able to walk down a road, in front of people (more or less) without being stared at! It was him who was doing the staring, his awe getting the better of him the more he witnessed of the small town and its occupants. Mutants of all shapes and colors and species—young and old and skinny and fat and small and big! There were some so large he had to crane his neck to actually look at them.

“This is incredible…” Mikey breathed.

“This is everyday in this city.” Repo snickered, beak wrinkling, “Seriously kid, no worries! You’re among your own kind here!”

“Wow…”

A sudden and unsteady klunk klunk klunk caught the attention of both mutants. They looked further down the trail to see what looked like a tin can running after them! No, not a tin can, Mikey quickly realized, but a tiny cream kitten with a tin can stuck on his head. With every step the little kitten took, he wobbled and stumbled and fell, making very little progress in his search for help. It was like he had four left feet!

Repo clicked his tongue and calmly shook his head, helping Mikey to rest on a couch before heading over to gather the kitten up in his claws.

“Aw, sweetie.” Carefully, his claws started to work the can off of the kittens head until the young cat was free. “How do you keep doing that, sweet thing? Aww…”

The kitten reared its head up to encourage the gentle petting of Repo’s sloped claw, tiny paws dancing in the air while purrs sounded off in quick succession, more than loud enough for Mikey to hear.

“Awww kitty!” Mikey stuck out his bottom lip as he made desperate grabby hands.

Repo gave an amused smile at the turtle’s antics and made his way over, guiding Mikey’s grabbing hands into more of a cradle before carefully placing the kitten in Mikey’s arms. Mikey melted under the warmth and the pleasant vibrations. It was as if his entire body was jello and the only thing keeping him in one piece was the solid mass of happy energy in his arms. He was terrified to move, so went as stiff as a statue, not daring even to blink.

“Oh my god I love him…” The kitten pressed against Mikey’s hand and gave him no choice but to massage the fluffy face with a delicate touch; all the while the kitten was still wobbling unsteadily back and forth as if some invisible force was jerking him along. “Why is he so wobbly?”

“Wobbly kitten syndrome.” Repo said with a sigh and shake of his head, “Normally they’re euthanized but eh… he seems to be handling himself alright for now.

Mikey sucked in a shaky, sobbing breath, “He’s the most beautiful baby boooooooyyy…”

***

“Incredible…” Donnie said breathlessly, adjusting his goggles once more to get an even closer look inside the compound, “It’s like a whole town of mutants down there!”

“It’s not called Mutant Town for nothing.” Leonardo smirked, leaning against the taller turtle like he was a fence post.

“There must be dozens of them!”

“Thirty-four currently, to be exact.” Donatello said proudly, “And we just so happen to know the guy who runs the place, so let us do the talking, kay?”

“Kay.” Leo entertained with a slight nod.

“But you talkin’ us back for a tour the second we get the time to spare.” Raph rumbled, flashing teeth to show his joke.

Donatello took the lead of the group as they descended upon the compound, to a grand door just below a sign reading ‘Beware the Repo-Mantis’ with the ‘tis’ added on with spray paint. Leo felt incredibly small under the sharp watch of the guards on point, two large and particularly nasty looking mutants hidden among the wires, but he stayed quiet as had been requested of him. Quiet, but alert. Donatello rang the bell that said “Ring For Service” and it wasn’t very long at all before the gates were opening, and out from the community stepped a seven foot praying mantis with a sneer on his face; a sneer that faded quickly when he saw Donatello.

“Donnie!” Repo Mantis wrapped his arms around Donatello and heaved him up in a powerful grip, “Shit, man, how the hell are ya?!”

“I can’t complain!” Donatello mused, slipping out of Repo’s grasp faster than the laughing mutant could catch him again, “Pizza’s still a’flowing, and Foot’s still a’kicking, so you know…”

“Business as usual?” Repo offered.

“Exactly!” Donatello clicked his tongue and winked, whisking Repo away for a private chat, “But there is a minor issue.” He gave the mantis man a quick rundown of the days affairs.

Repo considered, and then nodded. “Ah. Sounds like you got’s your hands full. Well, glad to say I can help ya wit’ at least one of your problems. Wait here.”

Repo disappeared back into the compound. Donnie leaned over to whisper in Donatello’s ear.

“How do you know him again?”

“He tricked me, I bug zapped him, he nearly trashed my tank in a Demolition Derby, you know how it is.”

Donnie really didn't know how it was, but he didn't want to ask. Repo returned soon, this time with a six foot tall box turtle in tow.

“Mikey!” Three brothers swarmed the youngest.

“My son.” Splinter raised a hand to touch Mikey’s face, then hesitated when he saw a tiny bundle of orange in his sons arms. “Oh…”

Mikey sniffled as he held the tiny, ginger kitten in the palm of his hand, petting his fingers through the happy tom cats fur. “Repo said I could keep him. I named him Klunk. With a K!”

Michelangelo gasped. “CUUUUUTE! Also, hugs!”

Michelangelo penetrated the wall of muscle to give Mikey a hug, which Mikey returned with a weak arm.

“Mikey, we can’t…” Leo started, but a sharp glare from Donnie made him hold his tongue.

The family started to usher Mikey away, now acutely aware of just how exposed they were out here; the rapidly rising Sun was doing them no favors. Mikey showed no resistance in following, and the rest of the turtles joined the congregation as they passed.

“I’m gonna give him so much cheese…” Mikey sniffled, not bothering to wipe his tears.

“Weee have cheese.” Donatello commented with a nod.

Leonardo laughed and gave Mikey a firm pat on the carapace. “Welcome to paradise, hermano. It’s great to have you back.”

[the-fiction-witch]

Girls P22 Queens Cookies

TV SHOW: THE QUEENS GAMBIT COUPLE: BENNY X READER X BETH X HARRY RATING: FLIRTY + CUTE

"You girlies gonna be okay all alone?" Benny asks as he got his jacket on at the door

"We'll be fine, we're grown ups" I argued

"Maybe I should stay with them?" Harry encouraged

"No" Benny answered "I'm not thrilled about leaving them here because I know there gonna fucking sleep with each other, I leave you here the girls'll rip you apart," "Maybe I wanna be ripped apart"

"I know what you want harry" He smirked back

"we'll be fine you boys go, get us some nice presents from the store" Beth smiled

"Like?" Harry asked

"Wine!" I giggled

"If you girls are good" benny warned "No sex on my bed... Without me" He warned

"we won't" we giggled

"Good girls, we'll bring you something nice" benny winked

"see you soon girls" Harry smiled blowing us each a kiss before he scurried out the door with benny, and the moment the doors where shut

"You wanna have sex on benny's bed again?" I asked

"I fucking heard that y/n!" Benny yelled from the other side of the door as he locked it

"No, I'm still a little worn out. I'm getting passed around like a fuck toy between you three" she complained

"To be fair so am I,"

"I think I'll bake while there out give the boys something nice to come home to" she smiled

"That would be nice, yeah lets make out boys some nice cookies"

"Maybe we should get naked and cook in just little aprons"

"I think the boys would enjoy that" I smirked "and we would too" I smirked

"Come on then" she says so we got up and headed to the kitchen, we both got our clothes off leaving beth having only her bright hair, perfect make up, and a little blue apron, I smirked doing likewise but keeping my thigh highs on and a little black apron starting to make some cookies but as she handed me the bowel full of the cookie dough to stir while she sorted the oven I noticed as I stirred

"Beth?" "Yeah hun?"

"Is there... something in this?" I asked her

"Yeah, Weed" she says making me cough a little

"what?"

"Yeah, its fine" she shrugs

"You brought drugs with you? On a plane?"

"Yeah" she shrugs "Never been stopped before"

"Where did you get it?" I asked as we began sorting the cookies

"A know a guy in Kentucky, went to my Russian classes" she explained

"I see," I laughed "You're gonna feed it to the boys?"

"hell yeah"

"I'm in" I smirked "How do you pay?"

"I take drugs I let him fuck me in the ass?"

"Fair trade" I shrug "You should come up to napa and chill"

"I have heard you guys have good stuff"

"I should host a party?"

"A Party?"

"Yeah, get some good stuff in, some good wine, get everyone over, everyone can get nice and drunk, nice and stoned and then fuck each other"

"That does sound like a fun party" she shrugs "Like an orgy."

"Not like an orgy Beth. I have standards"

"Could Invite everyone have a big party"

"like? List me a guest list"

"well, You. It's your house. Me," "Got to have a second hot girl"

"Ohh thank you" she smiled giving me a kiss "Then benny"

"Got to have a good dick. who knows' what he's doing with it" "He does have such a good cock doesn't he?"

"He does, Just wish he'd stop walking around in that robe...damn thing makes me a swimming pool"

"I think he knows it does. He so has a thing for you"

"we all fuck beth"

"Yeah but... Benny like... likes you"

"No he doesn't we just very similar people, we both play chess, we both have a fuck it I do what I want mentality, and we both are horny as rabbits in mating season"

"You do, you're both way hornyier then me and harry"

"... I can't argue with that, who else?"

"Harry of course"

"Got to have a slow ride to balance out the action"

"He's so sweet"

"He is, together... they are good. they should make a prono together"

"Harry and benny?"

"Yes"

"I would buy it"

"Everyone would buy it those two are hot as shit"

"Okay, and we would have to have townes"

"... Ohh shit yeah, I would adore a benny, harry and townes fuck"

"Oooohh I hadn't even thought about it. I just wanted to fuck him But yes, god yes,"

"That would be porno worthy"

"It would, Chess federation would be mad though"

"so what? make royalties on that bad boy"

"true"

"Then... we would have to have Jolene over?"

"Ohh yeah, too many white people. Add some chocolate to the cookie" I winked

"Then if we are having Jolene we could always have clio,"

"Yeah, I wanna have that little French madam between me and benny"

".... damn."

"what?" "I'm in to watch"

"Ohh we have to have Matt and Mike in this"

"Totally, Maybe Benny's chess friends too?"

"Well if we have one set we might as well as them to"

"This is a big party"

"Be fun though"

"Anyone I'm missing?"

"Benny, Harry, you, me, matt, mike, towens, Jolene, Clio, the chess boys, Uhhh I don't think so?"

"Sound fun, I will get planning" I smirked as we finished off the cookies putting them on a nice plate

"Ohh my ..." Harry says as he came in with a few bags of the shopping "what is that smell? Smells like Beth's house?"

"ohh my fucking god" Benny sighed as he came into the flat "You two better not have had sex in here again!"

"we didn't have sex, we made you cookies" I smiled

"Cookies? ohh alright then" He shrugs as the two brought the shopping over to the kitchen "Do you put cinnamon in them or something? I can't work out what that smell is" He says taking a cookie "Eh they taste good so who cares" He shrugs

Harry instantly took like four from Beth and started nipping at them "Ummm these are delicious" He smiled "and you girls look beautiful" he smiled giving us each a kiss and beth a cuddle

"You do girls, you two should dress up like this everyday" Benny smiled giving me a cuddle too kissing my cheek  "Those cookies really are good, and I am super fucking hungry" he says having another I happily took some getting my dress back as I was starting to feel the chill,

a while later darkness crept across new york the windows of benny's apartment dark, the few little lights flickering as they often did, the record player spinning slowly and quietly a little tune,  harry laid with a pillow on his head, Beth sat on the leather chair playing with a chess piece in her hands, Benny sat leant against the wall to his bedroom sat with the window just above his head, I laid my head on his shoulder and nuzzled his arm the most sober of anyone as I had only had two cookies.

"Y/n?"

"Yes benny?"

"are my hands moving?"

"....No there not sweetie" I giggled as he was sat completetly still

"Oooohh.... I thought they where" He says "Are they moving now?"

"No"

".... Ooohh nooo" He says "I'M DEAD!" he yelped

"No no benny-" I tried to reassure him "I'm dead! no not again! Why do I keep dieing! I don't pick it on purpose everything I like they kill me! I don't wanna die again! I like being alive!" He whines "I don't wanna die anymore!" He cried

"Awww it's okay benny, you're not going to die anymore, it's okay" I smiled giving him a cuddle as he cried

"You've not died before benny it's okay" "I always die! I die in everything!"

"Benny how many cookies have you had?" "six"

"Ohh no" "this is literally like the first time I haven't died"

"I feel like... at some point... I was fat. and there was magic afoot" Harry says

"Yeah I was dead, and he was around the magic man" Benny explained

"I think... I killed someone" Beth mutters "Y/n? did I kill someone?"

"No beth you have not killed someone"

"But I remember it. there was a goat involved"

"Yeah! I remember that Beth, you had a goat and blood everywhere!" harry explained

"what- what are you guys talking about?" I asked

"Y/n?"

"Yes benny?"

"Now are my hands moving?"

"No there not sweetheart" I told him

".... oooohh... are my wings moving?"

"why- why do- you don't have wings benny"

"But I'm a dragon."

"Benny, your not a dragon, your a people" I told him

"No!" He whines "Dragon, I have big wings, and I'm blue and I give fire kisses" He smiled hugging me tightly and kissing all over me

"Benny- your not a dragon. harry help me out here!"

"No no he's a dragon. I saw it. he was a good dragon" harry explained

"I wanna be... a like 18th century lady... with huge boobs"

"I saw that, you looked good" Harry told her "good nightie... gave me a bonner"

"Okay, I think it's bed time" I sighed getting up picking benny up and throwing him on my shoulder

"wait! hold up! you can lift benny?" beth asked

"He's not heavy" I laughed "Mother fucker has a BMI of Two, Maybe. when soaking wet" I laughed bouncing him on my hip like a baby "He's not heavy"

".... I Love you y/n but I highly protest to being carted around like an infant"

"I wanna be carted around like an infant" harry says rising his hand

"Nooooo my y/n" Benny whines hugging me tightly nuzzling into my hair "My y/n"

"Okay you're going to bed before you eat any more cookies and really start being a problem" I sighed

"Maybe I two scoops was too much per cookie" Beth says

"Too much of what?" benny asks making me put him down before it clicked "Ohh my fucking god. Elizabeth harmon, you better not have smoked weed in my fucking house!"

"we didn't smoke it" Beth shrugs "we baked it into the cookies"

"Weed cookies?" harry asked curiously

"No, no, no You guys my land lord is going to kill me!" he complained "He explicitly said no drug taking. he mentioned it like sixteen times"

"that seems excessive" I laughed

"he has a lot of weird rules.... how many have I had?"

"six"

"So thats?" he asks

"Two scoops per cookie, so... benny has had Twelve scoops" she explained "How big where the scoops?" I asked her as she was the one who put them in

"about a cup" she shrugs

"I have consumed twelve cups of weed!" He yelped "... I'm gonna die" "You won't die I've done more then that" she says

"I've never done drugs before beth!"

"...how did it take you this long to realize you where high?" Harry asks

"I was seeing though dimensions"

"where you where a dragon for some reason"

"There was a dragon ,and it talked like me okay" he explained "so every time I've got hungry I have another cookie and the weed makes me more hungry so I have more cookies, I ate six weed cookies..."" "How many have you had harry?" I asked

"Nine" He answered

".... so eighteen scoops" I laughed

"Ooooohhhh... thats why I keep thinking one of you is giving me a blow job, but then ins't" "How many have you had beth?" I asked

".....five, but I have a higher tolerance" "I've had two, so I'm fine" I laughed "I think we should just sit, and wait it out" I explain as we all got cosy close to each other

"Hey? Beth?" Harry whispered "you wanna know a secret?"

"Yeah" she giggled

".... I masturbated to you. Not long after we met"

"You wanna know a secret?" she asks "I met up with the chess club I first plaid against when I was a kid... and I fucked each of them"

"ooohh" I giggled "you wanna know a secret?"

"Yeah" they all giggled

"I got called a dragon once"

"why?" Benny asks

"I liked to start fires, when I was little" I smiled

"why?" harry asks

"It was fun"

"Is that why you got a dragon tattooed on you?" Beth asks

"Ummm" I nodded "I wanted to take that word away from people who hurt me, made it my word. set all those fuckers on fire"

"why did you like fire?" harry asks

"Fire's cool. its warm, its pretty, destroys evidence. I don't know I like it" I smiled

"I didn't kn? ow you had a dragon tattoo" Benny says

"... how many times have we had sex? How many times have you seen me naked?

"... I wasn't aware I needed to keep track" "Damn we should! could get like reward cards every tenth sex gets a blow job or something" Beth giggled

"I like that, but not right now" I laughed

"How have you never noticed my tattoo benny?"

"I'm not usually paying attention to your arm and shoulder... of all the places when your naked it's not an area I tend to look at"

"why not?"

"Because boobs, and pussy! would would I be looking at arms?" he complained trying to eat another cookie but I stopped him,

"I need a nap" Beth says moving to lay on harry the two falling asleep almost instantly

"Do you have a secret benny?" I asked

"I do" He nods nuzzling on my shoulder "I love you"

"You've said benny" I smiled petting his hair

"No, I do... I really love you, I was a little disappointed when Beth turned up to. I kinda wanted us to be alone, so we could go on a nice date, play chess together, make love in my bed" He smirked between kisses up my neck "I love you sugar"

"Awww Benny, I love you too" I smiled giving him a cuddle "You won't remember a word of this tomorrow you get some rest okay, we'll talk about it soon"

[bitchassbucky]

.eps (cut)

Word Count: 1.7k

Warning/s: dark!bucky x dark!reader, MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, blood mention, gore and dismemberment, murder, toxic/abusive relationship dynamics, sedation/drugging/use of sedative, stockholm syndrome-ish, one very special character reveal

A/N: this version of the epilogue is the 'clean cut' - there's a good chunk of it missing but it's not particularly important to the story. if you want to read the EXPLICIT version, there should be another one uploaded at the same time. (sorry, this is scheduled so i don't have the link yet lol)

follow the CTRL series:

i - .exe

ii - .avi

iii - .raw

iv - .png

v - .zip

CTRL playlist CTRL moodboard

Safeness, comfortability, warmth are all but a false sense of reality.

When a prey takes down its walls, the predator moves in. Camouflaged in familiar colors, in words that you’re used to hearing, in praises, in lies. Most predators use the mask of the night to move in darkness—unyielding and calculated. Come morning, there will be only one left alive, tainted with victory and bloodshed.

You and Bucky have been engaging in a dance for two—a battle of who’s willing to take the leap of faith and unleash hell upon the other.

Stifled smiles and pursed lips.

The air is filled with unsaid irritants, little things that ticked away like bombs.

There was no time for pleading, no time for mercy, no rest for the wicked.

Did you still love each other?

How far are you willing to go to keep up with his… complacency?

Bucky’s mundane life already taking a toll on you. The endless nightmares of him feeling you. The swirling vision of Bucky being with you every waking—and sleeping—moment: it grates your soul to shreds.

“We’ll be together forever, right?”

“Yes, darling.”

“What about the day after forever?”

“That too, honey.”

Where was the man you loved so deeply? The man that broke his morals just to be with you?

Was he under this hull of a Yes Man? A poor little thing that says ‘yes’ to everything like a puppy.

The man you held so dearly now slipping away, chipping his humanity, shedding the once-human.

“Would you marry me tomorrow if I asked you?”

“Of course, baby, why wouldn’t I?”

“Would you kill for me?”

“I’m meant to do the same for you.”

It’s irritating how Bucky gave up too quickly. Too fast, moving too fast. The gazelle let the lion tear its neck as it lay there, unmoving, letting the blood seep into its hide.

When you first met Bucky, it was your own fairytale unfolding before your eyes. Kismet, reality, forgiveness from above. He was soft and shy, passionate, lively.

Far from what you expected from a man his age—you blame Steve for forcing you into his narrative before. That all men are out to get you. They will hurt you. They will use you and leave you for good. But Bucky? Bucky came in like a knight. He saved you from the carcass of your past. He saved you from the sins that you prayed and knelt for.

Bucky taught you how to love.

Bucky taught you how to live for yourself.

Bucky taught you that being alone doesn’t mean you have to be lonely.

“It was an unspoken little thing, wasn’t it?”

“What thing, baby?”

“Our love.”

“Yes, honey, it was.”

He worships you.

He worships you like a fucking God and you hate it.

Suffocating, too suffocating. You dove straight for the water and now you’re drowning.

Do you still love each other? The question hangs in the air, heavy with its weight, light as a feather.

It’s all your fault. It’s all your fault. It’s all your fault. It’s all your fault.

You stand there with a syringe half-filled with a horse sedative. It’s a concern how easy it is to waltz into a pet store and pick up a general anesthetic. You make a mental note to look at it later.

Bucky’s body slumps forward, his forehead meeting the edge of the table with a dull thud. If the overdose doesn’t kill him, the weeping crack in his head will.

Holy fuck, humans bleed a lot. And fast. Good thing you already have that clear tarp taped down. Even with the hush money stuffed down your throat, it would take a good nick to regrout the kitchen.

“What is that for, honey?”

“I’m painting the cabinets.”

“Okay, darling.”

So you let him bleed, surprised that the liquid is redder than what you thought it would be. A soft gurgling noise came from Bucky, the last of air escaping his dead body. You stood there, syringe in hand, as you thought how to dispose of a six-foot-tall man without arousing suspicion.

Not that he’ll be missed anyway: the local news and the internet already branded him as a psycho and you as a victim. You were both victims in this fairytale. They reported his case as “skipped the town like the sicko he is.” So, no—no one’s going to look for him.

The sun was high up in the sky and there was a dead body in your kitchen.

A butcher and a surgeon walk into a bar for a drink. “What do you do for a living?” Said the butcher, “I save lives! What about you?” The doctor answers. “I save animals from dying slowly. We’re basically the same. You’re just very clean.” You see, the butcher comes into the bar covered in blood, reeking of death. The surgeon, on the other hand, wears his white coat with pride even though he’s surrounded by death every passing second.

Today was the day you learned that you have the tools of a butcher and the precision of a surgeon. Unlike before.

You carefully take Bucky’s fingers off of his left hand, leaving a skin flap on the edge of the last knuckle for you to stitch close later. Four promises. Four goddamn promises and he broke all of them.

It was his fault that he’s dead. He made you do this.

Placing the body into the trunk of a rental, you begin your journey to the end of your fairytale. Off to the woods, where you buried your first love. In a town where not everyone who dies leaves.

The drive to and from the place was tiring, to say the least. The internet connection of the diners was spotty at best. Locals were overly friendly with the city folks who came passing through their towns. The roads reek of roadkill and manure from the farm animals that were left to roam for fresh grass.

At least you get to come home in a spotless apartment, alone once again.

But not lonely.

Your space is yours again. No trace of anyone anywhere. Immaculately yours.

—

Humans are social creatures.

