#1) you get that when you move out. I don’t think a messy kitchen table is going to give us marks against that while we’re living here.

[rambling-robot]

I am once again failing the hidden social test with no correct answer, which is, “this person is mad because I’m not visibly upset and I’m staying calm and even good-natured while talking to them.” Like… do you want me to be getting mad at you in return? Do you want me to create a stress loop where I’m visibly anxious and your anxiety feeds off of it? You’re saying what I’m doing is wrong, but the alternative is worse, so ?????

[spicyspiders]

old man logan part 2

3.1k words

logan isn't as mean in this, but there are still moments when he is, like when he forces the reader to drink a glass of whisky he poured for him because he doesn't want him to waste it.

part 1

You wanted to give the guy a chance, but fuck, you just weren’t interested. You thought it’d be a good idea, after all, your mother told you she didn’t want you spending your whole summer at home. You assumed what she meant was a summer job, but you thought going on a date would be more entertaining. 

It wasn’t really the guy’s fault though, your mind was much too occupied by the thought of Logan. It has been two weeks since then and your mind hasn’t stopped thinking about it since that day. The only interaction you’ve had with him since then was nods and glances when you saw him outside. 

A week after that day, you learned of his change of heart. It became much louder outside after Logan returned all of the lost toys in his backyard, much happier. You even made a comment about it to your date. 

“That was sweet of him,” the man said from across the table at the bar. 

“Yeah. It sure was,” you responded, trying not to smile too hard. 

“Why do you think he had a change of heart?” Your date asked. 

You quickly changed the subject after he asked, not wanting to give anymore details away. “Sorry,” you pointed to one of your ears, “it’s pretty loud in here.”

”Do you wanna,” he pointed at the door, his eyes bright under the light of the bar. 

You nodded and gathered your things to pay your tab, the sweet taste of the drink you had earlier was still at the back of your throat. Only having one drink at the bar meant it was easy to come up with another excuse to get in your car and drive home. 

The man looked disappointed, but he quickly perked up after you pressed a kiss to his cheek with the promise of next time whispered into his ear. 

“How was your date?” Logan asked when you got out of your car, “not so good I guess since you’re home before sundown,” he let out a cruel laugh. 

“It was just one drink,” you responded as you shut your car door. 

“What,” he tossed the rag he had just cleaned his motorcycle with over his shoulder, “he not want to invite you inside for a nightcap?”

”A nightcap?” You grimaced, “how old are you?”

Logan chuckled, “don’t get mad at me,” he said, stepping closer and into your driveway, “I’m sure he would’ve invited you in if he knew how easy you were,” he said quietly, not close enough for you to smell the cleaner on the rag. 

“Next time he’ll know,” you said, crossing your arms. 

The laugh Logan lets out is loud and booming, much too loud for the time of evening it was, “you’re telling me,” Logan says once he’s gotten his laughing under control, “you don’t put out on the first day?”

“I do when I want to. My mind’s been just a little,” you pause, looking away from Logan’s eyes and definitely not down to his lips, “occupied.”

“Why don’t we go inside and talk about it,” Logan whispers. 

Logan wastes no time getting his hands on you once you’re behind his door. His hands are warm on your hips as he presses you into the door. The kiss is not at all like the one you pressed to your date’s cheek earlier, it’s rough and messy and just what you expected. 

“What’d you drink earlier?” Logan panted after pullings away from the kiss, “it tastes like you swallowed a pound of candy,” he says, looking disgusted. 

“That’s how I like my drinks. Besides, I only had one,” you watched as Logan stepped back and walked to his kitchen, “it shouldn’t be that bad!” You yelled at his back. 

You could hear the sound of cabinets slamming and glass hitting the counter before Logan’s voice followed he sound, “get in here.” He spoke again after you were beside him leaning against the countertop, “I’m putting you on the good stuff. None of that sugary bullshit,” he said as he poured a glass of whisky. 

“I think you just wanted an excuse to drink,” you said as he moved to the second glass. 

“I don’t need an excuse to drink. I’m a grown man, and so are you. You’re too old for that-”

”Sugary bullshit,” you say, cutting him off, rolling your eyes, “I know.”

“A toast,” Logan says after picking up his glass, “to trying new things.” 

You weren’t going to tell Logan you’ve had whisky before, but you play up your reaction just to save his ego. You cough even though you’re used to the burn and make a face of disgust even though you’re used to the taste. 

With a laugh, Logan claps a hand on your back, “it’s not a shot, you’re supposed to savor it,” which was ironic for him to say given how quickly he drank his. With his hand wrapped around the neck of the bottle, he looked at you expectantly.

”What,” you snapped. 

“Drink it,” Logan commanded, “you don’t waste my whiskey.”

“You drink it,” you said back.

Slowly, Logan takes the glass as he steps in front of you and crowds you up against the counter. His eyes stay locked to yours as he takes the rest of what was in your glass into his mouth. You wait for him to swallow, but instead he wraps his other hand around the back of your neck and gets in real close. 

“Open,” he says around the liquid in his mouth. 

You have no choice but to comply, especially when his hand tightens on the back of his neck. The whisky trickles into your mouth, along your tongue, and then down your throat in a warm path. You lick your lips, the tip touching Logan’s as you try to gather the bit that fell from the side of your mouth. 

Logan’s thumb gathers it before he pushes it into your mouth, “good boy,” he murmurs when you suck the taste from his skin. 

He pulls his thumb from your mouth and then back down your chin where the liquid had dripped, leaving another wet trail. He kisses you again, this time much slower. His tongue runs along yours and all you can taste is a mix of whisky and something that is all Logan. 

“You really are easy,” Logan says when he pulls away from the kiss, one of his hands moving to your hard cock tenting your pants, “look at how hard you are,” he says like he’s in awe of a brilliant discovery. “Bedroom?” He asks with a smirk.

“Wouldn’t standing for too long hurt your back?” You respond, biting back your smile as you watch his smirk fall. 

“Little fuckin’ smartass,” Logan grumbles as he hoists you over his shoulder, “I gotcha,” he says at your noise of surprise, making sure to pat your ass for good measure. 

“I can walk,” you say to him after you’re thrown onto his bed.

”Not after this,” Logan responds, swooping down to mash your lips together. With his knee, he made space between your legs for his body and used his hands to lift your legs and get them around his waist. 

You moaned into the next kiss Logan initiated as he rolled his hips to grind your cocks together. For what felt like hours, Logan thrust your cocks together through your clothes. It made you feel like a teenager again, especially with how close you felt when Logan finally pulled away to pull his shirt off. 

You wanted to look over to see if you could see into Logan’s closet to see if tank tops were all he wore. You’d give him props though if they were at least different colors. It’s too bad Logan’s chest was too distracting. 

You ran your fingers up Logan’s chest, gliding through his dark chest hair until you reached his broad shoulders. You used them as a sturdy purchase to pull yourself up to get your mouth against his again. You ran your nails down Logan’s back and he pulled back and let out a noise of pain which had your cock throbbing. 

Free from the kiss, you leaned down to the expanse of Logan's neck to bite at the skin. Above you, Logan moaned when you ran your tongue along the mark you just bit into his skin, the flesh tasting like sweat. 

Logan pulled you back face to face with a hand on the back of your neck. His breaths hit your face as he panted from the pleasure, his eyes dark and full of lust. He pressed a chaste kiss to your kiss before pulling away again to get your clothes off. 

“No underwear?” He asked, a smile stretching out across his face. 

“You didn’t have any on either,” you responded. Logan’s hard cock bobbed in the air between your bodies, but he didn’t let you touch it as he pushed you back down onto the bed once your shirt was off. 

“I’m in my own home,” Logan said as he wrestled your pants off and threw them into the pile of your clothes. 

“You were outside when I got home,” you said, wrapping your hand around the back of his neck to pull him into another kiss. 

“I was waiting for you,” Logan said against your mouth after he pulled away, “you’ve been ignoring me,” he said, nipping at your bottom lip.

”I’ve been busy,” you said before grabbing two handfuls of Logan’s ass to get your cock against his. Your head fell back into one of the pillows on Logan’s bed as your cocks rubbed together, making a mess of precum.

”Whoring yourself out,” Logan said into the column of your neck before he bit harshly into the skin. He held himself up on his forearm, his other being used to go between your legs, past your cock and to your hole. 

He groaned around the skin between his teeth as he circled the pad of his finger around the tight furl of your hole, “you’re fuckin’ killing me,” Logan said, his forehead falling to your neck. “This all for me?” He asked, almost mockingly. 

“Sometimes I like doing the shower if I’m home alone,” you say with a groan when Logan rubs your cocks together again. 

“Yeah? You gotta go fast before mommy and daddy get home?” Logan asks as he presses the edge of his finger to the opening. “Who were you thinkin’ about hmm?” He asks, looking at you with his dark eyes. 

“You thinkin’ about that guy you were gonna go on a date with as you took your shower this morning?” Logan asked, his finger touching your hole, but not yet pressing inside. “Or me? Cause you already knew he wasn’t going to satisfy you,” Logan says, finally pressing his finger inside. 

Logan’s finger met the remnants of the lube you weren’t able to wash from your hole, slicking the way so that his finger could go all the way to the hilt. He moved his finger slowly, not pulling it out, but instead moving it around enough for you to become accustomed to it. 

He leaned down to kiss you just as slowly as he worked his finger, his tongue moving to the rhythm of his finger as he mapped out your mouth. He pulled his tongue from your mouth as his finger left and swallowed the soft noise you let out. 

Quickly Logan left and came back with a bottle of lube after rifling through his nightstand. Back on the bed, he got behind you and got you onto your side and lifted one of your legs up and rested it against his muscular bicep.

His finger, now wet with lube, touched the edge of your hole, spreading lube along the skin. It glided inside as Logan pressed his lips to yours. He kissed and kissed and kissed you as he got you ready for his cock that laid on his thigh. 

The only interruption to your lips was when Logan found your prostate with his two fingers. “There we are,” Logan whispered after he pulled away. For a moment, he fucked his two fingers into your prostate, milking the bundle of nerves until your cock gushed precum. 

You felt full by the third finger, not thinking you could take more, but when you looked down at Logan’s cock, everything in you wanted to try. Logan’s fingers went to your chin to turn your face away and back to kiss him, and all you could focus on was pleasure as his fingers on your prostate turned your brain to mush.

After Logan pulled his fingers free from your hole, he rolled you onto your stomach. He pressed kisses to the side of your neck, right on your hammering pulse as he slicked up his cock. Logan pressed his sweaty forehead to the back of your head as he lined his cock up to your hole. 

You bit into the pillow as the head of Logan’s cock entered your hole. If it felt intense, the rest of the length of cock was damn near overwhelming. You sobbed into the pillow when Logan bottomed out, clenching on his cock as you tried to adjust. 

“Fuckin’ hell, bub,” Logan groaned as he let his weight fall on top of you. 

“Don’t,” you started, but your words fell into a moan when Logan circled his hips, “call me bub while your dick is inside me.”

“What should I call you then? Boy?” He asked, his breaths hitting your ear, “you gonna be a good boy and take my cock?” He questioned, pulling his cock from your hole. “Or should I call you my bitch,” he said as he bottomed out again, “you already take me so well and we’ve just gotten started.”

Every time Logan pulled out and thrust back in, you could swear you could feel his cock in your stomach, like he was carving out a spot inside you just for him. His hips slapped against your ass as he held you down with his hands on your hips, selfishly taking his pleasure through the use of your body.

“Fuckin, wanted you since I first saw you,” Logan said after he thrust all the way inside and ground his hips on your ass, getting his cock as deep as it could go, “knew you would take my cock so well,” he said, biting into your shoulder. 

He roughly flipped you over and placed one of your legs on his shoulder. His cock was back inside with a swift thrust, Logan’s hand on the ankle on his shoulder. Once all the way in, he pressed his lips to your ankle and then nearly bent you in half to get his lips on yours again. 

Again and again Logan pulled his cock from your body to thrust it back inside, and again and again Logan’s cock would nail your prostate. Since the brush of his fingers, there was a burn in your stomach, one that Logan made grow brighter and hotter. 

“This everything you wanted?” Logan asked, not even giving you the chance to answer before he had his lips on yours. You moaned into each other’s mouths when Logan’s hand wrapped around your hard cock and stroked to the thrusts of his hips. 

Your orgasm hit you like a wave of the coldest water, washing over the burn Logan started. The force of it had your back arching off the bed into Logan’s body as stripes of white spurted messily over his fist and between your bodies. 

Logan answered the moans you let out with ones of his own as you clenched down on his cock over and over again, and it wasn’t long until his thrusts came to a halt. Logan came with a shout, his arms wrapping around your body as he let his weight fall on top of you once more. His body gave involuntary twitches as the aftershocks hit and whimpers of pleasure fell from his mouth and into the crook of your neck where his head was buried. 

You raised a hand and ran your fingers through Logan’s sweaty hair, the man raising his head at the contact. He kissed you softly, taking in the soft noise you let out as he shifted and his cock slipped free. After one last kiss, he lifted himself up and walked from the room. 

You stretched out like a cat on Logan’s bed, your cock twitching when you felt Logan’s cum leak from your hole. 

“Comfortable?” Logan asked after he returned, your face smushed into a pillow. 

Like earlier, you could hear the clink of glasses being set down, but new was the sensation of a warm cloth on your skin. You just hoped it wasn’t the one he used to clean his motorcycle earlier. 

“Should I clean you with this?” Logan asked, his lips dragging along your neck. Warm drops hit your back, making you gasp, “or my mouth?”

”What type of lube did you use? Strawberry lube doesn’t taste too bad,” you said tiredly into the pillow. 

“Slut,” Logan responded, sounding almost fond as he wiped you down. “I should take a picture before I clean you up,” he said to himself but loud enough for you to hear after spreading your asscheeks to look at your fucked out hole.   

You rolled over when Logan turned you over with a hand on your hip to get your front. You hissed as the wet warmth came into contact with your soft cock. “Ah,” you moaned at the overstimulation. 

“Hush,” Logan commanded, “you can take it,” he whispered, his body inching closer when your hips came off the bed. “That’s my boy,” Logan praised once you relaxed back onto the bed. 

He left once more to toss the rag away before he joined you back on the bed. He reached onto the bedside table for the bottle of whisky and glasses he brought up. It was quiet for a few moments as he poured you each a glass, save for the hum of the air conditioner. 

“You gonna see him again?” Logan asked after he took a sip. 

You glanced over at Logan, watching how his eyes were trained on the sloshing liquid in the glass, “something came up,” you responded, smiling down into your glass before you raised it and took a sip. 

Logan shifted closer and wrapped an arm around your shoulder. He raised his glass and you clinked yours with his before you both took another sip.

[nishimuramp4]

untitled #1

synopsis: your roommate riki is a little messy, very annoying, but relatively normal. sometimes, though, you find that he acts very strange...

content warnings: unrealistic sex, dubcon, blood, mild body horror

The faucet had been left on again, a gentle yet steady stream of water draining into the kitchen sink. You sighed, twisted the knob, and called, “Riki!” behind your shoulder. 

Soon, Riki walked into the room, leaning his elbows on the counter space in front of the sink. “What is it?” he asked, feigning innocence. As if you couldn’t see the smirk twitching on the corner of his lips. 

“Stop leaving the water on,” you admonished. “This is the third time this week I’ve had to tell you to turn it off after you're done with it."

Riki shrugged and reached over, twisting the knob again. You twisted it back, and he turned the water on again, snickering to himself. “You’re not funny,” you said.

Riki pointed at your lips. “Then why are you smiling?” 

“I’m not,” you said, fighting a grin. If you didn’t put your foot down now, he would never learn. You maintained a stoic expression as best as you could. “Look, if you leave the water on, it’ll start to add up, and then we’ll have to pay more.”

“Please.” Riki waved his hand dismissively and straightened up, walking over to the bowl of lustrous fruit that tucked next to the paper towel holder. He picked up a ripe, red apple and moved to lean against the fridge, tossing the fruit from hand to hand. “You’re worrying too much. It’s just a little trickle of water, it’ll cost like five dollars extra, max.”

“Or,” you said slowly, “you could just turn the faucet off when you’re done using the sink.”

Riki rolled his eyes and took a bite out of the apple. Its juice dribbled down his lips, and he wiped it away with his thumb, sucking on the digit with an exaggerated pop. If you didn’t know any better, you would think that he was trying to distract you. “Does it really bother you?”

“Wasting money bothers me,” you grumbled. “Now move. I need to get something out of the fridge.”

In true Nishimura fashion, he didn’t budge. Instead, Riki crossed his arms and grinned slightly at you before taking another bite of his apple. “I don’t wanna move,” he said, his voice taking on a childish cadence. 

“Get out of the way,” you said. Riki was normally frustrating, but sometimes, he would drag a joke on for far too long. When you had first moved in together after meeting on a roommate app, he had pulled pranks on you, almost as if to set a precedent for his devilry. Riki had put spray foam on the mirror in the bathroom the two of you shared, replaced the knives you had brought with cheap plastic alternatives, and had stuck little pom-poms to the edges of all of the pieces of furniture in the home. Your kitchen table, the matching chairs, the small coffee table in your miniscule living room: all adorned with multicoloured pom-poms. You had grown accustomed to them, so you didn’t bother peeling them off. 

Riki sank his teeth into his apple once more, no longer bothering to hide his self-satisfied smirk. “Nope.”

Groaning, you tried to pry him off the fridge yourself. “Get off.”

 Despite his lithe, skinny frame, Riki was strong and easily pulled you away. One hand held you in place. Riki lowered his head towards yours, widening his eyes. “What’s the magic word?” His tone was condescending, as though he were a teacher and you were a child. 

“Fuck off?”

“That’s two words,” Riki said, using the same patronizing voice. “Come on, just one word.”

You sighed. “Please?”

Riki let go of you and stood away from the fridge, choosing to prop himself up against the kitchen counter. “Was that so hard?”

Mumbling expletives under your breath, you picked out a few vegetables. Fried rice had been on your mind for a while, and your stomach was starting to growl. 

“What are you making?” Riki asked, following your movements as you procured a bamboo cutting board and one of the flimsy, hot pink plastic kitchen knives Riki had bought. 

“I’m making fried rice,” you said. “You can starve, though.” Wielding the knife, you began to cut into a medium-sized carrot. Chopping vegetables was a laborious, painstakingly slow process now because of Riki. When you cut anything now, the pieces always end up jagged. You had tried to negotiate, but Riki was adamant on keeping these stupid novelty cutlery pieces. Whatever. It wasn’t the only weird trait of his that you had had to tolerate. 

Through a mouthful of apple, Riki said, “You wouldn’t let me starve.” 

“I would,” you said, eyebrows knitting in concentration. 

“Don’t be mean,” Riki murmured. Hands hung loosely around your neck, and Riki’s scent permeated your nostrils. His chest pressed lightly against your back, startling you. The knife slipped, and you nicked your index finger.

“Ah!” You stared at the small bead of blood pooling at its tip in annoyance. “Look at what you made me do,” you began, but the look on Riki’s face was enough to stop you in your tracks. His lips were contorted into a grimace, and he had ripped his arms away from you. His eyes, too, were fixed on your finger. 

“Band-aid,” he said quietly. “You need one.” With that, Riki stumbled out of the kitchen to go to the bathroom. 

You shook your head and ran your fingertip under cool water from the sink, watching the redness spill into the clear liquid. It was more of a shock that you hadn’t cut yourself before, given what you had to work with. 

Riki came back less than a minute later, thrusting the box of band-aids in your direction. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

“It’s fine,” you said. “Could you open a bandaid for me? Don’t wanna get blood everywhere.” You turned off the water and blotted your fingertip with a paper towel. 

“Sure,” Riki said, his voice thin. He nearly dropped the box of bandages as he hastily tried to peel apart the strips of paper covering the bandaid. “Uh, finger. Give me your finger.”

“Weird phrasing,” you said with a slight laugh. You held your finger up and Riki hesitated to apply the bandage. A trickle of blood slipped down your pointer. “Riki? What are you doing?”

Riki’s eyes were fixed on your finger, but he blinked and pressed the bandaid unceremoniously onto the cut. “There,” he said. “Saved the day.” Riki swallowed and looked at his half-eaten apple. He washed his hands in the sink and ate his apple furiously while you cleaned up the rest of your blood.

“Maybe if you let us have regular knives, this wouldn’t have happened,” you said. The plastic knife was dotted with some of your blood, but Riki took it from you, pocketing it.

“It’s contaminated,” Riki said. “I don’t want to taste blood in my food.”

“Don’t avoid the issue,” you said, rummaging in the drawers for another stupid knife. “I want a normal knife.”

“No way,” Riki replied. “You would have cut yourself ten times worse if you had used a normal knife.”

You pulled a knife out, this one a putrid bright yellow. “No, I cut myself because I used your stupid knife,” you said. “Can’t we just g-,”

Riki’s voice rose suddenly, the first time he had ever sounded angry. “Drop it,” he said. “Please.” 

You turned to gauge his body language, and Riki didn’t look mad. He looked scared, with pleading eyes. “Please,” he repeated. 

“Fine,” you relented, getting to your feet. 

Riki plucked the yellow knife out of your grasp and pushed you out of the way. “I’ll cut these,” he said, gesturing at the vegetables. “You go do… something else.”

“I’m not an invalid,” you said. 

“It’s my apology,” Riki said. “Go lie down or read a book or something, I don’t know. I’ll make dinner tonight.” 

You grimaced. “Riki…”

“Go,” he insisted sharply. 

“Fine,�� you said, walking towards your bedroom. 

Riki was a decent roommate, but he could be ridiculously immature sometimes. The knives, the stupid decorations, and the way he avoided you when you were on your period. It was like he was a middle-schooler. He insisted that you dispose of your hygienic products as quickly as possible, citing the smell as the problem. “I wouldn’t leave my cumrags everywhere,” he had said, pointing vehemently at the small trash can in the bathroom. “So you can clean up your…shit.”

“Not even close to being the same thing,” you had said. 

“Fine, fine, I’ll start leaving my used cumsocks everywhere, then,” he had said. Unfortunately, Riki had made good on his promise, leaving a single, worn, wet sock on the bathroom floor. Not willing to fight a war of attrition with a young adult male, you had taken to tossing out the trash every day when you were on your period. 

An hour later, Riki called you into the kitchen. He had set the kitchen table for two, a spoon and a steaming bowl of fried rice on your placemat. "Done," he said, settling into his chair. He nodded at you. "Eat."

You begrudgingly ate the food. It was fine, but it was almost impossible to ruin fried rice. As you ate, you noticed that his gaze continued to flicker over to your bandaged finger.

After dinner, which has remained unusually terse, you retired to your room. Riki and you shared an amicable friendship, but you liked to have your alone time. You spent the rest of your night lounging on your bed, reading a fantasy novel that you had been putting off.

Once you noticed yourself beginning to yawn, you changed into your nightclothes and crawled into bed. Despite your fatigue, sleep refused to come. You tossed and turned, punched your pillow, and even tried slow, meditative breathing. Nothing.

As you lay there, burrowed under your blanket, you heard something from Riki's room. The apartment was laid out so that your bedrooms were on one side of the hallway and the bathroom and laundry room were on the other. You had the room closest to the living room, and your bed was pressed against the wall separating your room with Riki's.

It wasn't like Riki didn't make noise at night. Sometimes, he would wake you up while he played an online game with his friends, or you would hear his light snoring.

This wasn't like those times. Muffled sighs were emanating from his room, and you could hear his quilt rustling. As you listened, you realized that the sighs weren't sighs, but quiet moans.

You took your ear away from the wall, bristling in embarrassment. Normally, the two of you could be quiet. At the very least, Riki had never teased you about you pleasuring yourself, so you figured you were decent at hiding it. To his credit, despite his allusions to jerking off, you had never caught him either. Until now.

When you checked your phone, you saw that it was around 2 in the morning. He probably thought you were asleep, which was why his moans were growing louder. Riki almost sounded like he was in pain, and his bed creaked underneath him.

Against your better judgment, you pressed your ear against the wall once more, biting your lip. You wondered who he was thinking about. Riki had started working straight out of school, but you knew he had friends. Maybe it was one of them? Or a female celebrity? A male celebrity? Your mind worked overtime, trying to figure out who Riki could be getting off to.

Riki's breathing turned into a stream of panting and moaning, unsuccessfully smothered by his hand or blanket or whatever he was using. It was dark in your room, dark enough that your imagination was quick to fill in the gaps. You imagined his hand pumping his cock, his plush lips parting as he let out desperate whimpers, the sheen of sweat that had surely formed on his forehead.

You weren't crazy. You knew that you lived with an objectively attractive man, but you refused to act on it. The living arrangement you had now suited you well, and a relationship could only complicate things. You were sure he felt the same way.

Which is why his breathy whimper of your name caught you off guard. Heat nipped at your core, and you waited for him to say it again. Instead, the shuffling of fabric stopped, Riki's breathing began to even out, and the air was once again filled with silence.

"You imagined it," you told yourself. "Freak."

You didn't fall asleep for hours, rubbing your thighs together. You refused to get off to your roommate.

In the morning, you dragged yourself out of bed and wandered into the kitchen. Riki was already there, eating a piece of toast slathered with strawberry jam.

"Morning," you said.

Riki waved at you. "How'd you sleep?"

"Badly," you said, rubbing your eyes. "You?"

"Pretty well," Riki said, chewing on his breakfast as he scrolled through his phone.

You popped two pieces of bread into the toaster oven and yawned. You wanted to tell Riki that it was partially his fault you couldn't sleep, but you figured he would manage to misconstrue it into you being the weird one.

"If you stopped looking at Draco fanfiction, you'd sleep better," Riki said without looking up.

"What makes you think I read that?" you asked haltingly.

"A hunch," he replied.

"Yeah, well, maybe you'd sleep better if you..." you faltered.

"Take your time."

"Oh, fuck you, I'm too tired," you said, putting the toast on a saucer and shuffling to the kitchen table. Before you could use the plastic knife to spread the jam, Riki took your plate. He hastily spread globs of jam onto your bread before setting the plate in fromt of you.

"You take too long when you do it," Riki said, avoiding eye contact.

"Doing the cooking, helping me make breakfast, what's next for you?" You tried to lighten the mood, or you would be forced to contend with the uneasiness lining Riki's forehead.

"Don't get used to it," Riki said.

"Wasn't going to in the first place," you replied, eating your toast.

"Whatever," Riki mumbled. "Oh, I'm going to the grocery store after work. Text me if you need anything."

"Will do," you said.

"And try not to get hurt," he said, standing up. He put his plate in the dishwasher.

"No promises."

Riki groaned and left the kitchen.

You spent the day reading, studying, watching TV, and doing household chores. You always loved it when you got the house to yourself, and today was no exception. Finally, you could release some of the pent-up tension you had been carrying since last night.

You managed to get off without thinking about Riki, and afterwards you took a well-deserved, orgasm-induced nap. When you woke up, you remembered that you still hadn't unloaded the dishwasher.

The cutlery went first, and you grimaced at the sight of the various plastic knives. Then you handled the plates. You recognized one of them as the saucer that Riki had used that morning, which made you think about last night. The way he had said your name, voice muffled and hoarse. Just the thought of it shot desire throughout your body, and you banged your head into the edge of the cupboard. Luckily, you managed to put the plate on the counter before you slipped to the floor. Otherwise, you'd have a broken saucer to deal with, too.

Getting to your feet, you made your way into the bathroom. You assessed the damage in the mirror with a grimace. It would probably develop into a goose egg later on, so it was imperative that you stopped the swelling now lest you develop a garish-looking bump. You retrieved a small hand-towel from the little cupboard above the towel and mopped up some of the blood. The ice packs were all in the freezer, so you stepped out into the hallway.

There, you were greeted with Riki, who had seemingly materialized out of thin air. He was staring at you with narrowed eyes, lips pressed into a line. "You got hurt again," he said in an almost accusatory tone.

"Not like I meant to," you muttered. "Now move, I need an ice pack."

"Let me see," Riki said, and before you could protest he tore the stained towel away from your face and cast it aside. With no buffer, your blood dripped freely down your face, tickling your skin during its descent. You could see Riki's Adam apple bobbing as he swallowed nervously, eyes trained on the trickle of blood.

"How'd you do it?"

"Walked into a cupboard."

"Idiot," Riki muttered. His hands fell to your shoulders, lightly squeezing them. His gaze was starting to grow unsettling; you realized that you hadn't seen him blink once.

"Let me go," you said, squirming. "I'm gonna bleed everywhere." You could feel the blood sliding down to the tip of your nose.

"Just..." Riki leaned in and licked a stripe from the tip of your nose to its bridge. You gasped, a flurry of goosebumps painting your back. "Sorry," he whispered. Empty apology. He did it again, his tongue flicking over your face again. His grip grew tighter as he licked all the way to the scar, lapping up your blood. As he did so, he groaned softly.

"What are you doing?" you asked.

When he pulled away to look at you, his mouth was smeared with your blood and his saliva. Riki licked his lips and shivered. His hands dug into your shoulders, his nails sharp even through your shirt. Too sharp. You looked down at them and gasped once more. His hands, which were so pretty and slender, had become gnarled, his fingernails elongating and solidifying into something else. You rubbed your eyes, but the sight didn't go away.

"Sorry," Riki said again. "I'm sorry..." His tongue swirled around the wound on your forehead, and you noted that it felt different. It felt thicker, less soft, more like an appendage than a squishy piece of muscle. As he licked the scar, Riki hooked his leg behind yours and took you down to the floor of the hallway. He pressed his body weight against yours so that you were pinned underneath him.

Riki kneeled over top of you, his breathing growing laboured. He wiped his mouth with his ever-thickening hand. He parted his lips as if to say something, but all that came out was a low growling noise.