No one can truly be alone, especially in today’s world where we’re connected to everyone—whether we liked it or not.

Leaving your wretched job behind was an easy feat to do. No one can say no to the victim of such a vile crime. That’s all they saw you: a helpless little thing. So off you went; saying half-assed goodbyes and sending emails of courage and hope and fucking resilience.

Your resignation meant that the company’s free of any dirt from you, Bucky’s disappearance quickly becoming a joke and a rumor blending in one.

They let you leave: in your bank account a fat check ensuring that you’d shut up about the scandal for months until you can’t feed yourself no more. So you packed your bags and jet off without looking back. You never liked that apartment anyway.

Nevertheless, you found yourself looking into another dead-end job in one of the towns you stopped over before. It’s a charming place like time froze in their plaza while the rest of the world went on. You found a small studio apartment in a street tuckered away from the main avenue, you settled there as days became nights and nights turned into days.

You woke up one morning craving a healthy serving of coffee and pancakes, luckily the town’s local diner wasn’t far from your new home.

The coffee was too hot, the pancakes were amazing, fluffy, and just right. You’re sitting in a sunny booth, the warmth doing its wonders.

“Hi, can I get today’s paper, please?” Your voice is sweet as you call your server, giving her a quick smile.

A pair of Raybans adorn your face, unconsciously hiding behind its darkened glasses. The waitress gives you a thick stack of newspapers, refilling your cup with black coffee.

Upon opening the paper, you ignore the town’s headlines and go straight for the job postings. The door jingled open as patrons come in and go, waving to familiar faces.

Job Vacancy Announcements

Secretary to the Town Sheriff

You skimmed over the rest of the details, only noting the address of the office. The job looks quite lucrative for someone who would only take messages and organize files for the sheriff.

Looking over the job posting again, you read over the words walk-ins only. That shouldn’t be hard enough.

The diner looked deserted save from the man sitting behind your booth. Leaning over and tapping his shoulder, you put on a polite smile, “Hi, sorry, do you know how to get to the sheriff’s office from here?”

“Hello, darling.” The man croons in an accent, he looks over to you, “join me in my booth, will ‘ya?”

You’re in no position to reject his proposal, you’re the one who needed an answer.

Taking your coffee cup, you slide into his booth, “hi.”

“Just the face I wanted to see.” Clean-shaven, a hint of mint and smoke, and something woody; a worn leather jacket and white button-up shirt hugging his soft frame. “Some folks over on the apartment complex were talkin’ about a city girl wanting to rent a studio all by herself. That happen to be you?”

You look over to him, trying to understand how that small of news spread like a wildfire, “yeah. I moved in a week ago.”

He leans over, smiling sweetly as he unabashedly lets his eyes roam your features, “What’s a city girl like you doin’ in a place like this? I hope we ain’t too boring for you, gal.”

Chatty—he’s way too chatty.

“Just wanted a change of pace, really. Away from the bustle of the city.” You rustle the paper, clearing your throat to get back on the matter on hand, “so the sheriff’s office? Is it too far from here?”

“What business are ‘ya bringing into the office?”

“A job, actually. Says here that they’re looking for a secretary.” You might as well tell him everything, he seems too chatty to be dismissed over and over again.

“Well, darlin’, today’s your lucky day. No need to drive down the old road.” He reaches down to his seat, pulling up a brown hat, “Hi, I’m Sheriff Bodecker. Now, to whom do I owe the pleasure?”

You bite back a giggle, you’ve always wanted to be involved with the law.

[captain-barnes-writes]

Someone Like You [6/6]

Summary: In which Sebastian tries to win you back a year and a half after your relationship’s rupture, but only because there’s a new man in your life. [Part 6]

(Mini-series)

Pairing: Sebastian Stan x Latina

Warning: Lots of fluff (FINALLY), cuteness, language, unprotected sex🥴, SMUT. 18+. 

NOT PROOFREAD (any tips, suggestions, comments are greatly appreciated.)

Word Count: 4k

Your eyes scanned the large silver mirror against the wall of your bedroom. The oregold-yellow of the sun melted away to a bright peachy hue as it began to set. The remaining brightness of the outside entered your bedroom through the large ceiling window illuminating your silhouette. Lips pursed in confusion and orbs ogled over the odd ensemble that you were wearing. A short baby pink wig, the only one you owned, black cable knit sweater, jeans and black Chelsea boots. A meticulously drawn mole above your lip put the garb to completion. You looked like a completely different person.

You were thrown into a hole of confusion when Sebastian told you to wear your best disguise for your date before he left the night before. At first you’d felt the feeling of confusion swallow you as you pondered over what to wear, then it dawned on you that people would possibly recognize the both of you if you were to be out and about in New York City. This was possibly one of the best ways to keep under wraps whatever was going to happen between Sebastian and you. You’d both just gotten out of relationships anyway, it seemed best to be discreet.

It was too early to make any rash decisions or have any expectations. You wanted to do things differently this time. You didn’t want to end up in a world of hurt yet again. And quite frankly, you’d just gotten out of a relationship and while it had been very short-lived, it had still been one regardless of its quick expiry date.

It was also too early to give into Sebastian. You wanted to test the waters. Though you felt as if you were contradicting yourself when only a few days ago you’d seen him for the first time in almost two years and fallen puddy to his arms. Even had sex in a damn closet for god’s sake. You knew the effect he had on you, such a hold on you it scared you beyond belief. But you wanted a different outcome this time and needed to keep the yearning need within you on check.

When Sebastian knocked on your door, you felt yourself getting nervous all over again. You knew it wasn’t his intention to do so, he was just taking you out on a date to god knows where and the jitters that ran through your body had you chastising yourself. Begging yourself to calm down and to simply go open the door for the man. When you did, the nervousness had been subdued dramatically and instead laughter had left your mouth at the sight of Sebastian.

“What...What is that?” The laughter was uncontrollable as you both pointed at each other’s disguises. Him pointing at your wig and you at his stomach and fake mustache. Instead of the usual strong and taut stomach, a protruding belly had replaced it. It seemed soft and like he’d gained weight overnight. The mustache was chevron shaped and it had you grasping at your ribs as the laughter wouldn’t stop.

“This--” He paused, pointing at the bulging belly. “This is the fat pack I had to wear when I shot the Devil All the Time and I kind of stole it on the last day of set. The mustache I actually bought on the way here.”

You giggled again, finding it wholesome and hilarious all at once to see Sebastian with the extra weight on the belly and the odd mustache. He was wearing dark wash jeans and an oversized olive jacket that would probably be tight if he were to zip it up all the way.. You wondered what movie he was talking about because you hadn’t kept up with his work. He must’ve noticed when your lips pursed.

“You haven’t watched it huh?” He asked, hint of a smile on his clementine lips.

“Ah, no actually.” You responded sheepishly.

“Well, how about this? After our date we can watch it.”

“That’s if the date goes well.” You teased. Hopeful gleaming eyes looked up at the handsome man before you. Despite the awful costume he donned, he still looked handsome. His cerulean eyes were always your favorite thing about him anyway and they shimmered with the laughter-induced tears.

“Shall we?” He smiled as he offered his arm to you.

“We shall.”

The drive to whenever he was taking you was quite short. It was also filled with a small amount of silence, and conversations that felt comfortable. It didn’t feel awkward at all as you’d thought it would. It had been so long since the last time you’d both talked, like really talked. It felt...nice. It also felt different from that of your past relationship and the nature of it.

He drove with both hands on the wheel though all he wanted to do was reach for your hand and hold it. He sneaked a few glances at you and when you noticed it, your cheeks became hot and a miniscule smile took upon your face. You didn’t know where he was taking you, didn’t try to even determine where seeing as he always had surprises up his sleeve.

When he parked the car and made his way to open your side of the door, you were met with confusion and an angst to know where he was taking you as you were surrounded by so many buildings. You were in the middle of New York City, the beautiful city bustling around you. It wasn’t until you got out of the car that you felt the cold nip at your skin and your eyes immediately caught sight of the iconic christmas tree. He’d brought you to the Rockefeller center.

You smiled widely at him before you both began the short trek to the center. He was next to you, his arms touching yours and you suddenly felt so giddy. Felt like a little girl who was next to her all-time crush and was going on her first date with him. You also felt irrevocably happy that instead of taking you to a fancy dinner date, he’d opted for something more simple. Walking deeper into the large center, the white twinkling lights wrapped around the many trees gleamed underneath the darkening sky. Silver and gold flags swayed with the bitter December wind and you couldn’t help but feel more than content looking at the skating rink down below.

“We’re ice skating?”

“Is that ok?” Sebastian inquired softly, brows furrowed as he looked down at you. He seemed worried that this wasn’t the date you were hoping for and you tried to soothe his worries by placing your hand on his right arm.

“Yeah, I love it.” You beamed. “But just letting you know I’ll probably eat shit because I’m not a good skater at all.”

“Neither am I.” He laughed loudly, his left hand coming and taking hold of the one you’d placed on his left arm.

“Come on, I bought our tickets in advance.” And with hand entwined in his, he pulled you forward. The heavy human traffic in the rockefeller center was almost claustrophobic. It made you glad he’d already gotten the tickets to avoid the long lines that wrapped around the center.

Sebastian almost struggled to sit down on the bench to put the skating shoes and you’d held back a laugh. He’d probably used the fake belly for months to film, but he had probably not worn it to this extent. It looked so soft and even cute on him. You stopped looking at him and focused on putting your own skating shoes. You felt excited and nervous to be on the rink because you really didn’t want to fall in front of him. But that would be inevitable.

When you did make it on the rink, legs wobbly as they tried to find their footing on the ice. Sebastian himself seemed to be struggling to find his balance so he held the rail that surrounded the rink. His eyes found yours and you wanted to hang on to the railing as well and your eyes probably seemed desperate so he extended his arm for you to take. Before you could even take it, you were already on the icy floor. You slightly shrieked when you felt the thick material of your jeans become wet with the ice.

“I told you I wasn’t good.” You huffed finally reaching for his arm. He brought you to the railing with him and burst into fits of laughter as he took in the disheveled state you were in not even a minute into skating. You joined in as well feeling so light and content despite the ache on your bottom. You proceeded to move on the rink, hands still secured on the railing. Then Sebastian got gutsy and had you both moving without the aid of the railings, hands intertwined.

You skated for more than half an hour, both falling numerous times. Both of your pants donned wet spots from the ice, faces carrying different hues due to the bitter cold of New York. Despite being so cold, you felt utterly warm too because the date felt so natural. The small talk and actually getting to know each other all over again while you both skated and even off the rink when both your frames walked around the many bodies of people to find some much needed hot chocolate.

You found a quaint cafe and found warmth in a small booth with hot chocolate and donuts. Small talk had turned into full on conversations that lasted for so long. You talked about past projects you’d both worked on, future projects and life in general. Lingering eyes, flushed cheeks and unerasable smiles were the highlight of the booth talk. You found this far more romantic than being in a high-rise building having a fancy dinner. This is what romance felt like to you.

“Why are you still smiling?” You giggled as Sebastian’s eyes were locked with yours, the chevron mustache still stuck to his handsome face. It still seemed silly, but it was growing on you.

“Because I’m so happy that you’re here with me.” He was looking at you with those blue eyes you loved so much. You’d missed him so damn much and couldn’t help but look down at your empty cup of hot chocolate before they made their way up again to meet his. His body slightly leaned over the table and his eyes had strayed to look down at the fullness of your lips. He wanted to taste the chocolate off them, wanted to seal the night with something he’d been yearning for all this time. But he wanted you to want it too and you did. So badly. With gleaming eyes, you leaned forward too and lips met in the middle. Both plush against one another, soft and warm. It was sweet, tasted like chocolate and mints and left you both reeling when it came time to pull away.

With a bite of your lip you replied, “ I’m happy that we’re both here. And you know what?”

“What?”

“I think the date went so well that we can watch the Devil All the Time.”

Days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months. It had all been a blur. A pure haze in the midst of work and the blossoming relationship between Sebsatian and you. He’d been away for months filming his latest movie and you’d been away from home as well working. Your source of communication was through the phone. Daily calls or facetimes with a flood of messages. Small care packages sent back and forth filled with favorite snacks, letters and silly Polaroids. And the heartwarming dark chocolates with bouquets of roses that always found their way to you from his part. Despite the distance, it was all surreal.

Before that you’d spend any time you could together. Dates filled with lowkey locations, exploring even more of New York or taking walks through its many parks. At times even staying in to order takeout and watch old movies together. It hadn’t gotten to the point of being fully physical. Sexual tension was always present, thick and heavy between the both of you yet you only shared heated kisses on your couch or his couch during movie nights.

What you both shared seemed to transcend the point of solely being physical. There was an obvious connection, a level of emotions that you both shared for each other. Warm and real. It was different this time and you both knew it.

Now back in New York again, you sat in your living room anxiously waiting for his arrival. He’d be back at any time and all you wanted was to wrap your arms around him. Feel his warmth coursing through you, smell the heavy scent of his cologne. 

The knock on the door made you jump to your feet. Bare feet padding on the tile & pulling the front door of your apartment open. And Sebastian stood there with the biggest toothy grin on his face. The little crinkles on his eyes were prominent and his right front tooth was slightly larger than the other and you found yourself staring at him longingly. Loving his imperfections because it was him, it was sebastian. Your Sebastian. You jumped in his arms, feet wrapping around his waist.

“I missed you too baby.” He laughed teasingly, his own arms snaking around your waist to hold you up. He planted a long kiss on your lips. It was filled with so much want, with months of pent up desperation for you. He blindingly walked into your apartment with you wrapped around him, lips still connected and managed to close the door with his back against it.  You didn’t even want to let go of him but you had to in order to get some much needed air. When your feet finally plopped back on the ground, you peered over his whole frame and felt the familiar sensation tingle in your most sensitive area. He looked so good.

“I missed you so much.” You confessed, doe eyes staring at the breathless man before you. “Seb, I know you just walked in here but I--I need you to make love to me.”

Sebastian looked stunned as he stared at your flustered self. He thought it would take a little bit longer to take that next step in the relationship, but you needed him now. He could see it on the hotness of your cheeks and the hooded eyes. He needed you just as much as you did him.

“You sure?”

“Yes baby, please.” God, you were begging. Less than five minutes of being in his presence and you were already melting at the sight of him. Wanting every inch of him, to touch him and feel him. Within seconds, your lips were already attached to his. An eager and passionate kiss that spoke volumes of your need for each other. The yearning pent up frustration that had been building up for months but could finally make its way to reality.

While you both pedaled backyards to your bedroom, you proceeded to peel your clothes away in a haste leaving a trail from the living room to your bedroom. His clothes were strewn about the floor of your room as he pushed you on the bed, your bare back meeting the soft material of your sheets. You watched as he pushed the black hugo boss boxers down and his heavy cock sprung free from the constraining material. He was rock hard already, the veins on the shaft noticeable.

His heated body was on top of you in a flash, soft lips on yours joined in an ardent kiss. He felt so good on top of you, hands touching you everywhere as if he didn’t know where to start. As if he didn’t know where he wanted to touch you first. He made sure to massage the fullness of your breasts and perky nipples before he took one in his mouth. Tongue caressing the erected nub and making sure to give attention to the other one with hand.

He groaned when his large hands ran down the side of your body and found its way to the place he most wanted to delve into. He began rubbing circles on your clit, knowing just how to do it perfectly. He still knew your body like the back of his hand, knew exactly what you liked and how you liked it. His fingers entered you and you choked back a moan. His fingers were so long and they pushed in and retracted with so much conviction, speeding up and slowing down just to get a reaction out of you. His fingers felt so good, but you wanted his cock to be buried inside you already.

“I’m gonna show you how much I want you.” Sebastian uttered as he looked down at the mess that you were because of him.

His forehead was creased in concentration, eyes laced with lust as his lips made their way to your neck sucking and biting at the soft delicate skin. Not only were the words of what he was going to do to you slipping out of his mouth so sexy but the sensation of his lips and teeth on your skin combined with his cock teasing your entrance had made you a moaning mess underneath him. When his hands stopped their assault on your pussy and grabbed a tight hold of your waist, he made sure to look at you as he pushed his hips forward. His thick cock pushed inside your entrance slowly, stretching you so good it burned. Your face had broken into a heavenly sight for him; mouth agape with a guttural moan pushing out and eyes looking intently into his blue ones.

“Fuck Seb…” you mewled, eyes breaking contact as they shut in delight. Your hands were at his shoulder grasping onto dear life as he continued stretching you slowly. You felt so full. You’d missed how big he was and how much you loved the burn you felt whenever he was inside you. The last time had felt just as good, but this was different. It was a step into a new direction, trekking a different path that you realized you both wanted.

As soon as he’d filled you to the hilt he retracted his hips and slammed forward causing a loud yelp to escape past your lips. You gripped him so tightly, constricting him making him groan. He’d missed you just as much. He took his time with you, continuing with shallow and slow pumps into your warm core. Your soft mewls were driving him insane, he’d missed the sound of them too. It had been too long and he wanted to relish this moment with you. His lips had captured yours and it became a clash of teeth and tongue, it was desperate and passionate.

His slow torturous movements had transformed into rough thrusts and your moans were echoing in the large bedroom. It was egging him on to make you louder, make you feel all the desperation he was feeling through harsh thrusts. He was fucking you so good your eyes were tightly shut, but he wanted you look at him and so the hand that was not keeping you in place at your hip found its way to your jaw, gripping it.

“Look, baby. Look at the way I’m fucking you.” Your eyes fluttered and opened up again despite the heaviness of the situation. His steel-blue eyes were boring into yours and his pleasure-stricken face broke into a smirk. God, he’d even missed your pretty eyes. 

His grip on your jaw tightened as he forced it down, making you look at the mess he was making further down. His hips were pushing forward in deep thrusts, his cock was slick with your juices as he slid out all the way and inched his way back in again. The sound of sweaty skin slapping against each other  and your wooden headboard hitting the wall was echoing in the room and when your legs wrapped around him he found himself lost in your crevice. He was unbelievably deep; you could feel all the ridges and veins his shaft was blessed with. 

Your shuddering body was a mess underneath him, hands fisting the thin white sheets.  He sucked on the side of your neck, roughly nibbling at the skin and surely leaving behind red marks, before his hand replaced his lips and began applying slight pressure on it. You loved being choked. Your clit was pulsating, the friction of him fucking into you and the pressure of his hand on your neck was getting you closer to the edge and he could sense it as you clenched around him eliciting loud groans from the deepest parts of him.

“Fuck I’m so close.” You moaned, eyes alternating between fluttering close and opening again. The pressure on your throat wasn’t too restricting, but it brought a sense of excitement. The heat was pooling in your stomach, ballooning and building to what you knew would be a delicious finite.

“Come on, baby, Milk me. Milk the fuck out of my dick.” And you did, with the same arduous pace he kept and the breath constriction, you milked him for all he was worth. Shaking, tightening around his dick, the loud yet breathy moans falling loose from your lips. Voice so hoarse you knew it would hurt to speak later on. Your hands had tangled in his hair as he brought his lips to yours, legs falling slack as your orgasm had weakened you beyond belief.

Sebastian’s own orgasm was nearing, his pace had picked up. Relentless, rough and precise as the mess below egged him on. The pure sight of you alone egged him on.

He couldn’t believe he was touching you, kissing you and that he was so close to cumming because of you. You were the very essence of his being right now, delirious with your presence, on overdrive because of your body. You were a fucking goddess and he was showing you just how much he’d missed you. How much he wanted this, you and him together.

He was so rough now, his hands everywhere groping at every inch of your skin, sucking and biting on your neck, lips and nipples. Your breasts were bouncing at every thrust, pornographic sounds falling from your lips, hands grasping at his hair. With a shaky and heavy thrust along with a hoarse groan, he’d removed himself from inside you and spilled his milky warm cum just below your stomach.

“Fuck.” He whispered. Your foreheads had met, both sweaty and bodies so sticky it should’ve felt uncomfortable but it didn’t.

“Mm that was too good.” You whispered softly, still reeling from the way he’d taken you and the way you were still tingling from the aftermath of it all. A toothy smile overtook his face, eyes crinkling at the corners. He was so handsome and finally all yours.

“It was, wasn’t it?” Was his teasing response. “Can’t wait for the next round. You thought that was all I had in me?”

“You’re kidding me. You’re not coming near me tonight again, Buddy. I’m already so sore.”

He laughed at you, hand on his chest as he looked at your bewildered expression. Despite the unruly hair, the reddish hue on your cheeks with a sheen of sweat and the unbelievably swollen lips, you were still a beautiful sight to him. A gleam of light in his life, a second chance at making things right. You were the reason his heart felt so full.

“You know I love you right?”

“Well, now I do.” You seemed flustered, but the smile that pushed its way onto your lips was everything he could have ever hoped for. With a sheepish look you replied, “you know I love you too, right?”

Someone like you belonged with him, side by side. And he’d pick back every piece he’d broken and fix them, arrange them the way they were meant to. There was no way he was letting you slip through his fingers ever again.

---------

AND that’s it for this story. Thought it was important for some fluff as well as a few months time jump to show that their connection went further than just physical. Thanks to those who stuck around to the end, I hope you guys liked it! This is actually the first story I’ve ever completed and quite frankly, I think I’ll stick with one-shots lol I’ve got more work coming up soon tho! ❄️💙

Also, credit to @writeyourmindaway for the amazing divider! She has so many more beautiful ones on her account. Here is the link to the batch of dividers😍

[nanoland]

Ponder on the Narrow House

fandom: Lucifer

main characters: Mazikeen, Eve, Michael

pairings: Mazikeen/Eve/Michael 

summary: In which Mazikeen isn't finished with Michael yet. 

warnings: Violence, gun violence, trauma, dehumanization, outdoor sex. 

0 

In 2019, Fodor’s had crowned LAX the worst airport on Planet Earth, comparing it – much to Mazikeen’s amusement – to Dante Alighieri’s Hell.

She couldn’t comment on the comparison’s accuracy; she’d never read Divina Comedia. Human poetry bored her.

Up against the real thing, however? Hell was quieter, cleaner, and smelt better than Los Angeles International, and it wasn’t even close.

Granted, Mazikeen was biased. Hell was her home and she liked it quite a lot. But surely even a human – even an angel – would sooner take a stint in one of Lucifer’s loops than spend more than thirty minutes in Terminal 3.

Yet there he was, leaning against the wall, watching the bustling crowd with a faint smile on his face, like a man in the park resting his eyes on the ducks. Perfectly content.

“Do you know,” he said as she approached him, “that around forty percent of all humans are scared of flying?” 