His body continued to undergo fantastical changes. Every inch of skin darkened into an inky blackness. He was already tall, but his spine cracked and groaned as Riki grew. He was now around 8 feet tall. His torso expanded, tearing through his shirt. The sinews of his shoulders became visible, and the hard outline of his abs looked embossed on his new body.

His pants were the next to be ripped to shreds, as his legs went from thin yet muscular to large and bulky. Riki's hard cock was equally as obsidian, imposing, and hopelessly inhuman as the rest of him. Besides its unnatural length and girth, the underside of it was ridged with little bumps.

You were dreaming. You had to be because this didn't make sense. Generally speaking, cute boys didn't turn into monsters.

Riki, if you could still call him that, ran one finger along your shirt, from its neck to its hem. Then he roughly dragged his claw all the way up, ripping your shirt in half. You yelped and moved to cover yourself, but Riki let out a noise that could only be described as animalistic. He shoved your hands away and tore the rest of your shirt off of you. Your bra was discarded in a similar manner, and your nipples immediately hardened from the chill.

One of his massive hands kneaded your tits, eliciting another growl from him. Just one hand was enough to cover your entire breast. The other clawed at your pants, leaving them in tatters. He stripped the fabric off of you, finally leaving you in just a thin pair of panties.

Riki dragged his claw along the waistband of your panties, then he trailed it onto your still clothed clit. You whimpered pathetically at his touch, writhing underneath him.

"Riki," you pleaded, "what are you doing?" You kept telling yourself that it was a dream, but the sulfuric scent wafting into your nostrils was all too visceral. The wetness starting to soak through your panties was also real.

He took off your panties with a bit of more delicacy, making a cut down the middle and peeling them off with a wet, sticky noise. Seemingly having his fill with your blood, Riki lowered his head to your pussy and started to lap at your clit. His dexterous, thick tongue felt amazing on the sensitive nub, and you moaned. Satisfied that you wouldn't run away, Riki moved his hands to your thighs, holding them lightly in place. His tongue, feeling twice as long with the average human's, alternated between teasing your clit and probing its way inside of your pussy. It flicked upwards just enough to reach the gummy wall of your G-spot, forcing more moans out of you.

You didn't think Riki in this form would have been particularly occupied by your pleasure, but given the way he fucked his tongue into your pussy, it was clear that he fully intended on bringing you to the brink. His hair was still normal, so you tangled your fingers inside the black locks as you enjoyed the sensations. If this were a dream, it was a pretty fun one after all.

Riki sucked and licked your clit, causing a pleasurable heat to rise within you. Your hips bucked into his mouth as you anticipated your orgasm. Then, forcefully, a wave of sheer, white-hot ecstasy washed over you, stars flashing in front of your eyes. Never had you ever had a climax so powerful, so delicious. Riki kept lapping up your juices as you came, and you tugged at his hair weakly to get him to stop. He continued, and you whined, the overstimulation growing painful.

"Riki," you said, pulling his hair again. "Stop..." You sat upright and tried to catch your breath.

He lifted his head up, and to your surprise, he was smirking. So, even as a creature, he was still an annoying brat. You rolled your eyes at him, which he responded to by pressing his moist lips against yours. Immediately, Riki's tongue shoved itself inside of your mouth, slithering down your throat; his hands continued playing with your tits. Slowly, he pushed you down once more onto the cold tile.

You could feel his stiff, barbed cock pressing against you and you grimaced. There was no way he was going to be able to fit that inside you all the way, was there?

Riki seemed intent on finding out. Parting your legs again, he jammed the tip of his cock into your pussy, working it in carefully. At the slightest bit of friction, he moaned deeply. He was thick, almost too thick. Just the tip made your toes curl. As he adjusted to your pussy, he sucked on your nipples, one after the other. He bit them and pulled at them with his abnormally sharp teeth.

He stuffed about half of his length into you before starting to move. Even half of him filled you nicely, stretching out your walls. It had been so long since you had done anything, and you welcomed the pleasure. The barbs on his cock only added to the sensation.

Riki started to ram his hips into you faster. His claws dug into your waist, and his head was thrown back as he let out guttural moans. He jammed more of his cock into you, and you screamed.

"Too much," you said. "It hurts, Riki." But it was as if he couldn't hear you anymore. Instead, he only quickened his pace. He placed one knee on the ground, balancing his other leg on the ball of his foot. He held your hands, now tiny in his grasp, and used this new position to better pound into you. Riki brought you onto his cock over and over again. Every time he went deeper, you could feel more of the barbs dragging along your sensitive walls. His balls, which were heavy and hung low, slapped against your thighs.

You cried out again, tears running down your face. It hurt so badly, but it felt so, so good. Riki was treating you like a ragdoll, pushing you around, doing whatever he wanted with you. He dropped your hands and spun you around so that your boobs pressed against the floor. Your hands splayed out onto the tile, desperately searching for purchase.

Grabbing your ass using both of his hands, he effortlessly pushed you up and down on his length yourself. Despite the pain you were already feeling from his monstrous dick, he still hadn't plunged himself all the way inside yet. His tip pressed against your cervix, threatening its narrow opening.

You hadn't realized that you had been approaching another orgasm until electric shocks ravaged your body. You bit your fist and shrieked into it as your pussy undulated against Riki's length. The different stimulations made you feel like you were touching a live wire.

This only spurred Riki on, and he drove himself even further into you. His cock breached your cervix and you screamed again. He was fucking your womb now, bulging your stomach with his long, hard cock. His claws dug so sharply into you that tears sprung to your eyes; your tits bounced painfully, and your ass hit against his groin with loud, lewd smacks. The sounds he made were like grunts, but stronger, more primordial, darker. Everything about him screamed power.

Riki pulled out of you only to slam himself back inside, tearing through your cervix with renewed vigor. He was crouched over your body, holding your legs above you. He drove himself inside of you slowly at first, then harshly. His grip around your ankles was as tight as a vice.

When his thrusts became erratic, you figured that he was close. With a final, primal cry, Riki came, pumping your womb full of his seed. He pulled out of you with a gasp and rolled onto his back. You were left to lie down your stomach, hyperventilating as you tried to regain your senses.

Curiously, you reached a finger down into the liquid pooling between your legs and examined it. It was black, much less viscous than regular cum, and it smelled of sulfur. You took a lick and spit it out immediately, as it tasted exactly how it smelled.

You glanced back at Riki, who was returning to normal. The blackness of his face faded to his usual, fleshy tone, although he was flushed all over. His body became wiry again, and the claws rescinded into his regular, short nails. His eyes had been squeezed shut, but when Riki opened them and looked at you, he winced.

"Sorry," he said apologetically. He pulled you over to him, resting your head on his chest. He sighed and rubbed your scalp. "I honestly am sorry. I didn't mean to, uh, do all that..."

"I'll consider forgiving you if you explain yourself," you said.

"Ugh, it's so cringe," Riki said. "I feel lame as shit talking about it. Fine. I'm a half demon on my dad's side."

You looked up at him, and he offered you a weak smile. "I know," he said, "it's stupid. But that's what I am. Normally, I can control my human form, but when demons become of age, and they uh, see or smell blood, it makes them, uh..."

"Horny?" you offered.

"Hungry," Riki said. "It makes us go kinda crazy."

"Is that why you replaced all the knives with fake ones?"

Riki nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, sorry. And why I can't be around you when you're on your period."

"Well, what would happen if you were?"

Riki screwed his mouth up as he thought. "I'd probably fuck you until you were passed out and while you were passed out and we'd have period sex for a week straight."

You shrugged. "I don't see a problem with this."

Riki snickered and kissed the top of your head. "Gross bitch."

"You're literally a creature."

Riki mock-gasped. "That's a slur." He tried to maintain a poker face for added effect but failed, laughing loudly. His laughter was always contagious, so you did the same.

Maybe, just maybe, being roommates with Riki wouldn't be so bad.

[daycourtofficial]

Falling in Love on the Fourth Floor - Part 4

Summary: Out of an act of desperation, you move in with a guy you kind of know who happens to have a really hot brother who lives next door.

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Masterlist)

Author’s note: I love this series and I want to thank everyone who comments/reblogs/likes. I love you all and it gives me so much motivation to keep working on this series 💕

Cassian limped out of his room, using the wall for support as he walked into the living room.

“Sweetheart, can you grab me the ice pack from the freezer?”

You and Feyre had been in the kitchen making waffles, but the two of you make your way over to Cassian to help him, abandoning the batter you were making. You grab the ice pack from the freezer and a hand towel to wrap around it, while Feyre walks over to help ease Cassian onto the couch, helping him prop his leg up on the coffee table.

You place the ice pack on his knee, grabbing a throw pillow and placing it under his leg.

“Are you okay? What happened?” You ask, concern etched onto your brows.

He sighs, “just my knee flares up if I do too much, and I got a little ambitious with the girl I hooked up with last night.”

Feyre snorts as he waggles his eyebrows. You sit on the arm of the couch facing him, “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Cassian leans his head back on the couch, “yeah can you grab my pain meds? They’re probably in my bathroom.”

You scuttle off after he tells you what the bottle looks like, walking through his room into his bathroom. You’re not surprised at how messy it is, clothes litter the floor and papers are strewn across his desk.

You can hear Feyre and Cassian talking but can’t make out what they’re saying as you begin your search. You search through his drawers and medicine cabinet, finding various medicines, condoms, and even pads, but not the bottle he described. The sight of the pads reminds you of a story Mor told where she had told Cassian she was on her period and his response was, “let’s get messy, baby.” You shake the memory away, heading back to tell him the bad news.

“Bad news bud - no medicine.”

He groans, “where the hell did I have it last?” He starts muttering to himself, hoping he didn’t leave it at the gym, when he points to you.

“It’s next door - Az has it. I stuffed it in his gym bag. Could you go check for me?”

Last time you saw Azriel, you had fallen asleep on his thighs, most likely drooling over them in your slumber.

You woke up to a dark room, the tv screen black with disuse. You lift your head, your hand using the pillow to push yourself up. You move your head to find hazel eyes looking into your own.

Your head is a few inches off his thigh, your hand wrapped around it for support.

“Um, hi,” you say, a moment later realizing your hand was on his thigh, quickly pulling it away. You take a quick moment to check the side of your mouth with your hand, praying to any god that will listen that you weren’t drooling on him.

“Hi,” he tells you, “you missed a good movie.”

“Rain check?” You ask, and he chuckles.

“Are you going to fall asleep again?”

“If you ask me, no, but if you ask my friend Feyre, the answer is likely yes.”

He laughs, and you realize his hand is in your hair, as he untangles your hair from his fingers.

“That’s okay. We’ll just have to keep watching it until eventually you make it to the end.”

“Uh, yeah, sure Cass.”

You start to leave, but Feyre grabs your arm. “I just told Cassian about how we’re going axe throwing. I invited him and his brothers.”

Feyre winks at you as she’s turned away from Cassian, and you give her a look.

Nosey busybody. All because you had told her you fell asleep on Azriel last night. And how he was so kind to help you drop the truck off. And how damningly beautiful he was.

Curse your big mouth.

“You should ask them if they want to come while you’re over there. Cassian’s coming, if they’ll find that enticing.”

Her words mean one thing, but her eyebrow waggling screams, I don’t think Cassian will be the reason one of them comes.

You wander over next door, knocking as you approach their door. Your mind starts wandering while you wait for a response, and you wonder if they used to always meet in Rhys and Az’s apartment.

Your thoughts still when Azriel opens the door, surprise on his face as he looks at you. He’s shirtless, his tan chest on full display, some black shadow-esque tattoos adorning his shoulders. Your eyes trace the design, roving over his muscular chest.

You want to lick them.

You shake the intrusive thought away, and Azriel grins ever so slightly at your blatant ogling of him. You tell him, “Uh Cassian’s knee is acting up and he said he thinks his meds are in your gym bag?”

He opens the door wider, letting you in. “What’d he do to mess up his knee this time?”

You follow him as he leads you into the apartment, your words dying on your tongue, “something about getting too ambitious with a girl - what the fuck?”

Azriel stops to find you staring at their tv, an absolutely massive screen mounted to their wall. It practically takes up most of the wall, and you imagine watching a movie on it would feel life-sized. “And I thought Cassian had the biggest tv I’d ever seen.”

Azriel chuckles, “they got drunk one night and started having a pissing contest over who was bigger, and it escalated to them both buying absurdly large televisions.”

He rolls his eyes at the memory of them drunkenly purchasing tvs online, forgetting about the ordeal until they appeared a few days later, Cassian refusing to use Rhys’s tv for a week in solidarity of his manhood.

You two start moving towards Azriel’s room, worry brewing in your mind over what to do. To follow could be overstepping, to linger could be weird. He leaves his door wide open, looking back to see if you’re following, so you decide to be brave and step through his door.

His room is dark, black out curtains with tiny moons sewn into them adorning his windows. His bed is neatly made, a deep blue comforter laying on top. Your eyes are drawn to the little bat stuffed animal that sits on his pillows.

His room is neat - dirty clothes kept in a hamper in the corner, books neatly stacked on his nightstand and on a bookshelf. He even has paper tray organizers on his desk.

His laptop is open at his desk, the screen still lit with whatever he was doing before you knocked. You see a familiar photo of you and Mor on the screen before it cuts to black, leaving you confused.

You shake the thoughts away, telling him “I like the little bat.”

He stills, looking over at the thing. His face falls a bit, but he quickly corrects it, going back to his search for the bag.

“Thanks, Cass got it for me.”

“That’s sweet,” you tell him.

You breathe deeply, the air in the room shifting, but you’re not really sure why. You don’t want this to be the end of your interaction with him, so you ask, “so Cassian told me you’re a personal trainer?”

He bends over to pick up his gym bag from the floor, your eyes roving down his toned back to the shorts that generously show off his thighs. Maybe you could join their gym if you got to see him like this, tanned thighs and chest on full display.

“Yeah, he helped me get the job, actually. I’ve been working a lot more over the summer, trying to save money for when classes are in session.”

You nod, as he finds the bottle in his bag. “Do you like it?”

He walks back over to you, escorting you out of his room. “S’okay. Cassian’s much better at it than I am, but it’s not hard.”

You nod, wondering how both of them are at their jobs. You can imagine Cassian being loud and rambuctious, a personality trait you can’t see him without. Shouting motivational words as you squat. On the other hand you can see Azriel being calm, quiet, his presence hardly noticeable as you train, offering occasional motivation but knowing what his clients actually need is just someone there.

He reaches his hand out to give you the bottle, and you break your eye contact with him to grab it. His fingers brush over your hand, electricity crackling on your skin from his touch.

You look at his hands, noticing them for the first time. Covered in scars, the skin is scarred over, the texture rough and uneven. His touch is soft and warm, a contrast to the harshness of his hands. You don’t let your eyes linger on his hand for too long, worrying you’re invading his privacy.

You duck your head down, fighting the heat on your cheeks from his touch. If he notices, he doesn’t let on as you pull your hand back with the bottle, uncertain how long your hands had been in contact.

“Thanks I um, Cassian will appreciate this.” You give him a toothless smile, one that he matches. His eyes have a look about them, but you can’t spend too long thinking about it, especially considering Feyre was likely conspiring with Cassian as you two spoke.

“I’ll let you get back to whatever you were doing before,” you say, reaching for the doorknob.

“I’ll see you later,” he tells you.

Your hand stills on the knob and you turn to look back at him. “Are you doing anything today? Around 3?”

He shakes his head no, “not really - why?”

“My friend Feyre and I are going to go to this place to try out axe throwing and I was wondering if you wanted to come with?”

His eyes widen in surprise, but you continue before he can reject you.

“Um Cassian’s coming, and Rhys is invited too if he wanted to come. It’s no big deal if you guys don’t want to - Feyre and I probably won’t be any good.”

He watches you tuck your hair behind your ear and he realizes you’re rambling. Despite how cute he finds it, how cute he finds you, he cuts you off. “I’ll come - I’ll text Rhys too.”

You smile broadly at him, a sight he’ll definitely be thinking about until he sees you again, “okay, um yeah I’ll uh see you then? You can come over to our place and we can all leave together.”

You’re about to leave again when you backtrack, “uh, come over at 2:30 so we can leave together. See you then!”

After you’ve left, he listens to your feet pad down the hall, and the door to the apartment next door opening and closing. He looks to the wall that separates your apartments, as if he can see you giving Cassian the medicine.

He trudges back to his room, furling and unfurling his fist, his skin hot from your touch. The image of you looking at his hands printed in his brain. You didn’t look at him in pity, perhaps the first person to do so. You looked at him like he was resilient, like he was more than what happened to him, like he was more than the scars littering his hands.

He lets the thoughts whirl in his brain as he logs back into his laptop, the screen lighting up with your social media pages he had been scrolling through. He tells himself it’s just to see who Cassian is living with and if she can be trusted, if she seems okay. He also decides if she happens to be seeing anyone is also pertinent information.

For Cassian’s safety, of course.

[beautiful-and-terrible]

“falling into place”: chapter 2

mike schmidt x reader

summary: “You meet Mike Schmidt under rather unfortunate circumstances. Luckily, he's a decent guy, and tries to make it up to you. Besides, who could say no to those big brown puppy-dog eyes?”

tags: Slow-burn, domestic, hurt/comfort, gradual friends-to-lovers, whatever the opposite of a meet-cute is, because mike is a disaster, sub!mike, dom!reader, eventual smut

also available to read on my Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51690952/chapters/130675165

Mike pulled into the parking lot of the Urgent Care. He asked if you wanted him to come in with you, which you declined. Mike said he would wait until you got out, and then drive you home.

You got checked out by the doctor, who told you your wrist was only sprained. She wrapped it in an ace bandage and a sling and told you to keep ice on it over the next few days. She also gave you some pain killers, which you were extremely grateful for because your wrist was steadily throbbing with a bright, aching pain.

You returned to Mike’s car in the parking lot, already feeling the effects of the half a pain killer you had taken. The world felt softer around the edges, and distracted you from the pain more than reduced the feeling, but it still felt much better.

“Hey, listen, since I can’t really help with, y’know, medical bills or anything, can I make you dinner as an apology?” Mike asked as you slipped into the passenger seat. Normally, you would think that was a terrible idea. No one in their right mind would go over to a strangers house, especially after they had hit them with their car. But you weren’t in your right state of mind. You were tired and hungry and cold and loopy from half a Percocet. Plus, he had a kid sister. It’s not like he would murder you in front of her.

“Mmm, yeah, that sounds nice,” you sighed, sliding down slightly in your seat as he began driving again.

You didn’t remember falling asleep, but you awoke to a warm hand on your shoulder, shaking you slightly.

“We’re at my place,” Mike said softly before exiting the car. He opened the trunk, got his groceries out and started walking up the path to his house, Abby trailing behind him. You followed suit, getting out of the car and shivering at the frigid November air. At least the rain had stopped.

You entered the house after Mike, taking in your surroundings slowly. It was… a house. Pretty bland - beige walls, cream carpet, a brown couch, and a TV that still had an antenna. It smelled clean, though, which you took as a good sign. A child’s drawings littered the wall near the TV at about hip level, so you figured they were Abby’s. You smiled at one that caught your eye, depicting a man with curly hair in a black shirt who was getting pelted with cupcakes by a girl with brown hair and a gang of anthropomorphic figures - a purple bunny, a yellow bird, a red fox, and a brown bear, who wore a top hat. You could only assume the unlucky victim of this attack was Mike.

“Uh, take a seat at the table, if you want. Make yourself at home. I know it’s a little messy, sorry…” Mike rubs the back of his neck and moves to the kitchen, starting to put groceries away.

“Not messy at all. It’s nice,” you say, trying to be polite. Mike gives you a look like he can see right through you. You blush, leaning against the doorway of the kitchen, looking down at the dingy tile floor. You clear your throat.

“Are you from here? From this town, I mean.”

“No, I’m from Nebraska. Abby was born and raised here though. We, my parents and I, moved when I was twelve. Um… something bad happened in our family, and we wanted to get far away from it. I guess.” Mike’s expression was guarded as he says this, so you don’t press the subject. You watch as he puts a frozen lasagna in the oven and starts tearing open a bag of premade salad, haphazardly dumping it into a big bowl. You can’t help but smile - he seems to really be making an effort for his little sister.

“What about you?”

“No, I’m from a little ways south of here. I went to college, tried to get a job, but it fell through, so I moved here. It’s cheaper than the city, and it has pretty places, if you look hard enough.”

“You might have to help me find those pretty places. Seems like everywhere I look is ugly concrete and asphalt and garbage.”

You shrug. “Yeah, there’s definitely a lot of that. That’s why you have to focus on the in-between places. The places where people forget to look for beautiful things.”

Mike looks at you, regarding you momentarily. You feel weighed down by his gaze, but not intimidated. Just oddly seen , for the first time in a while. Then he breaks eye contact, going back to dressing the salad. You rack your brain for some other topic to discuss.

“Where do you work?”

Mike sighs. “I work as a security guard for this old, run-down kid’s entertainment restaurant. It’s not in business anymore, but the owner keeps it running for nostalgia’s sake. God knows why - the place is falling apart. But he pays me to watch the cameras and keep people out, so. I can’t complain.”

You frown. “Why not go somewhere better if the place is such a dump?”

Mike’s face closes off again, and you bite your lip anxiously. “It’s complicated,” is all he says in reply.

You sigh. Trying to get any answers out of Mike that weren’t just surface level was like pulling teeth. You decided to try a different tactic.

“Can I do anything to help with dinner?”

Mike looks at you, then at your wrist. “No, don’t worry about that. I’m making dinner as an apology. You should sit down and rest.”

You nod, feeling a little dismissed, but you shake it off. Behind you, you hear the TV chattering in high pitched voices - Abby must be watching something on TV. You slip out of the doorway of the kitchen and join her in the living room. On the TV, brightly colored young girls with wings and ridiculously high heels strut around casting magic and kicking ass.

“What is this show?” you ask, sitting down on the couch. Abby looks up at you - she seems less pissed off than before, just a little shy.

“Winx club,” she says simply, playing with one of her pigtails.

“Which one is your favorite?”

Abby doesn’t respond for a moment. Then she points to the TV, “That one. Her name is Tecna.” The character has a purple and green futuristic looking body suit on, and short pink hair.

“Oh yeah, she looks cool. Do you want pink hair like her?”

Abby looks at you, smiling slightly. “Yeah. But Mike would never let me,” she pouts.

“I bet you could convince him when you’re a little older. You know, I used to have pink hair.”

Abby looks at you with a mixture of jealousy and admiration. “That’s so cool. Were your parents mad?”

You laugh slightly. “Oh yeah, they were mad. I was sixteen, and I dyed my hair the week before my older sister’s wedding. I was one of her bridesmaids. So in all of the pictures from her wedding I’m wearing this god-awful wig that makes me look like Dolly Parton got caught in a rainstorm. It would’ve been better if they had just let me keep my pink hair.”

Abby giggles, and from the kitchen you can hear Mike laughing too. It makes your stomach feel funny. Mike pokes his head out from the kitchen to tell you and Abby that dinner was ready.

As you sit down to dinner and fill your plate, you notice Mike’s eyes drifting to you more and more often. The couple of times that your eyes meet he looks away, his ears turning slightly pink. But you’re too hungry to read into that, so you dig into your meal.

At the end of the night, Mike offers to drive you home, which you accept. You’re too sleepy from the warm food and residual effects from the painkiller to refuse, and you certainly don’t have the brain power to call a cab. You feel yourself sort of disappointed that your time with Mike and Abby has come to an end. They’re both nice company. You could do with more of that in your life.

As you pull up to your apartment, Mike takes out a napkin from the glovebox and scribbles something on it and gives it to you. As he reaches over to your side of the car, you can smell the cologne he uses - something warm and fresh at the same time. It reminds you of what boys used to wear in high school, but not as obnoxiously over-sprayed. It makes your stomach flip.

You look at the proffered napkin and realize he’s written his number down. You look up at him, raising an eyebrow.

“Just in case you need anything. Seriously, anything. I feel terrible about your wrist. Get some rest, okay?”

“Yeah, thank you... Have a good night,” you say, and your eyes lock for a split second before you open the car door. You could’ve sworn his eyes glanced down to your lips, but you were probably imagining things. You give him a smile and get out of the car.

You’re practically dead on your feet as you walk up to the second floor of your unit and unlock your apartment. You throw your dirty clothes in the laundry basket in your closet and don’t even bother putting on pajamas. You crawl under the covers and you’re asleep within seconds.

Mike sat outside your apartment in his car for a long time after you’d already gone upstairs and fallen asleep. He didn’t know why his heart was beating so fast, or why his face felt so hot, or why he kept over-analyzing everything he’d said since he’d met you. To be fair, your first impression hadn’t been ideal.

But listening to you interact with Abby, and the ease with which you interacted with her, made Mike feel incredibly safe with you. If he could trust you with Abby, he could trust you with himself, as well.

Mike drove into the frigid November night, deep in thought. His car’s janky heater wasn’t the only thing keeping him warm.

[cherrycoloredfaith]

Kiss Off

pt 1 | pt 2 | pt 4

Chapter 3: Three for My Headache

Eddie

Eddie slammed the door to his office. Well, really his bedroom. It’s not ideal for him to live outside the city, but once Eddie realized he wanted to live alone while not being able to afford it, he took Wayne on his offer. It’s messy and lonely, but he’s actually able to save up his money. 

He leaned against the door, inhaling deeply. He didn’t mean to snap–especially not in front of Max. She knew what Eddie’s been through, but he felt ridiculous confiding in her with his issues. Even more so when he lost control of his temper. He didn’t know what was wrong with him.

He waited until he heard the front door open and shut. Then, he moved to the window, peeking through the blinds to catch a glimpse of his worst nightmare, walking away in his stupid jeans, getting into his stupid car and driving away. Eddie took a sigh of relief. 

Kicking off his boots, he started to relax. He headed back out into the kitchen to pour himself some water; Max stared at him with her arms crossed, her gameboy forgotten on the table. “Dude, what was that about?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” said Eddie, giving her a smile he knew wouldn’t meet his eyes. 

“If you really intend to hide your feelings, you’re doing a terrible job… Is this about–?” Max asked. 

“I’m not talking about this.” Eddie drained his glass. “Especially not with you. Wayne’s leaving soon if you need a ride home.” 

Max narrowed her eyes on the man, but stood and gathered her things. “Whatever, Eddie. I’m just saying, Steve seems nice.” She headed out the door without another word. 

Looking down at his feet, Eddie began to think through his day. Steve did struggle at most of his tasks, but he knew with practice, it’d get better. That was what he reported to Wayne anyway. Steve clearly could work with his hands, however delicate they seemed. Eddie wasn’t worried about Steve’s performance, but instead was fretting over the ways he made Eddie want to laugh and get close to him and touch his hair. 

So far, Eddie did all the wrong things around Steve. He became quiet, or he was too abrasive, or god forbid, he flirted with the man. Since last year, he told himself he’d never let anyone have power over him again. Not like it was. He was supposed to be scary, to be loud and obnoxious. All that went out the window when he caught his first glimpse of Steve. 

There he stood, at the door of the office, perfectly clean, his chestnut hair framing his face in waves, clearly freshly trimmed. His curious eyes landed on him with an ease Eddie did not mirror but tried. He had been arguing with Wayne, saying he didn’t need a new crew member; the residual tension hadn’t eased, and Eddie needed out . Without addressing Steve in the slightest after giving him his most intimidating smile and foreboding description of life at Munson Construction, he was out of there, running to the clubhouse to catch his cool. He ran towards the back porch to hide, lighting his cigarette.

Eddie and Wayne had built it a couple years ago to create a space for cookouts with the guys and various gatherings. You wouldn’t notice it unless you knew it was there. It looks out onto the line of trees beyond the small field. Just out of view is their garage storing all of their equipment and supplies. They’re a small company, but have been growing for the past few years, getting bigger and bigger jobs. Eddie knew they needed the extra hands.

But Eddie didn’t want someone joining their circle. Let alone a very handsome someone. Why the hell did Wayne not let Eddie pick a perfectly ugly candidate? Wayne argued they didn’t do interviews in person, but couldn’t the man make an exception? He had to go pick up the prettiest motherfucker Eddie’s ever seen?

Wayne gave him and the guys the day off as Steve was just getting his bearings and finishing up paperwork. After Max checked in with Eddie on what he’d have to teach Steve tomorrow, he cowered on that porch until he heard his car leave. 

Now, Eddie stood in his kitchen, running his hands over his eyes. He scrunched his face in disgust, remembering how he was covered in dirt from the day, and walked towards the bathroom to have a shower. 

Shedding his clothes, he forced himself not to think of him, but this was his first bit of alone time all day.  Pulling on the hair tie, he let his ponytail loose, sighing in relief at the feeling. He stepped into the shower and was focusing on the task at hand. 

The water was slightly cold, as it always was when Eddie first stepped in. A year living here, he knew to wait for it to heat up. Instead, today he welcomed the chill.  He felt the dirt and sweat of the day wash away and reached for his 5N1 shampoo. He gave it a sniff, the familiar cedarwood vanilla bringing flashes of last summer. Eddie shamefully wondered what Steve smelled like. 

A vision passed behind Eddie’s closed eyes from earlier today.  Eddie stood gazing down while Steve kneeled, checking the slumped pile of concrete they were testing. He was giving Steve a chance to assess it himself, but Eddie knew right when he mixed it the ratio was off. He needed to teach Steve what it looked like when it was wrong. The moment gave Eddie a chance to watch Steve’s concentrated expression as he analyzed. With his head tilted and one eyebrow cocked, he regarded the deflated cone shape with uncertainty. “Looks good to me,” he said confidently. To Eddie’s horror,  from his spot on the ground, Steve looked up at his face with his big brown eyes, lips parted and panting from the heat. The perfect flush from the sun painted his cheeks, glowing with a sheen of sweat.