She hadn’t been sure how this encounter would go and, being innately practical, had dressed accordingly. Black satin skirt, flattering and loose enough to both conceal several demon daggers (invisible to the full-body scanner she’d just sauntered through) and not impede her reaction time in a fight. Red silk wrap blouse, easily unwrapped to serve as a garrotte or tourniquet. Hair down, curled, dyed pitch black with bronze-gold streaks – possibly a tactical disadvantage if he grabbed it, but possibly a distraction. She knew he liked her hair.

When she was satisfied he wasn’t about to lunge for her throat, she took a gamble and moved in to lean against the wall alongside him, following his gaze. “Not surprising. Think of it from their perspective. They don’t have wings. Actually – huh. I guess that’s a perspective you can sympathise with now.”

He sneered. “You’re trying to bait me, Miss Mazikeen. That’s cute. But I’m not in the mood, dollface. This? This is me time. I’ve had a shitty few days and I came here specifically to soak up these idiot mortals’ fear and chill out. Get lost. Go play with my twin if you’re so starved for entertainment.”

Mazikeen stretched. “That’s the problem. He’s hanging out with the rest of your lousy family. Gabriel. Raziel. Jophiel. Now that he’s in charge, they’re all trying to crawl up his ass. It’s pathetic. And annoying.”

His jaw clenched and she knew exactly what he was thinking: ‘That should have been me.’

“Also,” she added, after a pause, “they don’t like me. Most of them have never met a demon. There’s no outright hostility but… they talk to me like I’m some gross exotic pet Lucifer found and adopted.”

“They’re afraid of you.”

“Bullshit.”

“Nope. I’m wrong about some things. Never about fear. They can tell how much you matter to him, how much he’d do for you and vis versa, and it scares them shitless. Chloe Decker they can understand – she was Dad’s gift, after all. You, though? Lucy was never supposed to love you. No one was.”

She fiddled with her earring; big, gold, shaped like a swallow with rubies dotting its tail feathers. A gift from Eve. “Whatever. Anyway, that’s why I’m here. With you. Instead of them. You’re the worst, most obnoxious, most cowardly creep ever. I mean it. Christ, do you suck. But you always talked to me like I was a person. Right from the beginning.”

Ugliness flared behind his eyes. “Seriously? Now you’re being nice? Lucifer sent his general to console me? Ha! That’s how pitiful he thinks I am?”

“Pfft – no. Lucifer doesn’t give a crap about you. I’m here because I wanna offer you a job, moron.”

“A… job.”

“Yep. Ever heard of ‘bounty-hunting’?”

He nodded. Slowly. Smirking, she pushed off the wall and twirled on her six-inch heels to face him.

“Here’s the thing, o Angel of Dread; I’ve spent centuries in Hell learning how to terrify people. I look at you and you know what I see? Potential. Sure, you’re rough around the edges. Still got some celestial baby fat clinging to you. Still a little squeamish when it comes to certain tricks of the trade. But Mikey, honey, six months under my tutelage and I think we can turn you into a bona fide fucking nightmare.”

She let the skin on her face’s left side melt away and grinned at him. “So? How about it?”

“Eh,” he said after taking one last glance around the terminal. “Fuck it. Why not? Nothing better to do.” 

0 

“Los Angeles is kinda like me,” Mazikeen told him, taking off her red-lensed cat-eye sunglasses as she strutted down the pier.

“Doesn’t have a soul?”

A withering glare. “Tough. Pretty on the outside, mean on the inside. It’s easy to make enemies around here and when you’ve made ‘em, you need to stay on your toes. Stay nimble. Stay mobile. Ready to fight or flee at any moment.”

Michael nodded. “And that’s how you justify living on a tugboat.”

“Ahoy!” called Eve, standing on the deck in a polka dot bikini and pirate hat Mazikeen had presumably stolen for her off the set of some summer blockbuster or other being shot nearby, the salty breeze playing with her hair.

“It’s a yacht,” Mazikeen growled.

“No. That’s a yacht,” Michael replied, pointing to the gleaming white MCY 70 Skylounge docked nearby. “What you have is a glorified raft that can, at best, accommodate two people and maybe a toaster.”

He should, perhaps, be trying harder to ingratiate himself with his new boss.

But he was tired.

Getting in his face, she snapped, “Hey! That’s our headquarters, asshole. Show some respect.”

“It’s covered in seagull crap. It looks older than me. There’s a very obvious bloodstain on the helm. Jesus, doesn’t Lucifer pay you?”

She pushed him into the sea.

Offering him a hand when he bobbed to the surface, Eve said, “Don’t take it personally. She’s just mad because we weren’t able to steal a bigger one.”

0 

It was while Michael was towelling himself dry down below decks that the chunky-faced cop wandered in, took one look at him, and strode across the room.

“Mister Espinoza,” he drawled, “what can I-… oh. Oh, wow, you really thought that was going to work, huh?”

Curled up on the floor, clutching the fist he’d very mistakenly slammed into Michael’s jaw, Dan hissed, “Fuck you. You killed me.”

“Poppycock. I had you killed. That’s entirely different, buddy.”

Dan staggered to his feet and shouted, “Maze! Eve! What the hell is he doing here?”

Taking off his wet jacket and draping it over the rack alongside the towel, Michael said, “I was invited, thank you very much. No one told me you were part of the arrangement.”

“What arrangement, asshole?” Dan snapped, turning red. “I’m just here to help Maze fix her boat’s engine.”

“Oh. You don’t work with her, then? No, I suppose you wouldn’t. As we’ve established, you’re entirely too killable.”

“You sleazy son-of-a… Maze! Get down here!”

Grumbling, Michael’s new boss stalked below deck carrying a crate of beer on her left shoulder and a sleeping bag under her right arm. “Goddammit – Dan, I told you to wait. Is your hand bleeding, you big meathead? We seriously just dragged your ass out of Hell and you couldn’t go two whole days before breaking yourself again? Ugh. You’re impossible. You’re worse than Decker.”

“Maze, d’you wanna explain what the actual fuck Lucifer’s psycho twin is doing here?”

“Interning,” Michael said, cheerfully.

His face now practically purple, Dan half-yelled, “What is he talking about? This is not okay, Maze! Does Chloe know? Does Amenadiel? Why is he even still on Earth? Lucifer’s God now; can’t he stick him on Mars or turn him into a bug or something?”

“Look, Dan, just calm down-…” she began.

“I died! I actually, literally, physically died! Because of him! No, I’m not going to calm down!”

Michael scoffed. “Please. Like that’s what you’re really upset about. You’re not angry about dying. You’re not angry at all. You’re scared, buttercup. And not just of me; of her, of Lucifer, of everything, and to be honest, I didn’t even need to use the ol’ angel juice to work that out.”

Mazikeen set down her cargo, pulled a knife from her belt, and flung it. It embedded itself five inches deep in the floor between them. “This? This is not Lux, dickheads. Mortals and celestials don’t hang out here to have a good time while I sit behind the bar and tolerate them. This crummy, crusty-ass, piece of crap boat is my domain. Here, I don’t have to put up with one femtometre of your bullshit. If you want to fight, do it somewhere else. If you want to fuck, do it quick and clean up afterwards. If you want to make yourselves useful, help me get the weapons on board.”

“Wait – wait, weapons? What weapons?” said Dan to her retreating back. “You said you were going fishing. Maze! What weapons?” 

0 

“Where’s all your stuff?” Eve asked when she showed him to his tiny cabin.

“I’m an archangel. I don’t have ‘stuff’.”

(Michael had already decided he didn’t like her. She was bubbly.)

“Heh. You should travel with Lucy sometime. We went to Vancouver for a weekend and he brought seven bags, five watches, and six pairs of shoes. Okay, do you – uh, do you at least have a change of clothes? Because those look kinda soggy.”

To his annoyance – and embarrassment – she spend twenty minutes hunting down a shirt and pants that would fit him.

“They’re mine,” she said, dropping them into his lap. “But I bought them to sleep in and I like loose pyjamas, so they’re a dozen sizes too big on me. Oh! Also found you this.”

She presented a hot water bottle in the shape of a fat, cuddly sheep.

He accepted it carefully, wondering if it was booby-trapped. “You’re Lucifer’s ex, right?”

“Er… yep? Amongst other things. The Original Sinner. First Woman, First Wife, First Mother. Mother of Mankind. Second Human. First Knowledgeable Human. But sure, I was also your brother’s girlfriend for a while.”

“And now you’re Mazikeen’s. Do you also work with her?”

“Sure do!” she said, interpreting the question as an invitation to sit down next to him. “I’m The Choronzon’s captain. That’s our boat’s name. My idea. I know she’s not much to look at but she’s got so much history. There’ve been fourteen homicides on her! Plus, she’s fast; way, way faster than she looks. And I know the beds are hard, but we’ve got three hammocks stashed away and getting them set up is easy as pie.”

“Wow. Those suckers up in the Silver City don’t know what they’re missing.”

She nodded, blinking slowly. “Hmm. Maze was right. You are mean. That’s cool. I get on well with mean people. Anyway, just in case she hasn’t told you; we’ve got a job lined up and we’ll be setting sail tomorrow at dawn. You get seasick? Not a problem; we’ve got a medical kit full of antiemetics. On that note, should we pick up something for you before we leave shore?”

“No.”

“You sure? Just that – uh – I mean, my third son, Seth, the one nobody talks about – he also had pretty severe scoliosis. Wasn’t a whole lot we could do about it back then. But these days they’ve got tons of stuff; opiods and anti-inflammatories and memory foam. Science is so, so cool. And I’m going shopping for sunscreen anyway, so dropping by the pharmacy wouldn’t be a problem.”

For a moment, he reviewed a list of responses that would deeply, profoundly hurt her, responses that would ensure she didn’t approach him again.

But he was tired, tired, tired.

“Here.”

He took a folded piece of A4 paper from his pocket and handed it to her. “These are what the last human doctor I went to recommended. Getting hold of those three I’ve circled is tricky, but I know a guy. Call him on that number down there and he’ll meet you wherever. If he gives you any trouble, remind him that Michael knows about the vacuum cleaner. That’ll shut him up.”

As soon as she’d bounced out of the room, he shut the door, locked it, and laid down to sleep. 

0

It was night when he awoke.  

He went upstairs to find Mazikeen and Eve sitting on the deck, admiring what stars could be seen through Los Angeles’ perpetual light pollution and sharing a pizza.

“Mickey! Get over here,” called Mazikeen, clad in a black dressing down and slippers shaped like plump pink pigs.

“It’s freezing,” he complained.

She snickered and threw him the prickly blanket that had been resting over her knees. “Wimp. Eve told you about the job, yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know how to use any weapons?” Eve asked. “Maze sticks with her knives most of the time. I prefer my traps and crossbow. But we’ve got guns, if that’s more your speed.”

They were clearly expecting him to sit down. Eve had even scooted to the left to make room.

He opened the blanket up and wrapped it around his shoulders, remaining standing. “Can I ask a question? What, precisely, is my role here?”

“For now, you’re a meat shield,” said Mazikeen, talking through a mouthful of pepperoni and violently yellow cheese. “Me and Eve are both vulnerable to bullets. I mean – I’m less vulnerable, obviously. But I don’t hate any of my relatives enough to go about finding out exactly how many bullets it takes to snuff a demon. So your job, at least tomorrow, is just to soak up enemy fire until we’ve got our hands on the target.”

Scowling, he said, “Getting shot does hurt, you know.”

“Yeah,” she replied, eyes shining with spite. “Dan sure seemed to think so.”

When the tense silence had stretched for over thirty seconds, Eve clapped her hands, smiling anxiously, and said, “So! Anyone up for rummy?” 

0 

Along the California coastline, the cruise ship Illustrious Voyager bore four thousand three hundred and ten passengers, one thousand two hundred and ninety-six crewmembers, and two guide dogs.

Five thousand six hundred and eight souls, in total.

At around 4pm, without anyone noticing, that number became five thousand six hundred and nine.

Hands clasped behind her back, Eve strolled down the promenade, admiring the vessel’s size and beauty. This fresh new millennium’s wealth astonished her. Sickened, sometimes. Entranced, sometimes. But always astonished.

Back in the garden, they’d slept on and under rocks. When it rained, they got wet. When large animals came by, they hid. No weapons. No shelter. No blankets. The only resource they’d had in abundance was food. Good grief – so much food. God had been so proud of all the different fruits and nuts and mushrooms he’d made available to them, and Adam had been so grateful. Eve supposed she had been, too.

It hadn’t stopped her from one day approaching her husband and the plump rabbits resting in his lap – two of several dozen pets – and asking if he didn’t think the cold nights would be much more endurable if they each had a warm pair of fur slippers.

Then she’d met Lucifer. Fallen in love. Bitten the apple. Learned how powerful he and his Father truly were. That was when the real questions, the sticky, prickly questions, had come bubbling up.

If Lucifer has such a vast family, with so many siblings, why can’t I have even one? she’d asked the sky. Why is Adam all I get?

And later: If You can simply bring people into existence, why must I scream and bleed and shit myself in order to have children? Am I doing it wrong? Is there another way? If there isn’t, why not?

And later: Why is nothing fair?

And, most recently, after meeting Mazikeen: Why isn’t everything at least equally unfair? Why do humans get a world of options while Maze and her family are expected to serve angels from birth to death? Why isn’t Maze allowed into Heaven, even after an eternity of loyalty and hard work?

“Sorry,” she said, flashing white teeth at a passing crewmember. “I’m trying to find a friend of mine. Can you tell me how to get to Room 835?”

Half an hour later, there was a splash and the ship’s population dropped to five thousand six hundred and seven.

Before binding his arms and legs, Eve had secured Andrew Bismarck’s lifejacket and gagged him. Furious and helpless, he bobbed alongside her as the ship moved on and Mazikeen rowed up in her inflatable raft, wearing a sunset-orange swimsuit.

“Should I be worried about those, babe?” she asked as she gripped Bismarck’s lifejacket and hauled him out of the water.

Eve smiled at the dolphin pod swimming in playful loops around her, and patted the nearest one’s nose. “No. They’re my friends.”

The inflatable wasn’t big enough for three people, so Eve held on to a friend’s dorsal fin and let him drag her back to The Choronzon.

Michael stood on the deck, looking bored. As they climbed aboard, their prisoner slung over Mazikeen’s shoulder, he drawled, “Seriously? This sad specimen’s worth two million dollars?”

“Actually, his net worth is eight hundred million,” said Mazikeen, dumping him down. “Two million is just what his ex-wife is willing and able to pay.”

Wringing out her hair, Eve added, “She took half his money in the divorce but she gave almost all of it to a chimpanzee shelter. I really like her!”

His lip curled. “How delightfully sordid. Isn’t this all a little beneath you, Ms Mazikeen? I mean, you’re a big deal in Hell. High Commander of Lucifer’s legions, head advisor to the king himself. Aren’t you worried taking jobs like this diminishes you?”

Busy handcuffing Bismarck to the railing, Mazikeen said, “Eve, honey? Do me a favour?”

“Boop!” Eve chirped, having already snuck up behind Michael, and pushed him overboard.

“I know it’s your whole gimmick,” Mazikeen called down as he splashed and spluttered, his face red with princely indignation. “And I know you don’t have a lot else going for you. But the next time you try that on me, I will stop being nice. Kapish?”

“Kapish,” he muttered.

The Choronzon had barely travelled a mile before Eve spotted Bismarck’s henchmen coming after them.

“Someone gimme details!” shouted Mazikeen, busy putting a bulletproof vest on over her bikini and opening up the box she’d told Dan contained a fishing rod, not a halberd.

Eve peered through her binoculars. “Two speedboats. Twelve guys on jet skis. Guns everywhere.”

“Heh. Awesome. Mickey – move that tight ass to the front and make like a nice juicy target.”

“Wait, what about-…” Michael began, trailing off as Mazikeen dove gracefully into the sea.

Bouncing from foot to foot, Eve shot him a grin. “Don’t look so glum, sourpuss. This is the fun part.”

She’d never spoken to Michael in Heaven, despite the millennia they’d both resided only two miles apart, her in a lakeside cottage on the outskirts of the Silver City, him in the crystal palace in its centre.

Granted, she’d not exactly had a warm and fuzzy relationship with any of Lucifer’s siblings. They all knew what had happened in the garden. Some had been nice – Amenadiel had visited often, even though he’d never had much to say and they’d spent their time together skipping stones across the lake’s surface. But the others had kept her at a distance. She was a bad influence.

Michael, however, was the only angel she’d not ever said one word to.

She’d seen him, now and then, in the early days, when she was the only human in Heaven and, as such, grudgingly invited to divine family get-togethers. On those occasions, she’d spent too much time feeling awkward and out-of-place to pay attention to the sullen figure lurking in whatever shadows were available. The one time she’d glanced his way, it had been to marvel at the stories of people getting the twins mixed up; beyond the raw basics of bone structure, Michael couldn’t have looked less like her old lover.

Bullets sprayed across the hull. Humming, Eve stepped daintily into Michael’s shadow, seconds before they started bouncing off his shoulders and chest.

“It is beneath her,” he muttered.

She made an ambiguous noise. “How d’you figure?”

There came a shout and a splash from the nearest jet ski. The bullets stopped.

“C’mon. She’s Mazikeen. Everyone in the Silver City knows about Mazikeen. Ordinarily, we couldn’t give two dry shits about Lucifer’s minions, but her? She’s a minor celebrity. The power behind Hell’s throne. Christ, it’s no secret my beloved twin couldn’t govern his way out of a paper bag.”

“Yeah,” she said, smiling fondly. “He’s kind of bad at everything. Except music. He’s a great musician.”

More shouting. More shooting. More bullets bouncing off Michael’s torso. Mazikeen rode by, one hand gripping her newly-acquired jet ski’s throttle lever, the other clutching her bloodstained halberd. Watching her circle the enemy, Eve was reminded of a sheep dog.

Michael went on: “And then there’s the fact that for a while, everyone thought Lucifer was going to marry her. It was all anyone could talk about. Jophiel was taking bets on when the proposal would happen. She’d have been High Commander and the Queen of Hell. Instead? All of a sudden, Lucifer takes an indefinite vacay to the mortal realm, drags her with him, and next thing anyone knows, she’s working behind a bar.”

The remaining jet skis and their terrified, wounded riders had been neatly rounded up, which meant it was time for Eve to open her purse.

“Um – how long have those been in there?” asked Michael, watching her take out three grenades.

“You want one?” she offered. “Don’t forget to take the pin out before you throw it. I did that my first time.”  

One thing to be said for millions of dull, dull years spent sitting next to God’s Greatest Warrior, skipping stones across a lake; your aim got good.

The first blast was a warning, not close enough to actually kill any of Bismarck’s men, though the resultant waves did knock several into the water. They tried to retreat, turning their vehicles around, only to remember Mazikeen, corralling them single-handed and now armed with machine guns she’d confiscated from those already bested.

When they saw the second and third grenade incoming, they gave up and abandoned the jet skis, jumping into the sea and swimming for their lives.

“Fuck!” Michael yelped, blocking his ears at the concomitant explosions.

Gazing past the debris and smoke, Eve saw Mazikeen head for the nearest of the two speedboats. Its occupants, preoccupied with aiming a rocket launcher at The Choronzon, saw her coming far too late.

“I get your point,” said Eve, as her girlfriend and her halberd made short work of the crew. “But that’s a really… how can I put this? It’s a really angelic way of looking at things. Maze doesn’t consider anything ‘beneath her’.”

“Wow. Sick burn. You’re basically admitting she has no pride.”

“Oh, she’s got pride. Tons of pride. Her pride’s just dependant on how well she does a job, not on the type of job she has. She wasn’t happy working at Lux, but that wasn’t because she thought bartending was ‘beneath her’; it was because she prefers doing things she’s good at. Customer service isn’t really one of her strengths.”

The second speedboat was abandoned by its crew mere seconds before Mazikeen rammed the first speedboat into it, cackling victoriously.

“Actually,” Eve said, moving from Michael’s shadow to where Mazikeen had earlier set a crate of peach soda – her favourite – out on the deck, “now that you mention it, I guess I’m the one with no pride. Haven’t really ever had anything to be proud of. Your Dad never gave me the chance. I was never meant to do things. I was just meant to be.”

Michael snorted. “Lucky you. Trust me; he may have softened in his later years, but back in the day he never, ever stopped riding our asses. You think Lucy really rebelled because he had better plans for how the universe should be run? Because he was an innovator? Nope. Lazy dick just hated being told to do his chores.”

By the time Mazikeen swam back to them, saltwater had washed off the blood and her ponytail had come loose.

“Oh, hey,” said Eve, gripping her hand and pulling her up. “A mermaid.”

After pressing a rough kiss to her cheek and taking a swig of peach soda, Mazikeen asked, “You okay? He did his job?”

Eve patted the angel’s shoulder – the one that wouldn’t hurt. “He was terrific! Awesome addition to the team.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Michael mumbled.

Ignoring him, Mazikeen snatched up a towel to dry her hair. “Glad to hear it. Alright! Let’s get Bismarck back to shore, get paid, and find a place to have dinner so we can toast Team Hellrazor’s first successful mission.”

“R-A-Z-O-R,” Eve informed Michael. “To make it cooler.” 

0 

Bombshell curls. The only way to celebrate victory.

“Should I even ask why your hair smells like burning plastic?” asked Britney, a sixty-four year old veteran stylist with spectacles and a bright blue bob. She’d worked in Hollywood since she was seventeen and her skilled hands, according to rumour, had tended to Viola Davis herself.

Mazikeen flipped through a magazine with the hand that wasn’t getting its nails painted red-gold by two assistants down on their knees, as intensely focused as if they were touching up The Last Supper. “Blew up some jet skis. Don’t worry about it.”

Picking up the curling iron, Britney said, “That handsome guy you and Eve came in with… new boyfriend?”

“Ha! No. Not in a million years. He’s my intern.”

Eve had only wanted a trim and, as soon as it was done, had dragged Michael away to shop for books and shoes. She was trying, without much subtlety, to work out what he liked; what he did for fun; if he was even capable of having fun. Waste of time, in Mazikeen’s opinion, especially considering that before the end of the week he’d probably run away to some dark hole where he could get back to wallowing in his bitterness. But maybe not. Eve clearly had hope and Mazikeen trusted her judgement.

As the assistants moved on to her other hand, her phone buzzed.

Glancing up to meet Britney’s gaze in the mirror, Mazikeen said, “Get that for me? My nails are wet and it’s probably Eve. Word’s got out what happens to all other humans who call me on a Saturday.”