He remembers dropping his jaw slightly, probably wearing the dumbest look on his face.  Eddie blinked, stilling,  to try and recollect what was just happening. He laughed it off, “No, Harrington, not at all.” 

The memory played out in full a couple times, and then Eddie was stuck on that same frame. That look of innocence and hope in Steve’s eyes. He just knew Steve wanted to please him, to be right for him. It made him hard to hate. Hard to stay away and keep his distance. Eddie knew he was in trouble. 

And the way Steve reveled in Eddie’s praise earlier. He could think of a few other opportunities for Steve to earn it again, just to see that look on his face once more. 

Soap cascaded down from his hair to his shoulders, down, down, down. So did his hands as he scrubbed away the grime. 

Maybe, if he kept his eyes closed, he wouldn’t feel the shame. He wouldn’t have to face the reality of it. 

With a sigh of resignation, he gave in. Reaching down for himself, he kept his eyes shut. Slowly warming water pounded his face until he leaned against the wall. He gasped for air the moment he surfaced from the stream of the showerhead and his hand came into contact with his slowly hardening cock. As he began to grip tighter and tighter, he failed to think of anyone else but him. The sweat that beaded on his skin, dripping down his neck. The slight burn on his skin that would soon turn into the most delicious tan. He pictured his lips as they wrapped themselves around his water bottle. 

In a sudden moment of clarity, Eddie halted, opening his eyes to the harsh fluorescents of the bathroom. What the fuck was he actually doing? Jerking it to his crew member after knowing him for a day? He had to stop this before it got out of hand– fuck! –out of control! He had to stop this before everything he feared came true at the fault of his own.

He was aching all over with need, but he fought it back. Trying to return his focus to finish washing the dirt from the day’s work, he got more soap, scrubbed his fingernails, his feet, behind his ears, anywhere he could think of. He washed his hair for a second time. Then, finally, his face–which led him to close his eyes once more. 

Immediately, flashes of Steve kept coming until he couldn’t take it anymore. He gave in. Eddie fell to his knees as he touched himself to the thought of that mouth, of those eyes shining up at him. He stroked up until he got closer and closer to the edge. His orgasm washed over him like a wave so intense the water hitting his back stung his skin as it made contact, like his nerves were shot. 

He was panting. By the time his heartbeat slowed, the soap had all washed away. Hanging his head, he relished in the calm and clarity. He was looking forward to the weekend ahead without having to see the man that will likely be the next to haunt him.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Steve

The sour mood created by Eddie followed Steve around like a dark cloud, even up until Robin returned from school. She walked through the door, textbooks in hand, backpack hanging off one shoulder, looking frazzled as always. 

Steve was preparing to ask her for another night of moping and smoking, but when she noticed  him sitting on the couch, once again upside down, she started to shake her head.

“Nope. Nope, no, Steve. Not again. Not another night in. You’ve been cagey ever since we moved. We’re going out tonight,” she ordered. She didn’t give the impression she would take no for an answer. Something in her expression told Steve she’d really start to worry if he refused. 

He knew he needed it to be honest, despite how spent his body was from his first day on the job. He’d struggled to gather the courage to make friends since he was so focused on finding work. Even after a month, all he had was Robin. 

He didn’t think he was getting fired, based on the conversation he and Eddie had in the truck, but the knots in his stomach wouldn’t unclench. Robin was right, he needed distraction and a little fun–so what if he’s a little tired?

“Alright, yeah, you got it,” he agreed, getting up from his signature moping position. 

“Good. You can tell me how your day went once we’ve got a drink in our hands,” she pointed at him. 

They split off into their respective rooms to get ready. He knew Robin had added decorations to her’s but Steve’s bedroom couldn’t be more bland. Everytime he tried to come up with ideas for it, he couldn’t name one thing he liked for himself. He had essentials: a bed frame and a night stand. A dresser, too. It hadn’t really sunk in for Steve that this was his new life, his new home. 

Steve already showered once he got back, but now he needed to change and fix his still damp hair. He picked out an outfit of light denim jeans and a dark purple polo that hugged him in all the right places–something to make him feel like himself. 

Robin emerged from her room a few minutes later, looking fashionable in blue slacks, a patterned button down, and suspenders. She swung a relaxed purse over her shoulder. “Ready?” she asked. 

They walked to a nearby bar, one Robin had raved about prior to their apartment searching. She informed him at the time that it was the only real lesbian bar in the city, but it was just dumb luck they ended up moving nearby. Steve silently prayed there wouldn’t only be lesbians there. 

While Steve was prevented from discussing his day, Robin talked about hers as they strolled down the street. She only had a few courses this summer, but they were primarily what she had to talk about nowadays. 

“This next test is going to be crazy, absolutely no one is ready. And really what kind of professor puts a test on a Monday anyway? My answer, the worst kinds. They really should make rules against this kind of teacher/student abuse,” she continued, hardly stopping to breathe. “Oh, Steve, I may need you to quiz me later–”

As he silently listened, he took in the sights around him, trying to familiarize himself with the path to and from the bar. It was nearing 6 PM, but the streets were calm for a Friday night, he thought. The neighborhood wasn’t overly busy, but Steve suspected later in the evening would be a different story. He took deep breaths as he tried to come back to himself. He wanted to tap into the Steve he felt he left behind in Hawkins. Not the one who was an asshole back in high school, but he missed his confidence, his own surety. Even though he hated it there and knew he wanted to leave. Now, here he was. Walking down the Indianapolis street with his best friend in a place that could actually accept him for who he is. So, why did he feel tears stinging behind his eyes as the harsh wind beat against his face?

He quickly blinked them away before Robin had time to notice them. 

Fuck this , he thought. He started to make a deal with himself; he was going to meet someone in this hopefully-not-all lesbian bar. He was going to forget about Eddie, forget about Hawkins. Forget who he used to be or whoever he wished he was. 

Once they arrived, they snagged seats at the bar, both ordering their drinks to start off the night. Moments later, with their drinks in their hands, Robin stopped talking about school. “Alright, Steve-o, tell me what happened,” she requested. 

Steve considered filling her in, but now that he was sat with a drink in his hand and a newfound determination to prove himself, he paused. “You know what, never mind. We can talk about it later? I just want to relax.” He scanned the room looking for potential strangers to talk to. He’d need Robin’s help as both of their “gay-dars” were pretty shit, but maybe he’d have good chances with a guy here. “Rob… I think I want to try and meet someone.”

“Someone that isn’t your new boss?” she teased.

“Someone who is definitely not my new boss.”

She gave him a sad smile. “Okay, I’ll let you know if I see any contenders. Keep an eye out for me, too,” she requested.

They were on their second drinks before Steve actually began to relax. Their seats were turned out to the room, so the pair had a good view of the crowds. Steve was enjoying himself, talking with Robin about the latest movies, reminiscing on when they worked together. As he went to take another sip of his drink, across the room, he caught a glimpse of dark curling hair–quickly disappearing behind someone else. 

Eddie?– Steve gasped as he drank which caused him to choke. He coughed, Robin slapping her hand on his back to pretend to help. A few people around them turned their heads to see what was happening. Robin looked from his face to the direction he was staring as he regained his composure, trying to see whatever caught his attention. He caught his breath just as he felt his face heating. 

“Dude, what happened?” Robin asked as she looked at him, concerned. 

“Uh, I thought I saw someone.” Is it possible that Eddie could be here tonight? Would he even go to a gay bar? Was it possible for Eddie to be gay? Steve realized he hadn’t even considered it. 

He blinked away his watering eyes for the second time that night. Before he knew it, he realized who he saw earlier was walking right for him. A very beautiful girl with a halo of brunette curls. A moment later, he realized she was smiling at Robin. As he looked to her, he recognized the look on her face: completely frozen–he had to act fast. He, sort of gently, kicked her shin with the toe of his sneakers and watched her snap out of her trance just as the mystery girl walked up. 

“Hey, uh, Robin, right? I think we have Advanced English Lit together. With Professor Lyonne?” she asked warmly. She was short, even with Robin sitting at the bar, the strange girl cast her eyes upwards while tucking her chin low, a small smile playing at her lips. Steve watched as she batted her eyelashes. This girl was a pro, and he knew Robin was a goner. 

“Y-yeah! Yes, wow. Nancy, right? Whoa, crazy seeing you here! Do you come here often? I’ve been here a few times, I haven’t noticed you–I mean–I’ve not–uh–seen you around these kinds of places, haha,” Robin stumbled over her words. Steve’s surprised her eyes didn’t bulge out of her head and form heart shapes. 

Nancy actually laughed, “I’ve not been here for a while, but, yeah, you could call me a regular .” She scrunched her nose at the end of her sentence, sending the confirmation both Steve and Robin were looking for. 

They both nodded in understanding, and Nancy’s eyes finally landed on Steve. Before she could wonder anything, he spoke up, “Hey, Nancy. I’m Robin’s best friend , Steve. And I was just about to walk around for a bit.” He stood and offered her his seat. Nancy took it graciously, and the two began talking about their class, leaning a little closer than necessary.

Steve smiled to himself as he walked towards the restroom. It wasn’t until he looked himself in the mirror that he saw how flushed he had become. Between choking on his drink and thinking he saw his boss, Steve's nerves were shot. Why would seeing Eddie have such an effect on him anyway? Why should Steve care if he goes to a gay bar? As if the obvious metal head would show his face at a lesbian bar exclusively playing dream pop. It was foolish of him to be thinking so much about this man he hardly knew. Schooling his features, he refocused on finding someone new to fill his thoughts. 

Steve roamed around the room aimlessly, avoiding the overly dark corners, so he mostly found himself standing alone on the outskirts of a dance floor. There was a good mix of people–young and old, masculine and feminine–but, unfortunately, no one caught his eye. 

Eventually, Steve returned to Robin and Nancy, and the evening carried on. The girls shared a  few slightly awkward dances while he looked on, guarding their seats. They did include him in their conversations after he would strike out trying to meet someone new. Once with a guy, tanned skin, and blonde waves, another with a redhead who he misread and was definitely not into him. By 10:00, he was defeated and wanted nothing more than to go home; all his hopes for the evening had run out. 

Robin was clearly much luckier. Steve could read the look on Robin’s face when she glanced over Nancy’s shoulders; it said “ please go somewhere while I bring this super pretty girl home with me for a few hours and I owe you one .” Of course, she wouldn’t say that out loud, but once she mentioned to Steve that they wanted to go back to theirs to “study,” he knew what he was going to do. Giving her a squeeze on the shoulder, he said his goodbyes for the night.  He wouldn’t bother her; he could no longer feel the effects of his drinks and more than anything wanted to go for a drive. 

[faceless-mirror]

Chapter 1: Strings That Bind

Ship: Hozier and Farren(ONBC)

Andrew and Farren have been traveling through the centuries. Andrew remembers each time, when each of their times together ended in horrible tragedy. Farren never remembers, but their hearts call to each other in every life time, even if it brings pain. Andrew is breaking now, just needing one happy ending where they don't die crushed to death- sacrificed to old gods- hunted for their love- or torn apart in battle.

All he wants is to have Farren and live in peace. Hopefully, the Gods will grant mercy at last for his past transgressions that led to this cycle.

Taglist: @rowanballard @likehipsters @darkcloverme @holy-shitposting

(If you'd like to be added or removed please let me know)

Red hair splayed out on the pillow behind his head as his eyes followed the moving red strings above him. Andrew had grown up with all his memories of his previous lives, whether it be a gift or a curse from the gods, it wasn’t clear. However, seeing all the red strings that connected others to their soulmates, platonic or otherwise, had remained the same in each of his lives. Laying in the bunk thinking about the past, he couldn’t help but sigh, touching his chest where the silver thread that came from his heart was. The thread was shimmery and soft under his fingertips, closing his eyes. 

If someone is listening, let me find them again. Please… just one happy ending for us…

It was a silent wish. Pleading to the heavens, and to all the deities lost and found, earthy green eyes watering at the memory of how their lives were cut short previously. The blood, the horror, the confusion- wrapping around them tightly, holding them as tight as he could as they both perished trapped.

A soft breath left his lips as he lifted the thread, tugging on it lightly, hoping they would feel it… that they would know he was thinking of them even if they couldn’t see the strings as he did. 

I’ll find you, no matter how long it takes. 

He got out of the bunk, calmly, sitting up and moving to write words welling up with melodies. He knew sleep would not be visiting him for a few more hours, thoughts of them too heavy on his mind. As always, if he thought too hard about them, all the words he couldn’t wait to tell them, and all the past heartbreak would flood back. So much love for them flooded his mind and heart, filling him with desperate longing. Even if all his songs ended up being nothing close to love songs in lyrics, in some way they were his longing and wishes for it to work out. 

No matter. This life would be different. It had to be.

Halfway across the country, Farren was just getting home, exhausted from work and everything in between. They slumped into their sofa, falling face first into the cushions, blue and black hair shimmering in the low light as they yelled into the plush cushion. They didn’t bother moving, getting up, after their scream was done, just laid quietly for a bit longer until they heard a voice.

“So… are you just gonna lay there and force me to sit on your head or are you going to move because I’m holding a hot bowl of ramen and I don’t feel like burning my hand any longer than i need to-” their roommate claimed, leaving the kitchen to walk to the sofa and coffee table. The threat had the desired effect, at least getting Farren to sit up.

Celia sat down setting her bowl down as she did, “Work that bad?” she asked, brushing back a strand of messy blonde hair, glancing at their exhausted roommate. 

“Yes! How did these people make it to adulthood?” they demanded with a frustrated scream waving their hands for a moment before hiding their face in their hands.

“They made it by sheer dumb luck-” Celia answered calmly, taking a slurp from their still-too-hot bowl, nearly screaming as they tried to cool it down any way they could.

Farren smiled slightly, leaning their head back stormy eyes closing for a bit as they breathed. “I’m just tired of people being dumb…” they sighed, getting up to change out of their uniform, if it could be called that. It was a low-cut black shirt, and tight jeans that were nothing but discomfort. It worked well for the club but the clothes were the last thing they wanted when they were off work. 

“Did they at least tip you?”

“Of course they did- Why wouldn’t the idiots tip the bartender with their tits out?” Farren called with a sigh, changing into something more comfortable, a breathable flannel and pajama shorts. They shot Celia a smile, going to the kitchen to grab a few cheese sticks. It wasn’t much but at least it was something. 

Celia watched as they curled up in the corner, “Any chance you’re going to make it to the concert?” 

“Doubtful.” they answered softly, “But that’s okay. I can’t justify spending that much on tickets.” 

“You always say that- unless it's like some tiny band at a bar-”

“Hey. Fifteen dollars versus a hundred is a massive difference- and I get to be right against the stage- and hang with the band-” Farren countered, visibly offended at the statement, hand pressed to their chest in mock horror.

“Fine- Fine-! Good points… but still. He’s been your favorite for a long time and he’s finally touring again-”

Farren held up a hand to stop their companion’s ramblings that they had heard dozens of times through the month already. “I know. But… I can’t afford it. And I would have to spend almost four hundred dollars by now to get a single ticket- I’m fine without going.”

In all honesty, they would love to attend. But it felt wrong to attend, something keeping them from attending. Something rooting them in place. They didn’t know yet, but their gut had never once steered them wrong. 

A few more hours passed, before they made their way to their room and opened their computer to check and see if any of their applications to bartend elsewhere had been taken. Or any of the artist positions had reached out. A few emails from clients, demanding their projects be done sooner- all the same it felt like. Nothing new. Sinking back into their computer chair they yawned covering their mouth to hide their yawn. There was a new job listing, asking for an artist for a mural at a concert venue. The same venue was looking for a bartender, to work specifically backstage. Taking a chance Farren applied, sending in their portfolio without much thought. It was like screaming into an endless void some days.

They had the next day off, they would be able to work on their art and get some things out before their next shift. Hopeful at the very least for that income, they closed their laptop, and turned into their bed, collapsing into a deep sleep filled with flashes of green and life, sunlight and hope. 

A few flashes of a face but not much more, it had always been the same ever since they were small. Sometimes there would be fire, rage, pain, and terror. All their dreams seemed to line up and help them with their art so at the very least they were grateful for that.

[casicroaks]

Kelly is nervous about her school grades, since she couldn't manage to dissect a frog in science class. Luckily for her, Barbie, her tutor, has just the right tale to motivate her to try harder and pass her exams -and, who knows, maybe even learn a valuable lesson…

CHAPTER 1

[ here for CHAPTER 2 ]

“What’s wrong, Kelly?” she asked.

It was a dark, stormy night in the small coastal town. The raindrops, harmless by themselves, violently struck the windowpanes of young Kelly’s house. She was sitting at her kitchen table, next to the large bay windows, so she felt surrounded by the unceasing, rattling sound. Kelly chewed on the end of her pencil, gazing at all the pages of her biology textbooks, feeling deeply upset. Barbie, in her usual cheery disposition, smiled at her.

“Oh, Barbie… Mom will be so angry when she finds out how I did today in science class.”

“How so? What happened?”

“We were asked to dissect a frog… And I just couldn’t do it.”

“Why? Were you sorry for the little frog?”

“Oh, no, of course not; it was dead already. I was just… A bit disgusted by the whole thing.”

Kelly’s tutor laughed. “But there’s nothing disgusting about it! It’s only natural to be curious about the inner workings of the marvelous machine that is the organic body.”

“But, Barbie –I didn’t need to slice the frog open! I could just buy a diagram or something of the sort, the kind that appears in those science magazines –or I could search for a video of someone else doing it on the internet—”

“Kelly,” Barbie laughed again. “That cannot replace the real experience of witnessing the real components that make up a living being.”

“I still think it’s icky…”

Suddenly, a flash of lightning startled Kelly, as she saw the whole room –the tall doors, the cabinet filled with her parents’ souvenirs of fascinating voyages, the textbooks and their illustrations of the nervous system, and Barbie herself –bleached in a bright, burning white before the darkness returned, interrupted only by the few candles that lighted the space. And, just as Kelly wondered when the light would come back so she could turn on the living room lamps, a loud booming thunder spooked her, and she let out a brief shriek.

“Why, why must it make that noise!” Kelly cried.

“Well,” Barbie started explaining. “Thunder is caused by the lightning, which opens an air channel—”

“I know how thunder and lightning works –I’m just tired of the bright flashes and the terrible booming! I wish I could stop them altogether!”

To her surprise, Barbie didn’t laugh. She just smiled bitterly, almost disappointed. It was not a normal look for her, and Kelly was just a little unnerved by it.

“The teacher said that if I don’t finish the science project, he will fail me. But I can’t fail this class –my parents will be fuming at the mere thought of it,” Kelly protested, and huffed. “All this because I wouldn’t cut up a little smelly frog.”

Barbie looked at her student for a few minutes, while the rain continued to pour outside. The candle that lighted her smooth features flickered, casting changing shadows on her. Finally, Barbie moved her chair closer to Kelly’s.

“I just want to pass this science exam,” the young girl said. “I don’t know why it’s become so difficult for me.”

“I know,” said Barbie. “You just need to try a little harder, and find the courage to overcome your disgust, leave your repugnance behind and get it done.”

Kelly looked down at the half done, messy drawing she had made, an attempt to illustrate the organs of a leopard frog. Without the actual physical model, she knew, she wouldn’t be able to finish it.

“This reminds me…” Barbie said slowly. “Of something I’ve heard about, some time ago… About a girl who felt much like you once –conflicted, about what was the right thing to do.”

Kelly blinked, intrigued. A new lightning struck, and thunder clapped again, but Kelly barely gritted her teeth. Barbie quickly glanced at the grandfather clock on the corner of the room –her shift would be over in a bit less than an hour –but if the story could help her young student, she thought, it would be worth spending the rest of the class telling it.

“Alright; this happened not so long ago, not so far from here…”

…

Vivianna Frankenstein was the eldest daughter of Dr Frankenstein, a respected scientist in a quiet, mysterious European town in Switzerland. She lived with her father, her little sister Marianna, and their servant boy Elliot in a beautiful, grand timber-framed house in the woods. Vivianna had tragically lost her mother, but she still had his loving father and sister, and the faithful servitude of Elliot, so she didn’t feel too bad about it. After her passing, Dr Frankenstein had given Vivianna his lovely golden locket, where her mother’s sweet face was forever immortalized. Wearing it, Vivianna felt her mother was always with her, in a certain way, dangling from her neck just over her heart.

Living in such a lavish house in such a quiet town meant that Vivianna didn’t have many chances to make friends –in fact, she was rather quiet herself, and found herself to be quite awkward among new people, much to her own chagrin. Despite this, she had three true friends –four, perhaps, if one counts a little sister as a friend: Henrika, Willard, and Matt.

Henrika, whom she considered her bestest friend, looked very much like Vivianna: their biggest differences were that Henrika was a brunette, while Vivianna had blonde hair; beyond that, both had clear blue eyes and a youthful, oval face. Henrika had been Vivianna’s closest friend since early childhood, and neither could imagine living without the other. They frequently spent time together, at sleepovers and museum visits, at the park or simply in each other’s bedrooms, singing their favorite songs, chatting away the hours and dreaming of their futures.

Willard, on the other hand, was a rat. He was Vivianna’s pet rat, who often tried to communicate with her owner with little high pitched squeaks and squeals that most people besides Vivianna felt were pretty annoying. Willard was a chubby rat, mostly due to the privileged life at the Frankenstein’s home, but he was still very much nimble and quick on his tiny feet. Vivianna loved him dearly, almost as much as she loved Henrika: she fed him cashew and pecans, stroked his soft fur every now and then to show him her affection, and kept him safe in her dollhouse besides her bed when Dr Frankenstein wished to spend a peaceful evening.

Matthew, or Matt for short, finally, was a chap around Vivianna’s age, an orphan who Mrs Frankenstein had adopted once while she was travelling somewhere other than Europe. She had chosen Matt from several other boys –street urchins, living without food or shelter –when she realized he was the most likely of the bunch to grow to be a handsome young man, the cleanest one and the least sick and scarred. Matt lived with the Frankensteins for a while, as a surrogate brother to Vivianna. After Marianna’s birth, though, and especially after Mrs Frankenstein’s death, Matt was sent to live with his personal tutor in a cottage not far from the family’s house, paid by the Frankensteins, to complete his education without distractions. It was Dr Frankenstein’s plan, and one he had shared with his wife for quite some time, for Matt to marry Vivianna one day. Mrs Frankenstein often remarked what a lovely couple they would be; neither of the children were particularly interested in the other in a romantic sense, but they liked each other well enough, and had no problem playing together and spending play dates and evenings along with Henrika, going to the movies, having ice creams, hiking in the woods, performing little amateur productions of Greek myths, and the like.

Vivianna had grown into a gorgeous young woman by the time this story properly begins: and like all young women, she had a particular interest that concentrated all her time and attention: sewing. She was an extremely skilled seamstress, capable of reconstructing complex historical costumes and fixing almost every piece of clothing that ever appeared to have a tear, a hole or a ripped seam. But –and this she kept a secret –she had another interest –something unheard of: Vivianna was fascinated by science, the science her father dedicated his life to. Despite her evident passion for the textile arts, she read science books by candlelight, covered by the dark of night. Vivianna knew that people wouldn’t understand her love of science –nobody would believe a pretty, nice, blonde, gown-wearing lady would find herself riveted by beakers, pipettes, funnels and all that sort of stuff.

Vivianna was especially interested in her father’s greatest creation: an advanced piece of machinery, full of cogs and screws and gears, which could accurately predict the weather in no time. The townsfolk, confounded by his invention, called the machine the Rainmaker, and believed it to be magic. Vivianna felt the same way her father did –a sort of light amusement at the beliefs of the common people, of those who still insisted that the device was a scam and that it was Dr Frankenstein who summoned the clouds and the storms.

These people stopped saying so, when Dr Frankenstein died suddenly during a fine summer afternoon. He was taking a walk when he was surprised by a light drizzle –not even something that merited pulling up his collar –and he continued his promenade by the countryside when a lightning struck him and killed him instantly. Vivianna and Marianna found themselves orphaned, and they mourned their dear father for the appropriate amount of time, confining themselves to their home, to the sympathetic company of Henrika and Matt, to the service of the similarly grieving Elliot, who considered Dr Frankenstein the father he never had. Nothing much had truly changed, after a while, just the amount of rooms in the great house that were inhabited.

Vivianna considered the death of his father her call to adventure: she suddenly felt the uncontainable need to travel, to see the world, to leave her quiet town and seek excitement and new experiences. So, one sunny morning, Vivianna packed her bags, gave Marianna a hug and her golden locket, and left her known world to pursue a higher education. She promised Marianna, Henrika and Matt to write as often as she could, once she found a good place to settle for a while. Undeniably, Vivianna felt a pit in her stomach to think that she wouldn’t continue with her familiar routines, that she wouldn’t see her dear friend Henrika’s face for some time, but Willard her pet rat squeaked excitedly in her travel satchel, and so, even without her mother’s locket, Vivianna felt less alone.

…

While on her journey, stopping from time to time to darn a hole in a sock and to see the wonderful views her unnamed homeland had to offer her, Vivianna continued her reading and studying of the sciences: she annotated her ideas and thoughts in a little leather-bound notepad, which she could safely close so Willard wouldn’t nibble at the edges. During one of her stops at a charming little roadside hotel, by the light of a full moon, she thought of her father’s untimely death, her mother’s tragic demise, and wondered about the limits of science –that which the townfolk considered magic. Vivianna tossed and turned, thinking about doing the impossible –of deciding to do that which others would consider a miracle, that which would bring her the respect and admiration she so dearly desired. Unable to sleep, she scribbled her thoughts on her notepad, added a little P.S. to her latest letter to Henrika, and pulled Willard closer to her, feeling his little heart beating fast under his furry pelt, and went on dreaming wide awake, wondering and pondering. On her nightstand, written hastily on the open pages of her notepad, one could read “bring the dead to life?”

…

She was still quite lucky, despite all. Vivianna soon found herself in a bustling city known for its prestigious science academies, and overjoyed at finding what she was searching for so long, she immediately paid the extremely high tuition and attended all the classes she thought were instrumental to her learning all that was necessary to pursue and fulfill her dream of doing the impossible. As much as she wished to share it with all, Vivianna kept her project to herself, thinking that doing otherwise could be quite detrimental –as she felt her ideas would be shunned, her opinions mocked, and ultimately be left without the needed resources to complete her vision. And so, she kept her thoughts and her words to herself, barely speaking in class beyond answering science-related questions and providing excuses as to why she had a curious, high-pitched-sounding bulge on her satchel in which she had to drop several raisins every now and then.

Her refusal to socialize worked perfectly, and nobody ever bothered her with questions, or even with greetings. Vivianna Frankenstein, of course, was still seen as the beautiful, slender, well dressed blonde beauty everyone recognized by her famous surname and high social standing, but as the days went on she became a mysterious figure, silent and single-minded, writing the hours away, using her voice only to show off her quickly growing knowledge and to, as some said, chat quietly with her satchel when she thought nobody was looking. Not even the mean girls at the academy could bother her: she ignored their rumors, their jealous gossip, the slander they tried to spread across the students. Some said she had killed her own parents; some said she sewed her own clothes, like a pauper would; some said she was engaged in illegal activities, that she trafficked organs and that she laid with the dead; some said she could talk to rats. But her striking beauty –since as she grew older, her loveliness only grew as well –protected her from people truly believing the malicious comments said behind her back and to her face. No one, however, could deny that she was working on something, and the question was no more who was she, but whatever she was building in her dorm.

Vivianna, indeed, was building experiments –more complex versions of the simulacra done in the science classes. She tampered with several types of chemicals and alternated electricity and heat to produce a formula that could bring her the certainty she needed to conduct her ultimate experiment. Sometimes, very rarely, she interviewed and questioned the professors on different, difficult subjects, but never gave a straight answer when she herself was questioned. The letters to Henrika and to Matt and Marianna came out of her dorm every week, and every week their letters entered through the thin space between the door of her dorm and the floor. When one of the most jealous girls managed to steal one of these letters, she woke up the next morning with all her clothes nibbled, ripped and torn, with the bottom of her closet mysteriously sprinkled with what seemed to be rat feces. She attempted to denounce Vivianna as the one who vandalized her dorm, but to no avail. Vivianna was soon such an unstoppable force at the science academy that after that particular incident, by necessity, the rumors quieted down and her name because taboo during lunch breaks and spare time. Everyone became afraid of her. Vivianna, so absorbed by her work, could barely register this as a change in her new routine.

…

            It was during a storm –however much stronger than that in which her father had died –that Vivianna felt prepared to go ahead with her ultimate experiment, having found what she believed were the essential elements to achieve her goal. Willard clawed at her shoulder, his little whiskers trembling with anticipation. It was past midnight on a weekday, and as such the other students were surely all fast asleep.

Vivianna tied her hair on a neat braid bun, put on her carefully sewn baby blue apron –made to fit her perfectly, made to avoid any suspicious stains on her regular clothes –and slipped her manicured fingers into the washable, custom-fitted gloves she had prepared for her more “hands-on” parts of her project. She left Willard by her side, next to the clock, with a little plate with plenty of nuts for him to snack when he saw fit. Vivianna hadn’t eaten in quite a few days. And, if the assembling of the parts of her project was going to be as arduous as she expected it to be, she figured there would be few chances to stop and feed her little friend.

The work started, and it indeed took her a lot of effort and several hours; but when the work was finished, and the experiment was ready to begin in earnest, she felt a pride Vivianna hadn’t felt in quite some time. She took a moment to breathe deeply, to smile and think of her achievements, of Henrika’s marveled expression, of Matt and Marianna’s admiration, of her triumph over death. And so, she brought the lighting and the fire into her darkened dorm room. The creature she had delicately laid upon the bed, wrapped with leftover strips of spare fabric, tied all together and perfectly measured to conform to Vivianna’s desires, was pierced by needles connected to wires, connected to batteries, loaded to their full capacities. Light flashed as the creature, the human-like figure which almost seemed to be sleeping in that stormy, violent dawn, was shocked into reaction. In conjunction with the prepared chemicals and the carefully applied heat, there was sizzling and buzzing, smoke and tears from Vivianna’s weary eyes, screeched from the terrified Willard, and the final, almost explosive roar of thunder, when the batteries and the needles and the tubes all burst with one last, dramatic shower of sparks.

All quieted down. Silence and darkness returned, and Vivianna, with trembling fingers, lit up a single candle. She picked up Willard and put him on her shoulder, and he quickly nested against her neck, seeking her comfort. Vivianna ignored him. She took her candle closer to her creation –and before even being able to take a proper look at it, she adverted how the chest expanded as it took its first deep breath –and how its eyes opened, suddenly, like curtains being swiftly pulled up.

“It’s alive,” she whispered to Willard, or perhaps to herself.

But Vivianna was not overjoyed. She was not proud. And she was not happy at all. As soon as she could see what she had done, what she had brought to life, she recoiled in disgust and withdrew the light from it, as if, in darkness, it would disappear like a child’s nightmare.

Vivianna had attempted to make her creature in her image: she sought, as she was brought up, only the most delicate and striking beauty. She saw no reason as to give life to a being devoid of pleasant features, of perfectly shaped limbs, of the most perfect pieces she could manage to get her hands on. And so, Vivianna had fished her parts from very select places: the most cared-for, elite parts of the cemetery, where models and actresses were buried as they left too soon, too young; the dumpsters of shopping malls and large stores, where the broken mannequins were disposed of, but which could still be of use. She had washed everything so meticulously, taking the grime and the blood from nails, from crevices, better than the most professional mortician. Vivianna had used her sewing skills to attach the disparate limbs, to select and put together those fingers she found the nimblest, the lips she found the fullest, the feet she found the daintiest. When good parts were not available, that’s when the mannequins came of aid. She used heat to melt the plastic of the mannequin parts into the flesh, to attach everything neatly, cleanly, perfectly. Perfectly. Vivianna had never worked on anything as much, with as much attention to detail, with so much effort and hope. In her mind, the creature –her very own doll –would be perfect.

Perfect! Her own creation, perfect! As the heat of life animated the body, the seams became evident, the lines between skin and plastic. The scars of the stitching, that which Vivianna had done by hand, had not healed as well as she had expected; a newly beating heart pounded blood into the veins, and that blood leaked and dripped slowly through the badly sealed holes of the doll’s body. And beyond the skin… Vivianna felt sick to her stomach. She had attempted, in her pursuit of perfection, to copy herself –but even better, even more beautiful, with all those features Vivianna wished would be enhanced. But in her pursuit, the body’s proportions were extreme and deeply uncanny. It was all about small, off measurements: the bust, slightly too big for any human; the waist, just a bit too small, small enough to be wasp-like; the length of the legs, leaning toward the monstrous. And the features –the huge, blue, glassy eyes, surrounded by long, full lashes; the full, reddened, vein-crossed lips, which the doll could barely open in a forced pout; the tiny, thin nose, through which the doll tried its best to breathe; and the full head of blonde hair which, in the process had burned in places, or had become dirty and frizzy and greasy and stringy. Perhaps, Vivianna managed to think, it was what the magic of animation did to her creature: as a still figure, much like a mannequin, it could be slightly unsettling but, all things considered, a thing of beauty; but in the flesh, moving like –or how it imagined like –a person would move –something was so terribly off in how it moved, in how the body reacted to the movement, in how everything was placed and tried to place itself in the space.

The doll tried to sit on the bed –tried to arch its back and lean forward properly, slowly, and bend its long legs; but something went wrong in its calculations, and it fell to the floor. Vivianna gasped and retreated, feeling Willard’s claws sinking deeper into her shoulder. Then the doll managed to open its plump mouth and let out a noise –a hoarse, painful sound –and Vivianna could not take it any further. She flung open her dorm room door, ran through the hall, got out of the building, reached the street, and continued running, despite the rain, despite the thunder, despite the lightning, despite the heaviness that the water gave her as it soaked her baby blue apron, her neatly tied hair, her puffy sleeved pink blouse, her full navy skirt, her lace-trimmed petticoat, and as the mud slowed her patent-leather kitten heel shoes. Vivianna felt the weight on her, felt her damp hair covering the tiny, warm, trembling body of Willard still fixed upon her shoulder, she felt how she was slowed down, but she did not stop running.

…

            Vivianna woke up in her underdress, lying on mint green silk sheets, her feet clean from mud and her face no longer cold and wet. She blinked, trying to recognize her surroundings. There was the crackling of fire, and a warm, cozy feeling, and smell of fresh bread. She wondered if she had died and this was heaven. Then she managed to focus her eyes, and saw the fireplace in the bedroom where she was in, with the rich velvet curtains drawn, the mahogany furniture neatly set against the white walls, and on the nightstand next to her, Willard, all puffed and dried and clean, too, nibbling on an assortment of nuts set aside in a small glass bowl for him.

            Vivianna sat in the bed, trying to remember what happened. She remembered the rain, the fear clouding her mind, the ghastly feeling of air not entering her lungs. Then she recalled the darkness of her dorm room, and the sparks and the flashes of white light, and the flickering of a candle flame as it revealed such a horrible vision…

            The door opened and Vivianna jumped and tensed. To her surprise, Henrika, of all people, entered the bedroom with a large smile and carrying a silver tray loaded with a full breakfast. Vivianna sighed in relief, and relaxed her shoulders. Henrika looked even more beautiful than ever, in the golden light of the hearth, in a long, silky white nightdress. Vivianna returned her smile. Henrika still tied up her hair like before, almost well enough, but with thin strands of hair lying everywhere, framing her face in such a lovely way.

            “Good morning,” said Henrika. “Or actually, good afternoon. Did you manage to rest?”

            “What happened? Where am I?”

            “I was going to pay you a visit, but then I found you halfway there,” Henrika smiled, carefully setting the silver tray on Vivianna’s lap. “You were so exhausted you could barely walk, you could barely open your eyes. I caught you before you fell to the ground. So I took you here, to my home in the city –you know I know how to take care of you.”

Willard squeaked happily. Henrika laughed. “Yes, and I know how to take care of you too.”

“I didn’t know you had a home in the city…” said Vivianna, wanting to have her breakfast, but still not willing to let Henrika out of her sight, still wanting to hear her dearly missed voice.

“I told you about it in my last letter –you haven’t been answering them, lately,” said Henrika. “Neither Marianna’s letters, nor Matt’s –I still keep in touch with them, my beloved childhood friends; we meet every week, and we talk about how you have grown apart. We all missed you so much, Vivianna. It’s not the same without you.”

“Oh, Henrika…” moaned Vivianna, sinking her head in the pillow. “I’ve been absorbed with such a useless project… I have wasted so much time to something so awful…”

“No, no, Vivianna, don’t concern yourself with that,” said Henrika, sitting beside her on the bed. “You look so tired, so distressed… Please, for your own sake, rest. Have something good to eat. Talk to me, have someone to talk to… Besides Willard, I mean –I won’t argue he’s a great companion, but…”

Willard gave Henrika’s hand a playful bite. Vivianna smiled.

“Thank you so, so much for giving us shelter during this storm, Henrika… We… I have missed you too, so much, so often.”

Henrika smiled back at her. She leaned in and kissed her cheek.

“Now you’re home. You don’t have to worry anymore.”

Henrika stood up and turned around to leave. Vivianna almost called her back, not wanting her to leave just yet –somehow afraid that she had imagined Henrika, this whole scene, this whole situation that, after such horrors, seemed too good to be true. Henrika then turned backward, and smiled once more, her bright beautiful smile.

“Now eat! You look positively emaciated.”

Vivianna smiled. She turned her attention down to the tray –there was golden-brown toasted bread, apple juice, cookies and tea with milk, honey and sugar all at her disposition. Vivianna felt as if she was back at her home in her little quiet town, back in her childhood, and wondered why she ever wished to leave all that which she loved.

…

            Vivianna rested on Henrika’s bed for a few days, but soon, as long as she wasn’t asked anything about the night of the storm, she regained her cheerful disposition. Henrika’s home became her home too, where she ate and slept and spent most of the time, as it was a rainy season indeed, and the mere sound of the raindrops sputtering against the windows during strong winds could set Vivianna on edge, make her tremble, and made Henrika fear strongly for her friend.

            “Please, my dear –what is it that hurts you so much? Why the rain, why these sounds, that used to be so natural in the past, have become such a source of terror to you?” asked Henrika, when she couldn’t keep quiet about it any longer. “Please, Vivianna, my dearest friend, my love –just tell me!”

            “I can’t –please, please, I can’t!” cried Vivianna in response, and Henrika knew that there was no use. All she could do, then, she concluded, was to help her friend get through these painful moments, and be there to comfort her.

            Some days she would find Vivianna locked up in the room, with Willard resting on her neck, covered in the green sheets, deep in thought, with her eyes lost somewhere far away. Those days Henrika would leave her be, and spent these hours on the verge of tears, wondering what had happened to her friend that had changed her so dramatically. Other days Vivianna would be perfectly happy but absolutely nervous, her eyes darting to each window, each door, as if expecting some kind of ghost to materialize and assault her. At least, Henrika thought, these days Vivianna would talk, and they would sew together, and chat and everything would be like before again. But the bad days outnumbered the bad, and finally, one sleepless night, Vivianna’s cries were more than what Henrika could bear. She entered the dark bedroom where Vivianna was, curled against a fidgety Willard. At first Vivianna tensed and held her breath, but when she recognized her friend in the dim moonlight, she sighed, once more, and laid her head down.

            “I’m sorry… Did I wake you up?” asked Vivianna.

            “No, it’s alright… I just wanted to know how you’re doing.”

            Henrika kneeled next to the bed. Willard climbed out of the bed and onto her shoulder, and Henrika petted her for a while. Vivianna smiled.

            “Here I am. Better than before… I hope worse than tomorrow.”

            Henrika returned the smile. “You’ll get better. I know it. After your father died, I was really amazed… When my own mother died, when I was a child, I was a bit like you now… I didn’t want to leave my bed.”

            “Really?” asked Vivianna. “How did you manage to leave, then?”

            “I had you,” answered Henrika. “And Marianna. And Matt, and Elliot… I had all of you to help me get through.”

            “I miss Marianna, and Matt, and… Yes, Elliot. I miss them all,” said Vivianna. “I miss when we were children, and we would all play together, and things seemed to be so easy and simple…”

            “I know,” said Henrika, and she held Vivianna’s hand. “But this is our life, now. There’s no going back, so… I guess we should get used to this new situation.”

            Vivianna nodded. Henrika held Willard and set him on the nightstand, on a little pillow left there for him to sleep –both Henrika and Vivianna knew that Willard did love his owner, but was not a plush toy to always keep by her side.

            “Could you… Stay, please?” asked Vivianna. “Here, with me? Tonight?”

            “Of course. That’s what I came for.”

            “Thank you.”

            Henrika rested her head against Vivianna’s bed, still holding her hand. After a few seconds, Vivianna squeezed her friend’s hand.

            “Wouldn’t you rather…?”

            Henrika smiled, and climbed into bed with her. Vivianna closed her eyes and let Henrika embrace her and rest her head next to her neck. It was much different than the little warmth that Willard was able to give her. There was something special in the pressure of Henrika’s arms around her, in the soft breathing on her nape, and the feeling of her, just her, near her. It brought memories of sleepovers, of secrets whispered under sheets, of stories shared as they began to yawn and try to stay awake a few minutes more. It made Vivianna so happy that, for a moment, she managed to erase the stormy night from her mind and focus on the love she felt.

…

After that night, Vivianna tried her best to get better. She went along Henrika on her morning strolls, they ate together and spent their time doing more or less the same things they did as children: they staged their favorite plays in the drawing room, they sang and drew and painted and played pirates and, even if they didn’t have Marianne and Matt as their playmates to complete the group, they found themselves truly enjoying playing by themselves. Henrika showed Vivianna her talents at the piano, while Vivianna sang by her friend’s side, and sometimes, suddenly interrupting their strolls, they ran races on the streets, often just because Henrika knew how Vivianna liked competitions and also because Vivianna knew that Henrika wanted her to recover her strength, and even if she often felt tired, she also wanted Henrika to be proud of her, to make her happy. So day by day, night by night, they recovered the time they had lost since Vivianna left her hometown, and Vivianna recovered her enthusiasm and her health.

As autumn neared, Henrika invited Vivianna to her father’s winter retreat –a little cabin in the country, where Henrika used to spend many holidays. Vivianna, of course, accepted. She felt truly glad, despite all her improvement, to get away from the city. The changing color of the leaves made her realize how time truly passed, and how much she had changed, compared to the naïve girl she used to be. Having gone through so much, and still come out on the other side, have her hope for the future.

“You seem to be you again,” said Henrika, one afternoon during their evening walk.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I see you smiling a lot more often. You laugh more. You have a warmer color on your cheeks, your hair is brighter… All of you, is brighter. I don’t know if that makes sense…” Henrika chuckled.

“I understand. I do feel…” And Vivianna laughed, too. “Brighter, I guess.”

They continued walking, silently. Sometimes silence felt right, curiously. Vivianne felt these silences differently than the ones she devoutly maintained at the science academy: it felt peaceful, as if some thoughts were better kept and developed by oneself, until it felt right to voice them. It became a way to be alone and at peace, in each other company.

Out of the blue, Vivianna smiled and sprinted, running through the field. She heard Henrika laughing behind her, and her quick steps on the drying grass. And as she kept running, feeling free without the crowds and noise of the city streets, she heard a soft rumble –a drop on her nose –and rain began to pour down, and Vivianna, almost instantly, slowed down and grinded to a halt.

“Viv?” asked Henrika, a few meters behind.

Vivianna breathed deeply, trying to focus on the field and the trees and the horizon, instead of the sound of the rain, the weight of the water as it pulled her down into the mud, and when the lightning lit up the sky, Henrika crashed against Vivianna in a firm embrace.

“Viv, my dear, please, it’s alright,” said Henrika, quietly, into her ear. “It’s alright.”

Vivianna looked up to the sky. The rain kept falling, getting into her eyes, and nothing else happened, and she felt her clothes getting heavier, and finding it difficult to breathe, but still, nothing else happened. She looked around. There was no one else in the field, besides her and Henrika. Vivianna turned around and looked at her friend’s face. Her dark hair had become undone, and her face was soaking wet, and her face had slightly reddened after the effort of the run. Vivianna moved aside the strands of hair that stuck to her neck and temples. They gazed into each other’s eyes for a moment, as they tried to see if the other was crying, which of them needed reassurance. And, at last, Vivianna embraced Henrika and kissed her, just as another flash of lightning struck, and somewhere, in the fields behind them, a tree caught on fire.

…

            As Vivianna’s health seemed to be restored, they received a letter from Matt, their old childhood friend. Both her and Henrika were overjoyed to hear from him again, and swiftly answered his letter with an invitation to visit them. Vivianna smiled, stroking Willard’s fur, thinking of the three of them being together again, after so long.

            Matt arrived one fine crisp morning, along with a clear blue sky. During the years they had been apart, Matt had become quite the handsome young man, just like Vivianna’s mother had expected. He had become tall, even taller than her, and his fair curls framed his boyish face as if it was of a statue of a cherub in a church. Vivianna had always felt Matt was somehow angelic, whether in his gesture or his attitude: he had an infinite patience, an elegance perfected by years of fine schooling, and being alongside him made one feel either deeply at peace, knowing someone so gentle, or a powerful guilt, knowing one would never be as virtuous as him. He inspired a profound trust in anyone who met him, and ever since they were children and Matt became sort of a surrogate brother, Vivianna saw him unable of committing a single crime of mischief. At their age, after all she had been through, Vivianna couldn’t help but feel even less deserving of his friendship, of his smiles; she knew something awful, and despite his kindness, nothing promised her that he would ever understand the reasons she did what she did.

            Much like in the old days, Matt greeted her friends with a tight hug. Smiling wide, Matt looked at Vivianna up and down.

            “My, Vivianna, how you’ve changed in these few years,” said Matt. “Where have you been hiding for so long?”

            “I’ve been studying,” said Vivianna, lifting her chin. “What have you been doing?”

            “I’ve been studying, too. It’s only our dear Henrika who has been living the bohemian way.”

            “At least I’ve had fun,” she replied playfully. “You both seemed to have been through the wringer of years of scheduled learning.”

            “I know you surely found other ways to keep you entertained,” said Matt. “Well, what are we waiting for? Aren't you ready to go back home, Vivianna?”

            “What do you mean?”

            Matt frowned. “I mean back to your sister, Marianna. She has grown so much since you last saw her… I still frequent the house, where Elliot is caring for Marianna, for the home, for –well, everything. But…” he said, as he reached and held Vivianna’s hand. “She’s so anxious for you to come home. You are the eldest of the Frankensteins, you are all the family she’s got.”

            “Oh, she’s got Elliot to keep her company,” said Vivianna, avoiding his gaze.

            “Viv, you know Marianna loves you deeply. And I daresay, I think you once loved her too. But it’s been so long I don’t think you remember that you do.”

            “I’ve got my own issues to resolve. I cannot take care of a child now, not when I still have to finish my studies, when I—”

            “I haven’t come to nag you into returning,” interrupted Matt, softly. “Please don’t take this the wrong way. I just wanted you to know that I’ve been at the Frankenstein’s home, I’ve been talking with Elliot, and with Marianna, and that you should know what’s happening back there beyond what the letters say.”

            “If Marianna wanted me back, she would have simply told me,” said Vivianna, hiding the fact that her younger sister had effectively asked her to come home, several times, in almost every single letter. But the idea of returning home and having to care for her –having to play the role of the mother, now that both their parents were gone –made her terrified. As much as she missed the old times, she did not feel able to set a foot back in her house.

            “Let’s not talk about unpleasant things,” said Henrika. “Autumn is already here. It’s time to spend time together, eat hearty meals, and enjoy the life that nature is clinging on to. Later, during the winter, we can go on and face whatever is that troubles us. Right now, life is for living it.”

            Vivianna smiled, glad that Henrika had covered for her. Matt, not wanting to argue with her old friends, sighed quietly and nodded.

            The three of them spent many wonderful weeks together, waking up to the smell of freshly baked bread, enjoying the gentle crunching of the golden fallen leaves during their walks in the woods, and having nightly concertos in the drawing room, where Henrika played her piano, Matt played his violin, and Vivianna sang in a clear, merry voice. And when they left for bed, around midnight, Vivianna looked into the tired but blissful faces of her friends, and hoped these moments lasted forever, and that winter never came.

…

            During the first snowy morning, Matt said his goodbyes, kissed each of his friends on the cheek and left to return to his home and his studies. Before parting ways, Vivianna, still guilty by the words he had said to her, had promised Matt that he, Henrika and herself would return, together, to the Frankenstein house for the holidays, as a surprise to young Marianna. Matt had smiled widely and agreed that it was a wonderful idea, and so the plan was made, and a date was set. Hearing this, Henrika, proud of her, had kissed her sweetly and squeezed her hand. She knew that it was a big decision for Vivianna, and she knew that she had nothing but support from Henrika.

            As the winter settled in the woods, covering everything with its white and silver mantle, the regular walks became less regular, and soon Vivianna and Henrika spent more time at home, cuddling together under warm blankets, drinking hot tea and chocolate, and singing during the cold, dark nights. The cold and the foggy windows made Vivianna feel like the little cabin in the woods had become still in time, frozen like if inside a little snow globe. She made an active effort to avoid looking at the calendar, avoid counting the days to return. Letters from Marianna became less frequent, until one came, not in her usual small powder blue envelopes –but in a rough beige paper, with the address coarsely scribbled on.

            Vivianna frowned when she saw it, wondering who had written it. As she tore it open, while Henrika lounged and read on the chaise-longue, she realized it was Elliot’s. His handwriting was somewhat lacking, but still, it was not too difficult to understand. She began to read it rather uninterestedly, expecting there to be a petition for more money or the like; but as Vivianna continued reading, the words became messy, the paragraphs less neat, and soon the sentences seemed to spill out of the page, leaning downwards, the ink blotting and speckling the last inches of the coarse paper. She left the letter on her lap. Henrika raised her eyes from the book and asked her what had happened. Vivianna was unable to answer. Henrika left her book and walked to her, insisting, nervous. Vivianna then raised her own watery eyes to her. Henrika took the letter. She read it quickly, and dropped it in shock, and covered her mouth to stifle a cry.

            Marianna was dead. She had been strangled and killed, while walking on the woods near the Frankenstein home. Marianna knew these woods perfectly well, and used to spend her lonely afternoons searching for butterflies, beetles and other fascinating bugs to add to the collection that had been spreading to the rest of the large and many rooms that were empty after her family had left her. Elliot said that he had called her to dinner, but when she did not come, he set out to look for her; he had found the golden locket Marianna never parted with, and became afraid for her; he followed the path marked by her small footprints on the mud, and found her body lying next to a tree, eyes wide awake, with the killer’s blue-hued hand markings on her neck. He had cried and screamed, embracing the child, wetting her golden locks with his tears. Elliot then called the authorities, back from the house, having left Marianna’s corpse where it was, unwilling to touch it again –as the body had slowly become colder and stiffer.

            Elliot asked Vivianna to return, to pay her respects at the funeral, and to help with the legal proceedings. Vivianna felt once again unable to do so; she could not bear to see her younger sister's face, still forever, the colors of life taken so soon from her. But Henrika told her she would be by her side, and that she would support her, no matter what. As soon as he heard, Matt sent them a letter promising to be at the funeral, to pay his respects and help say goodbye to the poor child.

            Vivianna and Henrika arrived to the Frankenstein house during a steely-sky morning, where the cold winds were so strong it nipped at their lips and noses. Vivianna, still in shock, could not find in her the tears to shed. Willard, nestled in her black coat pocket, wrapped itself on to her hand, warming her as only he could. Henrika held her other hand, squeezing it tightly, a bit for comfort and a bit to keep her present. Henrika could not possibly imagine what it was like, to lose everyone in her family. She kissed Vivianna’s temple to give her strength, and both entered the grand doors back to the imposing house.

            The funeral was a quiet, solemn affair. Very few people attended –Marianna did not know many people, as she mostly stayed at home –and Matt and Henrika did not know how to talk to Vivianna, such a state she was in. After the lawyers, the governesses and the reporters left, Matt offered to prepare some tea. Henrika and Matt had a light meal on the main drawing room. Vivianna could not take a bite of anything. She walked up the stairs and wandered the rooms of her house, as the light faded in the twilight and the whole place sank into soft violets and blues. Vivianna didn’t turn on a single light; to her surprise, she knew exactly where everything was, even in the dark. She had forgotten nothing.

            Vivianna entered her old bedroom. Her bed was made, her desk exactly as she left it, everything neatly set in its place and carefully dusted and cleaned. There was her sewing machine, her rolls of fabric, the round tin box where she kept all her bobbins and threads. The sight of the dollhouse next to her nightstand, which used to be Willard’s little home, made her little friend quite happy, and she smiled, glad that at least someone was happy to be back. Vivianna then entered the family library, the place where she used to spend so much time as a child. All the books were there, some even on the large tables, the books on entomology Marianna used to devour deep into the night. She entered her late sister’s room. The walls were all covered with framed butterflies, moths, beetles, bees and dragonflies, all neatly named and organized and pinned and set under glass. Vivianna stepped in, gazed at the desk where she organized her insects, her pins and needles and magnifying glasses. She then continued to the other rooms, the ones that didn’t truly had a purpose. They had all become wallpapered by the frames of hundreds of insects, so many that as the last rays of sunlight streamed through the windows, the glass on the frames shone so bright like a flash of lightning. So many rooms, filled only with these framed bugs.

            Vivianna walked down the stairs, back into the light of the lit hearth, into the warmth of the company of her friends. They both gazed at her sympathetically, though Vivianna had the feeling that both were wondering why she hadn’t shed a single tear yet.

            “Where’s… Where’s Elliot?” asked Vivianna, coming out of her daze.

            Henrika stared at her, confused. Matt grinded his teeth.

            “He has been taken by the authorities, Viv,” said Henrika. “They told you so. He’s being investigated for being the only one in the house, the only suspect.”

            Vivianna looked back at her friends. Matt covered his mouth, his knees trembling. He was on the verge of tears.

            “Elliot?”

            “I can’t possibly imagine him being the killer,” said Henrika. “He never held anything but affection and care for young Marianna.”

            “Elliot would have no reason to kill her.”

            “I told the authorities so, but they say that that does not change the fact that… For so long, he was the only one in the house with her. There are no other suspects. What else can they assume?”

            Vivianna looked at Matt. He was awfully quiet. She knew Matt had been close to Elliot –the one of them three who had kept contact with him. Since Henrika had been caring for Vivianna, she hadn’t had the chance to stop by Marianna and Elliot’s, and so Matt had often been the only one to pay them any visits.

            “Elliot didn’t do it,” said Matt, suddenly, taking the hand off his mouth. “He couldn’t…”

            Henrika and Vivianna kept silent, in agreement. Vivianna approached the foggy window and wiped it, as she tried to see the woods surrounding them. It was completely dark outside, only so often lit dimly when the clouds pulled away to reveal the light of the full moon. When it did so, however, the snowy grounds sparkled delicately, as if covered in diamonds. Willard climbed to her shoulder and pressed his head into her neck, asking for comfort. Vivianna petted him absentmindedly. She kept gazing through the window, breathing softly, trying not to fog the window with her breath. She could not bear to look at her friends right then. She didn’t want them to see her grieve.

            Suddenly she saw movement among the trees. The clouds had returned, there was nothing but the soft reflection of the sole warm window light on the nearby trees, but this was enough to reveal movement in the bushes, in the empty branches, and it didn’t appear to be the wind. Vivianna held her breath and leaned forward, her nose almost touching the cold glass. The moonlight returned –casting its brilliant white light on the woods –and Vivianna distinguished the distinct silhouette of it, her monster, her creation, the misshapen being she had brought to life and had tried oh so hard to erase from her memory, as if, forgetting it, she could make it disappear.

            And, to her horror, the silhouette turned and looked back at her.

            Vivianna’s heart skipped a beat. She let out a soft gasp, and tensed, but did not react any further. Her face was stone cold. Vivianna only stared, a flurry of questions and fears spinning in her mind, at her creation, the monstrous doll she had constructed. An idea started to form, as she thought and saw the doll moving forward, deep into the forest, away from the light. It had been there. It had not been only Elliot and Marianna in the house; there had been a monster in the woods, waiting to hunt its first prey. The realization sunk Vivianna into a deep sense of guilt. She had made the monster; because of her creation, her little sister was now dead. As much as she had hoped to, she could not make her creation vanish, like a nightmare when one wakes up: it was as real as the air she breathed, as the fear she felt gripping her heart, as the sweat dripping down her back.

            “They will release Elliot, won’t they? They’ll see that he’s innocent,” said Vivianna.

            “Of course. They surely will,” said Henrika.

            Silence fell over the room. None of them were sure of that.

…

            The verdict found Elliot guilty of the murder of Marianna Wilhelmina Frankenstein, and sentenced to the same destiny he had allegedly subjected his victim too. The electric chair was prepared for him, and he was allowed one visit before his execution.

            He called for Vivianna. She wished he could refuse, but knew her friends would see her as callous if she did so; and besides, perhaps –just perhaps –she could try to change the authorities’ minds. She knew of Elliot’s innocence since she knew of her creation’s guilt –and even though she felt unable to share the precise information with those in charge, perhaps, she could save Elliot.

            She first talked to the detectives. She told them of the figure she had seen in the forest the night of the funeral, but, unable to give more details, they attributed it to a figment of her grieving imagination. Vivianna tried to insist. There was nothing else she could say –not to disclose the identity of her suspected killer, nor its origin, nor its possible motive to kill her sister. Vivianna only had the certainty that Elliot was innocent, and that she had seen a mysterious figure outside her window, in the dark, cast by shadows, unable to recognize or to track. The snowfall of the funeral night had erased all possible footprints the suspicious figure could have cast. For all the detectives knew, it could have been a ghost of Vivianna’s past.

            Accepting her attempts would be fruitless, Vivianna accepted to Elliot’s last wish, to speak to her. She knew not what she could possibly say to him in such a situation, but even if she was not sure of her capacity to do so, she would try to console him and promise him, as best as she could, that she did not held him at all accountable for Marianna’s death.

            Elliot was waiting for her, sitting on a chair in a small jail in the opposite end of the hall that lead to the execution room. Another chair was left for her, facing the jail. Vivianna sat down, wishing she had brought Willard to keep her company, to comfort her; but then forced her to remember she was there to comfort Elliot. He had the face of a hopeless desperate: his usually neatly combed hair was messy, his eyes were marked by bags that spoke of a sleepless night, and his hands trembled, not only because of the cold of these stone walls. Elliot did not look at Vivianna straight away. He seemed to be somewhere far away, deep in his thoughts, perhaps wondering if, against his better judgement and his own memory, he had, somehow, without knowing so, committed the impossible crime.

            “Elliot…” said Vivianna, unable to keep silent anymore. “I know you didn’t do it.”

            He looked up at her. Vivianna tried her best to keep a serious face.

            “What?”

            “I know you did not commit the crime.”