The older woman’s blue eyebrows bounced as she picked up the phone. “Might be that tasty boss of yours!”

“Nope,” she muttered, old unhappiness flaring hot in her heart. “He only ever calls when he wants me to do something and right now, there’s nothing he can’t do himself.”

Britney held the phone up in front of her face.

There was a message from Linda.

Charlie’s missing his Auntie Maze – see u for dinner Tuesday? J <3

“Uh – are you crying?” asked Britney.

“No!” she snapped. “Just… shut up. Reply for me. Say yes. And add a knife emoji. I always use knife emojis.”

Just then, a white woman with long brown hair and skinny jeans strode purposefully into the salon.

Britney tutted and held up a hand. “Ma’am? I’m sorry, but Ms Smith has booked the entire…”

She trailed off as the woman’s eyes flashed red.

“Chantinelle,” Mazikeen greeted, spinning the chair round and crossing her legs regally. “It’s okay, Britney. She’s a friend. Well – an ally.”

Gravel-voiced, like she smoked heavily, the other demon drawled, “I’m touched, your great and gracious Majesty.”

Mazikeen snickered. “Bitch, get over here.”

With a smirk, Chantinelle marched over and planted a fierce kiss on her cheek.

“What news from Hell?” Mazikeen asked her sister.

Chantinelle briefed her while Britney and the others finished up her curls and manicure. They spoke in Lilim, Chantinelle parking her denim-clad butt on the vanity next to an arsenal of combs and keeping one eye on the door. She’d already tried twice to convince Mazikeen that a queen needed a bodyguard, to no avail.

When their meeting was concluded, Britney said, “So you’re from Holland, right? Oh! It’s a lovely country. My cousin lives there and she’s always telling me to visit.”

(Britney knew they weren’t from Holland. Britney knew they weren’t from Earth. Britney was one of those people who coped with uncomfortable realities like demons in her workplace by ignoring them.)

“Will you be coming home soon?” Chantinelle asked before she left.

Studying her reflection – avoiding her sister’s gaze – Mazikeen said, “Mmm. Yeah. Soon. Just got a few things to finish up here.”

“Well, don’t keep us waiting too long. The family misses you. I mean – it’s been years, y’know?”

“I know. I do.”

“I didn’t know you had a family,” Britney commented after Chantinelle had gone. “How come you never talk about them?”

Mazikeen handed over a wad of blood-spattered cash. “Eh. After a while, I figured out that nobody likes it when I do.”

She began making her way across the mall to Eve’s favourite shoe shop, then stopped when she approached the arcade and heard her girlfriend’s laugh over the beeps and buzzes of various games.

Unsurprised, she wandered in and found her on the Dance Dance Revolution platform, barefoot and skirt twirling as she beat the shit out of someone’s high score, surrounded by a crowd of cheering, applauding onlookers.

Michael stood off to the side, clutching three bulging shopping bags and looking mortified.

“I couldn’t stop her,” he hissed to Mazikeen. “What the hell? What the actual hell? I thought you were trying to maintain a reputation on this crummy rock! What’re your enemies going to think if this is how your allies behave in public?”

“I figure they’ll think something like, ‘Oh my God, she’s tapping that? I am going to literally die of jealousy’,” Mazikeen said, kicking off her stilettos and handing them to him. “Go fetch us some bottled water, wimp. We’ll be here for a while.”

Eve’s competitor on the adjacent platform yelped as Mazikeen shoved him off and took his place.

“Hi, pretty lady,” said Eve, her eyes sparkling. “You know I’ve been dancing for millions of years, right?”

Mazikeen grinned at her and tossed back her bombshell curls. “Bring it, beautiful.”  

Out the corner of her eye, she saw Michael blush bright red. 

0 

What was he doing here?

“We are fifteen miles over the speed limit!”

Mazikeen cackled and drove faster. In the seat beside her, Eve punched the air and turned up the radio until Michael thought Rihanna’s voice would burst even his divine eardrums. (Contrary to his brother’s accusations, he did, in fact, enjoy some types of music. Just not when it was loud or fast-paced.)

“May I remind you of a crucial fact?” he demanded, having to shout to be heard. “It’s not me who’ll die if this thing flips! Angel, remember? You two are the ones who’ll be splattered all over the road! Hello? Is anybody listening to me?”

“I’m a fine-tuned supersonic speed machine,” Mazikeen sang.

The desert outside the cherry-red convertible they’d stolen in Las Vegas was a sickening blur and he hated it. Not that he’d never travelled this fast – though he was slower than just about all his siblings in the air, he could still outpace a jet. But flying under his own power couldn’t be compared to being trapped in this hideous human death trap under the command of a demon and a madwoman.

“I’ll be fine,” he said, this time to himself, gripping his seatbelt with both hands like it was the neck of an angry serpent. “Whatever happens. Even if we crash. They’ll die. I’ll be fine.”

“Hey!” called Eve, turning to look at him, squinting. “Are you really not having fun? Maze! Slow down! He’s not having fun.”

Mazikeen groaned but brought them back to a less terrifying percentage of light speed, while Eve undid her seatbelt and climbed into the back with Michael.

He sputtered. “Jesus H. Christ – you’re not supposed to do that while the vehicle is moving. Rules exist for a reason, goddammit.”

“I’m sorry we freaked you out,” Eve told him, with… confusing sincerity.

None of his siblings had ever apologised for frightening him, Lucifer least of all (“Aww – don’t be so nervous, brother!” and a golden laugh from the brave, adventurous Morningstar after he’d enticed Michael to fly with him into a hurricane for fun and the noise and sight of it had made his twin cry).

When Michael was young, he’d assumed that was because apologies were for lesser beings, like mortals – except that when he’d discovered his latent talent for underhanded pranks, his siblings had all turned around and demanded apologies from him. The pranks had become progressively mean-spirited after that.

Waiting for the other shoe to drop – for the punchline – he said, carefully, “It’s fine.”

The wind had blown Eve’s hair all over the place. As she brushed it out of her eyes, he was reminded that today she’d chosen to wear one of her thin white summer dresses, this one low-cut enough to make it clear that that was all she was wearing.

Now mischievous, she winked at him. “But you know… if I made a habit of following those rules you like so much, I’d still be married and bored out of my mind. Wanna kiss?”

He nearly jumped out of the car.

“Uh,” he croaked.

His gaze flickered past Eve’s inquisitive face to the back of Mazikeen’s head. How long did he have? How many milliseconds left before she turned around and tore out his throat in a fit of frenzied jealousy?

“Hell, yeah!” Mazikeen cheered, throwing up the horns. “One of you take a picture for me. Or, better yet, move over so I can see you in the rear view mirror.”

Eve’s chin tilted downwards as she examined Michael. “I dunno. Doesn’t seem like he’s into it. Er – yikes. Actually, I think he’s gonna throw up. Might wanna pull over, babe.”

“I’m not going to throw up! I just need… just need air. Could you sit back for a moment?” he hissed.

She did so and he got his breathing under control. Crap, his shoulder hurt so much today.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, fidgeting. “I didn’t mean to-…”

“Is this because of him?” Michael snarled, suddenly furious.

“What?”

“Him! Lucifer! He dumped you, yeah? And now you’re – what, trying to get back at him by hitting on me? Or is it just because I look like him so I’m the best substitute you can get, or-…”

She slapped him.

It hurt.

(It really did. What? Since when did getting hit by mortals hurt?)

Mazikeen whistled approvingly.

“No,” said Eve, half-growling. “I’m not like that. I don’t use people like that, Michael.”

He touched the part of his face where her skin had met his. It felt hot. Tingly. He swallowed. “Um – right. Got it.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

The anger in her eyes subsided. “Good. Now, would you like to kiss me or not? It’s fine if you don’t want to. You’ll still be part of the team. This is just for fun.”

Feeling oafish and off-kilter, he gestured at Mazikeen. “Won’t she mind?”

“Nope!” Mazikeen volunteered without hesitation.

Eve, exasperated, huffed, “I already asked her if she’d mind. Do you really think I’d put the offer on the table if I hadn’t? Whatever they say about me in the Silver City, I’m neither frivolous nor disloyal. I didn’t go behind Adam’s back when I fell in love with your brother; I told him to his face what I was doing.”

“Oh. Didn’t know that.”

“Because he didn’t tell anyone. He didn’t care. Adam was a decent man who didn’t love me at all. But Maze does, and I love her, and we’ve decided this is something we’re both okay with.”

“Yeah, most demons are poly,” Mazikeen told him. “As long as everyone’s on board and on the same page, you can hook up with whoever you like.”

“Last chance: kiss or no kiss?” said Eve.

She was close enough now for him to smell her perfume. His chest felt tight. “I don’t like ultimatums.”

“Okay. How about wagers? I bet you anything I’m the best kisser you’ve ever met. Or requests? Please, please kiss me, Michael. Or-…”

She was so warm. Her breath flowing into his mouth felt like drinking hot chocolate on a Winter’s night, sugary heat poured down his throat and filling up his whole chest.

His bones seemed to melt. He slid down the seat, half-pushed, until he lay almost flat with her on top of him, cradling his face in her hands, her thumbs making slow, comforting circles on his jaw.

“Ghnnff-fu-fuck,” he slurred.

That he was hard, and had been hard ever since he’d noticed how low-cut her dress was, seemed almost irrelevant in the face of far more interesting observations, like the soft grunts she made or the way her breasts felt pressed tight against him, until she slid a thigh between his legs.

He cried out. Arched.

“There you go,” she purred against his neck.

Elegant and effortless, she took off her shoes and her panties, and slid down onto his cock with a soft, fluttering sigh. Grabbed his hand and raised it to cover one of her nipples.

Just before he came, he opened his eyes and gazed up, and the sun had moved behind her, draining all but her edges of definition, and the wind had picked up her hair again and sent it billowing up and out, like dark wings. Like his wings.

“Michael! Ah!”

The car stopped.

“Huh,” said Mazikeen. “There’s something you don’t see every day.”

She pointed. Panting, they both followed her finger.

Across the sky, from one horizon to the next, the clouds had arranged themselves into the words

I LOVE YOU DETECTIVE !!!!

-LM

“Oh, crud,” said Eve. 

0 

Fuck the next bounty.

After thinking about it for ten seconds, Mazikeen turned them around and started driving straight for Los Angeles.

Eve can talk to him. Not me. He needs to talk to someone, and Eve will do.

Barely half a mile later, Amenadiel dropped out of the sky and landed in the middle of the road, just far enough away for her to bring the car to a screeching halt before it would otherwise have slammed into him like wet clay into a steel wall.

“We’ve got a problem,” he said, looking exhausted.

She snorted and pointed skyward. “Yeah. This? Not gonna lie, I was expecting something like this. But I thought it would take, like, at least a month.”

Wincing, Amenadiel said, “No, that’s… that’s a different problem and Chloe’s promised to discuss it with him. Maze, we need you back at Lux. Now.”

“Hi, Amenadiel!” Eve called, waving.

He succeeded in smiling at her without even glancing at Michael, despite his younger brother sitting right at her side, glaring fixedly.

“Why?” demanded Mazikeen, tensely drumming her fingers on the wheel. (Inner voice hissing, Shouldn’t have left him alone, you dumb bitch, you’ve been doing this for centuries and you know what he’s like when you leave him alone for more than five minutes.) “Seriously – what could he possibly need me for? He’s God.”

Sighing, Amenadiel put his wings away. “Mazikeen, we’re all well aware that Lucy often… has difficulty focusing. To put it mildly. There’s a lot more for him to focus on now than ever before. He’s trying to undo climate change. To that end, he started refreezing all the melted ice in the Arctic. But he did it too quickly and, resultantly, there are several hundred trapped ships we need to save and several thousand dead penguins to resurrect and, to be honest, he hasn’t really got the hang of resurrection yet – you remember what Dan looked like for the first few hours after Lucifer brought him back to life…”

“Eurgh. Yeah. Yuck. Totes not the kinda shit you’d wanna see in Happy Feet.”

Michael was snickering.

“Right. And then there are all the changes he’s been making locally,” Amenadiel went on. “The expansion of Lux, the overnight disappearance of all Los Angeles’ firearms, his deciding that the city’s white supremacist population should grow a third ear so they can be easily identified, and, well, it turns out that a lot of Chloe’s colleagues at the police station-…”

“I get it, I get it. Chaos everywhere. As usual. What, exactly, is the problem he wants me to fix?”

Amenadiel exhaled heavily. “The demons. The ones you brought from Hell to help us defeat Michael.”

“Oh, so you do remember I exist,” Michael muttered.

Stonily ignoring him, Amenadiel said, “They’re still on Earth and they’re causing trouble. The one called Dromos, in particular. He’s gathered followers and they’ve surrounded Lux.”

Her brother’s face – his real face, not the human puppet he wore – flashed through her mind’s eye; a memory from when they were unruly children and had raced through Hell together, using the stone pillars that they’d not yet known were cells as an obstacle course. She’d been faster; he, more athletic. Together with a few cousins, they’d made a fearsome team, and not even their meanest older siblings had bullied them.

She folded her arms and looked away. “They’re demons. Lucifer can deal with them. Snap his fingers and turn them into rats or whatever. Make them explode.”

“Mazikeen,” Eve murmured, soft and low, touching her shoulder. “You don’t want that. They’re your family.”

Amenadiel blinked, as though that hadn’t occurred to him. “Er… yes, there’s that. There’s also the fact that Lucifer doesn’t want all of humanity to see him as the type of God who casually annihilates his enemies; a harsh, vindictive God. He wants to be liked. To be loved.”

“Fine. So why don’t you and the other angels sort it out?”

“Come now, Maze. A bunch of angels and a bunch of demons waging war in the midst of a bustling city? Humans will die. But you’re the Queen of Hell now and, by extension, the Queen of Demons. If you command Dromos to stand down, he will. This can all be resolved peacefully.”

Eve’s fingertips were cool against her skin.

Mazikeen looked back at the sky. The cloud letters were starting to dissolve. “What does he want?”

“Who?”

“Dromos. He doesn’t act on instinct. He’s a planner. He wants something.”

Shrugging, Amenadiel said, “He shouted at me about demanding an audience with the king. I didn’t ask for details. I don’t really care. Dromos isn’t someone I’m inclined to listen to at the best of times. The last time the wretch showed his face on Earth, he kidnapped my son.”

“Mmm. Kinda like your sister was gonna do. Kinda like you were gonna do, now that I think about it.”

“Maze!” he gasped, sounding shocked and hurt. “You can’t compared poor Remiel’s misguided actions to-…”

“I’ll do it,” she interrupted. “Take me to Lux. Now.”

“Excuse me? What about us?” snapped Michael.

Mazikeen met Eve’s gentle gaze. “You don’t need to be involved in this. My family drama, it – it’s not pretty.”

“My son killed my son,” said Eve, taking her hand. “My husband loved another woman. I’m used to drama.”

Swallowing, Mazikeen glanced at Michael. “And you, wimp?”

Feigning disinterest – feigning it badly – he said, “You showed up to my last domestic dispute. Guess this’ll make us square.”

“I’ve only got two arms. I can’t carry all of you,” Amenadiel pointed out.

Mazikeen rubbed her chin. “No… but you can carry the car, right?” 

0 

He didn’t have time for this. There was so much to do.

“World hunger,” he recited as he bounced from one laptop to the next, all twenty-three of them displaying a different article or video by a leading scientific or sociological mind, “wealth inequality, pollution, cancer, droughts, racism, elderly abuse, housing shortages, cruelty to animals…”

“Lucifer,” said Linda patiently, sitting on his best couch with her legs crossed, a cup of coffee and a laptop of her own beside her. “You said you wanted my advice as to how you should manage this whole ‘being God’ business.”

“I do, doctor! Very much. Your input is invaluable. Blast, where did I put that map of Alaska? I’m thinking of making it bigger; slotting it in alongside the Arctic to help stabilise all that new ice.”

“Right. Thanks. So here – here is what I’m suggesting now; slow down. Seriously. Take a breath, step back, and think your next move through.”

He scoffed. “‘Slow down’? Doctor, I need to work at least three times faster if I’m to keep up with everything. There are people suffering everywhere, millions of them! There are sinners in need of punishment! I’m seriously considering asking Chloe to be my Deputy God. I never imagined omnipotence would entail so much paperwork and she’s always been better at that than me.”

Outside the penthouse, many stories below, the chanting grew louder. None of the human police officers, journalists, and gawkers who’d gathered to watch could understand it; it was in Lilim.

Cursing, Lucifer strode to the balcony and shouted down, “For the last time, would you all kindly piss off? I’m trying to fix an entire planet here!”

He heard the elevator open and moaned. “Detective, not now. Please. I’m very sorry I haven’t returned your calls – I swear I’m not avoiding you – it’s just that I’ve got a lot on my plate today and we did already agree to meet for supper at-…”

“Lucifer,” said Linda, sounding terrified.

“Lucifer,” said someone else, sounding irritable.

Now that he was God, rage didn’t turn his eyes red anymore. It turned them gold and blindingly bright, like spotlights. Fists clenched, he turned to see Dromos step into the penthouse, once again clad in the flesh of the late Father Kinley and wearing a leather jacket.

“Nice trick, making all the doors disappear. Finally decided to climb up the side of the building with a sledgehammer and burrow my way through into the elevator shaft,” said the demon, hands in his pockets and concrete dust coating his beard and his bald head. “I want to talk to you, sire.”

Storming across the room while Linda remained frozen, white-faced, on the couch, Lucifer snarled, “You! You have the nerve to come here, to stand before me, after what you did to my nephew?”

He took Dromos by the neck and lifted him off the ground, his wings opening in fury (he had six of them now).

Stoical even as he choked, Dromos said, “I need. To talk. I will leave immediately afterwards.”

“Oh, you’ll leave, alright! You’ll be lucky if I don’t throw you into an active volcano, you accursed traitor!”

Dromos’ stolen skin began to sizzle beneath his fingers. He waited until the demon’s face was wrinkled with pain before throwing him to the floor hard enough to crack the wood and make a crater.

“I will leave,” Dromos gasped, coughing up blood, “when I have spoken.”

“What could you possibly have to say for yourself? Kidnapper. Child-thief.”

Still on the couch, Linda said tremulously, “Lucifer, you’re… you’re hurting him. Stop it. Please.”

“Let us stay!” shouted Dromos, and coughed again before dragging himself up onto his knees. “On Earth. That’s what I came to say. Let your erstwhile subjects stay on Earth if they choose – at least, those who served you in the battle against Michael. Don’t force them to return to Hell. Let them, let us choose where we live, going forward. That’s my request, your Majesty. My only request.”

Lucifer boggled at him. “Is that a joke? Demons? On Earth, indefinitely, unsupervised? Are you out of your tiny mind, Dromos?”

Baring teeth, Dromos said, “Why not? What does it matter to you now? You’ve got everything you could possibly want. Everything anyone could possibly want! All we’re asking is the freedom to come and go as we please.”

“No.”

He spoke the word bluntly, and then he stepped back, adjusting his cuffs. Regaining his composure. “Never. You’re dangerous and untrustworthy. This world is for humans, not you. Good grief, haven’t I got enough to preoccupy my mind, without the added stress of demons rampaging around town?”

“We won’t rampage. We just-…”

“Why are you even coming to me with this? Mazikeen’s the new Queen of Hell. Didn’t you get the memo?”

Dromos wiped blood from his lips. “I don’t know if my sister and I are on speaking terms right now. And she may be Queen, but you’re God; I assumed you would be tasked with such decisions. After all, there’s never been a demon in charge of Hell before. We were told – we were always told – that only angels could rule us. I don’t doubt Mazikeen’s competence, but I…”

He seemed to run out of steam, spreading his hands and finishing weakly, “Lucifer, you’re the king. You’ve been the king for millions of years. For my entire life. Look, if you really don’t want us leaving Hell, then can you at least use your newfound power to improve it? Let us have the things mortals enjoy? Pianos, dogs, blankets, weekends, all that stuff?”

Lucifer rolled his eyes. “That would rather defeat the purpose, wouldn’t it? Hell is supposed to be a place of punishment. The ultimate consequence awaiting sinners. I need a carrot and a stick, Dromos. How else am I supposed to convince people to behave if I don’t? Imagine a rapist arriving in Hell and being confronted with demons playing pianos and walking their dogs. Wouldn’t have quite the desired effect, would it?”

Dromos was quiet for a moment, then said without inflection, “Perhaps you could find somewhere else to put rapists. Somewhere other than our home.”

Throwing up his arms, Lucifer said, “More demands! Don’t you see how selfish you’re being? Here I am, doing my best to end all suffering, and you’re complaining about babysitting a few evil-doers – which, might I remind you, is your job. Nay, your very reason for existence. Always has been. Why’re you getting stroppy about it now?”

“I think,” Linda began, taking a tentative step forward before stopping and clearing her throat. “Excuse me. May I interrupt? Um. Okay, so I think that maybe Dromos has a point here, Lucifer.”

“Doctor! This is the creature that stole your baby!”

“Yes, I know. And I’m not saying I forgive him for that, but…”

“I wasn’t going to eat the brat,” Dromos grumbled. “I was going to make him a king.”

“You took him away from his mother!” Lucifer shouted.

“Gentlemen!” said Linda, sharply. “Please! Let’s try to talk this through like adults.”

Overcome with frustration, and only vaguely aware that he’d not been sleeping well lately, Lucifer kicked the nearest chair. “I can’t believe you’re siding with him, doctor.”

“I’m not siding with anyone. I-…”

“You don’t know these people like I do. You didn’t spend millions of years in Hell alongside them. The only demon you’ve ever gotten acquainted with is Maze, and she’s not like the others; even without a soul, she’s learned how to behave like a more-or-less civilised adult, barring the occasional tantrum. But your average, baseline demon has nothing to them besides wrath and cruelty. Lilith made them to be weapons and that’s all they really are. I mean – just imagine, for a moment, how hard it was for me. To go from the Silver City, the most beautiful place ever created, to a lightless nightmare realm full of these bloodthirsty animals. To be surrounded by them, for endless eons, while they nattered mindlessly on and on about how much they love torture and pain and…”  

He trailed off. Linda and Dromos were both looking past him.

To the elevator. Where – oh – Mazikeen was standing.

Where Mazikeen was crying.

No sobs, not like when Dan had died. No expression at all, really. Just open eyes, motionless muscles, and steady tears.

Before Lucifer could say a word, she pressed the button to close the elevator doors.

“Wait!” he yelped, sprinting over to stop them.

He needn’t have bothered. Now that he was God, objects did whatever he told them to do. The doors stilled, half-open.

“That sounded wrong,” he acknowledged, clasping her shoulders in apology. “You completely missed the context. What I was trying to say was-…”

“Don’t touch me.”

It was a phrase he’d heard many times before from mortal lovers to whom he had accidentally revealed his Devil Face. Some of them said it in horror. Some of them, the religious ones, said it in anger.

Mazikeen looked neither horrified nor angry. She looked sick. As though the very sight of him turned her stomach.

Lumbering over, Dromos stepped into the elevator alongside her and pointedly pressed the button again. With no idea what to do or say, Lucifer allowed the machinery to work.

The elevator closed.

“What have I done?” he asked Linda. 

0  

Nothing I didn’t know.

“Maze?” called Eve, waiting by the car with the others as Mazikeen stepped out of Lux’s front door and into the sunlight.

The door hadn’t been there when they’d arrived. She’d been forced to use Dromos’ route. Lucifer must have decided to put it back. He could do that now. Just decide things. Didn’t need servants, nor followers, nor anyone. Sure didn’t need a ‘more-or-less civilised adult’ whose kin were animals.

“Maze! Wait!”

Mazikeen didn’t know where she was going, only that she was walking very quickly and felt that she’d die if she stopped. She heard Eve’s heels patter on the pavement and heard her say her name a third time, quiet and worried, and that was what stilled her feet.

“What happened?” murmured Eve, cupping her face.

The fifty or so demons who’d been standing around outside Lux when Amenadiel had set the car and its passengers down were still there. Instead of chanting to get their king’s attention, they were now looking at her.

Michael and Amenadiel stood among them, the latter having been trying to convince them to stop blocking traffic.

Which was what she should have been doing. It was what he’d brought her here to do. But she’d been gripped by a sudden, violent need to see Lucifer, to check on him, just quickly, before tending to her siblings. Once a bodyguard, always a bodyguard.

Except that wasn’t what I was. Not to him. To him, I was a Rottweiler on a leash.

“Are you alright?” asked Amenadiel, his eyes overflowing with concern.

That was what cracked her.

To him. Not to everyone. Not to Eve, or Amenadiel, or Linda. It’s not that I’m incapable of earning love and respect.

I’m just incapable of earning his.

Her legs gave out. She crumpled against Lux’s outside wall and started to weep properly, loud and bitter.

Eve immediately dropped down beside her, holding her tight. Michael shuffled closer, rubbing his shoulder while his mouth opened and shut, testing out sentences that were never spoken.

Then Dromos was there, kneeling, his face sad and tired.

“We did what we were told,” she said to him in Lilim, through sniffles. “We obeyed. We were loyal. We… we…”

“We are alone, sister,” he replied. “But I think we always were.”

“We obeyed!”

“We obeyed Lilith and she left. We obeyed Lucifer and he left. No one wants us, Mazikeen. It’s just the truth.”

She took a shuddering breath and squeezed her eyes shut. “No. I want us.”

Seizing his jacket’s shoulder, she hauled herself to her feet and addressed the crowd, her voice raw: “I want you! You’re my family and I want you! And I swear I will be the queen you deserve, for as long as you’ll have me!”

Her human skin fell away, the left side of her face turning cold, bony, and brittle.

Stepping back to join their siblings, Dromos asked hesitantly, “What would you have us do, then, my queen? What are your orders?”

Hurriedly drying her eyes, she studied them one by one. “Whoever wants to can stay here. But I’m going home. Hell is going to be ours, Dromos. No more damned souls. No more angels. It’s ours now and we’re going to make it into something we can love.”

She turned to face Eve and Michael, her heart pounding. “You’ll come with me, yeah? You’ll stand with me?”

“Always,” said Eve, closing in to kiss her.

“Whatever,” Michael muttered, clearly just relieved that the crying part was over.

Amenadiel sighed, shaking his head gravely. “Mazikeen, are you sure this is what you want? You won’t be able to leave Hell on your own – you’ll need to contact me.”

“Yeah. At least until this one grows his feathers back,” she said, gesturing at Michael. “That’s okay. You’ll always come when I call, right?”

“Of course. You’re my friend, Maze. I’m sorry if I haven’t said that often enough.”

Fuck it. Cringing on the inside, Mazikeen drew Amenadiel into a quick, gruff hug. “You too, idiot.”

TO BE CONTINUED

[pedros-mustache-main]

for reasons wretched & divine

summary: unfit: unfit for duty, unfit for a proper teaching position, unfit for you.

word count: ~14k 

warnings: ~inappropriate~ student/teacher relations, age gap (27 & 19), war related topics, mental illness related topics, some suggestive moments (not 18+ but be mindful), angst, innuendo, language

a/n: what can i say? i’m a hoe for period pieces. i have been laboring over this for an embarrassingly long time so i’m pleased to finally share it with you all! would love to hear your thoughts. also: big big thank you to @joemazzmatazz​ for being an extra set of eyeballs on this one and listening to me ramble about my insecurities every other day! love you long time, sis. xoxo.

(photo: @consumedbygwirst​)

snowshill, gloucestershire, england. 1917.

a deaf ear, that’s why they wouldn’t take him; a deaf ear. he’d tried—god, he’d tried—to convince someone on the medical board that he was fit for duty. he’d come dangerously close to offering a bribe; something, anything, to be able to go and fight alongside his kinsman. but in the end, they’d still slapped his file with a rejection stamp.

gwilym james lee: unfit for duty by reason of physical impairment necessary for proper military response.

the words are engraved on his very heart now. he can’t shake them.

unfit, unfit, unfit.

his hands shake as he gathers the papers littered across his desk. the tremor has plagued him since he left his review with the medical board. why he can’t say for certain, and he doesn’t like to probe the issue too deep, but it’s always there, fluctuating in intensity. a slight waver in his fingers one moment and a full-scale trembling the next. it makes him feel like an old man, his deaf ear, his shaking hands. he’s twenty-seven years old, in the prime of his life, not eighty.

it’s sunday, and the mid-afternoon sun warms him through the window. he’s been in snowshill for a fortnight now yet his students—all twelve of them—remain a mystery. it’s clear they miss their former schoolteacher, but, like most, jefferson lewis has gone to serve his country. the vicar, bless him, had proven to be of more harm than good during his brief tenure as schoolmaster for the last four months, hence, gwilym’s new post: a stone, one-room schoolhouse on the edge of a vast field; a community away from civilized society, away from his father, away from any place he could soil the family name with his failures.

materials gathered, he slips out the front door. he considers locking the place up, but if anyone does break in, there isn’t much to steal. he’d come by this afternoon on a whim. lodging with an elderly woman and her six cats is one of the many things about snowshill that grates on his nerves, and the quiet air of the schoolhouse is a welcome respite from constance’s inane titterings. it’s nearly time for afternoon tea, though, and she’ll be cross if he doesn’t show, so he heads down the dirt lane, hands in his pockets, head bent low.

his steps slow, but do not stop, when the sound of his name reaches his ears. it sounds muffled, far away, as most things do. still, it’s loud enough to give him pause. he throws a glance over his shoulder. two pupils—maryanne clouder and you—walk down the lane. you stroll arm in arm with maryanne, your hair tied back in a long braid. maryanne’s arm is raised in a motion meant to flag him down. begrudgingly, he stops.

“mr. lee!” maryanne is not coy in the way she grabs your wrist and drags you across the road. her cheeks are flushed when she reaches his side, her elbow still circled around yours. “we didn’t see in you sunday service this morning.”

he shifts on his feet, fingers curling around the strap of his satchel. “no, i didn’t attend.”

“any reason?” maryanne’s head tilts to the side, her lower lip caught between her teeth. he stifles a sigh. the girl is young, merely fifteen. she’s cute in a girlish sort of way; one might see her as a pesky sister. still, she tries to catch his attention each day, her eyelashes batting against her sun-chapped cheeks, her legs swinging back and forth at her desk.

“i... overslept,” he lies. 

his eyes flick to your face, which struggles to remain unamused. you’re the eldest of his pupils, nineteen and itching to capture whatever semblance of freedom is left in the world. maryanne is your closest classmate in age, and he rarely sees you without her on your tail. to your credit, you never complain, never seem to mind. he admires that. there had once been a day he’d been like maryanne—so eager to please whoever would give him the time of day—but those days are long gone.

“well, mother asked after you,” maryanne continues. “she’d like to invite you over for supper sunday next—as a proper welcome to snowshill.”

he’s quick to turn her down, as he has two other families since his arrival. “that’s very kind, maryanne, but i’m not sure it would be appropriate.”

“nonsense, sir!” he hopes his eyebrows don’t rise too much in surprise when you jump to maryanne’s aid. “i’ll be there with my niece and my grandfather, and mrs. coulder makes the best roast you’ve had this side of london. you must come.”

from behind his circular, wire-rimmed glasses, he wonders if you can see the way his eyes widen. since arriving at the schoolhouse, he’s known you only as the eldest, wisest, and least rambunctious of his class. you’re quiet, but well-spoken; authoritative, but not domineering. the way you carry yourself—shoulders held straight, chin extended outward, eyes soft yet purposeful—he could easily mistake you for a woman. but you’re not. you’re a girl, his student, and just because you insist he attend sunday supper does not mean you look at him as anything other than your teacher. certainly, he doesn’t look at you as anything other than his student.

he clears his throat. it’s been a long day. he’s tired, on edge. he shouldn’t be thinking about these things.

forcing a tight smile, he gives a nod. “it seems i have no choice.” maryanne claps her hands together as he says, “tell your mother i’ll be there.”

“oh, goody! you won’t regret it, sir, i promise. i’ll be sure to tell hastings not to pester you too much.”

a groan nearly surfaces as he remembers the previous week’s antics of maryanne’s brother. he bites his tongue to keep from retracting his acceptance. “hastings doesn’t bother me, maryanne.” 

her grin turns sly, and she pushes his arm in a playful gesture. “you don’t have to lie, mr. lee.” her tone is slow, drawling, and he has the integrity to blush. his ears feel hot, uncomfortable—and not at all pleasurable. 

you tug on maryanne’s arm. “come on, mary.” stepping away, you jerk your head toward town, a measure of concern hidden beneath your smooth features. “we should leave mr. lee be. we’ve bothered him enough already.”

he doesn’t refute your statement. even if he jogs the rest of the way, he’ll still be late for afternoon tea, and he’ll still bear the brunt of constance’s wrath. in truth, you have bothered him enough already. so he lets you steer maryanne away without another word. at the last moment, he thinks he’s imagined it when you twist to look over your shoulder, your eyes running over him with a modicum of interest. he shakes the feeling off; it must have been his untoward imagination.

by the time he reaches contance’s cottage, a light drizzle has wet the shoulders of his suit jacket. his hair is damp, his glasses foggy. he ducks to avoid smacking his head against the doorframe as he enters. the cottage smells of tea and scones, both fresh, both warm.

from the kitchen, constance’s shrill voice meets his ears. no matter his hearing loss, her voice will never be one he can ignore. “is that you, gwilym?” she putters to the kitchen arch, wrapped tight in her pink robe, tea kettle in hand. when she sees him standing in the doorway, she frowns. “you’re late.”

“yes, yes, i’m sorry.” he sheds his jacket and places it on the wooden banister. rolling up his shirt sleeves, he makes his way to the kitchen. “i was accosted by some of my students.” 

constance laughs, her fleshy cheeks taut with a smile. “oh, child, you make it sound like you loathe those students.”

he says nothing, simply brushes a few crumbs away from his place at the table. a fat cat jumps to take his seat before he can settle, and he sighs. constance chuckles at his misfortune, placing the tea kettle in the center of the table. she shoos the cat for him, and he sits.

“pour for us, won’t you?” she says, turning to gather the scones.

gwilym hesitates. his hand flexes on his thigh, but there’s no point in arguing with constance, so he lifts the kettle. heavy with hot water, the pot wavers in his hand. as he pours, his tremor grows stronger, the pot shaking so violently water makes it everywhere but the teacup. 

“dammit,” he mutters. he puts the kettle down with more force than is strictly necessary; enough that he can feel constance’s eyes slide to his back as he rises to mop up the spilled water. it’s hot as it drenches the napkin, and he takes the moment of pain as punishment. he uses both hands to pour on the second go around. there’s still an unnatural rhythm to the stream of liquid as it descends to the teacups, but it hasn’t ruined the tablecloth, and he supposes that’s all that matters.

“there we are.” constance places a scone—blueberry iced with cream; she always makes his favorites—before him, and she does not mention the spilled water. “who were the rascals that accosted you this time?”

between bites of scone and sips of tea, he answers. “maryanne coulder and [y/n] [y/l/n].”

constance replaces her teacup on its saucer with a knowing nod. “ah, i know the coulder family. good bunch, except for that son of theirs.” her smile widens as his face blanches. “it seems you know him too.”

“he put tacks on my stool this thursday.”

“did you sit on them?”

he shakes his head. “no, but i might’ve.”

“and it would have given all the children a royal laugh.” she takes another sip, challenging him over the rim of her cup. “[y/n] i don’t know so well.”

“she’s in her last year. bright girl.” he doesn’t know why he feels to need to say such a thing. he’s barely given constance any information about his students thus far, but there’s something about the way she’s watching him that makes him speak and speak fast. “she could go on to university if she put her mind to it.”

“nineteen, i think, yes?”

he shrugs. “i think so.” constance hums and reaches over to pet an orange tabby cat. “they’ve wrangled me into sunday dinner next week. the coulders, i mean,” he adds.

“oh?”

“it was impossible to say no.”

“well, i believe it’s about time you show your face around town.” constance lifts a barely visible brow. “you really much try and engage your students more, gwilym. no one likes a sour puss.”

heat rushes up the back of his neck, and he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. she’s right, of course. he hasn’t always been this way, but since the war broke out and his subsequent service denial, he’s been nothing but a gray cloud in every room. he can’t help it.

constance changes the subject as her eyes move to the window at the back of the cottage. “did you know michael livingston went and shot a fox at four o’clock this morning?” she tuts her tongue. “that man! he really is the bane of my existence. a horrid excuse for a neighbor.”

gwilym’s gaze drops to his teacup, and he filters out what he can of constance’s prattle. she’s right. he should work on connecting with his students more. his father is a master at that. he has every student at the university eating out of the palm of his hand by the end of the first term week. gwilym thought he might have the capacity to do the same, but it seems he had been wrong. his students are respectful enough, but aside from maryanne and her silly crush, they are largely unattached. though, it isn’t as if he wants their affection or even their approval...

he’s fine without it. really, he is. 

still, it wouldn’t hurt to at least seem approachable. he’s in snowshill for the foreseeable future. he might as well face it and try to appear like he gives a damn.

at four o’clock sharp the following sunday, he stands outside the coulder household, his fist poised ready to knock on the dark green front door. only he can’t seem to bring himself make his arrival known. 

if he knocks, he has to be sociable. if he doesn’t knock, he can retreat to his attic room and spend the rest of his sunday in peace.

if he knocks, he might begin to chip away at the three-foot-thick barrier he’s placed around himself. if he doesn’t knock, he remains hidden, but protected.

his fist trembles in front of the door.

“mr. lee, are you alright?”

he nearly jumps out of his skin at the sound of your voice. dropping his hand and readjusting his hold on the plate of muffins constance sent along with him, he turns away from the door. you stand halfway down the stone path leading to the home, one hand holding the chubby fingers of a toddler he doesn’t recognize. your other hand is pressed against the back of an old man, his shoulders bent with age, hands wobbling as he uses a cane.

gwilym swallows and looks away. “oh, hello. i just...” he can’t think of an excuse, so he, lamely, settles for the truth. “well, if i can be frank with you, miss [y/l/n], i was—am—feeling a bit apprehensive.”

you just smile and lift the toddler from the ground. with the girl on your hip, you come to stand by his side. he shifts when he catches a whiff of your shampoo. you glance up at him, your smile lifting, before knocking on the front door yourself.

“there’s nothing to be nervous about, sir,” you whisper in the lull between your knock and the door opening. “’s just maryanne.”

he isn’t certain, but he thinks you’re teasing him. the possibility makes his skin crawl in more ways than one. he hates that.

saved the duty of response, he pulls his mouth into a tight smile as the door opens. mrs. coulder, flanked by her daughter, stands in the threshold, brightly patterned apron snug around her waist.

“oh, mr. lee!” she stretches out her hand, and he shakes it, the plate of muffins tipping precariously in his opposite palm. “we’re so glad you decided to join us.”

“thank you for the invitation, mrs. coulder.” he waits until you’ve passed with your grandfather to cross the threshold. 

“please, call me vivianne. can i take that for you?” she nods to the plate of muffins, eyes sparkling all the while.

“yes, thank you. from constance pruder,” he adds. “she told me to tell you hello.”

“how kind of her!” vivianne takes the muffins from his arms and gestures toward the back of the house with her chin. “my husband, john, is out back. why don’t you go and chat until supper’s ready. he is ever so eager to meet you.”

gwilym fights to hold back his cringe. fathers—he doesn’t do well with them. not his own, not anyone else’s. it’s just another item on his long list of dislikes and annoyances. 

but he’s a guest, and he really does want to try. so he fixes his tie and follows vivianne’s directions to the back garden. 

john is sat on a wrought-iron chair, his hands braced against the arms, round face pulled tight in a frown as he watches maryanne play with the toddler on the grass. he stands when gwilym ducks to step outside. he extends a hand, his grip painful.

“lee,” he barks in greeting before dropping back to his seat.

the old man—gwilym assumes he’s your grandfather—twists from his place in a similar chair. “forgive me if i don’t get up, son.” the way his fingers waver in the air makes gwilym’s stomach clench; his own hand shakes slightly as he touches the old man’s palm. “name’s richard.”

“sit down.” john points to a bench against the house. “i’ve got questions for you.”

gwilym hesitates, caught bent at the waist as he goes to sit. his hands are firm on his thighs, and unwittingly, his eyes flick to yours. he’s surprised to see you already watching him, your fingers twirling in the blades of grass around your legs. when the moment has stretched far too long, he sits and smooths his sweaty palms against his trousers.

“i hope easy questions, sir,” he says. his tone is light, but his teeth are gritted.

“easy enough if you tell the truth.” john withdraws a silver cigarette case from his breast pocket. jamming a butt between his teeth, he offers the case to gwilym, who declines with a shake of his head. john puffs on the cigarette for a moment before saying, “why aren’t you off fighting, lee? all the other lads from gloucestershire are doing their part. what makes you special enough to stay away from the battle?”

to say gwilym is shocked by john’s pointed question would be an understatement. the force of the query, spoken in harsh, biting tones, is enough to tilt him sideways in his chair. he’s sure his face is red, his chest tight from forgetting to release the breath he holds in his lungs. his hands curl against his trousers, his knuckles gone white with rage.

“well, sir,” he drawls, careful to keep his tone even. more than anything, he wants to stand, leave, and slam the door on his way out for good measure. his ears burn with embarrassment. “i would certainly be fighting if i could.”

it’s an honest answer, the truth if ever he’s spoken it. what he wouldn’t give to be away from snowshill, rushing the battle field with his brothers-at-arms. what he wouldn’t give to be worthy of a moment’s notice when he returned from war. 

but he’s not worthy and he’s not fighting. he’s stuck in the back garden of his most precocious and love-sick student, the sun beating down on his brow with an undue heat, his muscles twitching with the restraint it takes to keep from decking snowshill’s most prominent lawyer. 

john narrows his eyes across the cobblestone patio. “if you could? what’s wrong with you?”

gwilym says nothing. red—the color of blood, ambulance sirens, and fire—flashes before his eyes.

“in my day,” john continues. “we fought no matter our delicate sensibilities.” he huffs around his cigarette, his chest ballooning like a baboon. “i’d say that i—”

“mr. coulder!” your voice is sharp, though not unkind, when you break into coulder’s soliloquy. gwilym’s eyes snap from john’s throbbing forehead muscle to you. you stand beside your grandfather, your skirt tangled around your legs in your apparent haste to stand. there’s grass pressed against your knees, and a faint tinge of red on your cheeks. “i believe i heard mrs. coulder calling for your just now,” you say, sweetening the blow of your interruption with a smile.

john looks to the open door, a pucker forming between his brows. “oh,” he mumbles, rising to his feet. “i’d better go see what that’s about.” he ambles on bowed legs into the house, and gwilym is left to pick of the pieces of his fractured dignity.

he dares glance at you. your eyes lift from the ground slowly, your fingers curling along the hem of your cardigan. when you meet his gaze, you look away first, as if you’re scared—scared to look at him, scared to admit you had to rescue him like a drowning puppy. he swallows hard and stands, though he isn’t sure why. he just can’t stay sitting anymore.

vivianne pops her head around the frame of the back door. “come come, everyone. supper is ready! mr. lee, you sit beside john. he has so much he wishes to discuss with you.” she grins and waves him inside, and who is he to refuse her?

later that night, when his back is pressed against his firm mattress, moonlight washing through the attic room, gwilym feels the overwhelming urge to cry. he can’t remember the last time he shed a tear. after his mother’s passing—god rest her soul—tears have seemed... pointless. they didn’t bring his mother back; they won’t cure his deaf ear or his tremor, won’t stop people like john coulder from asking questions.

still, his chest aches. there’s something in his lungs scratching to get out. it rises in his throat like a lump and bubbles forth in a broken sob. he presses his hand to his mouth, feels a hot tear slide down his cheekbone.

god, he hates it here.

really, he hates it everywhere. there’s nowhere he can go to escape from himself.

class on monday is disjointed. 

he didn’t sleep well, tossing and turning the whole night long, his dreams plagued with images of his mother, the war, you staring at him like a broken man. he woke several times in a cold sweat, his bedclothes drenched and sticky. 

his students bear the brunt of his poor night’s rest. he is tired to the very core of his being, and it shows in the way he waves hastings away after one-too-many attempts at the same arithmetic problem. it shows in the way he sits at his desk before the class, rubbing at this throbbing temples, the echo of the previous night’s supper ringing in his ears. though the sentiment is there most days, today he truly does not care if his students learn or not. he just wants a stiff drink, maybe a quick shag, something to take his mind off it all.

shifting in his seat, he withdraws the pocket watch snug in his trouser pocket. the gold around the clasp is worn with decades of use, and when he unlocks the face, the watch within is slightly obscured by a thin crack over the number five. still, despite its flaws, the clock ticks on. there’s a metaphor there, he knows, about himself: worn, broken, but still working. he’s too jaded to believe it.

he rises from his chair. the legs scrape against the floor. “it’s lunch,” he announces, breaking the heavy silence of the classroom with his deep voice. “take your things and go home. class is dismissed for the rest of the day.”

from her place in the front row, maryanne bats her eyelashes in confusion. “what’s the occasion, sir?” she sits straight at her desk, eager to please, panting for some drip of his attention.

gwilym doesn’t have any attention to spare for maryanne, for any of his students, really. his eyes flick from maryanne to the open window to you. he clears his throat and looks away. “it’s a nice day out, maryanne,” he says. “we shouldn’t waste it inside. don’t you agree?”

she grins and nods as she hastily gathers her things together. “oh, yes, of course!”

his jaw goes tight as he says, “thank your mother again for inviting me to supper yesterday. it was very kind of her.”

scarlet blush crawls over maryanne’s cheeks. she holds her books snug against her chest, her shoes dancing back and forth in nerves across the hardwood floor. “you are more than welcome any time, sir.”

he nods once, glancing toward the open schoolhouse door. she gets the picture; their conversation is through. grabbing hastings hand, she drags her brother out of the building and into the sunshine, leaving gwilym in blessed silence. he drops to his chair with a groan, cradling his forehead between his pointer finger and thumb. outside he can here his pupils laughing in the field. he removes his hands from his face and looks out the window-lined wall. hands crossed in his lap, he watches the children play, wonders what it feels like to live so carefree. 

had he ever been like that as a child: wild, uninhibited? he must’ve been—surely. his long-term memory is poor, brought on by a hard tumble he’d taken from a horse at an early age, but memory impairment aside, he wasn’t always this sullen, this removed. surely.