            “You know who did?” he asked.

            Vivianna kept silent. And Elliot, who knew her since she was barely more than a baby, opened his eyes widely. “You know. You know who did it.”

            Elliot smiled wide, as his eyes lit up and his whole being seemed to be brought back to life.

            “I do not know who did it. I only know you are innocent,” said Vivianna.

            “No, you know. You do know.”

            “I don’t.”

            “Please, please, tell the judges. Tell anyone. Tell someone, please, or they’ll hang me… They all think me the culprit. You know I’m not a killer. Please, tell them…”

            Vivianna looked down at her gloved hands. She couldn’t say what she knew. She would be seen as mad, or worse, a dangerous criminal. She would be held accountable for her creation. She would have to pay the price for the damage caused. Vivianne kept her head low, and her lips quivered. Elliot’s joy slowly faded.

            “You’ll tell them… Won’t you? Please, Vivianna, you know I’m… I’ve served your family for so long, I’m basically a part of the family, too… Please, Vivianna, help me, you can’t not help me, please, my life is at stake…”

            “I do not know who did it. I will insist upon your innocent every chance I get… But I do not know who did it.”

            Elliot sunk on his chair in confusion. “Why can’t you say it? What’s stopping you?”

            Vivianna stayed silent. She had made up her mind. Elliot would not understand. She had to keep quiet. Her life could be on the line. She stayed silent.

            Elliot understood he would not get any more help from her. His face darkened into a frown, as he leaned forward towards her, pressing his forehead on the jail bars.

            “Listen to me, Vivianna. Listen. I have cared for your family since I was a boy. I cooked for you, I cleaned for you, I watched over you as you slept, and took care of you while your parents were away. And when Mrs Frankenstein died, I –and I swear to you, only I –took care of things. Your father, as you must know well, was unable to do any type of work in the house. I had to manage your growing little sister, your own temper tantrums, your father’s outbursts –and yet, despite it all, I managed. And then he died. And then you left,” said Elliot, his voice trembling with fury. “Marianna was left alone. Did you ever think about that? How you left your little sister, barely a teenager yet, to deal with the absence of her parents and her older sister? Did you ever feel remorse, at leaving her as you did? With barely a word of encouragement, barely a goodbye? I consoled her, when she cried. I sang her to sleep, I told her stories, I tried my best to help and distract her and protect her… I dedicated my entire being to her. Matt helped, I won’t say I did it absolutely all by myself, but… Matt was not always available. I was. I had to be.”

            Vivianna looked deep into Elliot’s eyes. She saw nothing but complete scorn at her. It felt improper, she thought, for him to stare back like that. It felt wrong.

            “Where were you, Vivianna, when your sister screamed for help?”

    ��       Vivianna stood up and walked away. Elliot pounded on the bars of his jail.

            “Who killed her, Vivianna!? Who did it!?”

            Vivianna walked at a brisker pace, shutting her eyes tight, as if she could stop his words this way.

            “You know I’m innocent! You know! You know who’s responsible!”

…

            Elliot was executed that same day. A small funeral, even smaller than Marianna’s, was held in his honor. Only Henrika, Matt, and Vivianna attended it. They all sat in front of the only portrait of him, a grainy image cut out from an old Frankenstein family portrait. It depicted Elliot not too long after he started to work in the house: he must have been only ten or eleven years old. He was staring at the camera, serious, grave. Vivianna felt his eyes piercing through her, and his last words ringed in her ears.

            “I can’t believe this,” muttered Matt. “I can’t believe this…”

            “The detectives are right, though,” said Henrika. “He was the only one in the house, in the grounds, anywhere near her. There are no other suspects. And he had the locket on him… I don’t know. I wish I could say that Elliot was innocent, but… If he wasn’t…”

            “Don’t you dare say that,” snapped Matt. “You know he… He wouldn’t…”

            “I know, but –you know, I didn’t know him as well as you and Vivianna did. Perhaps he thought there was something to gain, with—”

            Matt stood up and stormed off the small white room. As he slammed the door, the small portrait trembled and fell. Henrika stood up and put it neatly back on the table. Vivianna, still unable to speak, kept her eyes occupied with her hands.

            “I’m sorry,” said Henrika. “I didn’t mean to speak of Elliot this way, Viv…”

            Vivianna said nothing. Henrika sat next to her, and took her hand.

            “But if it wasn’t him… The true killer is out there. I think that’s even more scary a thought. Who knows who will be his next victim…?”

            Vivianna took a short breath, trying to stay quiet. She could not possibly tell Henrika, as much as she wished to take the weight of the guilt off her. Henrika would be furious. She would be terrified. She would hate her, and never want to be her friend again. During those few months Vivianna realized how important Henrika was to her, how she wouldn’t have been able to go on without her help. She couldn’t let Henrika slip away again.

            “I… I sort of wish Elliot was the killer,” muttered Henrika.

            Vivianna turned to her in surprise. Henrika bit her lips, ashamed.

            “I’m sorry… I didn’t want Matt to hear me say so. But if Elliot was the killer, and now he is dead… Then I think justice was made. If he killed poor, sweet Marianna… He got what he deserved.”

            Henrika sighed, and covered her eyes with her hand.

            “My gosh… Imagine if he had been planning her death. If he had been waiting for her to wander off the woods, to be somewhere he wouldn’t leave any evidence…”

            “He wouldn’t,” said Vivianna. “Elliot didn’t do it.”

            “I think… I think he did. Who else, then?” said Henrika. “One can never know who’s a killer and who’s not. You trust someone for so long, you end up with such an affection for them… And then they reveal their true selves.”

            Vivianna began trembling. Henrika sighed once more, and embraced her friend lovingly.

…

            Vivianna did not return to Henrika’s cabin. She decided to stay in the empty house for a while, with the excuse to settle a few legal matters. Henrika understood, of course. She told Vivianna that, whatever happened, she would be there for her, and that if the aching of solitude started to gnaw at her, she would always answer her call. They kissed one last time, they embraced for as long as they could, shed a few tears and parted ways. Vivianna watched her leave through the pathway to the house, as she disappeared in the snowy landscape.

            But Vivianna would not be occupied with legal matters. As soon as Henrika left, she packed her bags once more, adapted an old coat that used to belong to her mother, prepared food for several days of hiking, knitted Willard a small red coat with which he would never be cold or lost in the woods, and, wrapping her pink silk scarf on her neck and buttoning her grey fur and leather winter coat, left the house again and went into the woods.

            Birds barely sung in the now bare branches of the dark-barked trees. The only sound was that of Willard’s shivers, Vivianna’s heavy breathing and her steps on the snow. The wind sometimes blew her way, but her handmade coat was strong enough to protect her from the worst conditions. She walked for several days, trying to identify footprints in the snow that didn’t belong to her, tracking the creature that, as she wandered deeper into the forest, should have been taken care of by the deadly freezing cold of the night. Soon food became scarce, and Vivianna, who had expected to find her target quite a few days sooner, started to panic, wondering how she would survive, whether she should try to return home or go on with her mission, going further into the woods, getting more lost but perhaps closer to exacting her revenge.

            After almost a month of hiking, Vivianna began to think her mission was going nowhere. Willard, despite practically living in the inside pocket of her coat, had become ill and she feared he had not much long to live if she continued down her path. She held him closer to her heart, hoping to give him the heat he needed, taking deep breaths and trying to keep her temperature stable. The cold had started to get to her, at last.

            One morning she rested next to the large roots of a tall, majestic tree, where she would be sheltered from the snowfalls. There, she resolved, Vivianna had to make her decision. While she was thinking, surrounded by the blinding white of the freshly fallen snow, Vivianna suddenly heard footsteps approaching. She stood up, startled, brandishing her father’s paperknife. Willard fell off her pocket and sank headfirst into the snow; Vivianna didn’t notice, panicked as she was, expecting to see that which she had been so desperately hunting. She turned and jerked her head, glancing at the trees, trying to distinguish any sort of shape hiding behind one of them.

            The figure wasn’t hiding. When it decided to make itself visible, it approached Vivianna with confidence, walking through the snow with no difficulty whatsoever. Vivianna gasped. The creature looked just as she had left it: the only visible difference was that it was wearing a thick black wool blanket as a makeshift dress, tied with a rope around its tiny waist. Apart from that, the full white light of the midday sun and its reflection on the snow shining on the creature exposed all its disturbing features, at least those which were uncovered. The mismatched, thin fingers with long broken nails, the bare feet, impossibly small and almost certainly completely plastic, and the head –goodness’ sake, the head –with its long, stringy blond strands, shaken and messed by the winds; the full lips, which slowly parted to reveal pearly white milk teeth and a terrible red mouth; the thin nose, cracked at the bridge, and the little nostrils opening and closing desperately; and the huge, unsettling, ice-blue eyes, surrounded by many thick, black, irregular lashes. Displayed in its full glory, it was a terrifying sight, an uncanny representation of the human body, deformed in such a way that it seemed more like a child’s attempt of drawing a person.

            “You killed my sister,” muttered Vivianna, still not completely over her dread. “You killed her, you monster…”

            “I did,” the creature said simply. “I found her in the woods, and it was an opportunity I didn’t want to pass on.”

            Vivianna’s eyes, after all that time, finally began to water with tears. “She was a child! How could you? What could you possibly gain from such an awful crime?”

            The monstrous doll just stared at Vivianna. It leaned forward, to see her better. Vivianna saw herself reflected on the creature’s glassy eyes.

            “You look different from when I first saw you –you, the first thing I saw. You looked neater, then. You looked pristine. Now you are still as beautiful as then, but now, you seem to be a wilder, more desperate thing.”

            Vivianna kept her mouth shut. The doll smiled with puckered lips.

            “I am glad. I wanted you to become desperate,” said the creature. “I wanted you to look for me. And finally you’ve found me.”

            “And I am glad I did,” said Vivianna, and with that she jumped toward the doll and, remembering where her flesh parts and her plastic parts were, stabbed her right on the upper chest, just under the collarbone, where she knew there was a soft spot. The paperknife sank into the thick blanket and into the doll’s skin, but it didn’t move any further. Vivianna moved back. The doll looked down and pulled the paperknife out. It had barely left a mark on the creature.

            “It was not a smart move of you,” it said. “Now I have your knife.”

            Vivianna closed her fists, but knew she would not be able to run fast enough, or to successfully fight to get her knife back. She sat on the snow, knowing herself to be the creature’s prisoner. No matter, Vivianna thought. There had to be another way.

            “I know you want to kill me for what I have done,” it said, cutting a hole in her wool blanket and dangling the paperknife in it. “But I’d rather you listened to me. I have many things to tell you, if you’d lend me your ear.”

            Vivianna quickly took a hand to her ear and covered it. “I won’t do nothing for you. You’re the most despicable thing I have ever had to witness, and I won’t believe anything you try to tell me.”

            “I have done some awful things, I admit, but I do not lie. I make my best to never lie. I believe it is no use to deceive with words, when with the truth alone you can still obscure your intent, and make people bend to your will.”

            Vivianna frowned. The creature made an effort to sit in front of her.

            “See? I look at you, eye to eye. As equals. Can you please indulge me, and listen to what I want to tell you?”

            Vivianna gulped. “I don’t have much option, now, do I?”

            “You have all the options. What you fear are the consequences. If you fear them enough, you feel trapped.”

            “I do feel trapped,” muttered Vivianna.

            “That is what I wanted. May I begin?”

…

            “I woke up in the dark, and the only thing I managed to see was the golden light of a fire that you held in your hand, you, my creator, my mother, perfectly dressed in white and blue and pink, barely stained by the birth. By the light of the fire I saw your face, how perfectly symmetrical it was, how fair your features were, how soft and lovely it seemed, how pleasant it felt to see it. But your features were altered soon by the expression of profound pain, of the deepest fear and loathing. It scared me, that such beauty could become so terrible. I tried to sit, to see more, to move, and when I failed at this you retreated into the shadows, and the light in your hand trembled so that I feared I would go back to the darkness of the void. I tried to talk, to say anything, for you to respond to, but I still didn’t have the words. And at the sound I managed to produce, you dropped the light, and you ran away. I was left alone once more, in the dark, with one small golden light. I managed to move myself to it, and to pick it up. It was warm, and it made me immensely happy. I tried to touch it, and it burned me, and it gave me a pang of pain. I was happy too, then, to discover such a feeling. I was able to feel, I thought, though not with those words. I was not a still thing, not anymore. I was a being. I was someone.

            I got out of the room where you had left me. Outside, there was a bit more light. It was not so cold anymore. I was happy, then, too. I took the fire with me, my new favorite pet, as I tried to walk though halls that seemed like that of a labyrinth. Slowly, I got the hang of it, of moving my legs, of stepping, of balancing my weight and moving ahead. I approached a door. Someone saw me, and let out a painful scream. My ears hurt, but this time I did not feel happy. I just knew that, just as you in your horror, I had to run. And so I run, I left the building, I went out into the blinding light of the morning and discovered a whole sprawling world in front of me, filled with sounds, smells, textures, light and color. I was overwhelmed. I heard more screams, and I kept running. I tried very hard not to drop the fire. I only stopped when I reached a place full of trees, when the sun was already setting, where there was no one else. The light had gone out, after all the time I ran. I cried for it, because it was the first thing that was mine, and I had lost it. Then night fell, and there were no lights nearby; my little fire finally died, and I was left, once more, in the dark. I managed to curl up against a tree, where at least I could feel some support by my side, however rough it was. I spent that first night alone, crying. The tears slipped into my nose, my mouth, and I felt I would drown.

            I didn’t. Next morning, I was awaken by the early sunbeams, as the sky turned all sorts of beautiful colors. I was delighted. Its changing colors and warm hues reminded me of your face, and as it stabilized itself into a bright blue, I thought of your eyes, and wondered what more beauty awaited for me to discover, in this painful, astonishing world.

            You see, despite being found terrifying and having to escape the company of other beings, I still felt a strong love of life. I knew that I had much to learn, and I thought that the reason others reacted in such a way to me was because I was seen as ill-equipped. If I only could learn how to be like others, I would be accepted. That idea kept me going. I managed to rip the white pieces of cloth off me, and find clothes thrown on the ground, apparently with no owner, for me to cover myself with. But you see, none fit. As I found more pieces of clothes, inside boxes alongside pieces of broken things and half eaten food, all things with no owner, I grew more desperate. All people wore clothes. Why couldn’t I? Why did none of them fit me? I felt terrible. And so, one day I found a fountain, decorated with stone copies of plump babies and seashells and other things I thought pleasant to look at. I dipped my hand in the water when I realized it felt nice to do so, and tasted it and found it fresh and good to the tongue, but also saw, in the trembling waters near the edge of the fountain, my own reflection. It was then that I understood. I was not like the others. I was special, in an appalling way. I did not look like anyone else, and that, not my lack of knowledge, that horrified people. Putting clothes on wouldn’t change things. I ran again, when I heard doors creaking and opening, the chatter and conversation, footsteps approaching. I learned to run from such noises. That is what people produce, these sounds of being busy, working, interacting, laughing, flirting, crying, things I could not do with anyone else. I learned to properly avoid people. I found pieces of fabric I could use to cover myself, not for the comfort of others but for my own; as pleasant as it was to have my skin touched by sun and rain, after seeing other people I simply felt I could not leave myself exposed. And, besides, nights could get cold. I found I did not like the cold, and so I decided to cover myself. Realizing that coverage meant that I became less visible, it also brought the promise of being able to infiltrate the towns and pass unnoticed. I had once thought this useful to learn, as like in my original plan, to be a person, like everyone else. But by then I thought it was a blessing to pass unnoticed, since while I did like the woods and the fields and the peaceful solitude they gave me, I also had no means to make fire, to warm myself properly, and I saw no lights besides that of the blinding sun or the faraway stars. I wanted to touch the light again, and I wanted to listen to the strange, wonderful sounds of people talking. I loved seeing people, going about their days and routines, like the ants and bees I carefully observed during my days in the wild. I began to frequent these spaces, public squares and parks, where I had my share of nature and shelter –and yet was still able to observe gorgeously dressed ladies, sharply dressed men, adorable children and all sorts of curious little animals that they treated like decorations and dear possessions, like me and my little firelight. I heard their talking and slowly discovered the meaning of some of their words and expressions and, in the cover of night, I repeated these sounds until I managed to pronounce them just as I had heard them. I saw a lady sing, once, in a park with flowers in full bloom; that night, by myself, I tried to sing. I found out I was good at it, and practiced every time I could, and singing became my favorite thing to do. Sometimes I even thought that perhaps I should try to become a bird, not a person. But singing calls attention, and I only could do so quietly, where nobody could hear me. I often wished I could sing to someone, like that lady did, and make someone else happy, like that lady made me.

            Excuse me. I’m getting off track.

            I truly learnt to talk when I found myself in the countryside, and I came upon a small rural school. The windows were large and I soon discovered the perfect spot where to make myself comfortable and, keeping a close ear to the glass, observe the classes as another student. The young children there learnt things like counting, reading, and writing. When I found a piece of chalk outside, besides the hopscotch, it was like I was given a precious gift from above. I practiced my handwriting, learnt to apply the perfect amount of pressure, and how my wrist had to move to spell the letters so fundamental in the creation of words. I was mesmerized by my capacity to learn. I improved quite faster than the rest of the children, and so I had to move and find other places to witness, in seclusion and secrecy, the classes of other students. I learnt to read, too, and I also learnt to pick the locks of the school so as to steal books. I read everything I could get my hands on. Many fairy tales, since these were the easiest; but later I read longer books, novels, they called them, with the older children. I learnt many things from these books, even more than from the classes themselves: I learnt how the world worked, how people truly interacted, how people thought. I learnt people were not truly as nice and as pleasant as they acted; that dark and cruel thoughts could occupy their minds, and that life has heroes and villains. I watched the children interact and unraveled the narratives going on inside the classroom: I properly identified the heroes, those children with friends and who were seen as the kindest and most helpful ones; and the villains, the children who had few or no friends, behaved aggressively towards others, and acted out during class. This, to my surprise, did not mean that the roles were completely fixated. As time went on, I saw children switch sides, leave their friends in favor of others, restructuring the whole social system. I was marveled by their complexity. During the night I pictured myself acting the roles of the children, performing their characters in their social situations, taking decisions and imagining the outcomes. It was a bitter reminder though, as morning approached, that it was all just pretend. I had taught myself, first of all, to disguise and hide. I would never interact with others, and this, along with the pain of the loneliness that I got, so often, as I empathized with the friendless children, led me to cry myself to sleep. I repeated to myself, like a prayer, some of the phrases I had heard the villain children yell at others in the recess: that I would never have friends; I would never be loved; everyone would always despise me. I would never be truly happy.

            There was a child, I noticed, who was not one of those I could categorize as either heroes or villains. It was a young boy, who played all by himself. He barely talked to the others, seemed to have no friends, but neither did he seem to behave badly towards others. He became a mystery to me. I watched him, trying to understand him, why he seemed to be alright with being alone.

            One afternoon, while the children were in recess and I read my borrowed books, hidden by a shadow on the southern wall of the school, behind the big boxes of garbage, I heard a small ball rolling on the floor. It was a marble, so it was called by the teacher, I think. The young lonely boy came to pick it up, and somehow, despite the shadows, he saw me.

            “Who are you?” he asked me, still by the light, not daring to get closer yet.

            I kept quiet. I realized, for the first time, my lack of a name.

            “I’m Ryan. Well, that’s my surname. But I don’t think we know each other enough to be on first-name basis,” said the boy, cradling the marble in his cupped hand.

            I said nothing to this. I was barely aware of what a surname was.

            “Can you speak?” he insisted.

            I huffed. The child would not leave me be.

            “Yes, I can,” I said in my hoarse voice, knowing that it would unsettle him, just as it did unsettle you. But he wasn’t. Ryan walked nearer, and I heard the sound of more marbles tinkling in his pocket. “And I don’t think you should talk to me.”

            “Why not?” he asked.

            “You wouldn’t like me,” I answered.

            “Why wouldn’t I? You’re not mean,” he said, and he came a little too close. I moved back, and he stopped walking. “I think you seem a little afraid, that’s all.”

            “Why are you alone?” I finally asked him. I wanted to know the truth –how it came that a completely normal boy was so withdrawn from the rest, for no apparent reason.

            “I don’t know,” said Ryan. “Why are you alone?”

            I blinked. I think that is when he saw my eyes, my features, and I noticed the surprise in his expression.

            “You better leave, now. I told you you wouldn’t like me,” I said, turning my back to him.

            “I’m ambivalent toward you.”

            “Ambivalent?”

            “I neither like nor dislike you,” he said. “My mother taught me that word.”

            I closed my eyes. I wondered who my mother was. I thought of you, but you never taught me any words, nothing besides how to run.

            “You are not a student, are you?” he asked me. “Or are you a teacher?”

            “I think I’m a student, but not like you are.”

            “I’ve never seen you in the school.”

            “I never am.”

            “So then why are you here?”

            “I’m here to learn.”

            Ryan cocked his head, confused. “Then come inside. Why be outside when you could be learning inside? It gets cold outside sometimes, and sometimes it also rains. Why aren’t you inside?”

            “Why are you alone?” I insisted.

            Ryan sighed. “The other children don’t play what I play, they don’t like what I like, and they don’t think like I do.”

            I didn’t understand. The children played many different games. What was it about marbles that repulsed them?

            “You shouldn’t be alone,” I said, repeating something I had heard a teacher tell him once. “You are too young to be alone.”

            “I prefer it that way. I don’t want to behave differently, to pretend to like other things, just to comply with what the others want to do,” said Ryan. “I want to do what I want to do.”

            I thought about this thing he said. I still think often about it.

            “That’s alright, I guess,” I said. “You should do what makes you happy. Even if other people say that isn’t right.”

            Ryan smiled. “I think I like you.”

            I laughed. It was the first time I did so, and I think I didn’t do it too well, judging by Ryan’s expression, but then he laughed too.

            “I like you too, I think. But I don’t think you should be here with me,” I said. “I wish we could, but I think we cannot be friends.”

            “Why? Are you a criminal?” he asked me.

            “No…” I started answering, but wondered whether that was true. People ran away from me. I had to live in hiding, taking things to survive –things without owner, but I didn’t own them, either. Was I a thief? Was I a runaway? I did behave exactly like criminals did.

            “Then why are you hiding here?” he asked. “Why won’t you come to the light?”

            I was about to answer –I don’t remember what, precisely –but just then, a teacher appeared walking towards Ryan.

            “What are you doing here? What have you found?” she asked him; then she looked at what he was looking, and noticed me. She gasped and immediately grabbed Ryan’s arm, pulling him behind her. “Who are you?” she asked me, less kindly than how Ryan had asked me. “What are you doing here?”

            “I mean no harm,” I said, just as a criminal would.

            “Are you lost? Are you homeless?” she continued asking. “You can’t talk to our students like that –you can’t be alone with them –what were you two talking about?”

            “We weren’t doing anything wrong…” Ryan said.

            I tried to move and get away from the situation; but somehow, as I stood up, the teacher got a better look at me –she gasped in horror, as everyone does –and cried out.

            “Help! Someone help! There’s an intruder in the school!” she shouted.

            That was my cue to begin running. I did not let the book go, though. I was a thief, after all, I thought.

            Unfortunately for me, there were more than one teacher: they soon circled me, ran towards me and tried to grab me, pulling my blanket covering, pushing me around, until I finally had enough and pushed back. I became aware of the strength I had, enough to shove away several people. I think it was around that moment when my face became completely exposed. I took advantage of their surprise and disgust to finally make my escape, and, fortunately, they did not continue chasing me.

            When I believed I was safe and away from anyone, I stopped to rest. It was already beginning to get dark. I sat down, with the book still in my grip. I was sad once more, with my eyes filling with tears; but also there was something more, a strong feeling born in my gut and rising through my throat in a muffled scream. I didn’t want to steal the book; I didn’t want to bother these teachers. That hadn’t changed a thing. I was despised and punished for things I had only done out of necessity. It had been by no true fault of my own. It had all been terribly unfair.

            I wondered then if I was a hero or a villain, at that moment. People did not like me, that was a certainty. I had shoved them and stolen a book. I had been nice to a boy, but it didn’t seem like anyone but he had noticed. Only loneliness was unconditionally kind to me, but I had felt the sweetness of company, even if for a few precious moments. I craved more of it, and my desperation to be normal, to be lovable, to be made happy by others and make others happy as well became so strong, that in my impotence I let out a long, furious, anguished cry. I covered my face with my hands, and pressed my eyelids, my lips, my cheeks, wishing to remake myself, redo the mess you have created. I considered taking my own life.

            But I was not a murderer, I told myself, at least not yet. I felt the powerful need for destruction, but I dared not act on my impulse. I wished to exact revenge on those who hurt me; ideas of arson crossed my mind, but again, I became afraid of my own thoughts, and forced them to be quiet. Instead, I made an effort to try to come up with some sort of plan to gain, once more, that so-desired moment of friendship. By the time the sun had completely set and the moon was shining above my head, I had come up with nothing.

            Against my better judgements, I continued walking and returned to the towns and the settlements. I continued observing the behavior of the people, giving me hope that someday, perhaps, if I could manage to imitate them well enough, I could integrate myself into their society. I peeled my eyes open, from my hiding places, and dedicated all my waking hours to attentive watching. I reread my book over and over, I read it out loud, and I sang when I could, when I knew I would not be bothered; I made my best to train my voice into the sweetest sound I could manage to create. I watched the women, especially, the group to which, based on my brief moment of self-observation, I guessed I should belong to. Just as the teachers were older than the children, there were more, even older people –those with their skin scratched by wrinkles, hoarse voices, and difficulty of movement. These people, even in their lack of beauty, were loved and respected by others; despite their physical differences they were still a part of these societies, they were allowed inside the homes, they were cared for. This time, I spent some time observing a family of three –an older woman, a woman who seemed around the age of the teacher who had screamed at me, and a young girl, around the age of the school students. There was a curious beauty to their bond: the young girl depended on the mother for most activities, yet the mother depended on the older woman; and the older woman, that who rarely if ever left the house, depended on the young girl as a source of comfort and company. I witnessed kindness and familial love as I had never done, except in the stories and books I had read. I watched, from my hiding spot, the goodnight kisses the mother bestowed on her child’s forehead, and the embraces the child gave to her grandmother, and I teared up, wondering what they felt like, how sweet it should be, by the delighted expressions of their recipients. I dreamt and fantasized that they adopted me, and that they loved me and I loved them. They would cook me meals, hot meals that steamed and smelled heavenly and were presented in beautiful pieces of pottery and china; I would sleep in one of their beds, surrounded by pillows and thick blankets; they would sing to me, and I would sing to them, and I would read to the child just like the mother did, and I would embrace the grandmother just like the child did, and I would advise the mother just like the grandmother did. The perfect circle of loving mesmerized me. Sleepless nights were spent deep in thought, wondering where my family was.

            You were the one who forgot to give me that, Frankenstein. It is because of you that I lack a family, just as it is because of you that I exist in such a pitiful way.

            Hoping to get a second chance at acceptance, one dark night I entered the house and approached the old woman, who was knitting something, surely for her beloved granddaughter. She heard my footsteps; she asked me whether I was her daughter. I said no. She asked then if I was a thief. I said yes. I heard her swallow with difficulty, and she said that alright then, and said that she would not make a noise if I promised to spare her. I told her I meant no harm. So far, so good, yet I felt I was repeating the same things I had done before. I thought that, when the mother and the daughter came back home, I would be once again pushed and yelled at, and so I hurried to make my time with the old woman as useful as possible.

            “I have been a thief, but I am not here to take anything away from you,” I said. “Nothing except a few minutes of your time. You see, I’d hoped I may perhaps be able to have you as a conversation partner.”

            “Oh,” sighed the woman, gratefully. “Oh, then what a relief. It’s alright. I know what it feels like, to want to talk and having no one around.”

            “You do?”

            “Oh, yes. I haven’t lived my whole life here, you know. I’ve lived with my husband for several years; after his passing, I was not able to keep paying the rent of our house. And so, I came here. But I did spend some few years, in that old house, trying to make ends meet.”

            “Trying to make ends meet,” I repeated. That expression seemed familiar.

            “What about you, miss? Or are you a misses?”

            “Excuse me?” I asked, trying my best not to sound too confused. “I’m afraid I do not understand.”

            “I mean, are you married, my dear?”

            I thought about it. The answer was simple, a brief ‘no’, yet it hadn’t crossed my mind that this gentle old woman must have surely have been married once, in order to produce her daughter; and that her daughter, the mother of the child, must have surely been married once, too; and so, the child one day would go on to marry someone else. I looked at the walls: the small framed pictures of unknown men now made sense.

            “Did you love your husband?” I asked her.

            “Yes, I did,” she smiled. “He was a darling. I miss him very much, but I’m blessed to still have my family for me to look after and for them to look after me.”

            “And does your daughter have a husband?” I asked. Outside the window, the one which I used to spy on these kind folk, the sky had begun to darken. I didn’t have much time left. “If she does, does she love him?”

            The old woman frowned. “How did you know I have a daughter?”

            I kept quiet and still. The old woman sighed, but in the end she answered my question: “She did love him, but I knew from the beginning that would not be enough. He was a cruel man, you see. The worst type of cruelty, the one that appears as sweetness at first. But I have had my fair share of experiences, and I can smell a cruel man a mile away. My daughter didn’t heed me, of course. She married him, and had a lovely child together. And, just as I predicted, he revealed himself not too long after the honeymoon. He yelled, he threatened, he hurt… And now he’s left this family for good,” she said. I did not understand if this was meant as in the cruel man had died, or that he had literally left the family and was living somewhere new. I hoped, at the mere thought of a cruel man hurting the kind, sweet granddaughter of my hostess, that it had been the first. “It’s harder now, in a sense. We have to make do with what we can. We still live hand to mouth. But at least the child can go to school, and my daughter has a stable job. I do what I can around the house to help with the chores, yet you see, my legs and my eyes are not what they used to be.”

            “Can you see me?”

            The old woman turned around to me and squinted. “Oh, barely so. I can see you have many scars,” she said softly. “I hope they do not give you much pain anymore.”

            “I am in pain,” I said. “But it used to be worse.”

            The old woman smiled. “And hopefully it will be better. All wounds eventually close. And you are a courageous one, albeit a bit cheeky, I must say. I do not know how old you are, but I think no one, regardless of age, should walk into a stranger’s house uninvited.”

            “I am sorry,” I said. Footsteps were approaching the door. “But I was truly desperate for some conversation.”

            “I understand. Do not apologize. Manners can always be learnt.”

            “I had nobody to teach me manners,” I said quickly. “I have nobody.”

            The door creaked. As I saw the old woman furrow her brow again, I reached out to her, and grabbed her hands. She let out a brief surprised gasp. “I am sorry –my dear woman –but please –you, who have had a fair share of experiences –please tell me –in these few moments of pleasant talk –could you please –tell me, please –do you believe I can be lov—?”

            The door opened. The woman and the child were there, standing still, watching me, and I still had the hands of the old woman in my hands. The child opened her eyes very wide, then her mouth, and then she brought her own hands to her face and let out a piercing scream.

            “Mother!”

            The woman grabbed a nearby broom and beat me with it. Dust fell upon me, and I still didn’t let go of the old woman’s hands.

            “Please –miss –do help me –I have done nothing—!” I cried.

            The old woman, shocked and confused, said nothing. I squeezed her hands tighter, but she suddenly pulled them out of my grasp, and, in my distraction, the woman succeeded at hitting me hard with the broomstick on my head. I felt a short pang of pain. There was a cracking sound, and then I saw the pieces of the broken broomstick on the floor, and heard the heavy breathing of the scared woman. I stood up, then. I looked at the woman in the eye. She covered her mouth, just like her daughter, stifling a scream. I looked back at the old woman. She was perfectly still, quiet, as if she were a statue in the middle of the room. There was no use.

            The woman, then, grabbed another thing –a long piece of metal, which I did not have the time to identify properly. This one was harder –the pangs were stronger –and finally she managed to push me away from the house. I ran away, unsurprisingly. I insulted myself. Why did I think this time would be any different? What reason would the old woman have to defend me, a stranger, from the judgement of her family?

            As I cried, my eyes burning inside their sockets, my thoughts wandered away from the small village, from the house and the three women. You came back into my mind. You, as the only mother I could speak of having. If someone in this world could ever love me, I assumed, that should be you. As the bird takes care of its chicks, and the cat feeds her litter, a mother would be where I would surely find something akin to pity and compassion. I wondered where my father was, and whether he was also a cruel man for having left me.

            Luckily for me, I pride myself in having an excellent memory. I knew the places I had been through, despite the anguish that had conducted my steps. Taking care of being properly sheltered from the hateful eyes of the crows, I went back to the rural school, and from then, it was not very difficult to return to the place of my birth. I found the building, but you weren’t there. I decided I wouldn’t abandon my mission, and kept looking for you. I even tried to ask people of your whereabouts –of course, properly covered and disguised –and yet I still was seen with scorn and, more than once, identified as a monster and then beaten into the ground. Slowly, day by day, I became angrier –in my pain I found the fuel to go on with my search, less a desperate desire for sympathy and more a furious determination to have answers. Your face hardly ever left my memory, and I looked for it in every person I came across. The shining beauty of your visage became poisoned as time passed. It became a mockery, a treasure I would never inherit. The last few weeks, despite my weariness and my misery, I walked faster, heavier, as the first snow fell, and the conditions of the climate became even more ruthless.

            I stopped to rest briefly in a forest I had not been in before. It reminded me of that one in which I had also made a stop after my birth, but the trees were different, the air smelled different. This place seemed familiar yet strange, as a half-remembered dream…

            It was then when I saw the child. A young girl, taller than the granddaughter but with a youthful face, that in its fair beauty reminded me strikingly of you. This girl was sitting beside a large tree, with a book in her hands, a magnifying glass on her lap and two glass containers, which held large insects whose names escaped me. The girl watched her bugs with profound interest. She wrote notes on the book, and later took out a piece of paper and began sketching one of these bugs. I watched her in silence, mesmerized by her artistic talent. I knew insects –during these weeks I had barely anything else at my disposal for nourishment –but I had never dared to see them as a thing of beauty. By her skilled hand, these strange creatures became objects of fascination and perfect proportions. I wondered, foolishly, if perhaps this girl –this time –it would be different.

            I approached her quietly, yet making sure my footsteps would be heard –so as not to startle her. It took a few seconds, but she finally raised her eyes from her bugs and pages and set them on me. I stopped and allowed her to examine me. The woolen blanket still covered me, but I had exposed my head so as to be as upfront about my appearance as possible. She did take her time to gaze at me, but then, to my surprise, she returned her attention to her work.

            “You’re lost, if you’re searching the town,” she said as she closed one of the books. “And besides, what’s worse, you’re in private property.”

            “Private…?”

            “This is part of my family’s grounds. There –you see?” And she pointed with her pencil to the blue gables of a large house in the distance, peeking from up the top of the bare trees. “That’s my family’s home, and these are our woods.”

            “Oh.”

            “But don’t worry; we don’t do anything to trespassers. My mother always said that nature should be to everyone’s disposal.”

            So the child had a mother. The past tense in ‘said’ made me wonder whether her mother was still around.

            “What are you doing?” I asked her. So far, the child had not screamed or ran away in horror. I believed things were working out well.

            “I draw them –I draw them all the time, and I also capture some, and if they’re rare and pretty, I pin them to a piece of cardboard, write their name in Latin and hung them by the walls of my house.”

            “Oh. You’re very talented.”

            “Thank you. People often say that, but I don’t think they think very highly of my hobby. And being talented at something people don’t think highly of isn’t much to write home about,” she sighed, and put her papers away in a leather bag. As she leaned into the bag, a small golden twinkle caught my eye. A necklace dangled from her neck, with a piece of gold so shiny and beautiful that it somehow made the child’s beauty seem even brighter, even more unattainable. “My father did not like it very much, but at least he humored me. Now, I think even I have started to stop liking it.”

            “Your hobby?”

            “It has become a bore,” she said, as she glanced at me. It marveled me, how she didn’t seem afraid at all. And then she smiled, and I thought, if I only had a fraction of the beauty this child has, then I wouldn’t have a care in the world. Things would have been very different, then. “Have you come to visit my parents?”

            “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

            “Well, if you should like to, the house is always open. I’ve been starving for company, lately. And if you feel especially hungry, we always have tea at five. You can come over, if you’d like.”

            “Are your parents alright with you inviting people over to tea?”

            The girl lowered her eyes. “Both my parents are dead, now,” she said in a grave voice.

            “I am very sorry.”

            “It’s alright. I still have my sister,” she smiled rather bitterly. “Even if she’s barely there at all. And I have a servant, Elliot, who’s very kind to me. And friends, the best one could ever wish for, and yet… They’re not always around. And loneliness has a way to seep through everyday actions, and to dampen every moment of solitude into a deep melancholic blue.”

            Even her voice was angelic. She noticed me glancing again at the shiny necklace, so she scooted closer to me and made a gesture for me to get closer. I recognized it from seeing it done by others, but nobody had done the gesture to me. I immediately kneeled beside her.

            “This was my mother,” she said, opening the necklace to reveal the small picture of the most beautiful creature I had laid eyes upon. No wonder she was the child’s mother. And again, she reminded me of you, in a way I explained as being the reason all beautiful people looked alike. “I barely remember her, but I do remember some things –she used to read me fairytales, and sing me lullabies, and stroke my hair as I fell asleep.”

            “That sounds beautiful,” I said, close to tears.

            She smiled again, and slipped the necklace under the collar of her blouse.

            “What is your name?” the girl asked me, the question I dreaded to answer.

            “I don’t have one,” I replied in shame. “At least not yet.”

            “What? Why is that? Have you no parents, nobody to name you?”

            I kept quiet. I kept thinking of the beautiful woman trapped in the golden necklace, of how blesses I would have been to have her as a mother.

            “Who are you?”

            I looked back into her blue eyes. She did remind me a lot of you, I thought.

            “Never mind that,” I said, trying to smile. She did not. “What is your name?”

            “… Marianna. Marianna Frankenstein.”

            The surname made everything click into place. Of course, I thought. And then, so, you must be in the house, I deduced. I had reached to my destination –I had come home. And, even better, I would ingratiate myself to you through your little sister; you would surely listen to her and she would speak nice words of me, she, Marianna, who held no grudge against me and who did not see me as a monster.

            “I’d like to have tea with you, Marianna,” I said, unable to hide my joy.

            Marianna frowned. This was never a good sign. “Are you here to see my sister?”

            “Yes, as a matter of fact I am.”

            “Do you know her? Do you know what she’s doing, that takes up so much of her time?”

            “I do not know her, but I have seen her, and I am connected to her,” I said, unsure of how to word the strange relationship that binds us together, “I need to see her again.”

            Marianna’s face was still furrowed with doubt. I began to panic. “She isn’t home yet. She’s to come for the holidays, but she won’t be home –surely for another month or so.”

            “It’s alright,” I hurried to say, standing up, towering over her. “I can wait.”

            “What do you want with her?” she asked, holding onto her bag.

            “I need to talk to her –”

            “What for?” she insisted.

            “She’s… she’s very important to me. And I’ve come from afar just to see her.”

            Marianna didn’t believe me. I could see it clearly in her grimace.

            “I’m sorry, but I don’t know you. I don’t think you should wait with me for her. I think you should desist, and try not to think about her anymore. My sister isn’t a very… faithful person,” she said, unsure of her choice of words. “With this I mean, she is as changing as the moon.”

            “No matter, I will wait.”

            “What do you want with her?” she insisted once more, and my patience was wearing thin.

            “It is none of your business, child,” I said. I raised my eyes to the roof of your house, imagining its great halls, the large window and the sunlight streaming in, and the comfortable, warm rooms that your parents have left behind. I pictured a large table set with plenty of hot food, and a cozy hearth where to forget ever feeling cold. This was your home, and so, it was mine too. “Now, please, take me to your house.”

            “No,” she said. Her voice quivered, and for the first time during our encounter, I saw fear in her eyes. “I am sorry, but I cannot.”

            Marianna was afraid of me. Far from being disappointed, this awakened a volcano of rage inside me. People were truly changing, just like you, just as Marianna said of you. One moment friendly and understanding, the next doubtful and hostile. And it terrified me, to think that, being this close to you, to home, this child –and her childish fears –were everything keeping us apart. Marianna was no longer fair and beautiful: in her fear, the worry had shaped her features in a horrified gesture.

            “You will take me there,” I said firmly. “I have a right to talk to your sister –I need to do so. She owes me that.”

            “I won’t. She won’t. I will not –you –I cannot trust you,” said Marianna, standing up, with her back to me, and starting to walk briskly.

            I grabbed her bag by its straps. She turned around with her eyes wide open in fear. She reminded me of the granddaughter, and I immediately covered her mouth with my hand, expecting her inevitable scream.

“You will take me there,” I repeated. “Or you’re not going there at all.”

Marianna stared at me with her piercing blue eyes. She was still, and tense, but it did not look like she would start screaming. I took my hand off her mouth. I took a deep breath.

Marianna began running for her life.

I ran behind her, pursuing her, just like when I hunted for prey when the trees did not give me their fruits. I grabbed her by her shoulders and, just as a shriek escaped her throat, I gripped her neck and stifled the scream in its infancy.

“Don’t scream –don’t you dare scream –don’t you even dare…”

Marianna’s eyes kept staring at me, as her whole body trembled –convulsed in jerking movements –and finally, as I gripped tighter to keep her still, she stopped moving at all. A few seconds passed. I opened my hand –and Marianna fell to the ground. Her eyes were still wide open, but there was no screams, no sound of breathing, no racing heartbeat. Marianna was dead –and I had killed her.

Fear washed over me –the thought of having taken the life of something as beautiful and pure as this child –but soon pride followed, and I grinned, glad to have taken revenge on you –on the child who was surely going to try and call other to her aid, to attack me. I had managed to defend myself, and in my new power I found strength and elation. I walked around the corpse of the child, admiring my work, how quickly it had all happened, how effective my hands had become for murder.

I had been a thief before I had become a killer, and I had no qualms when considering looting the body. The bag seemed practical, and yet my attention came, first and foremost, to the golden necklace and the enchanted image within it. I took the necklace from the girl’s neck and, now afraid it would reveal me as the killer, I tried to hide it in the folds of my blanket.

Later, I found out that it had fell to the ground, not far from Marianna’s body. A young man had picked it, one by the name of Elliot –the servant, I assumed. I carefully watched the events unfold –the consequences of my crime befalling onto the young man, and the subsequent grief and pain it brought you, and your close friends –those I would never have. And so I resolved –I knew I would not appeal to your sympathies with words; what good were they for me, when I tried to befriend others? What good were they when I was beaten, hurt, and insulted? My hands –these, these that you gifted me with –became my greatest aid. And with these hands, that you yourself sewed to my body, I would kill everyone you hold dear –I would not stop until you became as lonesome as I have, until you felt the sting of knowing everyone else has the fortune of having a loving family –while you do not.

But then I thought, there was no need to be so ghastly. I certainly want you to suffer –it was this desire that kept me going through these last few days of hiding and silent watching –yet I want to have a companion even more. If you spare me an eternity of loneliness, then I can spare you of the same fate. If you want to preserve your happy life, then you must ensure I can be happy, too.

Vivianna Frankenstein, I, your child, am alone and miserable. I have told you only some of the encounters that I have attempted to have with the rest of your people, those who consider themselves normal, the ones who are deserving of happiness. So, I do not expect these people to ever love me as I wish they did. You –only you –have the capacity, then, to create someone like me –someone I could love, and who could love me back.

[ here for CHAPTER 2 ]

[sketchy-rosewitch]

Lonely for too Long: Bo Sinclair x amab!reader

Part 2/2

Masterlist

Part 1: Somethin’ Stupid

18+

Warnings: Homophobic parents (mentioned), use of F slur casually, sex, blowjob, cum play?, anal.

A/N: I don’t know why I got gender envy from whoever I was imagining as the reader but I was so yeah 🤭🤭

The sun began to set as you made your way into Ambrose. The town had lots of cars still in it and you could hear some people chattering in a distance. All of that surprised you, could’ve sworn people left when the sugar mill shut down. At least that’s what your parents told you during college graduation. You knew Bo and his brothers would still be here, especially if Bo stopped contacting you all together, giving zero updates on his life.

Your car stops at the old gas station and your feet his the pavement.

It’s been 16 years. Bo and you stopped sending letters after 4 years and a year after that you two stopped calling. You had asked your parents, who at the time still lived in Ambrose, if Bo was alright. They’d update you but after the Sugar Mill shut down they left, leaving you not knowing what Bo or even his brothers were doing.

A bell dings against the glass door when you open it. “Hello?!” You shout, peaking your head in, you decide to just walk in. Boot’s tap from down below, getting louder and louder until you see a man in a mechanics uniform. You smile.

“Hey Bo.”

“Blue?”

Your heart swells like it did when you were teens. He walks up to you carefully, as if you’re a bird who’ll flee if he approaches too fast.

He touches your face, his hands dry and rubbery. Sad blue eyes meet yours. “The hell are ya doin’ here?”

“I promised I’d come back didn’t I?”

You cover Bo’s hands with yours, his face is thinking. The crinkle between his brows gives it away. Bo lets out a huge laugh, his head flying back.

“Yeah I guess you did..”

Bo let’s go of your face and smacks your back like he did when you two would walk together during school. “I’m gonna close up. You can head up to the house and I’ll meet you there.”

-

The house was messy when you came in, books and papers scattered everywhere, the dishes weren’t done in the sink, and ash seemed to have missed the tray as it was on the end table by the couch. You sigh disappointed Bo never dropped the habit.

He was at the house moments later.

“Sorry ‘bout the mess… I uh would’ve cleaned if I knew you’d be here. I’m gonna go change. We don’t have much to eat I’ll make us some pizza though. Some beers in the fridge.. Do you drink? Sorry just assumed-“

“Yeah.” You laugh. “I can get the pizza started and I’ll pull out some for us. Go change.” You snort and nod your head towards the stairs. He nods awkwardly then turns, starting to unbutton his mechanic’s shirt and walk up the stairs. You go into the kitchen and pull out the beers and a frozen pizza, turn on the oven and go find the bottle opener. Luckily the drawers are still decent, silverware where the silverware should be, kitchen utensils either in a drawer or in the large jar Mrs. Sinclair used to use to hold them. You find the bottle opener with a bunch of clutter, notepads, pencils, pens, scissors.

The oven beeps by the time you actually grab it and you make your way over to put the pizza in the oven. You set the timer then go to sit in a chair to open the beers.

Bo comes in minutes later, his hair looks tidy, he wears a white t-shirt and plaid pajama pants you’re sure were given to him years ago for Christmas.

He sits in the kitchen chair across the table and takes his beer sipping it.

“How’s work-” Bo pauses for a second as if he’s unsure of himself. “Been?” His voice goes higher.

Your body freezes, you let out an awkward laugh. “It was good for awhile. Had a lot of benefits and met a lot of people… I uh- got laid off a couple of months ago. Everyone from the team I was on moved and looked for a different job. We never contacted each other or shit so. I kinda went through a midlife crisis, sold my house, went to do a couple of ‘adventurous’ things and then decided to come here for a job. I knew they wouldn’t have anything computer sciencey here but I didn’t know what else to do.”

Bo purses his lips and nods. “Your parents doin’ alright?” He asks, trying to change the subject.

“I assume so. They’re probably pissed their son ended up a faggot but it’s okay cause they have other kids that won’t disappoint them.” Your heart aches but you shrug nonchalantly, messing with the condensation on your bottle.

“How’d they find out?” Bo asks, his tone seems more aggressive, like he’s jealous but you shake it off, not wanting to read too much into it.

“Well you know how in high school I’d sleep with a girl every other week?” You joke. Bo snorts and rolls his eyes. “Yeah no, I told them I hadn’t found any girl at work or anywhere that peeked my interest. Then I told them they probably won’t get a daughter-in-law and they freaked out. I never actually said I liked men. They kinda just assumed it, I guess cause I never dated anyone. I mean I do like men and I know, I wouldn’t be happy being with a woman for the rest of my life but still. Then they told me not to contact them anymore. So I haven’t.”

“So no wife or kids?”

You scoff. “Yeah if that’s what you got out of the conversation then yes no wife or kids.“ You then roll your eyes and smile playfully. The timer goes off on the pizza and you both get up at the same time.

“I can get it.” Bo says. You nod and sit back down.

“So what about you, Mr. Sinclair. No Mrs, No Jr?” You ask looking at him, then lifting your bottle to sip your drink. He shakes his head.

“No.” He laughs. “No, No wife or kids either. Had a few girlfriends, if you could call them that. But that’s it.”

The oven door slams shut, he grabs the pizza cutter to slice the pizza.

“Mmm, I always saw you with a wife. Thought when we stopped talking that’s what happened.”

Bo walks back over and sets your plate, then his down. “Things just happened. Ma kicked the bucket around that time. Your parents used to ask me how I was. I’d say fine. Then everyone left after the sugar mill shut down.”

You I furrow your brows.

“What’re all those cars doing out there then?”

“Got them from the junkyard. Makes the place feel more alive.” Bo shrugs, he takes a bite of his pizza. You nod and eat yours too.

“How’re Vincent and Lester?”

“Lester moved a few miles from here. He visits every week or so and Vincent is here. He’s just busy with his art. I’m guessin’ you plan on stayin’ for a minute. You’ll probably see him tomorrow at some point.” Bo shrugs. “Gets caught up in his work, but we all do.”

You nod in agreement. Bo and you finish and he takes your plate, setting it in the already filled sink. You watch as he shrugs to himself, again putting off cleaning them.

“Can sit on the porch for a bit?” Bo points towards the back door, you grab your beer and follow after him. Bo flicks on the porch light and you two sit on a bench listening to the crickets. He pulls out a pack of smokes and lights one.

“Didn’t break the habit I see.”

You watch as he blows smoke into the air. He shakes his head. “Nah, I tried for a week a few years back. Was back to it the next Sunday at midnight.”

“Guess now you don’t gotta hide it from your parents.” You elbow him playfully. His nose crinkles along with his eyes, showing his crows feet. You can’t help but stare at him, watching as his lips go around the cigarette and how he drags it.

You remember when he made you take a drag of one of his cigarettes and you were stuck in a horrible coughing fit. He never let you try it again.

“Blue.”

You let out a small gasp and look away, instead looking at the tree line and stars above it. “Yeah?”

“Nothin’.. you were just starin’.” His arm goes around the back of the bench. You tense up but try and relax again. You take a swig of your beer, set it down on the concrete, then look at Bo. A stroke of confidence paints you. You reach up and turn his head towards you.

“Promise you don’t gotta wife.”

Bo licks him lips and looks into your eyes and at your lips. “I promise.”

“Good cause I don’t wanna be no homewrecker.”

Bo lets a small snort escape his nose. You smile and lean in, tasting the tobacco on his lips. He drops he cigarette on the concrete porch and stomps on it to let it out, then takes both of his hands and cups your face.

You pull away and smile. His thumb traces your bottom lip.

“Blue.”

God love live that stupid nickname. All that it took was you wearing a different blue shirt everyday for him to come up with it.

“Yes?”

“I missed you so much. Please stay.”

“Okay.” You smile, Bo leans in again and kisses your lips, this time sliding his tongue across your bottom lip. You open your mouth and take his t-shirt in your hands, groaning as you two okay with your tongues.

Bo grabs the back of your head with one hand and holds your thigh with the other. He kisses lightly but sloppily down your cheek and your neck. You feel as his hand sneaks into your jeans, you push him back playfully. “Not out here jackass.” You say. Bo is panting, his cheeks a bright red, he wastes zero time and grabs your hand pulling you through the house, up the stairs and to his bedroom.

You pull your shirt off and undo your jeans, yanking them down. Bo’s hands are on you again, touching and feeling every part of your body. You take his white t-shirt off and the old pajama pants. Bo pushes you onto his bed and kisses your chest, moving down until he hits your happy trail. He groans at the sight of it.

Bo kisses it and pulls off your boxers. Bo licks up your shaft before taking it in his mouth. Your cock twitches as you feel his tongue licking around the head. “Shit Bo.” You mumble. He starts bobbing his head up and down, spit drooling out of his mouth You run your hands through his hair and grip onto it when he plays with your balls. Your back arches and you let out somewhere between a moan and a squeal, having never felt this before.

You’d never even had sex before.

“Shit, don’t stop. Mouth feels good. It’s so good..” You babble. Your hips thrust up into his mouth, he gags at his but you don’t apologize, you wanna do it over and over again.

Your cock twitches. You groan feeling your orgasm pooling in you. “I’m-“ you groan, spurting into Bo’s mouth. His mouth comes off of your cock with a ‘pop’. Some of your cum leaks onto his chin. You sit up and kiss Bo, licking your cum off his face.

“Thought you said you only had girlfriends?” You raise a brow playfully.

He sits next to you and goes through his bedside table shrugging. “Girlfriends, boyfriends, one night stands, all different bodies. Didn’t wanna make a big deal or whatever so I ‘summarized’.” Bo has a bottle of lube in his hand when he does the air quotes. He shuts the drawer a turns around.

“Not one of them could ever beat you though. I’ll tell you that.”

You laugh. “We haven’t even had actual sex yet.”

“I ain’t just talkin’ about sex dumbass. I couldn’t talk to them how I talk to you. I wasn’t afraid of bein’ with you no matter if we got caught or not. Wasn’t afraid to cry or be happy. You’re everything to me Blue.” Bo explains. He furrows his brows. “Now enough sappy shit. I wanna fuck you.”

Bo kisses you again, he manhandles you so your legs are spread facing the headboard. You lay back again and watch as he squirts lube on his middle finger, he plays with your hole, spreading the lube around it, then prodding and pushing his finger in. You moan. “Relax for me.”

You nod your head and do just that, he thrusts his finger in a few times then pulls out, adding more lube and going in with two fingers. Your back arches.

“Fuck Bo!”

Your eyes roll back. He huffs.

“Told you to relax.”

“Shut up! I’ve never had sex with a man before asshole.” You groan, absolutely flustered. You feel his fingers loosening you up and relax unto him. He fingers you until your cock twitches and you let out a high pitched moan.

“Shit! Do that again.” You start to drool, he chuckles and curls his fingers again, they hit your prostate and you groan. Bo then slowly slides his fingers out, and you watch as he puts lube on his cock. The cool gel hid your hole again and he lifts your legs, positioning his cock towards your hole.

“I really need you to relax for me baby.”

Your chest flutters at the pet name and you nod. He leans over you and kisses your cheek before sliding slowly in you. Your mouth opens, it hurts yet feels so good as he stretches you.

You grip onto his hair and attempt to relax into his touch.

“Fuck, fuck, ah. Fuck me.” You groan, eyes squeezing shut.

“That’s what I’m tryin’ to do.”

Your eyes open and you laugh softly. “Shut up.”

“Never.”

Bo slowly pulls back out before slamming into you. You cry out, he starts thrusting roughly into your ass. You wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him just as rough as his pace. Biting his lip, he lets out groans of his own. He opens his mouth wider and you shove your tongue in, playing with his.

Bo groans and grips your waist feeling up and down your body. His hands rough and dry. He lets go and angles you up more. “Bo, Jesus fuck. Fuck!” You pant as yours and his mixed spit comes down your face. He hits your prostate over and over again causing your cock to twitch.

“You like that? Huh?” He teases, you nod. “Say it, say how much you love my cock in your ass.”

Your tongue falls out of your mouth and you roll your eyes up into your head. You bite your lip. “I love your cock on my ass Bo. It feels so good.”

Bo quickens his pace making a knot form in your stomach. It tightens and tightens as he pounds into your prostate.

“Gonna cum Bo. Fuck..”

Bo smirks and uses one of his hands to touch your cock, making you cum instantly. Your body twitches, cum spurts all over you and him. You let out a loud groan, thrusting your hips in the air.

Bo keeps going, moving you back so your whole body is on the bed. You’re sensitive and whine as he finishes in you.

Bo pulls out slowly and cum leaks out of your ass. He sits up and grabs your arm hauling you onto him.

You kiss up his chest and move his chin down with your thumb to kiss his lips.

When you two part you end up looking into his eyes. You smile lazily at him and begin to close your eyes.

“So happy to see you again.”

“I am too. Now we can complete that dream of yours.”

You nod your head, not even realizing what Bo exactly meant. But Bo knew. You, Bo, Vincent, and (sometimes) Lester, living in the middle of nowhere. Where no one has to know about your relationship.