“mr. lee?”

he jolts at the sound of your voice, twisting in his chair to see you standing before his desk, a crease of worry between your brows. he frowns. “miss [y/l/n]? have you been there long?”

you shake your head, and a lock of hair falls out from behind your ear. you tuck it back, your eyes falling momentarily to the floor before you say, “no. well, yes. i was gathering my things, and you looked... pensive.”

he sits upright, and the urge to smooth his hair works its way to his fingers. he adjusts his glasses instead. “pensive? that doesn’t bode well.”

at his half-hearted attempt at levity, the corner of your mouth lifts. you step closer to his desk. “i wanted to be sure you were alright after supper last evening.”

his gut clenches at the memory, the shame of john coulder’s interrogation, at having to be saved by his own student, at that student being you. “i’m fine, truly,” he says, an edge to his voice he doesn’t mean.

still, you push further. “it’s just that mr. coulder... he’s not very diplomatic when it comes to asking questions. i thought maybe you—”

for the second time, gwilym stands from his chair with the intention of ending the conversation. he will not discuss sunday’s supper with you. the memory is still too raw, and his dream of you coming to his rescue is thoroughly and completely humiliating. yet when he stretches to his full height and sees you standing there, the most earnest expression of concern he’s ever seen on another face, he is powerless to stop himself from admitting the truth. he shoves his hands in his pockets, rolling his tongue over his teeth in thought.

“your concern is kind. mr. coulder’s questions were ill-phrased but not unwarranted. the men of this country hold a heavy duty right now. i suspect he was only asking out of patriotism.”

you blink, lips pressed together. he’d thought you’d be satisfied with his answer, but it appears you are not. the crease in your brow deepens. “sir, he was very unkind to you.” you speak as if he didn’t realize, as if he didn’t wet his pillow with tears of shame and hurt.

he nods. “perhaps.”

“it’s not fair, though. i’m sure whatever your reasons are for staying away from the front are valid.”

“again, your kindness does you credit.”

“i’m not trying to flatter you, mr. lee. i’m only speaking the truth.”

gwilym hesitates before saying, “i did not assume you were the flattering type.”

you shake your head. “i’m not.”

he’s not sure if it’s just the warm spring breeze drifting through the open window, but the air feels heavier than it did moments before. his eyes search yours. searching for what he can’t say, but he searches nonetheless. you hold his gaze until the faintest of blushes rises to your cheekbones. 

“i must thank you, though, miss [y/l/n], for coming to my aid last evening.” he’s surprised by his confession. it should drive him to his knees in embarrassment that he must concede to his student after they help him with a man twice his age. he is embarrassed, but something—manners, the desire to replicate your honesty, your doe eyes—makes him say it. “i am not sure i would have answered mr. coulder’s questions with a cool head, but you showed great tact. i’m indebted to you for that.”

he bites his tongue. too far, perhaps. a teacher should never be indebted to his student. least of all his oldest, brightest, and yes, he will admit it: most attractive student.

your chest lifts as you draw in a breath through your teeth. “well, i know a way you can repay me.”

his eyes widen, his throat seizing around his adam’s apple. he removes his hands from his pockets and shuffles a stack of unmarked papers on his desk. his hand wavers as he moves, though he’s not sure if it’s due to his tremor or an unwarranted image of you in his arms flashing through his mind.

too far. too far. you’re just a student. he’s just your teacher.

“what would you have me do?” it’s stupid to ask, to play along, but he can’t help it when your hands are clasped behind your back, the ribbon at the end of your braid falling over your shoulder. 

“there’s a benefit next week,” you say, and your face eases into a smile. “it’s for the wounded soldiers, and i’m in charge of the bake sale. my grandfather is too old to help and my niece is too young, so i thought perhaps you might like to help me? i’m sure more people will stop by if you’re there. everyone’s still curious about the new schoolmaster.”

gwilym stills, his eyes falling on you. not for the first time, he wonders if there’s something beneath your gaze, beneath your question. there can’t be; there isn’t. just like he is not interested in you, you are not interested in him.

unless...

he clears his throat and looks down at his desk. he brushes a stray pencil to the side. it rolls, rolls, rolls, stops against a heavy book. “i suppose i can make the time to assist.” he meets your eyes despite his gut telling him not to entertain this foolishness any longer. “for you, miss [y/l/n].”

your face clears in something akin to shock. you blink rapidly, your eyelashes fluttering against your freckled cheekbones. for a moment, gwilym imagines maryanne in the moments past, batting her own eyes. it hadn’t made his gut twist like this.

“it’s not for me,” you whisper, and the breathy sound of your voice sends a rush of blood from his head to his manhood. “it’s for the soldiers.”

“yes,” he replies. your gaze is locked on his, deep and probing. “the soldiers.”

a pebble hits the window with a sharp ting, and you both startle—you with a gasp, he with a muttered curse. turning, he stares out the window long enough to see a few of his male students playing a game of stickball with pebbles. a sigh shudders through his chest. no one had seen, had felt the thick tension in the room. thank heaven.

when he turns back to ask you how he can help before the benefit, you are gone.

the day of the benefit dawns bright and clear. it’s warm despite the month. april is generally cool and balmy, but gwilym breaks a sweat as he carries arrangement after arrangement of flowers to a little red wagon outside the cottage. constance sits perched on her portable stool, a cane between her legs as she watches him work.

“be careful with those, gwilym james,” she chides. “i spent all week and won’t have you breaking a single one.”

“i’m being careful, constance.” he huffs as he lowers a bouquet of blue hydrangeas to the wagon. the glass rattles as it squeezes between the dozens of other vases. the wagon is full to bursting of flowers of all kinds and where constance unearthed such of a treasure trove of flowers, he cannot be sure. “you truly expect to sell all these in one afternoon?”

constance draws in a sharp breath and whacks the butt of her cane against his shin. “how dare you!” he yelps, clutching his offended leg, but for once finds it easy to match her sly smile. “my flowers are sought after in the next three counties!”

“i’m sure they are,” he says, chuckling at her twisted features. 

she stands, snapping her stool shut with ease. with her chin tilted, she gestures with her cane to the road. “we’ll be late. you know i detest being late.”

rolling his eyes, gwilym grabs the wagon handle from the ground and gently maneuvers the vehicle onto the dirt road leading to the center of the village. the flowers jostle and clang as the wagon dips with the unevenness of the road, but the arrangements hold steady. constance’s steps are slow and small, so he shrinks his stride to match hers. a whisper of a breeze cools the sweat lingering on the back of his neck, and he glances at the cloudless sky. no one could have asked for better weather.

“i hear you are to assist miss [y/l/n] in her confection sale today?”

gwilym nearly trips over a rut in the road, but catches himself at the last moment. he adjusts his hold on the wagon handle, his hand trembling even curled against the cool metal. “yes—she had no one else to help her.”

constance’s eyebrows lift. “ah.”

“you did tell me to be more kindly with my pupils.”

“that i did.”

“then why do you look so displeased?”

“i’m far from displeased, child,” she says with a laugh. “merely cataloging this moment for later.”

gwilym doesn’t ask for further explanation. he doesn’t want to know. it’s bad enough that he spent the entire morning primping and preening over his own reflection. god, he’d felt like such an idiot. 

but he couldn’t deny the urge to at least try and put some effort into his appearance. he would be spending the day by your side, after all. not that it mattered...

by the time he rolls constance’s wagon into the village square, the benefit is well under way. snowshill is a small parish; only one-hundred-twenty-three residents, yet it seems every soul has turned out for the event. colorful streamers whip through the mid-morning breeze. a gaggle of musicians sitting underneath a shade tree amble through a litany of well-known tunes. the baker twins, annie and joy, race past gwilym, hand in hand as they head for the dunking booth. he pauses in his study of the square. there’s happiness here. despite it all—the war, the fathers and brothers and husbands so far away, the uncertainty of the future—the villagers have still found a reason to smile. surely, he can to.

“i’ll take this.” constance pulls gwilym from his thoughts as she pries the wagon handle from his hand. “you go over there,” she adds, nodding to a booth on his left. “miss [y/l/n] is waiting.”

he ignores the telling sparkle in her eyes. she can see right through him, the old bat, see straight to the part of his heart he so desperately wants—no, needs—to ignore. 

chasing the thoughts away, he turns to locate the corner set aside for the bake sale. it isn’t hard. in an uncomfortable but familiar sort of way, he’s drawn to you, and he finds you easily. at the base of the church gardens, you’re already hard a work. your hair is loose around your shoulders, and the sun glints off a pearl barrette clipping a portion of the strands back. stepping forward, he allows his eyes, for the briefest of moments, to run over your frame. your forest green dress is cinched at the waist with a wide gold band, accentuating your curves. the sleeves of the dress, which fall to your elbows, are sheer, and he can see your skin glistening beneath the sway of shadows and sun. you’re lovely, breathtaking even. he hates the way his heart gallops in his chest at the sight, like he’s a love-struck schoolboy. in reality, he is your teacher and a grown man. the thought alone makes him advert his eyes from the picture of you, dressed well and elegantly, smiling as you speak to a customer.

“there you are!” you twist away from the pie, cake, and cookie laden table to grace him with a brilliant smile. knowing you first and foremost as the level-headed student who rarely speaks save to impart pearls of wisdom, the sight of your wide smile is near blinding. “i was beginning to think you’d forgotten.”

he shakes his head. “never.”

“good.” you point up the hill to the church. “the rest of the pies are in the kitchen. bring them down, won’t you?”

he does so without complaint, returning to the booth with a cherry pie in one hand and a rhubarb pie in the other. he places them on the table with care before asking, “who made all these?”

you shrug and straighten the sign hanging from the makeshift portico attached to the table. “mostly the older ladies of the parish. though,” you say, your eyes sliding to his with mischief. “i did make those.” you point to a small plate of chocolate chip cookies. “you can steal one if you like. i won’t tell.”

gwilym narrows his eyes. “how do i know if i can trust you?”

you laugh—a clear, bell-like laugh—and it goes straight to his gut. “try it and you’ll just have to find out.”

you sit, your attention caught by the toddler scooting about on the a picnic blanket behind the table. gwilym hesitates before taking one of the cookies. it snaps in his hands, and he nudges your arm with his knuckles. you look over your shoulder, glancing at the half of a cookie melting between his fingers.

“take the other half,” he says. “that way we both get in trouble. if i’m going to go down, i’ll take you with me.”

your cheeks color, and he wonders where your mind has gone, but then you take the cookie and your fingers brush his palm. a jolt shoot through his arm, but he ignores it, sitting in the seat beside you. 

“it’s very good,” he says after swallowing the dessert. “chocolatey.”

you smile in thanks then reach out, your thumb nearing his cheek. he stills, uncertain if he should move back and risk offense or lean in and risk it all. you swipe your thumb across the corner of his mouth, your touch fleeting but like fire all the same. sitting back, your grin widens.

“you had a bit of chocolate on your lip,” you explain.

“oh.” he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and looks the opposite direction. 

few villagers have meandered over to the bake sale booth, but the day is early yet. he dares relax and lean back in his chair. he unbuttons his suit-jacket, letting the breeze waft through his sleeves and around his torso. when he turns his head to look at you, he finds you already watching, your eyes trained against his chest which strains against his snug waistcoat. all thoughts evaporate until your eyes lift to his and you blush.

he clears his throat. “uh—the child?” he questions, pointing to the toddler on the ground. she’s chubby, her legs stumpy beneath a yellow day dress and bloomers. “who does she belong to?”

you lift the baby and set her on your knee. the little girl smiles at him and leans against your shoulder, her mouth gnawing around her fist. “my sister,” you say. “she’s away, so grandfather and i are left to take care of eliza.”

“and where is your grandfather?”

“he’s with his mates. they’ve set up shop outside the pub and are more than likely pestering anyone who will listen with their own war stories.”

“he seems like a kind man.”

“oh, he is!” you grin and return eliza to her spot in the shade. “after my parents died, he took me and peggy—that’s my sister—in without a moment’s hesitation.”

before gwilym can question you any further, a familiar voice hits his ears. he rises alongside you as vivianne coulder draws close to the booth. 

“oh, look how darling! [y/n], you’ve really outdone yourself!” vivianne eyes the sweets with interest. “however am i to make such a choice? there’s simply too many good things here to choose from.”

“you can always buy multiples, mrs. coulder.” you press your palms against the table, leaning forward to watch as vivianne surveys the array of food. gwilym’s eyes stray toward your backside, which is pushed out, until vivianne breaks his train of thought.

“mr. lee, how did you get mixed up in a bake sale?” she asks, dropping a few coins in your palm as she makes her purchase. “i might have thought you’d participate in the dunk tank like my john.”

as if to punctuate her question, a bell across the square rings followed by a cheer and a splash. someone hit the bullseye.

“mr. lee owed me a favor,” you say. “i had to watch the class one afternoon while he tended to a feral dog in the yard.”

the story isn’t a falsehood, but it’s certainly not why he stands beside you now. he’d almost forgotten about that dog, but perhaps the mangy mutt had been a godsend after all. it certainly kept you from having to admit the real reason for his appearance at the bake sale.

vivianne giggles behind her gloved hand. “how brave!”

your hand, ungloved and warm, lands on his arm. your fingertips squeeze the flesh of his bicep nearly imperceptibility but he feels the gentle pressure like a vice around his skin. “yes,” you continue, seemingly oblivious to the way your touch wrecks him. “he was quite brave.”

vivianne chats with you a moment more—something about maryanne and her sixteenth birthday celebration—but he can barely focus. he’s unnaturally hot under his jacket, despite the cover of shade protecting the table of sweets. he wants to shake your hand from his arm, loosen your hold around his gut, but he doesn’t want to appear rude. he doesn’t want to push you away.

so he stands still. he lives with your fingers against the curve of his shoulder like a man readying himself for execution. his jaw is tight, his eyes focused on the people milling about the square.

when vivianne finally ambles away, he feels free enough to step out of your grasp. he releases a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. his eyes dart from the ground to your face. you stare at him, your own eyes wide and lips parted ever-so slightly. god, he could kiss you. maybe it would quell the fire in his stomach and get you out of his head. maybe the simple touch would fix all the worn-out and tired thought swirling through his head. he would give into his desire but there’s too many people around and maybe that’s a good thing. he’s not sure he could stop himself if he started.

blessedly, a trio of older women approach the table. he jerks his attention away from you and finds a modicum of solace in auctioning off the bake sale items to whomever will purchase them. the faster the table is clear, the sooner he can go home and take a cold shower.

fate, it seems, has other plans for him because it is not until past-dusk that the charity benefit ends. the last of the pies have been sold off, your niece dragged home by your grandfather when the hour gets too late. gwilym helps you break down the table in silence, the only sound a bird twittering in its nest overhead and the rumble of the dunk tank being hauled away. you look tired, and he’s sure he does too. on the whole, he enjoyed himself. you are pleasant company and skilled at carrying on conversation. in truth, he finds himself wondering if he could spend every waking moment simply sitting by your side. the busy-bodies and children who came by the booth brought him small smiles, as well. the occasional woman called him handsome, even though her age well surpassed his own, and it buoyed his neglected heart. mothers thanked him profusely for his work at the school. he had not realized how much his students seemed to appreciate his efforts in the classroom. on more than one occasion, he’d left the schoolhouse under the impression the vast majority of his pupils were plotting his demise for being so sullen and boring. but perhaps not...

with your aid, he carries the booth’s table to the basement of the church. it is cool in the dark hallway of the building. his shoes sound against the stone floor as he searches for a light switch with nothing but his gaze. he hears a sharp bang followed by a muffled curse.

“you alright?” he asks, casting a glance over his shoulder. he can barely make out your form what with the dim hall and your form covered by night.

you adjust your hold on the end of the table. “yes, i’m fine. i bumped into the doorframe ‘s all.”

“where do we put this table then?”

“the vicar got it out for me early this morning. i suppose we could simply leave it by the pantry in the kitchen.”

“i’m afraid i don’t know where that is.”

he swears he can see you smile despite the low light. “perhaps i should have led the way.”

he mirrors your grin. “perhaps you should have.”

nodding to the left, you say, “that way. down the hall and first door on the right. i left it open.”

with some trouble, he manages to make it to the kitchen, though he too runs into the doorframe of the hallway and you giggle at his misfortune. together, you lower the table against the kitchen wall and step back. you brush your hands together with an air of finality.

“well,” you say with a sigh. “nothing like a good day’s work.”

gwilym turns to look at you in the darkness of the kitchen. a beam of moonlight filters through a single window in the corner of the room. it falls agains the back of your head, shrouding you in a halo of yellowy light. you’re looking at him, too; he can feel it. you look soft, and you stand close enough to touch. he keeps his hands at his sides; they tremble against the creases of his trousers.

“thank you, miss [y/l/n],” he whispers. “i needed a day like today.”

silence reigns supreme for the longest of moments. universes are born and wither in the space between his confession and your response.

but then your lips are on his. 

your hands grasp the material around his shoulders, your nails pressing through the fabric in earnest. he can think of nothing else to do—nothing else he should do—other than remain planted firm on the stone floor of the church kitchen. he itches to hold you, to weave his fingers through your hair, and move his mouth over yours. you taste sweet, like cookies, for the brief moment you claim him as your own. still, he is level-headed enough, rational enough, scared enough, to not react—no matter how much he wants to.

you pull back, swallowing hard. your fingertips skim over your mouth. you stare at him, starlight caught in your eyelashes, then run from the basement before he can say a word.

you do not come to class for several days. he calculates that it must be three days you’ve skipped out on him—no, on school. really, he can’t be certain how long you’ve been gone. since he felt the touch of your lips on his, he has thought of little else. the memory consumes him, threatening to swallow him whole. it distracts him when he turns around from the blackboard to see your seat empty and when he dismisses class at the end of the day and does not see you gathering your belongings with your elegant movements. he has lost track of time and of order. at night, he lays awake and stares at his ceiling, his hands clasped behind his head. he runs the moment over and over again, replaying and reframing how it could have gone different.

he could have pushed you away the second you moved closer. at least then he would be able to claim he tried to be a professional, that he tried to distance himself from his interest in his own student.

he could have kissed you back. he’d wanted to. he’d wanted to so badly. he’d wanted to so badly the mere thought of how he’d kept his hands still at his sides makes his brain clench with discomfort.

the thursday after the benefit, after yet another day without your presence in the cramped schoolhouse, he drags his feet to your home. he’s reluctant to go, knowing he should allow you to come back on your own time. whatever it was that possessed you to kiss him, he knows you probably regret the action as much as he regrets not seizing the moment for himself.

you live on the outskirts of snowshill on your grandfather’s sheep farm. the dirt road leading to the white farmhouse is clogged with tufts of fresh grass, revealing its lack of traffic. a handful of hens peck the ground beneath a sprawling oak tree. a flat swing hanging from a thick branch sways back and forth with the afternoon breeze. it’s idyllic—removed from the rest of the world, even as far as snowshill goes, but idyllic.

he’s out of breath from the walk by the time he reaches the front door, but gwilym is self-aware enough to know he would out of breath regardless of his mode of transportation. he’s nervous. his hands shake, and there’s an incessant ringing in his deaf ear. he waits, unsure if anyone on the other side of the bright red door has heard his knock.

“mr. lee?”

the sound, garbled by the blood rushing to his ears and the tilt of his head, comes from his right. he twists to see you standing at the corner of the house. there’s a basket in your hand; it’s empty, save for a pair of small scissors which catch the sun. your blue-checkered dress is faded, the sleeves bunched around your elbows. one of the pockets on either hip seems weighed down with an invisible object. he stops his perusal and notes the clear frown on your face.

he steps forward, huffing out a rushed “miss [y/l/n]”, and nearly topples off the rail-less stoop. he catches himself at the last moment, his hand darting out to press against the frame of the farmhouse.

you gasp, dropping your basket, and rush forward, but when you see he’s righted himself, you stop. “goodness,” you say. “that would’ve been a bad tumble. i’ve told grandfather dozens of times that we need a railing.”

gwilym chuckles in a lame attempt to save face. he takes the three steps to the safety of solid earth and crosses to stand before you. you blink up at him, your lips pinched. there’s a mysterious lack of sparkle in your gaze, and he wonders if he’s the cause of its disappearance. 

“you’ve not been to school,” he says.

you shake your head as you turn to pick your discarded basket. “no.”

“why?”

you lift a slim brow. “isn’t the answer obvious, sir?”

“no.”

you hold his stare, and he is the one to look away first. a chill settles around his spine despite the warmth of the day. he wrings his hands together as he looks over the field.

“if that’s all, sir—”

his eyes snap back to yours. “no!” he winces at the desperation in his tone and tries again. “no. i think we should talk, miss [y/l/n], about what happened at the benefit.”

this time you do look away, your cheeks tinged with blush. you gesture toward the meadow behind your home. “i was going to walk down to the river. i need to replenish our herb stock. you may join me if you like.”