[musewritingsforyou]

The Three Rules

Rule #1, Rule #2, Rule #3

Summary: Spencer and F!bau!reader learn to trust each other during a difficult case.

warnings: swearing(mild), injury, angst, criminal minds style issues

Pairing: Spencer Reid x  F!Reader Words: 4.2K

A/N: I took forever to get to the point on this one! the beginning is supper fluffy and the end has mostly angst with a little fluff. Part 2 will be up tomorrow! *I do not own any CM characters

~~~~~~~~~~

Rule #1: Trust in each other

A familiar buzzing enters my dream and wakes me. Both Spencer and I’s phones are buzzing loudly on the bedside table and I see him groggily move his hair from his eyes and pick his phone up.

“Hello?” His voice is low and scratchy but his eyes open a little more when he hears whoever is on the other end. Must be Hotch. I groan loudly and turn over to grab my own phone which has ceased its relentless buzzing. Three texts, all from JJ. we have a case, get to BAU ASAP. Well, there goes my weekend.

“Yeah she's here with me, might be a little late, have to drop by her apartment- yeah, yeah we’ll get there as soon as we can- no, don't wait up, we’ll meet you at the tarmac.”

He hung up his phone and placed it back on the table before rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“I got the same text. How long have we got?” He reached a hand for mine and pulled me into him like we always do in the morning.

“Not long enough i’m afraid.”  He placed a quick kiss on my forehead and then released me from his grip. We both rose from the bed and gathered our things. He quickly put on his work clothes while I just threw on a sweater of his and a pair of running shorts that I had brought with me. I would be sleeping on the jet anyways, It would be a long flight.

After a few minutes I stood in Spencer's kitchen grabbing his keys along with mine.

“Spence? Babe, we gotta go, where are you?” I walked around his small apartment to find him standing in front of his bathroom mirror struggling with his tie.

“I can't. It's always so crooked!” I chuckled and he turned from the mirror with a pout on his face.

“Alright, come here.” I continued laughing as he smiled at me and walked to where I stood in the doorway. As I fixed up his tie he snuck his hands around my waist and pulled me into a kiss.

“You know Y/N, we've been dating for six months and it would definitely save us both a lot of time if-”

He started to blush and I brought my arms up underneath his own, around his back so they rested on his shoulders.

“Are you asking me to move in with you?” the creeping blush on his face increased ten fold.

“Well, I mean- yes- well, not if you don't want to- I mean it would definitely be easier for the both of us- but I mean if you think it's too fast- I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable or- you can just say no-”

He stuttered during his rambles and stopped for long enough that I could kiss him with a big grin on my face.

“So, is that a yes?”

“Yes. Yes, that's a yes. I would love to move in with you Spencer Reid. But, we’re running late, so let's go”

With a big grin on his face I rushed him out the door with his go bag and satchel before driving the both of us over to my apartment. I dashed up the stairs to grab my own go bag and my work clothes before going right back down to the car.

Spencer~

I swear the smile that she manages to put on my face is something no one else can do. Even as she drove to the tarmac where the team was waiting, the car quiet with only her playlist going on in the background, she managed to light up my whole world. She was still wearing my sweater and a pair of her black running shorts. Her hair was in a messy bun on the very top of her head and she wore a pair of faded high tops on her feet. It didn't matter that we had been awake for a total of 20 minutes or that she had less than a minute to get ready, she was always the most beautiful girl in the world to me.

She parked in the lot next to JJ’s car and we both rushed out to where we saw the rest of the team loading up into the jet.

“About time lovebirds.” Morgan snickered when he saw us and ruffled my hair as I plopped into the seat beside him.

“Good morning to you too Morgan” I smiled and grabbed a case file from JJ’s outstretched hand.

I saw Y/N sit beside Emily on the other side of the jet and pretend to look into her case file while she said something to Emily. Emily quickly turned her head to look at me and then back to Y/N. A big smile spread across her face and she motioned JJ over to them who did just about the same thing.

“What do you think they talk about back there?” I looked up from my file and back to Morgan and Hotch.

“I think I have a pretty good idea” I smiled to myself and ignored Morgan's pleas to tell him. JJ will tell him as soon as we’ve been briefed I'm sure. But for now, I couldn't resist holding something over his head.

Y/N~

JJ briefed Spencer and I just as the jet began to take off. She took little glances at Spence while she briefed us, smiling broadly and not even bothering to try and hide it. Spence put a hand on my thigh mindlessly as we reviewed the case file. The comfort of having him so close to me made me tired all over again.

“Well, that's pretty much everything. I guess I’ll leave you two alone” JJ kept on smiling and walked across the jet over to Morgan and Hotch with Emily close behind her. I noticed Em pulled out her phone and Face Timed Garcia to tell her the news.

Spencer's hand was still resting on my thigh as he looked over his file. I took my hair out from its constraints and took my glasses off, placing a single earbud in, and leaned my head onto Spencer's shoulder. He smiled and put his file down on his lap taking his now free arm and wrapping it around me. I started to drift off just as I felt him take one hand around my back and the other under my knees. He lifted me up from my seat, being careful not to yank the earbud from my ear and placed me lying horizontally onto the jet's couch. He walked away for a moment after he set me down and I groaned at the loss of contract. Then, almost as fast as he had left, he was back, grabbing the king size blanket from my go bag and settling himself behind me on the couch, pulling me into his side, and putting the blanket around the both of us.

Spencer~

JJ shook my shoulder to wake me as the plane started to land. Y/N had already awoken and changed into her work clothes. She wore a pair of blue jeans with a tight red t-shirt and an FBI windbreaker, though still wearing her faded hightops as she always does. Hotch decided to send all of us to the precinct right away instead of splitting us up like we usually do. The case was personal for everyone at the precinct. Mainly because this killer was targeting law enforcement as their main victims. He tortured them and their family members and sent parts of them back to the precinct for all of their colleagues to find.

“Reid, Y/L/N, can I talk to you for a moment?” As soon as we walked in and set our things down I heard Hotch call our names.

“Oooh, someones in trouble” I swatted at Morgan and gave him a glare before waiting for Y/N and walking into an empty conference room with Hotch.

“Something wrong?” Y/N talked immediately while I opted to stay silent. Hotch almost never calls people out like this.

“No, not at all. I just wanted to warn you, two is all.”

“Warn us? About what?” Y/N continued to talk with him as I stood awkwardly beside her.

“Well, as I’m sure you both figured out the team told me that you are moving in together. I am happy for you both, I am. I just need to warn you not to let that excitement and emotion come through in the field.”

“Hotch, you know us, we’ve never let that happen before” I spoke this time letting Y/N take a break from this little tough love talk I'm sure we were about to receive.

“Of course. I know that, but this case is different. Our lives are at stake here as well. Even more so now that we are the highest authority here. I need you to be able to know that and still work this without any issues. So, be honest with me. Do you both think that you can do that?”

Without a second of hesitation we both responded.

“Yes.”

I would say that's one of the reasons our relationship works so well. We aren't just on the same page about each other, we also both know that we love our jobs, they are our whole lives, and we would give anything to do them together.

“Good. that's all, let's get to work”

Y/N~

Hotch left the room right away, giving Spencer and I one moment alone.

“We can do this right?” I looked at him, suddenly questioning what a moment ago I had said without hesitation.

“Hey, look at me.” I brought my head up to look him in his hazel eyes.

“We got this.”

I took a deep breath and squeezed his arm before walking from the room and continuing our work. If only I had known what was to come.

For the next week our entire team worked tirelessly to find the killer. While we worked five more people were killed. Two of them were children, three of them were parents, all of them were connected in some way to the same precinct where every day my team sat and worked. Every single death took an ever bigger toll than the ones before it. Day by day I could see everyone's spirits starting to break. I decided that was enough. I made a vow to myself that not one more person would be hurt by this man while I was here. And I kept my promise. Unbeknownst to Spencer or the rest of the team I devised my own plan to bring this man out into the open. It was risky, it was dangerous, and it was really, really, stupid. But it worked.

Spencer~

Three days after our arrival, the killer began to send notes to us. He knew us all by name. He knew our relationships, and our past, and things about us that we thought no one else knew. It was my job to decode the messages, respond, and draw whatever conclusions I could from the way he wrote. In the last message before everything went down I noticed something strange. Something that he didn't do in any of the other messages. He directed it only to Y/N, and not to anyone else. In every single other note that he sent to us he wrote all of our names on it. Making sure to put at least one personal detail about each of us in the note to show us that he was the one in control. He wanted us to feel like we were helpless. And in a way, we were.

“It just bothers me is all” Hotch had ordered all of us to go to the hotel for the night. Most of us hadn't slept in over thirty hours and we weren't going to be any good to anyone like that. I stood by the sink brushing my teeth and I tried to talk through my thoughts with Y/N.

“Spence, I know it's creepy, trust me. But i don’t think it's anything weird okay? I'm sure tomorrow he'll send a note that's only to you, or only to Hotch or something, I just happen to be the first in his pattern.”

“Well that's what bothers me! You know as well as I do that the first person in a pattern is always the most significant. No one starts a pattern without thinking about the first number in it more than the rest.”  

I undid my tie and set it on the chair in the corner of our shared room. At that moment I knew something was wrong. There was no way she would brush off an idea of mine like that unless she definitely knew I was wrong. But she couldn't know I was wrong, could she?

Y/N~

It was time for me to act. Spencer was right, I wasn't the first in his new pattern for no reason. It was because I communicated with him. I gave him what he wanted. Me.

“Spence, I’m going to head to the precinct with JJ and Em okay?” He was laying face down in the bed still asleep. He had been awake and working even more than the rest of us so i decided to leave with some of the others and let him sleep in.

“Huh?” He groggily turned his head to the side to look at me and I pushed a curl out of his face.

“I'm leaving baby, you go back to sleep, it's all good” I gave him a final kiss on the back of his head and without a single word of protest he fell back asleep.

I felt horrible lying to him, but I couldn't put him in danger. I might be able to end this thing without putting anyone else in danger. I holster my gun and grab the keys for one of the SUV’s. I drove to the meeting spot. It was a house on the very outskirts of the town, pretty much in the desert. The house was decrepit and in major need of repair. I'm meeting a goddamn serial killer though so I guess that's to be expected. I stepped out of the car with my weapon in my hand. I called out but didn't really expect a response back, nor did I receive one. I tried the handle of the door to find that it was unlocked and swung it open with my foot so as to keep my weapon up. I heard a creak from the upper floor and immediately dashed up the rickety stairs to find him.

The way he looked into my eyes will haunt me forever. I looked into his dark eyes and saw nothing. Like there was no soul behind them. Rossi always says that that's the only similarity he has found in all of the serial killers he has interviewed. They are of different genders and races and from different parts of the world but the one thing they all have in common is the look in their eyes. You could stare at them for days and you would never see any glimmer of emotion in them.

In the short second that I was stunned by his presence he started to come toward me. I screamed to him,

“One more step and I shoot!” not that I really believed it. He obviously didn't either because he kept on walking in a straight line for me.

“Ha! Tsk, tsk, tsk. No you won't. Not when you don't know who I have”

I paused again. What could have been my final mistake. Who he had? He didn't have anyone. But that wasn't exactly a risk I was comfortable taking. He lunged for me and my gun flew from my hands in the struggle. He hit me more times than I could count. He held a knife in one hand but had yet to use it. I scrambled back towards the stairs and he followed. With still no soul in his eyes and a knife in one hand he slashed at me. I landed on the floor just before the stairs and he kicked me down them. The only thought before panic was pain. My mind was foggy but I managed to crawl a few feet and I took out my phone calling 911 as he walked calmly down the stairs behind me.

“Y/F/N Y/L/N, FBI badge number 2075778924 i need an ambulance, swat, and police, call SSA Aaron Hotchner.”

There was blood and a kick, and then I was out.

Spencer~

I woke to a knock on my hotel room door. I was still half asleep but I dragged myself from the bed and opened the door to find Emily and JJ waiting with worried looks.

“Hey guys, sorry i slept late, i thought you went to the-”

“Reid listen to me, Y/N's hurt and she’s with the unsub, Derek, Rossi, and Hotch are there now but-” I dashed back inside the room threw on my converse and grabbed my gun before running back to the door and out to the car with them just behind me.

“How bad was she hurt JJ?” I sat in the front with Emily driving as JJ was in the back trying still to talk to someone on the phone.

“I don't know, none of them are picking up” my eyes were wide and my heart was beating out of my chest as they started to explain to me what had happened while I had slept. As I slept she was being reckless. As I slept she lied to me. As I slept she was in danger.

Y/N~

I awoke with Derek standing over me and a very persistent pounding in my head.

“Did it work?”

“Yeah girl genius, it worked” Derek shook his head with a smirk and helped the EMT’s sit me up before walking outside. Hotch and Rossi walked over to where the EMT’s had taken me on the gurney and attempted to give me angry looks, but I could still tell that underneath them were just looks of relief. I shooed off someone trying to lift me into a gurney and instead hopped off one and walked over to an ambulance where I sat on the metal step.

“Y/L/N, that was reckless.”

“I know, Hotch, I’m sorry”

“I'm glad you're okay. Get cleaned up and we’ll talk about punishment later.” I nodded and thanked him before he walked off to help Morgan get the unsub into custody. Rossi, however, insisted on staying by my side until Spencer got here.

“I'm glad you're okay kid. But what you did was stupid. And trust me, I know stupid.”

I laughed and nodded to him.

“I know, I know. I just couldn't let anyone else get hurt.”

“Kid, we're a team. The point of a team is to tell us what you're thinking so we can help.” I stayed quiet as the EMT’s came over to examine me and start to stitch me up. Just as someone placed a bandage over a large gash on my forehead I heard a car pull up and several doors open and close. Spencer jumped out of the front seat and began to half jog with a crazy expression on his face over to me. Emily and JJ ran to him and just in front of him trying to stop him from whatever they thought he was about to do.

“What the hell were you thinking!” His pained angry scream took me by surprise. Spencer never raised his voice. Never.

“You put yourself in needless danger! For what? For glory? For pride?” He was closer to me now but he continued to scream. Emily and JJ were still alongside him, Em was almost in front of him trying to talk him down and obviously not succeeding. Every word he said was like a stab. As he finally reached where I was sitting in the ambulance Emily and JJ stopped trying to move in front of him and instead came to my side.

“Needless? This is what you call needless? Five people were killed, Spencer! You saw as well as I did how everyone was coping! I needed to do something! And It worked! I caught the bastard and I’m fine!”

When I first started speaking it was quiet and sad. But after a minute of seeing the anger in his eyes I began to raise my voice as well. All of the emotion from the past treacherous week came flooding out to him and by the last sentence I was screaming too.

He looked me dead in the eyes and Emily placed a hand on my back to comfort me as I was now crying unabashedly.

“I need you to trust me with things like this. None of this works if you don't trust me. We don't work if you don't trust me”

His voice broke and the look in his eyes turned from anger to a deep sense of pain and sadness. He turned around sharply and began to walk off.

“Spence! Spencer!”

I was crying as Emily looked over at me. I tried to stand up to follow him but was met by three sets of hands pushing back into a seated position.

“No, Y/N. I've got this one.”  

JJ stood from her spot beside me and jumped down from the ambulance to walk towards Spencer. Em and Rossi stayed with me as I cried into my hands and after a few minutes Emily ushered the EMT’s back to me so that they could continue their work.

I looked over to where JJ had followed Spencer, by a big oak tree just within sight of me. They stood facing each other and I could see Spencer gesticulating wildly with his hands as JJ talked calmly and every once in a while motioned over to where I was sitting. She put a hand on his arm and I watched as his whole body tensed before he pulled back from her. She looked back at me for a second and said something to him before walking over to where Hotch and Morgan were waiting.

“He’ll come around, he's just hurt” Emily looked at me with sad eyes and I nodded. I kept my eyes trained on where Spencer was standing. Even though he was crying and so, so, very mad at me, he couldn't help but keep looking back at me every few seconds. Still trying to make sure that I was there.

“Agent Y/L/N, I’m sorry but your shoulder is going to have to be put back into place before we send you to the hospital.”

The voice tore me away from Spencer, and Emily took my hand and smiled at me.

“Um, okay. Do I need to do anything or…”

The pain radiating from all over my body made me unfocused and I trailed my sentence off.

“No but, it's going to hurt. A lot.”

“Great. Well, let's get this over with then” Em took my good hand to brace me and the EMT took the other one.

“Okay ready? One… two...and” just before “three” he rotated my arm and a loud pop told me it was back in place. That, and my scream of bloody murder.

Spencer~

I stood with my back to her but every few seconds I would look back. Just to be sure I guess. I wasn't even mad anymore. Other than at myself for yelling at her. I was just scared. Out of what seemed like nowhere I heard her scream out in pain. Not a sound that you like to hear when your girlfriend’s in an ambulance and you aren't even standing close to her. Without a second though I sprinted over to her in a panic to find her hyperventilating and her eyes wide in panic.

“S-spence- Im sorry- im so-so sorry” She was crying and all of her words were broken apart into little pieces. I right away sat down and pulled her into my lap, being as careful as I could to not disturb her bad arm.

“Baby, I’m so sorry. I should have stayed with you and I do trust you, you know that” She sobbed into my chest and let out weak whimpers with each one. The pain in her voice broke my heart.

“Can you give her something? Anything?” I looked around but everyone shook their heads. So instead I just pulled her closer to me and tried my best to help her breathe.

“I-do-trust you-.”

“I know baby, I know you do, its okay”

I held her like that for an hour. The team all stayed with us and stood in a circle outside of the ambulance watching me hold her tight to me as she worked through the pain. Eventually the pain subsided, she was breathing normally again and could almost move without crying out.

“Hey Y/N, you know I’ll always love you right?”

“I know. I love you too”

And that was the real lesson of rule number one. It wasn't that we needed to trust each others skills, or jobs, or actions. We just needed to trust that we would always love each other. And that trust is the most important of all.

~~~~~~~~

Next Chapter

[akindofmagictoo]

Gallimimus, Stegosaurus, and Triceratops for the ask game!

-@dragon-swords-prophecies

hi Copper <3

Gallimimus - share a happy or lighthearted scene

here is Cole accidentally going full Dad Mode (Dragonsong draft 1)

“There are certainly mages who do bad things,” said Cole softly. “But I don’t believe you are one of them. Evil people don’t worry that they might be evil.” SB snorted. “I mean… I’m a mage, and not an entirely terrible person. Though I’m no saint. I’ve been a right dick to Robin, haven’t I?” “You have,” said Sierra, before Isi could answer. SB looked offended, then realised he’d said it first. Isi had to smile. “Excuse me?” said Cole. “I’m sure I taught you better than that.” Another silence fell as Cole seemed to realise what he’d just said. SB burst into teary laughter. The sound that came from Robin’s mouth was half-laugh, half-sob. Sierra giggled and Ebele covered her mouth with both hands. Cole’s laugh was deep and warm, even choked with tears. Laughter didn’t seem entirely appropriate… except Isi couldn’t stop herself. She laughed too, from deep within her. Her side ached, but she didn’t want to stop. It might not have been dragonsong, but Isi wished she could live in the feeling forever. Confused and messy and sad as it was, there was joy there, and it was beautiful.

Stegosaurus - share a humorous scene (Dragonsong draft 1)

When she finished, a small garden of flowers surrounded the mended tear, pink and blue and yellow. She smiled. It might be small and simple, but it was beautiful. And that was enough. “Shit!” Robin’s voice carried clearly from the next room. “Shitshitshit.” Isi sprang to her feet and stuck her head around the corner. A curtain was on fire. Orange flames danced towards the ceiling, creeping up the fabric even as she watched. Robin had fallen to the floor, his cane out of reach. Sierra, eyes wide, echoed his earlier sentiment. “What do we do?” “Get them off the wall,” said Isi, the words dredged up from some lesson as a trainee knight. “Then get some water.” For a heartbeat, no one moved. Then Sierra ran for the kitchen and Robin gestured frantically towards the curtains. The fabric floated down to an open space of floor. Sierra barely even made it back into the room with the jug of water. SB flung a hand out and the water rose from it, spinning and twisting through the air. The magic on Robin’s hands glowed brighter as he reached towards the water too. The two collected it into a spinning ball of water above the curtains. Then they let it go. Water splattered across the room. A drop hit Isi in the eye and she instinctively closed them. Then her mind caught up—what if the fire wasn’t out?—and she opened her eyes again. Smoke rose from the blackened, soaked curtain, but the fire was out. “Shit,” said Robin again for good measure. Isi let go a breath. “Robin, are you alright?” “I am fine. I think the curtain is less fine.” “I didn’t ask about the curtain.” She offered him a hand up. “What happened?” Robin accepted the hand up with a grunt of pain. “Tried some fire spells, which is something I haven’t done much of. Started out alright, but I stood up for too long and my leg had some objections.” He grabbed the table for support and lowered himself into a chair. “And it turns out that when your hands are on fire, you should not use a curtain to catch you. Sorry.”

Triceratops - share a scene where one character is protecting or caring for another (Dragonsong draft 1)

“Isi! Watch out!” The dragon’s head turned towards Robin, but it made no move to hurt either of them. So what did she—oh. Her sword spun through the air, end over end. Purple sparks danced around it. Magic. Magic which had no place with a knight and her squire. Almost of its own accord, her hand shot up and grabbed the hilt, and she scrambled to her feet. The dragon lunged for Robin, and Isi lunged for the dragon. The softer underbelly was no harder than leather armour. Even at an awkward angle, Isi’s sword punched through skin and muscle, past bone, and into the dragon’s heart.

thanks for the ask!

dinosaur ask game is here!

[gracerainsfordryan]

Broken Souls

I wake up and look at my phone

11:06 A.M.

Uugghh, i don’t what to get up, but i should.

I walk into the kitchen.

‘’Good morning!!’’ Jane says with a mouth full of cereal

I laugh to myself.

don’t eat with your mouth full! I say.

I walk over to the island table and sit down on a stool, and put my head in my arms.

‘’are you ok?’’

.......yeah...Yeah!... just tired

‘’You look sad’’

Yeah...

‘’How can you be sad when mum bought sugary cereal’’.

You know cereal can’t cure people.

‘’It did for me!’’

Haha were you sad before you had breakfast?

‘’Yes!’’

I look up at her, How come? I say.

Mum said i had to tidy up my pillow fort. I made on the couch

Oohhh.....i see.

I go up to my room, i flop on to my bed and turn on some music.

I look around my room, it’s messy, really messy, i should clean it but.....ugh..i really don’t want. I look over to the wall beside the door and see my ukulele on the wall,

Oh........i haven’t played that in months, i turn off my music and get up, i take the ukulele off the wall and sit on my bed and start to play.

Riptide by Vance joy, its so out of tune it sounds like the Star Wars theme song, so stop playing so i put it on the floor.

I lie back down I almost closed my eyes but then i see i picture on my wall, a family photo, a ‘’prefect’’ little family it seems, i sit up and rip the photo off the wall, and shove the photo under my bed. I don’t see like us being so ‘’normal’’ because, one, we are not very normal, and two, its not the same anymore, that photo is from like three years ago, that was before mum and dad told us they’re separating.

My life literally went down hill after that.............

The anxiety got bad, really bad.

And i was in such shock i think i just went numb.

And I try to be there for June and my parents because we are all going through the same this but. I...i just............

I need to stop thinking about this..........mmmm oh! My phone. I open up my phone and see i have a message,

oh...

It from ace,i look at the message

[1:07 A.M.] yesterday.

‘’Hey!!! I know you r asleep but you’ll see it in the morning. Do you want to meet up today? We can go to the park? I have therapy at 11 to 12 but after that?’’

Yeah sure! I say.

Ace is going to therapy, they have been going for like 2 months now,

I’m really glad they are going, because when they were 11 they moved to the same area as me, so we became friends. But they were going to the school in are area and people there where not nice to them, aka bullying, were being body shamed,commenting about they’re looks, and some people thought it would be good to tell them that them being non-binary is ‘’weird’’. When my parents heard this they where talking to aces parents and said maybe homeschooling would be good for a bit until they found a new school, but ace ending up love being homeschooled so yeah.

In so glad that they like homeschooling because it means we can meet up all the time! Because...... I’m homeschooled too!!!!! Well unschooled but they are kinda similar.

I love Ace i love them soo much.

I hop out of bed.

I should get ready.

I walk over to my wardrobe, maybe black leggings? Yes! And a plan white long sleeve shirt, and a shirt, that I leave open.

I get my roller skates, i make sure my phone is charged and i get a bag to put everything in.

Hey mum, i going to meet up with Ace. I say

‘’Can you bring Jane?’’ She says

I give her a pleading look.

‘’Ok fine you don’t have to bring her’’

Great! Thanks mum!

‘’Have fun darling’’. I will, see you later.

[silly-thinkings]

Hopeful Nightmare~

This is a continuation of the Filler chapters for “Vacation gone wrong” (Part 1 here!) Please note that the original fic is a stand alone one-shot and this is just something I wrote for fun, while I slowly work on my other chapter fics.  Thank you for reading! please remember: I do not own these Characters, they belong to DC Comics.  ~One Year Later~ Damian looked at his reflection amongst the glass case that held his fathers suit. Hours had gone by, and yet he still couldn’t leave from that spot. Damian heard sudden foot steps from behind him. He focused on the reflection to see non other then Dick Grayson approach him. “Hey, I know that suit is a heavy one. You don’t have to keep doing this. I can take over if you-” “This is my birthright Grayson.” Damian Turned around “Besides, you’ve made it pretty clear that you wanted nothing to do with Batman.” Dick crossed his arms as he let out a sigh “Damian, You’re only sixteen. And its clear that you’re still thinking about-” “Don’t you dare say their names.” Damian straightened his poster “It’s been a year since mother and father… Since they… Tsk You must be here to pester me. You’ve never visited when they were alive. You never called after you moved away. So why must you annoy us now?” Dick maintained the eye contact from his younger brother. “It wasn’t like that and you know it. I had to leave, to figure out who I was.” Dick pushed Damian back with his finger “You did the same thing ya hypocrite. At least I didn’t Disrespect Mom like you did when you got here.” Damian was about the swing before he felt a hand on his chest. The two brothers looked beside them to see Cassandra gently pushing them apart “Stop. please,” The cave went quiet. The only sound came from the bats on the roof. “Alfred Needs help in the kitchen. He asked for you specifically Damian.” Cassandra said softer as she gently pulled Damian away. The teen sucked his teeth before leaving. At the sound of the grandfather clock sliding closed, Cassandra turned to her older Brother. Dick brushed his fingers through his hair as he looked at the Suit. “Forgive him Dick. He’s still hurting. We all are.” Dick looked to Cassandra who was fiddling with a necklace. A necklace that was missing another half “No, he has a point. I wanted to get out of Bruce’s shadow so badly. I was also caught up with my police work in Bludhaven that I pushed mom away.” Before the trip, he and Bruce would get into nasty arguments in regards of how to save people. And yet, Y/N managed to plan and convince everyone to come together as a family. Cassandra took a deep breath as she noticed his posture. The slumped shoulders, bags under his eyes, messy hair. “Come, Alfred want you to join us.” ** Jason laid in his bed staring at the broken up popcorn ceiling. The sound of car horns and random city noise faintly heard in the distance as he pondered about the one thing he’d surly get in trouble for. Roy peaked into the room and noticed the fancy envelope on the coffee table “You’re not going again?” Jason closed his eyes as Roy stood by the entrance with his arms crossed. “No” Roy let out an annoyed sigh “Why are you running away?” “I’m not” Jason grumbled as he turned his body to face away from his friend. “You haven’t seen them since… the accident.” Roy noticed Jason flinch at the mention of that tragic day. “You know how much family meant to your parents, and you’re running away from the very people who have been trying to-.” “Shut up, don’t talk out of your ass. You’re asking to get shot.” Roy walked towards Jason and tossed sealed mails “Distancing yourself isn’t the answer. Talk to me” Jason let out a huff before attempting to leave the rickety apartment. “Jay!” “Fuck off” “Jason I will annoy you till I get an actual answer” Roy went up to his friend and grabbed his arm. He was met with a punch that sent him back a couple of steps. “I couldn’t do anything!” Jason shouted. He felt his head spinning. His fists tightened as he straightened up to face Roy “I, Jason Todd. Red Hood. The man back from the dead. The guy that runs these corrupts streets. I couldn’t Save my fucking Parents! You think I can face the rest of them? After I Failed all of them?!” Roy rubbed his cheek as he crisscrossed his feet “You blame yourself.” Jason turned to face the window. He looked down in his hands “Everyday I think about that night. The court of Owls, they are the ones responsible, and yet I cant avenge them properly.” “Because you want to kill them? Ya know, Avenge and Revenge are two very different things. You guys... The Waynes, have not only pressed charges but actually took them down through the justice system. You’ve already Avenged them Jason. Seems like what you’re craving is to blow some heads.” Jason went quiet yet again. Roy finally stood “Well, let me say this. you’re doing something far greater then Revenge.” “Oh yea? And what am I doing?” Roy tossed one of Jasons guns. The man caught it, confused “rubber bullets.” Roy smiled before he nudged his head towards the invitation pile “Jason, If your family truly blamed you for what happened. Would they really put in this much effort to see you? ” *** Tim typed on his laptop slowly as he took another sip of his coffee. Dinner was awkward to say the least. Having Dick back for some time surly eased his mind. However Damian’s hostility didn’t go unnoticed. If it wasn’t for Alfred surly another argument would Ensue. Honestly, Tim hasn’t gotten better all this time. Sure he’s functioning, leading Wayne enterprises and fighting the bad guys. Stephanie however was the most perceptive with his dramatic change since that night. Locking himself in his room practically glued on his laptop.  Stephanie slowly opened the door to his room. “Timmy… it’s time for sleep. Don’t worry about patrol tonight. Cas and I got it.” She looked around to see a messy room. Except for his trophy stand. That space hasn’t been touched, since it was the last thing Y/N and Bruce build and organized with him. Tim let out a slight chuckle. Sleep. Something the family hasn’t been doing so well on. The only person able to put Tim to bed passed away in her husbands arms. “Ill be done in a minute” Annoyed Stephanie looked at how he sat in front of the laptop screen. The clear bags under his eyes. The lack of self care or organization. She finally had enough of leaving him alone to grieve. she snatched the laptop. Removing the headphones in the process “Tim! You can’t run away. We are here. You’ve been avoiding us and getting lost in this damn computer!”  Tim watched with wide eyes as she carelessly moved the device. “Give it back.” “Hell no.” “Stop waving it around like that!” “Or what.” Cassandra and Damian entered the room. Cassandra immediately noticed Tim’s shaky hands and Stephanie’s stand-offish demeanor.  “P-please.” he pleaded. It was so soft, as if a mouse spoke to them. The headphones finally fell to the floor. Disconnecting it in the process.  “Todd! Unhand me you baboon.” “Ma! Watch me throw the blood son in the lake.” “Jay be careful!” Everyone froze. The sound of their mothers voice sent chills down their spine. Stephanie gently placed the laptop back onto the table and she became mesmerized with the Video.  ~~ “Tim? Why are you smiling like that?” A chuckling sound could be heard. Tim was the one holding the camera as Cassandra and Stephanie snuck up behind Bruce with an ice bucket.  “No reason mom. You’re looking great.” Just then Ice water was poured onto the sleeping billionaire who shot up from his slumber. Y/N wiped off some water that landed on her while laughing at her husband. Bruce’s eyes squinted making Y/N laugh harder. Tim’s hand slightly waved gaining Bruce’s attention. Tim pointed to Jason who was just about to throw Damian in the water. Bruce nodded and quickly stood up. “Wow. They got you good.” Y/N wiped her eyes. Then she squealed as Bruce picked her up bridal style and ran to the water. “Wait NO! I just bought this sundress. BRUCE!” Both Damian and Y/N hit the water at the same time. ~~ “Have you been watching these?” Stephanie couldn’t take her eyes off the footage. “Yea…”  Damian sucked his teeth “why?” Cassandra noticed Tim’s shoulders tense up. “You’ve found something.” “What?!”Stephanie turned to face her “what do you mean.”  Tim rewound the footage and paused just before Damian and Y/N got dunked. He zoomed into the one of the trees on the other side of the lake. Damian slightly pushed Cassandra to the side to get a better look at the screen. “We were stalked the whole trip…” Tim whispered in shame as he held his head low. The image of two beings with owl masked took over the screen. They all couldn’t believe their eyes. “so, you’ve been rewatching the footage all this time for this!” Damian snapped as he turned to Tim “and you didn’t bother Sharing this information!” Tim placed his hands on his head “it’s my fault. If only I payed more attention. They were always around us… it’s my fault. Before the car crashed I lost signal and- I should of-” Cassandra lightly pinched Damian. He looked her in eyes only to be met with a glare. Stephanie gently placed her hands on Tim’s “Timmy it’s not your fault. You didn’t kill them.” Tim’s lips wobbled as Stephanie slowly stood him up and lead him to the bed. Cassandra side eyed Damian with a clear message: if you have nothing nice to say, say nothing at all.  Cassandra sat on Tim’s other side. The two ladies provided him much comfort that he clearly needed. He cried for the first time in a long while. ** ~Later that night~ Alfred pressed buttons on the keyboard “Master Damian, Gorden would like to meet with you in 45 minutes.” He heard the bat mobile rev it’s engine “inform him I’ll be on the way. Please send him the evidence I’ve gathered.” “Yes sir.” Alfred kept a straight face as one of his many grandchildren left the cave. Once he was sure that he was by himself he reviewed the evidence Tim had found. He frowned upon seeing the screenshots of the various owled stalkers as tears slowly streamed down his eyes. When he heard the news of their death he couldn’t believe it. For the first time ever he lost his cool and in a blind rage sabotage the owls on all fronts. He remembered many police and GCPD raiding the houses of many elites. Even though he knew they could just pay off the crooked cops eventually, Alfred wanted to make them suffer for taking the lives of his family.  “Alfred. Come in.” Red Hoods voice came into the screen, bringing him back to reality. “Yes Redhood?” “Why is Damian on my turf?” “I’m sorry?” Redhood rolled his eyes “Batman is beating up Black Skulls goons. Why is he here?” Alfred's eyes widened. A serious case of Deja vu swarmed him. Especially coming from Jason of all people. He pulled up a map of the city, a red dot weaved its way through the traffic. “That’s not Batman.” Alfred said sending the information to Jason. Jason’s blood ran cold. He let out a small laugh as he looked up at the imposter Darknight.