“that’s fine,” he says, nodding. “you lead the way.”

the beginning of your walk is spent in silence. the meadow grass tangles around the hem of his trousers, staining them green with leftover dew. you trail ahead of him, your basket skimming over the weeds and grasses like a sailboat in an ocean of nature. he realizes you are without shoes, and the sight of your bare calves and ankles sends his thoughts elsewhere.

you lead him into a grove of cherry and birch trees. pink petals cover the ground and obscure the sky. it’s a haze of color here—cherry blossoms and green leaves, the flutter of an anxious bird’s wings, the clear but rushing waters of the creek. he stops when you do and inhales deeply. strangely, tears prick the corners of his eyes. he could stay here, he thinks, in this picturesque place—no one to bother him or question him or loathe his very existence. 

“i never knew snowshill boasted such a beautiful spot,” he admits.

from your place crouched against the ground, your voice is muffled. “yes. i keep it secret”—your voice is clearer when you rise and look over your shoulder—“from nearly everyone. it’s too special to share with the world.”

you lean down again and use your small pair of scissors to snip at a collection of herbs growing along the creekbed. gwilym dares take a step closer, and he points to the herbs in your hand.

“what are those?”

“mint. it grows well by the water.” you lift the bundle. “would you like some?”

instead of taking the offer, he squats beside you. his knee, bent as it is, almost brushes your elbow. he plucks a small leaf of the mint and puts it on his tongue.

you watch as he allows the herb’s flavor to coat his tongue. “my mother used to make very good lemonade with mint.”

“my mother too.” he clears his throat, glances at the trickling stream, then back at you. “miss [y/l/n], about the benefit...”

to your credit, you do not shy away from his pointed gaze. your jaw tightens, but you maintain eye-contact, and he wonders if you can see all the thoughts racing through his head as he looks at you.

“i’m sorry if you misunderstood my gratefulness for our interactions at the coulder dinner and at the benefit. my intention was not to give you any untoward thoughts or—”

“why are you not fighting? in the war?” you interrupt with ease and do not blink as you question him.

despite his initial shock at the change of topic, he finds himself rushing to answer, to explain himself—though to anyone else, he would balk and turn away. “my right ear is deaf.”

“oh.”

“has been for a long time,” he continues. “apparently, good hearing is the mark of a good soldier.”

“and your hands?”

“my hands?”

“why do they tremble?”

at this, gwilym does balk. he stands, running the hands in question through his hair as he turns his back to you. “my hands do not tremble,” he says, his tone close to seething.

you stand to your full height, which isn’t much next to him. “yes they do. i’ve seen them—in class, at the benefit. were you denied service because of that, too?”

he openly glares at you, but he answers truthfully. “no. it developed after my denial.”

“oh,” you say again.

“really, miss [y/l/n], this is not why i wanted to speak with you.”

“i know. you wanted to talk about us.”

“there is no us. there can be no us.”

“i disagree.”

“yes, you would because you are a child, and you don’t understand that you and i giving in to whatever is between us would mean disaster.”

the slap that lands across his cheek echoes in the small grove of trees. he whirls, clutching his face as he stares at you in disbelief. his ear is ringing again, and it’s painful this time, but he knows he deserves it.

your chest heaves when you next speak. “i’m not a child.”

he knows this. he’s seen you as a woman—dreamt of you as a woman—too many times to count.

dropping his hand from his face, he nods. “i know. forgive me.”

you’re quiet, thinking, then you open your mouth to speak.

“i don’t think you realize, gwilym, how good you are for this community.” the sound of his name on your lips is sinful, threatening to tear his focus away from your words. “in the short time you’ve been here, i’ve seen the children in that schoolhouse learn more than they ever did before you came. you’re truly teaching them about the world, not just maths and reading and science. why, even last week hastings actually apologized for pulling on my braids in the past. he told me that you taught him that.”

gwilym frowns. “how? i never told—”

“they watch you. he told me you apologized to mark after you were short with him one afternoon. he told me he wanted to be like you—not his father, you.”

“miss [y/l/n]—”

“and my grandfather? he so admires you. i think he sees himself in you, after he came home from the way. he told me you’re very brave. and constance swears you have the gentlest soul built for caring for others. you may hide it, but she knows that you—”

“that’s enough—please.”

you fall silent, unshed tears washing over your eyes before you say, “don’t you see, gwilym? you walk around with such a weight on your shoulders, but all anyone wants to do—all i want to do—is ease the load. you’re worth that.”

he shakes his head and swallows hard. your speech all but shatters his heart. more than anything, he wants to believe you, wants to believe that he’s good for something. but the pesky thoughts in the back of his mind grip him hard. he can’t shake them.

unfit, unfit, unfit.

“i kissed you that night because i think you are wonderful.” your face cracks into a smile, vibrant and gut-wrenching. “wonderful and smart and handsome and—”

he puts a stop to your words. winding his arms around your back, he pulls you flush against his chest, his mouth lowering to capture yours. you’re stiff at first, in shock by his sudden change of heart, but then you relax, your arms lifting to circle his neck, drawing him ever closer. his lips explore yours with desperation, the weeks he’s spent pining after you crashing to the surface in an explosion of want and need. he moves his hands to cradle your face, and your hands skim to his shoulder blades, your fingers pressed into the skin beneath his waistcoat and shirt. you taste like fresh mint. it’s all he can do to not lower you to the bed of blossom petals on the ground and ravish you until the sun dips below the horizon.

he pulls away, breathing heavy, his forehead rolling against yours. “[y/n]...” you suck in a sharp breath through your teeth, and he realizes it must be the first time he’s spoken your name aloud in your presence. “[y/n],” he whispers again. “we can’t.”

you fist your hands in his shirtsleeves. “don’t say that. you feel it as much as i do.”

nodding, he moves to hold your waist. the feel of your body under his hands is heaven. you are divine, like an goddess escaped from la primavera. “i do,” he admits. “i feel it.”

he bends his head to kiss you again. the touch is softer this time, more hesitant, but when he gathers the nerve to pull you closer, your hips against his, you whimper into his mouth, and the sound pulls him back to reality. he practically trips backward, breathing labored, thoughts muddled, and body rigid. 

the space between you swims with lust and desire and yearning. your lips are plump, your cheeks flushed. your eyelids flutter, seemingly dazed, but not at all confused. you know what you want; he knows what he wants.

“we must keep it secret,” he says.

you nod.

“i won’t be able to touch you or—or be with you in public.”

“i know.”

“i could get in a lot of trouble if anyone finds out.”

you flinch at this, briefly looking to the side. “i know.”

shaking his head, he mutters “god help me, it would be worth it even if i did” as he crosses the space between you and crashes his lips to yours once more.

there is no hesitation now. he moves with purpose and you follow his lead. gently, he guides you to the blossom-strewn floor, his fingertips discovering the valleys and contours of your body with ease. his lips graze the curve of your neck, a feather’s touch, a butterfly’s kiss. you shift beneath him and pull his face level with yours. you glance between his eyes, chest brushing against his with the labor of your breathing.

he removes a twig from your hair, flicking it away. “do you want this?” he asks.

“always.” you smile, and it sends his heart tumbling in his chest. 

you reach down and lift the hand pressed against the ground beside your hip. it leaves him in an awkward hunch overtop of you, only his left elbow propping him up, but he’s curious at your movements. holding his wrist, you touch your left palm to his.

“your hand isn’t shaking,” you whisper.

he looks at your joined flesh, at the way his fingers stand straight against yours. there isn’t the slightest waver in his hand. dropping his palm from your grasp, he melds his body against yours beneath the cherry tree as the sun inches toward the horizon.

it goes on like this for some time: you and he stealing moments throughout the week, in whatever privacy is available. for the first time in years, he is happy. he’d grown so used to his sullen state he forgot what joy felt like, but you’ve given it back to him in bundles.

he’s not exactly sure what it is about you that captivates him so. perhaps it is your whole being.

you are intelligent, easily tutoring your classmates when they fall behind. you are generous, often sharing your meals with the neediest of students. you are witty and lively in your silliest of moods and gentle and serene at your most centered. you listen to him when he speaks—truly listen—and you challenge him with your observations and questions. 

he enjoys holding you, caressing your soft skin, kissing your lips. the cherry blossom grove is where he holds you most. it is a safe place amidst an unsafe world. beneath the shade of the birch trees, he is untouchable. he is free to speak as he wishes, love you as he pleases. he is open and honest and everything he feels he cannot be in town.

and, yes, he thinks he loves you—even after such a short time. he would be a fool not to have fallen for you by now. despite the years between you, despite the complexities of his position, he knows he would chose you again.

the weeks bleed into months. spring edges into the beginning of summer. you will finish school soon and be out from under his tutelage, released to the frayed fragments of freedom to which britain still clings. neither of you have spoken on the topic. though it looms overhead, it’s still far yet. you have time.

you are cradled against his chest, the aftermath of your most recent lovemaking still lingering on your bodies and in the air. you hum into the crook of his neck, and your fingers swirl around the hair peppering his chest.

“gwilym?” you press a kiss to his shoulder before adjusting yourself to lean on your elbow, looking down on him.

he opens one eye. “hmm?”

“what do you think will happen after the war ends?”

he opens both eyes at this and moves his head to meet your questioning gaze. the blanket beneath him rustles, and the branches overhead sway with the warm breeze. he isn’t sure what question he’d been expecting, but it certainly wasn’t the one you posed. you surprise him every day in that way—always curious, always searching for answers.

“i’m not sure,” he says. “provided we win, i suppose germany will be forced to make reparations. with the americans in the fight now it won’t be long before the kaiser gives up.”

“will you leave us then? once everything’s back to normal?”

he answers quickly and honestly, surprised at the passion in his own voice. “no, never.”

your brow creases. “but you came here running from the war. won’t you go home when it’s done?”

he blinks and considers. months ago, he would have said yes. given the chance, he would have fled back to london without a moment of hesitation. now... now he’s not so sure.

“home is wherever you are.” the words tumble from his mouth before he can stop them, but once they hang in the air, he knows they are the truth. wherever you go, he will follow. he would forsake his entire past if it meant he could stay by your side.

your lips tug into a small smile, and you sit straighter, turning your face away. “you mustn’t say things you don’t mean.”

he runs a fingertip over the curve of your exposed shoulder, down the rise and fall of your spine. if anyone were to break through the line of trees, they would see you both and have no issue filling in the missing pieces of the puzzle, naked as you both are. still, he’s comfortable; he always is around you.

“i mean what i say, [y/n]. i’m not a flatterer.”

your head whips around, and your eyes twinkle with mirth. “don’t steal my words, gwilym,” you say with a laugh, pushing at his chest.

sitting up, he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you against his side. “i can steal whatever i please. like this,” he says, punctuating his words with a kiss on the mouth. “or this.” he kisses the flesh beneath your collarbone. “or—”

you press a finger to his lips. “not everything.” your grin turns sly, and you coquettishly bat your eyelashes. “i’m a virgin, after all, and must remain so for my future husband.”

gwilym laughs, tossing his head back. “is that so?”

you nod. “my maidenhood is the most sacred thing about me.”

“oh, we’ll see about that!”

with an easy maneuver, gwilym has you on your back. your giggles—girlish but edged with desire—circle his head like a drug. you swat at his shoulders when he braces himself over you, his mouth like a tattoo on your skin. he could stay like this forever—just you and him, the cherry blossom trees, and the endless sky. he would stay, too, but after your picnic dinner and an argument over the smartest literary character of all time (he insists sherlock holmes; you insist portia from the merchant of venice), he must walk you home before your grandfather begins to worry.

he wonders if the old man suspects anything. he comes to your house multiple afternoons a week under the guise of preparing you for university should you choose to go further with your education. that study time always floats from the kitchen table to the back garden to the grove of trees, and you’re gone for hours. you always return looking rumbled, your dress askew, his tie undone, but the old man never says a word if he does know the truth. for that, gwilym is thankful.

tonight, he leaves you at the backdoor. the sky is a blanket of stars, and the moon shines bright overhead. standing as you are on the lowest stair leading to the door, you can meet his eyes with ease, and you seem to appreciate the change in perspective. you run your hands through his hair, your fingernails grazing his scalp. his eyes flutter shut at the feeling, his grip on your hip tightening.

“don’t do that, [y/n],” he breathes.

you smirk. “why? do you like it?”

he grits his teeth and opens his eyes to level you a dark stare. “you know i do.”

grinning, you kiss him hard, enough to leave him breathless when you pull away. “tomorrow? same place?”

“i have a meeting tomorrow afternoon with the vicar. i’ll come by afterwards.”

you shake your head and smooth your hands against his shoulders. the action is so domestic, so wifely, he can’t help but picture you as his wife, sending him away for a day of work. “don’t bother. i think i’ll pop around for tea with constance. perhaps i’ll run into you then?”

gwilym audibly groans at the idea of seeing you in his own home, sat across from his landlady, smiling and laughing, all the while making eyes at him from across the table. he shivers—but not because of the cold. “you’re gonna be the death of me, girl.”

you touch his cheek with such tenderness it makes his knees weak. “i hope so.”

maryanne is the one who ultimately discovers and reveals your affair. even so, gwilym blames himself and himself alone. he got too comfortable. months of loving you in secret—months of tasting you and knowing you and cherishing you—cannot be hid behind a sullen face. and his face is not longer sullen. 

he finds himself smiling more, asking his students about their lives instead of their assignments. he grades easier, waves his hand at forgotten homework, prolongs lunch break so he can eat with you. perhaps the change in his demeanor was what sent maryanne on the hunt. that—or the fact she caught him kissing you amongst constance’s prized hydrangea bushes.

he hadn’t been positive if the flash of pink fabric and yellow hair was maryanne, so he’d never mentioned it to you. he’d just kept kissing you, though his attention had slipped and his movements turned distracted when he heard the rustle of a bush. he’d opened his eyes long enough to see the out-of-place pink nestled within the green bushes and blue flowers, but then the color was gone and you were whispering something filthy in his ear and it made him laugh. he’d forgotten; he’d gotten comfortable.

now he wishes he’d grabbed maryanne and forced her to keep her mouth shut. with two weeks until your graduation, time is of the essence. he’d lose you if anyone found out, and he wasn’t about to let that happen.

he hadn’t caught maryanne, though, and she’d rushed home to tell her mother who had promptly told the idiot john coulder who had informed the vicar and the vicar had come to relive gwilym of his teaching duties—no questions asked.

“you do realize what a mess you’ve made, haven’t you?” the vicar had said upon his arrival. “there will have to be an investigation. we don’t stand for this sort of thing in snowshill.”

gwilym hadn’t said anything. he’d simply loomed over the squat man and summoned as much of a glower as he could. it wasn’t very hard, not with his entire world crashing down around him.

he lies down that night and wonders what will become of him. he will be a social pariah, an outcast, the man who seduced a child, the teacher who coerced a student. it isn’t like that; he knows it and you do too. he loves you, though he hasn’t said as much. he suspects you love him too.

he could take you away from here. you could both start over somewhere new, where no one knows your names. the idea is tantalizing, and it wouldn’t be hard, but he knows you won’t leave your grandfather and niece behind.

there’s a knock on his bedroom door, and he sits up, hitting his head on the slope of the attic ceiling. rubbing the offended area, he frowns.

“who is it?”

“who do you think?” constance says, her tone as unamused as his.

“i’m not really in the mood for visitors.”

he knows she knows. he knows she stood in the front parlor and listened to every word the vicar spat at his feet. he just didn’t have the guts to look her in the eyes before he fled to his room.

“you missed supper, child. i’ve brought you a bowl of soup.”

reluctantly, gwilym slides from bed and goes to open the door. constance stands at the top of the stairs, wrapped in a purple robe, the neck lined with feathers. she pushes him a bowl of split-pea soup and swishes into the room to drop in the single, hard-backed chair. it creaks beneath her weight. he turns to look at her; the heat of the bowl burns his hands, and his palms tremble.

“constance, i—”

“i must admit that i’d hoped you would find a friend in [y/n] [y/l/n], perhaps even something more.”

his jaw slackens. “i’m sorry?”

“when you mentioned you were going to the coulder house for supper and she would be there, i knew she would do you well. i knew her mother before she died, and that girl has her mother’s tender heart. both could heal even the sternest of wounds.”

he blinks, looks away. yes, you could. you healed him, after all.

“i simply wished you would have been more careful. my hydrangea bushes are not the most secretive spot in the world.”

“you knew?”

she nods, her painted lips tight. “mhm. ever since you came home that first afternoon smelling too much like women’s perfume and sheep’s wool.”

gwilym drops to his bedside, the soup in his bowl sloshing with the movement. “why didn’t you say anything?”

she laughs as if she’s taken offense by his query. “i may concern myself with everyone’s business, gwilym, but it is not my business to go about spreading the business which i know.”

“you are a strange woman.”

“you are a man in love.”

he looks down at the rapidly-cooling food in his lap.

“i shouldn’t tell you this,” constance continues. “it will only make you hope, but i know what it is you’re feeling.”

he scoffs. “do you?” somehow he doubted that. constance, having never been married, knew more of felines than she did feelings. at least, any of the feelings roiling through his person now.

“when i was seventeen i had an affair with my teacher. he was young and handsome and charming, and i was happy. but we were found out, and he was run out of town. i never saw him again.”

“how is this supposed to give me hope?”

“my xavier was not given the chance to explain himself before his accusers. you are being afforded that opportunity. use it.”

“they’ve taken my position already. they can do nothing more. this hearing is a farce, and you know it.”

constance smooths the wrinkles of her dressing gown and flicks away a spot of imaginary dust as she shrugs. “prides goeth before the fall. remember that come thursday.” she rises. “you have the chance to keep her, gwilym. she turns twenty next month and will graduate in a fortnight. even if you leave snowshill together, will you be able to live with yourself knowing you did not defend her honor before the people who know her best? sleep on that, won’t you?”

she exits the room before he can respond, and he falls asleep to growing pit of desperation in his stomach.

there’s a ping against his window some time late wednesday night. it startles him out of his uneasy sleep, and he sits up, rubbing his eyes. when it happens again, he turns to look out the window over his head. nothing but the black, starless night sky and open meadow beyond constance’s gardens. he huffs. perhaps it had been a bird or—

another ping.

teeth gritted, gwilym flings his window open and peers into the darkness, straining his eyes to see. what he doesn’t see, he hears, despite his deafness.

“gwilym!” the whisper is harsh and frantic, but a beautiful melody nonetheless. somewhere in the darkness, you stand, looking up at him. “gwilym, come down here!”

he doesn’t need to be told twice.

forgoing his shoes, he tumbles down the stairs and into the back garden. the night is brisk, chilly, a precursor of what is to come at dawn. he finds you in the darkness, or maybe you find him, but you’re there, in his arms, and that’s all that matters. you cling to him, your hands fisted in his bedshirt, ear pressed against his chest. he hasn’t seen you since maryanne revealed your relationship to the world; you feel like heaven amidst hell.

“i don’t have much time,” you whisper. “mrs. coulder is at the farm, watching over me to make sure i don’t come to find you.”

gwilym draws back. he holds your face in his hands and is struck by how large his palms are against the side of your head. your hair feels soft under his shaking fingers. the tremor is back; it has been since his world collapsed. 

“are you alright? have they done anything to you?”

“i’m fine. the vicar questioned me yesterday, tried to make me confess that you’d pressured me into being with you, but i only told the truth.”

“the fucker,” he mutters. “i’m sorry you had to do that. the blame lies entirely with me.”

“don’t worry about me. you have to speak before everyone tomorrow.”

“and it’ll be fine.”

“will it?” tears sparkle in your eyes as you look up at him. “no one will accept us even if—”

he silences you with a kiss to the forehead. “hush, [y/n]. whatever happens will happen. so long as you are well cared for, it will all be fine.”

“you sound as if you’re prepared to go away.”

“if they ask me—”

“gwilym, you promised you wouldn’t leave.”

he looks down at you. god, he loves you. with every fiber of his being, he longs to make you his. but he’s reminded of constance’s story every time he thinks of you now, and he’s been imagining a new sort of life by your side. one filled with dirty looks and whispers around every corner; of evenings alone, no friends to call on, no family to worry over; of a job in a far off village which takes him on the road and leaves you to yourself in that overly large farmhouse; friendless children; lonely in old age.

can he subject you to such a life? a life so similar to the one you’d pulled him from? he’s not sure he can—and he’s begun to wonder if constance’s xavier did the right thing by leaving her, by giving her a second chance.

“i know i did,” he finally says.

“then why are you talking like this? like you want to go?”

he brushes his thumb over your bottom lip and feels his gut wrench. “that’s the last thing i want.”

you chin quivers beneath his fingers, and he removes his hand from your face. “then tell me what it is you’re planning to do. please, gwilym. don’t you owe me that?”

in lieu of answering you, he wraps his arms around your back, lifting you so your feet merely brush the carpet of grass. he kisses you softly, savoring the touch and tucking it away in his heart for a future moment. he wants to memorize the map of your skin beneath his fingers and the feel of your mouth on his. he wants to commit the smell of your hair and the contours of your body and the feeling of love that crashes over him to memory. he’s not sure if he’ll have a moment like this again, so he prolongs the touch until he can barely breathe. he returns you to solid ground and pulls away.

“gwilym—” you’re crying, and he wonders how he didn’t taste your tears.

“don’t come tomorrow. i don’t want you to hear what they say.”

you set your jaw. “i’ll be there. i won’t leave you.”

he knows you’re bating him to reveal his plan, but he won’t. until his dying day, he will protect you from harm. tonight, he must protect you from himself.

because he can’t help it, he grabs your elbow and pulls you in for a last bruising kiss. you circle your arms around his neck and cling to him, even as he tries to pull away.

“let me go, [y/n],” he whispers. 

you hold tighter, your eyes screwed shut as you shake your head. “no.”

“let me go, angel.” with some amount of effort, he pries you from his body. a rush of cold fills the spot where you’d stood, pressed against him. 

he turns away, returning to the cottage, but not before he sees you hide your face behind your hands and hears you sob softly into the darkness.

you arrive at the hearing dressed in red. the sight of you flanked by your grandfather, wearing your boldest, brightest red dress, almost makes him laugh. you’re nothing if not brave. 

standing in the doorway of the church, you survey the room, which is full to bursting. everyone has turned out for the event of the year, and the air is hot with sweat and summer and scandal. when your eyes meet his from across the room, he can’t help but offer a smile. you smile in return, and the softness around your eyes is a balm to his soul. you point to an empty pew in the back of the hall and take your seat. though your face is obscured, he can make out the shoulders of your bright dress from his place in a chair on the dais. 

he sits before the entirety of snowshill, the weight of the world pressed down on his shoulders. he feels close to vomiting, but he knows what he must do. he’s ready.

when the vicar begins the proceedings, outlining your entire affair in torrid detail, gwilym keeps his face set firm. his hand bunches the fabric at his thighs and his teeth press against his tongue but he’s calm to the untrained eye. it’s only when the vicar asks him to say his piece that his facade begins to crumble.

he stands too rapidly, and his chair crashes to the floor. he leaves it lying against the cobblestone. he opens his mouth and releases a squeak. heat rushes up the back of his neck, and he clears his throat. from her place in the front pew, constance leans forward, her brows knit tight in concern. his gaze skips to you and, standing now, he can see your face. 

you’re beautiful.

gwilym opens his mouth to speak. “everything you have said about me here today is true, vicar.” there’s a muffled gasp throughout the crowd, but he continues. “i did enjoy an illicit affair with my own pupil and, though i admit i should have perhaps waited to court the girl in question until after her graduation, i will not concede that what we did was wrong.”

the vicar’s hands curl around the pulpit, his face ashen. “have you no shame, sir?” 

“no shame in partaking in what the lord intended us for: communion and fellowship with one another.”

“how dare you!”

gwilym ignores him and returns his eyes to yours amidst the crowd. “if i am guilty of anything, i am guilty of doing as the lord commands us: loving my fellow man—or, in this case, woman. the greatest of these is love, i believe, yes? so yes, i am guilty, but guilty only of loving a woman whole-heartedly.” he pauses and feels the overwhelming urge to laugh bubble in his chest. “i love you, [y/n], and that is the truth. if that is my crime, i will bear it with honor.” 

tears blur his vision as he extends his hand to you. a beat of silence and then—

you stand, your red dress a spotlight among the sea of browns and greens and grays. you step into the aisle, smile, and he notes as you walk forward that his hand does not shake as he waits for you to reach his side.

[taking-over-his-life]

Changing ethnicity

It was a hot sultry night as I went onto the deck of the boat. We were moored in Hamburg, on board the Czar Nicholas a floating hotel and club. The event was a yearly event organised by an international male leather club. I had been downstairs enjoying the views, feels and arses of the guys I had fucked. 

I was soaking with sweat the leather clinging to every inch of me. I needed fresh air to cool down before I headed back inside for some more man on man fun. I headed towards the back of the ship and rested o the balcony. 

I was looking down at the water when I saw a shadow cast on the deck by a lit cabin. I bent over and saw the figure of a guy on the deck below. He was in the shadow but he looked tall, just like I liked my men. 

The clouds moved and the moonlight lit up his face. He had strong features, nose lips of a black man. He looked masculine and handsome. He moved out into the light. He was dressed in overalls; he must work on the ship. He was looking up at me. I smiled, he looked nervous. I smiled back at him, and looked round to find some stairs .

I went down to the next deck, to where he had been standing. There was no one else there as it was warmer, and busier in the ship. I looked around and I couldn’t see him. Suddenly there was a noise, from behind me. 

There he was standing behind a life boat. He looked straight at me. He was 6’5’ solid muscle, totally shaved head, huge lips and nose, deep black eyes. The perfect example of an African man. 

I started to walk towards him. He was sheepish. As I got closer I could smell him, he had been working down below, hard manual labour, and it had extracted every drop of sweat and pushed it onto his skin. 

The smell was intoxicating. His overalls were filthy with oil and dirt; well worn they were tight on his torso. I could see his huge dick through the material. The zip unzipped down to his dick, his dick hair showing. Black curly shining with sweat. I stood right next to him. I could feel the warmth from his breath. I put my fingers into his overalls and felt the top of his dick. He moved back, He looked nervous, “first time”, he said. With a strong Nigerian accent. “Don’t worry Mr” I said, he was very nervous, “come with me” I said as I tried to direct him by touching his shoulder. 

He shook his head. “I will be seen” he whispered. I looked him straight in the eye and held his hand. “I’m in cabin 235, come see me” I whispered. He shook his head, “5 minutes” I said I walked back to my cabin with my dick seeping pre cum into my leather jock. I waited in my cabin for half and hour and he didn’t arrive, so I came out into the corridor. 

I was delighted to see him standing there. He looking nervous as hell. I noticed his dick was hard and sweat was all over the underarms and the stomach of his overalls, he was shit scared. 

His black skin showed the beads of sweat on his forehead. I stood in the doorway and beckoned him in. I left the open door and walked inside. He looked around and rushed in. Once inside he shut the door and just stood there. “You are one handsome fucking man” I said, he was sweating, I walked over to him, “don’t be nervous”, I said. I pulled the overalls from his shoulders and they dropped down, he was wearing nothing underneath. He was so muscular no fat, a perfect specimen. 

I put my hand on his dick and suddenly it started to rise. I looked into his fear stricken eyes, moved my lips towards him, we kissed, and his huge lips felt so good, his smell so horny. I put my tongue in his mouth and he did the same to me, deep inside each others mouths, he started to suck all my spit and swallow it. 

Then we started to exchange breath, he sucked the air from my lungs and breathed it into his. As he did this his dick got bigger and bigger. I was rubbing my leather clad body against his bare skin and he was reciprocating, his leg rubbing against my leather covered dick.

 I felt his pecs, hard and muscular soaked in man sweat, his pits soaked in BO, I rubbed them on my face so his smell was on my beard. I gently licked at his pecs, taking all his sweat, and then running my tongue over his nips, he rubbed my leather clad back as we played. He didn’t say a word but the moans were enough to let me know he was is ecstasy. I got down on my knees so his huge dick was opposite my face. The manual labour had forced his sweat to soak his skin and hair. I licked the tip of his huge 12 inch thick dick, and he groaned. I put both my hands on his chest rubbing them across to his arse and then the tits, he was groaning with pleasure. I swallowed his dick every inch deep into my throat tasting his pre cum as he groaned with pleasure. 

One of my leather clad fingers was entering his arse, as his back rose, he was in heaven. I pulled myself of his monster of a cock, and looked up at him. “Sit on the bed” I said, he smiled, those huge white teeth, so horny. He was starting to relax with me. 

I unlaced his boots and took them off him smelling his stink on the leather, his feet were bare. “Do u like leather gear?” I said “Yes” he said sheepishly, “have you ever worn it?” “No” he said. I moved next to him “Would you like to?” I whispered “Oh yes please Sir” he said. I took off my jacket and then the shirt. so I was bare chested, he started to feel me all over rubbing with his huge hard hands, it was like electric, I was in heaven. He looked up at me “you like me?” “Very Much “I replied. “your skin feels so good” he whispered. “Id love to be white and look and dress like you” he said. I said nothing, it seemed a strange fantasy, but hey, who is normal. 

I pulled off my boots and breeches and threw them on the bed, he was still rubbing me, I was so hard. “I would love to be white” he said, looking at me sheepishly, what I said, “id like to be white.” “Why” I said, “you are beautiful, Id love a body like yours”. “Would you like to be me” he said. “I don’t know, but what a fantasy to play out” I retorted He reached over and took my leather jock off me smelt it and gently removed the cock strap from my dick. 

The feel of his hands had me moaning as pre cum poured in buckets from my dick. He put my cock strap onto his huge dick and it just seemed to get bigger, as be pulled the jock strap onto his cock and balls. It was followed by my breeches; he zipped them up his engorged cock showing its shape through the leather. 

He smiled at me and pointed to my feet. I took off my socks, he held them smelt them and then onto his feet they went, and then my boots sliding up his calves, I was getting hard watching him. The shirt was next. He was like a black God. I looked at him and got on top of him so I straddled him on the bed. Looking at him I was amazed at his beauty. I

 got some pills out the draw and took two and he took two also. I lay on him kissing and rubbing my body against his leather covered torso. As the drugs clicked it he positioned me over his dick and then lowered me on to it, it penetrated my arse entry and slid deep into me. “I want to be white mister, id like your body” he said, “Ok Mr Id love to be a black god like you” I replied. I felt I should play along. 

He said, he forced me further down. I started to shout when his huge hand came over and sealed my mouth, he stood up his dick slipped out, My ankles were on his huge shoulders, and the head of his dick was pushing against the muscles in my arse.

He was sweating so much his stink intoxicating, I held my arse cheeks and pulled them apart until the head of his dick penetrated my arse. He was forcing himself deep into me. I felt his body touching the back of my legs, warm, leather tight against his muscled legs. 

As I looked into his face, his deep black eyes stared back at me. His muscled arms were rubbing my chest and playing with my tits, my dick was hard as iron, and seeping. He kept wiping my precum on his huge hand and licking it, enjoying every moment. “Be me” he said “change places, become a black man”. he took his hand away and started to kiss me, his huge lips enveloped my mouth, they felt so soft so warm, I tingled with excitement, his tongue went into every groove in my mouth as he suck out my gob, and then released his into my mouth, exchanging fluids, his tongue caressed every part of my mouth, and he then started to rebreath, he was taking my breath into his lungs, its as if he was stripping me away inside and taking what was mine replacing it with his, . 

There were beads of sweat dropping from his forehead onto my face I moved my mouth so I caught them and I swallowed them, they tasted so, so good, he was so deep inside of me , my back arching as he lunged his dick deeper and deeper in me, he was at least 12 ins and thick, 

I was in pain but enjoying it, his huge hands on my shoulders holding me down, then he started to pant, deep breaths, I looked straight into his eyes, I seemed to get lost in the blackness, then he started to pump his cum into me, his back arching as he pushed deep into me, I looked at the sweat pouring from every pour the look on his face, he got deeper harder pints and pints filling me up with his black dna He was exhausted and pulled out of me, it felt so good and he lay beside me in silence. 

He was soaking; I took the opportunity and rubbed myself on him We dropped off. When I awoke he was standing over the other side of the room wearing my gear, black leather on every inch of him He looked tremendous “This is who I want to be” he said, and looked me in the eye, he bent down picked up his overall, threw it at me, “wear this” he commanded. 

It was dark blue, well worn, with oil and grime, It was soaked in his sweat, the arms we dark dark blue and smelt of his pits and the back soaked. 

There were stains of pre cum where his dick had been I took my left leg and pulled it on, then the right. I manoeuvred my arms into it and pulled it over my back. It was so damp, so smelly so horny so dirty. “Imaging being me he said, you could have this body, all I need is your DNA in me”. I looked at him and thought Id play along, “yes I am you Mr I’m the black man look at me in your gear. Imaging if this overall was your skin.” 

He got excited at the thought of me wanting to be him. He pulled down my leather breeches he was wearing and revealed a black arse two full plump muscular cheeks, “screw me white boi” he commanded. My dick was so hard and I just lunged into him. 

I pushed and my precum and his sweat lubricated the entrance to his hole, with little resistance I went in. My balls banged against his legs as I pushed, deep deep penetrating sex, “give me your DNA” he shouted as he clenched his buttocks. “I want to be u”. “You’ll be a white man soon, and me black, I want your body boi” I shouted. I was in ecstasy and came so suddenly spurting into him. For some reason I was trapped in his arse, 

I couldn’t pull out and I was just spurting away my inners into him. Not that I wanted to stop, and then it happened, I felt so weak, but my dick was still pumping I couldn’t stop it. I fell on his leathered back in exhaustion still inside of him. I felt his warmth through the leather which was intoxicating. I moved my hands to his neck. “WHAT” I shouted out. I looked at my hands and they were getting darker, his neck lighter Every part of me was changing; I felt muscles and skin moving, changing getting bigger, stronger, and darker. I looked over to the mirror and could see that my skin was darker than before and my chest seemed bigger, the pecs standing out more, my arse was more pronounced, and I felt bigger and stronger. 

I felt my face, my lips were bigger than before, we were changing. I was trapped inside him as I fucked his tight arse I couldn’t stop even if I had wanted too, but strangely I didn’t. I felt like I was flowing into him every bit of me inch by inch. Next time I looked I had got darker, my hands changing, I felt stronger, and He was getting whiter and whiter, I tried to pull out but couldn’t, I could feel my DNA flowing into him pumping deeper into his guts as his took control of me, “stop this I shouted,” only it wasn’t my voice. It was deeper with an accent. 

Then suddenly I stopped pumping and his ass released my dick I was exhausted, covered in sweat, the overalls soaked stinking of black man. I fell back on the bed, and so did he. 

He looked at me and me at him, He had my face my looks my body, he was smiling, “I’m the white man now”. He said I looked down at the bulge through the sweaty overalls, it was huge I could see the shape of my new dick and balls, as I look it started to grow. I had never felt anything so sexually strong before. It was now my dick my balls. I was shocked at the changed. I pulled off the overalls to reveal my new body, I held this new thick 12 inch monster in my huge black hands, I stared to feel my pert but, huge calf’s six pack muscled arms, then my shaved head, huge nose and lips, I smelt divine, I went to the mirror, fuck I was enormous strong hard, pure male. 

I liked it. My skin felt so silky, so sensual. I saw him enjoying his new role, I wanted to try out my new dick and so grabbed him, he looked at me, “thanks “he said, I pulled down the breeches and forced my huge dick deep inside of him, as I spoke my voice was deep, and my accent African. 

He looked and sounded like me. I came deep in him, “enough” he said, “You had better go now”. “Go where, this is my cabin” I said, “no, its mine now”. He opened the door. “Get out” he shouted. “Or Ill fucking have you thrown out” I’m the white man now, who will believe you, leave or else” he shouted, laughing. “Come back in the morning and we will change back, I want to spend the night as you” he said He threw the overall over to me “put it on” he said, I was so confused at what had happened. 

I couldn’t believe it, and dressed and put on the boots, he pushed me out and closed the door. As I walked down the corridor I couldn’t believe what had happened. This body was so different. The smell the feelings the strength, everything was better. My dick was rampant as I thought about what had happened, but I was lost who was I? As I turned a corner, another black guy came up to me put his hand on my shoulder, “Jau, lets get some sleep we have had hard day”. 

We walked to a staircase that led down into the bowels of the ship, and went to a two bunk room. He got on the top and I stripped and lay on the bottom, “day off tomorrow” he said. I woke at 1000 am and rushed upstairs to exchange, it had been good but, a worker on a ship really wasn’t me. When I got to the cabin it was being cleaned, “where’s the man that was here” I said to the cleaner,” he left at 5am this morning” she said , “FUCK” I exclaimed. I looked around everything of mine was gone. 

I ran out and down to the dock, the bike wasn’t there, he had got away with my body my life, he had taken my place as a white man and left me in this body, I didn’t know what to do. I went back to the cabin and looked in what was now my locker. 

There were some Levis and cowboy boots along with other clothes. I decided to get showered. I went into the shower and started to soap myself down. As I did I felt the new me, fuck was it good, hard muscles, tight black curly hair on my chest legs and arms, my new dick was rising to the occasion. I started to rub and it exploded pints of cum shooting feet into the air. I washed off. After drying I put his white T shirt on, it shaped to my new torso and showed of my pecs, then the 501s, they just stuck to my legs and dick, the belt. I looked at myself, god my dick stood out in the jeans and they caressed my huge thighs. Then the socks and 12 inch cowboy boots, god I looked good, I picked up the jacket and I was off to the local gay clubs. 

As I walked I looked at myself in the windows, fuck I was incredible, how anyone could give this up. I felt so powerful, my dick was seeping as I walked along, it was so uncomfortable in those tight jeans, but boy did it attract attention, from everyone. I arrived at the club, and went it . It was full of smoke and a mixture of men. My eye caught a black leather man in the corner. 

And I know he was looking at me. I had seen him in my old body but he wasn’t interested, this time was different He walked over to me and said “nice arse MR,” I looked him in the eyes, “you want a piece” I said, “fuck yes I do” he replied. “OK your place?” I said He smiled,” Your forward, follow me” he said. We walked a mile or so to his home. He had all the top quality leathers a bluff man he would have bike the lot. 

I needed a black identity to stay here, maybe I could take his. It wasn’t long before we were on the bed, deep into each. Black on black. We were the same size height, who would know the difference. It was about 4am when I woke up, he was beside me fast asleep; I pushed him to make sure no movement. I turned him on his face, and spread his legs, I started to lick him out so deep, and he tasted unbelievable. 

I found his leather pants and put them on then the socks and boots, woof. I searched the house and found his name Guy Slaney and date of birth etc, I studied, suddenly he walked in, “what are you doing” he shouted, I looked at him, stood up, “taking your identity”, he looked confused. “I need someone to go back to Nigeria in my place, that’s you, OK?” I said “What the fuck”, he exclaimed, he started to run, 

I grabbed him by his waist and pushed him to the floor, I fell on top of him, “now relax “I said as he struggled, “its easier that way”, he was terrified, I saw some rings on his fingers and pulled them off putting them on mine, then some chains round his neck they transferred as well. “You’re a hot man I will soon take your place Mr how does that feel”? With that I pushed my dick inside of him 

[gainerstories]

Freshman Fatties: Chapter 7

The rest of the school year passed in a blur of chubby lovemaking for Benjamin and Andy, interrupted only by the stresses of final exams. Andy was particularly excelling in school now that he didn’t have to worry about football. His grades improved drastically and he actually found himself enjoying classes, instead of seeing them as a stressor. Both boys found themselves increasingly distant from the outside world, focusing primarily on each other, eating, and school. Naturally, they continued to gain weight at a surprising pace. Their week of maximum gains seemed to kick their appetites into overdrive and both were constantly munching on something.

By the last week of school Andy had gained an additional thirty pounds and was now clocking in at nearly three hundred and fifty. The former football star had officially put on over one hundred pounds since he began university, and the effects on his daily life were noticeable. Tying his shoes became a difficult feat with Benjamin usually stepping in to help. His chub rub and heartburn were through the roof and for the first time he was finding it difficult to get around. No matter the weather, walking to class caused him to break a sweat. The worst was that he no longer fit in auditorium seating. The flimsy tabletops only allowed about a foot of belly fat before they couldn’t be used. This meant Andy had to begin using the handicap seating.

Andy’s gut was truly a mountain of lard that passersby would often gawked at. It entered the room before he did, and would loudly announce its discomfort when hungry or too full. Andy had to buy all new T-shirts to cover his rounded stomach, and even still he couldn’t tell when his belly was hanging out anymore. It wouldn’t be until he waddled to the bathroom that he’d realize he’d been putting on a show all day. At first, he wasn’t a fan of the bright red stretchmarks that were constantly showing up all over his body, but Benjamin talked down those anxieties. The former twink now lathered his boyfriend in cocoa butter every night before bed to soothe the itching and redness.

In the same amount of time Benjamin had gained about fifteen pounds, sitting plump and pretty at two hundred and thirty five pounds total. His weight gain continued to distribute more evenly than his counterpart, with only a bit of extra hanging from his stomach and rear. For the first time, Benjamin had a bit of an overhang that wobbled and bounced with each step. He also found auditorium seating recently difficult, but he could still fit behind the desks unlike his boyfriend. Benjamin also struggled with clothing. It seemed as though he’d outgrow something as soon as he purchased it and he beginning to get frustrated.

“Look at these joggers!” Benjamin exclaimed. “The elastic is at max capacity now and I just bought them. They’re so uncomfortable! And this shirt? Sure it covers me but its always riding up on my sides. Like after a few steps these love handles are catching the breeze.”

“Hey, at least you can feel the breeze,” Andy retorted. “I can’t count the amount of days I’ve waltzed around with my gut on display.”

“God, who knew getting fat would change how you exist in the world so much.”

“Come talk to me when you have to sit to pee, little one.”

“Hey, you never know. Someday, probably. You just had a head start Mr. Ex-Jock,” Benjamin replied and thwacked his boyfriend’s gut. “I’m just sick of buying clothes is all. It’s getting expensive.”

“Hey why don’t you take some clothes of mine. I definitely have a few shirts I only wear under things because my belly hangs out,” Andy suggested.

The former jock lumbered to his closet and pulled out a few tees, a button-up, and a jacket.

“How about these? They’ll definitely fit you.”

“I don’t know… I’ve learned it’s probably best to stay away from buttons. But I’ll take the shirts,” Benjamin grabbed the clothes and held them to his face. “Mmm they smell like you too. Maybe I’ll wear one of these to the party tonight.”

“Wait, what party? You didn’t tell me about a party?”

“Andrew Zalinski’s party… at University Tower? I told you, like, last week.”

“I don’t know Benjamin… I don’t know if I’m up for that.”

“Come on! You promised. And we never get out of the house and socialize. This will be good for us.”

The couple arrived at the party fashionably late. Both wore the loosest fitting clothing they owned which was still tight, skintight in Benjamin’s case. The apartment was already packed and the air was stuffy with body sweat. Andy was already sweating from walking there and Benjamin could feel beads of sweat developing in his pits and back. The struggled to squeeze through the crowd into the kitchen, where they each grabbed a beer. Neither saw anyone they knew for the first half hour, sticking side by side and guzzling booze. Finally some mutual friends showed up and they all began to chat and nervously drink in excess.

“Hey, so,” Eliza, a drunken fellow lit major began while looking at Andy, “we’ve all heard how you got kicked off the team for being too fat. And like sure, athletes get fat in school, maybe not this fat,” she gestured at Andy wildly, “but sure they get fat… But you my dear twink,” she turned to Benjamin, “twink? Are you even a twink anymore?”

“Eliza you’re being rude,” someone cut in.

“It’s just a little shocking to see is all!” She continued, “Like you both got hella fat hella fast. I’m curious what the story is!”

“Eliza, stop!” someone else shouted.

“Hey, it’s true though,” a random voice chimed in.

Andy’s face grew beat red and Benjamin decided to step in, “No, I mean, yeah… It’s true. We put on some weight, like relationship weight you know? We don’t mind, we actually are kinda enjoying it.”

“Look,” a different friend stepped in, “I think Eliza is just worried about you guys. Are you doing okay?”

“No,” Eliza drunkenly interrupted, “Eliza is curious how the sex works with that big belly.”

Eliza pulled up Andy’s shirt and gave his gut a shake and multiple people bellowed “ohh shiiit.” The boys exchanged glances and Benjamin decided to lift his shirt too and give it a stong shake with both hands. He noticed a few people had their phones out and he continued with the show.

“More cushion for the pushin’,” Benjamin exclaimed and the room erupted in laughter. He kissed Andy on the cheek and announced, “I think it’s time we do a shot. Eliza, my recommendation is that you get ploughed by a chubby guy. It’s done wonders for me! After that all your questions will be answered!”

At this point several people were watching the scene unfold, snapping photos and videos for social media. Andy hated all the attention, but was turned on by how Benjamin had reclaimed the situation. They stumbled into the kitchen and threw back a shot and then one more. Andy then grabbed Benjamin by the hand and led him into the bathroom, locking the door. The former jock plopped himself on the toilet and pushed his boyfriend against the wall in front of him.

“That was so hot, you fat fucking faggot,” Andy slurred.

He unzipped Benjamin’s pants and took his cock in his mouth.