 “Hey dickhead. I thought the blood son told you he’s got it.”

The Batman punched the last guard before slowly walking towards Redhood. Jason didn’t move, he was curious to see what would happen. The man stood in front of him, and that’s when Jason felt his blood run cold. 

Jason jumped back and pulled out his guns “who the hell are you?” The man’s head began to slightly twitch “D-Dick? Grayson” His body soon convulsed, his legs began to tremble “Richard, Jason, Tim, Damian, Cassandra, Stephanie… Y/N” He placed his hands on his head, as if he were going through a nasty headache  “I-Im sorry. Y/N, s-she’s out there” Jason holstered his weapons and ran to him. He looked around first to make sure the coast was clear before kneeling down “Bruce?” “F-Find her. She’s- Your mother is-” Suddenly Jason was flung back. Pain shot up his chest as he landed on the ground. He recovered quickly. Standing up only to be met with another punch. Before he knew it, the Dark Knight was gone. Jason felt the adrenaline pump through his veins. No way, no way Bruce returned. Someone used the pit. But that’s impossible. “Alfred. Get an excavator.” Jason shouted as he ran to his motorcycle  ~~~ Alfred frowned as Jason continued to dig. He know eventually the other children would return from patrol, and for once he truly wishes his little hunch was nothing more then a thought. Jason finally heard a clunk, he quickly swept the dirt along the casket of his supposed adoptive father. He opened it, seemingly on cue the moonlight shone upon an empty casket. “No. No no no!” Alfred fought tears himself, how could he let something like this happen again.  Jason’s rage was incomprehensible. Who dared do something like this. And for how long. The snap of a twig caused the butler to turn slightly. “You have some nerve Todd. I knew you’d do something like this.” Damian then looked to Alfred “and you’re helping him?”  “Master Damian. It’s not what it seems. I can assure you there is reason behind this.” Alfred stated as calmly as he could. Damian in a rage grabbed onto Alfred’s collar “have you been keeping information from me aswell?” “Damian!” Cassandra, And Stephanie pulled Damian from Alfred, whilst Dick stood infront of Alfred protectively.  “J-jason? W-what’s going on. Don’t tell me you.” Tim stuttered over his words as the first thing he noticed was the empty casket that once held the body of his father. “I didn’t do anything.” Jason barked “but it’s exactly what it is. Someone took ‘em. And I saw Bruce during patrol.” Jason attempted to jump out the hole but fell. He let out a huff before trying again only to grab onto something. He looked up to see Dick who gave him a soft smile before hoisting him up. “Thanks.” Jason whispered ”Of course” There was a moment of silence before Damian pushed Cassandra off him “Where are you going?” She asked. “I’m going to see my mother. She is the only woman that could be capable of something like this.” It was faint, but Cassandra heard his voice shake slightly. “I’ll go with” Stephanie walked towards Damian and pinched his cheek, causing the teen to grumble “You’ll need backup. And someone to keep your head steady.” Dick walked over to Tim, the teen looked up at his older brother with tear stained eyes. “Does that mean mom. Mom is back too?” Tim had mixed feelings. On the one hand this was wrong. This was so wrong in many ways, but on the other hand this is a second chance. A chance to safe Y/N and Bruce. Dick brought him into a hug before looking at his family “Alright listen up. Damian, Cassandra, Steph. You three investigate the Al Ghul’s while Tim, Jason and I will look into mom. Since the court of owls were behind this, we’ll see if there has been any activity.” Jason brushed his fingers through his hair as the sun began to rise “We sould inform the league, the more eyes the better.” He let out a long sigh “This family is too complicated.”

[soulkeeper801]

They don’t know about us pt. 3

(A/N: Part 1 | Part 2)

Rosé x F!reader 

You’re an idol and Blackpink’s Rosé just wanna have fun.

“Pizza?” you grinned at her as she opened the door.

Rose grabbed you by your collar and pulled you in for a kiss.

It had been almost a year of you sneaking into her apartment to spend a few hours without anyone noticing. It all started feeling so familiar for the both of you: the long stares, the whispers, the soft moans while making out. You knew her entire body by heart. 

“You had people over?” you asked as you saw bags on the counter at the kitchen.

“Yeah, the girls were here in the morning. I told them I had an appointment at the salon so they would leave”, she smiled softly encircling your neck with her arms pulling towards her. “And now I can have you all for myself”.

You deepened the kiss, grabbing her by her hips. She moaned at the roughness.

“Pizza will get cold,” she pouted. “Let’s eat first?”

You nodded and brought her to the table so you could eat.

“I really like spending time with you,” she said in a whisper, not making eye contact.

You smiled. “So do I,” you replied. “Sometimes I wish I could take you out on a proper date”.

Her gaze met your eyes. Confusion, nervousness but mostly fear. 

“I-I don’t mean to put any pressure on you, baby. I’m just thinking out loud”, you replied hurriedly. “Sorry, let’s just eat, alright?” you said, caressing her hand.

“I don’t want you to think I’m a jerk that just wants to sleep with you and that’s it,” she said, her gaze fixed on the table. “I really like you. I do. And I want to be brave with you”.

A smile grew slowly on your face as she inspected your expression trying to read your mind.

“Let’s be brave for each other”.

As you cuddled on the couch, little pecks lead to deepened kisses and there she was straddling your waist one more time making you gasp under her touch.

“I love how you sound, Y/N,” she growled as you shut your eyes closed since her kisses went down to your neck. She nibbled and licked, making you lose control.

“I-I love you”.

Time froze in a second and Rosé stopped moving.

You fucked up.

How could you be this careless to let your real feelings flow out like this? What were you thinking?

“I’m sorry,” you abruptly said. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I don’t know why I said that”.

She avoided making eye contact with you as she sat up straight when her phone rang.

She picked up, “Hello?”, she said, still on top of you.

Her eyes widened. “What?!”

Silence.

“No, no. Of course you can come to my place right now, Lisa”.

You were confused for a moment. Was she going to introduce you to her friend? Was this what being brave was? Weren’t you going to talk about what just happened?

She hung up. “Lisa is coming here, says she needs to use the restroom”, she sighed and whined. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, “but you have to go. She doesn’t know you’re here”.

Your heart broke.

“Aren’t we going to talk about what happened?”

“Not now, please… We will but not now…”

As you were still processing everything, the bell rang.

Rosé gasped. “Fuck, it’s her”, she whispered. “Get in my room. Wait there until I tell you to come out”.

“Are you seri-”

“Please, we don’t have time!”

You did as she told you and waited in her room. From there you could still hear them.

“What took you so long?” Lisa asked with a mischievous tone.

“Nothing, I was just in my room”, Rosé answered nervously, “go use the bathroom. It must be an emergency if you’re coming here…”

Lise stayed in silence for a few seconds. “Were you with someone here?” she asked.

“What?”

“You took a long time to open the door, your hair looks kinda messy, you seem a bit nervous…”

Rosé chuckled trying to hide her nervousness, “what? go use the bathroom and stop the nonsense!”

Lisa laughed out loud.

After a minute, Rosé opened the bedroom door. “Please go, while she’s in there”.

You didn’t even look at her and made your way out.

Once outside you felt like crying. Why did it have to be this difficult? You roamed around until you found a cafe where you could stay for a while. You couldn’t go back to your dorm since you lied to your team and told them you were going to be outside of town for a photoshoot. It didn’t seem worth it at this point. All the lies, all the excuses. You thought it was all leading to something. You loved Rosé, more than you wanted to admit but at that moment you were lost. 

You took the furthest seat in the place you found and took a sip of your coffee. You needed to ease your mind, think about anything else. Yet your mind kept going back to her face, her touch, her voice. How you wished you could brag to the world that she was yours and you were hers. But was she really yours? She wasn’t even willing to introduce you to one of her friends. Not even as a friend. You were confused, heartbroken and alone.

“Y/N?” a voice you recognized immediately asked.

You lifted your head and saw her standing right in front of you.

“I wasn’t sure about coming to say hi since you look like you have a lot on your mind right now”, she said nervously. “But at the same time I wanted to make sure you’re okay. And the best way to do that is to come here and drink a coffee with you,” she said, smiling at you.

You smiled back.

“Thank you, Sana”, you said sincerely. “Please, take a seat. It’s been a while since the last time we met”.

She sat down and nodded. “It has. So… you don’t have to tell me what’s wrong, but you can tell me about you. Or I can tell you about me, your choice.” she grinned.

And it made you smile again.

“Well, this is exclusive information, but my group is preparing for a new album this year,” you said and she clapped excitedly. “We’ve been in the studio a lot for the last month…”

As you kept speaking, you noticed her whole attention was on you. She listened carefully to what you were saying and at that moment you felt grateful she was there with you.

Part 4

[frogtanii]

℗ home

kenma x fem!reader (poker face ending)

series masterlist

♡´･ᴗ･`♡

wc. 2.9k (ahaha)

warnings. NOT PROOFREAD, liberal use of italics, soft soft, kenma in denial, allusions to marriage, bokuto and kuroo meddling, drinking, declarations of love, SMUT!!! (is marked off!), sub!kenma, handjob + blowjob, slightly insecure!kenma, meiko mentions, enthusiastic consent, one (1) katamari reference, vocal!kenma, uhh

an. good golly gee i HATE ending the endings m so bad at it AND the smut is lil weirder to skip??? like it’s not impossible or anything but it’s not as smooth as atsumu’s, m rlly sorry :((((( but i rlly hope y’all enjoy hehe don’t forget to feed me shawties :3

the loud obnoxious pop music blasting in the crowded bar around kenma made him want to fling himself into the moon at the nearest opportunity.

okay, so that was a little dramatic but the fact still stood.

he was crammed into a tiny booth with kuroo, bokuto, and akaashi, the former brushing up against him with every little movement, making kenma bristle in discomfort.

why the hell did i agree to this, kenma thought while sipping on his cranberry juice. he’d never enjoyed drinking, his true thoughts and feelings coming out way too easily once intoxicated. it was so infuriating being a lightweight, especially when everyone around him was disgustingly drunk.

“are you having fun kenma?” bokuto half yelled, half slurred into his ear from across the table. kenma slouched further into the booth’s stained cushions in response, his lack of answer not bothering bokuto in the slightest.

with the boisterous man’s attention successfully diverted by akaashi, kenma allowed his eyes to wander out over the dance floor but he wasn’t really paying them any mind. instead, his mind was occupied with none other than you.

it shouldn’t have been that surprising considering all the time he’d been spending with you recently. it had been a few months since the hyper house had disbanded and while you were enjoying your time living with your best friends, they had way too much sex. like an abnormal amount.

it had gotten to the point where you were having to abscond from the apartment four times a week because they were just so loud.

at first you had found refuge in the 24 hour cafe a few blocks from your place but falling asleep at a hard wood table only to have to walk home at 2am alone was terrible for your peace of mind (and your back).

you’d started complaining about it at your weekly animal crossing hang outs with kenma and he’d offered the brilliant solution of you coming over to his place when makki and mattsun were otherwise... occupied.

you were shocked at his suggestion and aptly so. it was no news that kenma absolutely hated hosting and having people over, especially since he was one of the few former members that were able to afford their own place straight out the gate.

when you’d expressed this, all he had said was, you’re different.

that wasn’t enough for you, evidenced by your once again nightly stays at the cafe but when you had to run home because someone was following you, you begrudgingly agreed to kenma’s offer and started sleeping at his house multiple times a week.

it was a bit to get used to at first, seeing you first thing in the morning with messy hair and sleep-swollen eyes. you were beautiful jarring. but, as time passed, he got used to your presence, making your drink of choice and sliding him his tea in the morning, sending him a soft smile that had him running to the bathroom to hide his blush.

it was all... strangely domestic.

even now, the thought of you in your threadbare sleep shirt, standing in his kitchen while cooking breakfast sent a wave of heat across his face, spreading up to the tips of his ears.

“what are you thinking about that’s got you so red?” kuroo teased, pulling the glass out of kenma’s hands, laughing at his annoying glare. he hoped he could ignore the question as he so often did, but apparently he wasn’t so lucky.

bokuto cackled in his seat before calling out your name, sending a chill of fear down kenma’s spine. “bet he’s thinkin about her! about how he wants to smooch her and maybe more,” he waggled his eyebrows, “i’m just saying!”

the rest of the table let out good natured laughs but kenma was preoccupied with replaying what bokuto had said.

i mean, sure he thought you were pretty, but anyone with eyes would agree! and yeah, maybe spending time with you was the highlight of his week, but it wasn’t his fault you were so genuinely enjoyable to be around. and of course, sometimes when it was late at night, his mind would wander to you and how it would feel to wake up beside you instead of across the hall from you and—

fuck. he liked you. a lot.

then, as if you somehow knew exactly what was on his mind (a terrifying thought to entertain), his phone buzzed in his hoodie pocket. he pulled it out quickly to check it and he hated how his heart picked up in his chest at the sight of your contact name.

[sussy baka <3]: wya shawty 🤨 u have no food in ur fridge n m hungry seen 13:20

[player ew]: s boys night seen 13:22

[sussy baka <3]: 😐

[sussy baka <3]: are u having fun seen 13:25

[player ew]: ... seen 13:28

[sussy baka <3]: yeah that’s what i thought

[sussy baka <3]: bring home some ramen <3 seen 13:31

home. god, if he didn’t like the sound of that coming from you. it took kenma no time at all to start packing up his things, ignoring the knowing looks on his friends faces as he tossed down a couple of bills for his drink and left to go home, where you were.

after stopping at the convenient store, he headed to his apartment building, shopping bag full of ramen in one hand and heart in the other.

no matter what he did, he couldn’t get bokuto’s annoying voice out of his head, telling him that he liked you. and now that he knew it was true? he was kind of spiraling.

the ding of the elevator managed to somehow shake him out of his thoughts, at least for him to get to his front door, but once it was open, all coherent brain activity immediately dissolved.

you were sitting on his couch in the living room, bundled up in one of his mario blankets and wearing one of his hoodies as you watched some animal documentary raptly, sheer disgust written all over your face.

kenma gulped.

he managed to work up the courage to actually enter his apartment, kicking off his shoes by the door and beelining towards the kitchen, not missing your excited call of his name and wide grin.

biting down any other unchecked feelings, he quickly set to work boiling the water for the ramen and then... stood there. boiling water would take a while and he knew he couldn’t avoid you forever but he really, really didn’t want to go sit by you with all these emotions sitting right on his chest.

“kenma, they’re gonna eat the seal!” you yelled from the couch, waving him over frantically. how was he supposed to say no to brutal animal murder on tv? kenma chuckled dryly at his own joke as he made his way over to where you sat, plopping himself on the side of the couch furthest away from you.

he told himself he just didn’t want to bug you when he had to go check the water but he knew it was a lie. he was running from his feelings, from anything that could ruin this.

you shot him a concerned look which he caught out of the corner of his eye but he kept his head firmly forward, unwilling to look at you if he didn’t have to. “kenma, what’s wrong? was boys night that bad?” you asked gently, and fuck if that didn’t make him feel worse.

kenma just shook his head, still choosing not to face you. you let out a long, arduous sigh before scooting across the couch and pressing yourself to his side, pulling his head down to rest on your chest while taking one of his hands into your own.

what the fuck. what the fuck?!1!?1!!?1!

you were so soft and warm and your arms around him made him feel things which was exactly what he was trying to avoid but then you actually started to speak and oh shit it got worse.

“kenma,” you started, running your hands through his deep brown locks, “you know you can talk to me about anything right?”

of course he knew that because this was you and you were so kind and considerate and badass and cool and that was all precisely why he couldn’t talk to you about everything, especially when it came to his emperor of the cosmos sized feelings for you.

but, instead of saying any of that, he allowed you to continue, his body relaxing into your hold against his will.

“i bother you because i care about you and i worry, you know. i know you’re strong and you can take care of yourself but i can’t help it...” if kenma was really listening, he would’ve heard the shakiness in your voice, the apprehension in your words but he didn’t. “i can’t help it because i like you, kenma.”

you... what?

kenma pushed himself off of you to look you in the face, to find any sign that you’re pranking him or just being cruel but he couldn’t find any.

still, he couldn’t take you at your word, after all who would like someone like him?

“say it again,” his voice comes just under a whisper, his words stilted and unsure but he needs to know, he needs to believe you. he wants to believe you.

“i like you.” you don’t use any big, flowery words, nor do you try and justify why you like him and still, somehow it’s enough. kenma’s eyes filled with tears as they’re trained on you but your eyes were occupied elsewhere.

staring at his lips.

“can i kiss you?” you asked softly, not pressuring or forceful but like that was truly just on your mind and you had to ask it. kenma wasn’t sure how he was supposed to resist when you asked him like that. “please,” was his response, already breathy and absolutely wrecked.

you obliged.

•••smut begin•••

surging forward, you pressed your mouth to his, soft lips meeting chapped ones as you moved them insistently against his own. kenma let out an embarrassing whine at the contact, his hands balling into fists by his sides.

yours, on the other hand, wandered, tracing over the hills and valleys of his chest and back before landing right under the hem of his hoodie. you pulled back, laughing quietly at the way he so eagerly chased your lips while halting him with a hand to his sternum.

“can i take this off?” kenma nodded enthusiastically before he could stop himself and you let out another soft huff as you busied yourself with getting him naked.

he tried to help you where he could, but he was ultimately resigned to bask in your movements, in your control as you manhandled him out of every article of clothing he was wearing until he was as naked as the day he was born.

immediately, the insecurities took hold of him, his mouth opening to stutter out an apology for how he looked. meiko’s voice played in his ears, reminding him he wasn’t what the girls went for being too skinny, too sensitive, too loud.

kenma moved to pick his clothes back up to cover himself before retreating to his room where he could die of shame but your firm hand kept him where he sat.

“you’re beautiful,” you said, like you were saying the sky was blue or the grass was green — as an irrefutable fact. your brows were furrowed at first but the expression melted away to show a softer one, one full of love, admiration, and... lust.

a high-pitched whimper left his lips at your gaze, his cock throbbing against his thigh. you grinned and moved back in to kiss him, your hand moving to his throat to hold him in place, his adam’s apple bobbing against your palm.

your other, unoccupied, hand traveled down his body to rub over a nipple, his back arching into your touch as his breath hitched against your mouth. you let out a hum of approval, continuing your ministrations of pinching and plucking the hard bud before moving further down to take a hold of his cock.

kenma broke away from you, a choked wail erupting from his chest as he bucked up into your grip. “can i make you feel good? can i show you how beautiful you are?” you asked earnestly, your thumb gently caressing his jaw.

“please, please, please,” he begged. under normal circumstances, he would be embarrassed at how easily he’d been folding for you, but it was so much easier to just submit to your capable and willing hands.

“good boy,” you tacked on mindlessly, your blown eyes and kiss-swollen lips only adding to your debauched look. internally, kenma preened at the fact that he was responsible for you looking like that, so feral like you just wanted to eat him up.

which was apparently exactly what you wanted to do, evidenced by you sliding onto your knees in front of him, pressing kisses and sucking marks into his pale thighs.

kenma’s hips stuttered beneath you as he watched you get closer and closer to his throbbing member, the tip already bright red and leaking precum.

suddenly, your eyes shot up to his, pinning him with an intense stare as you slowly, slowly brought him to your mouth, the wet heat enveloping the head before you closed your lips around him and sucked.

holy fucking shit.

his reaction was instantaneous. his eyes rolled back into his head, his hips bucked up into your mouth, and a filthy moan escaped from him as you started to get into a nice rhythm sucking his cock.

kenma could barely keep himself quiet, especially when you began toying with his balls, the feeling adding to the coil tightening in his gut.

you pulled all the way off of him before sucking him down the hilt, his mouth opening in a silent scream as you choked around his length, the pleasure that your throat was bringing while you pulsed around him was otherworldly.

he was going to die, he resigned. he was going to die by the biggest orgasm he’d ever had with his penis in your mouth and he was going to love every second of it.

a sharp tap to his inner thigh brought him back down to earth, this bleary eyes trying to focus on your face and once they did, he was taken aback. your eyes held such fondness, such love that he could hardly take it.

kenma couldn’t hold back his thoughts, especially under the intensity of your gaze, his mouth opening to gasp out, “i love you, shit, i love you.”

you pulled off him with a pop but you didn’t stop stroking him, your hand picking up the pace to the point that his thighs were quivering with the strength of his oncoming orgasm.

“say it again,” you threw his words right back at him and if he’d been in his right mind, he might’ve laughed but since he was drowning in pleasure, he immediately followed your orders, groaning out those three words over and over until he was hoarse.

you seemed to enjoy it, so much so that you took the palm of your hand and toyed with the sensitive tip of his cock, sending him right over the edge.

his vision whited out completely as he came with a loud cry of your name, tears trailing from his lashline from the sheer severity of his orgasm, one hand grasped tightly in yours.

•••smut over•••

as kenma came down from his high, he watched you brush his hair from his face before pressing a kiss to his hairline.

“you know, i love you too,” you stated, pulling him up to rest his spent body against your own. he scoffed while playing with your hand, toying with your bare ring finger in a way that you knew was deliberate.

“i figured, you just sucked my dick.” you protested loudly, smacking him gently on the arm when he snickered at your reaction. after your laughter died down, he rested his head back over your heart, listening to the steady beat thrumming beneath his ear.

your hands tangled back into his hair and he felt himself drifting off into dreamland when a loud meow startled him awake again. kyabia (or caviar) stared up at him with unblinking feline eyes, her tail swishing silently against the floor. “oh god, my cat is seeing me naked,” he gasped in horror, your chest heaving against his ear as you cackled.

kyabia quickly got bored and scampered off to who knows where and by that time, kenma was ready to knock back out. you were still laughing though and since you were his human pillow, that just wouldn’t do.

shoving you down on the couch, he buried his head in your chest and muttered a blunt, “sleep,” ignoring the way your giggle made a smile spread across his cheeks.

obviously, you could tell if your own matching grin was anything to go by but you let it be, instead choosing to wrap your arms around him and hold him tighter to your body, like you were trying to pour all your love into the embrace.

kenma only hoped that you would also “let it be” when you caught him ring shopping on his phone just a few weeks later.

it was only a matter of time. why delay when he loved you and you loved him? he knew he couldn’t wait until he could officially call you his.

after all, kozume yn had a nice ring to it.

Oh, home, let me come home

Home is wherever I'm with you

Oh, home, let me come home

Home is wherever I'm with you

taglist - if your name is in bold, i cannot tag you

@boosyboo9206 • @geektastic84 • @elianetsantana • @trashy-simp • @infinitebells • @6mattsun9 • @suhkusa • @katsulovee • @kotarosbabygirl • @fucktheworlddude • @insomniacwreck • @calumsfringe • @saltylettuce • @chai-blu • @al3x1ss • @hawksyoongi • @jooleuuh • @loubells • @kissungjae • @liberhoe • @tetsurocore • @animeoverdosee • @duhsies • @saiKishaircLip • @afire24 • @premiyagi • @kit-kat428 • @doctorspencereid • @daphnxy • @kyomihann • @maer-333 • @sinoflust19 • @peteunderoos • @peachiikichu • @iidanotlida • @yongboxerrr • @kac-chowsballs • @tanakaslastbraincell • @memorableminds • @risjime • @starry-magicshop • @sugavwara • @smuttyanimeslut • @kiwibirbs-library • @haijkk • @airybnb • @crybabygumi • @iwaisa • @decaffinatedtealover • @notameera • @kawaii-angelanne • @rintarovibes • @urlocalsimp • @keiarma • @shrimpypenis

the rest of the tags will be in the replies!!

[mammonswhore]

sooo I stayed up until like 1 am yesterday knowing full well I had to eake up at 6:30 today so here I am writing another headcanon about this idiots who make my day better. enjoy,sluts.

How They Would React to MC staying up late.

✒Lucifer

He is only doing this for the sake of the exchange program and because he doesn't want to disappoint Diavolo.

Cut it,Luci. Everyone knows he cares for MC even when he gets a little tsundere, always checking on them and making sure there's nothing troubling them.

So when he walks into the kitchen for his beloved coffee and sees MC with their head buried in books,sitting at the kitchen table he of course,worries.

Their position is bad so he wakes them up and asks what they were doing,it's up to you respond or just look at him like "dude you fr?"

It doesn't matter your response because he will send you to bed,making sure you have proper hours of sleep. But he looks up to your schedule to see if he can move or remove things to get you to be healthier with your sleep.

✒Mammon

I wholeheartedly believe in Mammon Supremacy™

So he will pick you up and push you to go to bed as much as he can. He is not as stupid as they make us belive,he really cares and therefore he maybe made some research on Humans basic healthcare.

It doesn't matter where you are because Mammon knows you have been lacking sleep and he will not hesitate to tell you.

The first times telling you are a challenge due to his tsundere behaviors but when he realizes how you smile more and act more vivid after getting proper hours of sleep,he won't hesitate much.

✒Levi

100% relating to you and your lack of sleep.

He is a gamer,we know that he stays up until morning hours to play his games (same bro) so he will notice right away that you share some symptoms with him.

He is to shy to get you to talk about it until he finds you head buried in RAD books, messy notes around you and sticky notes popping out of the book.

Levi has to work up the courage but he also tells himself that it's better for him to be the one taking you to bed than any of his brothers.

So he picks you up with a blushing face and starts apologizing as soon as your eyes open a bit,he is taking you to your room and putting you to bed,you like it or not. Isn't he the cutest?

✒Satan

He stays up late too and for the same reasons even,reading.

But he is far from stupid and knows his limits and also knows you know yourself quite enough to know your own limits. It's strange for him to find you like this but he doesn't make any comments when he notices the books around you,all of them were part of the RAD program.

He has read those books before and knows how to tutor you,so he is taking this chance.

He will wake you up and ask you if you want him to take you to your room. It's up for you to decide,he is a gentleman so he will wait for you to answer.

If you say yes (who wouldn't?) He will carefully lift you up from the chair and bring you to bed bridal style,let's you have the amount of sleep that you need while he talks curse Lucifer about your heavy schedule.

✒Asmo

I think a part of him will panic,he will be suffering for your skin and posture. He has seen Satan like this and has scolded him for it,in his way obviously.

He will pick you up,no hesitation. Asmo is taking you to bed while you snuggle up to his chest,enjoying how good he smells and not catching a single word of his scolding.

When he drops you to bed (very carefully I might add) he tells you to don't mess your sleeping schedule because you can get sick.

Aside from his worries about your looks,he is worried about your health. Humans are known for being way more fragile than demons so he tries to take care of you as much as he can,even in very subtle ways.

✒Beel

He is used to Belphie sleeping anywhere but it seems a little odd to him that you decided to take a nap on the kitchen table in such an uncomfortable position.

He wakes you up quickly yet being his usual soft self and asking you if everything is okay in a very low voice tone.

If you say that you were messing up you sleep to stay up studying he will take you to bed,if you need sleep you are going to sleep in a proper position.

He is as gentle as a rose even if you don't believe me,so he will let you snuggle up to him while he takes you to your room and places you to bed. Puts a blanket on top of you so you won't get cold.

He is so loving and I adore him.

✒Belphie

He can take many things for granted including his sleeping so when he sees you not taking time out of your schedule to sleep properly he gets pissed off a little.

But just a little,he can't be mad at you for committing to your studies. Neither for making such an usual mistake as this.

But he is known to be the brother who knows about humans the most and he knows you quite a lot,so he does what everyone should do.

Picks you up and puts you to sleep with his powers and lulling presence,both of you cuddled up with each other under a comfy blanket just enjoying the pleasure or sleeping.